#Sorry i got so caught up on the puppet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mimiiiiiiiiisstuff · 3 months ago

Text

"Real Man"

Older Au Chapter 3.

THIS IS A MATURE STORY. IT HAS SOME SEXUAL SENCES, IF YOU DONT LIKE DON'T READ. Ok yall ik i said i was gonna post this last night but i hated it so i rewrote it! if it sucks don't say anything pls. sorry if it's repetitive, lmk whose team ur on!!! And what you want to happen next. comments, reblogs, likes and kind asks are always appreciated. If this one random anon keeps sending theses crazy things, i'll have to remove anon asks, which I dont want to do. I love my anons, so pls be nice. Send in asks, I miss yall, I've been sooooo busy with school lately and I havent had time to get on here. THIS IS MY 1ST TIME WRITNG ANYTHING LIKE THIS SO LMK HOW IT ISSSSS

WHY AM I GETTING THE FEWLINF EVERYONE HATES THIS??? IM ABT TO DELEYEB TS NGL 😭

Six months had passed since that night—the night you let Slade’s words sink into your skin like venom and made the choice that changed everything. For better and worse.

You hadn't accepted his offer easily. Not after what happened with Two-Face. That betrayal still sat in your chest like a dull ache, a constant reminder of how easily people could take what they wanted and leave you with nothing. You had sworn not to trust so easily again, not to let yourself fall into another cycle of being used and discarded. So when Slade made his offer, you hesitated.

"You're smarter than this," you had told yourself that night. "You know what happens when you trust the wrong person. You know what men like him want."

And yet, here you were. Living in his world.

Not as a prisoner, not as a puppet, but as something more. The lines were blurred, shifting with every glance, every order he gave that you didn’t question, every moment that stretched too long in the dim glow of your shared space. Because that’s what it was now, shared.

The apartment Slade had set up was far from a safe house. It was huge and spacious, Slade wasn't a cheap man. It felt lived in. Your things mingled with his, your scent lingering in the air. You bought vases and filled them with flowers, you organized the kitchen and bought him real groceries, not just canned food. You hung pictures you developed of you and him. Ones he didn't know you took. You roped him into painting your room a baby blue, a color he swore he hated, yet he still slept in your room every night. It was comical to see such a large man laying in a pastel colored room on your floral bedsheets, the last man you let into your bed was equally large. But we don't talk about him.

Slade cared for you deeply, or at least tolerated you. At first you were always at each others throats, each person throwing a more cutting remark than the other. When your arguements got so bad that you began to ignore him, he brought home women, made sure he heard them moaning through the walls till you snapped and began screaming.

You hated Slade Wilson

But after the first month things began to change, Slade never said anything about it, but you caught the way his eyes would darken when he returned from a mission, his gaze sweeping over you like he needed to confirm you were still here. Like he expected you to disappear.

You leaned against the counter, watching him from the corner of your eye as he cleaned his weapons. The rhythmic motion of his hands, the way he handled each blade with the kind of care most reserved for something fragile, it was almost mesmerizing. Everything he does is.

“You’re staring,” he said, not looking up. God, he's so smug.

You scoffed. "No, you are. I don't stare at creepy old men. In fact, it's usually the opposite."

His lips curled into that knowing smirk, the one that made something tighten in your chest. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

The nickname used to irritate you. Now, you weren’t sure what it did. All you knew was that it made your heart race the way only one person had before. He used to call you sweetheart too.

Slade’s presence in your life was suffocating, an unshakable force that wrapped itself around you, squeezing tighter with every passing day. He was cruel in the way he trained you, brutal in his expectations. If you failed, he had no patience for it. Slade trained you for greatness and he wouldn't tolerate anything less.

“You call that a punch?” he sneered one evening in your early days of training, after you had barely managed to land a hit on him. “Pathetic. I’ve seen senior citizens put up more of a fight,"

Gritting your teeth, you launched at him again, only for him to sidestep effortlessly. A sharp pain bloomed across your ribs as he shoved you down, hard. The thing that you loved and hated most about Slade was that he treated you like an equal. He didn't see you as his younger, fragile, kind-of girlfriend; he saw you as an equal opponent.

“You hesitated,” he said, standing over you. “That hesitation will get you killed.”

You spat blood onto the mat and glared up at him. “Or maybe I just don’t care if I live or die. Nothing is ever really this serious.”

Something flickered in his eye, dark and unreadable, before he crouched beside you. His fingers dug into your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. He didn't understand your humor sometimes, considering he's old enough to be your father.

“Oh, but you do, you want to survive. To be great, ” he murmured, voice dangerously soft. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

He let go of you with a sharp shove and stood. “Get up. We’re not done.”

The tension between you both had only grown over the months. Slade had a way of pressing in, invading your space without ever needing to touch you. Sure you guys fucked almost twice, sometimes three times a week, but there was that small sliver of confusion and hesitation.

Sure, he slept in your bed ever night now, called it "our room," and sure you stayed up waiting when his missions would take too long. Yeah, you would run and jump into his open arms, feeling nothing but content as he kissed your forehead and took you to the bed, it's normal that ya'll didn't even have sex some nights, that you just cuddled.

Sometimes, you swore he was waiting, waiting for you to be the one to close that final inch between you. But you never did. You couldn't bring yourself to do it.

Instead, you fell into a rhythm. Training. Fighting. Learning with him and laughing with him. He pushed you harder than anyone ever had, demanding perfection, never letting you slip back into old habits. He didn’t coddle you like they did. He didn’t pretend you were something delicate. He made you strong.

Most nights, after an exhausting day of training, you would sit on the brown leather couch cuddled up to him with your head on his chest and his arms around you, the dim glow of the television flickering between you. Slade wasn’t much for small talk, you talked enough for the both of you, but the silence between you felt... comfortable, almost warm

“Why did you take me in?” you had asked once, voice barely above a whisper.

He had taken a slow sip of his whiskey, eyes never leaving yours. “Because I saw something in you,” he finally answered. “Potential. Something you’re too afraid to admit to yourself.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but deep down, you wondered if there was truth in his words. You liked that he believed in you, no one had done that before.

Then there were the other moments. The ones that made your chest tighten in ways you didn’t want to acknowledge. The way he stood too close when showing you how to hold a blade properly, his breath warm against your skin. The way his hands lingered too long when correcting your stance. The way his gaze dropped to your lips before he forced himself to look away.

Neither of you ever acknowledged it. You weren’t sure if you wanted to. It's completely normal for your teacher/mentor/enemy to sleep in the same bed as you every night. It'd be weird if you didn't make breakfast and dinner for the two of you. It'd be weird if you didn't know his favorite foods and if he didn't know how to braid your hair. It'd be even weirder if he didn't make you coffee exactly how you like it and help you put away the dishes.

Slade had become an inescapable presence, his control over you extending far beyond training. He knew where you were at all times, had a way of appearing when you least expected it, his eyes always sharp, always knowing. Some nights, when you tried to slip out for air, you’d find him already outside, leaning against a wall as if he’d been waiting for you. He let you do what you wanted, think you were free, but he was always watching you.

If you were singing at a bar, you could count on him to be in the crowd. If you met with Selina at a restaurant you could count on him to drive you home. Slade was always there. Selina thought it was strange, you took comfort in it.

“You really think you can go anywhere without me knowing?” he had mused once, a shadow of amusement in his voice.

It should have bothered you. Maybe it did. But part of you had started to crave it, the way he made you feel like you belonged to him, even if neither of you would ever admit it.

Slade had been… watchful lately. More than usual. He came back late from missions, missions he didn't let you come to, sometimes with a tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there before. He was hesitant to let you go and preform at bars, sometimes convincing you to just play the songs on your guitar in the living room and run your fingers through his hair as you both laid on the couch.

There were the calls—brief, coded. You were offended, Slade told you almost everything these days but somehow no amount of sweet talk and bedroom eyes could get him to budge this time. And then there were the other things. The subtle shifts in the city’s underworld. More movement in Gotham than usual. The quiet whispers of old ghosts stirring, names you hadn’t spoken in almost a year.

Dick. Jason. Tim. Damian. Bruce.

You saw it in the way certain streets had too many eyes. As if waiting. As if listening.

And then there was the whisper of something else. Something darker, something clawing at the edge of your awareness. A name that had once sent a thrill through you, now only bringing unease and resentment.

Harvey Dent.

A name you hadn’t spoken in months, yet it clung to you like a shadow you couldn’t shake. A man you couldn't bare to even think of. A drink left for you at a bar you hadn't performed at in weeks, a coat draped over the back of a chair that looked too familiar.

Slade noticed before you did. “You’ve got a ghost,” he murmured one evening, the flicker of a knife between his fingers. “One that doesn’t know how to stay buried.”

You didn’t ask him what he meant. You didn’t have to. You already knew. You just didn't know why. Had he finally seen through Tiffany, now that it was too late?

At first, you didn’t question it. Slade had always been territorial—watchful, overbearing when he wanted to be. He had a way of controlling things without seeming like he was. That was how he worked.

So when you first noticed the shifts, you didn’t react. Your schedule changed, but not because you changed it.

You used to go out when you wanted. Walk the streets when they were quiet, feel the Gotham night press against your skin, the air cold and sharp. Not anymore.

Things began to change this week. Now, every time you thought about leaving, something stopped you.

The fridge was always stocked, eliminating any reason to step outside. Your favorite food. Your favorite drinks. Little things appeared when you needed them; new clothes, supplies, anything that might have made you leave for even a moment. Things you mentioned only in passing, like the new lipstick you wanted or a pair of vintage heels or a new bag.

If you reached for your coat, Slade would speak before you even touched the door. Asking where you were going, trying to be casual.

It was never a command. Never outright control. But the implication was there. And every time you hesitated, he won. If you needed to leave or just wanted to go out, he would come with; a silent yet protective figure always in the shadows.

The night was quiet, the kind of stillness that should have been peaceful but wasn’t. The apartment smelled like old wood and gun oil, the faintest trace of smoke lingering from Slade’s cigar earlier. You had just stepped out of the shower, skin still warm from the heat, hair damp as you walked barefoot across the floor in your towel.

Your hand brushed against the pretty golden door knob absentmindedly.

And then you froze. Something was different.

Your fingers curled around the lock, tracing over the new ridges, the reinforced structure. The weight of it felt wrong.

It wasn’t your lock. Not the cute one you insisted on buying at the antique shop that Slade hated. It didn't match the walls.

Your stomach twisted. You turned slowly, your damp hair clinging to your skin as your mind raced. This wasn’t an accident. You hadn’t imagined it. Slade had changed the locks. The thought sent something icy down your spine. Alarm bells blared in your mind.

You tried to shake it off, tried to tell yourself it was nothing. Maybe it was security. Maybe he just wanted better protection.

But deep down, you knew that wasn’t it. Because he didn’t tell you. Because Slade never did anything without a purpose. Because Slade Wilson didn't need a lock to keep people out. And because you hadn’t noticed until now. You took a slow, steady breath and turned toward the living room.

Slade was there, like always, seated in his usual chair by the window, sharpening a knife. The sound of steel against whetstone was rhythmic, deliberate. His posture was relaxed, but you weren’t fooled. His fingers were too steady, his shoulders just a little too still.

He was waiting. Watching. Like he had already predicted this moment, like he was ready for an argeument. You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, heart pounding too fast, not caring if you were in a towel.

"Planning on keeping me in a cage?" you muttered.

Slade didn’t pause. Didn’t even look up. “Planning on keeping you alive.” The words were so smooth, so easy, that your stomach turned.

Your breath caught. Because he wasn’t hiding it. He wasn't denying it. Not anymore. This wasn’t a mistake. This was intentional.

You forced a laugh, though it felt hollow in your throat. “Right. Because I’m just so incapable of keeping myself safe. Even after all the training we've done. Even with my literal super-human abilities.”

Slade finally looked up. His eye locked onto yours.

There was no humor in his gaze. No smirk, like he usually had on while teasing. Just that slow, assessing stare that made your pulse stutter.

"If I thought you were capable of that," he murmured, voice quiet, too quiet, "we wouldn’t be having this conversation."

Your chest tightened. Because the way he said it sent something sinking into the pit of your stomach. This wasn’t just about protecting you. This was about making sure you never left.

Two days later, you decided to test it. Just to see what would happen. Slade had stepped out—or so he wanted you to believe. The moment you heard the door shut behind him, you moved.

Your fingers curled around the knob.

Turned it— but a large, scared hand beat you two it

"Going somewhere?"

Your entire body locked up. You gulped and licked your suddenly dry lips, he had you cornered with one hand on the knob and the other caging you in as he towered over you. His voice was smooth, calm—too calm. You turned slowly, pulse thrumming in your throat. Slade stood right behind you.

The door was still closed.

Your heart stuttered. You hadn’t heard him come back. Hadn’t even realized he was there. So much for super hearing. Nothing worked on Slade Wilson. You kept your expression neutral. Didn’t let him see the panic creeping up your throat.

"Didn’t realize I had a curfew," you muttered with an uneasy grin, trying to start your usual banter. Slade didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. Just watched you.

“You don’t.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. But he didn’t move. Didn’t step aside. Didn’t let you leave. The silence stretched too long.

Finally, you forced a smile, tilting your head. “Then I’ll be back in an hour.” Nothing changed in his expression. But you could feel the weight of his stare. Then he tilted his head, eye dark and calculating.

“It's not safe out there anymore. Not for you.”

You blinked. Something in his tone shifted.Not amusement. Not control. Something else. Something darker. Like he was waiting for you to figure it out.

Your stomach twisted. “What are you talking about?” He didn’t answer. Didn’t even move.

Just let the question hang in the air, stretching the silence tight between you. And that’s when it hit you.

He wasn’t stopping you because he was afraid you’d leave.

He was stopping you because something else was waiting outside.

Something he wasn’t telling you about.

Your mouth went dry. Slade finally let out a slow, amused breath, pushing off the wall.

And then—

He stepped aside. A challenge. Daring you to open the door. You hesitated. And that was all it took.

The moment you hesitated, you lost. Slade smirked, shaking his head like he had already predicted every move you would make. "Let's get to bed." He rasped out, looking at you with dark, seductive eyes.

And then he turned, walking past you like the conversation was over. Because it was. Because he knew you wouldn’t leave now.

The next morning, the locks changed again. The windows were reinforced. Your pretty pink curtains replaced with black shutters. Your phone stopped working. You couldn't call Selina. Every excuse to leave was removed before you could even think about it. You tried not to panic. Tried not to question it.

But Slade was closing the walls in. And you weren’t sure if it was to keep someone out—

Or to keep you in.

The first time, you thought it was a coincidence.

You had slipped into a bar down the street, needing to breathe, needing something normal.

The moment you stepped in, your stomach turned. Something familiar. Cologne. Not just any cologne. Expensive. Sharply tailored. The scent of whiskey and authority.

You froze.

Your mind screamed at you. It’s just someone else wearing it. It’s just your imagination. And then you saw it. A glass at the bar. Untouched. Neat. No ice. A double pour. your breath hitched.

Harvey’s drink.

It wasn’t until you came home that you truly realized. Because that’s when you saw the rose.

A single red rose on the kitchen counter.

Waiting for you. Your entire body went cold. It wasn’t from Slade. It couldn’t be from Slade. Slade would never bring you roses, he wasn't a gentleman. And he knew you liked hydrangeas and peonies now.

You turned slowly and nearly threw up.

Slade was already standing there. Watching. Waiting. His jaw was tight. His fingers twitched at his side. He didn’t say anything. And that’s when you knew,

He had seen this coming.

“Where did that come from?” you asked, voice thin. Why was he doing this? Was shattering your heart not enough? Did he want to ruin things with you and Slade?

Slade didn’t answer. Instead, he walked forward, plucked the rose from the counter, and rolled it between his fingers. Slowly. Deliberately. Then, he crushed it.

Your stomach dropped. The petals crumbled to the floor. His voice was dangerously calm. "You tell me, sweetheart."

For the rest of the night, he didn’t let you out of his sight. Not directly holding you hostage, but you felt it. The way he lingered in doorways. The way his hand ghosted too close when you passed him.

Like he was waiting. Waiting for you to ask. Waiting for you to figure it out. Waiting for Harvey to stop playing games and make a real move.

You weren’t sure when it had happened; when you had stopped keeping track of time, stopped caring about the difference between one night and the next. Slade made sure you had no reason to count the days. He made sure you had no reason to want anything. You woke up every morning in his arms and went to bed satisfied and well loved. It wasn’t a prison but it wasn’t freedom either. It was something in between. A limbo of his design. A small slice of heaven in hell.

You were happy. But something was off, Slade was being more paranoid and he got less subtle about it each day.

You weren’t trapped, not physically. Slade let you leave the apartment. You weren’t chained to the walls, weren’t locked in a room. He took you out on missions, let you get your hands dirty alongside him, let you breathe in the crisp Gotham air under the cover of night. In some ways, those nights were the only times you felt alive, other than when you were with Slade. The weight of a blade in your hand, the burn in your muscles from the chase, the sharp adrenaline rush of the fight, of using your powers on someone they affected; it reminded you that you still existed outside of this quiet game he played with you. Because that’s what it was. A game.

Slade never said it outright, never told you he was keeping you on a leash, but you could feel it tightening with every passing week. At first, it was small things. The way he subtly redirected missions away from Gotham’s city center, keeping you to the outskirts, where the shadows were deeper and the chances of running into familiar faces were slimmer. The way he always made sure you stayed close during a job, always just within arm’s reach. It wasn’t just protection. You knew better than that. It was control. He was testing you, waiting to see if you would try to slip away, if you would give him a reason to remind you just how easily he could pull you back.

You weren’t stupid. You knew the real test wasn’t in the field. It was what happened after.

After the job was done, after the adrenaline had settled into exhaustion, after the long, banter filled walk back to wherever Slade had decided to keep you that night. It was in the way he never let you wander too far. The way his hand would hover at the small of your back without quite touching, guiding you down the streets like he was the one who decided where you went. It was in the way he never left you alone for too long.

At first, you told yourself it was coincidence. Slade was always working, always had something that needed his attention. But then you started to notice the patterns. You ate together, you slept together, trained together, hell; you even showered together. You were never alone for more than a few hours. If he had business elsewhere, you were given something to occupy your time—training, surveillance, a task that kept you exactly where he wanted you.

You tested it once again, just to see what would happen. After he had left for what you thought was a routine meeting, you had grabbed your coat and made your way to the door. You weren’t even thinking about leaving him, not really. You just wanted to see if you could. If there was still a part of you that could step outside without feeling the weight of his presence pressing against you.

Your fingers had just curled around the doorknob when you heard his voice. Low. Even. Inevitable.

“Going somewhere?”

You were getting de ja vu. This happened last time too. You had swallowed hard, pulse spiking in your throat as you turned. He was standing right behind you.

You hadn’t heard the door open. Hadn’t heard his footsteps. He was just there, watching, waiting. The worst part was that he wasn’t even angry. He wasn’t trying to intimidate you, wasn’t raising his voice or blocking your way. He didn’t have to.

Slade had simply leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, eye scanning you with that sharp, unreadable expression that made your stomach twist. “Didn’t realize I needed permission,” you had said, forcing your voice to stay steady. You wouldn't let him control everything, not another man would be in charge of your life.

“You don’t.” He tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle he had already solved. “Just wondering if you really think it’s safe out there.”

Not this odd shit again.

That made you pause. The way he said it. Not like a threat. Not like he was trying to scare you into staying. He said it the same way as last time. Like he already knew something you didn’t.

Your grip on the doorknob tightened. “What are you talking about? You said this last time.”

Slade didn’t answer right away. He just let the silence stretch, let you feel the weight of your own hesitation. Then, slowly, he took a step back. Another challenge.

“If you want to go,” he said, gesturing toward the door, “go.”

Your breath caught. You should have. You should have walked out.

But you didn’t.

Because you knew that if you did, if you stepped outside now, you wouldn’t just be walking into Gotham. You would be walking into something else. Something waiting.

Slade knew it. And now, so did you.

You swallowed hard, stepping back from the door. Slade huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head like you had just proven his point. Then, without another word, he walked past you and disappeared into the other room. That was the moment you knew, whatever was waiting for you out there was worse than what was waiting inside. You just didn’t know what it was yet.

You found out a week later. A part of it, at least.

The envelope was waiting for you when you returned from a job with Slade, slipped under the apartment door like a whisper of something you had tried to forget. You had bent down, fingers hesitating just for a second before picking it up. The paper was thick, expensive. No return address. No markings. But you didn’t have to open it to know who it was from. The sharp smell of cologne gave it away.

Your stomach twisted, nausea rising in the back of your throat as you tore it open, your hands gripping the edges a little too tightly. The letter inside was simple. Only four words.

You won't forget me.

Your breath hitched. Your hands trembled. Because the worst part was, he was right. No matter how much Slade consumed you, or your occasional fantasy about Clark; he also stayed on your mind

You barely had time to process it before you heard the apartment door shut behind you. Your fingers snapped the letter closed, chest tightening, but it was too late.

Slade had already seen.

His expression didn’t change, but you could feel it. The shift in the air. The way his shoulders set just a little too still, the way his single eye flickered from your face to the envelope with something dark and unreadable. He stepped forward, not rushing, just closing the distance between you with the kind of inevitability that made your breath come short.

You turned, but before you could move, his hand shot out. Not rough, not gentle like usual, just firm. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, halting you in place.

“Let go,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t.

Instead, he reached for the letter.

You pulled back.

Slade’s grip tightened. “Let me see,” he said, his voice low, controlled. He wasn't used to you denying him these days, not when you loved him.

Your stomach clenched. You didn’t let go, but it didn’t matter. Because Slade never asked twice.

With one sharp tug, he tore the letter from your grasp, unfolding it with a lazy flick of his wrist. You watched as his eye scanned the words, his jaw tensing, his fingers tightening around the paper just slightly.

Then, finally, a quiet chuckle. A dark, amused sound. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Your breath hitched. Slade looked at you now. Expression unreadable.

“Do you miss him?” Your heart stopped. You denied it, but you could see in Slade's eyes that he didn't believe you. In the way he turned away from you that night. You didn't blame him, you didn't even believe yourself.

Harvey always knew how to play the long game.

Small things began to shift in your life and you knew who was behind it. The song on the radio. A scarf. A photo photo. They were never coincidences, he didn’t believe in coincidence. The man was calculated, meticulous in his pursuits. When he wanted something, he played patient, steady, unyielding, watching from the shadows, striking when you least expected it.

Slade was the same way, but Slade never needed patience. Slade took what he wanted. Harvey waited for it to come back to him.

The jazz playing in the bar was nothing, just white noise in the background while you sat beside Slade, nursing your drink, your head still fogged from the last mission. You weren’t thinking of anything other than how good it felt to finally sit still.

Then, days later, the scarf appeared. Neatly folded on the couch, like a gift wrapped in silence, waiting for you to pick it up. You hadn’t touched it at first, just stood there, staring at it, fingers twitching at your sides. It was a trick of the mind, an old memory manifesting in a way that didn’t make sense.

Except it wasn’t.

He had been here. Or close enough to touch. You should have told Slade. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. And then, the photo. A photo Selina took of you and him dancing at the Pink Pony Club. It smelled like him too.

That was what shattered the illusion of security, the idea that you had control over this. The moment you saw it, you knew.

Harvey had always been a sentimentalist, clinging to memories long past, treasuring things most people would discard.

You, once upon a time, had been one of those things. And now? You weren’t sure. You weren't sure what he wanted, especially since he had Tiffany. You had placed the photo down carefully, afraid to crumple it, afraid to acknowledge what it meant.

You had kept your movements neutral, your breath steady, but Slade had been watching. His presence in the other room was a solid weight pressing into your chest. The shuffle of files, the slow deliberate sound of metal being set down, he was waiting.

He had noticed. Of course, he had. Slade noticed everything. And yet, he didn’t say a word.

You lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, feeling Slade’s presence next to you like a silent storm waiting to break. He wasn’t asking. He was waiting for you to give yourself away. To tell him the truth, to trust him like he trusted you.

Slade had been watching you too closely, keeping his invisible leash tight without ever pulling. That was the way he worked, he let you think you had freedom while keeping you within his reach. If you had tried to leave through the door, he would have known.

So, you didn’t.

You waited, feigned sleep, forced your breathing into something slow, even, something convincing. You heard him move in the other room, heard the creak of his chair, the slow inhale of a cigar.

You moved the moment he shifted. Window, not the door. Silent steps. A fire escape that groaned beneath your weight. By the time Slade glanced back toward the couch, you were already gone.

Harvey knew you would come.

You knew that from the moment you stepped onto the rooftop, the Gotham skyline stretched out behind him like a kingdom.

He turned before you could say anything, a slow, easy movement, his face shadowed beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. And then, he smiled. Not a smirk. Not the sharp, dangerous grin you had been expecting. It was something softer. Something more desperate. Like a man in the desert coming across a well.

“Took you long enough, didn't think you got my message. I started thinking that maybe the note didn't reach you.” he murmured. The message he left in the women's bathroom at a bar you and Slade frequented.

Your throat felt tight. You felt hurt all over again. Like someone reopened the wound of his betrayal. Like the same broken girl Slade took in six months ago. You came here for closure. So that it wouldn't hurt when you said his name or sang the songs you wrote for him. “How did you find me?”

What did he want? To torture you? Rub salt in your wounds?

Harvey exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, I never lost you.”

Only Slade called you that now. The words made your stomach twist, a cold knot settling in your chest. You should have walked away then. But you didn’t. Because you had to know.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you haunting me? Not letting me move on?” Your voice shook as you said it. This conversation was long overdue.

Harvey’s fingers gripped the railing, his knuckles white. “Because I need you to listen to me. Just once. Just this once. Hear me out.”

Your heart hammered. Hear him out? He could've started with an apology.

“You think I’ll forgive you?” you spat. You would, because when you looked at him, you still felt the same warmth you did all those months ago; only this time it was mixed with resentment and longing.

He flinched. And for the first time, you saw it—the raw, desperate emotion that he had always hidden behind sharp words and confident grins. The mask cracked, just for a second.

His voice turned rough, unsteady. “I don’t deserve forgiveness. I know that. But I need you to hear me out.”

You shook your head, stepping back, but he reached out—not touching, not yet, but close.

“You don’t know what’s happening,” he continued, his voice dropping into something urgent, pleading. “Your family—Tim, Dick, all of them—they’re figuring it out. They’re finding out the truth about Tiffany. They'll realize what she's doing, like I did.They'll know soon, maybe not today or tomorrow; but soon. They'll realize she's been using her powers on them like she did to me.”

Your breath came too short. No. This was not happening. Not when you were finally happy again. Not when you think you've fallen in love with Slade.

“No,” you whispered.

Your vision blurred. It was happening. Everything you had tried to scream about for years, everything they had ignored, it was going to come to light. Harvey’s fingers brushed your wrist.

Soft. Careful. Like he was trying not to scare you away.

“And when they realize what they did to you,” he murmured, “they’re going to come running. Crawling back like I am.”

Your stomach twisted.

“They’re going to act like they care,” he continued, voice soft, insidious. “Like they’re sorry. But they’re not. Not like I am. You know that, don’t you?”

Your lips parted. You hated how much sense it made. Hated how deep the doubt had already burrowed into your skin. Hated how genuine and honest he was being, you could sense it. Harvey tilted his head.

And then, voice lower, almost fragile he said, “You don’t have to go back to them.”

Your stomach dropped. You stepped back. “I’m not going back,” you said, voice shaking. Never.

Harvey swallowed hard. And for a moment, you thought he might break, that the weight of what he had done, what he had lost, might finally crush him. But then, he looked at you.

And you saw it, the shift. The danger. Not Two-Face. Not the cold, calculated criminal.

Just Harvey Dent. The man who never let go. “You think you’re free?” he murmured.

The words sent a chill down your spine. Harvey smiled, but it wasn’t kind. “You think he just let you leave?”

Your chest tightened. You tried not to show the flicker of doubt, the small crack in your resolve. But Harvey saw it.

And then, voice so soft, so dangerous—“He’s not going to let you go either. He'll keep you locked up. I won't.”

You should have never gone to him.

You had known it was a mistake the second you saw him standing there, leaning against the rooftop railing, the glow of Gotham’s skyline making him look almost human.

But you had gone anyway. Because Harvey had always been a mistake you kept making.

You clenched your fists, how dare he talk about Slade? What right did he have to tell you who to trust. "Yeah and I'm gonna take advice from you. That's rich."

He softened immediately, his regret and remorse so obvious; yet he refused to apologize. You wanted to hit him, hurt him like he hurt you; yet when he stood in front of you in the moonlight, your treacherous heart still beat for him. Your heart didn't want to hurt the man who showed you what love is. The man who picked up the shattered pieces your family and Clark left and rearranged them beautifully. It didn't care that he broke them again; he could fix it.

“I made a mistake. I paid for it, I know the truth now.” He said steadily stepping closer, sensing your reluctance.

Your pulse pounded. “What do you want from me?” You were here for answers, not to rekindle an old flame. Not when you were starting one.

Harvey exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Nothing from you. ”

The words hit you too hard. You understood what he was implying, what he wanted. You knew he would come crawling back someday, you just didn't expect it so soon

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. “Why?”

His smile faltered. His hands curled around the railing, gripping it like he needed something solid to hold on to.

"You know why. But that's not what i called you for. I called you to warn you about your family and Tiffany,” he said, his voice lower now, rougher. More desperate. “I can throw them off for a little while, lead them off track and make sure they don't know the truth. If that's what you want. But once they know the truth, they won't leave you alone. Certainly not with him.”

You hated the way your chest tightened with affection at his consideration. You hated that you were here. You hated that he still had a hold on you. You hated how he talked about Slade. You hated hearing him say Tiffany's name, it brought back so much hurt and hatred.

“I don't care about them Keep them away for as long as you want. You know I'm not here to hear about them or your whore.” you said viciously, your eyes shining and your teeth sharpening.

Slade would be proud.

Harvey didn't react to your fangs, he wasn't afraid of you. He came closer and grasped your hand, his eyes so heartbroken that it gave you satisfaction, only for a minute.

His voice cracked slightly. “Nothing I do or say can make up for what I did.” His jaw tightened. “I know that.”

You should have walked away. But you didn’t. Because Harvey’s voice dropped lower, his words curling around you like a trap you should have seen coming. “But I need you to know something,” he whispered.

You swallowed hard. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, watching your reaction. “She wanted to be you, she tried so hard.”

Your breath hitched. You knew this. But hearing Harvey say it made you feel so much better.

Harvey’s voice was soft, almost reverent. “But she never could.”

Your stomach dropped. Why did this have to happen now? Why now when you finally forgot about him?

“She dressed like you,” he continued. “Talked like you. Watched the way you moved. The way you laughed.” His voice hardened. “The way you loved.”

You shook your head, backing away. You couldn't take this anymore. You wanted to run back into Slade's arms, where nothing could touch you. “Shut up.”

Harvey didn’t.

“She wanted to take everything from you.” His expression twisted. “And maybe, if I had been a different man, I would have let her.”

Your skin crawled at the thought. Harvey let out a breathless laugh, bitter and sharp. “But I couldn’t. I had to go digging, looking for clues.”

His hands clenched at his sides. “Because she wasn’t you. No matter how hard she tried to be. No matter how much she played with my mind, she could never replace you.”

You hated him.

You hated that you believed him.

You hated how you still loved him.

Harvey exhaled sharply, tilting his head, watching you with something frighteningly raw. “Every time she touched me, every time she tried to take something that wasn’t hers—” his voice dropped into something dangerous, low and dark and broken— “I was thinking of you.”

Your breathing came too fast.

Harvey stepped closer.

“Every time I kissed her,” he whispered, “I wanted it to be you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Stop. I don't care.” Lies.

“She wasn’t you,” he repeated, voice almost pleading. “She never could be.”

Your throat closed. Your eyes watered and your teeth burned with unshed venom just thinking of his betrayal. Why was this happening.

Harvey’s fingers ghosted over your wrist. Not touching, not quite.

“I never wanted her, not really” he murmured. “Not once.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. This was all you wanted to hear, all you wished for for so long. So why did you feel trapped. Harvey’s voice dropped even lower. He moved even closer

“Tell me, sweetheart.”

You forced yourself to look at him.

“If you don’t care,” he whispered, eyes burning, “why are you still here? Why do you want answers so bad? Why do you still look at me like that?”

You shouldn’t have come.

But you hadn’t been able to help yourself.

Because Harvey always knew what to say, how to linger in your mind like an open wound that refused to heal.

And now here you were, standing under the dim glow of the rooftop’s city lights, your eyes watering, the weight of his gaze pressing into you, sinking into your bones like something familiar, something dangerous.

You forced yourself to keep your stance steady, your pulse even. “You don’t get to ask me those questions.”

Harvey let out a breath, almost a chuckle, but there was no humor in it. His hands curled around the railing as he moved away from you again, gripping the cold metal like it was the only thing keeping him from reaching for you.

“Do you know how many times I told myself you were gone? That I lost you, ” His voice was steady now, but there was an edge to it—something dangerous. “How many times I tried to let you go, to let you move on?”

Your chest tightened. You weren’t sure if it was anger or something else, something more dangerous. “I didn’t ask you to wait for me. I didn't want you to regret your choice. I didn't want anything but happiness for you. No matter how much you hurt me.”

Harvey’s fingers twitched.

“No.” His lips pressed together in a thin line, he knew the truth, that you always wished the best for him. “No, you didn’t.”

The wind curled between you, cold and sharp, carrying the weight of everything unsaid. You should have turned away. Should have walked back the way you came.

But then Harvey laughed, a bitter, broken sound.

“She used her little snake charm but somehow,” he continued, “after a week I was thinking of you. I never loved her. Couldn't even bring myself to like her, honestly.”

Your stomach dropped. It was a gut punch, sharp and unforgiving. He saw it—the flicker of emotion in your face, the tightening of your jaw, the way your breathing caught for just a second too long.

And Harvey, Two-Face, the man who never let go, moved forward, voice soft, eyes burning.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I never stopped loving you”

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. “Shut up.”

He ignored you. Again.

“I love you so much,” he said, voice low. “You love me too or you wouldn't be here.”

“I said shut up.” He was right, he always is.

Harvey smirked, but there was nothing victorious in it. It was almost self-loathing.

“I never loved her,” he whispered again. He was making sure you knew.

“She wanted me to,” he continued. “She wanted to take everything from you.” His jaw tightened. “And maybe, if you had been a different woman, I would have let her.”

The thought of it made your skin crawl.

Harvey, Tiffany. Together. The ultimate betrayal.

“But I couldn’t.” His voice cracked slightly. “Because she wasn’t you.”

He kept repeating it, trying to speak his remorse into your heart directly. You hated how much it affected you. Hated how your chest ached, how your mind burned with the thought of what could have been. You shouldn’t care. But you did. And Harvey knew it.

“You’re lying,” you whispered, forcing steel into your voice. “You used her, just like she used you. You wanted to spy on Bruce and I wouldn't do it.”

Harvey let out a sharp breath. “Yeah.” His eyes met yours. Unflinching. “I did.”

There was no shame in his voice. Just cold, simple truth. No regret anymore. He didn't regret using her, he regretted hurting you.

“But it wasn’t revenge, sweetheart,” he murmured, his Gotham accent slipping in the angrier he got. “It was survival. She had me under her little spell at first; when that stopped working, her little dream team made sure I never stepped outta line. Never came crawling back to you, never told anyone the truth. But I'm done with them now.”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. Harvey stepped closer.

“Every time I kissed her, every time I played along, I was thinking of you.” His voice dipped, lower, darker. More desperate. “Every time I called her by her name, I wanted to say yours.”

Your breathing came too fast. This wasn’t fair. Harvey was not supposed to be able to do this to you. Not anymore. He was supposed to be dead to you. He had killed himself in your mind the day he let himself be used, the day he betrayed you.

And yet—

Yet.

You couldn’t move.

Because deep down, a part of you knew—you had thought of him, too. When you weren't with Slade, Harvey consumed your thoughts.

Your stomach twisted as he stepped closer again. “You’re smart, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You always were. Choose carefully.”

You swallowed hard. This wasn't about your family anymore. This was about him and Slade.

“You don’t have to go back to them.” He repeated himself again trying to convince you. His words settled in your bones, heavy, unshakable.

You clenched your jaw again. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

Harvey’s eyes flickered, something dark and pleased curling at the edges. And then, voice low, almost dangerous, “Then why are you still with him?”

Your breath hitched. Slade. Your body went rigid.

Harvey took another step closer. Your noses almost touched and you nearly threw yourself into his arms.

“You think he's better than me?”

Your chest tightened. Doubt crept in. You had been so careful. So quiet. Hadn’t you? Harvey saw it. And he smiled.

A slow, knowing smirk. “He’s not going to let you go, he won't give you a choice. I don't blame the man, if I hadn't fucked everything up; I wouldn't let you go either.”

Your stomach dropped. The realization hit you all at once, suffocating, crushing. You hadn’t been careful. You had been playing into Slade’s hands all along.

Because Slade always knew. And if he hadn’t stopped you?

That meant he was letting you dig your own grave. A shiver ran through you.

The moment Harvey’s voice dipped, the second his fingers ghosted over your wrist like a lover’s touch—you should have walked away. But you didn’t. Because part of you needed to hear him say it. Needed to hear him tell you what you already knew.

That he still wanted you. That he never stopped. That you were never meant to be replaced. And it felt amazing to hear the regret in his voice and see the pure longing in his eyes.

The wind curled between you, cold and biting, but Harvey’s presence was stiflingly warm. He was watching you the way he always had; like you belonged to him, like the months between you hadn’t changed a thing. And for the first time all night, you let yourself look at him.

Really look at him.

The scars on the left side of his face had deepened, his two-toned gaze more piercing than before. The weight he carried in his shoulders was heavier, more defined. He was still Harvey, but he wasn’t just Harvey anymore. He had become something darker, something rough around the edges, something broken in a way that made you feel like a piece of you had broken along with him.

You swallowed. “I have to go.” Before you did something you couldn't take back.

Harvey exhaled, slow and deliberate. He nodded, but he didn’t move. He didn’t stop you. But he wasn’t letting you go, either.

“You’re going back to him.” It wasn’t a question. A statement, like he knew it was coming

Your pulse stuttered. “It’s not like that and you know it.” You still felt the need to defend yourself, even though you knew you didn't owe him an explanation.

You still loved him, that much was clear.

Harvey let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Sure it isn’t.”

You took a step back. He didn’t reach for you, didn’t say anything to stop you, but his presence curled around you like a shadow, wrapping itself around your spine, keeping you anchored in place. And then his voice dropped. Low. Certain.

“I’m letting you walk away. But I'm not letting you go. Not when we still love each other.”

Your throat tightened. He wasn’t chasing you. Not yet. But you felt it. The promise in his voice. The inevitability. You didn’t respond.

You didn't deny that you still loved him, it was like a child insisting they didn't eat cookies when they have crumbs all over them.

You just turned and forced yourself to walk away.

The apartment was silent when you returned. Slade was waiting, seated in his chair, drink in hand, legs spread, glaring at the walls. He didn’t turn when you entered. Didn’t move when you stepped further inside, carefully shutting the door behind you. You weren’t sure if that was better or worse.

You slipped off your shoes, moving slowly, watching him, waiting. Nothing. No reaction. Just that unshakable stillness. The kind that had always been more dangerous than his anger.

You took a steadying breath. If you didn't speak first, he wouldn't speak at all. “Slade—”

“I knew you’d come back.”

His voice cut through the room, sharp and even. Your fingers curled at your sides. “Of course I came back.”

Now, he looked at you. Finally. And when he did, it felt like a blow. That single eye, cold and assessing, swept over you, taking in every detail, every movement, every breath you tried to keep steady. Then, his lips curved. Slow. Controlled.

“Did he tell you what you wanted to hear? Make you want to run into his loving arms again?”

Your stomach dropped. You didn’t let it show. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Slade exhaled through his nose, the faintest huff of amusement. “Don’t insult me.”

Your jaw tightened. Silence stretched between you, heavy and charged. You weren’t sure if you were waiting for him to snap, or if he was waiting for you to confess. Then, finally—Slade leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, voice lowering into something dangerous.

“Tell me something,” he said lowly.

You didn’t move. “What?”

Slade tilted his head, watching you like he was already playing out the end of this game. “Did you hesitate?”

The words hit harder than they should have. You swallowed. You could lie. You could tell him what he wanted to hear. But it wouldn’t matter. Slade always knew. And that was the worst part.

Slade was quiet for too long. Then—he sighed. Tired. Expectant. And that was worse than anger. You hated when he treated you like this, so indifferent. You liked his anger better, at least then you could get a reaction out of him.

“Take off your coat,” he said. You hesitated. Slade’s expression didn’t shift. “Now.”

Slowly, carefully, you did as he asked, slipping the fabric from your shoulders, letting it drop onto the chair beside you. Slade’s eye flickered toward it. Then, back to you.

You weren’t sure what he was looking for. Maybe he was looking for something Harvey left behind. Something you didn’t even realize you had carried home with you.

Then, after a long pause—Slade smirked. And it wasn’t kind like the ones you've grown accustomed to.

“You don’t even realize it, do you?”

You stiffened. “Realize what?”

Slade leaned back again, completely relaxed. Like he had already won. “You'll know soon.”

Your breath caught. Where was he going with this? You hated when he spoke like some ancient being and he knew that. He was gonna be insufferable these next few days; he always is when you do something he doesn't like.

“Doesn’t matter where you go,” he continued, his voice so damn certain. His smirk widened, mocking. “You’ll always come back to me.”

Your chest tightened. You hated him. Because he was right. He knew you hated it, too.

You lay awake that night. Not because you couldn’t sleep. Not because Slade was in the other room, making you sleep alone for the first time in months, still awake, waiting, watching, knowing.

But because you couldn’t shake the way Harvey had looked at you before you left. Not angry. Not resentful. Just patient and remorseful. Like he already knew something you didn't.

Slade never brought it up again. Not directly. You weren’t sure if that was worse. You weren't sure if you wanted him to scream at you and demand you never see Harvey Dent again. You would rather anger than the silent treatment.

He didn’t demand answers. He didn’t press the issue. He simply carried on as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t watched you walk through the door smelling like another man’s presence.

That should have been a relief. But it wasn’t. Because Slade didn’t let things go. He let them fester.

It was in the way he touched you now, more deliberate, more possessive. The way his hands lingered a little too long on your waist when he passed you in the kitchen, the way his fingers grazed your wrist, as if reminding you that you were still there, still his.

It was in the way he watched you. He had always been observant, but now it was different. Sharper. He wasn’t just looking at you, he was reading you.

Every twitch of your fingers. Every slight shift in your breathing. Every time you looked over your shoulder without realizing it. You had brought something back from that rooftop, and Slade knew it.

And still, he said nothing. Instead, he tightened his hold.

It was late. The apartment was quiet, but neither of you were asleep. Your back pressed into the cool sheets, heartbeat steady but too aware of the man beside you. It'd been three days since Harvey and Slade was finally sleeping next to you again, but you knew he wasn't truly letting things go.

Slade’s fingers traced slow circles against your wrist, his grip loose but present. “You haven’t been sleeping,” he murmured.

You exhaled, shifting slightly beneath his hold. “And you have?”

A quiet chuckle. “I sleep when I need to.”

You turned your head, meeting his gaze in the dim light of the bedroom. “And when do you need to?” You missed teasing him.

Slade’s smirk was lazy, knowing. “Whenever you’re not around to keep me entertained.”

You rolled your eyes, but he didn’t let you pull away. His grip tightened, just enough to remind you he was there.

“You think too much,” he murmured, voice lower now. “Keeps you restless.”

“Maybe I like thinking,” you shot back booping his nose. You lived to annoy him, to push his buttons in a way only you could get away with.

Slade hummed, shifting to prop himself up on his elbow, still watching you. His fingers trailed down your arm, you would've though he was trying to start something if his movements weren't so slow and calculated.

“What are you thinking about now?” He said reeling you into his trap, his eyes hard. You hated when he tried to trap you. Your pulse skipped. Nothing you said would be the right answer.

Slade’s lips quirked up slightly, but there was something in his expression—something darker, something expectant.

“You can say it,” he mused. “Say his name.”

You were tempted to do it, moan Harvey's name just to piss him off, but that was a line even you knew not to cross. You rolled your eyes, "God, just let it go Slade. It wasn't important."

Why couldn't he just let this go? Slade smirked, mocking. “That’s what I thought.”

You didn’t break his gaze. Didn’t look away. Because he knew. He always knew. Nothing goes over Slade Wilson's head.

The next morning, you woke up to a message. Not a text. Not a voicemail. A gift.

The small wooden box sat on the kitchen counter, neat, precise. Like it had been waiting for you. Your blood ran cold. You hadn’t heard anyone come in. You hadn’t even felt him. But Harvey had been here. You swallowed, fingers brushing over the lid before carefully lifting it open.

Inside was a single playing card.

The Two of Hearts.

And beneath it—folded carefully, as if it was meant to be unwrapped like some kind of sentimental treasure—was the same scarf he had left before.

Except this time, there was something else. Perfume. Your perfume. It smelled like you and him. Like Harvey had held onto it. Like he had kept it close. Your stomach twisted.

Harvey had been here. And you hadn’t even noticed.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the box, breath coming a little too sharp, too shallow. The walls of the apartment felt smaller. You didn’t hear Slade approach, but you felt him before he spoke.

His voice was smooth, dangerous. “Something I should know about?”

You forced yourself to breathe. “No.”

Slade leaned against the counter, eyeing the box like he already knew exactly who it was from. And then—he laughed. A quiet, amused sound, as if this was a game he had already won. “I should have killed him when I had the chance,” he said, in the same tone some used when regretting not buying a book before it sold out.

Your stomach dropped. Slade tilted his head, eye still locked on you. “But you wouldn’t have liked that, would you?”

You said nothing.

Slade smirked, shaking his head. “Soft spot for old flames.” He reached out, fingers brushing your wrist. “That’s your problem.”

You clenched your jaw, jerking your arm away. “And what’s yours?”

Slade’s gaze darkened. “I don’t have problems.”

You let out a breathless, humorless laugh. Always with the tough guy persona, honestly it must be tiring always acting untouchable. “Right. Sorry, I forgot. Because you don’t feel anything.”

Slade didn’t respond right away. He just looked at you, unreadable. His hand reached for your jaw, firm, demanding. His thumb traced your cheek, slow, deliberate. And when he spoke, his voice was quiet.

“I feel plenty.” You swallowed. Slade smirked. “You just don’t like what I feel.”

You stepped back before you could do something stupid. Something that would make you forget about the box on the counter, the scent of Harvey still lingering in the air. Something that would make you forget that you weren’t sure who you were more afraid of losing.

Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Harvey was right. They were going to find out the full truth soon. And when they did, they would come for you.

Now, a week after your meeting with him, your phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Message after message, call after call, each one from Tim Drake-Wayne. All asking you questions about Tiffany, about yourself. About where you were.

Your breath caught in your throat as you scrolled through the texts, hands shaking, stomach twisting itself into knots so tight you thought you might be sick. Of course Tim was the first to figure out something was wrong. He was about five years too late though.

Tim: We need to talk. Please answer. I have questions. About Tiffany..

You could barely breathe. He wanted to investigate, to look deep into Tiffany. Now?

Now, after years of pushing you aside, after ignoring every cry for help, now he wanted to take your warnings seriously.

Your eyes burned, fingers tightening around the phone, your mind screaming at you to respond, to finally say all the things you’d held in your chest for too long.

But you didn’t. Instead, you turned the phone off. You shoved it under the pillow, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to push away the tears, trying to ignore the way your chest ached with something ugly and desperate.

The moment you walked out of the bedroom, you knew he had seen.

Slade was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest, gaze heavy with something unreadable. The phone was still buzzing beneath the pillow in the other room, and somehow, you knew he had heard it.

He had been waiting for this. You swallowed, standing stiffly near the doorway, trying to pretend like everything was fine. Slade didn’t say anything at first. He just watched.

“Took him long enough,” he mused, his voice casual, controlled.

You rolled your eyes. He's been bitchy ever since the whole Harvey thing.

Slade’s eye flickered to your hands, still clenched at your sides. “And let me guess—you ignored him.”

You hated how easily he could see through you. You glared at him, jaw tight. “None of your business.”

Slade chuckled, shaking his head, pushing off the counter and closing the distance between you in slow, measured steps.

“Oh, sweetheart.” His voice was lower now, smoother, curling around your spine like a threat disguised as affection. “Everything about you is my business.”

You tensed. Slade reached up, tracing a gloved finger along your cheek, tilting your chin up slightly, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“He’ll keep calling,” he murmured. “He’ll keep begging. He'll figure it out and tell the rest of the little squad and they'll all come running back. Just like your dear old Dent. ” His lips curled into something mocking. “That’s what they do, isn’t it? Make mistakes because they know you'll forgive them?"

You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. Not to hurt you, just enough to remind you who was in control.

His thumb brushed over your lips, slow, deliberate. “What are you gonna do?”

Your breath hitched. Slade leaned in slightly, voice dropping even lower. Dangerous. “Do you want Tim to tell the others? Want your family back? Want him back? Even after he fucked your sister while you were lying sick in your bed?”

Your throat tightened. He was toying with you. Mocking you, trying to hurt you. Making you say it. And you didn’t want to say it. Because you didn’t know. Your family had been your world.For so long, all you wanted was to be seen.

To be loved.

To be something more than just a ghost standing in the background, watching them fawn over someone who had stolen everything from you. And Harvey gave that to you, before he betrayed you.

And now, he was sorry. Soon, they would all know the truth and be sorry.

The emotions clawed at your throat.

You wanted to scream at Tim. Tell him it was too late. Tell them that he could never fix this. No amount of investigating and apologies could make up for years of neglect.

But another part of you, the part that still ached for their love, the part that still wanted them to prove you wrong,

That part whispered, “What if?” What if when they found out the truth, they would love you? What if this time, they actually stayed?

What if this was your chance to finally have the family you always wanted?

The war inside your head made you dizzy. And Slade knew it. He was still holding you, still keeping you rooted to him, while your world spun out of control. After a long, suffocating silence, Slade finally sighed. “You’re a mess.”

You glared at him, pushing away from his grip. “Fuck you.”

Slade chuckled, unfazed. “You do it almost every night.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, "You're a child, you know that?"

You turned away, grabbing a glass from the counter, hands still shaking slightly as you filled it with water. You weren’t thirsty, but you needed something—anything—to keep yourself grounded.

Slade leaned against the counter again, watching you with amusement, but something deeper lurked beneath it. Then, in a voice so casual it almost didn’t register, “I’ll make him stop. I'll make them both stop.”

The glass almost slipped from your fingers. You turned sharply, eyes wide. “What?”

Slade shrugged, like it was nothing. “You don’t want to deal with them. You don’t want to make a decision. So I’ll make it for you.”

Your breath caught. Slade never dealt with things peacefully, he got rid of problems permanately. “You can’t just—”

“I can.” His smirk deepened. “And I will.”

Your stomach twisted. Because the worst part was; you weren’t sure if you were relieved or horrified. Because Slade was right. You didn’t want to make a choice. You wanted someone to do it for you.

And Slade was more than happy to take that burden.

The first thing you noticed the next morning was the silence. No more buzzing. No more messages lighting up your screen. Slade had done it.

He hadn’t waited for you to argue. Hadn’t given you the choice. By the time you checked your phone, every number had been blocked. Every contact erased like they had never existed at all.

And maybe that’s what Slade wanted.

For them to be nothing but ghosts in your past. A clean break. A fresh start. So why did it feel like your chest was splitting open?

You had spent years craving their attention. Years begging for even a scrap of love. And now? Now you had the chance to get it. And you ignored it. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That you didn’t need them. That you had spent too long chasing something that was never meant to be yours.

And yet, as you stood in the quiet of the apartment, phone gripped too tight in your hands, you ached. Because you had wanted them to fight for you.

Slade had left that morning, his usual teasing smirk in place, but there had been something off.

Maybe it was the fact that his mission was dragging out longer than expected.

Maybe it was the way his fingers had lingered under your chin before he left, thumb brushing over your jaw like he was making sure you were still his.

Or maybe it was the way he had muttered, “Be good while I’m gone, sweetheart.” as you kissed him goodbye.

Like he already knew you wouldn’t be. Like he already knew something was coming. The apartment felt too big without him. His absence wasn’t something you should have noticed.

But you did.

It was in the empty space beside you when you sat on the couch. The extra portion of dinner you made out of habit. The lack of footsteps behind you. The missing weight of his presence pressing against your world, keeping you safe.

It was the first time in months you had been truly alone. So you did the only thing you could think of.

You took a nice, long, hot, shower, trying to dull the ache below your hips. You and Slade had sex last night, but somehow you were already wanting more. It was like your body could sense his absense.

You stood under the hot water, letting the steam curl around your skin, letting the heat scald away the thoughts clawing at your mind.

Maybe Slade was right. Maybe it was easier to just let go.

There was a sound. Soft. Distant. A creak where there shouldn’t be one. You wouldn't have heard it, wouldn't have sensed the body heat if you didn't have your powers. Your heart stopped. You turned off the water immediately, listening.

Nothing.

Maybe it was just—

Another creak. Closer this time. You swallowed, pulse hammering, every nerve in your body screaming at you that something was wrong. Slade was gone.

No one should be here. But you weren’t alone.

The second you stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around your damp skin, fangs reader and a knife in your hand, you felt him.

The shift in the air. The weight of someone watching. And then, his voice.

“Gotta admit,” Harvey mused, voice smooth, mocking, as if he had any right to be angry “didn’t think you’d be the type to shack up with a guy like him.”

Your stomach dropped. You turned sharply, eyes darting across the room, breath catching in your throat when you saw him.

Sitting on your bed. On Slade’s bed.

Harvey was leaning back against the headboard, one leg crossed over the other, looking far too comfortable. Like he belonged there. Like he wasn’t the intruder in this equation.

Harvey sat there like he hadn’t broken in, hadn’t shattered what little peace you had left. The moment you stepped out of the shower, still dripping, wrapped only in a towel, you knew, he was waiting for you.

Your fingers clenched around the towel’s edge, jaw tight, pulse pounding.

"You’ve got some fucking nerve," you muttered, stepping further into the room, closing the distance between you and him.

Harvey leaned back against the pillows, one arm draped lazily over the headboard, watching you with something smug, something knowing.

"Had to see you," he said simply. Like it was normal. Like it was nothing.

Your stomach twisted. It was never nothing with Harvey.

"And let me guess," you bit back. "You just let yourself in."

His smirk widened. "Door was unlocked, it’s not breaking and entering if you used to live together."

You let out a sharp laugh. "Bullshit. That’s exactly what it is, Dent. We don't like together anymore. Never did officially either."

Harvey didn’t flinch. Instead, his gaze slid lower. Over the damp strands of your hair. Over your throat. Your collarbone. Your bare legs.

You knew that look. It made something ugly stir inside you.

He looked at you, gaze slow, deliberate, taking in every inch of you. The damp strands of hair clinging to your skin. The way the towel barely covered enough to keep you decent.

His lips curled into a smirk. “Don’t stop on my account. Nothing I haven't seen before.”

Your fingers clenched around the towel, pulse thundering. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Harvey let out a quiet chuckle, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Relax, sweetheart. Just thought I’d drop by. Say hello. You wouldn’t answer your phone, so I figured—” he spread his arms in mock innocence, “—why not pay a visit?”

You hated how calm he was. How easy he made it look. Like he hadn’t just broken into your home. Like he hadn't broken your heart. Your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths, heart hammering against your ribs. Slade was gone. Gone.

No one was coming. But you could handle yourself. And Harvey knew it. His eyes flickered down your body again, this time slow, calculating. Looking at all the marks and love bites Slade had left the night before. “You always did have a thing for older men,” he mused.

Your jaw clenched. Low blow.

Harvey smirked. “What’s the matter? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Thought you could just run off and play house with Gotham’s favorite mercenary and I’d let it slide?” He tsked, almost disappointed. “That’s not how this works, sweetheart.”

You glared at him. Where did he get the audacity? “You don’t own me. Especially not now. Especially not after what you did. Your apology didn't change anything. You've got no right to be here.”

Harvey’s expression darkened, but only for a second. Then he grinned. “Funny. That’s exactly what I was thinking about him.”

Your stomach twisted. Because you knew what he was doing. He wanted you off balance. He wanted you to doubt. It was working. Because a part of you—a part you hated—was already wondering what Slade would do when he found out. Because he would find out. How jealous would he be? Would he finally drop the whole nonchalant act, ask you to be official?

Harvey’s smirk widened. “You think he’s coming back soon? You waiting for him? That's real cute princess.”

Your throat tightened. “He'll be back tomorrow.”

Harvey shrugged, stretching out like he had all the time in the world. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How missions can just drag out longer than expected?” His grin turned sharp. Cruel. “Would be a real shame if something happened to keep him… occupied.”

Your blood froze. Harvey watched you, waiting for the realization to sink in. He knew. He knew Slade wasn’t coming home anytime soon.

Your fingers curled into fists and suddenly you were on top of him, fangs bared, “What did you do?”

Harvey simply leaned back, enjoying himself and the view of your almost naked body on top of him. He turned his neck, as if trying to give you more access to him.

Harvey raised an eyebrow. “Now, now. Don’t go blaming me. I didn’t lift a finger.” His grin widened. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know who did.”

Your breath was coming too fast, too shallow, panic creeping up your spine. Slade was gone. Harvey was here. You were trapped. And Harvey knew it. Your pulse pounded. Slade was gone. Harvey was here.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, pinning him down harder against the mattress, your fangs bared, breath coming in sharp, furious exhales.

"What did you do?" you hissed again, voice low, dangerous, shaking with barely contained rage.

Harvey smirked up at you, completely unbothered. His eyes gleamed with that same smug amusement, like he was playing with his food.

"Relax, sweetheart," he murmured, voice infuriatingly smooth, teasing. "No need to get all worked up."

You pressed your thighs against his sides, pinning him harder. "Answer me, Harvey."

He let out a slow breath, his smirk twitching, dark amusement flickering across his features. "You always were so determined. I love that about you."

Your fingers tightened, nearly scratching his back, sharp acrylics pressing into his skin through the fabric of his white button down. You didn't want to hurt him, not badly at least.

"Tell me why Slade’s mission is taking so long," you demanded, your weight pressing down on him, your legs gripping him tighter.

Harvey’s hands moved then; sliding slowly up your thighs, gripping just hard enough to make your breath catch.

"You really think I’m gonna make this easy for you?" he murmured, voice dropping to something lower, something thicker with something he wasn’t bothering to hide.

Your stomach flipped, heat creeping down your spine, twisting through your limbs. He knew. He felt it.

His smirk widened, his hips shifting beneath you just slightly.

And that’s when you felt it.

Hard. Throbbing. Pressing against the thin fabric of his slacks, against the barely-there barrier of your towel. You nearly moaned, stop being a slut, you tried to tell yourself.

You froze, just for a second. And Harvey noticed.

You were straddling him, baring your venomous fangs. You could kill him. And he was hard. You could feel it, it was impossible not to, thick, twitching against your inner thigh, pressed right against you.

Your powers didn’t help. They never fucking did. The second you got close enough to feel body heat, it was over. It was a constant hum under your skin, that ache, that need, clawing at your sanity. Your towel barely clinging to your damp skin, the heat of his body seeping into yours, you didn't know how much longer you could hold on.

He let out a low, pleased chuckle, his good hand settling on your waist, just barely gripping. "Didn’t know you missed me this much, sweetheart. Thought you were over me?"

Your nails dug into his chest even harder, but he didn’t flinch. He never fucking did. "Tell me where Slade is," you demanded.

Harvey hummed, mocking. "You sure you wanna talk about him right now?" His fingers flexed against your skin, his smirk widening as he shifted slightly beneath you again. "Because from where I’m sitting, you got bigger problems."

Your breath hitched, and you hated it. Hated the way your traitorous body reacted to him. Hated the way he felt so familiar.

His gaze flickered, taking in the flush on your skin, the way your thighs squeezed involuntarily around him. He felt it too. The heat. The tension. The pull that never really disappeared, no matter how many times you had tried to convince yourself that you were done with him.

"You always were greedy," Harvey murmured, tilting his head, eyes dark with something wicked. He was loving this. "You just can’t get enough, can you?"

Suddenly, you were angry at him again. You remembered Tiffany. Your grip tightened around his wrists, holding him down, pressing harder into him, and his smirk twitched, just slightly.

Good. Let him fucking squirm. "You still think you have control here?" you whispered, lowering your head, your breath grazing the sharp line of his jaw.

His breathing faltered. Just for a second. Just enough.

Then, just as quickly, his lips curled again, sharp and taunting.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, voice deep, smug, full of sin. "As long as youre on top of me or under me, I don't give a shit who's in control."

Your entire body tensed. Your nails dragged down his chest, slow, teasing, right over his shirt. You could feel his heartbeat pounding beneath your fingertips, fast, erratic, out of sync with the smug bastard act he was putting on.

He was burning for you. Just as much as you were for him. But you weren’t going to give in.

"You still think you can do whatever you want to me?" you whispered, leaning in, letting your lips hover just over his.

Harvey’s eyes flickered. A muscle in his jaw ticked. And for the first time since he had shown up, his smirk finally fucking dropped.

You grinned. Then you moved your hips and ran your fingers up and down his chest.

Harvey cursed sharply through his teeth, his grip on your waist tightening instantly, fingers digging into your skin like a vice. His dick twitched against you through his slacks, so fucking hard and aching that you could almost feel the pulse of it.

You let out a slow, breathy chuckle. "Guess you do still want me, huh?"

Harvey’s breathing was uneven. "Careful," he rasped, voice lower, darker, more dangerous now. "You’re playing a real stupid game, princess."

"Why?" you taunted, grinded your hips again, watching the way his fingers twitched like he was fighting the urge to snap. "Because you can’t handle it? Because you can’t handle me?"

It was fun being in control. Slade never let you do whatever you wanted to him, barely ever in the bedroom. You loved control, especially when it meant having a man at your mercy beneath you.

Harvey’s eyes flashed. Then, he flipped you. Fast. Brutal.

You barely had time to react before you were the one beneath him , your towel barely hanging onto your body, his hand locked around your wrist, pinning you down, his body hovering over yours, pressing you into the mattress.

His breathing was hard, uneven, tense.

"You really think I don’t know what you’re doing?" he murmured, so close now.

Your chest heaved. You got too cocky, too confident, and now you were paying the price, "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Harvey laughed softly, mocking, brushing his nose against yours. "Liar."

You swallowed, pulse hammering.

"You love this," he said, voice like gravel against your skin. "The attention. The desperation and groveling. You love seeing me beg. The way you talk like you want to kill me, and the next second," his lips ghosted your cheek, his cock pressing hard against your thigh, "you’re grinding against me like a fucking addict."

Your breath hitched. His grip tightened.

"He ever let you get on top?" he murmured, lips just barely grazing yours.

Your stomach twisted. "Don't."

His voice dropped lower, rougher. "Did you think about me when he had you at first? Did you close your eyes and pretend it was my hands on you even after I broke your heart? Should I tell him that?"

Your nails dug into his shoulder, your body betraying you, the heat between your legs only getting worse, stronger, overwhelming, unbearable.

"You wish," you rasped, but it sounded too breathless, too shaky.

Harvey smirked. He knew. "Say you don’t miss me," he challenged.

You clenched your jaw, turning your head away, trying to ignore the way your body burned beneath his.

"Say it," he demanded.

You tried to, but the words wouldn't come out.

Harvey hummed. Then, his fingers slid lower, trailing along your bare thigh, teasing the hem of the towel.

"Yeah," he mused, smug and cruel. "That’s what I thought."

His fingers flexed against your thighs, his grip tightening.

"Little desperate, aren’t you?" he murmured, his voice thick with something smug, something rough.

You scoffed, but your heart was hammering, your body betraying you. "If I was desperate," you whispered, leaning forward until your lips were just barely brushing against his, taunting, teasing. "You’d already be inside me."

Harvey let out a low groan. He flipped you back around, giving you full control. Letting you be on top. You lost yourself for a moment, lost the plot. You melted into him and began kissing his neck slowly and unbuttoning his shirt as you slowly moved against him. But then, you saw the picture frame you hung of you and Slade, right behind Harvey.

Slade made you take down all the photos whenever he went away on a mission, in case someone broke in and saw them, and decided to hurt you to get back at him. It was the only one you refused to remove.

It was of you and him, two months ago. Slade had a mission in Paris and he let you tag along, after you were done, you made him go to an ice cream shop. Some sweet old man asked if you wanted a picture together, Slade wasn't smiling, barely even smirking, but you could see the happiness in his eyes as he had his arms around your waist, looking down at you.

You felt nauseous, all the arousal you felt was gone. You were a whore. How could you do this to Slade? You stopped moving as your eyes watered, what if Harvey had done something to him?

Harvey's hands snapped up, gripping your hips, grinding you down onto him. He wasn't gonna let you stop now.

"Fuck, baby, I forgot how good you are at this. Don't stop, please." he exhaled, almost begging, his jaw tightening, his cock pulsing against you.

You bit your lip, trying to fight the heat clawing through your body, the way your nerves lit up at the sheer pressure of him beneath you. It felt so good. You were horny again. But you could use this to your advantage, Harvey wanted you even more that you wanted him.

"Tell me," you whispered, rolling your hips just slightly, torturing him. "Tell me what you mean when you say Slade's occupied.."

Harvey’s smirk curled, his hands dragging you down harder, making you feel every inch of him. " What’s it worth to you?"

Your breath hitched. Harvey’s fingers trailed up your back, slow, possessive, teasing. "You wanna make sure your merc comes back in one piece?"

You swallowed hard, your body thrumming with frustration, anger, something else. All control you had was slipping, your powers were making you horny but they weren't working. Harvey wasn't listening to what you told him to do.

"Make me happy, sweetheart. If I’m happy," his smirk deepened, his voice dripping with dark amusement. " the bastard stays alive."

Your chest tightened, heat roaring up your spine, burning you from the inside out. You hated him. You wanted him. You needed to keep Slade alive. Harvey’s hands slid lower, his thumbs tracing slow, burning circles into your skin.

"Make a decision, pretty girl, his flight leaves soon." he murmured, his dick twitched against you, heavy with need. God, how could he be horny while threatening your teacher/ mentor /situationship's life?

You couldn’t lose Slade.

So you kissed him. Hard. Desperate.

Harvey groaned against your lips, his hands flying up to grip your waist, dragging you down harder against him, practically trying to merge your bodies together.

"That’s my girl," he muttered, his voice rough, victorious, possessive.

Your stomach burned with shame, with need, with something twisted and terrible. You hated him. You loved him.

You needed Slade to live.

But you couldn't do this to Slade, couldn't betray him on the bed you shared every night. He would be livid, what would he do in this situation? Probably kill Harvey. But you weren't Slade, you weren't as brave or as cruel as him.

So you did what you do best: You ran.

You jumped off of Harvey, punching him in the nose, still only in your towel that somehow stayed on, and shut the bedroom door in his face. You had powers, you were faster than Harvey, maybe even stronger than him. You made it to the front door in seconds, but your heart dropped as you saw the three new deadbolts.

Fucking Slade. You debated letting him die at that point.

Suddenly, you felt him behind you, grabbing you and pinning you against the door.

“Goddamn,” He laughed, amused, mocking, “you really thought that would work?”

You snarled, struggling harder, but he didn’t budge. His grip only tightened.

“Let me go, Harvey.”

His breath hitched at the way you said his name. Not Dent. Not Two-Face. Not some alias meant to keep distance. Just Harvey.

And it made something in his chest clench. His fingers flexed, his other hand dragging up your spine in a slow, deliberate motion, making you shudder.

“You always run, don’t you?” His voice was low, smooth—but there was something dangerous beneath it. “Always running from someone.”

His grip tightened on your wrists, pressing them into the wall, “From them. From me. From yourself.”

You hated how well he knew you. You hated that he was right. You hated how he got you into bed willingly even as the guilt ate you up. You hated how good he made you feel, how you couldn't bring yourself to say no. If you did, he would stop, and you didn't want that.

"Don't act like you don't want me now. You were all over me not even a minute ago." He sneered, as he ripped off your towel like it offended him.

You didn't know how many times you came, or how long you went for. You felt so good, but somehow you've never felt worse. Even as Harvey made you scream his name, you thought of how Slade would react.

You felt even worse as the night wore on, and instead of rough sex, you began to make love. Harvey buried his face in your neck as he muttered apologies, still buried inside you, and swore he would make it up to you.

You began to cry, it felt so good. But it was so wrong, so disgusting.

And you knew you never felt true regret until you woke up the next morning in Harvey Dent's arms, naked on the bed you slept on with Slade Wilson.

WHAT YALL THINK?? 1-10?? ALSO COMMENT DOWN BELOW TO BE ON THE TAGLIST FOR THIS STORY

#yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batman #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere bruce wayne #yandere x reader #yandere bruce wayne x reader #yandere dick grayson #yandere harvey dent #yandere slade wilson #platonic yandere batman #yandere jason todd x reader

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hana-no-seiiki · 4 months ago

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Sorry for the long hiatus. My meds for my bipolar disorder have made it very difficult to have inspiration/motivation for anything aside from normie activities.

Anyways I have a lot planned for this year! Hopefully you guys enjoy these works that have been in the backburner for a while while now. Love yall.

Without further ado, here’s a little drabble/some hcs as appetizers.

YANDERE BATFAM x HAREM! READER

tw/cw: DID coded shenanigans. Multiple Readers converge from my other works. Confusing fuckery. Yun writing without his meds. Featuring @sophiethewitch1 ‘s loser reader from What We Want. Mad Genius! Reader.

inspired by: The Herta (Honkai Star Rail) and a lil Iron Man.

Okay it but wouldn’t it be fucking hilarious if Reader gave the boys a harem of their own.

Like perhaps they’re just this immortal genius that creates puppets. Each with its unique personality and looks. But all of them share one thing, a love for their creator and the batfam. (And are all under your control…mostly)

Let’s start with your failures shall we? After all, the most precious thing to a genius like you, is your mistakes. However few or many there are.

You created Cat Villain! Reader as a test. No flashy powers beyond invisibility and teleportation. What you did give them however, was a whole load of sass and mystique. Something that drew in the Robins pretty well at first, but they soon lose interest in favor of … well

another work of yours was Alien! Reader. The goody two shoes with a dark side. (You couldn’t make them perfectly straight and narrow, that would have been far too boring). But Alien! Reader started dating Damian way too quickly. And everyone seemed so happy with the arrangement that you quickly ended it all. Swiftly killing your puppet in a fit of boredom. (Don’t worry, you kept some spare parts in order to rebuild them later on if such a whim caught your fancy)

Now, What We Want! Reader was special. It took a lot of time, effort, and whole butt load of money. Crossing dimensions was a lot more difficult than you thought it would be. But of course, in the end, your perfect self managed to pull through.

Replacing the original What We Want! Reader with a puppet that housed a soul from another world? Genius. Absolutely brilliant. You should reward yourself with how smart you are.

Unfortunately the boys got too excited and locked her up. Almost removing your access to one of your favorite experiments! How could they?

And so you send her back home. Safe and sound (and ready for part two!)

While looking through other dimensions, a certain manga/anime caught your eye. Makima! Reader was inspired from the character herself. And Bruce’s lack of participation and eagerness in some of your previous tests. And so you made his utter nightmare. One who killed when it was necessary and kill you did.

Unfortunately Makima! Reader almost made [Favorite DC Villain] pass away and you wouldn’t want that happening, don’t you?

In getting What We Want! Reader to your dimension you failed to account one of your stupid puppets getting into the collider by accident. And thus was What’s Up Danger? Reader was born.

You let it roam free for the most part, but for some reason time seemed to loop around them meeting the batboys for the first time and would never go beyond it. (Probably cause the author hasn’t updated in a dozen amber eras at this point)

Exasperated and in dire need of some fun in your life. You bring back all the readers one last time.

And oh, the chaos that ensued was one for the ages.

Finally, a success.

©️ h.n.s. - yun | 2025

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kkuzushi · 6 months ago

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❇️ anon: Could you do an NSFW post of making love to Kabukimono for the first time? Like a sweet, consensual experience that is both super pleasurable for him and also helps his bond with the reader grow closer?? Where he’s being an absolute darling and is a little nervous, and reader soothes him and ends up fucking him into pure euphoria while whispering sweet nothings in his ear??? Idk I just really love him and I think some fluffy NSFW with him would be perfect! <3

“ 𝐊𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐨’𝐬 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 ”

✦ characters: sub!Kabukimono x gn!reader

✦ cw: virgin + small dick kabu, gentle sex, loooots of foreplay, praise, fingering (giving), frotting, coming untouched, cock/strap penetration

✦ word count: 3.476k

✦ notes: I didn’t want to rush anything for Kabukimono’s first time so there’s lots of foreplay here. <3

sfw ver | ✦ nsfw ver

It’s late into the night. Everyone’s laid and snuggled up into their futons, just like you and Kabukimono—tangled in each other’s limbs yet not asleep. Your lips are locked in with each other, the action feeling both gentle and desperate for the inexperienced puppet.

Initially, Kabukimono was nervous to ask for your help. These weird sensations in his stomach when you’re close��it was starting to bother him, and your solution to this was to indulge it. Once after getting a taste of your passionate affection, Kabukimono was soon lost in the moment, his inexperience shining through his clumsy yet eager kisses.

The puppet seemed to have forgotten that you’re still human however, still needing air in between each kiss. Slowly, you pull away and softly gasp for air. Kabukimono’s eyes fluttered open, confusion pasting in his face, “Why’d you stop? Did I do it wrong?”

You chucked at his innocent questions. The way he was confused yet concerned at the same time was inexplicably endearing. “No, darling,” You shook your head, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just needed to breathe.”

“Oh,” Kabukimono replies, his face feeling warm despite his lack of ability to blush like a human. “I’m sorry,” He added in a hushed tone as he got closer to your face once more, “I’ll be more mindful.” His lips hovered yours, silently asking permission to kiss you.

You reciprocate his action, foreheads pressing against each other. “There’s nothing to apologize for,” you reassured him with a small, comforting smile before leaning back in, picking up right where you had left off. “You’re so eager—it’s adorable,” you teased softly, parting your lips to meet the eager movements of his tongue again.

Kabukimono felt more giddy than he already was, his arms wrapped around your neck, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Something about your reassurances, your praises.. It keeps him going. Keeps him wanting more—needing more. You love indulging him, and tonight, you might as well see how far this would go.

Your hands roamed around his kimono, slowly tugging on the ribbons and robes to slide it off his body with care. Kisses trailed down to his chin, his half-lidded eyes fluttering as it follows your head until it’s buried to his neck.

“Ahmngh..!” Whimpers start to escape from Kabukimono’s lips, his head instinctively tilting up to give you more access. The soft kisses on his untainted neck sends pleasant shivers down his spine, desperate to receive more.

The remnants of his kimono and his undergarments cling to his frame, the last barriers between you. You lift yourself slightly, taking a moment to drink in the sight of him beneath you. His face is a deep shade of red, cheeks flushed from the intensity of your actions, even though all you’ve done so far is kiss him.

“I’m going to try something,” you murmured, crawling on top of him with deliberate slowness. Your knees pressed into the bedding on either side of his waist, and the way his violet eyes widened, pupils dilating ever so slightly, betrayed his inexperience and the nervous excitement he couldn’t hide.

The puppet’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t need to breathe, but somehow, the sensation of you angled above him was enough to make his non-existent pulse race. Something raw and unfamiliar stirred in him, leaving him vulnerable yet captivated.

“What are you gonna do?” Kabukimono asked, his voice filled with genuine curiosity as his gaze followed the motion of your hands. They traced along the lines of his stomach over the fabric, ghosting over his ribs before traveling upward toward his chest.

His body trembled under your touch, an unfiltered reaction he couldn’t control—couldn’t even begin to understand. Slowly, your fingers brush the outline of his nipples, the contact sparking unintentional jolts through his body.

“A-Ah!” Kabukimono gasped, his back slightly arching from surprise before falling back down just as immediately. The sensation caused him to stare at you for a moment, both surprised and confused by his own reaction.

You paused as well, fingers stilling on his chest. “How was that?” You asked in a tender tone, watching for any negative reaction or movement he would show.

The puppet didn’t know what to answer at first, his brain still digesting the earlier contact. “It’s different, but not bad..” His hands, previously clutching the sheets beneath you two, now find its way to your wrist, a silent permission for you to continue.

Not needing to be told twice, your fingers continued its ministrations. His nipples hardened from just a slight brush, poking underneath the fabric of his kimono. You rolled the pebbled peaks in between your index and thumb, gently twisting and pinching them to Kabukimono’s preference.

“Hnn..♡ feels nice..” Kabukimono whimpered, back arching closer to your fingers. He hasn’t felt anything this good—besides literally any other affection you’ve given him—and he loves it. It’s confusing, a little overwhelming, but knowing these feelings are inflicted by you.. it allows him to enjoy the intimacy he sees behind it.

You didn’t even need to hear any verbal reaction from him; the way his hands clung tightly to your wrists was a telltale sign of just how much he was enjoying this—perhaps even more than expected.

Leaning down, you captured his lips in another kiss, and he eagerly complied, his trembling body pressing further beneath you. You swallowed every sound he made, each muffled noise vibrating against your lips. It tasted like the unrestrained innocence of someone experiencing this kind of intimacy for the first time.

It was undeniably arousing, however, you knew this is about Kabukimono. You’d put your own needs aside if it meant showing him the depths of pleasure just waiting underneath his fingertips.

You pull away again, gasping for air, and you see him do the same. Was he imitating you or was the puppet actually feeling breathless in his own way? Nevermind that, the sight was enough to spark excitement in your eyes.

“Let me take these off for you,” You say, finally discarding the last layer of his robes. Kabukimono lifts himself to assist you in removing the fabric, his delicate figure finally getting a breather. The pleasure was so good that his own clothes felt too tight around his body.

As soon as you got him naked, you spoiled his chest with kisses, each one a testament of your love and desire for him. Your eyes glanced up to find his own, meeting his glassy gaze in an instant.

Your tongue darts out of your mouth, tracing it to the side before reaching his erect nipples. As you latch on one of them, Kabukimono mewled in a high pitched tone.

“ngHAAh..?!! ♡” Once again, Kabukimono's back arched to your mouth, allowing you to suck on his nipples more. It feels so good, but it looks like he’s trying to move away as well. The confusing mix of ‘wanting more’ and ‘can’t take any more’ seems to be messing with his program.

“T-Too much.. hah.. too good..! ♡” His head thrashed to the side, his indigo hair fanning out on his face and pillow. His hands scrambled to your head, tangling around your hair strands as he anchored himself. “Mmngh.. is it supposed to–hmn!–feel this g-good..?”

You chucked as your tongue swirled around the hard nubs, sending a delightful vibration across his chest before you pulled away. “It is, but if it gets too much, you know the word..” You spoke, pressing gentle kisses on his collarbone, letting him calm down from the high of his pleasure.

“Dearest, please..”

“Hm? Go on, I’m listening.”

“Please.. take off your clothes.. I wanna feel you more.”

His request reminded you that he was the only one bare in bed. You chuckled after sensing both his embarrassment and need. You discarded the top of your clothes, and Kabukimono was quick to feel it with his uncalloused hands. The ball joints of his knuckles felt good to the human skin, like it was massaging you even without the intention.

The puppet pulled you closer, face buried in the crook of your neck as his lips started to imitate the kisses you’ve given him earlier. “Don’t stop yet, please.. the feeling in my stomach hasn’t gone away,” He murmured against your skin, goosebumps forming on your nape from just the vibration of his voice.

You turn your head to look at his legs, it’s shaking slightly and there’s already a noticeable bulge on his underwear. “Don’t worry. We’re not done until you’re satisfied, darling,” You reassured. One of your legs settled in between his, making them spread apart.

You hold him by the waist, fingers pressing into the soft curve as your free hand trails down to his thigh, tracing idle shapes against his supple skin. “Look at me, Kabu,” you whisper, your voice low and laced with affection. His wide, indigo eyes snap to yours without hesitation, filled with trust and an overwhelming vulnerability.

Not a moment is wasted before your lips find his again, the kiss deep and consuming. It almost distracted him from your hand that’s inching closer and closer to his intimate area, settling on his inner thigh. Your thumb then brushes on a damp spot of his garment, receiving an involuntary snap from his hip.

Kabukimono gasped out of the kiss, watching your hand that already pulled away the very last thing that kept him covered. His cock springs free, the length not any bigger than your palm. It’s honestly adorable, making you pause for a moment

“D-Dearest, you shouldn’t– I mean–.. don’t stare so much..” Kabukimono voiced out, quickly covering his small dick with his palm. “I don’t think you should be looking at it..” He adds softly, shying away from your gaze.

His embarrassment only served to tempt you further, drawing you in like a magnet. Maybe it isn’t fair for him to show such an intimate thing while you’re just here, watching over him.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” you said softly, cupping one side of his face and brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Here, why don’t I show you it’s nothing to be shy about?”

Kabukimono watches as you offer yourself the same tenderness. His wide eyes follow your fingers, hooking on your lower garments, discarding it the same way you did with his. As your own cock has been exposed out of its confinements, Kabukimono gulped. It’s certainly bigger than his, intimidating yet he doesn’t shy away from it, unlike with his own.

You lower your hips to his, erect cocks touching each other. You start to grind in a gentle manner, frotting against him. Kabukimono moaned at the feeling of being so close to you, his own hips imitating your actions without much thought.

“Nhah–more.. please, more..” Kabukimono whined, his fingers clawing on your shoulders as he tried to ground himself from the overwhelming pleasure of direct contact with your dick. Now how could you deny that cute whine? If anything, it’s turning you on even more.

You reached for his cock, stroking yours with it. “uwAH–!♡ hanggh..~♡♡” Kabukimono jolted from your movement, unsure whether he should chase the friction or run away from it. His eyes rolled back, mouth hanging open as unadulterated moans streamed out.

Kabukimono’s cock starts to leak precum, messing up your palm, wet squelches echoing in the room. You gather the lube, coating your fingers with it before tracing down to his ass. You continue to grind, wanting to keep him suspended in that euphoric state, savoring every moment of his bliss before gently introducing him to another uncharted sensation.

Soon enough, the puppet’s attention falters as he feels one of your fingers circling his rim. He looks at you with a nervous gaze, “Wait, that’s dirty..!” He whispered, despite his comment, he gently rocks back to your fingertips.

You laugh softly, “Relax, darling. I’ll make sure you’ll feel good.” Your index starts to probe inside his untouched hole, the tight muscle fluttering around your digit. Kabukimono’s back arched for the umpteenth time, nails digging further to your skin.

“Feels–weird..hah..” He closed his eyes shut, fighting the discomfort of having something inside his hole for the very first time. You press your lips to his ear, whispering ever so softly for him to relax, that he got this, that he’s being a very good boy for you. He moaned at the praises, the pressure of your finger progressively getting pleasurable as seconds went by.

Once you notice him beginning to relax, the tension in his muscles slowly melting away, you take the silent cue to pump your fingers in and out at a steady pace. You let him get lost in the moment before your middle finger joined in, slowly but surely stretching him.

“Aannnh– that feels.. good..♡” His head falls back, his mouth opening as his moans increase in volume. “D-Don’t stop.. hngh–!♡” His hips rocks back to your fingers, meeting your gentle thrusts. His cock, still pressed against yours, is leaking more than ever.

As you scissor him open, you take the lubricant gel you’ve prepared from the start. You open it with your free hand and smear it on both your and Kabukimono’s cock. He whimpered at the jelly feeling, his small dick throbbing involuntarily.

He looks down and sees you applying it on his ass as well, your fingers gliding more easily now. “That feels–HAmnhh?!♡” You curled your fingers just as soon as he talked, words interrupted by a loud whine. You feel the tip of your fingers rub on something spongy.

“Found it.” You murmured to his ear, watching him writhe as you continuously rubbed his prostate.

His twitching legs wrapped around yours, toes curling from the overwhelming ecstasy your fingers provide. You’re close to the finale and you can’t help but imagine how Kabukimono would react once you’re finally inside him.

Slowly, you pull your fingers out, grabbing his legs to wrap it on your waist. “Mhn.. what are you..?” Kabukimono’s eyes flutter open, following the way you align yourself in between him. “W-Wait! Are you going to.. put it in?” His eyes widened, anticipation and nervousness shining through his pupils.

You scoop him to a soft embrace, placing a peck on his lips. “It’s okay, I’ll be gentle,” You reassured, pressing your forehead against his. “I’ll put it in slowly, tell me to stop if you need a moment.”

The head of your cock traces the rim of his hole, his precum and the lubricant mixing together. Once you feel him ease up, you slowly slide your way inside. Inch by inch, the puppet crumbled underneath you, eyes shut tightly as his tight muscle got stretched by your shaft.

He didn’t speak, too focused on the burning sensation of you pushing inside. You stopped half way through, not wanting to push beyond his limits. “Are you okay? Do you want me to pull out?” You asked in a soft tone, carding your fingers through his indigo locks to comfort him.

Kabukimono stayed still for a moment but shook his head, “I-I’m fine.. hah.. you’re just–mmn–big.” Whimpers start to escape his lips, even with how he’s biting it so hard.

“If you can’t handle it, we don’t have to push it–”

“No! I mean.. no, please.. you’re not all the way in yet, are you? I can take it.. I think.”

The way his eagerness mixed with trepidation had a certain charm to it. He’s always like this—never letting his fears or the unknown sway him. With a soft sigh, you start to thrust yourself in further. “Alright then, relax yourself, darling. You’re doing so good.”

Soon enough, you fully bottomed out inside him, his inner walls clinging to your entire length. "Tell me when you’re ready," you continued, your fingers brushing tenderly against his cheek, tracing the delicate curve of his jawline, “We’ll go at your pace.” His lips parted slightly, a shaky sound escaping as he adjusted to the moment.

Kabukimono nodded, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief second before meeting yours again. "I... I think I'm ready," he said, his voice a mix of hesitation and trust.

You smiled gently, leaning in to press a reassuring kiss to his forehead. "Tell me if it’s too much, okay?" With that, you began to move, mindful of his every reaction, ensuring that he felt safe and cherished.

You start out slow, letting him savor the intimate atmosphere the both of you created. His legs hung loosely around your waist, his body rocking back and forth with every gentle thrust you give. If Kabukimono were to tell the truth, he was waiting for you to hit that perfect spot inside him again—the same one your fingers touched earlier.

He gasped everytime your cock slid back in, even with how deliberate your pace is, it’s enough to break his composure. “M-More..♡ ngh.. don’t stop..♡♡” He’d tell you every now and then, coaxing you to speed up and finally strike that one chord that’s waiting for you.

With his timid voice breaking through the stillness, you paused for a moment, searching his gaze for any hesitation. Finding none, you offered a soft smile, leaning close to murmur against his ear, "As you wish."

Responding to his request, you picked up the pace, your movements steady yet attentive to his every reaction. His fingers clung to you tighter, his breath hitching in rhythm with each motion. “You're doing a good job, sweetheart.” you praised, pressing a kiss to his temple, his soft whimpering a melody you couldn’t get enough of.

Sounds of skin to skin slapping against each other echoes in the room, as well as Kabukimono’s increasing moans. “Ah–ah–ah! Mnhgh feels shoooHNGAHh!♡♡” Finally, your cock has found his prostate once more.

“R-Riggnht theree..!!♡♡” He babbled incoherently, no longer in the right state of mind to tell you how good he’s feeling. You didn’t mind, just the way his inner walls were clenching around you was enough as it is.

The puppet soon becomes a writhing mess underneath you, clinging to your neck with his arms and his legs to your waist, locking and pulling you closer. His eyes have rilled to the back of his head, wanton moans unable to be suppressed.

Your movements quickened, but your care for Kabukimono didn’t waver. His cock bounced in between your stomach and his; every sound he made, every quiver of his body, only encouraged you to shower him with more reassurance.

“You’re incredible,” you whispered, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “So beautiful, so perfect for me.” His hands tightened their grip on your shoulders, his wide eyes filled with both vulnerability and a spark of exhilaration.

“Good boy, taking me so well,” you affirmed without hesitation, kissing the corner of his lips before continuing. “I love you, darling. Always.”

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his body responding instinctively to your touch and your words. “Lov– angh♡♡ yes.. I love you–nnmore, ah!♡” he replied shakily, his voice barely audible.

Kabukimono’s body trembled with every touch, his breathing shallow and erratic as if he were teetering on the edge of something overwhelming. You kept your pace steady, giving him the space he needed while still encouraging him to let go. “You’re almost there, I can feel it,” you murmured, your words a blend of encouragement and affection.

Kabukimono’s head tilted back as he let out a breathless sound, and his hands tightened around you. “I—ah—I feel somethinggh..!” he stuttered, his voice almost breaking under the pressure of the moment.

“Good,” you replied, your own voice tinged with excitement, not just for the pleasure of it, but for the emotional connection of this moment. “That’s it. Let go with me, Kabu.”

With that, Kabukimono’s body tightened around you, his small cock coming untouched. Strings of warm cum spurting out of the slit, landing to his stomach. You followed suit, your movements slowing as you both rode out the euphoric high, clinging to one another as you basked in the aftermath.

The room was silent save for the soft sounds of your heavy breathing, the tension in the atmosphere soon easing down.

After a few moments of silence, you leaned down to kiss him gently on the forehead, brushing a lock of his indigo hair away from his face. “You did so well, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”

He looked up at you, his indigo eyes soft and dazed, the lingering shyness and vulnerability still there. “‘m tired.. but good..” he whispered, his voice barely audible but full of emotion.

You chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Then let’s rest for now. We’ll clean up when you’re feeling better,” You spoke softly, caressing his scalp as his eyelids flutter close.

“Thank you.. I love you.”

“I love you.”

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starlight727 · 6 months ago

Text

A little gift

Shadow Milk Cookie x reader fic (Chapter 2 - Theater of Lies)

Part 1 (you are here)

Part 2

Part 3

You and the Brave Gang, Pure Vanilla, White Lily and Elder Faerie were all making your way to the HUGE theater that Shadow Milk had set up after escaping from the Silver Tree. The stage was beautifully and masterfully decorated, every detail of it was perfect, just what Shadow Milk was looking for in the stage that would help depict his side of the story, the story about the day the Beasts got sealed in the tree sooo unfairly.

When everyone reached the stage, you all had a couple of minutes to sit back, relax and get comfortable before the show started. Everyone stayed alert for any possible surprise attacks from the Jester, but you decided to sit down and wait instead. Out of everyone in the team, you were the only one who was actually interested in the show and learning about Shadow Milk more, perhaps you were having some... feelings after you two first met when he broke out of the Tree. His whole demeanor caught your attention and you couldn't help but stare in awe at him, he definitely noticed this and seemed to smile at you, something that made your heart jump in shock and excitement!

You seemed to smile at the memory of the encounter, it was like you were in a trance, the others noticed this and came closer to you to ask.

"Hey Y/N Cookie, what's got you smiling like that?" asked Strawberry Cookie

"Yeah, you look unusually happy despite everything that's going on right now." added Wizard Cookie. Their questions made you snapped out of your thoughts.

"Wha-? Oh! Sorry guys, I was just thinking about something funny, that's all!" you answered with a nervous chuckle.

"Hmm, alright but be careful, we have to stay alert, we don't know what that weird clown has in store for us" Wizard replied.

His response made you feel upset a bit, it made you wanna correct him by telling him the name and actual role of the Beast of Deceit. Almost as if... you were defending him... ok no, this is going too far, you have to calm yourself before you do anything stupid, so you keep your thoughts to yourself and close your mouth.

You hear circus music coming from the theater, something that made everyone jump a bit, everyone was so on edge, but you weren't, you were getting excited because the show was about to start! The lights dimmed and a spotlight aimed at the theater curtains. Shadow Milk Cookie presented himself and a round of applause could be heard from different directions, even you were clapping and cheering for him! Your friends could tell there was something wrong with you.

After the first act of the play ended and the stage curtains closed, everyone was preparing for the next act, they were feeling anxious and a bit impatient. You, on the other hand, were walking around in one spot, thinking about how fun and exciting the show was. It made you unable to stop thinking about Shadow Milk Cookie, how funny and clever he is, how smart and talented and... handsome and dreamy and charming and... WHOA OK!! Getting a little too deep in thought there, better slow down before someone notices you swooning and sighing over the jester you were supposed to help take down.

But as you stopped those thoughts from taking over your mind, you noticed something moving in the corner of your eye. You looked over to the left and saw a jester-hatted jack-in-the-box puppet waving at you and signaling you to come over to where it was. You made sure no one was watching you and made your way there. When you got close to the puppet, it greeted you with a bow, which made you bow back and chuckle a bit, the puppet giggled with one hand on its mouth and another behind its back in response.

"Ok, I'm here, did you want to tell me something?" you asked curiously.

Then the puppet rummaged in its box and pulled out a soft black and blue jester hat with blueberry bells on its tips, just for you. You gasped quietly as to not alert your team, then you took the hat.

"Is this for me?" you asked, and the puppet nodded in agreement.

"Aww, thank you, little puppet!" you answered as you put on the hat.

It was a perfect fit, and it smelled like something... it smelled like... blueberry milk! The scented hat put you in a calm mood as you enjoyed the smell and sighed deeply.

You wanted to show your gratitude to the puppet, so after checking that nobody was watching you, you leaned over and gave a tender little kiss on its forehead. The puppet was surprised by your gentle action and pulled its hat over its flustered face to cover it, you giggled at the action and the puppet slowly hid in its box afterwards.

"Aw, don't worry, it's ok!" you said softly as you cupped the puppet's cheeks and gently nuzzled its head.

A few moments later, the stage curtains were lit up by a spotlight, the next act was starting soon!

"Oh, the show's about to start again!" you said, looking at the stage.

"It was so nice meeting you, little puppet, and thank you so much for the gift, bye!" you waved goodbye as you walked closer to your team, the puppet waving back as you left, you thought you saw it sigh sadly, but Gingerbrave stopped you from asking yourself if it actually did that.

"Whoa, cool hat Y/N Cookie!" said Gingerbrave excitedly.

"Oh, uhh, thanks!" you said in a calm tone, hoping no one would ask you where you got it from.

"Say, where did you get it?" of course it had to be Wizard Cookie who asked.

"I... found it. On the floor. I thought it was cool so I... decided to take it with me." you answered with a nervous chuckle.

But before Wizard could ask more questions on it, a thundering and charismatic voice resonated through the land.

"Ok, my dear audience!! Everyone get back to your seats and STAY QUIET, for the show is about to begin~!" said Shadow Milk Cookie after hearing the 3 Cookies talking while he made preparations for the show. Everyone just stayed silent afterwards, thank the stars.

Although, he noticed you wearing the hat that puppet gave you. Little did you know that he was disguised as that very same puppet! He did it because after your first meeting, he couldn't help but feel attached to you, a Cookie who showed no signs of fear and cowardice when he returned, it intrigued him. He wanted to know more about you and your nature, so he turned himself into the jack-in-the-box puppet you met and called you over. He bowed, saw you chuckle and bow (which made him blush and genuinely smile a bit, but luckily for him, the puppet form hid that), gave you the hat, saw how happy you were, and felt your kiss on his forehead and your gentle touch on his cheeks (he felt shocked from all of this, feeling his face burn from all the sudden affection, the soft look in your eyes made him feel like he was melting inside, he found himself enjoying this so much).

He remembered all of that from just looking at you with that silly hat, including the part when you left... He had never felt like this before, it all felt new to him after being imprisoned in the Tree for so long, he hasn't felt like this since before he got corrupted... it felt amazing... and comforting. When you waved goodbye and left, he couldn't help himself. He felt sad, lonely, like a string that was holding you two together was cut off so abruptly that it hurt him, he yearned for your voice, your touch, your whole self, he wanted... no... he needed you.

He sighed loudly, which made his audience question in their heads why he did that. He caught their confused looks, gasped silently, cleared his throat and composed himself. Now was not the time to be sappy, he had a show to put on, and by the stars he was gonna put on a captivating one. Maybe, after everything ends, and he finally gains his freedom by killing Elder Faerie, then maybe... he could reunite with you again... only time will tell.

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onelittlespiral · 1 year ago

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How about a jock twinning tf?👀

Looking alike, talking alike, then thinking alike

FML: Match

He never really stood a chance. The moment he walked into our new apartment together his days were numbered. No guy, and I mean no guy, can resist me for long. How could they, when it just feels so good to be me. He tried though. That first week he was a real prick. He would complain about my stuff everywhere, scoff at my friends, and try to cover up my scent. But 24/7 with me around starts to have an effect. I caught him picking up my stuff and stealing a quick sniff before throwing it in my room. The candles sat abandoned in his room. A pair of my boxers went missing. I finally caught him on week three. He was sitting, zoned out in the living room. It’s always so cute the first time they try to embrace it. Sprawled out on the floor, my boxers loose around his legs, hat backwards on his head. He already had a little beard going.

He didn’t even bother getting up when I came in. He was lost in the scent of me, and his body was trying everything to become what it was not.

“Get up!” His body came to as he snapped to attention. He tried making excuses, his face was a mix of confusion and horror at what he was wearing.

“I am so sorry, I have no idea… what’s happening? What are you doing to me?!?”

“I’m just living it up bro, you’re the one sitting in my underwear. You trying to be all of this?” I flexed my biceps in front of him, watching his body begin to pulsate. “Just flex bro. Let it out, let me out.” His arms curled and posed, copying my form. His forearms exploded with muscle, as he began to shout:

“No, please, let me go.”

“You can leave at any time, you just have to want to.” I struck another pose, popping my pecs and flexing my abs. He moved in unison with me, his stomach sucking in as abs pushed out. Pecs punched out of his chest with force as his torso stretched to copy mine.

“Please… I don’t want this. Why- how are you doing this?”

“It’s easy little bro,” I sat into a deep squat. His eyes rolled back in his head as his lower body erupted. Muscle tore through him, filling out calfs, thighs, and ass all at once. “I’m what every guys wants, what everyone craves to be. My scent, my hormones, my whole aura has been filling you for weeks. I’ve been inside. You’ve just got to let me out. Now,” I stood back up, his body parodying along like a puppet. His body was ready, even when his mind was not, “FLEX.” I hit a double-bicep pose.

“Ah…AuGH-AHHHGAUH!”

I was let loose from inside him.

It was like looking in a mirror. Fuck, I’m a stud. He was spacing out:

“Bro… no, fuck. Why, why do I sound like that?”

“You’re getting the full package little bro. You are going to look, sound, smell, think, and fuck just like me. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

He shuddered in response. Immediately his cock began swelling, snaking down his leg. His mind was saying no but his body was saying yes. By now his balls were pumping him full of my hormones, invading his mind and filling him with my horny thoughts. Hands gripped his cock as he began jerking off in front of me, speeding up his transformation. Drool dripped from his open mouth and rolled down his chest.

“No, please. Why-why does it… feel…so…goooood? Hu-ungh-uhhhHHHh…”

He was riding the waves of pleasure as they engulfed his brain. He never stood a chance against me, but it was still so hot to watch him submit to his fate. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over him, and slowly I watched the lights go out upstairs. He was just like me now. No, better. He was me now. It was time. I walked up and pulled his hands from his cock, and replaced them with mine. I furiously began jacking him off as his brain short circuited and he just writhed in pleasure.

“Ha-hahu-ugh-huhuhuhuuuu-uHH-“

I leaned in, and planted one kiss on his sweaty brow and commanded:

“Now CUM.”

Instantly he let loose, hitting the back wall. It covered my hands, just adding to the lubrication as I finished him off. Rope after rope flew across the room, until he was shooting blanks still thrusting against my hands. He slowly slumped to the floor

“How you feeling bro?” I asked him

“Huuuuuuh…fuck bro I’m spent. You’re a god. How do you manage to get that much out of me every time?”

I chucked a bit. “I know all the right buttons to push bro. I just do what I would do to me.”

“God, I’m not gonna be horny for a week”

“Pfft, knowing you? I give it an hour.”

“God we’re so hot bro…”

The comment caught me a bit off guard. Did he… no. There wasn’t any part of him left that would know what just happened to him. I leaned in and gave my new doppelgänger a kiss:

“Yeah we are, bruh.”

#transformation #hypnosis #bro #male transformation #jockification #reality change #twin tf #Ask #straight to gay #jock tf #dumber #mental change #fml

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fairykitten · 22 days ago

Text

Daddy’s Back

Daddy!Loki x Little!Reader

Summary: Loki promised he’d be back but he’s late which upsets you

Genre: Fluff, comfort, age regression

*not proof read*

The castle halls were quiet, save for the soft rustling of rain against the windows of Asgard. The golden walls, usually so grand and imposing, felt warm and cozy today. You padded softly on the carpeted floors, your bare feet making no sound. The sleeves of your oversized jumper nearly swallowed your hands, and the stuffy bunny you held close was beginning to show signs of being well-loved.

Loki had promised he’d be back before the rain started. But the rain had started, and he still wasn’t here. You were trying very hard to be patient.

You sniffled softly and climbed up onto the enormous divan in the library, curling up like a kitten with your bunny in your arms. You mumbled to yourself, repeating things Loki had told you before. “Daddies always come back. He said he would.” You tugged the sleeves of your jumper over your hands and rubbed your eyes.

Just as a tiny whimper escaped your lips, the door creaked open.

“Little star?” came that familiar velvet voice.

You peeked up with big, teary eyes. “D-Daddy…”

Loki was across the room in a moment, his long green cloak swirling behind him as he knelt beside the couch and reached for you gently.

“Oh, sweet one,” he murmured, cupping your cheek with a cool hand. “I’m here. I’m so sorry I was late.”

You launched yourself into his arms without a second thought, bunny squished between you both. “You said you’d be back b-before the rain,” you hiccuped, your voice muffled in his tunic.

“I know, dove,” Loki whispered, holding you close and stroking your hair. “I was caught up in the court longer than I expected. I should’ve sent a raven ahead. That was my fault.” He kissed the top of your head. “But I’m here now. And I won’t leave again tonight, I promise.”

You nodded, though your arms stayed tightly wrapped around him. “I tried to be big… but I got w-worried…”

“My brave little one,” he said, easing himself onto the divan with you still in his arms. He tucked you into his side, pulling a soft enchanted blanket out of thin air with a flick of his fingers. It shimmered like starlight but felt warm as sunlight. “You never have to be big when I’m here. You’re safe now.”

You nestled against his chest, breathing in the scent of him—magic, pine, and something warm and rich like spiced cocoa. “C’n we cuddle lots, Daddy?”

“Of course we can,” he said softly, brushing his lips across your temple. “All evening. We’ll read stories, and I’ll make cocoa appear from thin air, and perhaps if my darling wishes it—” he glanced down with a twinkle in his eye, “—a little magic puppet show from the prince of mischief himself?”

Your eyes lit up, and you nodded eagerly, your earlier worry already melting away.

“Only if there’s bunnies in it,” you whispered.

Loki chuckled. “Only bunnies? I’ll have to summon an entire court of royal rabbits, then.”

You giggled and buried your face into his chest, feeling completely and utterly safe. The rain outside continued to fall, but it no longer mattered. You were wrapped in Loki’s arms, and his heartbeat was your lullaby.

Here, in the quiet glow of the library and the soft safety of his embrace, you were just his little one. And he was your daddy.

And that was all you needed.

#age regression #age regressor #agere community #little!reader #sfw agere #sfw littlespace #loki laufeyson #loki #loki x reader #loki x you #sfw little #loki x little reader #cg!loki #Loki x little #loki agere

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queenbee298 · 25 days ago

Note

Hello I have a few Ideas on what you can do.

How does Doey feel about Christmas?

What if the player has a slight meltdown due to the stress of everyone arguing?

Do the toys feel guilty about the scars Angel has?

(this one's in the factory) What if the player became a toy? how would they safe haven crew react?

Not sure if you lost interest in Poppy playtime and moved on but here are some ideas!

These are really good ideas and I’m glad you requested it. Sorry if I’m not posting much, I’m just so tired and stressed.

🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹

1. Christmas is a beautiful holiday. Spreading time with friends and family, giving gifts, and making it through another year. You and the toys were all happy to spread your first Christmas together.

However, there was one person how wasn’t, Doey, or should I saw, Jack.

Matthew And Kevin were happy to Celebrate their first proper Christmas, but Jack’s last Christmas was with his parents, opening his gifts, and celebrating.

But after the incident with him falling into the Dough that made dough, he doesn’t like to talk about Christmas.

You decided to talk to him. Maybe you could cheer him up.

Y/n: “How are you feeling about Christmas, Jack?”

Doey (Jack): “Nothing…”

Y/n: “You know you can talk about it.”

Doey (Jack): “I’m just nervous if something happens again.”

Y/n: “No… That won’t happen. Me and the others won’t let anything happen to any of you.”

Doey(Matthew): “It’s okay, Jack. Mom/Dad, Kevin, me, and the others are always here for you.”

Doey(Jack): “Promise?”

Doey(Matthew): “Promise.”

Doey(Kevin): “Plus Christmas will be fun! It is the season of getting!”

Y/n: “Don’t you mean the season of giving?”

Doey(Kevin): “Yeah! The more you give, the more I get!”

3. You and the toys escaped the factory. You stopped the prototype and freed the toys, but not all the scars healed. You were covered in scars from the factory.

From the Huggy, Mommy, Catnap, Yarnaby, The Doctor, and The Prototype.

Claw marks, bites, scratches and bruises. The toys would see your scars. They hated the trouble you’ve gone through just for them.

Poppy still feels guilty. She could’ve let you escape before, but she didn’t. Not everyone trusted her when they all were in the factory. Leaving the safe haven, stopping you from escaping, getting Kissy attacked, and not explaining what she did during the ‘Hour of Joy.’

However, you knew she was just a child like everyone else.

4. It was time for you to face the Doctor. But now, your luck ran out. The Doctor caught and decided to make a game out of you.

You were strapped down on a desk and all you could feel was pain. Needles poking, organs being removed, tears streaming down, skin cut out. Everything hurts. Over and over and over again.

Back at the Safe Haven, it’s been hours since you returned. Poppy asked Doey to find you. Doey looked high and low, but it’s like you just vanished. Until, he heard soft crying.

He found you, but you weren’t the same as before. The Doctor caught you and turned you into a toy. You were a discontinued puppet toy.

You were a tall puppet with a black body and white stripes, purple streams down your eyes, a white face, green eyes, and covered in blood.

Doey: “Y-y/n?”

Y/n: “Doey… Please help… it’s hurt… Everything hurts…”

Doey wasted no time to rush you into Safe Haven. Once he got them, everyone was horrified.

The mini toys were afraid, Poppy was in shock. She saw you, bloody and no longer human, but now just like them.

You couldn’t do much in your new body. You were still in pain and very weak. Doey and Dogday stayed with you 24/7. They would try to help you get around. You couldn’t help now. You felt useless now.

Kissy, Dogday, and the mini toys spend time with you. They tried you comfort you, knowing how they suffered the Doctor’s experiments.

Poppy felt extremely guilty for what happened to you. Now you became a toy, you fell victim to the Doctor, because of her. She tried apologizing to you, but you didn’t want to listen, no one did.

As for you, it wasn’t easy adjusting to your new body. You didn’t have feet anymore, just skinny legs. Doey helped you get around. You didn’t need food, your mouth didn’t even move.

Dogday: “How are you feeling, Angel?”

Y/n: “I’m not in pain, but walking is hard now.”

Doey: “The medic said you’ll have to do physical therapy to get you walking, but don’t worry, pal! We’re behind you all the way!

It felt nice to have good friends by your side.

As you were talking to the mini toys, Dogday, and Doey, Poppy came up to you.

Poppy: “Uhh… Y/n?”

Doey: “What do you want, Poppy?”

Poppy: “Please, I just wanted to talk to Y/n.”

Y/n: “….”

Poppy: “I know you’re mad, but I just wanted to tell you I’m so sorry. I never thought the Doctor would do this to you. And I’m sorry for what he did to you. I didn’t what this to happen to you, Honest …. I hope you can forgive me…”

Y/n: “…Forgive…you? FORGIVE YOU!?”

Poppy: “Y/n…”

Y/n: “HOW CAN I FORGIVE YOU!? YOU CAUSED THIS! I KNEW TRUSTING YOU WAS A MISTAKE! NOW I CAN’T LEAVE THIS FUCKING FACTORY NOW! NOW I CAN’T HELP ANYONE NOW! ALL BECAUSE OF YOU! I KNEW OPENING THAT CASE WAS A BAD IDEA. THE ONLY THING I WANT FOR YOU IS TO LEAVE ME ALONE! IF I EVER SEE YOU LOOK AT ME, I’LL MAKE YOU WISH YOU DIED DURING THE HOUR OF JOY!”

Poppy: “…”

Poppy didn’t say another word and walked away, leaving you alone.

You felt so much anger towards Poppy for draining you into this mess, The Doctor for turning you into a puppet, and yourself for being so weak. But someday, you would have your revenge and never let them hurt you or anyone else again.

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

I hoped you all enjoyed these ideas. Sorry I didn’t write #2, I had no idea how to write. As for the poll, send in something funny you what to see. See you next time.

72 notes · View notes

swee7dream · 1 month ago

Note

Hi! Would like to request a jaehyun/jeno fluff piece inspired by ABBA's "Does Your Mother Know" ? :) Thank you!

does your mother know ? retro!college athlete!jeong yoonoh x female!reader

genres fluff, meet-cute, college!au, pseudo-historical setting (50s-60s) triggers mentions of alcohol ? jaehyun HAS been with other people before you i'm so sorry dear reader i'll kill him for not saving himself for you note ignore the fact i haven't written in months ... this legit was supposed to come out in october but c'est la vie idk . listen along w the song for a better experience :) thank you SO SO SO SO SO x127 much for the request . i'm honored you trust me to execute your ideas properly

Nice nose bridge, sharp jawline, dimples easy to adore: all characteristics that can be used to describe Jeong Yoonoh.

The way that his mother doted on him the minute he was born built a strong foundation for good self-esteem.

He’s well-versed in the practice of rejecting girls or dating them for just the right duration before breaking up amicably using just the right words. He knows a smile will get him an extra bread roll from the lunch lady and a soft gaze can calm down an enraged team member in denial of his culpability of a foul.

Jaehyun is subtle.

He drops a leaf instead of a pebble to see the ripple effect on the waters. He knows just what he can get away with right before people’s eyes and what he has to sneak around for behind their backs.

He would almost say he’s perfected the art, if not for his mother’s tight-knit connections to his university professors.

“Just because you’re on a sports scholarship doesn’t mean your grades aren’t important, Yoonoh.”

“I know, Mama. I’m keeping a close eye on them.” Jaehyun pretends not to hear the unsure hum from the woman.

Soft-spoken yet heavy-handed, his mother is an elegant, traditional woman who doesn’t tolerate a featherweight of disrespect. And so the sigh caught in his lung escapes as a cough as he does the latches on his suitcase and pulls it off the blue bedsheets.

“Thank you for letting me stop by.” He kisses her cheek. “I didn’t realize how many things I forgot to pack the first time around until I was actually back in the dorms.”

“Don’t thank me yet, son.” Soft, well-moisturized hands that smell of roses pat his cheek, the sly tone of her voice piercing like thorns into his subconscious. “I haven’t even told you the good news yet. I got you a tutor.”

“…a tutor?” It’s only half a second’s worth of a reaction, his eyebrows quickly twitching back to their normal position, but it’s too late. She already saw. “F-For what?”

“Yes.” She smiles. “Because I hear whispers from your brothers—” and other sources “—that your games have been gathering too much of your focus. Remember you that school with you, don’t give them a bad reputation.”

“No, Mama. I won’t.” Jaehyun feels like a puppet when his arms come up against his will to wrap around his not-so-frail mother. You’d think after eight children she’d at least be more gentle.

—

A letterman’s jacket in the school’s lemon green color isn’t a rare sight anywhere on campus. Anywhere except the library, that is.

Seeing all of the physics and engineering students hunched over their books in their dreary browns and blacks makes Jaehyun feel like a neon green highlighter. It hangs on the back of his chair not unsimilar to a white, droopy flag of surrender.

He’s not a particularly bad student. He wouldn’t be getting valedictorian, but he does well for himself. There really is no reason for a tutor. That’s just silly. He could study with his usual group of friends or a pretty girl he met at an away game. Maybe it won’t be so bad, Jaehyun relents; maybe this study session will turn into a study date with a doll with soft and plush lips.

Mid-daydream, Qian Kun comes huffing and puffing behind until collapsing somehow gracefully in the seat in front of Jaehyun.

“Sorry I’m late, Yoonoh.” He smiles brightly, pushing up his glasses with one of his knuckles before quickly taking out his things from his bag. “One of my brother’s cats did its business in one of my shoes, so I had to change shoes but my other brother stole the new ones I planned to wear instead so I had to start a whole new outfit from scratch! And then of course my sister asked for a ride to the basketball game later; I told her I’d think about it but she’s just so- well, you know how having siblings is.”

When he looks up it startles Jaehyun. He had been rambling for so long that he felt he was just listening to a radio show.

“…yeah. I get it. Don’t worry.” He sits up properly, copying the straight manner Kun has all of his pens lined up. “Should we start?”

Qian Kun, the eldest of seven siblings, is the closest thing Jaehyun has to a childhood friend at this stage of his life. The first victim of a rich couple’s philanthropic streak, he’s the poster child of adoptees, inspiring them to pluck six other children of unfortunate origin like hats off a window display before cruising over to the Middle East after hearing whispers of archaeological prestige.

Jaehyun specifically chose to move into the dorms to get away from the white picket fences and champagne nights at least for a handful of years. However, it seemed he had forgotten that ‘Coke-Bottle glasses’ Qian Kun became ‘Neo University pre-med student’ Qian Kun one year before him.

What a drag… Jaehyun’s dream girl with messy hair tied up into a bun with cute little glasses seems to have grown wings and flown far, far away into the same space that America and the USSR are fighting to reach.

“Oh, rats!” A snap from Coke-Bottle Glasses brings Jaehyun back to the present.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah.” He sighs, looking down at the hand-written message taken down by the librarian. She came and left like the wind, sitting in the exact position Jaehyun had seen her in when he entered the library an hour ago. “My sister called. I told her I had plans but she’s threatening me to take her to the game tonight otherwise she’ll spill ink on my new Vonnegut. I’m really sorry, Yoonoh.”

“Oh.” Nice. “It’s fine, Kun. I appreciate you setting aside time from your schedule for this. Go ahead.”

“I’ll make up for it! I promise. See you around.”

It appears that rushing around is a common sight for Kun, none of the others in the library giving him a second glance at his messy exit.

—

There’s a real pretty girl with bright red lipstick who always seems to sit closest to the balcony of the school basketball court's second level. Jaehyun feels the way her eyes follow him, not breaking contact even when he looks back up at her. Rather than blush and look away, he’s met with a wolf-like smile.

He wonders what his neck would look like with her kiss stains left on his skin.

“You comin’?” He asks, pushing his damp hair out of his face and landing his hands on his hips. There's a cocky smile escaping the side of his mouth, holding hope that the game wouldn't be his only win of the night.

“Where?” Her eyes sparkle with a danger that gets his heartbeat back up to the same speed he had during the match.

“Party at my buddy’s place. You’ll like it.”

“I will?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know that for sure?”

“I’ll be there.”

“…which buddy, captain?”

“Jaehyun.”

“Hm?”

“That’s my name, pretty. Use it or I won’t find you the next time we meet.”

It’s an exhilarating feeling to see her weaken, her grip on the handrail loosen, and her eyes widen. It was only for half a second, but that was more than enough. He already noticed.

“Better yet, do you already have a ride?”

When she shakes her head, Jaehyun beams.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to my car.”

—

You hate autumn. You’re freezing in the morning, melting in the afternoon, and rechilled once the sun has set.

Even with your stockings, the breeze of October stabs at your legs and you try your best to ignore the memory of your brother insisting you wear a longer skirt.

“How long have you been playing?” You ask, trailing a step behind Jaehyun. Bottom lip caught in between your teeth, you keep your thoughts about the new charm you find in him out of his basketball uniform to yourself. His white polo is crisp and you wonder if he ever even gets it dirty.

“A little while,” the upperclassman replies while your eyes wander down to his slacks, tan and elegant. It reminds you of a leather bag your mother brought you from one of her trips. However, the bag has more volume than him. “How long have you been watching me?”

The sly tone in his voice makes you scoff.

“I haven’t been watching you, I’ve been watching the games. The fact that you play them isn’t a major factor.”

“You’re a big basketball fan?” He turns to you, and his dimples draw you in like a whirlpool you have no chance of getting out of.

“Huge.” You’re sure you look like a klutz; you couldn’t take the stars out of your eyes even if you tried. “You?”

“Uh, I dunno.” His head drops to the side, black silky locks falling into his line of sight. “I’ve gotten into something new lately.”

“What’s that?” Before you even realize it, your hand is coming up to brush his hair back. “You don’t use pomade?”

“No.” You feel your pulse beat against the palm of his hand when he takes your wrist. “I don’t like how it smells. But this new… interest of mine. She smells pretty nice.”

Does your body know something you don’t know? The way you let yourself be pulled, you feel like you’re soaring through the skies with your feet fully planted on the ground. Tasting crisp mint off Jaehyun’s lips, smelling his scent of musk and pears, feeling the cashmere of his sweater; it’s an overwhelming experience that makes your head spin.

When you separate, you find him just as out of breath as you, painted a pretty shade of red.

“Wanna sit down?”

—

The streets you’ve walked your whole life look so different through the window of Jaehyun’s red Thunderbird. It makes you feel less like the girl who skipped class to the point you almost repeated your junior year of high school and more like one of the middle-aged women of your neighborhood, riding luxury cars from their children’s Ivy League schools to balls and galas by the waterfront.

You’ve kissed boys before. Your first kiss was under the slide of your elementary school with Choi Taeyang from the class next door to yours, and your second with Eric Sohn from your seventh-grade chemistry class. Your brothers call you promiscuous, you call them lonely, lonely children in return. Despite your past experiences, no one has been able to get you wrapped around their finger as fast as Neo University’s 77.

“The car smells like you,” you say once you’ve parked, keeping the two of you in your own hidden corner of the world despite a party going full force less than 200 feet away. With your back to the house of flashing lights, all you can see before you is the thick woods through the windshield and the slight halo that glows around Jaehyun’s dark silhouette.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Yeah. I mean, after the smell of sweat subsides, you smell like a magazine.”

“The smell of sweat?” He smiles, radiating light still despite the dark. “I smell of sweat?”

“It’s kinda strong.” You scrunch up your nose. “But I mean, you’re handsome enough for people to ignore it.”

“But you didn’t.” He leans in and you can smell the spearmint of his gum making your nerves go haywire again. “Am I not handsome enough for you?”

“You’re alright.” You bite down a giggle. “I think I’m a couple notches higher.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“…maybe you’re right,” he replies after his eyes linger a couple of seconds too long on your lips. “And I mean, you don’t smell like sweat either.”

“Yeah.” You shrug and the small movement brushes the tips of your noses together, the sensation tickling and spreading out to the rest of your face. “I mean, I actually shower.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he hums. “You smell like soap… and caramel.”

“Caramel apple.” You bat your lashes.

“Ah, yeah. That’s the note I was missing.”

“Many do.”

“Lots of people get to have you this close?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Don’t play with me, girl. You already know I want you.”

With your newly found experience, you gather that the way Jaehyun kisses is hungry yet, at the same time, somehow refined. He’s slow and gentle but is always prepping you for more, like a slow uphill climb that will soon send you rolling down at light speed.

His lips are smooth from peppermint lip balm and his tongue tastes like spearmint gum. Each and every second of kissing Jeong Jaehyun is chilling like an ice bath that gets all of your adrenaline up in a single second.

Slender fingers are gentle on your jaw when he pulls you away, almost as if he was the one who needed to stop before he couldn’t stop himself from doing something he knows he shouldn’t do.

“I need a drink.” He sighs. His brown eyes shiver before you as if he’s about to explode if he doesn’t leave the stuffy, heated car.

“…I think I need some water myself.”

—

Johnny Suh is not a member of any sports team or famed club. He’s just a simple economics major with lots—and lots—of connections. Being Johnny Suh’s friend is gold in social currency. It can get you notes from students who took the class before you, tickets to a sold-out pep rally, and even the name of that one fetching individual you never caught the name of in your 8 a.m. Monday lectures back in the second semester of your first year. Most envied, however, are the invite-only parties at his family cabin.

With surround-sound radios and jukeboxes found only at the types of restaurants men in tailored, pinstripe suits eat at, Johnny’s cabin parties are objectively seen as the bee’s knees.

“How did you get in here?” You look around the dimly lit living room, hanging off Jaehyun’s arm. Apparently, somebody partied a little too hard and jacked up the electricity. Lucky for everyone else, that means the icebox needs to be emptied before all the soda gets flat. Unfortunately for everyone else, Mark Lee brought his guitar just in case of a situation like this.

“I’m close with the host, like brothers, you could say.” He guides you into the kitchen, and you see smoke coming out of the hallway that you think leads to the bedrooms. “What do you like to drink?”

“Just a soda for me, thanks.”

“Just a soda?” He raises his eyebrows before going to open the icebox. “Lucky me, I get a pretty girl to drive me home tonight.”

It seems that Jaehyun knows this place just as well as or better than his own home, handing you your ginger ale, opening it first, and immediately finding the beer opener in a drawer you didn’t even realize was a drawer.

“You don’t drink?”

“No.” You shake your head. “I tried it but it wasn’t for me. Besides, my brothers let me get away with a lot of things but alcohol seems to be the line for them.”

“How come?”

“They say I’m too young still, but Kunhang started when he was my age too so I don’t know what that’s all about.” You roll your eyes.

“Kunhang?”

“My brother,” you explain.

“Ah…” He nods. “I might’ve gone to school with him. His name sounds familiar.”

“God, I hope not.” You hide your laugh behind your soda can. “He’s a total weirdo.”

“You’re not particularly average either.” He raises his eyebrows at you before taking a sip.

“I’m gonna take that as you mean I’m an above-average beauty and intellectual.” You glare at him.

“The beauty part is obvious. I might have to take you out a couple more times to see about the intellectual part.”

“I get good grades. Unlike you, captain.”

“And what evidence do you have for that claim?” He pouts like a child facing the grave injustice of not having candy for supper.

“You can’t be handsome and good at sports and be a top student. You have to be a little thick-skulled otherwise the Lord isn’t fair,” you tease.

“Maybe I am. I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

You slap at his arm with a groan, Jaehyun’s laugh is heard only for a second before more voices enter the kitchen and drown it out.

“Thank God you’re here!” A high-pitched voice calls out.

In the dark, you can only see a messy head of hair being carried on the back of Jung Sungchan.

“Jaehyun,” he sighs. “Please take him. I don’t know if he’s drunk or accidentally took something but it’s like a baby turned the size of a grown man.”

“Baby!” The person being carried finally raises their head. You recognize him; he's that guy from your civics class. What was his name again?

“Haechan.” Jaehyun walks up to pat him on the cheek. It reminds you of how he held yours back in the car, but unlike back then, there’s a force that makes Haechan groan in pain. “Stop using Sungchan as a free ride when you don’t feel like walking. If you’re tired, go lay down.”

“I don’t wanna…” he whines, and you can’t help but make a face at the childlike tantrum. “I'm gonna party ‘till the sun’s up!”

“No way. Not while you still live with Mama. You don’t know what she’ll do if you’re not home by midnight.”

“I’ll just tell her I’m staying with you for the night!” Haechan rubs his face into Sungchan’s shoulder. The latter looks just as uncomfortable as you amid the conversation, looking around and nodding at you in greeting.

“Drop him, Sungchan. He’s fine.”

Haechan squeals in the most effeminate way possible. It makes you wonder how he could possibly be related to Jaehyun.

“You’re so mean, I hate you!” He complains from the floor.

“Just take this Kool-Aid and settle down.” Jaehyun clicks his tongue.

“Hi.” Sungchan gets your attention when he raises his hand awkwardly, deciding it’s polite to have a verbal introduction rather than just a nod. “I’m Sungchan.”

“Sungchan’s my brother’s teammate on the soccer team. He also does the job of his babysitter on nights like this.” Jaehyun sighs, slotting back to standing behind you with his hand ghosting over your forearm. It feels like some sort of protective measure against his eccentric brother, but you don’t have any mind to voice a complaint.

“I know you!” Haechan points at you, and even in the dark, you can see a spiked Kool-Aid mustache on his top lip. The finger pointing at your heart makes you step back for a second, and your mind rushes to see if you have any memory of wronging him.

“Uh, yeah,” You decide to answer once you’ve decided that no, you haven’t had any bad (or really any) interactions with Haechan. “We share a class.”

“Yeah! You’re Yangyang’s brother’s sister!”

“I’m… also Yangyang’s sister. But, yeah. That’s me.”

“Yangyang’s brother… um…” Haechan presses his fingers to his forehead as if he had a button there to activate the exact memory he’s searching for. “Kun!” He shouts.

“Kun…!” You repeat, unsure whether to try and match his energy or not. “Yup. That sure is my brother.”

“Kun is your brother?” Jaehyun turns to you. “Qian Kun?”

“Yeah.” You frown. “Why’d you say it like that?”

“I knew it!”

“Is that a problem?” You ignore Haechan.

“Yes. No-” Jaehyun stutters. “Maybe. Most likely.”

“Why does my brother’s name matter? Did you kiss my brother too?” You poke and prod.

“Obviously not.” He sighs. “I need a smoke.”

Left stranded in a foreign house with foreign people, you are left frozen in shock. The night was going so well, but all of a sudden, your brother was the problem? You’ll kill him.

“Jae-!” You call out through the crowd. “Jaehyun!”

“Hey…” Your same wrist that Jaehyun’s hand warmed when he kissed you in the parking lot of the school gymnasium is now cold in the hand of your brother. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here, Yang? Let go!” You flail your arm around but his grip is solid.

“Does Kun know you’re here?”

“I said I would be with my friends!”

“Well, where are they?” He frowns.

“I need to go, Yangyang.” You sigh.

—

The buzz of excitement Jaehyun felt outside of the lake house with you has dulled into nerves and anxiety about what’s to come.

He wishes he could be like the smoke from his cigarette, disappearing up into the sky. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to deal with the inevitable consequences of hooking up with his tutor’s sister.

He’d gotten too confident. He’s kissed girls under streetlights and behind bleachers, but it was all when both parties were under the influence. A kiss here and a touch there meant nothing when the sun came up, smiling politely to each other as any two strangers who meet eyes do when they walk past each other on campus. It was unspoken but obvious; this doesn’t mean anything, this spark will die with the fireflies of the night.

But tonight is different.

For some reason, looking at you is all he needs to jolt back to life. Even though he’s not supposed to keep this fling going past sunrise, he’s here, standing alone with his thoughts, trying to brainstorm a way to keep you until tomorrow and then some. Maybe on a date where you two can walk down the path of fire-colored, falling leaves, talking about everything and nothing at all as you stop by a coffee shop and he can see whether you like coffee or tea, if you like sugar or milk.

Jaehyun sighs, his breath appearing and disappearing before his eyes.

When did he get so covetous?

—

“He left you in a party full of people you don’t know. What would you have done if I weren’t here?”

“He didn’t leave me, he just needed to step out for a second!”

“Sure he didn’t. Why did he have to step out?”

“I don’t know!” You yell back, pressing the heels of your hands into your closed eyes. The people dancing around you look over their shoulders at you for only a moment before returning to their partners. “The weird guy from Ethics mentioned Kun and he got all stiff and just dashed! This is all because of you. You are getting in the way and Kun is getting in the way and Dery is getting in the way. How do you manage to ruin my life even when you’re not even here?!”

“Hey.” Yangyang hovers his hand above your shoulder but retracts it on second thought. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I think I should take you home. I was about to head out about now either way…”

“I don’t want to leave.” You shake your head, slumped over. “I want to wait for Jaehyun.”

“Jaehyun? Which-? The Jaehyun on the basketball team?”

You nod, hoping the voice of Connie Francis is loud enough to hide your sniffling.

“He brought me here. He has to take me home too.” You pause. “He… has to take responsibility. He can’t just leave me here, planted. He can’t just dump me here. He can’t!”

Yangyang does what he does best when you’re upset: stand at a distance close enough where he can be around to hear any requests you have of him yet far enough not to catch any of the heat you spit as you speed through a sluggish depression into a fervent fury.

“Yeah. Yeah, you… yeah.” He drops his hands to his sides. “I- I can go find him if you want-”

“No! I’m going to find him, okay?! I’ll find him and I’ll kick him in the crotch for treating me like this. What is his problem?” You finally raise your head to face Yangyang with the one expression he avoids the most.

Seeing the back of Jaehyun’s bowling-ball-sized head irritates you to the point that your muscles all tense at once. Even though you stomp on the gravel on purpose, he doesn’t turn around, and before you even realize what you’re doing, your hand has already made contact with his scalp.

“What the-” He looks up at you dumbfounded, crouched still in pain.

“Shut up!” You yell at him. “You do not get to just dump me in a party you brought me to. Who do you think I am? I don’t know anybody here.”—A lie, but he doesn’t know that.—“I came here for you and because of you. You were going to leave, weren’t you? You were gonna leave me here, stranded, and what was I supposed do? Catch a cab with your freak brother to get home? You must have me confused with somebody else because I’m not that kind of girl.”

“My… freak… what?”

“You better answer me right now or I will make sure you don’t have children, Jeong.”

“I-” Instinctively, his hands come in front of the middle of his legs. “Wait, listen-”

The crickets fill the silence Jaehyun didn’t expect from you, instead being met by your eyebrows high on your face.

“What?”

“I honestly didn’t think you would hear me out.”

“Was I not supposed to?”

“No! No, I mean, yes. I mean-” He sighs. “I do have something to say. I just… had the music bursting my ears and I couldn’t think. But, I have it now. Will you listen to what I have to say?”

“...” You stare at him. “Go on.”

There’s hesitation when he moves his hands, standing up straight and turning to face you head-on, yet his gaze goes everywhere except your eyes.

“It’s complicated.” He drops his shoulders. “Our circles are more intertwined than I thought and it could become a big deal if things go awry-”

“Intertwined like what?”

“Your… brother tutors me.”

“Kun tutors you?”

“Yes.” He gulps.

“…so you are thick-skulled.”

The buzzing inside Jaehyun’s brain stops in an instant, your little quip practically forcing him to meet your gaze. You’re clearly trying to stay upset, but the corners of your mouth are fighting to go up, making Jaehyun smile the same.

“I guess… a little bit, yeah.” He scratches the back of his head before realizing it’s still stinging from your slap of righteousness. “My parents know his- your parents. Something about a mentorship in a hospital in the city being guaranteed if he helps me out. I don’t wanna ruin stuff for him, or you, if we don’t… you know.”

“Oh my gosh. The Jeongs.” You sit on the graveled ground, immediately regretting your decision as the stones poke at your skirt, but don’t bother getting up. “You’re their kid? I didn’t remember there being a Jeong Jaehyun.”

“It’s a nickname. No one here really knows because I don’t treat it like one.” He slides his back on the wall to sit beside you. “Yoonoh just didn’t fit me. It doesn’t fit me.”

“I think it’s a nice name.”

“Thanks.” He turns his head, still resting on the cabin’s outer wall, to offer a press of the lips that somewhat resembles a smile with a dimple decorating each end. “Maybe it’ll fit me in like… thirty years.”

“At 52?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe.” You shrug. “Grandpa Yoonoh.”

He shivers.

“Don’t, please.” He chuckles. “I’m not ready for that yet.”

“Fair enough.” You sigh. “What a night.”

“I kind of ruined it for you, didn’t I?”

“It was a roller coaster for sure. But it wasn’t terrible. I’ve got hopes that you’ll do better the next time around.”

The fir trees brush against each other at the push of a particularly strong breeze, and the lake ripples quietly at the shore.

“If you wanted one,” you blurt out. “But if you don’t, that’s fine. It’s your loss, really. Honestly, planning a date is such a hassle because I’m just so busy. And you’re so busy. But it’s not like this is a date now. We’re just hanging out, right? We came together but that doesn’t mean we have to leave together, you know? Actually- I think I saw my brother back inside. I should get him home before Kun yells at us for staying out too long.” The words leave you at a speed too fast to be reviewed by your brain beforehand, too focused on making sure your heels don’t dig too much into the gravel and end up twisting your ankle somehow.

“I do.” Jaehyun grabs your wrist, grip tight enough to stop you from running away yet loose enough for you to shake him off if you truly want to leave.

“…can you start replying in a timely manner?” You look down at him with warm cheeks, shaking from the cold and embarrassment. “You do what?”

“I want to take you out again. Properly, this time.” His eyes disappear into crescent moons.

“What does ‘properly’ entail?”

“You know, getting you flowers, meeting the parents, getting you home before 10 and getting a kiss goodnight.”

“You already messed up the timeline,” you tease.

“I did, didn’t I?” There’s regret in his voice. “Does that mean you don’t want to?”

“No…” You look down at him. “I do.”

“Then, can you let me try and make up for it?”

His lips are warm against the back of your hand, and it makes you feel like a protagonist of a Jane Austen book.

“If you insist…” Your fingers clasp around his hand, urging him to get off the ground. “Ready for round two?”

“I think I’ll pass on round two tonight.” Jaehyun’s arms wrap around you. “Does your mother know you’re out this late? I don’t want to start this on the wrong foot with your family.”

“She doesn’t care, honest.” You try to push his chest, trying to avoid making eye contact with it, but he doesn’t budge.

“And your brother?”

“Which one?”

“You know exactly which one I’m talking about.”

“…It’ll be fine.”

“I’m not starting this on the wrong foot with your family. In the car.”

“What? No. Jaehyun-”

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