#they appreciate people but dont like them

[cloudbends]

something I feel like isn't nearly appreciated enough about mob's arc in mp100 is that his background is... Completely normal. I see a lot of people interpreting mob's parents as neglectful or distant based on the few scenes we've seen of them, which greatly baffles me because their few scenes aim to establish his family life as.. completely normative. They have the normal, average quips of a normal family. And I think it's very unique and refreshing because it means mob's troubles and internal hardship isn't a product of his upbringing, it's a byproduct of a traumatic experience and of his own personality and how it coalesces with his psychic powers. And I personally think more media should acknowledge that some people, even with perfectly normative and healthy familial dynamics and circumstances, will still develop very complex internal issues and personal psychology. and on the same note, some people with perfectly normal upbringing won't feel comfortable to confide in their parents and seek an external authority figure to look up to, which doesn't necessarily mean them and their parents are estranged. I dont think mob's (or ritsu's) life have to be unhappy to legitimize or explain the fact he has the personal struggles he does. Embracing normalcy is the main theme of this series.

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"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

[bim-yo-u]

hii!! thank you for the tag!!💕 so soryy to reply so late and i must say, i know i dont know you personally but yellow tulip really suits you- at least your vibe i guess~

Being with you feels like being wrapped up in the softest blanket imaginable, listening to the rain while sitting on a window seat, your hands wrapped around a mug of cocoa. People come to you for advice and it’s almost always sound. You do tend to try to “fix things”–it’s okay for others to be having negative emotions, and sometimes they just need you to sit with them as they go through it. You are very artistic and you shouldn’t invalidate your creativity because you feel like you don’t express it flawlessly. Also, this applies to any medium: painting, drawing, music, singing, crafting, needlework, writing, or even just having a deep appreciation of art. You would be a penpal and get so creative with it. When you give someone a gift, it’s often homemade and intensely personal–you put so much thought into it. At least at some point you thought you would own a bakery or coffee shop when you grew up.

and tagging @sunswan @oftheblue @decaffeinatedladytale npt and ofc who wants to join~

Have you ever wondered what flower from Victorian flower language you are? I have! I have a quiz about it! (my credentials are that I have a spreadsheet of over 600 flower meanings)

[loving-family-poll]

the bible stuff irritates me first because it's dull and secondly because the actually interesting incest did not make it into the polls smh. now could i have submitted this? sure. but i'm mostly of the mind the bible stuff's the least interesting & most overplayed stuff anyway. derrrhurrr lets make fun of jesus and the two other figures we know from veggietales or w/e. i'm jewish and have superior taste. hmph (that being said, it's still mostly played out. i just want to throw things out there)

cain/abel BORING, PREDICTABLE

lot & his daughters? somewhat more interesting. we have the only good place in utah from that story (moab). yes father, drink this wine so we can have babies with you!! potentially hot, depending on kinks. not as interesting bc there's like classical paintings about it & w/e

noah & ham? intergenerational father/son bonding experience! some scholars argued that ham fucked that old man after the flood. also hot & honestly noah probably deserved that prostate orgasm! interesting! hot! also ham went on to sire nations which is kind of cool

rachel/leah -- cmon. you might say here 'nonnie! this is like cain and abel!' no! this is taking two women who were otherwise competing over a man (boring, worse bc theyre sisters) and making their relationship better!! also leah & rachel are usually depicted as fucking smokeshows and i'm gay and it makes me kinda hot thinkin about it ngl this one's self motivated. but they spend a lot of time with each other or with the two of them and bilhah (rachel's maid, also slept w jacob) and like... feelings develop u know?? also i read this book the red tent as a kid and it was mid but did kinda get me hot too idk (bonus because jacob was already their cousin) reuben/joseph -- reuben was the only brother who was nice to joseph. u got some classic yaoi elements here & ok i'll be honest i think this is an objectively good idea but i saw that the red tent is a mini series w minnie driver as leah and morena baccarin as rachel and i think someone jacked the temp up so i better send this & figure that out lol

sorry for the spam i apparently have stronger feelings about biblical incest than i thought. but hey, minnie driver & morena baccarin as rival sisters turned lovers?? something good came outta this whole thang lol

thank for this EXCELLENT take anon. The bible relationships that people talk about here are just. it's literally only cain and abel and jesus and judas those are the only ones. They don't know any other ones. And the way people talk about them has no actual reference to scripture. Tumblr users just like the religious ~vibes~ and the light edginess of it and those pairs are popular for modern poems and plays and songs to allude to which generates quotes they can use in their web weaves about dog coding and pomegranates (I'm hating but I love those dog motif posts don't be fooled)(still hating but still don't be fooled it is Always Correct to put adam raised a cain by the boss o7 in ur web weave). I for one would like some variety in there and I appreciate ur suggestions! Very intrigued by the apparent existence of scholarly arguments in favor of dadson yaoi in torah. I like Rachel/leah a lot, omg morena baccarin rachel i had such a huge crush on her as a kid my 13-year-old baby lesbian ass watched firefly and it was overrrr 😵‍💫 speaking of lot some other people have mentioned lot and his daughters and I love that one too mainly for the novelty of it. I don't think i can think of a single other depiction of father/daughter rape specifically for the purposes of reproduction in which the daughter is the aggressor like, anywhere else? I love that. There was that episode of house I guess but I dont think that girl wanted to be pregnant 🤔 in general i just think parent/child rape where the child is the aggressor is really fun 🤪<- me getting silly w fictionalized rape

I would like to propose some of my own ships. wholesome one: miriam/aaron/moses. 40 years is a long time you know? Gets lonely out in the wilderness. And they clearly love each other, they do a lot for each other, maybe Miriam and Aaron welcomed back their long lost little brother with VERY open arms. Plus they're pretty mad when he gets married so 🤨

tragic one: absalom/tamar. Two prettiest girls in the world they hated them bc they ain't them 😫 king david's amazingly beautiful daughter and his equally beautiful femboy son? With many half siblings but they're each other's only full siblings? Tamar goes to absalom when she is raped by her eldest half-brother, which David dismisses, and absalom is so furious he kills the rapist brother and has to flee, only returning once he's raised an army against David, which fails and results in his death. And Tamar then raises his daughter (who is named after her) and is left "a desolate woman in his house" 🤧 so sad clearly they should've been king and queen together

Toxic one: Jacob/esau. Twincest ❤️ kind of gay to come out of the womb holding onto ur brother. Kind of gay to spend ur life hunting ur brother for stealing ur birthright with sporadic periods of reconciliation. Kind of gay for this rivalry to continue on to ur ancestors. If the rivalry lasts beyond ur lifetime you are no longer rivals. You are gay

[fineprintedsunsets]

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟭; 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝘃𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻

⌞ Jackson, Wyoming isn't what you thought you’d call home, neither is the house that smells like pine and old cologne. After being discovered by a group of survivors, you're offered a home and sanctuary. The only catch, you won't be living alone.⌝

⌞tags: intro/backstory, character origins. plus-size!reader x jackson!joelmiller all the enemies to lovers. joel being a dick head ⌝

masterlist | nav.

Joel didn't like this. Housing a woman, having someone other than him in his home. 

All due to the fact Tommy was insistent about letting you stay with him. Jackson was filling up quickly as the years passed on. Where once empty homes stood, they were now filled with blooming families and rowdy neighbors. To put it another way; Joel didn't have a choice. 

Which led him here, sitting on his couch, watching as you and Tommy bring in the handful of items you owned.  It wasn't much, two bags.

Joel hated stuff. He liked it neat.

You were going to be anything but neat. 

He could already tell. 

Tommy led the way upstairs, by way of greeting.  Joel watches as you follow excitedly, your hands grabbing at the finished railing he put in last winter. It was a busy project he put himself up too. 

“Dont mind the grumpy fucker sitting on the couch.” He uttered, leading you to the small hallway on the second floor. It was almost cozy, with the smell of pine lingering in the air. If the outdoors had a smell, Joel's house is what it smelled like. Rustic, dare you say, you enjoyed it. 

It brought back memories of the city, the one you used to call home. Even through the outbreak, you made it yours. 

Tommy placed your things in the untouched bedroom upstairs, placing them on the neatly made bed and sighing, wiping his forehead. He had been with you every step of the way, you appreciated the company and the reassurance,  making home somewhere that isn't out in the confines of the city was odd for you. 

Having a home was odd. 

“Joel's bedroom is across the hall, he should stay outta your hair, hell’ I'll make him” Tommy gave a hearty laugh, turning to you; “If he gives you a hard time let me’know.” You nodded quickly, heading the disguised warning.

Tommy gave a once over of the room, “If you need anything else-"

"Let you know?"

He nods, "You got it,"

Tommy's boots retreated to the doorway, before your voice halted him, 

Your worries needed to be spoken, “He’s not the get-angry and I'll kill you type is he?” 

Tommy gripped the door handle and smiled, “He sure is.”

Great. Tommy put you with a psychopath. 

When he noticed the disdain washing over your features, his smile creased, “But don't worry, I'll make sure his anger isn't directed toward you”

Tommy nodded his goodbye, shutting the door with a rusty click. His boots retreated downstairs, leaving you with your worries and the heavy silence of bags needing to be unpacked. You were excited, still.

Somehow. 

Your torn bags had been unpacked hours ago, the two shirts you had now rested in one of the slightly broken drawers. Your journal clutched in your hands, the box of pads you managed to find stuffed away underneath your bed frame. Everything you owned now had a spot.  

The room you had been given was, slightly deteriorating, the light blue walls reflected the snowy weather outside, the chipping paint only added to its character. It wasn't perfect, it didn't feel like home.

But with time, you hoped that would change. 

A small platform had been carved out under the window, allowing pillows and blankets to rest there. Decidedly, you grabbed one of the threadbare blankets Tommy had gifted to you and your journal, joining the window.

The people of Jackson were out and about this afternoon, all the laughter from children playing in the streets echoed through the glass of your watching position. The old leather book clutched in your hands, filthy with dirt and dried blood was the single most important item in your life. 

You had kept it for years, making sure you always had it when you moved zones. The half broken pencil tucked in the spine too, you fished it out with ease like you had done so many times before. With the outside world as background music, you started to write

A week had gone by in Jackson, its residents left you to get settled for the most part. A kind woman had baked a few muffins as a welcome gift, which you devoured happily. You had barely seen Joel, he had always been coming or going. Whatever he did, he was always doing it.

Not that you minded, having the entirety of the house to yourself wasn't terrible, you particularly liked the very end of the couch, where the blazing fireplace heat hit the skin of your thighs at just the right angle for maximum coziness. So far, Jackson amounted to a version of safety.

But you still couldn't sleep.

Which left you here, after a particular rough Friday night of tossing and turning, You had enough. The light of the hallway turned on as you groggily made your way downstairs, Comparable to that of a literal zombie.

You found yourself drifting toward the finished cabinets, opening every one, searching for a glass. Maybe a cup, anything you could drink out of. Finally, after rooting through the last one, a chipping mug had been tucked behind a couple of dusty plates.

Guess Joel didn't exactly have family dinners often. In the darkness of the early morning, you reached for the hardware of the sink faucet, your mouth begging for water. Fortunately, turning the handles had given you a stream of cool water.

The chipped mug caught the remnant as you lifted it to your mouth, enjoying how your lips had just resigned from the Sarah Desert and ventured into the Rain Forest region. The creaking of the second floor broke through your wave of bliss, pulling your attention to the man now making his way down the stairs.

“What are you doin’?” It wasn't a question, but a demand. Joel's voice was cold as he drug a hand through his uneven curls,

“Drinking water.” Your heart hammered, Only half of the man's features were visibly in the dim light. Still, you noticed, he did not display a nice face.

Joel ignored your response, as if he had not asked the question, instead he sidestepped you to pull open a wooden drawer just beside your hip. You moved instinctively, taking your mug with you.

“Your shirt doesn't fit.” He said, the back of his head facing you as he continued rummaging through what looked like a junk drawer. What did he expect? It's not like you had unlimited access to the highest fashion in the city, or here for that matter.

Your placed your empty mug on the table, focusing on the man. “Listen, asshole. I know you might not like this living situation, but you don't need to be a dick about it” Your surprised at the tone you took up with Joel, and so is he, judging by the way he slams the drawer and turns to you, abandoning his mission.

“Got quite a mouth on you for someone who's livin in my home.” His studded eyes were creased with age, it didn't stop the way he glared at you, the frown etched into his face seemed more prominent now.

“It's not like you're ever in ‘your home’ ” Your arms crossed, your spine had been riddled in defense mode, making your back rigid. Joel’s head tilted,

“Too busy avoiding you.” He shrugged, his tone sharp enough to cut ice.

“You don't even know me.” You quipped back, narrowing your eyes.

“And with damn near any luck, I won't have too.”

[orchidyoonkook]

Diving back into your glory with the second response! Kiki you once again absolutely spoil me. I had the biggest damn smile and the giggles reading through this <3

okay so the first thing that caught my eye was the warning yoon why????? a whole jk and ady warning i can't i don't think i can make it through them fucking 😩😩😩

I'm a big believer in not shying away from writing things that may make people uncomfortable. Especially if I find it to be crucial for the plot, like it is here. It's a very important back and forth, metnal conversation, sen reactions and visual scene and it. is. important!! THEREFORE! you get a warning that it is going to happen to prep yourself! I know folks dont really side pairings a lot of the time when the sex is included with them, but in this case I needed it to show an important contrast so I kept it in.

also! Because I can. :)

(this is also why i will fight to the death for all my horror, yandere, boundary pushing writers. Just because their work makes YOU (general use) uncomfortable or upset, doesnt make them wrong for writing it)

like oc and nel i can handle but jk and ady ugh nooooooo our boy our prince not her please anyone else i can take but not her (i just realized the hate train towards ady is strong damn my loyalty to oc ain't cracking) so i am just going to power through that part and take the angst that comes with it (which I welcome)

I hope you were able to see why it was needed!! (let me know if you wanna!) and I appreciate your dedication so much. I know it's tough when it's obvious to you as the reader why something probably shouldnt happen and ngl that makes it wayyyyyyyy more fun to write.

i did notice that subtle hint at of using someone and the fantasies uhmmmmm ok that must be the upside...

noooooooooooooooooo comment 😈

I honestly wonder why oc isn't mentioning her friendship with jk I honestly love it it's giving me little tingles,

She went over her reasoning in chapter three!! ☺ but that was a while ago so I cant blame you there. In a terribly summary she essentially wants to stay out of the public eye, keep the prince happy because she does emjoy his company, and not cause any drama with friends and family.

That being said! I love it too

i don't think i mentioned it but uhm this slow burn is everything its freaking burning and i think oc is definitely feeling it now that jk is with someone, the little encounter at the cafe and the texting they are just adorable and fluffy my face hurts from the smiles...

This is one of my favourite parts of the story. The banter, the subtle jabs, the build up upon build up, the realising of things and denying them, just all of it. Slow burns are my bread and butter, i can devour them always, and apparently I can somewhat write them too. Which is pretty cool

I just love how they have these opinions about each other's partners like the red flags they each see but they are all about each other's happiness, oc held back with ady but oooh jk isn't 😂 you go boy you tell her gosh i love his character in that scene....

This is another contrast!! It's intentional!! I love that you noticed because I try to be subtle about it. They both have their issues and deal with it in their own ways. OC very much deals with it in a small town girl way, whereas the freaking prince is, shockingly (not) very confrontational. I love that theyre opposites in this way.

oc and nel's scene had me pausing cause i literally went why the heck is she thinking about jk at a time like this and then she said it too it was epic oh oc you give me the giggles😂

AHA i LOVE this. I also love the fact their yours and her lines of thinking lined up. That's actually really nice feedback in a way because it means I was able to write OC in a way that actually mimics real life thought patterns when in certain situations and thats REALLY COOL to hear as the writer from the reader.

Also! Happy to make you giggle! Humor is another thing I struggle with writing wise, so I'm glad I can make you crack a smile now and then with mine.

wait what she didn't finish?!?!??!?!?! THIS IS MY ACTUAL REACTION IT'S LIKE OC IS IN MY HEAD ANSWERING ALL MY QUESTIONS OC BABYGIRL NO DIDN'T YOU LITERALLY GIVE YURI ADVICE ABOUT HER DATE AND NOW THIS 😩😩😩

The best advice often comes from those who have experience with things one way or another.

Ex: I never dated in highschool and yet I was the person ALLLLLLL of my friends came too for their relationship advice.

So, my darling OC was just looking out for her bestie in that regard imo, as someone who has trouble in that aspect of her life.

and we jump straight into jk's horror I can't help it this back to back is amazing, not me shouting no through out his entire scene why jk why, here's oc is having trouble and ady on her fourth whyyyyyyyy he better have oc on his mind

YOU DID SEE HOW THE BACK TO BACK WAS IMPORTANT!!!! YAYAYAYAYAY!!

oh I'm so happy, literally this was the "let me know if you wanna" from earlier. This is what I was hoping for!!

JK is allowed to make bad decisions every now and then unfortunately as no one is perfect and no one has perfect coping mechanisms the first time they encounter new problems. He's human, and therefore is prone to making poor human mistakes.

as for the orgasm ratio....noooo comment :)

i love how jungkook says nels name in full i can literally picture the disgust and the face he would pull (cue oc eye roll) italics and all..

AHA I love this. This is probably my fave part im sorry becaue I wrote this in intentionally as sort of a joke that turns into a habit and it's just.....so him. And i adore it because its SO. PETTY. and I live for it.

i am writing this as i read so everything scene/sentence i go to write something on my notepad so i hope it all makes sense

it does!!

and let's just say when he shut her up the scene was better to read

As the writer, I'm cackling. As a reader, FACTS.

ugh jungkook likes oc he likes her fuck can they get together already i am dying here this chapter was perfect (even if ady was in it) like the build up and their thoughts both being on each other oh that tension is building i love the progression between them and the next chapter is gone be golden ahhhhhh lemme run over

Literally the only response I can think to give is just a bunch of these guys: 😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈 and then a giant THANKYOU!

yoon you beautiful genius you have my heart this fic is everything and it's getting more and more captivating as it goes along i can't wait to see what more you do in this series seriously yoon with every update i go back and re-read everything again and I am in awe every single time and your talent, like this should be printed like i want a physical copy when it's done you are brilliant and such a star for coming up with this ily yoon i hope you know that 🥹🖤

SOBBING IN THE CLUB KIKI. THERES A SPOTLIGHT ON ME, IM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CROWD OF DANCING PEOPLE AND IM SOBBING.

And funfact! I can actually bind this when I'm done with it as I am slowly gathering all the materials I need in order to do so. So maybe one day it will have a physcial copy (or two)!

Once again I feel nothing but warmth and love and light and kindness from your beautiful words. As much as I enjoy writing, it's words like yours and lovely folks like you that make me want to keep writing.

Thankyou. Truly, truly.

Xo, Yoon.

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 6 | M

Title: Eastern Arrivals and Unwanted Doubt

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: Nel's here for the week and you couldn't be more excited!! Jungkook's another story though...

Warnings: M, fluff, smut, swearing, drinking, pining, angsstt, slight boundary pushing (not sexual), unwanted/ unneeded overprotectiveness, jealousy, lying, [reader eats bacon and eggs but it's not specified what kind or where it's from, just bacon and eggs, so whether that means veggie, vegan or normal is up to you], intentional pissing off of Nel, a little spat between major characters, sex as a plot device.

Mature warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 6,945

Release Date: April 20, 2:00PM

A/N 1: 6 months later and we have chapter 6! slow updates, but they will be written and they will be posted. I have no plans to abandon this, I just, very unfortunately, have a bit of an outernet life now. So not a lot of free time to be creative which I hate. But it's here!!

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

Mature Warnings: Consensual sex x 2, both reader with Nel and JK with Ady -> sorry not sorry cuz it's plot sex. We got us some: kissing, protected sex (as we should), missionary, fingering, oral (f. rec), tiny bit of groping (consenual), multiple orgasms, loud sex, like annoyingly, sex as a terrible coping mechanism (imo), fantasizing.

Bouncing lightly from foot to foot, you’re buzzing after finally receiving the text you were waiting on a few minutes ago.

Nelly <3 [10:10pm]: Landed. See you soon 😘

He’s almost here. He’s almost here!

Just a few more seconds until—

The gates slide open. A flood of people in a mixture of sweats and business casual wear with luggage of all sizes and neck pillows walk through. You hold up the sign above your head with both hands, a smile that could outshine the sun plastered on your face, and search.

Where is he? Where is he, where is he, where is he, you think as you scour the bodies filing out of the automatic doors. You can’t see him. He’s none of the nameless faces that pass you by as they find their family, friends or rides. 

Is this even the right group of people? What if his luggage got lost and he won’t be out with this group. What if he got taken aside for some reason, and now he’s being held in some dusty room being asked a bunch of stupid questions he doesn’t know how to answer? What if he’s fig—

But then there’s a gap in the crowd, and the boy you’ve spent the last half decade of your life with comes into perfect, crystalline view. His lips pulled taught, teeth beautifully bared as he sets his sights on your sign high in the air, then down to you.

And you're running. 

You’re running and dodging and swerving until you’re jumping into Nels arms as he abandons his suitcase in favour of keeping you both up right. He buries his face into your neck, holding you so tightly you think he’ll never let go. And that’s just fine with you as you hold on just as tight, taking in a big breath of him too. 

He smells like airplane and coastal breeze and most importantly, home. 

Nel smells like home.

A muffled, “Ohhhhhhh, I missed you,” greets your ears, and you melt into him even more if that's even possible.

“I missed you too,” you say, pulling back and kissing him. You don’t really care if there’s an audience or not right now. Not when Nel’s here, and he’s in your arms, and he’s yours for a whole 9 days and life is as it should be once again.

He releases his hold slightly, but your arms don’t leave his shoulders. The sign still clutched, now crushed and crinkled, in one hand. 

“Car?” he asks, a kiss to your nose.

“This way,” you lead, releasing your hold.

Luckily, his suitcase is small, so he forgoes rolling it, instead gripping the handle at the top and carrying it in one hand. Your own reaching for his other and not letting go. He’s going to have to peel you off him if he wants space right now. 

Nel’s wearing his usual fall attire; a dark green school sweater that has ‘ECAD’ written over the chest in a large, academic looking mustard yellow font, regular old blue jeans, and dark brown lace up boots. His short, dirty blond hair's covered by a hat you’d gotten him as a highschool graduation present, and his ocean blue eyes remain as gorgeous as they were the day you met. 

Passing through doors to the outside and back to lot J, you hop in the car as he puts his bag in the trunk.

“How have you been? What’s new? What’s not? Tell me everything,” he asks as he climbs in and sits beside you, hand finding yours again. 

Never gone for too long. You relish in the comfort and happiness that alone brings you. 

He’s finally here. You finally have him back.

“I’m great. Yuri’s still Yuri, classes are only a little more challenging this year, but I’m still at the top of them,” Nel slips in a ‘not surprised’ and you smile brighter as you continue. “They’re already telling us to start brainstorming ideas for our thesis show next year,” you have no idea what you’re going to do, but you’re working on it. “Campus is the same, dorms are the same, the cafe’s the same. Though, they have the egg tarts I like in more, which is awesome for my taste buds and terrible for my bank account.” 

Vivian stayed true to her word, and now they had the tarts in every week. 

“I can only imagine,” Nel jokes.

“Uhhmm, what else…” a thought pops up, and you guess you can tell him. It doesn’t reveal anything the whole world doesn’t already know. “The prince is dating Adaline Dupree.”

His eyebrows raise, remembering, “Oh yeah, that’s right, the prince goes to your school now.”

“Yep.”

“Have you met him?”

Is he seriously not completely shocked at the prince dating Adaline? You only bitched about her to him all the time.

“Uhhh… yep, once or twice, I guess.” 

You hate it. You hate lying, especially to Nel. You hate it so much, but it’s for the greater good. It’s to keep the peace. But that doesn’t stop the burning feeling in your chest nor the roil in your belly.

“The day he arrived Yuri dragged me down to see him speak. She made us sit front row because Yuri,” Nel nods, knowing exactly what you mean. “He had everyone assemble to hear why he was at school and tell us not to treat him like a prince. He wants to be able to study without his title getting in the way.”

You hit your blinker, making a one handed left turn. 

“Makes sense. Is he nice at least?” Nel doesn’t sound at all suspicious, and why should he? You’ve never given him reason to not believe you at your word before. Never lied to him before.

Fuck you hate this so much. It was so much easier when he was 5000 miles away. But now that he's right beside you? This week may end up being more difficult than you thought.

“He was very princely. Tried to kiss my hand like he did like every other girl there, but I made it a handshake instead. Figured if he wants to be treated like everyone else, I would liste—Oh!” you laugh before you can even get the words out.

“What?” he asks, intrigued but confused.

You can barely speak coherently. “You should have seen Yuri’s face when I called him Jungkook and not Prince or Your Highness...her eyes nearly fell out of her head,” tears are starting to form from laughing so hard. “It was great.”

“He didn’t mind?” Nel asks and you shake your head. Yuri’s face that day will forever be seared into your brain for whenever you need a pick-me-up. 

“No, he was grateful actually. I was the first person that had addressed him like that, the way he’d asked to be.” Stopping at a red light, you're finally regaining yourself.

“Well,” he squeezes your hand, “you always were good at first impressions,” and looks at you so softly you can’t help but smile into the kiss you give him. 

He remembers that school art fair just as fondly as you do. 

Nel pulls away first with a thought. “Is Yuri with us this time?” 

Yuri hadn’t been able to go home last year, her parents too busy on a work trip, so she stayed back and kicked it with you two, but also gave you your space when needed.

Lots and lots of space.

“Nope! Parents welcomed her with open arms this afternoon, I’m sure. They’re all on some tropical island down south. She’s bringing me an ocean bottle though, so I’m excited for that. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to add a new one.”

Everytime you travelled somewhere with a beach you got a glass bottle and filled it with half sand, half water, added in some shells or rocks and labelled it. Instead of towels, keychains, or magnets, you did ocean bottles. They lined a shelf in your room back home. 

You probably have at least fifteen of them by now. Your mum likes to travel and make sure you experience the world around you, not just your little corner of it.

“Oh that’s great babe! I know how much you love those.”

“Yeah, it is.” You lean your head on his shoulder, basking in his presence for as long as the light remains red. 

He’s here. He’s yours. 

You only have to do this for a couple more years and then you’ll be together all the time. God you can’t wait. But you are nothing if not disciplined. 

And it’s going to be so worth it in the end.

The rest of the ride to your dorm goes by quickly. 

Some more red lights, some more kisses. You point out the same things you always do on the way back, and Nel acts like it’s the first time he’s seen them, just like he always does.

His hand never leaves yours over the center console. 

Soon enough, you find yourselves flopping down on your bed. Bags, jackets and shoes, scattered. Nel pulls you into him, his head on your pillow, yours lying on his chest. True peace settling in for the first time in months.

“I can't wait until we’re done school and I have more than four and a half months with you a year,” he sighs.  “It’s not enough. I want more. Need more.”

“Me too. But good things come to those who wait.”

“Yeah…I’m just really sick of waiting.” 

“Me too,” you repeat in a yawn. 

Nel’s breathing slowly evens out as you lie there, content to be in your arms again. And you look up to see his eyes closed, warm exhales brushing over your face from his nose. 

You can’t blame him for being so tired. He’d had an early morning exam before flying out, even brought his suitcase to it so he could leave the second he was done. Then, the flight alone was ten hours, plus travel times to and from the airports was about an hour each way, and the wait time before boarding was another two. 

Shit, he’s probably been awake for around eighteen hours straight at this point because he’s also the type that can’t sleep on planes no matter what he tries. 

Oh, Nel...Of course he’s exhausted.

Giving him a squeeze before getting up, you take off his socks and jeans carefully, then tuck him into bed as much as you can. You’d try the sweater, but it involved too many working parts and you didn’t want to wake him, so you figure it’s best to have the window open tonight instead. 

Grabbing your phone, you tiptoe to the bathroom and do your night time routine. It’s not an overly complicated one, just brushing your teeth, washing your face and a simple 3 step skincare routine of cleanser, toner and moisturizer. Short and sweet, but it does the job. 

Halfway through brushing, you do your friend due diligence and send Yuri a ‘back safe’ text, just like she’d sent you her own ‘here safe’ when she’d landed.

You spit and rinse, moving onto washing your face and applying cleanser.

Teeth clean and face moisturized, you sneak into your room again. Nel's still out cold. 

You sneak out of habit—your mom wakes at the sound of a pin dropping. But absolutely nothing could wake Nel now outside of his mother’s voice and his morning alarm. It’s a talent of his you’ve always been jealous of.  

Removing today's clothes and tossing them in your overflowing hamper—reminder to self: do laundry—you slide on your pjs and climb into bed beside him, plugging in your phone and setting it down. 

A thought pops into your head and you pick it back up, shooting a quick text before you can think twice. 

You [11:26pm]: home safe

It pings not seconds later.

PJK [11:26pm]: Thanks Picasso  PJK [11:27pm]: glad ur home safe

Your heart beats a little louder at the nickname, and you chalk it up to the excitement still in you at having Nel here and being tired. 

But you sleep better that night than you have in a long time. 

A short, repetitive, rhythmic vibration. 

Picasso [11:26pm]: home safe

Jungkook is still standing in the same corner by the wall, Adaline somewhere in the crowd in front of him dancing with her friends. She asked him to join her, but he declined. He doesn’t need to see himself more than half drunk and dancing on the cover of tomorrow’s news cycles. Not to mention his security team would shut the party down the second a camera flashed.

His guards are carefully stationed throughout the house, all dressed down in casual wear, a few with empty cups in their hands. One is watching some sort of beer pong like game in the corner, another is mingling with some guys over in the kitchen. Three he can’t immediately see. And he knows his head guard is outside in a black car ready to get him out at a moment's notice.

Nobody can tell they aren’t here for the party, not unless they’re sober enough to notice watchful eyes continually making their way over the crowd as the night goes on. 

Your text woke him from the stillness he’s adapted from standing so long, trying hard not to draw attention to himself. 

You were home safe. Home safe from the airport. Home safe from picking up Cornelius. 

Your boyfriend. 

Cornelius, your boyfriend. 

He doesn’t acknowledge his teeth grinding.

You were home from picking up your beau but even then, you’d texted him to let him know you were back on campus safely. To let him know you were okay. 

It’s the first thing that makes him smile all night.

So he sends back, a bit to quickly: 

Me [11:26pm]: Thanks Picasso Me [11:26pm]: glad ur home safe

Because it means something to him that you deem him close enough to send a ‘home safe’ text too. 

That you want him to know you’re back.  

Want him to know you’re safe.

Whether you know it or not, your safety means a lot to Jungkook, so that little two word text makes his heart lurch. 

He needs to leave. 

He needs to get out of this fucking house and back to his dorm. He came, he drank, he observed, he fulfilled his boyfriend duty.

That’s enough for him. 

He shoots Adaline a text that says he isn’t feeling well and gets out as fast as he possibly can, dodging bodies left and right and doing his best to hide his face. 

Once he’s out, security team in tow, the cooling midnight air does him some good. 

“Someone make sure she gets back to her dorm safe,” he says in their general direction, brain too muddled to be polite in this exact moment, but it’s nothing they haven’t seen before. 

This is going to be such a long week.

He can’t wait till it’s over. Till he doesn’t have to share anymore. 

He was never very good at it anyway. 

The smell of bacon wakes you. 

And toast, and…

Eggs? 

You think, at least. Since when do you have bacon? Or eggs? Toast is a given, it’s part of your life’s blood.

Opening your eyes, you blindly reach for your phone, successfully unplugging it and bringing it to your face.

The screen is too bright but you suffer through it, squinting.

9:27am. 

9:27? 

You slept for ten hours!?

You can’t remember the last time you slept more than 6 consecutively, aside from recovery nights, and even then it was fitful.

Nel comes in with two plates, his full with a very Eastern breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon. Yours with two pieces of toast, lots of bacon, a bit of eggs and some fruit. Where did he—?

He smiles at your confusion, “You have a cafeteria that sells breakfast food, you know.”

You know that.

“I know that.”

“Do you? Because the look on your face says otherwise.”

You flop back down and pull the pillow over your head, mumbling incoherent nonsense. You rarely used the dorm cafeteria for breakfast. Much preferring the greenhouse cafe or simple toast and juice that you can make in your dorm.

He chuckles. “Two breakfasts for me then, okay, if you insist,” Nel moves to leave but you screech, uncovering your face.

“Noo! I want it. Please, sweet nutrition,” he hands the plate over when you sit up, arms out stretched, and you dig in. 

After a piece of bacon, you ask, “How long have you been up?”

Nel’s sitting with his legs crossed at the end of your bed, munching away, “Long enough to get changed, grab my wallet, get food and come back.”

The bacon is really good. You’ve never been so glad he knew you so well as you grab another piece from the dwindling pile.

“You slept well then, too? That’s good, I’m glad. You needed the rest.”

“Having you around always makes it easier to fall asleep,” he nudges your knee with his elbow.

Even after five years he can still make you blush.

“I know the feeling.”

You two fall into step, starting your weeks in advance prepared plans, the rest of your day passing quickly. 

Too quickly. 

And so does the next day, and the next, and the next. 

All of your activities are going great. The zoo, picnics, study dates, restaurant dates, historical, artistic and architectural museum tours. Even a swim at the school’s indoor pool, and there’s plenty more to come. 

Things slip back into being easy, just as they always have been with Nel, ever since that first day back in tenth grade. 

He knows you like the back of his hand and predicts your moves before you make them, just like you do for him. 

You know his favourite foods, and where he prefers to park when driving—always avoiding open curbs—you know his dream travel destinations, and who his favourite musicians are. You know his favourite pencils to design with and his favourite pencils to shade with, that he always put on his right sock first, then right shoe, then left sock and left shoe. You know that his drink order is an iced coffee with two cream and two sugar, that he prefers loose shirts over fitted ones, and that his favourite colour is orange.

It’s a pretty orange too, not just any orange. You wonder if it’s anything like Jungkook's–

Wait. 

You search your memory for the information, going through favourite foods, drinks, music—all discussed previously, because you know their answers. But colour?

Nothing.

How have you never asked what Jungkook’s favourite colour is?

Isn’t that usually one of the first things people ask when they’re trying to get to know one another? Funny. Guess you’ll have to inquire the next time you see him. 

Anyways, just like you know everything there is to know about Nel, he knows everything about you too, including your routines. 

Which is why at twelve noon every day, he starts getting ready to go to the greenhouse for your afternoon study session.

Including today.  

Your week’s already half over and you hate it. Time always moves far to fast when all you want it to do is slow the fuck down. 

You only have five days left. Five days.

You’re lucky the greenhouse cafe is open during break, some places on campus are required to stay open for the students who can’t make it home, but greenhouse chooses to. 

As you and Nel turn the corner you see a familiar figure sitting in his old spot at the back of the patio. The same hat, mask and hoodie, now paired with a leather jacket on top due to the weather starting to cool down.

You can tell Jungkook wasn’t expecting to see you by the way he stiffens before those all too familiar brown eyes of his meet your own. Which is fair, your schedule shifts a bit when you’re on break, he isn’t used to you being here at twelve on Wednesdays. 

But as quickly as he sees you, his gaze is back on his laptop, like he never saw you in the first place. 

Like you asked him to do. 

And a sharp pain stings inside your chest.

When you and Nel get to your table, he sits in the seat opposite to where you always do, leaving where Jungkook usually sits beside you, empty. 

A part of you is grateful for that, though you can’t figure out why and table that self discussion for a later date. 

Setting down your things, you ask Nel if he wants coffee. He answers yes, like always, and after a quick visit with Viv, you're pulling out your chair and setting down your cups. Your back faces Jungkook. It’s a small mercy you can’t see him. Maybe you can forget he’s here and actually focus on your work. 

But it’s also exactly because of your position, that you can’t see as Jungkook subtly watches you over the rim of his laptop while you and Nel talk quietly and study. 

Nel can though. 

It feels weird to ignore him. To pretend you don’t know one another when for the better part of the last seven weeks all you’ve done is talk, hang out, study or a mixture of the three, every day. 

When having him sit behind you and not beside you feels so wrong and so foreign. 

But this is your own doing, you caused this. So you need to suck it up and get used to it. 

This is exactly what you asked for all those weeks ago. The perfect solution to your problem. 

No one can know. 

Not Nel. 

Not anyone. 

But fuck, if it didn’t absolutely suck in practice. 

Setting some of your books out around you and on the table Jungkook usually uses, you dig into your business homework. Having a major and a minor are great for job prospects, on paper, and in practice after you’ve completed them.

But getting them? It takes years of hard work and dedication with no distractions. 

None.  

You spend almost every free moment you have doing homework or practicing, trying to get ahead, trying to stay on top.

…Trying to beat Adaline. 

But you just use that as fuel for your drive to be better. To be the best. 

Competition is healthy. Especially when you’re winning against the rich brat who’s used to getting what she wants. 

Not that you're petty.

Ehh…You are. But only a little bit. At least you can admit it.

Nel gets to work as well, the sunlight from his spot is great for drawing. He’s working on a rough version of his thesis project that’s due at the end of the year. He has to have multiple completed renderings as well as a scale model, and he’s been brainstorming since last year about what he wants to do.

Currently, he’s drawing up an airport, trying to design so that it’s not confusing and complicated for first time users. 

However, his occasional swearing and muttering to himself makes you think he’s having a tough time with it. 

You try not to laugh, but a small giggle slips out. 

“What,” Nel asks, a little distracted.

“Nothing.”

“No really, what’s up? I could use a laugh right now,” he insists, eyes on you at first. But then something behind you steals their attention every few seconds. 

Someone. 

“You just…you still make funny sounds when you're frustrated with a drawing. It’s endearing.” You reach to place your hand on his knee, trying to gain back his full attention. 

Ignore him, Nel. Please ignore him. 

“Yeah...” he exhales. “I guess airports are out,” his hand covers yours quickly and you hear a faint chair screech from behind you. Nel doesn’t miss it as he says. “But I do have a much bigger appreciation and understanding for all those who came before me,” pupils now unmoving from their target behind you. 

Fine. 

You’ll acknowledge it. 

“Is everything okay? You keep looking at something? Is there an animal or…” You know what he’s looking at, but go so far as to turn anyway, playing up the ‘confused girlfriend’ role. But Nel squeezes your hand, stopping you. 

He leans in, placing a fake mask of serene on and lowers his voice. “That guy keeps looking at us, moreso you. And he looks pissed off.”

Fuck, think of something.

Anything. Anythi—Oh!

You lean in too, so close your noses almost touch. “He’s probably just upset we’re talking. The greenhouse cafe is usually a quiet place to work,” good enough, you think. That’s believable, right?. “It’ll be fine. Let’s just ignore him and get back to work.”

You place a quick kiss on his lips but Nel isn’t letting up on his unnecessary vigilance. But then again, he doesn’t know that Jungkook is the opposite of a threat to you. So you reassure him, in your own way.  

“Babe, seriously. If you’re going to be all protective or whatever, don’t. I come here everyday when you're not here and I’m still alive and unharmed. Go get a sandwich or a refill to get your head off of it and say hi to Viv. She’s still here, and I’m betting she remembers you. You’re kinda hard to forget.” 

You can tell Nel’s about to reject the idea when you insist. “I’ll be fine, Nel. Promise. Three years and not a scratch on me.” 

He sighs through his nose, but relents. 

Placing his drawing pad on the table, he gets up, but not before placing another kiss to your forehead and mumbling, “Scream ‘cumquat’ if you’re in danger and I’ll come running, okay?” 

You laugh outright at that. “Will do.”

You watch him as he goes, and the second he’s inside, you’re racing for your phone, typing at an astounding speed.

You [1:45pm]: Didn’t your royal upbringing teach you not to stare so blatantly!??? Nel caught you

You hear a quiet ping from behind you followed by a small exhale that sounds more like a disguised chuckle. 

PJK [1:45pm]: Yes.  

You [1:45pm]: So you intentionally got caught?

PJK [1:45pm]: Maybe

You [1:45pm]: Shithead

PJK [1:46pm]: Rude

You [1:46pm]: You deserve it

PJK [1:46pm]: I know. I’m just making sure he’s treating you right.  PJK [1:47pm]: and trying to see if he acts differently when he knows he’s being watched. He’s very protective you know 

Jungkook saw the second Nel noticed he was watching you. 

His posture changed from easy going to on alert. His hand went so quickly to yours on his knee and his public displays of affection increased significantly. 

It was pathetic, really. It went above a normal amount of protection. Nel was claiming his ‘property’, making sure Jungkook knew not to touch. 

And the nasty look Nel gave him as he entered the cafe—gratefully still unrecognizable in his disguise—was another silent way to say back off, stay away, and don’t try anything or you’ll regret it. 

It was a red flag in Jungkook's mind. A small one, but it’s still there because his efforts are completely unneeded. After five years together, Nel should know that you can handle yourself. 

Hell, Jungkook knows that and it’s only been two months. 

You [1:47pm]: yes I know he is, and I already told you he treats me well because he always. Does. Not just in public or under watchful eyes  You [1:48pm]: and since when does my boyfriend of half a decade need your ~princely~ seal approval?

He ignores the small jab. You only ever brought up his title when you were mocking or upset with him. And he knows that in this case it's the latter.

PJK [1:48pm]: Since now PJK [1:49pm]: And it’s not that I don’t trust you at your word, but I usually like to decide for myself

That has you reeling. 

Where does he get the audacity to think he has any say in or about your relationship? Your very solidly built, five years strong, healthy, happy relationship?

Because he’s the Prince? You’re pretty sure you established on day one that you didn’t and still don’t give a fuck about his birthright. 

If he thinks he gets an opinion on any of this he’s got another thing coming the second he asks you anything about Adaline again. 

You’re in the middle of typing out a paragraph explaining all of this when another text comes in.  

PJK [1:49pm]: Because I’ve seen far too many women in love who are blind to certain things PJK [1:50pm]: And far too many hurt in the end because of it. 

You pause. Fingers frozen mid swipe.

Blind to what?

How many women did he know that were in love but missing something about their partner? Surely there couldn't be that many. Right? 

But this was Jungkook you were talking to, he’s lived numerous lifetimes already. That fancy birthright of his you don’t care about having given him far too many life experiences to have at his age. And they’re only going to increase from here.

So instead of hitting send and cursing him out quite spectacularly, you stop and think for a moment. 

What did he see that they didn’t? 

That you might… not?

You’re a decent judge of character if your record tracks. And it does. 

So your curiosity gets the better of you as you delete your rage paragraph and settle for a simple two word question instead. 

You [1:50pm]: Like what?

You can see that he’s typing out a response but the bell on the cafe door rings and you put your phone down. It buzzes with his response a few seconds after. 

You’ll check it later.

Nel takes his seat again, and you notice he has his sandwich, but also that he’s moved his chair and starts sketching from the new position giving him a direct eye line with Jungkook. 

You internally scoff at that. 

Nel has always been protective. But he was raised that way and you don’t mind too much. You don’t expect him to change his core values for you, just like he never expects you to change yours for him, even when a couple of his are just the slightest bit overbearing. 

But that’s part of a relationship. Give and take and compromise. No one person is going to be perfect for another. It’s healthy to have differences. 

That being said, Nel doesn’t change positions for the rest of the hour. Even as Jungkook packs up and leaves, Nel eyeballs him until he’s out of sight. 

That night while Nel is brushing his teeth and you're lying in bed, you check the text from Jungkook. 

PJK [1:51pm]: Like if they’re getting treated the way they should be or if they’re settling for the best they think they can get or for the first guy that showed interest. The one who hasn’t grown up even though time has passed. The one who’s holding her back by not setting her free

You stare at your phone. At the text. At his words. 

And dismiss it. 

You aren’t one of those women. 

You know yourself. 

You know what you deserve and how you should be treated. You didn’t settle, you just happened to find your love at a young age. That’s something special and rare and should be protected. And Nel has most certainly grown up as time passed. 

Jungkook is being ridiculous for absolutely no reason. Surely he’ll have seen that today. Seen how Nel loves you, treats you how you deserve to be treated, holds you up. Supports you. 

You’re confident he’ll be eating his words soon enough.

Finished brushing, Nel comes back to the bedroom and snuggles up behind you and you put down your phone. 

He cuddles you for a minute before placing a kiss at your neck. Then another. And another before he’s mouthing up your neck, and sliding a hand up your thigh and to your waist. It pauses on your stomach with teasing caresses, before dipping lower and lower, beneath the fabric of your sleep shorts, and under the elastic of your underwear. 

A small moan sounds in your throat at the touch. His fingers meeting your folds and the sensitive bundle of nerves at their apex.

You wanted this. 

Need it. 

He’s grown, you think; as a finger slips in you and you gasp at the stretch, legs opening wider for him. A second finger plunges in and you can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with every thrust. Just like you can feel a bulge forming behind you. 

You know what you deserve; as he uses them to scissor you open, making sure you’re ready. You roll over, now on your back with Nel over you as he pulls your shorts and underwear down to get better access, your own hands removing your shirt.

You’re not settling; as Nel moves down, tongue making a couple swipes at your entrance and you hiss in pleasure before he’s reaching over, grabbing a condom from the nightstand drawer and sliding it on, length hard and dripping at the sight of you bared before him. 

Nel wasn’t the first guy who’d shown interest, just the first you’d said yes to; and he slides in. Both of you moaning at the snug fit.

“Fuck...” he says and you nod, agreeing, before pulling him down into a deep kiss.

He eases into a slow, steady rhythm that has you breathy and his abs tensing. 

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need to erase these past two months without him, and take enough to last for the next two. It’s never enough, but you try. 

“Faster baby,” you beg, “Please…faster.”

Nel isn’t holding you back. Jungkook doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. 

Nel picks up the pace and you start moaning, louder like you know he likes. Likes to hear he’s doing a good job. He’s grabbing your breast and sucking in a nipple, tongue swirling and you're bringing your hips to meet his with every thrust. 

It feels good. It always feels good with Nel. 

He was your first everything. First kiss, first intimate touch, first love. 

Only love.

And he makes you feel good with that love. That touch. His kiss.

He makes you feel safe, inside and out. 

Jungkook can go eat grass. He doesn’t know your relationship. Doesn’t know the first thing about it. 

“There, right there!” you whine as Nel hits your sweet spot once and you arch. He tries again but misses, continuing faster, his peak coming quickly. 

Jungkook can never understand what you two have. What you two have built in these five years. The understanding and security that comes with it. 

He’s being an unrightfully opinionated ass on something he knows nothing about and— 

Fuck! Why are you thinking about Jungkook? You’re having sex with Nel. You shouldn’t be thinking about anything or anyone other than that. 

Than him. 

So why can’t you get what Jungkook said out of your fucking head?

“Ahhh… oh fuck. I’m cumming.” Nel’s hips stutter, his face contorting in pleasure as he releases, filling the condom.

You kiss him passionately to rid yourself of your princely plagued thoughts, the ones filling you with unwanted and unnecessary doubt. You want them gone, gone, gone. Nothing but Nel in their place. 

And you slip an, “I love you,” in between kisses for good measure. 

Jungkook could never understand. 

Nel kisses you back just as hard, dramatically slowing his thrusts, drawing out his high for as long as possible. 

“I love you too.”

Jungkook doesn’t know anything. 

Nel groans into your lips when it becomes too much and pulls out. 

Removing and tying off the condom, Nel goes to the washroom to throw it out and starts the shower he knows you’ll be joining him for when you're done. 

A routine you’re all too familiar with. 

One you created. 

He knows you need a few minutes to get yourself off. 

You’ve never been able to cum from sex with a partner. No matter how hard you tried. No matter what you did. 

Most would think Nel wasn’t a good lover or wasn’t trying enough, but it was through years of constantly trying anything and everything that you learned you just…couldn’t. 

No amount of fingering or oral or penetration from your partner could make you orgasm. 

So Nel knows to wait for you in the shower as you finish yourself off, your own fingers making quick work of it, because you always could for some reason. 

It isn’t your ideal situation, and it isn’t anyone’s fault. But it works. You both get the intimacy you crave and you accepted a long time ago that you were just one of the unlucky few. 

Screams fill Jungkook’s ears as a hand finds his hair and nails rake against his scalp. 

Adaline isn’t a quiet receiver. 

“Ohmygod!” She shouts for the twentieth time. “Yes! There…so goo-oohhhh,” the last syllable turning into a loud moan. 

He’s holding her downwith a forearm by her pelvis, mouth full as he brings out her third orgasm of the night, juices flooding his tongue. 

He’s working out earlier frustrations and proving a point to himself in this fucked up version of self therapy. 

He shouldn’t be. 

But he does.

Has to.

Seeing you today with Cornelius spurred feelings within him that he didn’t know he had. Sure, there were bits and pieces of something stirring he refused to name, but today? 

They were in a whole different ballpark. Different than anything else he’s ever felt before, brewing inside him, bubbling up to the surface even though he’s been trying his best to pop them and shove them down.

Anger? 

Feelings he doesn’t want to have. 

Jealousy? 

Does have. 

Wanting you to look at him the way you look at Nel?

Can’t have. 

Not for… 

He admits he provoked Nel because he could. Dick move, but it was because Jungkook knew just by looking at him that giving you any form of attention would piss him off.  He seemed the type. 

Overly possessive, overprotective. 

Overbearingly so. 

Suffocatingly so. 

Because Nel knows how lucky he is. That you chose him. That you still choose him. 

He knows he has to keep others away. 

Knows he isn’t good enough for you, holds you back. But keeps you anyway.

The selfish prick. 

So Jungkook eyed you up and down, leisurely, and for as long as he wanted. Purely out of the need to prove to himself he was right about his little assessment of your boyfriend. At least that’s what he told himself. 

Was it childish and unnecessary? 

Yes. 

But he was right. And that felt good. 

He could see in your posture and your hushed words you didn’t want Nel’s protection, didn’t need it, and that Nel ignored that wish of yours. Did what he wanted to instead of respecting your ability to make decisions for yourself. Bulldozed your opinions. 

It pissed Jungkook off. 

He’d left a little while after sending you that text to read, but you never did. At least not since the last time he checked. And so he’d made plans with Adaline the second he was out of your earshot. Calling her up and setting a time for what’s currently taking up his primary focus. 

Because even though it was Adaline underneath him, for the very first time, that’s not who he imagined it was. 

Not who he just dragged a fourth orgasm out of with his fingers because he could. 

Because he would. He would be so much better. Give so much more. If only… 

Fuck.

Jungkook stands and drags his cock over Adaline’s entrance, whacking it against her clit a couple times before running the tip through her folds and pushing in. He hisses at the feeling. At who he was sinking into in his head, splayed out in front of him. Skin glistening with sweat mixed with arousal. Mouth open, slack jawed in pleasure. 

Adaline moans loudly and it dissolves his visual. 

His tattooed hand moves to hold her hands above her head, the other silences her mouth. 

“Quiet now,” he whispers, low and deep. A bead of sweat dripping off his brow, hair sticking to his neck and temple.

He intends it to be sexy for her, but in reality, he’s just sick of hearing her. It’s ruining his mental image. Not that she’ll ever know that though. 

To Adaline, this session is all about her and making her feel good. 

But constant screams and loud, pornographic moans aren’t appealing to him in the slightest. They're taking him out of the mood. Making him soft. 

Once or twice when it’s genuine? Sure. But the constant assault she loves to give his eardrums? Not even a little bit.

He sets a fast, rough pace, and Adaline’s eyes roll back in pleasure, screams finally subsiding in white hot bliss, replaced by bitten lips and smothered whimpers.

He is going to prove this point to himself over and over again. All night if he has to. 

And he has to.  

To get whatever it is he’s feeling for you out of his system.

To keep his sanity. 

To forget. 

And while it’s Adaline’s name is on his lips when he cums. 

It’s not the name he repeats in his head like a prayer. 

Chapter Seven: Hard Goodbyes and Favourite Colours

A/N 2: Thanks for waiting for this chapter. I'll try my best to have 7 out as soon as I can get it. I promise.

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

[erinstired]

more of my op redesign 🧯

[mazeyphaedra]

was rewatching fabian’s baron moment on account of it being the most delicious piece of pvp in my recent memory and ally beardsley’s growth as a player just shone through so brightly and with such clarity. after dusting off their shock they immediately asked about the nemesis ward, had enough knowledge about fellow pcs stocked to remember adaine’s ac with such like frustrated confidence and certainty, suggested to siobhan to dimension door out of adaine’s room, like. they came into this making a character with 4 dex. and now the dice deity offered to roll a check to sense if adaine was in danger. making decisions, asking questions, getting invested in the story, trying so hard with the tools they have to save characters from danger; ally beardsley is an incredible d&d player.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Snap: *draws a Megaman-inspired Magneto*

Me: ...Perfect modernization.

wait now that its not 3AM i can do you one Slightly better

bonus:

[moeblob]

cute? D: (thank you so much!)

[nycswebhead]

Just wanted you to know that you are genuinely one of the funniest people on the god damn earth, like every time I read through your blog I laugh so hard I can’t breathe, you understand Spider-Man on a fundamental level

thats because i am him?

[joshuamj]

EoW Zelda and Link designs

[jerreeeeeee]

more and more i find myself interested in the period of time where barry and lup were best friends and sort of both knew they were starting to have romantic feelings but also were both not ready to act on them and continued to be close friends.

like so often i’d resist that sort of story, because they end up in a romantic relationship, and so it feels like that feeds into that narrative of “inevitability,” it feels like it retroactively cancels out the “platonic explanation” for how close they were before, but i don’t think that’s actually true for them? the “inevitability” isn’t that they’d develop romantic feelings, because any friendship that close must eventually become romantic, rather it’s that they happen to develop romantic feelings, and so it’s inevitable that they trust and love each other enough to take their time and change their relationship as they want to, because their friendship means so much to them.

there was a platonic explanation for how close they were before they started feeling romantically and before they started labelling their relationship as romantic, because before all that, their relationship was platonic. they were close friends who loved each other and then they fell in love romantically. they still loved each other equally as much when they were “””just””” friends. if they’d never developed those romantic feelings they’d still be close and love one another. (case in point; their respective relationships to taako, or at the very least lup’s relationship to taako, which is equally close and deep and loving, yet platonic, and in fact directly mentioned as remaining just as important to lup) (and really, case in point their relationships to everyone on the starblaster. in the monologue about lup and barry, griffin takes care to mention that the relationships between everyone on the crew had become indescribably close, and never positions their romance as being “more” than any of the others’ friendships).

the reason i dislike friends to lovers is because usually those stories imply that romance is the inevitable end to a close friendship, that romance is a deepening of a relationship, but taz balance so pointedly does not say that about all its other myriad deep and profound platonic relationships; the narrative, at every turn, fully respects its friendships and platonic bonds, so this one happening to be a romance doesn’t actually bother me. it does actually feel like a choice people made because they felt like it and wanted to, rather than being forced in, and it doesn’t reinforce amatonormative bias, because the story doesn’t.

their ending up as a romance doesn’t invalidate the friendship beforehand, because the friendship was already so deep and valuable to both of them. and honestly, from the way the monologue goes, it seems to me that they weren’t exactly pining, they weren’t longing to deepen their relationship, they didn’t experience distance before becoming a couple; they were together every step of the way. it was already deep and close and loving before they decided to change it, and they took their time because that was how they wanted to do it. not being together romantically never stopped them from spending time together or valuing their relationship or loving one another.

[askgardenerwoods]

hi Emma! Who do you consider your friends do you have a crush on anybody?

" For crushes... "

[wuthering-tempest]

hippity hop....out on a bop.....

[budugaapologist]

still dont see how so many people say that dawntrail is poorly written in comparison to other expansions like. what, did you realize you had to learn about a new culture and immediately not care anymore lmao? you've done it before, was this one not white enough for you?

genuinely i think more people should do side quests during msq so idk you can form a heart about the characters you're interacting with if you struggle with that and understand the land better so when impactful shit happens your illiterate ass can actually read and have empathy. theres no excuse for this.

if you can't handle storybuilding and character introductions from the expansion that feels like stormblood and shadowbringers had passionate gay sex that got one of them pregnant and birthed a beautiful daughter they both love and care about then idk what to tell you, maybe youre just lame and can't read. best of luck with that.