#when is the last time i have made a personal post.

[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

[be4chywritez]

loathing? | luke hughes

luke hughes x fem!reader

rec: so luke gives bfb vibes so hard for some reason please write something like best friend's brother or like enemies to lovers

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

Jack’s apartment felt like a second home to you at this point. You were always here, whether Jack invited you over or you just let yourself in. It wasn’t your fault his couch was more comfortable than yours, and besides, his fridge was always stocked with your favorite snacks.

Unfortunately, Jack’s apartment came with an unwanted addition—Luke Hughes.

Luke was the embodiment of an annoying little brother, except he wasn’t your brother, which made it worse. Every time you were over, he was there, too, sulking, chirping, or generally making your life difficult.

It started with little things. He’d steal your snacks, change the channel when you were watching something, or conveniently take the last bottle of water from the fridge. Once, you caught him wearing one of your hoodies just to piss you off. The rivalry was childish, petty, and utterly exhausting.

Then came the pranks. You swapped his protein powder with flour. He replaced your chapstick with hot sauce. Jack refused to take sides, claiming you were both equally insufferable.

One afternoon, after Luke had hidden your shoes before you had to leave, you retaliated by locking him out on the balcony in the middle of winter. Jack had to let him back in after twenty minutes, and Luke had vowed revenge ever since.

And now, it had come to this.

“Move, you’re on my side of the couch.”

You looked up from your phone, arching a perfectly sculpted brow as Luke stood over you, arms crossed. His stupid, messy hair was damp from his post-practice shower, and he was still in sweatpants and a hoodie, looking as effortlessly good as ever—not that you’d ever admit it.

“Your side?” You scoffed, stretching out even further. Your legs, bare thanks to the tiny shorts you wore, draped over the cushions as you made yourself comfortable. “Last I checked, this couch belongs to Jack.”

Luke exhaled sharply, clearly already at his limit with you today. “Yeah, and Jack’s not here, which means I get priority seating.”

“That’s not how it works, Hughes.” You gave him a slow, taunting smile. “You snooze, you lose. Go sit in the chair like a good little rookie.”

Luke rolled his eyes, but instead of arguing further, he did the worst possible thing—he sat down. Right on top of you.

“Luke!” You shrieked, shoving at his solid frame, but he didn’t budge.

“You wouldn’t move, so now I’m sitting.” His smirk was infuriating.

“You’re crushing me, you absolute menace.” You wriggled under him, but it only made him press down more, laughing at your struggle.

“Not my fault you take up the whole couch.”

“Not my fault you have no concept of personal space.”

“Oh, please. You love the attention.”

That made you pause, and Luke must have noticed the slight falter in your expression because his grin widened. You shoved at his chest, hard enough that he finally moved off you, but the damage was done. You were flustered, and he knew it.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” you muttered, sitting up and crossing your arms.

“Right back at you, princess.”

The nickname, as condescending as it was, sent a jolt through you. Maybe it was the way his voice dropped slightly when he said it, or maybe it was the way he was looking at you now—like he was daring you to snap back.

And snap, you did.

One second, you were shoving at his shoulder. The next, his hands were on your waist, and your lips crashed together. It was messy, desperate, all of the pent-up frustration spilling over into something way hotter than either of you had planned. His hands gripped your hips like he’d been waiting for this, and when you bit down on his lower lip, he groaned against your mouth.

Your fingers curled in his hoodie, tugging him closer, and he gladly followed, pressing you back against the couch as his mouth moved against yours, demanding and hungry. The fire between you had finally found its outlet, and there was no stopping it now.

The air between you was thick with something unspoken when you finally broke apart, both of you breathing heavily. Luke’s forehead rested against yours for a fleeting moment before he pulled back, a knowing smirk playing at his lips.

“Didn’t see that coming, did you?” he teased, his voice lower now, rougher.

You rolled your eyes, even as your pulse hammered. “Shut up.”

He grinned but didn’t argue. Instead, he reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers with a confidence that sent another shiver down your spine.

“C’mon,” he murmured, tugging you up from the couch. “Before Jack gets back.”

A thrill shot through you as you followed him down the hallway, your stomach twisting in anticipation. This was dangerous, reckless—but you weren’t stopping now.

Not when sneaking off with Luke Hughes had suddenly become the most exciting thing you’d done all night.

The near-misses started piling up after that night. A stolen kiss in the kitchen while Jack was in the other room. Luke slipping his hand under the table at dinner, brushing against your thigh as you tried to keep a straight face. One night, Jack almost walked in on you tangled up in Luke’s bed, forcing you to dive under the covers while Luke casually pretended to be scrolling on his phone.

It was thrilling. Addictive. But eventually, the excitement started to wear thin, especially for Luke.

One night, after slipping out of Jack’s apartment and into Luke’s room again, he hesitated before pulling you close. There was something different in his touch, something hesitant.

“This isn’t just—physical for you, is it?” he finally asked, voice low but vulnerable in a way you’d never heard before.

You blinked at him, thrown off by the sudden shift. “What?”

Luke exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “I just—sometimes it feels like that’s all we are. And I don’t want that.”

You studied him, heart clenching at the uncertainty in his eyes. “Luke, I wouldn’t be sneaking around for just anyone. This is more. I want more. I thought you knew that.”

His jaw tensed. “I want more too. I just didn’t know if you felt the same.”

You reached out, threading your fingers through his. “You’re not just a hookup to me, Luke. You never were.”

His shoulders sagged in relief, and he pulled you in, pressing his forehead to yours. “Good. Because I think I’m falling for you.”

You swallowed, emotions thick in your throat. “Then fall, Hughes. I’ve already fallen.”

Jack found out in the most Jack way possible—by walking in on you and Luke curled up together on the couch.

He froze in the doorway, blinking as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Are you—kidding me?”

Luke groaned, dropping his head back. “Well, that could’ve gone better.”

Jack pointed a finger between the two of you. “How long?”

You hesitated. “Uh… a while?”

Jack groaned. “You two are the worst.”

But there was no real anger in his voice—just exasperation. And when Luke laced his fingers through yours, squeezing lightly, you knew it was all worth it.

[yamumsyadadd]

no goodbye?

you get the shock of your life when you see your fiancée is leaving through instagram.

It had been a week from hell. Working night shifts was something that never got easier, no matter how many times you had to do it. 

You’d barely had time to breathe, the final shift of your rotation had been absolutely insanity. For the entire week, you’d be missing your fiancé. Keira trained during the day, played usually on the weekends and slept at night time like a normal person. 

When you weren’t doing nights, your routine was down pat. Dates nights the day after their game, because that was Keira cheat day and you could enjoy whatever you wanted together. Dinner always followed her nutrition plan, mainly because you could’ve be bothered making separate meals. Everyday and every night would end and start the same way: cuddled up under the blankets together. 

For two and a half years, that’s how it had worked. But recently, it stopped working. During the summer, a trip away to Iceland during the Olympics was booked. It was there that Keira proposed, but also asked if you’d join her in moving back to England when her contract expired in the summer of 2025, right before the euros. 

It wasn’t until you were almost home that you finally went on instagram. The news was heartbreaking: Keira Walsh set to travel to London for a fitness test with Chelsea. 

Your heart sank. Surely it wasn’t the truth, this wasn’t the plan. Keira never said anything. Yes, you’d barely seen each other this week but surely if it was true she would’ve stopped you for a minute to tell you. 

When you finally walked through the door of your apartment, the rumours were true. Keira had her back to you when you entered the bedroom, the room was disheveled. Clothes, books and shoes were thrown everywhere. 

“The rumours are true?” You crossed your arms and leaned against the doorframe. 

“You scared me.” Keira turned around, dropping the clothes she had in her hand. 

“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question. 

“I was going to tell you but-“

“But what? What about the plan we made?”

“That’s not fair. You know I’m struggling, I told you last year I wanted to leave. This hasn’t been a secret. I need to do this.” 

“And what about me Keira? I already gave in my resignation, we bought an apartment together in London, we had plans!” You felt like she wasn’t listening, that you didn’t matter. 

“I know I moved our timeline up a little. But we can make it work? Do long distance for a few months and then-“

“And then nothing.” 

“Y/n…don’t say that.” 

“Do you not realise that you never said anything to me. I found out you were moving to Chelsea through an instagram post Keira. You are supposed to be my fiancée, you’re supposed to tell me these things not some account on instagram.” 

“I was going to tell you but you have been working so much!” She yelled. 

“So what you were just going to leave and hope I didn’t notice?” 

“No. I was going to tell you, tonight. I love you, so much. But I can’t stay here any longer. We can do the distance, it’s only for a little while. Please.” Keira begged, it was the one thing she rarely did. 

Your heart was broken, your head was confused. On one hand, you loved her. So incredibly much, and if being long distance for sixish months was what was needed, then you would do it. But on the other hand, she was leaving. Moving to a different country, and you had to find out through an instagram post. 

“I need time Kei. You didn’t tell me. I learnt about you leaving online. Not from you.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry.” 

“I don’t know if that’s good enough.” You left the room, unable to deal with your fiancée or the packing. 

As you sat in the lounge room the last two and a half years played on repeat. You met at the club, during the summer you had taken the role that was offered, the club needed a nurse just for a few weeks. At first, she was shy, she’d just moved from England to Spain, didn’t speak the language and only knew her ex. 

Originally you didn’t want a relationship, friendship maybe but certainly not a relationship. But that quickly changed the more time you spent with her. She wasn’t shy, she was funny, loud, mischievous and she loved deeply. 

You wished you could say it was picture perfect, that all your dreams with a partner were coming true but that simply wasn’t the case. Keira was leaving, without you, without telling you. Apart of you knew these things moved quickly but the other part was truly hurt by Keira’s actions. 

“Babe?” Keira’s voice cut through your mind, you looked up at her. Her eyes were red and cheeks were wet, mirroring your own. “I fucked up. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. Maybe I was scared or that you would be disappointed but instead I hurt you. I am so so sorry for that. I truly didn’t mean for it to turn out like this.” 

“What do you want to do Kei? Because right now, I just want to cry and yell at you.” 

“You can yell, you can cry. I accept that I fucked up massively and maybe you don’t trust me anymore, but I don’t want us to end up. If thats something you want, I’ll be sad but I’ll respect that.” 

“I don’t think I want us to end. I just-“ you took a deep breath, needing to calm yourself down so you could properly articulate yourself, “I need you to know that this hurt me, so incredibly much Keira. You signed a contract, which means you went to London. You were packing your bags when I got home. You broke apart of my trust.” 

“What does this mean?” Keira asked shyly, hoping you weren’t about to break up with her. 

“We take some time. We have to be apart anyway, if we can manage to trust each other for then next few months, if you promise not to lie to me again or to keep things from me and if I am feeling that you have been putting effort in, then I will come to London.” 

We sat there in silence for a little while. Both fully taking in the events of the night. From when you first started dating Keira, you knew you wanted to marry her. You’d been warned by your friends about how footballers can be but not your Keira. Usually she always asked your opinion first, cared what you had to say about anything and everything. 

The following day was spent close to tears for the both of us. Aitana, Ellie and Kika came to say their goodbyes early in the morning. Keira was leaving just before lunch and then it would be just you. 

You would be left alone, in the home you two created together. It had been a while since you genuinely had to be without each other. International breaks were one thing, but living in separate countries was another. 

“I love you. So much. I’ll be back soon, and I’ll call you tonight okay?” You mumbled your goodbyes and I love yous into her neck, not wanting everyone to see the tears that were pouring out of your eyes. 

True to her word, she did call you that night. The transfer was going ahead officially. The next few months were spent going back and forth to London. You more than her due to having a more flexible schedule. Dates were over FaceTime and more often than not you’d fall asleep with each other on the phone. 

“I officially gave my resignation today.” You told her on one of your FaceTime dates. 

“You what?” 

“My resignation? Remember we agreed I’d come before the euros?” You were slightly confused since this had been the original plan. 

“You’re actually coming? You aren’t joking?” 

“No babe I’m not joking. I’ll be there at the start of June!” 

“Oh my god. I can’t wait. Honestly, it’s so hard being away from you.” 

The logistics of the move were sorted pretty quickly that night. You both agreed that hiring movers and packers was the best idea, meaning the stress would be minimal. Finding a job wouldn’t be hard, but you were happy to spend the summer as a WAG first and then deal with it later. 

Sometimes, when you love someone they can take advantage of that. Keira was often at fault of that, but so were you. In the winter break of 2025, you celebrated your marriage to her. Surrounded by your friends, her teammates, current and past. It reminded you of how loved you were, how much Keira loved you and you loved her. 

It was definitely a hard transition, moving from Spain to England, especially because of the weather. But those raining, wintery days were spent wrapped up in your wife’s arms, your baby bump growing each day. 

[lemonsoured]

A Statement on @patricia-taxxon

After recent events over the past couple of months, my co-director and I have decided that we are no longer working with Patricia Taxxon, and her score/sound design will not be used in the final release of our animated student thesis In Your Orbit. She has rights over all of the audio files that she created, and she is free to use or alter them for whatever other projects may come up for her. We only retain the rights to our visuals. On the off chance that the last festival that is showing the current version of the short gives us any prize money, she will still get a cut of it. She is free to continue to state publicly that she worked on the film originally, and use the soundtrack in her portfolio, but we will not be posting it or promoting it. 

Patricia Taxxon has proven to be a person who is irresponsible at best. She has allegedly had inappropriate sexual conduct with minors as young as 13. She also regularly posts her extreme sexual fantasies on her main Tumblr, and has made claims regarding the nature of pedophilic art that she is not qualified to be making. She has also posted from behind closed doors that she has intentionally been manipulative regarding her apologies for her alleged sexual misconduct.

The original victim who accused her was harassed off the internet both times she came out about this, and no longer wishes to be contacted on this matter. However, the idea that any of the allegations were ever rescinded due to misinformation, or proven untrue, is false. In my opinion, I believe the victim’s testimony. It lines up with what I remember the environment of Taxxon’s discord server being like when I was there.

During the production of the short film, I was already aware of some of the accusations made towards Taxxon, but as I was a close friend, I wanted to believe they weren’t true. I was told that she was groomed into doing these things, that she didn’t remember doing them, and that she was likely to commit suicide. She told me she was suicidal on a regular basis during production, especially when the alleged victim was making and then posted a video recounting the allegations. Before that video even came out, she was telling me it was likely to ruin her life irreparably. She had a mutual friend with the victim who was supposedly playing double agent for her, so I heard all about it before and after it came out. I was under the impression that she was in imminent danger of harming herself several times. You can imagine what this might do to a person who cares about her. So, I willfully ignored the allegations for a long time, up until the point that Taxxon showed outward bigotry towards my demographic in a Tumblr meltdown. I deserve criticism for this, and I won’t begrudge anyone who feels like I waited too long or came out with the leaks that I did for selfish reasons. That is your right, and I’m sorry. I decided that all I could do was come out with what I do know and stop supporting this person, even if it costs me opportunities down the line.

Taxxon has also repeatedly shown herself to be extremely unprofessional, even for the standards of an internet drama cycle. She started by vaguely posting about myself on her Tumblr, stating that I am a threat to her, implying that I used her only to “dump her without warning,” and has repeatedly twisted my actions in order to gain sympathy from her Tumblr audience. She even begged her followers for someone else to take her to the Omaha Film Festival, before deleting that addition because she realized it made her look bad.

Her newest gripe with me is that I did not pay her for her work on the film, supposedly finding out partway through the project that she was not being paid. This is untrue. Luka and I were forthright with the fact that we were a team of two college students in Missouri with very little spending money. Thus, we offered her a cut of whatever we ended up making from the film in the festival circuit, planning to split any possible winnings among the three of us based on creative input. We also stated that we would not be taking a cut of any earnings she made off of the sale of the soundtrack, and that it would belong completely to her, just as my characters would to me. If any film companies approached us about the film to license it and the soundtrack, or if they wanted to use her music for another project involving these characters, that money would have gone to her. If she was confused about or had an issue with this arrangement, the time to bring that up would have been when we were discussing the agreement with her, or after any of the many critique sessions we went through with our professors and we were all discussing next steps, or really, any time at all during the year and a half that we were discussing and working on this project. But at no point before, during, or after production did she bring it up. She never suggested a rate, asked about other forms of payment, or anything. I was not holding a gun to her head. She could have brought it up with us at any time, and I am not a mind reader. Her only bringing up the subject now, after all of this time, points clearly to her attempting to extort me or use this issue as a way to gain sympathy from her Tumblr audience. It comes off like she wants to hold this over my head.

All of this not even mentioning that Taxxon was the one to say she wanted to work on the film, years before production started. This started as a collaboration between friends. Luka and I structured our agreement to be a partnership, where none of us were making guaranteed profit off of this project, especially since it is a student work, and we are not established artists with an audience. If anything, the person most likely to make any money off of this arrangement was Taxxon. We considered her an equal participant in this short film, and we wanted it to lift us all up. We gave her full artistic control over what vision she had for the soundtrack, and we often tried to cater our animation to best match it. This is why I found it strange when I asked if she was willing to contribute to festival fees, that she was very flippant with me about it. She stood to gain just as much as us from the film festival circuit, and I had already taken on the workload of doing research on and writing cover letters to each festival. Especially given that I pitched the festival circuit to her as a method to help her get her career offline and away from Kiwifarms, she had a lot to gain from all of this. As someone who had considered her a creative partner, her dismissal felt weird.

This screenshot from the time shows what she said to me regarding the fees, and also shows that she was aware of the arrangement. Thankfully, a lot of this took place on her new Discord account, so I do have the evidence for this portion.

Then, a couple of days later, she asked me if she could stay in my co-directors house or mine for the duration of the Kansas City FilmFest International (or KCFFI). Given she had not contributed to us submitting to that very festival, and had been flippant with me in that same week about the subject, I found it disrespectful. A good friend of mine compared it to “staying at a friend’s house and refusing to help with the grocery tab.”

And the fact that she decided to contribute to the DCP of all things because she “had a vested interest in [the film] sounding good,” as if festival fees were beneath her, but this, now this was something she could be bothered to care about… It was very telling with regards to how she viewed this film.

If she wants to get her 30 bucks back, I can PayPal it back to her.

I stand by everything I said in my testimony on the stream with CrimsonEnder. Honestly, I feel I was much too forgiving on the subject of sexual misconduct, especially since at the time, all of us were trying to gloss over the specific allegations for the victim’s sake, as like I said, they did not want to be involved. As much as Taxxon blustered about “ad-hominems,” I never called her names during the stream. I didn’t even directly call her a transphobe or any kind of bigot. I did not diagnose her with a paraphilia. I specifically stated that her being a trans woman should have nothing to do with why she does the bad things she does. I discussed the things she said and the actions she took. I stated what I remember of our relationship and the events that took place during production, because she had already taken to misrepresenting me in her Tumblr posts. I wanted to lay everything out for full transparency, as she was telling a very specific story about me and who I was. I wanted to present my counter-narrative. I got vulnerable, upset, and fiery at times, but for a public crashout taking place very soon after my falling out of a six year long friendship, I think it gets my points across fine. Especially considering I was still freshly feeling the shock of her outwardly going on a tirade about trans men. The stream is still available on Crim's channel for those who want to hear what I said. Taxxon only presented a couple of my basic notes on the subject that were made to keep me on track.

Taxxon also, notably, sent her followers after CrimsonEnder in a purposeful attempt to incite a harassment campaign against him. She reblogged a reply from him, implying as much, and then he immediately received an anon referring to him with a slur, and saying he was now in “a Panopticon.” Taxxon would later be seen replying in a different but related conversation, misusing the word “Panopticon” in the exact same way (Hint: the term for many people watching one would be a “Synopticon.” A Panopticon refers to one person watching many). You can find Crim's full statement about this incident on his blog.

She also referred to him as a “violent misogynist” who "threatened her in public" in a DM with me where she waved around the fact that she would be justified in “dragging me publicly” for my “betrayal” but wouldn’t, as if it was some big act of charity from her.

Only to, for some reason, make a request to CrimsonEnder (from behind a block) to take my testimony out of his stream and out of his document in a recent post. She is very vested in sowing division between myself and Crim, for what reason I’m not sure. All I know is that she is not above harassing the people who criticize her, and given that, it’s very rich for Taxxon to posture like her not sending her followers after me thus far is an act of goodwill. If I were to guess, now that I have made this statement and cut her off from the project, she will feel much more comfortable going scorched earth. She no longer has a project to protect her connection to.

In Your Orbit will be released at some point in the indefinite future, with a new score and new foley work. I will not be attaching Taxxon’s name to it at all, positively or negatively. I will not be using any of the work that she produced, and I will never work with her in any capacity ever again. I cannot promote the work of a person who acts like this, who hurts others without remorse and uses her power as an influencer to get away with sweeping serious allegations under the rug. Especially given that none of our agreements were set in stone with a signed contract, I have no obligation to continue to associate with her after all she's done. I would be a hypocrite if I used her clout to profit or to expand my career opportunities. Even if it means I have to lose out on networking possibilities, lose the guaranteed audience, and pay out of my pocket to have the film re-scored and have a new foley track added. I am sticking to my principles on this. I refuse to coast on her coattails, and if this means that the film won’t be as successful, then so be it. Any recognition gained through affiliation with Patricia Taxxon is recognition that I don’t want. I don’t want her endorsement, and I don’t want her audience.

I cannot control what Patricia Taxxon says or does. She can do whatever she wants with her life and career, but leave me and my art out of it.

-Jules Hydes

[linawritesficsies]

s.h. | we need to warm up (one shot)

a/n: it's been a while since i posted a steve fic, so here it issssss. this is a combination of a friends episode and a scene from an old tv show i used to watch when i was a teenager.

warnings: being locked up in closed spaces, language, mentions of sex and injuries (freezing), english is not my first language. some stuff may not be accurate. MINORS DNI. credits to the gif owner!

summary: steve and you worked at scoops ahoy together and one day while you two were bickering about something silly, you got stuck in a walk-in refrigerator.

steve harrington x afab!oc!reader.

🚫do NOT copy, translate or put my work thru an AI.

Robin, your best friend, helped you get this job at Scoops Ahoy a couple of months ago. The work itself wasn’t ideal because you had to put up with a lot of annoying people (and cleaning toilets wasn’t very appealing either), but the pay was pretty good and it allowed you to combine it with your study schedule. The best parts were obviously the free ice cream and sharing shifts with your bestie.

You also had to share several shifts with Steve Harrington. You didn’t like him at first if you were being completely honest. You knew him from before because you had shared a few classes at Hawkins High, but you never actively talked to him. He was very handsome and charming, but his reputation of being a womanizer and a douchebag preceded him so for you that was enough to keep your distance.

However, everything changed when you took on this job. On the bright side, has had some personal growth over the last few months so this made spending time with him a lot easier. Of course, the King Steve persona sometimes came into the light and he could get insufferable, but you still enjoyed his company. You could say you had more of a ‘frenemies’ relationship. Definitely, one of the things that amused you the most was bickering with Steve, so when the work day was quiet, you’d pick a silly argument just for the sake of it. 

Thus, that’s what led the two of you to discuss the topic of sex in the middle of one casual Saturday afternoon in mid-September at Scoops Ahoy. The weather was chiller than the one from previous weeks, but there were some people that weren’t going to let the climate get in the way of getting ice cream. You couldn’t blame them though. Robin was at the register machine, getting the customers’ orders and Steve and you were organizing the stock at the back of the shop.

“Harrington, are you really saying that kissing and foreplay are not as important as the sex part!?”, you exclaimed a bit too loudly while you glared at your coworker with a questioning look. He just quirked his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders meaning ‘Yes, I said what I said. Deal with it.’

You didn’t feel any shame talking about these topics. In fact, you were pretty bold. Especially with Steve. He had that vibe that made everyone around him feel comfortable with discussing or doing anything. Of course. King Steve, ladies and gentlemen. 

“Why would I prefer the opening act when I know I’ll be seeing, I dunno, The Police soon?”

You let out a chuckle.

“You have been spending more time with Eddie, haven’t you?”, he gave you a mocking look. It was no secret that Steve wasn’t a fan of Eddie, especially because recently he had been stealing Dustin’s attention and that made Steve more jealous than he cared to admit. You couldn’t help but smile at the cuteness of Steve and Dustin’s relationship and his jealousy.

You grabbed one of the boxes with new ice cream flavours that were recently delivered to the shop because you had to carry them to the walk-in refrigerator, but since the two boxes were really heavy you asked Steve for help. At first he pretended to ignore you, but then he smiled teasingly and grabbed the other one to give you a hand. You had trouble deciding whether you hated that smile or you loved it… It was probably the latter. 

As soon as you entered the refrigerator, the chilly air hit your skin. You carefully placed the box you were carrying on the floor and put the door wedge so it wouldn’t close while you were in there. The door was pretty heavy because it needed to stay shut in order to keep the temperature low, but also, the door handle wasn’t working pretty well.

“Anyways, for us girls they’re really equally important”, you resumed your little argument while you two arranged the ice creams on the various shelves, categorizing them by their flavor. “We can get all the information we need about the other person from the first kiss. I can’t believe you don’t like it.”

You looked at him from the corner of your eye and noticed that he rolled his.

“No, honey”, he paused and sighed. You screamed internally at the pet name. He usually called you by your name or ‘Smarty Pants’ whenever you gave him witty comebacks. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I do, but I’d rather get down to the real business quicker.”

“Well, hun, friendly advice, if you keep thinking like that, you’ll have to settle with solo concerts.”

Steve wanted to give you the middle finger so badly but couldn’t do it because he had his hands full so he had to contempt himself by sticking out his tongue in a mocking tone. You gave him a playful nudge on the shoulder and then he gave you another one back but Steve was stronger than you so you tripped backwards and accidentally kicked the door wedge and the refrigerator door closed. 

“Fuck”, the two of you blurted out in unison; your heartbeats picking up rapidly. You exchanged looks and frowned your eyebrows at the same time. Under different circumstances, you would have laughed at the synchronicity.

“This is your fault.”

“How is this my fault, Harrington? You pushed me!”, you replied back while you got up from the floor and adjusted your uniform.

“You made me come in here!”

“I simply asked for your help!”

You decided it was useless to continue with this bickering so you kneeled down before the door handle to try to make it work. However, it was useless. The door refused to budge. You had repeatedly asked Keith, your boss, to call the repair guy to fix said handle but of course he never did. You cursed him under your breath while you got back up and started screaming and banging on the door.

“ROBIN! HELP! SOMEBODY”, Steve joined you but nobody seemed to hear. “HELLO, WE’RE INSIDE THE REFRIGERATOR!”, you both screamed over and over again.

“I hope Robin notices quickly we’re nowhere to be seen. If not, we’re going to freeze to death”, you lifted your hands to massage your scalp, trying to prevent yourself from spiraling. Extremely difficult task given the not so encouraging situation. You didn’t consider yourself a claustrophobic person but you weren’t a fan.

“Don’t exaggerate, Y/N. It’s just a little bit of cold”, he shrugged his shoulders and waved his hand dismissively, as if brushing off your very real concern. 

If looks could kill, he would be reduced to ashes right now. 

“Unlike you, I don’t have teenage-like hormones, Steve. I get cold easily.”

He was about to reply with another witty comment, but he noticed how anxious you were getting. He saw your right leg start bouncing rapidly and how you bit your fingernails—subtle things you did when you were nervous or distressed. He had noticed them before. He let out a defeated sigh.

“OK, I’m being serious right now: we’re going to get out of here in a heartbeat, don’t worry.” 

You went back to the screaming and banging, hoping that someone outside would hear you at that very moment and get you out of there. Unfortunately, you were alone with the echoes of your voice and movements. Meanwhile, Steve was pacing the small place, thinking of any other possible escape. 

After some minutes that felt like hours, the cold and the confinement were starting to take a toll on you. You sat on the floor with your back against the door to keep hitting it, more occasionally now. The Scoops Ahoy uniform was not enough to keep you warm; your body started trembling so you hugged yourself, keeping your knees close to your chest. Steve heard your shivering breaths. He scanned the ‘room’ one more time and saw the empty cardboard boxes stacked where you had been organizing the ice cream.

“We can use the empty ice cream boxes to keep us warm”, you gave him a questioning look. encouraging him to clarify. “We can break them down to sit on them and then put the other parts over our bodies”.

“God bless that big head of yours, Harrington.”, you smiled and tried to stand up but it wasn’t as easy as before. Your body was getting stiffer. Steve gave you a hand.

The two of you started tearing up the boxes and placing the flattened pieces on the floor next to the door and then cutting up bigger sections to use as makeshift blankets. 

“Well, it’s better than nothing”, Steve commented once you were all set and you agreed, keeping the cardboard boxes as close to your body as possible. 

It was far from being the perfect solution, but it worked… for a couple of minutes. Then, you started shivering again. You got up to the point where you could no longer feel your legs. You wanted to keep screaming and banging on the door but the little energy you had was starting to wear off. You decided to save it for later.

“Fuck, it’s so cold in here. I can’t stand it anymore”, you blurted out, more to yourself than anything and tried to rub your hands violently against your legs to get some warmth.

“Come here”, Steve whispered while opening his arms, motioning you to huddle closer to him so you could share whatever body heat you had left. It was true, Steve had a higher body temperature than any other person either of you knew but he wasn’t sure of how much that was going to last. He was feeling colder too.

You were hesitant to accept his embrace at first because you weren’t used to sharing physical contact with him but you quickly decided that it was worth trying it. Once you were beside him, he put his arms around your shaking frame and put two cardboard boxes over both your bodies. He rested his head on top of yours and you hugged him, wrapping your arms around his waist. Despite everything, this felt strangely nice and comfortable.

“We’re gonna get out of here, I promise”, he said after some silence and you could see the wisps of vapor that looked like smoke coming out of his mouth. 

You were too tired and weak to say or do anything. It seemed the temperature kept dropping every second. There was some frost on your hair and your eyelashes. Steve had it on his perfect hair too. At this moment, you actually believed you were going to die there. You snuggled closer into Steve’s embrace; not that it was really possible because you were practically glued to him.

You slowly started to drift off; your eyelids felt like two bricks of concrete. Steve went into alert mode when he felt you relax under his touch. “Hey, Y/N. Can you hear me?”

You let out a barely audible “Mh” and he started rubbing circles on your arm, close to your elbow.

“Stay awake, OK?”

He knew you couldn’t fall asleep if you had hypothermia. He didn’t know why but he remembered one of his biology teachers who explained that your body functions would slow down even more, which could be deadly. He didn’t even want to imagine that happening. 

At first, he didn’t want to admit he liked you because you were a pain in the neck, but then, as he spent more and more time with you, he learned you were funny, smart, and although you annoyed him to boredom sometimes, you were kind-hearted. Also, you had one of the most contagious laughs he has ever heard. And on top of that, you were insanely pretty. 

This drastic situation helped him realize he didn’t want to lose you, in any way. He couldn’t.

“I can’t.”, you whispered once again.

“Yes, you can”, his hands moved upwards to cup both your cheeks now; his desperate eyes fixed on your face. “Open your eyes, please, darling”. You wanted to laugh at the nickname but you didn’t even have the strength to do so. His voice was trembling now too. He didn’t know if out of the cold he was feeling or of the fear of something happening to you. He placed a kiss on your forehead. “Come on, I wanna see those pretty eyes.”

“I’m cold, Stevie. I’m sorry.”

You only used that nickname to tease him because he hated it. Now, it scratched his brain just right. He didn’t fail to notice you looked so small, so fragile. He didn’t know how, but he could feel you slip away from him.

“No, no, no, no”, he blurted out quickly. “Y/N, listen to me. Focus on my voice and my hands”, he rubbed circles on both of your cheeks. “Don’t fall asleep. Talk to me.”

His serious but also desperate tone made you realize the gravity of your state.

“About what?”, you whispered as you tried to get your whole attention to his gentle touches and his breathing. 

“About anything. Tell me a secret, a memory, an embarrassing story. Whatever comes to your mind, just talk to me.”

You gathered strength out of nowhere and opened your eyes. You saw Steve sigh with a little bit of relief. He also looked exhausted and cold, but there was something in his eyes that told you he was not giving up easily. You couldn’t say so for yourself, sadly.

“Your pretty eyes are the last pair I’m going to see”, you spoke slowly. Steve’s heart broke a little at your statement.

“No, don’t say things like that.. I need you to stay here with me. Please. I need you to stay alive so I can take you on a date when we’re out of here”, his voice and the movements on your skin were starting to slow down too. “I don’t want to leave this planet before kissing your beautiful lips.”

You gave him a weak smile.

“Do it now, Stevie.”

He lifted his eyebrows, thinking he heard you incorrectly. But then, you directed your eyes to his own lips, so he took it as an invitation and wasted no time. The kiss was slow and short but sweet nonetheless. None of you had much energy to keep going for longer, much to your dismay.

“That’s the way to warm up, right?”, he joked and you let out a choked laugh.

You went back to your tight embrace. You weren’t sure how much time you had left. You stopped trembling a couple of minutes ago and you knew that wasn’t a good sign. You thought about your family and your friends. One single tear fell from your left eye.

Just about when Steve was going to wipe it, you heard some noises on the other side of the door. You two looked at each other and Steve used the adrenaline rush to get back on his feet and helped you do the same.

“HELP, WE’RE STUCK IN THE REFRIGERATOR. PLEASE HELP”, Steve was the one yelling and you attempted to bang the door as loud as you could.

And then, the door finally opened. You squinted your eyes due to the sudden change of lightning and tried to make out the silhouette that was standing in front of you, but before you could see who it was or do anything else, your legs gave in and your vision went black, which resulted in you passing out on the ground.

Your eyelids fluttered open as the characteristic antiseptic hospital smell hit your nose. The sterile white walls were the first thing you saw. Your body still felt cold, even though you had several blankets wrapped around your frame. You turned your head to the side and saw Steve sitting on a chair, wrapped on a blanket as well. His eyes were closed and his head was slightly tilted to the side. He looked worn off but really adorable.

“Steve?”, you called his name but you didn’t recognize your own voice. It was really sore. The boy opened his eyes and gave you a sweet smile. There was a mixture of relief and concern in his look.

“Hey… You gave us quite the scare.” You apologized and he shrugged it off. “Your parents are already here. They’re filling out the paperwork.” He grabbed the chair and moved it forward to be closer to your bed. Then he grabbed your hand that was hidden under the blankets. “I should call the doctor to let her know you had woken up.”

You nodded but refused to let his hand go so he could stand up. His heart melted.

“We need to talk about our date”, you casually mentioned between giggles.

“You don’t waste a minute, don’t you?”, he chuckled, shaking his head. “I assure you, it’s going to be a date to die for.” Now it was your turn to laugh. 

aaaand the end... i hope you enjoyed it! and as always, i'd love to read some comments with your opinions :) and i'm also taking request, so there's your chance to leave a nice ask 💗

[wolfcat-hybrid]

I've worked at a build a bear so I can confirm the restuff thing!! If you bring in a build a bear we will restuff it for you to your preferred fluff level (the only criteria I was given was that it has to be loose enough for us to be able to sew them shut before you take them home).

A note—if you're bringing in an old/thrifted bear, please give them a cursory clean first! We don't know where they've been and want to touch mystery grime even less than you do 😰

hello sorry if this is a stupid question and if it is feel free to ignore this ask, but how do you go about starting a horse figure collection? like, i know the best answer is probably to Just Start ! but the whole thing is kinda overwhelming, and I'm from a country where figurine collecting of this kind isn't really A Big Thing so the overseas shipping alone would be A Lot lmao,,,

that being said seeing these guys on my dash everyday always makes me smile, so if all else fails i can just live vicariously through this blog HSJJDJS thanks for ur work o7

Disclaimer: This is the opinion of one horse collector, it's not the objective truth of horse collecting. That said, it's an opinion I very strongly believe in.

The thing is, you don't really "start a collection." You just buy the horses you like and within a few weeks or months or years you'll have a small collection. And some day, if you keep surrounding yourself with horses you like, you'll have a big collection.

Gonna get a bit preachy here, but it's something I keep seeing, so I feel like I have to talk about it: I think entering this hobby with the mindset of "wanting a collection" can make you very impatient and vulnerable to fomo and completionism. You get so into the idea of Collecting Everything that you end up wasting $1000s on overpriced listings because you didn't even stop to think if it's gonna get relisted, if the seller is a scammer, or if you even really want that particular horse/doll/pokemon/model car/trading card/memorabilia/etc., or if you only "want" it because it's part of a set.

Collecting hobbies aren't really about having a collection. They're more about the act of collecting continuously. Maybe you take a break from it (I'm a Bella Sara collector who hasn't actively collected for 3 years), but you never really have a "complete" collection. And you need to accept that you'll never have a complete collection, otherwise you're gonna burn out and the hobby won't be fun anymore.

I'm sorry if this sounds harsh, I really don't mean it to. I'm trying to warn you because I'd hate to see yet another potential fellow collector burn out and leave the hobby after a few years. Collecting can be a wonderful lifelong hobby that creates lasting friendships. But only if your center your hobby around the act of collecting, rather than the idea of your collection itself. (I also find that people who focus more on their collection than the act of collecting are often a bit jealous or self-important, but I might just have run into some bad apples).

If you wanna get into a collecting hobby, the best place to start is to go out (to the thrift story, toy store, ebay, craigslist, you name it) and scour the market for things you like. And then buy a handful of cheap ones. Display them, photograph them, tell your friends about them, look up what other figures/cards/etc. are in that series, and in general just... sit with them. Get a feel for them. Are they satisfying you? Do they spark joy? Did you enjoy hunting them down and do you enjoy taking care of them and looking at them?

If yes, they spark joy, you can start looking at more specific brands, styles, colors, etc., and try to focus on what kind of horses you wanna collect. Maybe you wanna focus on palominos. Maybe you love Barbie horses. Maybe you find a really fun community of glass horse collectors that keeps you coming back. And maybe you fall so deeply in love with the hobby that you wanna collect every kind of horse figure you come across. Just be patient and focus on the act of collecting, rather than having a collection.

[beardedjoel]

💗🎉💗CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR MILESTONE!💗🎉💗

I’m so happy for you! I found you through Closer, and I couldn’t be happier about it. You’re an amazing writer and such a lovely person!

I’m wondering… what about one of these?🌹the prompt number 1. I love your writing and I cannot stop myself from asking. Perhaps with Joel, or Frankie, or Pero…I’m not picky, I’ll be happy with whatever the inspiration leads you.

Alsooooo… Is it too much if I add a little bit of 💌? I’m curious about your writing process. How do you do it? Is it linear, or do you jump around, and later “paste it”?

wym, you're so sweet and i love sharing this space with you my friend 😘 thank you for sending in this prompt and allowing me to do something special with it. thanks for your patience as i have been painstakingly slow with making my way through this backlog of requests! i'll answer your thoughtful writing question at the very bottom of the post after the one shot, if that's alright!

axel and ember — joel x f!reader

request: "overwhelmed, but happy crying during sex". sent in as part of my 5k celebration! i decided to use this one for something very personal to me. as someone who has dealt with vaginismus, this was challenging to write the last few days but it felt like the right direction for me to go in with this prompt. in no way does this describe the experience every person with vaginismus has (nor 100% true to mine), and it is a lot of hard work to help your body and mind learn to work with the sexual obstacles that come with it. i simplified things for the purpose of this story but still found it really gratifying to write so much from personal experience and feelings that i have dealt with. i highly encourage anyone who has not heard of vaginismus to do a little research as it's something that many, many women deal with in silence or is ignored as much of women's sexual health is. happy reading 💓

wc: 2.9k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader has vaginismus, unprotected piv

“Maybe… maybe it just doesn’t fit.”

You’d said the words, exasperated after trying for the third time that week.

“I don’t think that’s how that works, darlin’,” Joel teases the words playfully, his hair hanging down into his face as he holds himself perched above you. His smile brusquely fades when he sees that you’re genuinely upset. Some days, it hadn’t been that big of a deal, you’d been able to shrug off the frustration. Today, however, you felt frayed and emotional, pissed off that your body couldn’t just behave like a normal body should. It’s infuriating, living in a body that won’t cooperate with your mind, seeing others do with ease what you never could. What you could only have as a fantasy. 

“Hey, it’s alright.” He leans down, kissing you softly before moving from where he’d been stationed on top of you to lay at your side.

Another dream of finally having sex with your boyfriend tonight slipped away in an instant. 

“What if I try the dilators again?” you ask desperately, meeting Joel’s gaze. His warm eyes look back at yours with empathy, and he shrugs.

“If y’want. But maybe you should jus’ rest. We already had our fun, yeah?”

He’d gotten you off, you’d gotten him off. Fingers and tongues and mouths, which admittedly were great, but you craved to know what more of him felt like, more than just the one, sometimes two fingers you could handle without soon wincing in discomfort.

You wanted him inside of you, wanted your bodies joined in the way that you were so cruelly being denied by the universe.

“N-no, you’re right. It was fun.” You flash him a somewhat forced smile, grateful for his patience and love when he wraps his arms around you. Joel had been such a constant with you, so wonderful, and that only made it hurt more that you couldn’t give him this. He’d never pressured you, never made you feel at fault these last five months you’d been dating. In some ways, it had brought you closer, not being able to rush into sex, but it didn’t mean that he’d stick around forever if it meant he couldn’t get the one thing you know men always want.

“We’re gonna get it one of these days,” he reassures you, stroking your hair. “You’re workin’ hard at your sessions and here at home. Don’t tell you enough that I think it’s great, seein’ you tryin’ all of that. But don’t do it for me, okay? Do it ‘cause it’s what you want.”

You stare at him for a moment, dumbfounded. You were of course doing all of this work for yourself, so that you could freely enjoy something that should come so naturally to your body. Yet you knew that deep down the pressure was mounting, wanting to give Joel the sexual satisfaction you assumed he craved, something that your hands and mouth couldn’t give him. It was putting up a block between you and your sexuality, making each interaction that much more strained and distressing. You’re surprised Joel caught on to all of that when you’d been trying to put on a brave face for him. 

“I - I know,” you concede with a sigh. “I’m afraid sometimes. That I’ll never be enough without this piece of me.”

Joel’s deep set brow furrows further, looking hurt - for you or for himself, you can’t quite tell. His lips set into a firm line before they part, readying to speak. “I think you’re pretty damn amazing the way that y’are. I want that for us, ‘course I do. But I’d rather jus’ have you, whatever, however you are.”

“You would?” you ask sentimentally, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. You laugh slightly, wiping under your eyes, knowing your question is ridiculous but still needing that extra validation that he’s sure. That he’s okay continuing to try this with you, even if it never results in anything. 

“Yes, silly. Why do you think I’ve kept you around all this time?” 

“‘Cause I find us all the good TV shows to watch?”

He laughs, his burly chest shaking with it. “Quit bein’ a pest, I’m tryin’ to be serious with you,” he quips back, trying and failing to hold back his chuckle.

“I know. I know what you’re saying, Joel. I -“ You swallow, your face falling, pulled back into the seriousness of the moment. “I appreciate you. So, so much.” You reach and wrap your arms tightly around him. You relish in the feeling of being close to him, your naked bodies melding together, the heater-like quality of Joel always comforting to you. 

“You’re all the good in this relationship, baby.”

“Who’s being a pest now?” You flick his chest, sending the both of you into a fit of laughter again, giddy at the late hour and the tax of this evening leaving you emotionally spent.

The voice deep inside your mind taunts you as you slowly listen to Joel falling asleep next to you, his breath falling to a rhythmic pattern interlaced with tiny, endearing snores. You hold back tears that come in the dark, feeling so small and alone in this moment, knowing that despite his reassurances, he could never truly understand how this feels for you.

The next few weeks go by with much of the same - you’re busy with life, work, friends, and going to your physical therapy sessions. It was awkward at first all those months ago, laying there bare underneath the sheet while a woman practically had half her hand inside of you, but you got used to it, even started to look forward to hearing about her life and her kids. 

You and Joel try a few more times to no avail, your body once seeming to have a breakthrough before promptly making you inhale sharply in pain, shaking your head dejectedly. 

You try to let it go, let all of it go. Learn that life doesn’t surround this, it simply can’t if you don’t want this pressure, this hole in your heart that you think you need to fill, to eat you alive. This cannot mean that you’re broken, that nobody could want to be with someone born with their factory settings just a little bit off. 

You see it on Joel’s face and in his demeanor, proudly taking note of the change within you. You start to pounce on him every chance you get, fueled by trying to feed this new, insatiable mental freedom you’ve allowed yourself. If you couldn’t have the sex you were dreaming of just yet, you figured that in the meantime you may as well make the sex you are having something new to dream about.

Joel, as predicted, is highly receptive to your new outlook, hands and lips all over you more often than not the second you step through his door to spend the night with him. You find yourself laughing with him when you’re being intimate instead of focusing on that pit in your stomach that worries if this time could finally be the time. You’ve done away with taking it far too seriously to even enjoy when your gracious boyfriend is buried between your legs like it’s his favorite thing. Now, you can appreciate all of it for what it is - a way to connect with Joel, to share something special and fun and sexy together.

You lie in bed with Joel this evening, cackling as you two take turns narrating excerpts from a friend’s most recent read in the romance department that she’d lent you. For inspiration, she’d teased, saying it might help your mind and body become more open to connecting with one another on the topic of sex. You’d taken it with a grain of salt but now it was the evening's top entertainment. You had to admit that she had a point - it did feel nice to read about characters that were so sexually open that anything seemed possible for them.

“The people in these books are unreal,” you manage to get out through your laughter, wiping the stream of tears that coats your cheeks. Joel wipes at the corners of his own eyes, still chuckling.

“Wouldn’t mind givin’ some of these a try one of these days, bet you’d be sexy flipped upside down or whatever the hell they were doin’,” Joel says, propped up on his elbow, his handsome eyes smoldering in your direction. The implication that many of the acts the fictional couple are doing involves things that your body hasn’t been cooperating enough to even go near makes you stiffen for a moment. Maybe a month ago, the comment would have wrecked you, sent you spiraling or feeling self conscious about this perceived insufficiency of yours, but now you let it slide right off your back.

You scrunch your nose at him, letting it fall into a sly smile as he flicks his eyes over you in appreciation. “Shush,” you tease. “We need to find out what happens next to… whatever their names are.” This had all been in good fun, and their names seemed secondary to the juicy details of their sex lives. 

“Axel and Ember.” Joel cuts in, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You deadpan. “Right… Someone has been paying attention.”

“Go on, then…” Joel insists with sass, his hand motioning expectantly to the open book in your lap. You smirk before focusing on the page and continuing where you left off. You two read until both of your eyelids get heavy, the words muttered slower and slower, your bodies buzzing hotly with arousal from the content yet far too tired to do anything to make a move on the other person. 

“Tomorrow,” Joel utters in your ear just as you’re moving into that cozy, floaty, drifting sensation before it all goes black. “Tomorrow I’m gonna Axel your ass into oblivion.”

You’re awoken by a kiss, feather light upon your lips. Your lids flutter open to see Joel, his scruffy beard and unbearably cute bed head up close and personal with you. It’s barely light out, the room bathed in the pale blue glow that comes right before dawn. Your skimpy camisole strap has slid off your shoulder, the entire thing askew and leaving one of your tits bared to him. Joel’s eyes seem to be glued there before flicking back and forth between your now perky nipple and your face. His lips close around it, gently sucking, and you writhe, your body turning towards his.

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy,” he mutters against your hot skin, breath ghosting over your sensitive nipple. You shudder, your skin prickling with anticipation, the space between your thighs desperately empty. Going to bed so unsatisfied seemed to have done a number on the both of you as you’re now acutely aware Joel pressing up against you, his cock already hard and leaking.

“Joel…” you whine, hips bucking towards him.

He dives in, his lips devouring yours, shifting his body to straddle yours, grasping the sides of your face in his hands. His tongue laps into your mouth and you arch your back into the way his hips start to grind into yours, burning desire low in your belly. You’re already so damn wet from his teasing, more than you’ve ever been, built up longing spilling over from last night.

“I… want to try right now,” you finally manage to gasp out as his lips separate from yours for a brief second. He pauses, looking down at you, his heavy lidded eyes sincere as they dance over your features.

“You sure? It’s okay if we jus’ -”

“No. I’m sure,” you tell him. “I feel so good. I want to feel good with you.” Your fingers dig into his bare back, urging him on.

He only nods, his throat bobbing as he swallows. He places gentler kisses on your lips before moving to your neck, then down your body until he reaches the waistband of your sleep shorts. Tugging those down along with your panties, he moves with certainty and care, adoring your soft skin in every place along the way. 

He touches a gentle finger to your slit, so sensitive and swollen now, and you suck in a breath.

“Holy shit. God damn, baby,” he muses with awe, fire burning in his dark eyes.

You chuckle shakily, feeling your cheeks flush as you avert your eyes shyly. “I - I know. I need you.”

“Can practically feel her puslin’,” he growls, licking his lips, desire clouding his mind.

Your cheeks only grow hotter at his dirty words, pulling your lip between your teeth. “Taking a page from Axel’s book, I see,” you tease him breathily.

“Nah. This is all Joel Miller, baby,” he replies just as he uses his whole hand to cup your slick cunt, the both of you groaning quietly. Joel starts to shimmy his briefs down, leaving him completely stripped underneath the covers with you. You wait for him to climb back on top of you, carefully removing your top and taking you in.

“Perfect.” He smiles, and you wrap your legs around his waist, a silent signal that you’re ready. Joel reaches between your bodies, bringing his cock to your cunt, lazily moving it through the folds until he’s coated in your arousal, each stroke making your hips buck, your need climbing to an unbearable level.

“Please…” you whine, feeling the emptiness inside of you, craving that full sensation you’ve been romanticizing time and time again in your mind.

“I got you, baby. No matter what. I’m right here, ‘kay?” You feel him line himself up, trying to manage your expectations as you nod for him, swallowing down your nerves. Even if it doesn’t work this time, it’ll be okay, you’ll be oka -

The tip of his cock pushes past your entrance, and you gasp, eyes going wide. You both pause, staring at each other in an optimistic, full silence, breathing heavily.

You nod again, mouth agape. “More…” you whisper softly, taking a deep breath, trying to relax your body.

Joel smiles, pressing his hips into you the tiniest bit more. He still slides in with ease, the smallest pinch subsiding when he takes a beat, then pushes a little more, repeating the process a few times. You feel the stretch, the slight burn as your body adjusts, your mind racing at the miracle that’s occurring, barely even able to register it right now.

“Oh my god,” you mutter, starting to shake. Joel leans down to kiss you, a comforting move, but it only pushes his cock in another bit, making you gasp softly at the fullness.

To your shock, when he pulls back the sensation begins to near something pleasurable. “Sorry,” he quickly spits out, his concerned stare meeting yours.

“No. It’s good. A-again. Do that again.” You start to smile in earnest, a toothy grin that you can’t help but feel spread across your face. 

“What… this?” he asks coyly, more overt with the thrust inwards as he pulls his lips into yours. He buries his face in your neck, breathing you in and kissing the sensitive skin there. “You’re so wet, so fuckin’ tight, baby. You feel incredible.”

You shudder underneath him, moaning softly as his words travel right to your core, burning with a new kind of eagerness you’ve never felt before. “You feel so good,” you echo back to him as you pant.

Joel starts to move, testing the waters with slow, steady movements. You keep breathing, terrified that any minute the ball will drop or this will have been a dream or some cruel trick your body is playing on you. But the sporadic bursts of discomfort subside with each new roll of Joel’s hips, blooming into something pleasurable and sweet, pulling up from deep inside of you.

Emotion bubbles to the surface before you can even tame it, your eyes brimming with tears when Joel bottoms out inside of you, pulling back and pushing in to the hilt again. It feels good, amazing even, to be so full of him, to celebrate this victory, even if only for today.

“Shit. Sweetheart, you’re okay, right? Are you hurting?” Joel freezes when he sees your watery eyes, every muscle coiled stiffly, his face screwed up in fear.

You shake your head, fighting the urge to sob, but Joel’s faithful, genuine concern puts you over the edge. Tears spill, rolling down your cheeks in profound little streaks, every bit of your frustration and pain and anger from the last half of a year pouring out into this beautiful display of pure joy.

“I swear, I’m happy, I’m happy,” you cry out, immediately cradled in Joel’s arms.

“Good,” Joel breathes out in relief. “You’re happy, I’m the happiest fuckin’ guy in the world.”

His words make the tears flow faster, but you start to laugh amidst it all “Stop making me cry harder!” you chastise him, hugging him tightly around the neck. 

“Joel…” you say after a long, tender embrace, the two of you soaking it in. His cock still throbs inside of you, reminding you of the pleasure you’d started to chase moments ago, lost to the emotion of the moment.

“Hm?” he asks, pulling his head from where it had been buried in the crook of your to look at you.

“Please fuck me now.”

He grins, the movement lighting up his entire face with a lusty glow before he eagerly crashes his lips with yours again. When you see his eyes again, you swear they’re a shade darker, his cheeks tinged with the color of desire. Low and gravelly, he finally speaks. 

“Grab your god damned vibrator, sweetheart.”

to answer your 💌 my writing process is a little all over the place! i used to write mostly linearly, that was what worked for me and i kind of thought of everything in order. but lately i have been doing a bit more doc hopping when i get stuck. maybe writing a later scene that i have ideas for and feel like it's more fleshed out or going back and polishing older paragraphs and such. i definitely am not a big outliner and plotter, which i'd like to get better about! but mostly everything just lives in my head and gets blobbed onto the doc once i have time to write it, which sometimes leaves things forgotten hehe

(divider by @/saradika-graphics!)

[dennisboobs]

he's the little spoon. he's the little spoon. he's the little spoon.

editing the original post to say. anybody who's like. yeah obviously. i need you to understand this is specifically insanity-inducing because it's MAUREEN who is spooning him.

Dennis' Tenth Grade girlfriend, his First Love, who Made Him Feel Things and who Understood Him. she stands out among the rest as something else, something Different.

he's not just into her for her looks, or the sex, he doesn't bolt when he sees her like dee initially does with bill. he's into her because she's artistic, quirky, and a person to him. he has never seen her as one of his Conquests, she's not a woman to him in the way he now views them, she's been preserved in his mind as his high school girlfriend, and she, like the gang, has not changed, has not grown up. this is something he likes about her, not because he actually loves her – in reality he finds her "annoying and strange" – but because of what she represents. because of the Good Times that come rushing back.

when he says that he's "feeling feelings again like when I was fourteen" in the script, he's talking about the last time he dated maureen. it's far more specific than "like some kind of fourteen year old boy" from the final episode; he's not just throwing that number out there, and he's not just saying that he stopped having feelings after fourteen. he's saying that he was fourteen when they dated.

because Dee Made a Smut Film doesn't actually specify what grade dennis was in, only that he was fourteen, i had assumed that he must have been fifteen in the tenth grade, but evidently that's not the case. he was fourteen both when he dated maureen, and when he was raped.

according to dee in the self help book, maureen broke up with dennis multiple times, and he would cry to dee about it. obviously dee isn't a reliable narrator, but if we take her at her word and assume she's got some other angle (exposing dennis) that doesn't include outright lying (why would dee even think to make this up when she believes dennis lacks feelings) it sure does indicate that he Had Feelings about it. i think it's relatively safe to say that the reason dennis associates maureen with all of these things, the reason why she stands out to him after all this time, is because she was the first and last person he dated before he was raped. dennis is going back to maureen because she was the only opportunity he had to feel these things. and he needed to feel things after what happened. he needed to be understood. he needed to be spooned by someone who he had at one point felt some love for.

[thebearme]

…petey headcanons? *holds plate out like a starving Victorian child*

Don't worry victorian child, you will be fed.

Petey is ace, particularly greysexual.

Petey has that scary cute cat yawn where they just unhinge their jaw then belp :P

He has shrimp posture sitting and standing, his back is wack.

Not so fun fact, his back is messed up because of his tail being chopped. The tail is connected to the spinal cord after all.

He was a BIG gifted child when he was little, he always wanted praise for his accomplishments. Which made alot of the kids around him hate him, and lead to the whole critter scouts thing.

And after awhile he became the exact opposite, he acted up in school for justified reasons but because his teachers wouldn't care to understand and just punished him. They saw him as a trouble child and the kids thought he was a bad kid, so with the change in perspective Petey started to believe it.

Luckily he had Big Jim growing up, he may have been mean to him at the time but nowadays Petey truly appreciates him and wants to apologize for behavior towards him.

Petey HATES getting sick for many reasons but the main one is that it makes him feel weak. So if Dogman or Lil Petey got sick he'll probably be in a hazmat suit before giving them a box of tissues.

Petey believe it or not, has a fixation on robots. AND I MEAN ALL ROBOTS, he would watch robot movies, have robot pjs, robot posters, robots toys on his shelf, robots anything and everything. I was able to show abit of it in my human Petey design with two of his tattoos (one of them being the robot from the day the earth stood still) and him in a transformer shirt. Why else would he make the most mundane things into robots? Cuz they're COOL!

Speaking of which, Petey fucking cried when he heard Opportunity's last words.

Petey gave up on getting an outside job and went freelance, It's not like the job market was that great anyway.

I imagine Petey, to the surprise to everyone but Dogman, is pretty strong. He may look twiggy, but he is an engineer! You NEED upper body strength to do work. Heres a post I made about it

Petey has a depression shaped pit in is bed. He didn't buy that pit, it's something he earned with hard work and so can you. Lil Petey likes loafing in it.

Petey can easily keep working in his workshop for the whole day without eating or using the bathroom if you don't make him take a break. When he's in the zone he forgets he got a body that has needs and can drop dead if he doesn't fulfill those needs.

Petey knew how to cook from his mom but didn't really start cooking till he got Lil Petey. He just ate takeout EVERYDAY cause he was too busy and depressed to cook, and his butler didn't give af to cook for him if he's just gonna to complain. But of course after getting Lil Petey he wasn't going to fed him takeout! So it went from frozen chicken nuggets and apple sauce to homemade pork stirfry and curry rice.

That care in cooking for others also goes to Dogman as well, neither of them had healthy eating habits so they made a deal to help each other in their journey. Dogman would eventually get told by the doctor that he needs to cut the dogfood cause his human body can digest all of that, so Petey is now cook pack lunches for him as well. And personally meals that taste good for his dog tongue, and Dogman gives him the biggest kisses for that.

I'm currently working on a comic for this next one but Petey feels like has no friends. He never just hanged out with any of the gang just to hangout by themselves. He feels like everyone is close friends with each other but not him, they all hang out around him because they're friends with Dogman. And the only reason they knows so much about him is because he trauma dumps on them. But he'll later learn that they do care about him outside of being close to Dogman and they'll hangout and get to know each other more.

Petey has sensitive beans, particularly to the cold. He's gonna be wearing socks and mittens if there's no heating which is funny cause cats usually hate them.

Petey is actually fluffy but just licks his fur down.

He's tail always is bent and not in a normal way but if you crushed paper and tried to lay it back, it still is bent and slowly goes back to that bent form. The only way to make Petey's tail go completely straight is if you surprise him or made him relax to the ninth degree.

Petey still has cat behavior just like how Dogman has dog behavior but unlike him, Petey controls his behavior. He basically masks everyday because of a whole social class stuff I can't explain rn. Cuz he wants to be taken seriously and not just seen as some house pet.

He once made a throne out of boxes and sat in it till Lil Petey or Dogman came back home. No reason for it, he just wanted to feel like a king.

Petey loves midday naps but the sun cuz he's a cat and old. It's true that you'll need more midday naps when you're older.

If I had to give a inuniverse reason for how he understands sign language it's because Petey learned from his mom. When Petey was younger and had a moment where he mad and overwhelmed he would have a hard time explaining his thoughts. Grace taught him sign language so he can explain his thoughts even if all he can verbally do is scream.

When Grace died, Petey was put into adoption and stayed there for a while because of his age and his behavioral problems. But he eventually got adopted by Dr Dilbert Dinkles, he was perfect for his needs, not a child so he won't cry, a cat can take care of themselves and behaving poorly is exactly what villains in training need to be bad. So Petey got adopted by the worst person possible and we know how the rest of the story goes.

Despite that fact that Dilbert is a doctor, Petey had the upper hand on him. He has street smarts, and when you know to build robots and know to use the robots to their full evil potential then you become a true villain to fear.

Petey and Flippy could very well be friends but Petey is literally just holding a grudge against him for some reason? Seriously idk why they're not friends, I think Flippy wants to be friends with him too but it just Petey that's in the way of that in canon. Like- please stop being an ahole for a second and just talk!

Petey also try his hand at gardening... Dogman keeps rolling on his flowers.

And that pretty much all the headcanons I can think of, I still do have my visual hc but yall always know it

heres a lil collage I made from my petey moodboard

And you already know the playlist

[starrihan]

Resist (Taehyun Fic)

-> Pairing: toxic! Taehyun x self sabotaging!Reader

-> Plot: your self-sabotaging tendencies keep you tied to your toxic ex, but how can you resist was the sex is just so good?

-> Genre: smut, angst, mean dom! Taehyun, bratty sub! Reader, toxic! Taehyun x toxic! Reader, piv sex, no protection (wrap it up), oral (f receiving), slight public intimacy (?), reader is tipsy while Taehyun is sober, hair pulling, cursing

-> Ft.: Chaeryoung and Yeji of ITZY

-> Warnings: a little blood

-> Word Count: 4,235

-> Notes: Happy late birthday to Taehyun!!! I really wanted to post this on his actual birthday but I got so busy but this is the second part to my Sanctuary series! i hope you guys enjoy toxic! Taehyun as much as I do. semi-proofread. i have been writing this for weeks but i've just been so busy that I've been putting out shorter works that took a lot less brainpower to write.

This TikTok is perfect for this fic

༄ ༄ ༄

The constant push-and-pull of your toxic relationship with your ex boyfriend was not something that you enjoyed, but rather something you very much craved. Why couldn’t you move on and heal like a normal person? Why did you keep subjecting yourself to this torture? Why couldn’t you resist?

It’s not like he cared about you or your feelings either. If he did, you wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place, his head between your thighs for the third night this week. 

“T-taehyun, slow down…”

He was eating you out like a man starved, as if he wasn’t doing this very thing the day before, relentless as his tongue constantly lapped at your juices. He just hums against your lips, waving off your concerns and he quickly makes you approach your orgasm. Grabbing a fistful of his hair you grind up into his face, his nose hitting your clit to give you the most pleasure. 

“Fuck, Taehyun,��

You say as you arch your back off the bed, orgasm coursing through you in waves. He licks up any excess juices while you catch your breath. 

“Think you can handle just a little bit more?” 

He says, unbuckling his belt and pulling off his jeans and boxers, dick hard and ready to pound into you. 

“What am I saying? Of course you can. You always were a little slut for my cock,”

His arrogance is one thing you didn’t miss about him. He lines up his dick with your entrance, barely giving you time to recover before fully pushing into you, bottoming out as your nails dig into his toned biceps. Your mouth hangs open at the intrusion, throat failing to produce a moan. 

He was right though, you always were ready for him at any point of the day. So hungry for his touch, the way he, no matter how bratty you were, always made you cum at least once before having his way with you. You would do anything to have his cock in you, and you both knew it. Even going as far as keeping him in your life despite the way he tries to control you, always demanding to know where you are or what your plans are. 

He pounds your hole deliciously, letting out little grunts here and there at how tight or wet you were. You could barely even look him in the eyes with how good he was giving it to you. 

“Hey. Eyes on me or I’m not moving, got it?”

You nod your head as he stills, opening your eyes to make eye contact with him and whining when he doesn’t continue even after you’ve obeyed his commands. He clenches your jaw firmly,

“What? My cock made you dumb already? Answer me, slut. Got it?” 

“Yes! I got it, please move!”

You’re begging as he lets go of your jaw, bringing your legs over his shoulders and deeply thrusting into you, tip hitting your cervix at the new angle. Your moans are replaced with screams as this new angle draws you closer to your second release. He can tell by the way that you’re clenching that you’re close. He dips his head down, kissing and biting all down your neck and chest, leaving bright red marks in their wake. Your voice breaks as you cum again, this time much harder than the last. He scoffs,

“You’re pathetic, ya know that?” 

He pushes into you a couple more times, releasing his load into your spent hole before pulling out, watching as a mix of both of your cum seeps out. You’re left laying in your bed, breath ragged as he cleans himself up, putting his pants on and throwing you a wet wipe to clean yourself up. You slowly wipe yourself down, wincing at the slight pain between your legs. 

“I’m busy tomorrow so don’t ask me to come over.” 

He says coldly before leaving you there, naked and alone. 

༄ ༄ ༄

The next day, you’re set to meet up with your friend, Chaeryeong for a little study date. As you’re getting ready you check yourself out in the mirror, noticing all the hickeys he’s left on your neck from the night before. Seething at the idea that he effectively marked you up like you’re still his to claim, you calm yourself down and find something to hide all the marks. Hoping a little color corrector and concealer will do the trick, you sling your bag over your shoulders, walking into the cold winter air, shivering as you walk to the cafe to meet Chaeryeong. Upon seeing her, you find two drinks waiting at the table. 

“Chaer, you're too sweet! Buying my drink for me? I love you,”

She stands up to give you a hug, laughing as you both sit down. You take off your jacket as you get comfortable, sipping at the hot latte that instantly warms you up from the inside. 

“I knew you would need it after the last few days you’ve had. You still let Taehyun do a number on you, huh?”

She says, gesturing to the slightly visible bruising still found on your neck. 

“Fuck, I thought I covered that up.”

You curse as you cover your neck with your hand, pulling your ear muffs over your neck to hide them. 

“Why are you still hooking up with him? He treats you like shit and you two broke up months ago. Why do you keep torturing yourself?”

You sigh knowing her words are coming from a place of genuine concern for your well being. Also because you didn't have an answer yourself. You didn't know why you kept going back to him, asking him for sex or always dropping everything when he asked you for it. 

“I don’t know. I’m just drawn to him. I just can’t say no.”

He always had this effect on you. Ever since you first started dating and things were still cute and sweet, whenever sex was mentioned you two were animals ready to pounce on each other. You just couldn't resist one another. Even after your breakup, your sexual chemistry was just too perfect to give up. You were afraid that you wouldn’t find anyone who could bring you feeling even half as much pleasure as Taehyun could bring you. 

“You’re being self-destructive again. He’s just using you for sex but you still like him, despite the way he treated you. You have Stockholm Syndrome.”

You chuckled at her joke but you couldn’t deny her point. 

“Alright, alright, can we get away from my destructive tendencies for a bit and focus on this exam we have to study for?” 

She just let the topic be, knowing that you didn’t like to talk about it but she just wanted to express her concern for you. 

༄ ༄ ༄

After your study session, Chaeryeong mentions a little party that her sorority is throwing, inviting you in hopes that you show up.

“A party? This weekend? I don’t know Chaer, I have a lot of work to do and we have that exam on Monday…”

“It's only Thursday and the party is Saturday night! If you lock in these next few days you should be fine! Please Y/N! I really want you to be there!”

You’re contemplating still, about to turn her down when you really think about it. A party at a sorority? Taehyun is bound to be there. You feign a perplexed look to hide the smirk trying to creep up your face.

“Oh, alright. I’ll come! But only because you bought me a latte today.”

You both laugh as you head back to your respective dorms. You felt bad about lying to her about the true reason behind your attendance, but you brush it off before you let your guilty conscience get the best of you. You decide that you need to get all your work done as soon as you can so you can actually attend the party on Saturday. You’re about to open your laptop when you get a message on your phone.

Dick Appointment😒:

coming over, leave your door unlocked

Looking at the message, you’re tempted to do as he says, thighs already rubbing together at the thought of him on top of you. But you think about Chaeryeong and all the work and exams you have to study for, deciding that your awaiting work is more important than getting dicked down. 

You:

thought you were busy today?

You knew your response would only be met with bitterness, but it was fun to mess with him whenever you could. But you really didn’t need him to come over.

Dick Appointment 😒:

coming over there to fuck that nasty attitude out of you

You:

can’t, have a lot of work to get done before this saturday 

Dick Appointment 😒:

why saturday? 

You roll your eyes as he blatantly ignores your need to get your work done. But what did you expect from someone who barely cared about you in the first place?

You:

going out with Chaeryeong and some friends, why do you care?

He reads the message but never responds, not that you’re surprised because he always loses interest as soon as the conversation shifts away from sex. Whatever, you had work to get done and you couldn’t afford any more distractions. 

༄ ༄ ༄

Saturday rolls around and you find yourself getting ready early, a reward for getting all your work done and having studied a good amount for your upcoming exam. You hadn’t gone out in a while so you took this chance to get all dolled up, partly because you wanted to look good for yourself, but mostly because you wanted Taehyun to find you irresistible, not that he didn’t already. He might act like a dick but it was you who he always came back to, right? That was the mindset you went into the night with, anyway. 

Finally ready to go out, you texted Chaeryeong that you were on your way. Upon arriving at the sorority house, you were met by an excited, already drunk Chaeryeong who hugged you while jumping up and down. 

“It always surprises me that you can get even more bubbly when you’re drunk.”

“You can say that again.”

You heard a familiar voice. You recognized the girl to be Yeji, one of Chaeryeong’s sorority sisters. 

“Yeji! It’s so good to see you again!.”

You give each other a hug before they let you in, handing you a shot to take with them. After taking a couple shots over the span of an hour, your body had loosened up, dancing with Chaeryeong and some of her friends as the alcohol coursed through your bodies. As you were dancing, you glance at the front door, a familiar group of boys catching your attention. Taehyun eyes you immediately, heading towards you. 

“We need to talk,”

His voice is stern and every bone in your body wanted to pull away from him, wanting to act out to see how he’d react. But you let him pull you away, assuring Chaeryeong, who held a confused and concerned expression on her face, that everything was alright. 

He drags you to an empty corner of the house, one where the music is just barely audible so you can actually have a conversation. 

“Is this what you meant by ‘going out?’ You’re at a fucking party.”

He practically hisses at you, pissed off that you didn’t tell him the whole truth about your activities. 

“Well I am out. And besides, you’re not my boyfriend anymore Taehyun, why should I tell you where I am or what I’m doing? So you can try to control me again like you did before?” 

You look unbothered as you scoff at him, not sure if it was the alcohol that was talking or if you were just finally fed up with him acting like he can get whatever he wants from you. He clenched his jaw in anger, an action you usually find irresistible. 

“Who do you think you are talking to me like that? As if I won’t just fuck you here in front of everyone. Then they’ll know you’re mine.” 

The way he’s walking up to you, essentially backing you up into the wall behind you doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but rather you see it as a challenge. His need to claim you is confusing, considering he wants nothing to do with you barring sex.  

“I’m not yours. And I never will be again. Act as tough as you want but I’m not yours Kang Taehyun.” 

You push back, backing him up on the wall opposite to the one he had you against. He lets you push him back before swiftly holding your waist and pinning you up against the wall instead. 

“Don’t make me mark you up again, Y/N, you know I’m not afraid to do it.”

“You’re a dick you know that?” 

“Oh I know, sweetheart,” 

He says before harshly smashing his lips against yours. The kiss is sloppy and needy, tongues everywhere as you both try to get impossibly closer. Teeth biting your bottom lip, he breaks away to trail his kisses down your neck, creating new bruises over the ones that just barely healed from a few days prior. You try your best to bite back a moan, not allowing him the satisfaction of you giving into him. 

“You’re a sadistic fuck, what’s wrong with you?”

He continues his barrage on your neck and collar, biting down especially hard at your comment, causing you to wince at the pain, feeling the tiniest bit of blood trickle down your neck. 

“What the fuck did you say to me you little brat? Are you forgetting who holds the power here?” 

“I’d be surprised if you thought you did.” 

You’re provoking him at this point. You knew you stood no chance against him, you couldn’t beat him at his own game. But you were certainly going to make it more difficult for him, challenging his every step with your bratty comments and actions. 

“Oh so you’re being a brat on purpose. You want me to go hard on you? Or maybe I should go easy, and give you the opposite of what you want?” 

You’re not ready to relinquish control yet, as if you had it in the first place. But to you, this was your own personal victory. Riling up Taehyun who was normally very private about being intimate with anyone, especially you. Acting out like this in a place where anyone could catch you at any time. This was your win. 

“Fuck you, Taehyun.” 

“Oh, I will.”

You’re taken aback as he feels you up under your shirt, lifting it enough to expose your stomach. The cool air and his cold hands on your warm body cause you to shiver into him, hand moving up to his shoulder to ground yourself. He was roughly kneading your tits together, pinching your nipples that perked up against his cold fingers. You’re fighting every fiber in your being to hold back a moan, strained breaths taking their place. He takes this as a challenge, taking his mouth to your tits and biting down hard on the soft flesh. You reel back into the wall, arching your back and pushing your chest further into his face. He takes the chance to mark up your tits as well, taking your nipples between his teeth, sucking and biting. Coupled with the pain you’re feeling pleasure. As much as you hated feeling pain, it felt so good when Taehyun was the one giving it to you. 

“Come on you little slut, make the noises you want everyone to hear. You never hold back when we’re alone, what’s different now? Didn’t you want people to catch us?”

He’s taunting you and it's working, biting your lip raw to suppress any moans. He slots his knee between your legs, letting your pussy rest against his thigh. His hands move to your waist, helping you grind yourself on his thigh, something you tried to stop yourself from doing. But your attempts to stop yourself were futile, finding your own body betraying you as the flexed muscle of his thigh along with the rough fabric of your jeans hit your clit perfectly. Slowly, some whimpers leave your throat, followed by shallow breathing. Your head was spinning, intoxicated by Taehyun, the effects of the alcohol barely present. 

“You’re dumb again and I haven’t even had my way with you yet? Typical,”

You wanna bite back but your words fail you, pushing a moan past your lips instead, involuntarily agreeing to his claim. 

“Fuck…”

He grabs you by the wrist, halting any pleasure to your body as he harshly pulls you into an empty bedroom. His hands are on you instantly, hands going into your jeans to cup your ass. He pulls you in close, kissing and sucking on your lips as your hands get lost in his hair. You let your moans free, not being able to hold them back any longer. You curse your weak resolve, something you’d beat yourself up over later. He has your pants off in no time, pulling his own down as he lifts you up, letting your back hit the door shut as he has you firmly pressed up against it. You’re embarrassingly wet, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him. 

“You’re never gonna escape me. Only I can make you so wet like this by barely giving you anything.”

You hate yourself for constantly going back to him, but the way he acts, even if it's stuck up and you hate it– always has you coming back for more. He was right, no one could make you feel as good as he can. 

He thrusts into you, breaking you out of your thoughts and coaxing a long and drawn out whimper from you. Your head hits the back of the door pretty hard, but you don’t feel the pain as Taehyun drilling into you completely relieves you from it. His thrusts are sharp and rough, skin slapping loud as he puts more and more force into fucking you, releasing all the pent up anger and frustration you just put in him. Your grip is everywhere, in his hair, on his shoulders, running up and down his arms, anything to try and stabilize yourself as you feel your legs start to wobble. 

Of course he knew when you were close, harshly pulling out of you. 

“FUCK YOU!”

It's almost like you can’t control your emotions as he rips your orgasm away from you. You wanted to cry at the ache and frustration, so used to getting what you want from him. He rarely ever edged you, finding too much pride at making you cum quickly with a couple thrusts, it actually hurt him a little to not finish you off. But you had to be punished for acting out. You smack at his shoulders as he puts you down, only to spin you around, leaning you over the bed. In front of the bed is a large vanity mirror, one that gives you a perfect view of the entire room, and the menacing look on Taehyun’s face. He yanks you by the hair, holding your head up as he walks up between your legs. 

“Watch yourself get ruined by my cock. Watch yourself fall apart as you realize you can’t live without me or my dick. Want to cum? Don’t close your fucking eyes you dirty slut.”

His words are venomous, but you can't get enough as you’re backing your hips into him, asking for it like you’re in heat. He delivers a particularly hard and loud slap to your ass, grinning as he watches it bounce. There's something about the way that he just looks down at you like you're nothing but a sleeve for him to drown his dick in that gets you going.

“Hurry up”

Another hard slap to your ass and yank of your hair keep you at bay, holding your tongue back at the pain. 

“Shut up! I’ll give it to you when I think you deserve it.”

He pulls your head back almost completely, using his hand to hold your jaw open as he spits into your mouth. You try your best to seductively swallow his spit, hoping that he’ll ease up on you and finally give you what you want. He runs his hands up and down your body, rubbing his tip over your cunt to tease you. He can’t wait to be in you again, sliding in and bottoming out immediately. 

You’re trying your best to keep your hips still, no longer being able to keep up your front, worried he’ll stop his movements if you push back onto him. He can sense your obedience, and brings a hand over your stomach and down to your clit, toying with it, thrusts nothing short of unforgiving. Your mouth is hung open from the pleasure, moans non-existent as your throat is too dry to produce them. You’re clenching over him, orgasm quickly approaching.

“See how you get rewarded when you’re being good for me? Finally you fucking learn”

But something in you always has to challenge him. It’s like second nature, even when you don’t want to respond back to him, you do, out of spite. Out of the growing hatred you have for the man who you can’t seem to detach yourself from. 

“If I don’t get it from you I’ll get it from someone else”

Silence. No moans, no thrusts, no sounds of your slick rubbing against your folds. It’s almost like you broke him. 

“If you can get it from someone else, then I should just stop here, right? You can finish from someone else using you like this?” 

He slides out of you, delivering yet another harsh slap to your ass, this time much harder than the last and leaving a bright red hand print. The tears that were brimming your eyes many times during the night are finally at their limits, pushing past your eyes and falling down your face. 

“Taehyun I… I’m so sorry I didn’t mean any of that please, please help me I’m sorry!”

You knew better than to grovel. If anything, this would make your attachment to him worse. But you were nothing short of a nymphomaniac, only caring about the need to cum and the feelings surrounding it later, once you’ve gotten your fill— literally. 

“I can’t stand you”

He flips you over, slamming back into you again as you scream, this time his name flows out of your mouth. You’re so grateful that begging worked, but you’re just as annoyed at yourself for repeating the cycle over and over again. This time you’re face to face with him, never breaking eye contact as his previous rule still stood. ‘Watch yourself get ruined’ but instead you’d watch him, ruining you physically and emotionally. 

All the mental barriers you put up around him, all the back talk telling him to stop asking about your plans and what you’ll be doing, all the attempts at trying to be better than him and meaner than him, all severing at the promise of what? The possibility that you’ll get to cum? You couldn’t stand yourself either. 

His hands were tight around your waist, bruising the supple skin as he hammered into you for the nth time. He was driving you up the wall, your release crashing over you in mere seconds. Writhing under him, you’re panting like a dog, not being able to handle the immediate over sensitivity that you’re feeling. You always were a sucker for the way his eyes peered into your soul every time you guys had sex, like he still cared, like he still wished you were his. 

But part of you wondered about his actions just now. 

Why did he care so much about the comments that you made, knowing they were false threats because you always went back to him? Was it just a pride thing? Was he so committed to the bit of claiming you that he just got a little too intense? Or did he still harbor secret feelings for you? 

You’re pulled out of your thoughts at the feeling of him filling you up to the brim, but not yet pulling out. 

“If you really want whatever this is between us to end, just say so. I can’t play these games if you’re gonna threaten to get fucked by someone else.”

Did he really still have feelings for you? Or was this just another one of his attempts to control you, manipulate you into staying with him indirectly?

“You fuck me like no one else can. I have to keep you on your toes though, right?”

The smirk that forms on his face at your words is the first time in a while you’ve seen his face relax. Like you made the right choice and he was so pleased with your words. 

“You just love making things difficult, don’t you?”

You chuckle at his words, confirming them.

You had the perfect opportunity for an out, but of course you didn't take it. Because why not subject yourself to more emotional pain and damage when you can have the best fuck of your life whenever you wanted it, right?

[heyimkana]

Desiderium - Chapter 1

Pairing: Yuuta Okkotsu X Female Reader X Satoru Gojo Genre: Reincarnation AU, Marriage AU, Fluff, Smut, Slow Burn Summary: Set in Tokyo, Japan, you and Yuuta were past lovers separated by the cruel hands of fate. That same fate brought you to him again a century later, but while you hold no memories of him or the beautiful life you had shared with him in the past, Yuuta remembers everything. He's waited forever to see you again, yearning for your love, not knowing that you already belong to someone else. Word Count: 15K+ Content Warnings: None for this one, but there will be plenty of smutty scenes starting from chapter 4. Notes: Yuuta, Reader, and Satoru are the same age, all in their late twenties. Satoru has his Hidden Inventory personality here, so he might come off as brash and slightly immature. Reader doesn't have a name but is written with she/her pronouns. She has no physical description other than she has hair long enough to be tied up. She does have her own hobbies and personality traits, all necessary for the plot.

New chapter will be posted every 1-2 weeks. Read it on AO3 here.

Written as a birthday gift for my wife Aleks @princess-okkotsu Art drawn by @alwhmd_ on Twitter (commission)

Yuuta Okkotsu is a mystery, and at this moment, as she meets him for the first time in a room filled with papers and ink and comforting silence, he intrigues her more than any lines in her favorite poetry. 

It’s not love at first sight, of that she is sure. She’s experienced that many years ago, or so she believes, with Satoru—the lover with whom she’s shared frantic kisses and burning touches in the last six years. It doesn’t feel the same with Yuuta right now, not quite. It is something more intense, something she cannot yet fathom, something she wishes she understood.

The second their eyes are locked on each other, it’s like she’s electrocuted, her body freezing at the sensation. 

“Oh, sorry,” she says, her voice sounding like she hasn’t spoken in years. A tiny red spot begins to form on his pale skin, where his chin made contact with her head earlier. “I was reaching out for a book. I didn’t see you there.”

The man, young enough to be around her age with a gaze softer than most, has an expression of a heartbroken man. He looks at her, pain fleeting across his face. 

His eyes… They remind her of the ocean before the storm. 

It’s not the color as they resemble more of a sapphire, like the freshly bloomed delphiniums after the rain. No, it’s the feeling, the way they glimmer under the soft evening light, calm and steady, but in a way, it emits sadness. Yearning. Heartbreak. The kind that makes him feel like he had been crushed, trapped inside a hurricane for so long, he was about to fade into the void. But there’s also hope beneath it, as if he was desperately looking for something, and he’s just a moment away from attaining it. Something tugs upon her heartstrings as he peers into her eyes, full of depths and secrets she longs to unveil. 

He looks like he’s about to cry, she thinks. There are no tears in sight, no quiver in his lips, and yet, to her…

“Are you… all right?” 

The man smiles ever so softly at her question, seemingly too kind to be genuinely coming from the heart, but she believes it. The quiet agony in his eyes has not yet dissipated, but he grows excellent at wearing his mask. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” His voice is rich and soft, breathy and tender when he speaks. “Are you?”

“Not my first time accidentally hitting someone from not paying attention to my surroundings, so yes,” she chuckles. Her pretty sounds stun him. The yearning he’s been trying to conceal shows vividly for a split second. It leaves her confused, worried that he got upset by her actions. “Again, sorry.”

“No, please don’t apologize. It was my fault. I should’ve kept my distance.”

She’s sure her eyes have never met him. Her mind doesn’t remember him. Her ears don’t recognize his voice, but she swears she’s seen him before, so much that it feels like he becomes gravity, drawing her to him.

She wants to reach out to him. Wants to know why he looks like he’s seconds away from breaking apart. Wants to ask him whether she’s said too much or too little. But he’s nothing but a stranger, and she doesn’t wish to step out of the line. “Were you also looking for a book?”

“Yes, umm…” He’s tall, taller than she’d expect someone who exudes such awkwardness would be. Compared to other men, he has a youthful look, but she has a hunch that he’s around her age, most likely in his late twenties. He points his finger toward a book on the shelf beside her. “That one.”

She follows his direction, smiling when she reads the title on its spine. “No wonder we bumped heads. I was aiming for the same book.”

“Oh, then, it’s fine,” he hurriedly says, pushing the book back toward her when she tries to hand it over. “You can take it.”

“No, please, go ahead. I’ve read this too many times already.”

“Me too, so—”

“I insist.” She presses the book to his chest, looking up at him. 

He looms before her, standing possibly over 180 centimeters tall that she has to tilt her head up to match his line of vision. She catches a whiff of his scent, the smell of soap and aftershave, thinly layered by cologne. Modest, pleasant, just like him as a whole. 

Despite the slight dark circles swelling under his eyes, he’s a handsome man with a face framed by strong jawlines, a sharp nose, and thick, silky black hair parted on the side. The ends of his strands were long enough to brush against the collar of his ivory turtle neck sweater. His brown coat compliments his pallid skin perfectly, and she can’t help but wonder whether his shoulders are just as broad underneath it. An argent necklace with a ring as his pendant dangles just a few inches above his heart, glinting in the same way as his silver watch under the fluorescent light of the room. When his lips curve up, his eyes do the opposite, drooping in a way that makes him seem younger, which leaves her confused as he also gives off the feeling that he might be older than he appears. 

What a beautiful person, a thought runs through her mind, one that she hastily dismisses before it reaches her tongue. “Take it as a form of my apology for bruising your chin,” she says with a slight grin.

His eyes widen just for a split second before a soft chuckle reverberates from his chest. When he speaks again, it’s almost like a whisper—like a secret never meant to be told, “I can never win against you, can I?”

She barely catches his words. “Sorry, what?”

“Nothing.” He clears his throat, tucking his chin to hide his eyes. “I, uhh… I was about to borrow this and grab some coffee. Would you care to join me? I’d love to talk to you more.” His body language indicates that he’s nervous, which she admits is endearing. There’s a momentary pause where she finds herself too busy marveling over his features, but he misunderstands. “I’m—I’m not a pervert or anything like that, I swear! I won’t do anything bad to you.”

She almost laughs. Who talks like that? “That sounds exactly like what a pervert would say.”

He gapes, face flushed. “No, I—” She loves seeing him struggle, so she lets him take his time, just watching him with amusement. He takes a breath, probably trying his best to slow down his soaring heart. “It’s just—it’s hard to find someone with a similar taste like mine and I, umm… I’d like to know you—I-I mean your taste in books—better.”

Usually, she’s not as gullible as to agree to a stranger’s offer, but meeting him somehow feels like reuniting with an old friend. It’s easier to trust him than to be suspicious of him. She wonders if it’s simply because of how affable he seems despite his awkwardness.

Her heart convulses. She knows how grabbing some coffee together tends to lead to something more, and seeing how shy and flustered he is standing in front of her, she’s sure he wants it to lead to something more. Her boyfriend’s name pops into her head, but her lips betray her before her brain can form a warning. “Sure, why not? Let’s prove my guts wrong,” she answers with a slight curve of her lips. “As long as you can tell me your name, that is.”

“Right, sorry.” She loves the sound he makes when he sheepishly chuckles, and she loves it more when it echoes louder in her ears. He offers his hand, stretching out his lean fingers. “I’m Yuuta.”

She expects it to be soft, just like the way he’s gazing at her, but his palm feels calloused against her own. “Yuuta…?”

“O-Okkotsu,” he finishes awkwardly as if he hadn’t spoken his surname in so long that he’d forgotten it.

“Pleasure to meet you, Yuuta Okkotsu.” When she replies to him with her name, he freezes, his eyes widening, shaking in disbelief.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No,” he answers, his expression melting into something warm, full of nostalgia. “It’s just... Your name sounds familiar to me.” She arches a brow, but he leaves her with no time to speak her curiosity. 

Calling her respectfully by her surname, he flashes a smile. “Shall we?” ***

Winter comes with a blush of the autumn time, ready to charm her soul and win her heart all over again, the way it always has since the first time she could remember cotton-like ice crystals falling gently across her window. The days, though shorter, remain clear and dry, as if they were already warmed by a sweet breath of spring even when the year has just begun. To her regret, the snow has yet refused to fall, but the way the city of Tokyo glows at night, with fairy lights wrapped around tree-lined streets, serves as a nice consolation.

 Stepping outside the library, she gazes toward the sky, expecting to be greeted by a blue evening sun, as if the rays would somehow be colder in these icy days, but, of course, it stays golden, divinely warm upon her chilled skin.

“Are you cold?” Yuuta questions as he watches puffs of her warm breaths lingering in the air. “Would you like my coat?”

“No, I’m fine.” All thanks to her wooly sweater. “That’s so nice of you, though. Offering a stranger your coat like that.” And honestly weird because who does that on a first meeting? She mulls to herself, though the thought doesn’t bother her as much as it should.

“I just…” Every time the word ’stranger’ comes flowing past her lips, it seems to hurt him somehow. “I thought you might need it.”

He’s being genuine, she can tell. The same way she can see just how red his cheeks are with the breeze biting too deeply into his skin. “I honestly think you need your coat more than me.”

“Ah,” he chuckles timidly. “Yeah, I’m not really good with cold weather.”

The thought of him all bundled up, sniffling from the wintry winds, enters her mind, making him look so adorable in her eyes. “We should hurry and get all warmed up then.”

They walk side by side, exchanging small conversations as they go. “Is winter your favorite season?” he asks.

“It is. I think it’s pretty. And it gives me the excuses I need to spend the whole day just keeping myself warm and cozy at the library, reading my favorite books. What about you? I suppose you hate it, huh?” 

“I don’t hate it.”

“You don’t? Even though you look like you’re about to freeze to death?”

He laughs softly to appreciate her jest. “No,” he smiles to himself. “I think I might have disliked it in the past, but my—” He stops, clearing his throat. “A friend of mine used to love it so much, so… I’ve grown to like it since then.” 

He said it like it was a secret he tried to repress, someone more meaningful than a friend. Her gaze drifts down to the silver ring hanging over his sweater. That looks like a wedding ring, she thinks, but it would’ve been weird, wouldn’t it? Let’s say he was indeed married; would he flirt with another woman while displaying his ring like this? Maybe he’s divorced? But why is he still wearing it? The thoughts swirl, but she keeps them solely in her mind. ***

Walking from the library to the nearest coffee shop only takes around ten minutes. By then, she’s caught on the little gestures Yuuta makes as he speaks: the way he forces himself to laugh a little when he notices he’s being too straightforward; the way he clears his throat when he feels like his words have more hidden meanings than they let on. She’s become aware of his passion and love for books, so strong that it can only be matched by her own. She’s learned about his dream, a novelist in the making, taking his first baby steps to turn it into reality.

“There’s the one,” she says, pointing a finger to a small yet cozy coffee shop on the corner of the main street, still a few meters ahead. “I don’t drink coffee but often drop by to get matcha lattes before work. They’re amazing.”

“You don’t drink coffee?” Despite his question, he doesn’t appear to be surprised by the fact. It was as if he already guessed it.

“Yeah, umm—” She loosens the collar of her sweater, her body heating up as embarrassment grows. I’d rather die than tell him that coffee upsets my stomach. “You know, the caffeine keeps me awake.”  

“Ah, yes. Of course.” 

It’s probably just her fear and shame playing tricks on her mind, but she swears she sees a little knowing smile forming on his lips. She refuses to acknowledge it for the sake of her heart.

“Oh, hold on.” Yuuta suddenly quickens, taking a couple of strides ahead of her. He pulls on the doorknob, holding the door open. Any other man would do it to leave a good impression. Yuuta does it because he’s raised to do so, a gentleman to his core.

“Thanks,” her sheepish smile causes joy to bloom like roses on his face. 

They step inside the shop, instantly surrounded by wafts of the warm, welcoming blend of coffee beans and caramel. A young female performs a love song on the stage with a pink acoustic guitar perched on her lap, a shade that matches her cotton candy hair. The queue of people desperately needing warm coffees in the chilly evening is longer than she expected. She doesn’t find the heart to change places, however, knowing how Yuuta has been secretly hiding his face behind his scarf, seeking warmth whenever he thought she wasn’t looking (she caught him in the act every time but kept quiet about it for his sake). 

Maybe it’s better if we stay. “Do you mind if we wait in line for a bit?”

“Not at all,” he replies.

 And so they wait, standing side by side, trading secret glances and diffident smiles. 

A staff slides open the display shelf beside her, placing a fresh batch of chocolate pastries and strawberry cakes under the fluorescent light. Saliva pools in her mouth almost immediately. The savory cream, the strawberry fillings in between layers, and—

“You can go ahead and take a seat if you want,” Yuuta offers, swaying her away from her stupor. “I’ll place an order for us.”

“Huh? Oh, no, I can wait here with you. It’s fine.”

“It’s still gonna take a while.” He briefly looks at the six people ahead of them, worried. “You sure?”

She skims through her options quickly. An open spot in the corner would be perfect for them to talk, a safe distance from the live music playing on the stage and the gossiping crowd. “But I’d feel bad,” she speaks her concerns.

“This is nothing,” he assures. “What would you like to have? I know you’re fond of their matcha lattes, but I saw the board, and it says it’s not available right now.”

“What?” She takes a quick view of the handwritten menu on the blackboard. “Oh, you’re right,” she mumbles regretfully, noticing that even a simple matcha tea is crossed out. Great, what should I get? Will I look childish if I ask for hot cocoa with s’mores? Yeah, probably. “What are you getting?”

“Black coffee.”

And, of course, he had to be an adult and choose that, she nearly pouts. Now, I’m definitely going to sound like a kid.

“What about hot chocolate?” he suggests. When she reciprocates with a frown, surprised at how easily he reads her mind, Yuuta quickly adds, “Sorry, it’s just… You look like you have a sweet tooth.”

“Excuse me?”

“I—I saw you staring at the cakes before, so, umm… Sorry if I jumped to conclusions.”

“Oh, wow, that’s embarrassing,” she forces out a faint laugh to mask her shame. “You caught me drooling.”

“No—it’s cute, really!” It’s even more mortifying now that he’s trying to comfort her about it. “I like cakes too. Chocolate ones, mostly. But also the strawberry ones, they’ve been growing on me lately—” he abruptly stops. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. God, I’m sorry.”

She watches him turn flustered, just for a second before she fails to suppress her giggles from escaping. “You caught me drooling, and now you’re panicking about oversharing. We’re a bunch of idiots, aren’t we?” 

The string of her adorable peals of laughter causes his gaze to soften, his eyes turning melancholic as if he were witnessing a memory unveiled before him. She notices him staring—adoring, really, like it’s a habit of hers he’s grown to love for years. Such a weird thing for a stranger to do. 

“You haven’t changed at all,” he says under his breath, or at least she thinks so. She must have heard it wrong.

“All right,” she says, straightening down her sweater. “I’m going to be useful and find ourselves a table before I further make a fool out of myself. I’ll have a slice of that strawberry cake, please.”

“Noted. And your drink?”

“I’ll have what you have.”

“Coffee? But—”

She strides away before he can finish. 

Leaving him standing on the line, she catches him shaking his head from the corner of her eyes, chuckling to himself.

Yuuta arrives at her table a moment later, carrying a tray filled with their orders. “Sorry for making you wait.”

“Sorry for making you wait,” she says, proffering her gratitude with a smile. “Alone.”

“It’s fine,” he mirrors her expression. “Here’s your order.”

“What is this?” She questions as he places down a plate filled with strawberry cake—two slices, with extra frosting and fresh strawberries on top. “Are you trying to make me fat?”

He laughs, his hands busy settling the cups on the wooden table. “I thought you might be hungry after all the waiting.”

“It literally was only fifteen minutes.”

“Well, then, maybe we can share?” he asks, slightly hopeful, before his shyness gets the best of him again. “O-only if you’re comfortable.”

“Please, I’d love to—” She stops, noticing the two cups of hot chocolate—with s’mores—sitting between them. “Wait.”

“Oh, umm,” Yuuta straightens himself on his seat; his posture reminds her of an employee preparing himself to be scolded by the chief. “You said you’ll have what I have, so I got you the same one.”

“Yeah, but didn’t you say you were gonna have black coffee?”

“Did I?” He does it again, emitting that unique laugh of his to hide his discomfort. “Well, uhh, caffeine keeps me awake, so… I changed my mind.”

She squinted her eyes. “You’re actually a lot cheekier than you look, aren’t you?”

He sweats, hastily taking a sip of his drink. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

It’s her turn to shake her head this time, all in amusement. “Well, thank you. For being so considerate.”

With a juvenile glee, he replies, “Don’t mention it.” ***

“Have you thought about what kind of story you plan to write?” She asks as she slides her cup closer to her side. Now that she’s finished tasting some of the s’mores with her spoon, a lovely shade of cocoa shimmers inside, glazed with foam and melted marshmallows. “Is it porn?”

Yuuta chokes on his drink, spilling a bit of chocolate down his chin. 

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry.” She promptly snatches some tissues for him, almost dabbing his mouth herself as some of it threatens to spill onto his shirt. Thank goodness he managed to wipe it off just in time. 

“It’s not porn,” he coughs out, his eyes glassy with tears.

“Yeah, no, of course. I was just kidding.” She checks on him, her forehead creasing with concern. “Are you okay? Did some of it get into your nose?”

“I’m fine,” he sniffles, trying his best to smile without wincing.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. You’re just so stiff; I thought I’d ease you up with a joke.” She half-grimaces, half-grins at him. “Guess it’s working?”

“Guess it is. A little.” When he chuckles, she feels an inkling of joy. It doesn’t take long before Yuuta’s little laughter becomes one of her favorite sounds in the world. “Sorry for being so jumpy all the time. Old habit.”

“Not used to talking to strangers?”

“Not like this, no. You’re my first.”

Something warm and pleasant grows inside her chest, but she chooses to ignore it. “Well, consider me honored. So,” she sips her drink, “Your story?”

“Oh, uhh… I plan to write a romance novel.” 

“Romance? That’s surprising.”

“How so?” 

“Hmm, not sure why, but I see you more as someone who writes crime stories. You know, writing from experience, that sort of thing.”

He pouts. It’s adorable. “Because of the way I behave?”

“Because of the way you behave.” She returns to another good-natured chaff. “Also, because you seem… I don’t know, there’s something strange about you.”

Yuuta falls into silence, just for a moment. A reaction she didn’t see coming. “Strange how?”

“Like…” She peers into his eyes, and there it is again. The way he stares at her. The way he tends to express pensive sadness as if he’s been trying to convey something to her—something really important—but she’s not listening. He doesn’t seem suspicious to her, not in the slightest. But he gives her the same feeling she feels when she encounters a mystery in the book, one that she can’t wait to be resolved at the end of the story. Why do you seem so familiar? She ponders before she shakes the thoughts away. “I can’t point my finger at it just yet.” 

His shoulders sag. For some reason, her answer disappoints him. 

She straightens up on her seat, her lips tilting up on their own to cheer him up. “Perhaps I’ll figure it out once we finish our drinks.”

Yuuta smiles, too, but it lacks the same warmth. There’s something he’s not telling. “I hope so,” he says. If there was a hidden message beneath it, she missed it.

Feeling a tad awkward, she taps her fingers against the sides of her cup. “So, a romance novel, huh? I never would’ve pegged you as a romantic if you didn’t tell me.” 

Anything that he wants to say, he swallows it all down to himself. “Well, it’s supposed to be more than just a romance story. It has a supernatural element to it. Borderline fantasy.”

“Like what?”

He takes a few seconds before he responds quietly with a secretive smile. “I guess you’ll just have to read to find out.”

“Cheapskate.” She purses your lips. “Is it going to have a happy ending?”

“Well, they’ll be separated by death in the end—”

“Hey! Spoiler alert!”

He cringes, “Sorry.” 

“I can’t believe you said, ’You’ll just have to read to find out,’ and then dropped this bomb on me.”

Yuuta chortles, very light, very charming. “I just wanted to make it sound interesting, I guess. I thought you’d do well with sad stories.”

“Well, yes, angst is my cup of tea. It wasn’t before, but I read this heartwrenching book once, and it’s been growing on me ever since.” She then notices something. “That’s a good guess, though.” She throws a joke, “Were you able to tell because I have this constant miserable look on my face—”

“You’re beautiful.” 

She freezes. His line comes out so suddenly, true, but it doesn’t stagger her as much as the way he speaks it. He says it not as a compliment but as the truth. He conveys it so smoothly, but not because he’s used to flirting. His eyes still shake as they stare at her. The slight crack in his voice is one of the tiny proofs of how nervous he is around her. And yet, these words sound so natural in her ears, as if he’d said that to her a thousand times before. 

And it feels like she’s heard it. A thousand times before.

“I… Sorry.” He settles himself on his seat, his cheek blossoming in red when he scratches it with his finger. “I didn’t mean to cut you off. It’s just… You don’t look miserable or anything, you’re… You’re gorgeous.” He can’t meet her gaze. She’s the blazing sun, and he’s a man who’s never stepped out during daylight. “Ah, what am I saying,” he mumbles, only for his ears to hear. She can tell he wishes his seat could swallow him whole. He’s embarrassed, terribly so, that he practically has one hand covering his face. 

“Umm… Thanks.” That’s all she can say because how else could she answer him when he acts like he just made a love confession? Trying to keep it light, she adds, “You’re giving out that suspicious vibe again.”

He claws against his jean-clad thighs, feeling even smaller. “S-sorry…”

“I’m kidding!” She exclaims, flashing her biggest smile. “I appreciate the compliment, truly. Thank you, Yuuta.”

He stops breathing at the sound of his name escaping her mouth. She realizes it’s the first time she’s said it, and seeing how his shoulders turn tense, she begins to worry. “Sorry, I accidentally called you by your first name. I hope that’s not rude?”

“N-no, it’s all right,” he says, pink flames bursting in his cheeks again. He fiddles with his fingers, bashfully adding, “I… actually prefer you call me that way.”

“Oh…” There’s probably no limit to how adorable he can be. “Well then, you can call me by my first name, too.”

The way joy sparks instantly in his eyes is blatant proof that he’s been waiting for the chance, but he shakes his head, too shy to take it. “No, I… I shouldn’t.”

His choice of words leaves her puzzling over it. Not can’t. Shouldn’t. He’s not shy. He’s refraining himself. But for what? “And if I insist?” She asks.

He nibbles on his lower lip, avoiding her gaze, and maybe he’ll do it, just for her sake, but it won’t feel right, will it? 

“Never mind, it’s fine,” she comforts him. “You can call me whatever you want. I don’t mind.”

Yuuta seems relieved, thanking her in silence with little nods.

“So, what happened to them? The lovers in your story.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to spoil it.”

“You can’t just say something like they’re dying and then not tell me about it.”

He awkwardly laughs. “If you insist, I can give you a hint later, but you’ll have to imagine the rest.”

“Then tell you about it? What if you steal my idea?” She raises an eyebrow, smirking. “I happen to have a very creative imagination, you see.”

“I promise you I won’t,” he answers so thoughtfully that she almost feels sorry for teasing him. “I’ve finished writing my version of it. I’ll let you see it after you tell me yours.”

“Huh, interesting.” She pretends she’s rethinking her decision, just to get him a little hopeful and nervous about it. “Deal, why not.”

His eyes are filled with excitement. “Does that mean we’ll see each other again?”

She wants to poke fun at him again by saying ’maybe,’ but Yuuta resembles an overjoyed puppy waiting for a stroll. She doesn’t have the heart to do it. “Well, I do have to go back to the library to return the book, so… Yes.” 

His lips parted in the brightest smile, his eyes glimmering in delight. “Then, next week. I’ll see you again next week. Same time?”

Like a disease, his glee is contagious, sending ripples of joy inside her. “All right. But be sure to keep your chin away from my head next time.”

He titters, “I’ll try.”

They exchange stares, sharing sheepish smiles. She breaks away first, bringing her focus back to her drink. It has grown slightly cold over the passing minutes, but the sugary taste has become quite an addiction.

“I’ve never seen you in the library before,” Yuuta mentions. “Was today your first time visiting?”

“No. I’ve been going there almost every day for the last month, but I usually visit in the morning. I just moved to a new company, you see, and my office building is nearby. I walk past the library every day, and since my shift starts late, I often drop by before work to read for an hour or two. My apartment is pretty small, so it feels a bit cramped. That’s why I enjoy spending more time outside.”

“You’re spending your weekends in the library too?” He wonders aloud.

She playfully narrows her eyes at him. “Why does it feel like I’m being judged here?”

“No!” He panics. “I just thought that—that you’d have friends inviting you out or, y-you know.”

“Well, I’m not really one to party,” she chuckles to ease his anxiety. “I don’t do well with crowds. It feels better to have a one-on-one conversation like this. More meaningful.” 

He’s a mystery, but in some ways, he’s also an open book. Every time her word delights him, it shows. “Me too.”

She smiles, but it slowly drops as she swirls her spoon, watching the little whirlpool she creates inside the cup. “But it’s also because… Well, I can’t read at home.”

“May I ask why?” 

“I have a boyfriend who works from home, so he’s always there with me.”

Yuuta’s fingers stop tapping against the surface of the coffee table but it’s too fast for her to notice before he starts again. “I see,” he replies. The smile on his lips never falters; the one in his eyes does. “Is he a lively person?”

“Very,” she sighs. “And loud. It’s hard to focus on your book when you have a grown man either swearing at his computer screen for probably twelve hours a day or snoring throughout the morning like he wants the whole town to hear it.” She catches herself. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to vent. He’s nice, I care about him a lot, it’s just… I need some time for myself. Somewhere quiet.”

It doesn’t last long, but she senses it, the changes in his expression. It feels like she just said something terribly hurtful to the point that she feels like apologizing for it.

Maybe he notices her noticing, which is why he tries to mask his feelings better with a broader smile that does reach his eyes this time. “And that’s why you chose to visit a library.”

“Yeah. I mean, I could go to a book cafe, but…” She shrugs. “I don’t really like it. Too modern, too… many people just taking selfies instead of actually reading, you know?” 

That earns her a chuckle. “But why here, specifically? There are many new ones in town. Bigger ones, too. This place is pretty old and dusty.”

“Can’t argue with that,” she nods, sighing. “This is going to sound dumb, but that library feels nostalgic to me. The first time I stepped inside, I felt like I’d spent all my life there. It was like I had memories there—just sitting on that old couch, reading books, enjoying the silence. It just feels familiar, you know? Even more comforting than being in my room. It’s weird, but I can only feel at ease when I read there.” Yuuta stays so quiet that she has to lift her head and meet his gaze to understand a glimpse of what goes through his head. His face is solemn, undecipherable. “What about you? What’s your reason, Yuuta?”

He drags his eyes away from hers, fixing them on the interlaced fingers around his cup. The light in his eyes slightly dims as he turns pensive. 

“It’s just closer to my place.”

***

“Hey, Bunny,” her boyfriend of six years, Satoru Gojo, chirps from the bedroom. It’s not so much of a warm greeting, not anymore, not like how it used to be. The pet name he calls her now feels just like another word. All the fluttering butterflies in her stomach seem to have died, along with his welcome home hugs and I’ve missed you kisses. 

Judging from his voice, he must have a cherry lollipop stuck in his mouth, another replacement for his cigarette. He used to be addicted to it back in college, influenced by his best friends—Suguru and Shoko. His room smelled like one whenever she visited it for… well, a ’study date’ he used to call it. She had asked him to stop smoking countless times in the past and nagged about it for two years as she grew worried over his health, but each complaint fell on deaf ears. Satoru only stopped a couple of months ago, breaking the news to her with a grin, saying, “I did this for you, babe. Aren’t you proud of me?” And she smiled at him, she always did, even as she stared at Suguru’s face among the pictures he had on his nightstand, reminded of the truth. Satoru didn’t do it because of her, and he most certainly didn’t do it for her. He just didn’t want to end up collapsing from heart disease like Suguru did. That’s all there is. And that got her thinking. 

When was the last time her boyfriend did something for her? Or listened to her? Or noticed something different about her hair or the new dress she wore? 

She styled her hair for him. She bought a new toothbrush before he asked for his to be replaced. She decorated her apartment in his favorite color on the day he moved in, eagerly wanting to make him feel comfortable, but every piece of furniture and accessories he bought after always had the same shade. He thought it was her favorite color, too. He never asked, just assumed, which summed up her entire relationship with him. 

It never occurred to him that she did everything for his sake, for his pleasure, for his happiness, because he never thought of doing something solely for her sake. Satoru was always about me and us, but never you. “This color is nice, isn’t it, babe?” It wasn’t, but she smiled again, never letting him know that his favorite color was the color she hated the most.

But maybe it’s just her fault. 

Maybe she’s put herself in this situation for not being honest, for always keeping her thoughts to herself, for always agreeing with him instead of saying what she wants. It’s just… She’s tired. Tired of fighting over minor differences,  tired of worrying that her protest would lead to a bigger fight, one that would drain them emotionally and damage their relationship for good. But she couldn’t help but think how nice it would be if he were, at least, considerate enough to ask. 

Back when they first dated, Satoru was everything she could ask for. He knew how to keep her standing on her toes. He was driven by impulse. Exciting. Unforgettable. 

Those late-night drives on his motorcycle when she spent hours laughing at his stories with her hands settled deep inside his leather jacket…

Those weekends they spent traveling together to a country where none of them spoke the language, wandering around with no map in their hands, sharing heavy kisses in an abandoned alley, and drunk-dancing to songs sung by strangers… 

And those nights when he would have her body speak to him in ways that only he allowed, her head swirling in ecstasy as she succumbed to his naughty smirks and experienced hands. It was fun. 

So what changed?

“Lend me one of your earphones. I want to know what song you’re listening to.”

“You’re a bit quiet today. What’s wrong?”

“Let’s watch this movie again. You seemed to enjoy it a lot when we saw it at the cinema.”

“I like it when you wear your hair down like this. It looks nice.”

These words… Did he use to say them to her in the past? She can no longer remember, but she forces herself to believe that, yes, he did, he said them all the time. It’s a terrible way to deceive her mind so her feelings for him remain the same. It’s a pathetic way to convince herself that his feelings for her remain the same.

“Hey,” she replies to his greeting, even when he’s nowhere to be seen.

“You’re late.” Satoru, like always, has his fingers running on his keyboards. His magnetic blue eyes are locked to his computer screen, probably have been for the past few hours. She wonders if he even looked up to see her when he heard her footsteps earlier. Most likely not. “Did you get the puddings I asked you?”

“Yes. I put them in the fridge.” 

“Okay, cool.”

No ’thank you’ but what was she expecting anyway?

She removes her coat and unwraps her scarf from her neck before moving toward the living room. She can’t remember what or who initiated it, but it has been almost a year since he started living in her apartment. She remembers how he used to spend just one night at her place on the weekend, then two when he felt a bit needy for her touch. Before she knew it, his personal belongings were scattered all over the place—his hoodie on the couch, his towel hanging on the bathroom door, his toothbrush on her sink. Satoru could be spending the entire week at her place, only taking a short trip back to his apartment once he ran out of comic books to read. The changes just came so naturally that she didn’t notice at first, but by the time she did, it was too late to even bring the topic to the table. 

So she decided to turn her apartment into a home, making it official that they’d moved in together, reshaping it into a place where both she and he could be comfortable and adjusting plenty of things to his needs. Satoru didn’t notice the effort, let alone appreciate it. And now she’s starting to count the days when he’ll eventually stop noticing her as well.

Being with Satoru was easy, casual, and he gave her more reasons to laugh over little things than anyone else. During the first two months of living together, they acted like newlyweds, with him peppering kisses on her face whenever she arrived home from work. Unlike her, Satoru is a freelancer who does most of his work at home. He used to be considerate enough to do some chores for her—cooking, cleaning the bathroom, and sometimes even doing her laundry when he felt like he’d been neglecting her. Whenever she arrived late, he’d always have something prepared for her, beaming at her with a infectious grin while chiming, “Oh, finally, you’re here! I’ve been waiting for you for hours, and I’m starving like crazy. Today’s dish is your favorite, so let’s hurry and eat!”

Unlike him, she appreciated his effort. Each and every one of them. It didn’t feel one-sided then, unlike now.

Satoru used to be perfect, more perfect than anyone else, but then she realizes that he was just trying to impress. Impress her, impress his colleagues, impress his teachers. And now, maybe he doesn’t feel the need to impress her any longer. Nor does he want to.

She was happy, but things are bound to change, and happiness doesn’t last forever. It started slow, almost unnoticeable, with him forgetting to kiss her good night before bed and her treating the fact that he no longer paid attention to what she was wearing as normal. Nowadays, he doesn’t have enough affection to greet her with his smile—one that used to shine brighter than the sun. Comforting hugs and welcome kisses are long forgotten.

It’s lonely, but it’s fine. He’s still here. Satoru is still hers as much as she is his.

It’s fine.

As she rests on the couch, her fingers brush against the book she borrowed from the library the other day. Her mind drifts back to the stranger she met, her smile growing so naturally on her lips at the memory.

Satoru walks out of the bedroom with a yawn, one hand rubbing against the back of his head while the other slips underneath his shirt to scratch the itch on his stomach. He’s stopped minding about his appearance in front of her a long time ago, wearing and doing whatever he feels comfortable with, unbothered by what runs through her mind. She never speaks up anyway. With an enervated “hey,” he enters the bathroom, never stopping to ask her about her day, though she doesn’t really expect him to do so. 

A brief moment later, he returns with his eyes still bleary despite his attempt to wash his face. Noticing his messy silver hair and the black shirt he’s been wearing since yesterday, she follows him to the bedroom, asking, “Have you taken a shower today?”

“Nope,” he answers, plopping himself back to his gaming chair, his eyes locked on his computer screen. “I was busy. Had a meeting with a client this morning.”

She takes a glance at the digital clock on his desk. “But it’s already eight-thirty.”

“Thought I could shower with you today.” He flaunts his cheeky grin, catching her off guard. She didn’t expect him to say something like that, but then again, now that she noticed, it’s been almost two weeks since they last had sex.

She’s exhausted from work. Her body is aching. “I see. Well, I’m about to take a shower now.”

“Like now now?” He hisses when his character on screen takes damage from his opponent. “I’m still playing. Tomorrow morning, then?”

“Sure,” she says, just for the sake of conversation. She already can tell it won’t happen. She has to leave early for work, and Satoru would rather die than wake up at seven in the morning. 

“Hey, umm… I met someone yesterday.” She reaches out to stroke his hair. It’s so soft and fluffy, like a dog’s fur, even when the strands point in every direction. If there was one thing that hadn’t changed, it was how she still found it calming to just card her fingers through them. A habit that she did often in the past as he loved falling asleep with his head on her lap while she indulged herself with her favorite book. The feelings are the same, only his reaction isn’t. He used to lean into her touch as a kitten would. Now, he doesn’t even spare her a glance. “Satoru… Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, yeah, one sec.” He smashes more buttons before he slides down his headphones, letting them rest on his neck. “What’s up?”

“I met someone yesterday. At the library.”

“O… kay?” He knits his eyebrows, confused. “What’s that gotta do with me? Someone I know?”

Surprise blinks in her chest at first, followed quickly by disappointment and then acceptance. Another piece of her heart still breaks, but she’s grown used to the feeling. “No, I just… I don’t know, I thought you should know.”

He snorts, holding back a laugh. “Honey, I’m not keeping you locked up in here. You’re allowed to meet anyone you want. Don’t need to report everything back to me.”

She refrains herself from chewing on her lip. “You’re right. Sorry for bothering you.”

“Baby, of course you’re not bothering me,” he coos, poking her playfully in her stomach. “I’m just saying that ’cause you made it sound like a big deal.”

“Yeah,” she replies, careful not to sound too cold. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Satoru smiles before he spins on his chair, returning to his game. “Who was it?” He asks, fingers running fast over the keys. “It’s not a man, is it?”

She pauses. “Yes…”

He stops tapping, only for a second. “Is he hot?”

“Well, he’s not ugly.”

“Then don’t get too close to him.”

Satoru is the jealous type. He has always been. He’s far from controlling, but his possessiveness often feels suffocating. Or, at least… It used to be. And that was fine. It made her happy to know someone out there liked her so much he didn’t want to share her with anyone else. She felt wanted. Needed. But not today. 

Today, although his words weigh heavily on her, she can tell they weren’t born from his affection for her—if there was even still any of it left. She is his belonging, his possession, and he’s a lion guarding his territory. That’s it.

And that’s… fine, too. At least he still cared.

“I won’t,” she answers, as she should. “I won’t get too close to him.” She repeats it, this time for her own ears, to remind herself.

“Good,” he says, dismantling their tension as easily as a moth shreds its wings. He flashes her a grin with that youthful sparkle in his eyes. “Then we don’t have anything to worry about.” Satoru returns his full attention to the screen, not caring if she’s still standing in the room, waiting for him to care more about her than the man he suspects is eager to snatch her away.

“What will we be having for dinner?” She asks him while he’s busy shouting foul words to his screen.

“Jesus—left, you moron!” He groans loudly into the air before turning around, finally realizing she’s waiting for his answer. “What? Oh.” He pops the lollipop out of his mouth. “I just had some take-outs.”

“You didn’t wait for me?”

“I was dead hungry, but I ordered some for you, too. It’s probably cold now, but you can heat it.”

“Can you do that for me, please? I love it when you add more seasonings to it.” 

“Bunny, you know I’d love to do that, but,” he smiles apologetically before his fingers dance across his keyboards again, “I’m in the middle of something here. There’s an event going on, and these assholes literally won’t let me take a break. Listen, I’ll cook for you tomorrow, I promise.”

She has stopped believing in his promises, or at least doesn’t allow herself to believe in them anymore. She’s learned that the best way to avoid disappointment is to not expect anything.

She smiles back, pushing his hair away so she can land a kiss on his temple. She refuses to say a word no matter how much her bottled-up feelings are about to burst.

Because she knows silence is what keeps their relationship alive. 

***

That following night, Yuuta appeared in her dream.

Standing on the small row between bookshelves with a small feather duster in hand, she found him entering the door to her library—one that bore an uncanny resemblance to the place she often visited in reality. 

He seemed much, much younger than the version she knew, maybe by ten years or so. He had more tan on his skin, his hair a little shorter, color’s a shade darker. He was dressed in an old-fashioned way, like a young English man from the 1940s, with his white buttoned-up shirt, suspenders, and a beige coat that was a couple of sizes bigger than it was supposed to be. Nevertheless, he looked just as breathtakingly handsome as in real life.

Yuuta took off his wool-felt fedora hat, greeting her with a polite bow the moment their eyes met. He was just as timid and awkward; his cobalt eyes never stayed long enough to be locked with hers, but they were honest—the way they shimmered in adoration at the sight of her, painted with both suppressed desire and affection.

He called her with a name—a surname, she assumed, one that she didn’t recognize, but it didn’t feel quite as strange in her ears as it should have been. It was the first time she heard it, and yet, it almost felt like it was her own.

Her body went on autopilot, words flowing from her mouth before she could process the situation. It was like she was residing in someone else’s body, just a bystander. “Good morning to you, too,” she said, bowing her head.“Okkotsu-sama.”

He displayed a mix between a smile and a wince. “Must you refer to me in such a way again?”

“Well, I thought we’d agreed to call each other by our names yesterday,” she heard herself correcting him in a playful manner. “But someone seemed to change his mind.”

He fidgeted a little, his cheeks smeared with scarlet. “I’m… I’m feeling rather embarrassed.”

“If you feel embarrassed calling me, a commoner, by my name, how do you think I feel to be addressing a young nobleman such as yourself without any honorifics as you requested?” 

“Well, I…” Unable to compose a retort, Yuuta sighed in defeat, though his amusement was still sketched vividly on his face. “You’re quite stubborn, aren’t you? We’ve only met for a few days, but I already can see myself never winning an argument against you.”

“Well, isn’t it nice to lose sometimes?” She tossed him a smirk, returning half of her attention to continue swabbing the dust off the shelves. “You already have everything you want under your feet, after all. I think it’ll serve as a nice change.”

“Not everything,” he said, staring at her fondly, like a young boy captivated by a lovely dancer on stage. A thousand messages remained unspoken, and yet, with butterflies swirling in her stomach, she could somehow read each one.

“Maybe not yet,” she said, a glimmer of seduction on her lips. 

He gulps. 

Taking off his coat and letting it hang loosely on one arm, Yuuta shortened the distance between them with nervous steps. They chatted for a bit, feeling grateful that it was still quite early in the morning for other patrons to visit. It was easy to melt the ice between them, but only because she knew how, and watching him loosen up around her filled her with some sort of achievement. 

Sometimes, when their conversation died for a few seconds of comforting silence, she’d catch him looking at her with a half-dazed look on his face.

“What is it?” she asked, despite already knowing the answer. “You’re staring again.”

“Oh, umm…” Though mortified, he still used the chance to confess. “I just thought… You look beautiful today.” He sported a soft smile, one that melted her heart the same way his roseate cheeks did. It was also, she realized, the same one that bore the exact look like the one she saw in real life. 

“Why, thank you,” she replied, a hint of teasing in her voice. “Hopefully, you’re not implying I didn’tlook beautiful yesterday.” 

He blanched. “No, of course not! You’re always beautiful! Ever since I first saw you, you’ve always… been…” At the sight of her covering her smile behind her hand, he exhaled in relief, resting his hat on his chest. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” she giggled, putting her duster away before dismantling her apron. “Now, if you’d follow me, Okkotsu-sama, I will show you where—” 

He cut her off with a gentle call of her name—her first name—and it staggered her to her feet. Her body might come to a halt because of how lovely her name sounded in his voice—in that sweet tone of his—but her heart froze because it was her name that rolled off his tongue. Her actual name.

That was when she realized: the person who she believed to be a stranger, was herself. And it had occurred all the time in her other dreams, yes, but this one felt… real. 

“T-there,” he stammered, flushed. “I called you by your name. Can you please stop addressing me that way now?”

She felt her lips curving upward. Her voice had never sounded as sweet as  it was when she said, “Yuuta.”

His blush unfurled from his neck to his cheekbones, like red tulip burgeoning on pure white snow. “Thank—” he stopped to swallow his breath, unable to maintain his gaze. “Thank you.”

Tittering lightly at his behavior, she took him by the hand. “Shall we?” 

She guided him further inside the library, introducing one title after another with her fingertips dancing between books. They weren’t as dusty as they were in her reality, the titles far from familiar to her eyes. Weird, she thought, as she was confident that she had memorized most of the books sitting on that particular shelf. Even when she’d visited the library earlier that morning before her shift started, her eyes had roamed along the same section. 

“Which book would you like to read today, Yuu?”

He still grew adorably tense every time his name slipped through her lips,  especially like that, but he was getting used to it. “I’m—I’m not yet sure. Will you choose one for me?”

“Hmm…” She tapped her chin. “Unfortunately, I have a peculiar taste when it comes to books—”

“I trust you,” Yuuta said, smiling a tad wider than before, perfect teeth peeking behind soft red lips. 

“Well then…” She stood on her toes to reach the book she’d been excited to show him all day. “Shall we start with this one?”

The vision ended without her knowing what book it was or the line between her dream and reality. They stood out so vividly—the scenery, his expressions, the lines she’d exchanged with him—that it took her a few good minutes to convince herself that it was just a dream and not a memory.

She couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night. 

***

Her dream follows her every step like a shadow, even in her wake.

Saturday comes, and she finds herself in the library again, just as she promised him. Compared to what she’s seen in her dream, this place is indeed old, with walls standing in dire need of being repainted and books collecting more specks of dust than they have readers flipping through their pages. But the faint smell of sandalwood combined with the orange tint of sunlight sneaking through the windows is always calming. Crowds don’t gather much around here—maybe four or five people at most—and the tranquility consoles her. There’s only a soft thrum of acoustic guitar playing through the speakers that keep her company—

“You’re looking for this one?”

—and Yuuta.

“Yes, indeed, my good sir.” She takes the book from his hand. “Thank goodness we didn’t have to bump heads today.”

“Well, I’d promised you not to,” he chuckles. “Though I certainly wouldn’t mind.”

He’s wearing spectacles today, round glasses adding a layer of maturity to his youthful face. Combined with his long brown coat accentuating his height, he looks even more handsome, her stomach tingling whenever his eyes flicker back toward hers. He tilts his head slightly to the side, one eyebrow raised in curiosity as he tries to read her expression. “Is there something wrong? You’re staring at me. I-is it my joke? Was that rude? Please don’t take it the wrong way—”

“No, calm down,” she can’t help but giggle despite being embarrassed for getting caught in the act. “Sorry, I was just staring because of your, umm… height.” It is true, though not completely.

“My height?”

“Yeah. Must be nice being so tall, huh? I had to stand on my tiptoes to reach it, and I still needed your help.”

He blinks, noticeably surprised, though she’s not sure whether it’s her grumbling or her childish pout that bewilders him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says, returning to his gentle smile. “I just… didn’t think you’d say that.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean you specifically. You just remind me of my boyfriend.” He seems surprised, yet again, but instead of restoring his smile, this time he turns quiet. She feels the need to explain. “He’s so tall, you see. Taller than you, even. And he always makes fun of me for my height, like moving my coffee cups to a higher shelf just so he can watch me beg him for help. He’s a bit of a prankster.”

Yuuta chews on the inside of his cheek, tucking his chin. “I wouldn’t have made fun of you,” he says quietly after a moment of confusing silence. “I will never make fun of you.”

The sudden solemnity in his voice feels heavy on her ears. “You don’t think I’m short?”

“I  think you’re perfect.” He lifts his face, suddenly blurting out his words like he’s in a debate he desperately tries to win. Staggered by it, she can only stare. He turns flushed. “I—I mean, being short makes you look cute, like a child. N-not saying I’m into kids—I’m not a pedophile, I swear—”

“That sounds exactly like what a pedophile would say.”

His jaw drops. A giggle escapes her. And when she laughs, he does it too, the sound so warm and comforting that it makes her feel like she’s sitting in front of a cozy fireplace.

She returns her gaze to the shelf. “So, Okkotsu-san,” she teases, “which book would you like to read today? Can’t be this one ’cause I got it first,” she grins, lifting the book she held in her arms.

“Which you only got because of my help.”

“True, but the point still stands.”

Her childishness never fails to amuse him. “Hmm, I’m not yet sure. Will you choose one for me?”

She freezes, her heartstrings playing a familiar symphony. She opens her mouth, hesitates, but then decides to say what her memory tells her to do, “Unfortunately, I have a peculiar taste when it comes to books—”

“I trust you.”

From skipping a beat to racing twice as fast, her heart feels foreign in her own chest. “Umm… Okay.”

Yuuta tilts his head, examining her. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. I just remembered something, uhh, something to do at home. Later. Anyway,” she hastily averts her gaze, her eyebrows tied in a knot as she tries to understand is this what deja vu feels like? She searches for a book, trying to be at ease despite her stomach swirling uneasily. “Shall we start with this one?”

Yuuta’s frown stays for only a second longer before he breaks into another smile. “Sure.” 

***

Weekdays are reserved for Satoru, but weekends…

Weekends are the days when her heart can finally dance and smile and live. And every song starts and ends with his name: Yuuta.

Satoru always has plans every weekend, plans that don’t involve her, not anymore. She did this to herself, mostly by declining his offers to mingle with his friends and co-workers until, eventually, he stopped asking. It’s not that she doesn’t want to go; she just no longer has the energy to keep up with hours of his social life when all she does is sit at the corner, doing nothing but sip on her drink and waste her phone battery to pass the time. 

Satoru’s friends are nice, but they don’t really resonate with her in the way she would love it to be. Shoko smokes too much. Suguru judges her taste in anything behind his angelic, saccharine smile. Haibara is exceptionally energetic that he tires her simply by looking at him. Mei Mei visits the girls’ bathroom once every twenty minutes to check on her little brother, and Nanami… Well, Nanami is all right. They could spend hours just grousing over how terrible it was being a corporate slave, but he’s not there often, taking away the small chance she has to make herself visible. Satoru would bring her into conversation occasionally, but as soon as he got a nod or two, he’d focus on Suguru, who, for some reason, always knew how to ruffle his feathers.

So, the routine starts. Friday nights are for his co-workers. Saturdays are for his college mates. And Sundays… Well, Sundays are supposed to be filled with breakfast in bed and bodies tangled under the sheets with her, but Satoru has forgotten his promise a long time ago, using them to regain all the sleep hours he’s been missing the days before instead of having some quality time to catch up with his lover. But it’s fine. She’s learned how to make the best of her time, finding companies in books that never make empty promises nor offer her disappointment the way he does. And now she finds an even better option. 

She meets Yuuta every weekend when the sun is a couple of hours away from setting. They don’t chat for long as their conversations are always reserved for the little coffee shop gathering (she’s trying to avoid the word ’date’) that always occurs after a few pleasant hours of reading. They begin to grow comfortable with each other, much easier than she thought they would, and very quickly, as if they were old friends reconciling for the time they’ve lost. Maybe even more than old friends—a thought that should scare her. 

At the library, she spends most of their hours poring over her chosen book for the day while stealing glances at him. More often than not, she’ll catch him doing the same, but whenever their gazes meet, he’ll look away with his face steaming, busying himself at once by scribbling something incoherent, most likely, down on his paper.

Today is a rare occasion. He’s been keeping his gaze fixated on his own writings; the world seemingly turns obscure around him. His eyebrows taut together as he sinks more profoundly into his thoughts, a habit that she finds beguiling. His raven hair seems a shade lighter as the evening sun casts its light upon his face, basking him with such a warm, beautiful glow.

He really does look like a painting, she admires, stealing glances at him from behind her book. The perfect shape of his nose, his skin as pure as the driven snow, the way he’s so fixated on his story, drowning inside his imagination… It’s easy to be bewitched by his beauty.

She must be careful not to let her endless praise slip through her mouth. “So focused,” she coos, choosing to act mischievously instead, which earns her a little smile. “Writing a new scene? I thought you’d finished your draft.”

He looks up from his paper, meeting her eyes. They linger briefly as if it was hard for him to look away once he’d set his eyes on her. Though it happens all the time, she can never get used to it. 

He smiles quietly to himself, a soft blush painting his features. “Just a short one.”

She hums in response. Having trouble refocusing on the passage she just read now that he’s giving her attention, she throws another question at him. “Why aren’t you using a laptop? I mean, it would’ve been a lot easier, right?”

“Not fond of it,” he responds, re-reading the words he just wrote. “I feel more like a writer this way.” When he notices her tittering, he arches his brow. “What?”

“You sound like my father.”

He scrunches his nose. It’s cute. “Then I’m sure your father is a brilliant, tech-savvy man.”

“I’m saying you have an old soul, the way you prefer to do things more traditionally.” She sinks further into her chair, opening a new page, eyes scanning the lines but not reading them. “Well, I guess that makes the two of us since I already have the e-book version of this on my iPad, yet I’m still here reading it in a library. How’s your story going so far?”

“Pretty well. I just came up with a really annoying character.” His smile is a bit different this time, somewhat impish. A new look on him that she instantly adores. “Inspired by someone.”

“You’re not talking about me, are you?”

Yuuta drags his pen over his note. “Character B begins to question whether she’s—”

She playfully slaps her book against his shoulder.

The more time she spends with him, the more she feels like he’s becoming a mystery she can’t solve. She’s closer to him, closer than any of her friends, but she knows there are secrets he tries to bury underneath those tender smiles. To her, Yuuta, with his eyes always seeming like they’re telling a different story—one that nearly drives him to the brink of tears—still appears like an incomplete puzzle. And if time allows her, she’d gladly collect every piece of him to perceive  him better.

***

Dreams are supposed to be strange. Nonsensical. Meaningless and easily forgotten. And yet, ever since Yuuta walked into her life, they’ve become anything but. Every detail stood more vividly than the memories of her own childhood, so vibrant with colors that it made it impossible for her to stray away from it even when she was awake. They occur every night, forming a chain of events beginning from the very first day she encountered him by chance in the library. 

In her dreams, they spent most of their time there, almost in the same way they did in real life. But while only weeks had passed by in reality, time flowed much faster here. She could tell that the season had changed from the clothes they wore to the coldness that kissed his cheek scarlet. There were never the same books lying between their hands, but she didn’t notice them at first, not as clearly as the changes in the air shared between them. 

They grew closer faster than they did in real life, fondness in the glances they covertly tossed to each other. Their voices were glazed more with adoration than mirth every time they laughed, and the smiles they shared were everlasting. Yuuta’s eyes lingered every time he had the chance to marvel at her features for a little while. Sometimes, they were lost in her darker hues. Sometimes, they remained longer than they should have on her lips, watching them move but not registering any words spoken. Sometimes, if she were lucky, she’d have the chance to gaze back into them, and he’d let her have a taste of the depth of the affection he held for her. And they’d let the moment pass just like that for a second or two, forcing time to slow down and their surroundings to reduce into a blur until they were the only two people left in the universe.

In one dream, when the serene evening rain tapped itself against the tall windows of her library, she saw Yuuta braving himself to touch her hand for the first time, just the slightest brush of his quivering fingertips against hers as they read from the same book, a touch so light it rivaled the softness of a zephyr’s kiss upon a baby’s strand. She could feel her face warming at the touch, a new sensation, but she didn’t hate it, not at all. If anything, it left her wanting more. The dream ended with them sharing secret smiles with themselves, innocent hearts kissed by the flame of first love.

Every night, this happens. And it’s like witnessing the beginning of a love story. Her love story. Though most of the time she feels like she’s inhabiting someone else’s body, it’s beginning to feel like…

I’m falling for him, too.

It’s a scary thought, but she puts no effort to stop it. After all, this is just a dream, isn’t it? I’m only falling for this version of him—the version that I, or rather, my mind, created. And that’s why he’s so perfect, right? Because that’s how I want him to be. It sounds like a perfect theory, and so she believes it wholeheartedly. 

Only on certain nights when exhaustion took a toll on her body did she manage to sleep without him visiting her mind, but that was simply because she wasn’t dreaming at all. It seems like she only has two options now: enter a dreamless sleep or fall into memory-like sequences that revolve around him and no one else.

Last night was no different.

She entered her dreamland, a burst of sunlight blinding her at once. She threw her stare down to avoid it, seeing her hands going in motion to accompany her moving legs. She could see the end of her plain, dark grey kimono swaying with every step, her feet covered in white socks that were split between her toes, matched by a pair of formal sandals made of rice straws. She was taking a stroll down one of the busiest streets of Tokyo—or at least, that was where she assumed they were. 

To say that the city appeared dissimilarly from the one she resided in now is an understatement—they were poles apart. The architectural design of the buildings embraced more of the historic European elements instead of the perfect blend of the traditional Japanese architecture and modernist designs they have now. The Western influence lay thickly in every aspect of life that she managed to identify in the short time she was there. From food, clothing, music, painting—everything was transformed by it. The city looked breathtaking and unsettling at the same time. 

She recalled seeing such scenery commemorated in one of the history books she studied in school. She was indeed in Tokyo—a couple of decades before it was bombed to the ground, turning the once beautiful city into nothing but dust and rubbles, drenched in the blood of more than a hundred thousand civilians during the Second World War.

 The thought made her blood curdle. 

“Are you all right?” 

Yuuta, appearing just as young as the first time she saw him in her dream, asked her worriedly. He was dressed in another set of Western clothing, looking exceptionally handsome in his white button-up shirt with his sleeves rolled up, a black tie, and a matching dark vest that highlighted the shape of his broad chest and lean waist. The wind ruffled his hair as he walked beside her, perfecting it by adding a little boyish charm, a perfect company to the blush on his cheeks that emerged from the late spring’s sunlight heat. 

The one thing that was missing was his smile, his face twisted in concern as he eyed her closely. “You haven’t said anything in a while… Am I boring you?”

“No, of course not,” she heard herself say, stepping to the side of the road to speak with him in private. He bent his head down to listen to her properly, not wanting her voice to be drowned by the murmurs of the passing crowd. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you. I just… I’m nervous.”

“Nervous?” He repeated, both in disbelief and amusement. “Why is it so hard for me to imagine that?”

“It’s true,” she pouted. “Unlike you with your sweet, extravagant life, I’ve never had the pleasure of being invited to a concert before. I don’t know what to do once I’m there. I don’t know what to say to your friends. I don’t even think I’m dressed correctly for the occasion—Why are you laughing at me?!”

“I’m not.” He clearly was, even when he was trying to swallow every bit of his laughter. “I’m sorry. I know this is a new experience for you, but really, there’s no need for you to feel so anxious. All you have to do is sit down beside me and enjoy the show. You don’t have to say anything to my friends if you don’t want to. We could also just avoid them entirely if you think that could put you at ease.”

“But… I thought you wanted to discuss something with them after the show.”

He hummed as he pretended to cogitate on it, secretly smiling to himself. “Well, I suppose I could meet new business partners every other day, but being with you? When you’re so adorably nervous like this?” His grin was as beguiling to marvel at as the blush that kissed the apples of his cheeks. “That doesn’t happen every day now, does it?”

Speaking of cheeks—she was pinching them. Hard. “We haven’t met in two weeks, and suddenly, you’re a man with words now, are you?” He whimpered in pain, sputtering out his apology until she released him with a sigh. “Am I at least wearing the right clothes?” She spun herself once, giving him the chance to examine the details. Though her long sleeves were up to trend, she couldn’t help but think that the motif and shade of her kimono were a little dull. Most ladies her age wore bright-colored ones with bold, graphic patterns as their ornaments. Their fabrics were always made from silk or satin, unlike hers which was cheaply produced from cotton. She would never have let such trivial things bother her if she didn’t have to stand next to him at such a fancy event. She cared more about his reputation than her own, not wanting him to be judged more than he already was for spending most of his spare time wandering around with a lower-class woman such as herself. “This is the best kimono I have, but I don’t know if it’s enough—”

“You’re perfect,” he answered without waiting for her to complete her line. “You’re always perfect.”

She cast her gaze somewhere else, ignoring the heat rising to her face. “Well, if you say so…” she murmured diffidently. “I just want to look equal to you. You look so handsome with your suit and everything and I don’t…” —her voice turned small— “want my presence to ruin that.”

His shoulders slumped forward as he witnessed her usual confidence waning away. With tenderness in his touch, he took her hand between his own. “We don’t have to go if you don’t feel like it.”

She shook her head. “You’ve paid a high price for my ticket, I couldn’t—”

“I don’t care,” he squeezed her hand. “All I want is to see you having the best time of your life. I thought—since you said you often played classical music on your piano—watching a live orchestra in person would gladden you. But if it only worries you like this, I’d rather just spend another hour with you in the library.” He gave her a smile, as soft as the brush of his thumb over her knuckles. “Let’s do whatever you want today. Wherever you go, I’ll follow.”

He made her heart sing in ways she thought it couldn’t. “No, I want to go,” she confirmed. “I’m sorry, I just… I guess I thought about it too much.”

“It’s fine,” he assured her. “I think you look gorgeous as you are now, but if you’re still concerned about your outfit, why don’t we visit a shop real quick?”

“Huh? What are you—” She was tugged forward before she could finish, forced to hasten her steps to match his excited strides. “Yuuta—wait!” ***

Without taking a second to listen to her, he led her to the nearest gokufuya to find her a set of kimono that, in her opinion, would be better for the occasion.  They arrived with sweat coating their skins, their breathing ragged from all the running. “Can you dress her in the prettiest, most expensive kimono you have, please?” Yuuta promptly asked the owner with sparks in his eyes, taking her by surprise. 

A beautiful lady, maybe ten years above her age, who was dressed elegantly in a white kimono decorated in floral patterns, smiled understandingly at his request. “Of course. Could you please wait for a moment? I will prepare the changing room for you.”

“Yes, we’ll be waiting,” he replied.

Immediately after she walked away, leaving the two of them alone, she clutched her hand around his arm. “Yuuta, wait,” she warned him under her breath. “We should go. I don’t have any money.” Especially when you unnecessarily asked her for the most expensive one. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll pay.”

“Then, we really need to go,” she insisted, half-glowering at him. “What did I tell you about buying me expensive gifts? I don’t like it. It makes me feel guilty.”

“Well, fortunately for both of us,” he grinned, rather cheekily which was a rare look on his face. “I’m not buying you a gift. I’m renting it—ouch!”

She was pulling on his cheek again. “That’s the same!”

But Yuuta, with his cheek swollen and everything, remained stubborn till the end, refusing to leave the shop until she, at the very least, tried to put one on herself. 

The shopkeeper, who introduced herself as Utahime Iori, instructed two young assistants—Miwa and Momo—to accommodate them with their needs. With a polite bow, they led them further into the shop, granting them some privacy from the other visitors. “Let’s just do it for fun,” Yuuta said. “If you don’t find anything that suits your taste, we can go with your old one, I promise.” Not wanting to argue with a nobleman in front of three pairs of curious eyes, she sighed and followed as he said, begrudgingly.

Only just for fun, she muttered inwardly.

And indeed it was. Never in her life had she had the opportunity to try on such luxurious clothing. From silk to satin. Blue, green, and golden. From geometric patterns to feather-like designs—she was trying on everything the two girls asked her to. 

Yuuta sat on the little couch provided in the same space, waiting with his suit jacket folded around his arm and his invisible tail wagging behind him, all in anticipation. She could feel his excitement reverberating even from the fitting room she was in. 

His eyes matched the brightest stars in the night sky each time she allowed him to take a look, gazing at her with admiration so intense, it lit her skin on fire. She always pulled the curtains closed before he could muster his comment, knowing that it would be the same every time.

You’re so beautiful.

Before she could try on the next piece, Utahime walked inside the fitting room with her own choice of kimono. “Let’s try this one next, shall we?” Her assistants nodded, ready to follow her direction, but the lady stopped them before they began. “I’ll assist her with this one myself,” she said, earning herself a polite bow from the two before they excused themselves out of the room.

Utahime stepped closer, causing her to grow nervous for some reason. The room suddenly felt like it’d shrunk three times smaller with the amount of tension brewing between them. In her eyes, Utahime exuded elegance that only belonged to the nobility. She found herself tense under her scrutinizing stare, her tongue tied inside her mouth.

“Raise your arms for me?” Utahime broke the silence, to which she answered with a nod. The lady began by unraveling the sash, experienced hands moving so swiftly yet refined. “Your partner is very adorable,” Utahime said to her surprise, with a slight giggle that she didn’t expect to flow so airily from her mouth. She disrobed the outer layer of her kimono, preparing her for the new one. “Must be nice to find love at such a young age.”

“W-we’re not lovers.”

“You’re not?”

“No, Ma’am.” Why am I talking about my love life with a stranger? She thought, mortified. She followed Utahime’s guidance, sliding her arms through the long sleeves of the kimono she’d chosen for her. “We’re just, umm… Friends.” And it was true. Yuuta showered her with endless compliments every second he had the chance to, but not once had ever asked her to be his lover. And maybe that’s for the best, she couldn’t help but wonder, crestfallen over her own thoughts. Because at the end of the day…

We never truly belong in the same world, do we? 

She expected confusion to settle on the lady’s face, but it never did. It was as if she had known the truth all along. “I don’t think any of you wishes to stay that way for long,” Utahime said softly.

The truth came down as a blessing and torture at the same time. She couldn’t speak for his sake, but she knew exactly why she hadn’t spoken a word about her feelings, even with them growing this close to each other. He was blue blood while hers ran red. When was the last time she heard of a nobleman marrying a lowborn in this country? Never.

So, they could trifle with each other’s heart all they want; they could even own it if they wanted to, but it wouldn’t matter. They would never be together. 

“I keep telling myself not to come clean about my feelings for him,” she confessed quietly. “And even if I wanted to tell him, I wouldn’t know how to… put my feelings into words. For once, I’m embarrassed,” she chuckled a little to mask her emotions. “But, most of all, I’m… scared.”

I’m scared that he’ll say the truth. That the difference in our status is indeed something he can’t look past.

She wondered if Utahime could read the conflict she was battling inside, but if she did, she didn’t speak on it. Instead, like a mother would do to her child, she soothed her with gentle words. “Well, sometimes love can be so grand that we find it difficult to put it into words,” Utahime started, her lips curved up in a delicate smile. “But it’s fine, isn’t it? There are many ways to profess our love even without moving our lips. And a thousand more for us to understand the love they bestow upon us.” A faraway gaze manifested in her eyes as if she was reminiscing a past love. “We can feel it in their touch. We can hear it in their tone. We can see it in their gaze. Love is love no matter how we convey it,” the lady finished. “Our job as women, should our hearts beat for them, is to accept it and return it just the same.”

Her gaze turned vacant as she let Utahime wrap her obi around her waist, recalling every little kindness, every little joy Yuuta had granted her in the last few months they had known each other. And with it, she braved herself to wonder.

Even if it was only for a short while, wouldn’t it still be wonderful to be in love with him? To be loved by him? They were still young, so young. It would take another three to five years before he was urged to marry and—

That’s enough, right?

Even if he was forced to leave me afterward… Even if it would only hurt us in the end… Wouldn’t it be better to love a little than to not love at all? 

I want to.

I want to love him.

I already am in love with him and I know he feels the same way.

Our job as women, should our hearts beat for them, is to accept it and return it just the same.

I just have to… accept it.

“What if I want to give him more…?” she unconsciously mumbled loud enough for Utahime to catch it. He’d done so much for me, things that I might never be able to repay. And if it’s love he wants from me, if I can give that to him to make him feel as happy as he’s made me, I want him to give him so much more than he asks for. I want to love him harder than the way he loves me.

Smiling to herself, the older woman tied the final string, turning her sash into a beautiful, voluminous bow. Utahime adjusted her body to face the standing mirror before her, lightly squeezing her shoulders as their eyes met in the reflection. “Then he’ll be the luckiest man on earth,” she answered near her ear, letting her take the time to absorb the view.

Out of all the kimonos she’d tried, this one captured her heart the most, enveloping her in such beauty and grace that she could barely recognize herself. 

Her body was swaddled by a pretty violet shade that resembled a blooming lilac. The floral patterns embroidered the silk in such an intricate way that once it was worn, it appeared as if her every curve was embraced tightly by an endless string of white roses. 

“You know what looks better on me than I do, Iori-san,” she said, still staring at her reflection in disbelief. Before this, Momo had helped her redo her hair to match her outfit, tying it up in a beautiful braid that showcased her neckline and accentuated her facial features. It looked perfect combined with this kimono. Now, she appeared like a different person, elegant from head to toe. “I didn’t think this look would suit me. I’ve never worn this color before, or these patterns.”

“Oh, it was all that gentleman’s idea,” Utahime answered with a polite smile, her fingers curling around the curtain. “Everything was, from the color down to the patterns—especially the patterns.” She pushed the blind open, showcasing her latest masterpiece to the one admirer who had waited so patiently for her. “So, go on and show him how stunning his choices look on you.”

With her heart climbing up her throat, she spun her head around to see Yuuta slowly standing from his seat, his eyes turning rounder at the sight of her. She watched him swallow his breath, searching for words to say as blood pooled quickly on his face.

“You look…” he mumbled out as if he was in a trance. “Breathtaking…”

And quite literally, it seemed, judging from how breathless he was. The two assistants peeking from the corner of the room giggled to themselves, exchanging murmurs behind their fingers. 

Utahime approached her from behind, explaining something only for her ears to hear. “These white roses in the kimono you’re wearing hold several meanings,” she said, guiding her straying eyes back to the reflection in the mirror. She hovered her lean fingers above two separate flowers joined to form an ornament below her neckline. “A single white rose like this portrays the beauty of love at first sight. While these two right here”—she glided her hand to her left side, stopping to caress the small two roses printed on the fabric just a little under her shoulder— “symbolize purity. All together, they represent eternal love.” 

It was all that gentleman’s idea, she recalled Utahime’s lines. From the color down to the patterns—especially the patterns.

She turned flustered, steam filling her brain, but before she could reply, Utahime excused herself with a bow, disappearing behind the sliding door with a knowing smile written on her lips.

Suddenly, there were only two of them in the world.

She grew self-conscious, fiddling with her fingers. Never in her life had she ever been gazed at so passionately, so romantically by a man before that it left her feeling faint. “I, umm, I think I’m going to take this one, but I promise I’ll pay you back for it,” she said, not knowing how to act honestly even when her heart was filled to the brim with gratitude. 

Yuuta was still staring, mesmerized by every detail: the curls of her hair teasing her neck, the way the fabric hugged her curves, how perfect this color looked on her skin—everything.

She raised her hand over her face, hiding behind it. “Stop looking at me like that,” she grew timorous. But instead of doing as she wished, he took the same hand and curled his fingers around them.

There are many ways to profess our love even without moving our lips. And a thousand more for us to understand the love they bestow upon us.

Her eyes widened as he brought her hand closer to him. “Y-Yuuta—”

We can feel it in their touch. 

He placed a kiss on her skin, his lips caressing against the bumps of her knuckles. They were warm, warmer than she thought they’d be as his hand was always cold. The kiss was brief, but his lips remained close as he held her hand still, doing everything so softly as if she was made out of porcelain.

We can hear it in their tone. 

His voice was an instrument, and with it, he performed endless love songs with her name as his poem.

We can see it in their gaze.

Yuuta blinked his eyes open, and at first, she witnessed his affection, but underneath the tenderness of his gaze and the sweetness of his youthful face, laid the passion of a man, so burned with desire, it left her watching with bated breath. 

He wanted her carnally, desired her as much as he loved her.

“I always thought that you’d look gorgeous in this color, and I’m glad I was right,” he said, his hand slowly gliding to her wrist. The simple, innocent act felt so sinful as if he was undressing her, peeling her out of the kimono to satisfy his fantasy. It was so… thrilling. “But even if I had imagined it a thousand times before, nothing could ever come close to the way you look right now.” He drew his hand away, and she was so struck by it, she almost reached out to beg him for more. Yuuta slid his hand into the pocket of his trousers, retrieving the other gift he had prepared for her today. It was a hairpin—a kanzashi, they called it—in the shape of a yellow camellia flower. He placed it upon her hair, the perfect final touch to the perfect lady. He sighed, full of longing, his hand sliding down to her face. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, his thumb skating over her lips. “The only woman I want to see for the rest of my life.”

She held her breath, her chin trapped between his fingers. He leaned close, or maybe she did, she couldn’t tell, so distracted by the words he spoke and the way he—

“I’m sorry to bother you,” one of the assistants, Miwa, who was sitting politely on her heels, slid the door open without knowing. “Utahime-sama would like to know if—Oh!” She squeaked at the sight of them, her eyes nearly popping out of their sockets as she clamped her mouth with both hands. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt!” She pressed her head to the ground, cold sweat dampening her face. “I was—We wanted to ask whether you’d like to try on something else—oh, Gods, I’m terribly sorry—” she continued to ramble on her own, completely shattering whatever magic laid between them before. 

Clearing her throat, she took a step away from him the same way he distanced himself, tossing her gaze anywhere but him. 

“W-we’d like to take this one please, thank you,” Yuuta said, face flushed.

“Yes, Okkotsu-sama—understood!” Giving another deep bow, she quickly excused herself, scuttering away while mumbling to herself, “What do I do what do I do what do I do I have no money Utahime-sama is going to send me back to the village what about my brother he’s still so young what are we going to eat what if we get eaten by a bear oh I’m going to die”

“She does not have one positive thought in her brain, does she?” She forced a chuckle out of her despite still finding the air heavy to breathe in. 

Yuuta stood soundlessly, still unable to meet her gaze, not even for a second. But that was fine. She wouldn’t have known what to do if he did. After all—

Suddenly, he called out her name, a little bit louder than he’d intended due to his nervousness. “Y-yes, Yuu?”

He took her hand, holding it tightly between his own. He locked their eyes together, causing her to gulp. “After the concert,” he said, his ears flaming red. “C-can we continue—”

Everything suddenly turned blank.

She blinked her eyes open, greeted by the sight of her ceilings.

When she was younger—many, many years ago—her mother used to splash water on her face to rip her apart from her sweetest dream, but it never, never felt this excruciating, this shocking, this infuriating to wake up before. What was he going to ask me? She mused, even when she still felt disoriented after the sudden change of reality. 

’Can we continue seeing each other?’

’Can we continue talking somewhere private?’ 

’Can we continue… where we left off?’  

What was it?!

Her heart raced at the thought. God, she hugged her knees to her chest, burying her face in them, this is worse than having my favorite show end in a cliffhanger. She almost groaned loudly out of frustration—she would’ve if Satoru hadn't been sleeping next to her.

Right. Satoru.

She whirled her head to the side, watching her boyfriend sprawling on the sheets, nearly taking most of the bed and hogging the blanket to himself. Next to him, a digital clock sat on the nightstand.

04.32 am. 

There’s still time before I have to go to work. If I fall asleep now… will I dream of him again? Will I find out the question he asked me? She immediately shook her head, throwing herself back to the bed. It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t be thinking of him, not like that.

Satoru, she reminded herself as she lay on her side, her eyes slowly turning heavy as she continued to stare vacantly at the wall. I’m with Satoru. Yuuta is just a dream.

“Everything was just…” she mumbled, her lids drawing close like a curtain. “…a dream.”

A dream and nothing more.

***

[kiss4tell]

𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔, johnny mactavish.

summary: in a world where duty and bloodlines dictate fate, you, a princess raised to uphold tradition, find yourself ensnared in a forbidden love with your sworn protector—sir johnny mactavish, the knight who should be nothing more than your guard but becomes your greatest temptation. cw: forbidden love, heavy longing, makeout sessions, fingering, mild angst, slight overstim. knight!johnny, princess!user. wc: 1.5k note: second royal au to this post. can you guys tell i love johnny?

The castle was a world of cold stone and colder rules.

From the moment you were old enough to understand, you were taught the unyielding expectations placed upon you. How to hold your chin high without seeming haughty. How to speak with grace but never too freely. How to behave as though you were not a woman of flesh and longing but a symbol, a thing to be admired, never touched.

And above all, you were taught that love—true, burning love—was not for princesses.

It was why your father had knights, men sworn to protect you, not because you were fragile, but because your honor was. And among those knights, one stood apart from the rest, though he was the most unremarkable by noble standards.

Sir Johnny MacTavish.

He was not of noble birth. A commoner who had risen through the ranks not by blood but by sheer force of will. His accent was thick, rough around the edges, unpolished in a way that made the ladies of the court wrinkle their noses and whisper. But to you, he was more than his lack of a title.

To you, he was warmth, laughter in the lonely corridors, a pair of watchful eyes that saw you not as a duty but as a person.

And it was dangerous.

The first time you let yourself slip, it was a touch—barely a touch at all.

A summer afternoon, the gardens thick with the scent of blooming roses. You had been walking, and Johnny—no, Sir MacTavish—had been a respectful three steps behind, as always.

But you had stumbled. Not even a fall, just a misplaced step, a sharp intake of breath, and he had been there.

His hand, large and calloused, caught your wrist before you could right yourself, steadying you effortlessly.

“Easy, lass,” he murmured, his fingers searing through the fine silk of your sleeve.

It lasted a heartbeat too long.

You should have pulled away. Should have stiffened, scolded him, reminded him of his place. But you did none of those things. Instead, your gaze lifted to his, and for the first time, you truly saw him.

Not just the knight, the protector. But the man.

The one who looked at you not as a princess, but as a woman.

╋━

The second time, it was a meeting in the dead of night.

It had started with sleeplessness. A mind too full of thoughts of duty, of the future that had been decided for you before you had ever drawn breath. You had wandered the castle halls, your bare feet silent against the cold stone, unaware that you were not the only restless soul.

Johnny had found you at the balcony, leaning against the edge, staring at the stars as though they might offer you freedom.

“You should be sleepin’, Princess,” he had said, his voice softer in the dark.

“So should you,” you had countered.

The conversation had been light at first, teasing, familiar. But then, there had been a shift. A confession, whispered on a breath.

“I hate this life,” you had admitted, gripping the railing until your knuckles turned white. “I hate what it demands of me.”

A long silence. Then—

“I hate that it keeps me from you.”

It had been the first time either of you had acknowledged it, the thing unspoken between you.

You had turned then, your heart pounding so loud you swore he could hear it. And when you looked at him, when you saw the conflict in his eyes, the way he was struggling—

You kissed him.

It had been clumsy at first, a desperate, stolen thing. His hands had hovered near your waist, unsure, afraid. But when you did not pull away, when you instead curled your fingers into his tunic and held on—he gave in.

His lips moved against yours, hesitant, then surer. One hand cupped your cheek, the other pressing against the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. He kissed you like he had waited forever to do so, like he was terrified this moment would slip through his fingers.

And when you finally broke apart, breathless and shaking, he had pressed his forehead to yours and whispered, “This is dangerous.”

You had only smiled.

╋━

The third time, it was madness.

The corridor was empty, the rest of the castle deep in slumber. You had barely made it inside before Johnny had you pinned against the wall, his lips crashing onto yours in a kiss so hungry, so desperate, it left you breathless.

You had been playing with fire for weeks, and now, it was consuming you.

His hands roamed your body with reverence, sliding along your waist, gripping your hips as though trying to memorize the shape of you. Your fingers tangled in his short-cropped hair, nails raking against his scalp as he groaned against your lips.

“I should stop,” he breathed against your mouth, though he made no effort to pull away.

“Then stop,” you challenged, voice barely above a whisper.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his hands slid lower, fingers tracing the hem of your thin nightgown before pushing beneath it, rough palms grazing the bare skin of your thighs.

A sharp inhale. His fingers flexed.

“…Johnny.”

“Tell me t’stop,” he rasped, his forehead resting against yours. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead of answering, you lifted onto your toes, kissing him again, parting your lips for him, sighing when he deepened it. And then—

His hand moved.

Fingertips ghosting over the damp fabric of your undergarments, teasing, testing. You whimpered, clutching onto him, and he swore softly, his breath warm against your cheek.

“So fuckin’ soft,” he murmured. “So warm for me.”

His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, parting you, finding you slick and wanting. You gasped at the contact, your back arching against the wall as he pressed a thick finger inside you.

He groaned at the feel of you, at the way you clenched around him, his free hand gripping your hip, grounding himself as he worked you open.

His lips found your neck, kissing, biting, whispering filth that made your knees weak.

“You’ll be the death of me, lass.”

And as he curled his fingers, drawing another broken moan from your lips—

You thought you wouldn’t mind dying like this.

His fingers moved with aching slowness, each deliberate stroke sending shivers down your spine. You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, muffling the quiet sounds escaping your lips as his touch unraveled you.

“Look at you,” Johnny breathed, his voice thick with reverence. “Taking me so well, sweetheart.”

His fingers curled, seeking out that spot deep inside you, and when he found it, you gasped, your hands clutching at the fabric of his tunic.

Your response only spurred him on. He worked you open with care, a second finger joining the first, stretching you just enough to make your breath hitch. The forbidden nature of it all made it burn even hotter—here, in the darkened corridor of your father’s castle, with the threat of discovery hanging over your heads like a blade.

And still, neither of you could stop.

His lips brushed against your temple before trailing down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, the exposed line of your collarbone. Each kiss was a worship, a prayer, a plea.

“Been dreamin’ of this,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot, uneven. “Of you. Always you.”

You whimpered, rocking against his touch, chasing the pleasure he was so willing to give you.

Then—footsteps in the distance.

You both froze.

His fingers stilled inside you, and you held your breath, straining to listen.

The steps were slow, deliberate—someone patrolling the halls.

A fresh wave of adrenaline surged through you, but Johnny didn’t pull away. He stayed close, lips hovering just above yours, his fingers still buried inside you, your body wound so tightly that the mere thought of him stopping made you ache.

The footsteps passed, fading into nothing.

The second they were gone, Johnny exhaled a curse and kissed you—deep, desperate, claiming. His fingers resumed their sinful movements, stroking you to the edge, his free hand tilting your chin up so he could watch you fall apart for him.

“That’s it, love,” he whispered, his thumb brushing circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves at your center. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

The pleasure crashed over you like a wave, and you buried your face in his chest, biting your lip to keep from crying out. Your body trembled as he worked you through it, his fingers never slowing until you were gasping, pushing weakly at his wrist from the oversensitivity.

Only then did he relent, withdrawing his hand, bringing his fingers to his lips. He licked them clean, his darkened eyes never leaving yours as he hummed in satisfaction.

You should have been scandalized.

Instead, you pulled him down into another searing kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, reveling in the warmth of his body against yours.

[nicksolemnlyswears]

FORGED UNDER FIRE

BATTLEFRONT NEWS

blurb: he promised he would come back, but he didn't. now you're alone trying to navigate your grief while lilith tries to reason with you about the unexpected news

pairing: brennan sorrengail x rider! reader

word count: 2.4k

a/n: hey guys! i'm back with another part of FORGED UNDER FIRE. i heard what you guys had to say on the poll so this is placed right before and right after brennan's death. as always there are no fourth wing spoilers much less onyx storm.

it's been really fun writing lilith sorrengail and i'm sure she's a little ooc, i love her character but i need to reread iron flame to gain the essence of her character. i've got a couple of ideas for the next part but i'll leave it in your hands again with another poll at the end!

thank you for all the nice comments in the other two parts of the mini series. i can relate to so many of you who come seeking more fourth wing content because the withdrawal is so real. my heart goes out to all the other fourth wing writers, i literally jumped from joy when someone posted a boyfriend!ridoc fic. he's my absolute favorite.

omg if any of you have any liam fics you'd like to share let me know!!

i'm rambling! enjoy!!

The world outside Brennan Sorrengail's room was falling apart. Navarre was not prepared for this war. Riders turning their backs on riders, dragons fighting dragons, a thing of nightmares. All because of the rebellion led by Fen Riorson.

But inside his small, basic room, the first rays of the sun filtered through the window, falling over him. It made his hair appear more red than brown, and it highlighted the growing amount of freckles on his face.

He had been awake for hours indulging in your body before setting off to fight in the rebellion because the war was not worth sacrificing one quiet morning with you where Brennan got to memorize every bit there was to you. The protests of his exhausted body were mere whispers, muffled by his love and desire.

Brennan accepted the importance of his signet and his position as a soldier in the military. He acknowledged his duty to Navarre, but it couldn't stop him from spending time with the person he loved most in the world.

"Don't go," you whispered as your fingers roamed over his naked chest. The pads of your fingers ghosted the spot where his heart beat, and an arrow would later be impaled-almost like a premonition.

He had to go, and you accepted it. It's how a rider's life went, always going and never stopping. You had a mission yourself and would be leaving the station later on in the day. Still, you hoped neither would be forced to part.

"To leave you is against my will," he responded, kissing your forehead as his living breath tickled your skin. His hand was tangled in your hair, pulling your face to his neck as he soothed himself of the gnawing feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. "You know I'd prefer to stay like this."

Your evolving relationship was blessed by three years in Basgiath, where you saw each other nearly every day. Not long after graduation, the bubbling rebellion boiled over and tore you apart, only allowing you to see him days at a time in between missions.

But whenever you and Brennan parted ways, he always promised he'd come back. It meant everything to you that he returned because he alone had become your favorite person. He was the one you could depend on for anything. He was your family.

Straight out of Basgiath, without wasting another moment, he decided to marry you to make it a reality. It's you and Brennan against the world as it had always been.

"You will be safe," you stated, lifting your head to kiss his jaw.

"I'll come back for you," he agreed, pulling the bed sheets over your bodies to indulge in you one last time. Unbeknownst to either of you.

You trusted he would return; it didn't matter if he was injured or mentally exhausted. Brennan would return to your side in no time. He hadn't failed you up to that moment, but little did you know that Fen Riorison would target him or that his trusted partner Naolin wouldn't be able to save him and would lose his life as well.

The news reached General Sorrengail first. A nervous rider handed her the missive and gave his report before scurrying out of the office. His behavior alerted Lilith that something was amiss. As she unscrolled the missive, her eyes widened, and tears welled up in her eyes. Rain fell outside as more clouds stormed closer, unleashing lighting and torrential winds.

She held the missive close to her chest as she lowered herself to a leather chair, a lonely sob falling from her mouth. Her son was dead, gone from this world. Her firstborn had been claimed by Malek before she had the chance to greet him there.

When you returned from your mission, you were guided directly into Lilith Sorrengails's office, pity-filled eyes directed towards you. Knots tightened in your stomach, yet your brain refused to understand why. The fatigue of the mission rendered your thinking slow. Perhaps it was denial protecting you for a couple more moments.

Lilith waited for you in her office, her back to you as she stared at the storm she created outside. A war strategy you naively believed. You didn't know the woman well; the war had everyone distracted, and you barely had time to get to know your husband's own mother. She was far too important to spare that kind of time.

"General Sorrengail, you asked for me." Your voice was hoarse from trying to communicate with the other riders over the wind. Lilith was carefully still, her hands behind her back as a missive was clutched in her fist.

Lilith turned, and the first thing you noticed was her bloodshot eyes. You tilted your head in question, but she didn't speak. She grabbed your hand and placed the missive in it. She left you standing in the middle of the room alone to deal with her own grief.

Now that you knew, she could tell the rest of the family. Lilith didn't know you well, but she knew how much Brennan adored you, and as his wife, you had every right to know of his death before the rest of the family.

He was dead. You knew. Reading the missive wouldn't change the fact he was gone and broke his promise. You only read the missive in case your gut was wrong, but you were met with cruel disappointment.

The edges of your vision darkened, and your ears ringed unbearably, and it would not stop until the war was finished. The following weeks were spent in a daze, mourning and fighting. You refused to take leave while others fought the war Brennan couldn't escape.

You don't remember much except for crying whenever you were in private and fighting the rebellion ferociously, through salty tears and bitter pain. Seeing the riders that betrayed Navarre made your blood boil, transforming your grief into wrath.

The moment Lilith took care of Fen Riorson, the ringing in your ears eased up. A cot waited for you at the healer's quadrant. Your body was spent and exhausted, wounded in many ways, but it could be healed, unlike the pain in your chest.

The only one who could heal it was long gone. The anger towards the rebellion turned to sadness, and then it morphed into resentment. Because how dare he leave you after everything you went through.

Finally, the resentment calmed into loneliness, leaving you with an emptiness that nothing could fill. The rebellion took a big part of you, and you debated whether you could go on. The old thought of making a name of yourself was a faint whisper in your head. It didn't seem like enough to keep you going without him.

The breeze teasingly swayed your body, reminding you of all its capabilities. It almost threw you off once, and it can do it again. This time around, it could succeed. You'd willingly let the wind sweep you away, cradling your body in a tight, cold hold if it meant reuniting with Brennan.

The war was over. Fen Riorson was taken care of by Lilith Sorrengail, but only after he took your Brennan's life. The first man to love you. The first person to reach deep and take you out of the protective shell you created when younger.

Brennan showed you what it was like to make friends and laugh with them and that bonding with people not related by blood was worth it. Those ties are worth more than anything. He taught you that loving was a good thing, and then he left you.

Just like that.

Calliss was nearby, her golden eyes set in your swaying form. She won't let you fall to your doom; she'll catch you because your pain was gut-wrenching but human. And like all human emotion, it will pass. Heartbreak will not be the downfall of the rider she chose oh so carefully.

If you turned your head, you could see Brennan, five years younger, softly smiling at your younger self, who was frozen on her spot fighting vertigo, encouraging you to breathe and keep walking.

It was clearly the past, seeing as the abyss under the parapet no longer bothered you; your footing was firm despite the wind. You're also older, and Brennan is no longer with you. It's only a sight you've conjured up.

"I hope you're not planning on jumping," Lilith spoke, breaking the illusion. She strode down the parapet like a grassy path in a forest, and the air stilled.

"It is tempting, but Calliss would not appreciate it." You responded truthfully, avoiding her gaze.

Calliss' chuffs from a distance. "That's right, human. I did not pick you just for you to be your own demise."

Lilith had been trying to speak with you, not as General Sorrengail but as Brennan's mother. It's the reason you've been avoiding her. You don't want to speak about him. All you want is to forget and feel some form of relief.

"What are you doing here then?" Lilith questioned, standing next to you.

"Remembering. This is where we met," you said simply, tilting your head towards her.

Lilith hummed, assessing your stance. "I remember when he first told me about you in his second year. He had yet to realize he was smitten with you, but the way he spoke told me and Asher all we had to know."

Screwing your eyes shut, you hung your head. Nothing will change the fact that he's dead.

"I know you're heartbroken, but there is still much to live for," Lilith told you. You had to listen to her because you might not jump today, but that reckless behavior will follow you far into your career.

"I'm sure." Sarcasm dripped from your voice as you began to walk off the parapet.

Lilith followed you. She must speak with you about an important matter she was made aware of. "There's something you must know. The healers, they said-"

You stopped and turned on your feet, the air continuing to rush around you, "I know what they said. I've known for weeks, Lilith. It's why I stand here wanting to fall, but my feet are stuck to the ground."

There was anger in your eyes, hot tears threatening to fall from your eyes. This was not supposed to happen. Not now, and maybe not ever. One thing is for certain, it shouldn't have happened if he wasn't supposed to be alive.

"Did Brennan know?"

You sighed and trekked the last piece of parapet before falling on solid ground, "We did not know. And yet, a part of me continues to wonder if knowing would've changed anything. Would he have stayed behind? Would have he been more cautious knowing he had a pregnant wife? Or would it all have played the same?"

"He had a role to play in the war."

You scoffed at Lilith's remark, the older woman's jaw tightening. She's General Sorrengail; of course, she would think nothing would've changed, but Brennan was not like her. He wouldn't have sacrificed everything for a war.

Upon your silence, she continued, "Due to your performance in the war, General Melgren has given the orders for you to join my team."

"Has he? Or do you want to keep an eye on me?"

"Your signet has proved to be of more use than anyone thought," Lilith sighs, "Plus, if you allow me, I want to be part of the baby's life."

"Who is to say I'll keep it?" You say bluntly. Raising a child on your own was never part of your plans, and you may birth the baby, but keeping it seems unlikely.

"Pardon?" Lilith was shocked. She never imagined you'd consider otherwise, seeing as you're carrying the last piece of Brennan.

"I have no family. I was abandoned as a child, left to fend for myself. Starting a family was never in the forefront of my mind," you say harshly, knowing Lilith was judging you.

"You and Brennan married. We became your family from that moment on," she says, holding your arm when you turn to leave.

Calliss voiced her displeasure at a distance. She's been more protective since the news of your pregnancy broke. Or rather, when you found out because bonding with a dragon means having no privacy.

"No offense, but it's not like we've spoken much in the last two years."

General Sorrengail scoffed, "So you're going to do what your parents did to you and abandon the child?"

That was a low blow. Lilith wanted to get a rise out of you, and she got it as you tore your arm from her grip and stalked forward to be face to face.

"You cannot speak of things you know nothing about, General. My parents abandoned me with a senile great-grandmother who loved to use a wooden stick to 'train' me and beat me just because she was in a bad mood. She used to say I owed it to her because she allowed me to live with her. Fifteen years I had to endure until I realized being homeless was a better way to live." Your breaths came out in heavy pants as you spilled your guts to Lilith, "So no, I will not be like my parents because although I am not fit to be a parent, I would never leave my child in an abusive home."

Lilith remained quiet, taking in the weight of your words. "Fine, but please let Asher or me know if you need anything. You don't have to go through the pregnancy alone. It's up to you."

With that, Lilith walked past you but not before saying, "No matter what, you are to report to my office in the morning, but you can also join us for dinner tonight."

Lilith was relentless, and she was going to try her best to get through to you because you were young and scared, and your husband just died. She should've reached out to you sooner and formed a bond, but she didn't, and now she's paying the price of her daughter-in-law feeling more alone than ever and wanting to give up a part of her family.

It was Lilith's mistake that you don't consider them family. She wanted to fix it to make you realize that you have her and Asher and Mira and Violet, and if you allow them, they will love you as one of their own.

thanks for reading!! this one is a wee bit longer than the previous one but it seemed fitting to capture all reader went through after his death.

we'll eventually get to brennan finding out about his child and reader finding out he's alive but for now we need more backstory <3

tag list (if you'd like to added to future parts let me know!) : @berry-marys @cherubinn7 @ladynyx91 @kylaisra @detectivehailey @liahaslosthermind @thebreadisthetruevillian @bbkissme99 @honethatty12 @sunny1616 @akshstudios @yadirrez @xoxomoonlightbabe @jaynawayna @littlepippilongstocking @itsmytimetoodream @honethatty12

[acourtofthought]

I agree with your post that Azriel was an asshole in that scene 100%. But I think making it seem like Elain didn’t have a choice whatsoever in that moment is also why people keep saying the fandom infantilizes her. She was wrong too for thinking it was okay to do that especially when Lucien was there. Again I agree that Azriel acted like an ass there, but Elain wasn’t forced to do anything with him. Let’s start treating her like the adult she is in this fandom. If you want Azriel to apologize to Elain, then Elain should apologize to Azriel too because she was aware she’s a mated female and still chose to accept that kiss.

I actually don't agree with this take and it sounds like you're confusing infantilizing a character with what is you wrongly thinking a female somehow owes a guy something. A guy who, even if she's confused and secretly wants him, has not at this time been giving him any mixed signals therefore her actions were not in any way "cheating" or disloyal.

How was Elain in the wrong for exploring something outside of one likely super serious commitment after she just got out of a super serious commitment when she has currently made no commitment to anyone?

I LOVE Lucien, my heart breaks for Lucien but I also realize how much Elain has gone through.

Lucien lost Jesminda but spent the next how many centuries having casual liaisons with others. Yet for some reason people think Elain has to go from an engagement with Graysen immediately into a super serious mating bond which is a forever sort of thing. Somehow she has to accept her bond with Lucien RIGHT NOW because .....? Why? Why is she not allowed to have a hot girl summer before maybe deciding to explore the thing someone else decided for her. Make no mistake, I am all here for Elucien's story and the reluctant soul mates / arranged marriage trope but that doesn't mean she's not entitled to take time to herself without worrying about Lucien's feelings. Did you forget everything she's been through in the last two years on their timeline? Lost her entire life in the human lands, rejected by her fiance, forced to become a species she grew up fearing, had to stab someone, lost her father and on top of that everyone seems to expect that she focus on Lucien. Everyone but Lucien of course because he's a complete green flag which is why he is her endgame. But she's allowed to be a 24 year old girl processing trauma even if that means having a meaningless fling just to see if she's ready to get back on the dating horse.

Rarely does the fandom fault Nesta for all but confessing her love to Cassian, being willing to die by Cassian's side then turning around and (without any sort of discretion) sleeping with MANY other males, something he was fully aware of. I also do not remember Sarah having Nesta apologize to him for sleeping with others.

Elain did not set out to hook up with Az that night, she thought everyone was asleep. And yes, Lucien was in the house but as far as we know he was also asleep and not aware which means she was a lot more discreet than Nesta had been.

Elain does not need to apologize to Az for anything because Az was fully aware she has a mating bond. They both chose not to discuss her mating bond, Az never asked her whether she planned on rejecting it which means he was fine moving forward without those answers. And just because she has a bond doesn't mean she owes Lucien loyalty. Again, Nesta suspected Cassian was something to her yet she still went on to hook up with multiple others.

Infantilizing Elain is when others act like she's the only person who never had a choice therefore she HAS to end up with Az, that somehow ending up with Lucien isn't a choice because "we need to respect what she wants" as if she's not a fictional character whose wants can change from one book to the next.

Acknowledging that Az hurt Elain in that moment and not the other way around is what happened and I think if you somehow think Elain needs to apologize to HIM than that is you infantilizing a 500 something year old guy with communication issues.

Edit thanks to @zenkindoflove :- Here's your apology from Elain, anon: She opened her eyes, hurt and confusion warring there before she whispered, "I'm sorry." "You don't - Don't apologize he managed to say. "Never apolgize. It's I who should...." He shook his head, unable to stand the bleakness he'd brought to her expression. "Goodnight."

The 24 year old apologized to HIM when he called things a mistake after he was the one who left his hands on her neck then titled her head. And instead of saying, "It's I who should apologize, I'm so sorry" he just decided he couldn't handle telling her he was sorry.

[naomihatake]

LaDs' Rafayel rambling — "Oceanic Nightfall" tender moments

!!!!!slight poilers ahead. I also made a comparison with Caleb after his return (*cough*, coming back from the dead - it's written in a small font if you wanna avoid reading it)

This man is so special to me, to be honest. Last night I watched one of his limited Tender Moments card, Oceanic Nightfall — and when I tell you that I was absolutely flabbergasted with how angsty it was. I saw the card's image and thought "oh, this is gonna be spicy". I was so mistaken, oh Gods 🥲

That card is anything but spicy; sure, there's a lot of tension between them in the second half of the card, my heart was doing gymnastics when she entered on him being ass naked in the bathtub with a paintbrush in his hand. I hadn't expected him to be so shameless, considering I don't think at that point they were exactly lovers (or probably just at the delicate line between friends and lovers). Not that surprising, because it's Rafayel, after all; he does act strange a lot of the time if we take into account the usual standards.

I adore the fact that MC didn't walk away and the fact that she didn't give in easily. She told him square in the face that his manipulation tactics don't go unnoticed by her and I absolutely adore that, lol. Yes, gurl, say it out loud for everyone to hear.

Also, she calls him annoying and he seems to be pleased by that. Rafayel is so pleased with the fact that she does view him differently than others.

I have to admit that his tantrum with the glass had my jaw drop to the floor because I absolutely despise such behavior — I am hater through and through of that gesture, especially since she hadn't done something deserving of such a reaction.

Let's take another scenario as a comparison: when MC throws a glass at Caleb for what he's done to her, for locking her in his apartment and being an ass with his overprotective, obsessive tendencies. I completely understand her point of view and I think he deserved it, to be frank (as someone that appreciates and loves him as a character overall). I think she should've done worse, if you ask me, but that's another story (I am a hater of controlling behavior, sorry not sorry)

Actually, Rafayel's gesture triggered me. It took me several seconds to process what happened because I couldn't believe it — to the point I'm not even sure if the glass just slipped from his hand or if he really threw it on the floor (I'll do a rerun of that card just to be sure, but I don't think I misinterpreted it).

Despite it all, that made me fall for his character even more. This is a card from the beginning of their relationship, since before they even got a chance to kiss, so I think that makes it even more interesting. In later cards and events, it is shown how complex Rafayel is; he is deeply in love with her and stops his manipulative tendencies. The only people he's cruel with have nothing to do with her. Their begining seems very abrupt and he does act like an absolute menace, like a pitiful crybaby sometimes.

Later on, these moments just end up being part of who he is as a person. I know I kind of bullied him in this post until now. Truth be told, he's very mature and he's shown as being a very wise person, regardless of his childish tantrums — and they're not even exactly childish, they're just part of a very troubled personality. He's shown taking care of MC, protecting her, giving her wise advice in a way someone very old would. His soul is, indeed, old, especially since he remembers his past lives. He's watched the world change and crumble before his eyes and he's still there, in Linkon.

Rafayel can be a child in a good way, like the time when they ran in the rain together because he never did that (he's a Lemurian, it doesn't rain underwater); in several tender moments, he encourages MC to be kinder with herself, to find herself in the small things of life, to pursue her little dreams and the bigger ones. His devotion to her is undeniable, and as time passes by, there are less and less tantrums from him. It's almost as if he's found his own emotional security and stability once she appeared in his life.

Even in this card, Oceanic Nightfall, Rafayel tells her that he's changed since she appeared in his life. She questions his strange behavior and it seems like he's a bit self destructive — that makes him such a relatable and real character.

Rafayel is full of flaws and insecurities and they make him so much more beautiful; he's perfect because of his own imperfections and I love him that way. He shows that he tries to change for the better, even if it's shown as a slow process. Also, he does that for her alone. He doesn't care about other people and I think that's very interesting. I like him a little cruel, a little heartless; he has all the rights to be, considering his life (or lives) as a Lemurian.

Also, if anyone has some thoughts about this, you can share them <3 I'd be happy to hear some more opinions on this (I know that the Rafayel girlies are down bad for him exactly because he's got a twisted personality and I wholeheartedly agree 😫)

[olderthannetfic]

I may have forgotten how to make fandom friends.

It became harder or am I imagining things?

--

It can be harder if you're in a different space from before.

A lot of people have an easy time in college, when they're excitedly first joining fandom, when they're a hip young thing on the latest social media that's exploding in popularity, etc.

And a lot of people find it a lot harder when they're out of school, when they're in a life phase where they're tired/depressed/dealing with kids/nursing aging parents/etc.

Naturally, it's harder if you're on dying social media or have gotten into canons nobody cares about.

--

Is it harder overall for everyone?

No, I don't think so.

The things Tumblr users are saying now are the things Livejournal users were saying as Tumblr was soaring. Welcome to the Hello, Fellow Kids era of your fandom life. ;D

The internet is shittier and more hostile in some ways, but I see bajillions of people making social spaces on discord and such. I see excited young things entering some anime fandom of the moment with the rest of their dorm.

For me personally, I made most of my closest fandom friends around 2011 offline at a local meetup. But aside from that group, I'd say I've made more friends in the last five years than at any other time in fandom. It's largely due to me having a better memory for who's who than I did on LJ where I tended to quickly forget people I was nominally friends with and didn't really achieve a solid and lasting connection.

--

This topic comes up pretty regularly. I'm sure someone can dig up some of the past posts about getting your mojo back.

In my experience, "Why aren't I making new friends?" and "Why can't I find media to connect to?" are highly related questions.

There's a natural cycle of ennui, disconnection, and perhaps even anhedonia that tends to crop up as life gets stressful or we drift out of a popular taste into a new phase.

This is particularly extreme if you're shy and friends just kind of happened when you were younger and in a popular fandom, but it's a well-known problem all over. Just look at any article about "making friends as an adult".