#jervis tetch x reader

𑣲⋆ EDWARD... thinks it's gross! you're not an idiot (kissing idiots is not a habit of his) so surely you know how much bacteria the human mouth harbours. seriously, get it off, get it off — hey why aren't you kissing him anymore?

"...get back here."

someone tell this brat that he can't have his cake and eat it too.

might compromise by carrying make up wipes on him at all times — for him and you. who's to say he isn't an attentive lover? he'll even fix up and reapply whatever lip combo you were wearing. insists he does a better job anyways.

the only time he'll keep the marks is when he's jealous. you might think that jealousy would be impossible for someone as self-obsessed as edward, but the minute he's feeling it, he'll practically demand you to give him kisses. this happens more often than expected.

"for tangible proof, of course," he'll reason, pulling you in with a smug grin. "give them some concrete evidence. they need to be reminded."

𑣲⋆ you can have waterproof, smudgeproof, life proof lip products — nothing will ever be HARLEY-proof. the most obnoxious, most exaggerated "MWAH" and it's over. do not expect it to be a brief kiss either. more often than not, she's leaning in fully open-mouthed, expecting a full blown makeout session.

"listen, i love you," you say, trying (and failing) to discourage a very enthusiastic and affectionate harley, "but we're in public." you're not ashamed of her, but her capacity for pda was something you'd never get used to. your face is burning just thinking of it. she frowns like you just told her you'd never kiss her ever again. "one! just one!"

it will never be "just one." which is fine — you can never find it in your heart to blame her.

it'd be impossible to count the times she does this, smearing your favourite shade all over your mouths. and she's always happy to match!

whenever you leave a lipstick stain, she never complains. wiping it off doesn't even seem to cross her mind. hell, she might even ask for a couple more. she just finds it cute, being able to have a little piece of you this way. cue more kisses!

𑣲⋆ press a kiss on both cheeks and HARVEY and HARV will be happy!

HARVEY really doesn't mind that much. of course, he tries to be somewhat professional as a crime lord and being intimidating is difficult when you're covered in evidence of a makeout session... so most of the time, he'll let the marks linger before politely taking them off.

"sorry, sweetheart. i've got some stuff to take care of."

he still is appreciative. you can give him more once it's all over, promise.

...however, HARV is the one who wants them everywhere. he truly doesn't care — he loves you. that's that.

anyways, intimidation isn't exactly an issue for him. he's found that most people seem to act just fine while staring down the barrel of a .22 caliber pistol. so go ahead, love on him as much as you want.

𑣲⋆ JERVIS, as he so frequently insists, is a GENTLEMAN!!! and while, yes, he adores every single part of you, getting lipstick on him and keeping it there does seem rather improper, don't you agree? this guy mind controls people. this CAN'T be the fucking line.

he'll be overly apologetic if he ends up smearing your lipstick. in less private settings, he might even stick to kissing your hands and cheeks when you're wearing any sort of pigmented product on your lips.

will get flustered if you insist it's fine anyways. it's adorable how quickly he caves to what you want. you barely even have to ask.

and if you want to leave lipstick stains on him? jervis is dead. he's dead. he's passed out, his soul has left his body — can't blame him for being in love!

"...are — are you alright?" you ask, stifling a laugh. jervis is absolutely, positively dazed, stuttering and stammering incoherently. when you cup his face in your hands, cheeks reddened and covered in the little lipstick stains left by your flurry of affection, you notice how warm he's gotten. "p — perfectly fine! never better, dearest! not a complaint in the world, not from me, not at all—" he's already leaning in for more.

𑣲⋆ OSWALD doesn't exactly know what to make of it at first, but he's proud to recieve any sort of affection from you. he lives for having you hanging off his arm, so naturally he'll want other ways to show you off.

he ends up very, very into it. in fact, try every lip product you want. oswald will happily take time out of his busy schedule to help you test which ones actually last. gotta make sure you get one that's good quality and everything, no?

you discover eventually that pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose will make him melt. it's the quickest way to calm him down, win an argument, or get what you want — so be responsible with your power.

𑣲⋆ IVY is much more interested in leaving kisses all over you, if anything. non-lethal, normal lipsticks which will not kill or hypnotize you. this sort of results in your lip colours blending together after the two of you make out. very cute.

"i'm almost jealous. you're wearing it better than i do, sweet pea."

and while yes, she's willing to kiss you anywhere, she especially likes wrapping her arms around you from behind and trailing kisses down your jaw and neck. chuckles when you squirm and tightens her grasp in response.

"be good and hold still," she says, her voice soft and low in your ear. when you relax, stilling as requested, she rewards you with a gentle squeeze of your waist and a few more kisses along your shoulder.

it looks like ivy doesn't need mind control to have you wrapped around her finger.

𑣲⋆ ROMAN is a NASTY motherfucker. he prefers opportunist. if you want to kiss up on him, he'll definitely give you the chance — he'll pull you into his lap and everything — but he wants something a bit more.

"liiittle lower, sweetheart." "what." "head out the gutter, doll. the shirt collar."

not like he's not down for that. but if you wanna leave your mark, you're more than welcome. the shade does compliment his suit nicely, don't you agree? having a lipstick stain or two around his collar is a nice statement for watching eyes. roman sionis is possessive — but he likes being yours just as much as he likes having you. this is just one of the many ways he shows it.

𑣲⋆ being outwardly affectionate with WAYLON makes him feel happiness that he thought he'd never know. when a kiss is pressed against his scaled skin, leaving a little stain of your favourite shade… well, he's definitely in no rush to wipe them off.

might even complain if you try to get rid of it for him. (gently) swats your hand away and everything.

it's less about the kiss mark itself and more about the idea that somebody loves him to the point of smothering him in affection — much more, in a way that shows the world "this one's mine." he is a GONER!!!!

waylon also happens to be a bit of an affectionate biter. nothing that'll hurt you bad and nothing you don't want, but little playful nips between kisses are to be expected as he peppers you with them. let him return the favour.

𑣲⋆ the minute your lips make contact with SNOWFLAME's skin he gives you a contact high. have fun with that one.

Edward Nygma/The Riddler

Toying with you like this helps him think, just stay still

You work him up too much he has to fuck you on his nice leather car seats (he will be making you lick up the mess)

Claims to do this purely for your benefit as a reward, but his cock is rock hard the whole time

He loves an alt girl, even better when she’s gone dumb on his dick

He’ll buy you premium lingerie to fuck you in

Jonathan Crane/The Scarecrow

It’s fine if you want to play your little game, but when he wants you, he’ll have you

He can be nice to you sometimes (he’s secretly gave you fear toxin 10 minutes before)

He’s 100% into pet play

If you insist on making him go somewhere he might as well have some entertainment

Loves a classy girl, well classy by his standard

Harvey Dent/Two-Face

You know it’s big, and he just loves to stretch you open

Dressing up all pretty can only end up one way

How two face likes to deal with Harvey’s girl

Wearing a collar gets both of them going more than they’d want to admit

Show him how much you want him

Jervis Tetch/The Mad Hatter

Thinks you look so pretty he doesn’t wanna put it in

Loves when you wear such pretty socks

Doing this with him drives him wild

Riding him with such cute pyjamas on has him whimpering so fast

Doing this after hypnotising you is his favourite

Slade Wilson/Deathstroke

He thinks he deserves your other hole…

Fucking you in the back of his car on the way to a hit

While he’s away he makes you send him a video like this, and trust he won’t be happy if it’s not exactly as he requested

Loves bratty girls cause he knows how they end up

“Alice!” Loud giggles spilled through chapped lips as rough hands grasped at her face. (Your name) winced as the dry skin scratched the soft skin of her cheeks. The fabric of Jervis’s fingerless gloves did nothing but make the surface wounds burn ever so slightly. A sadistic reminder that this was no dream… her patient had escaped Arkham and kidnapped her to be his Alice. “My darling Alice… I finally have you in my clutches. Oh it’s wonderful to finally have you in wonderland with me.”

(Your name) caught a glimpse of her reflection and had to gulp down the hole that threatened to erupt from her throat like lava. She was in a baby blue dress with a frilly white apron a top of it. She even had on multiple layers of tile skirts under to make the dress have more shape and crisp white stockings with black Mary Jane’s. Had Jervis changed her clothes?! How on earth did she land in this ridiculously accurate Alice in wonderland attire?

(Your name) was by no means Jervis Tetch’s type! So why… why her?

“Do you love your dress?” Jervis’s lips twisted into a crooked grin, his cheeks aflame in awe. “I personally tailored it to your sizes… it’s an exact replica of the one you made for my Alice doll in Arkham! Oh, my Alice… I’m so happy to have finally found you!”

(Your name) felt her heart sink. She had shown this loon kindness and he interpreted it as affection. This love starved man had set his sights on her and she could do nothing but play along. Unless she wanted to end up like the Alices before her.

“Jervis, I’m not-“ He bent down to kiss her cheeks. A shiver ran down her spine from how acrid the scent of his breath was.

“Nonsense. You’re perfect, my Alice.”

(Your name) felt a zap on her head and then her body was under his will like a marionette guided by its strings by a puppeteer.

EDWARD NYGMA

✎ᝰ. pretentious without even trying to be. it seems to be an innate trait of his. given that being snobbish is nothing new for him, it naturally extends to his taste in literature.

with the care of his own books, i can imagine him being two ends of extremes but not anywhere in between.

✎ᝰ. he's either obsessed with keeping them pristine and taken care of — crack paperback spines properly so they don't end up bending weird and don't you DARE dog ear that page unless you want to be boyfriend-less — or he annotates the shit out of them because they're just the vessels for knowledge and learning, where the physical component isn't sacred, it's what you can get out of it.

✎ᝰ. will be doing more talking than you if you try to engage in conversation about books. he is, however, interested in what you're picking up in your spare time.

mainly because he absolutely will finish your books before you reach the end and spoil them if you get into petty arguments.

JERVIS TETCH

✎ᝰ. he thinks quiet reading time with you in the same room is very romantic. just the two of you, your favourite books, a warm cup of tea maybe… unfortunately, he is the LOUDEST "quiet" reader in the world. always giggling or muttering the words to himself without realizing until you point it out.

✎ᝰ. likes YOUR voice when reading. he'd be absolutely over the moon if you decided to humor him and read anything by lewis carroll, especially alice's adventures in wonderland because, of course. insists on reading the hatter's lines, naturally.

it might seem simple and inconsequential to you, but reading this book with his favourite person? i really does means the world to him. and he thought it wasn't possible to be more obsessed with you!

✎ᝰ. his book collection doesn't exactly have a dedicated shelf so everything ends up everywhere. you notice multiple versions of alice's adventures in wonderland, which should surprise absolutely no one. he's very particular about a few specific copies and will protect them with his literal life… but you're free to look at any of the others that interest you. just don't expect it to be easy to find anything. he's got his own system of organizing and it only makes sense to him.

JONATHAN CRANE

✎ᝰ. the legend of sleepy hollow will be a required reading in order for this relationship to work.

✎ᝰ. he is not opposed to non horror — he reads a lot of non fiction too — but it shouldn't surprise you that a majority of his collection is horror. i will be projecting and saying that gothic horror makes up a good chunk of it. those are typically what he reads for leisure. informative reads are usually academic articles about new studies, mostly pertaining to his area of expertise and interest.

✎ᝰ. his shelves are filled with older prints of books, usually. mostly well loved but not annotated, because he likes keeping his notes separate from the actual stories. beyond highlighting in some non-fiction texts or adding few tabs here and there, the yellowing pages are left unmarred by ink and graphite. you should be thankful for this if you ever borrow any, given that jonathan's handwriting is kind of indecipherable.

✎ᝰ. expect to find things sandwiched between pages. he doesn't mind if you want to browse his personal collection, but whatever you find isn't his fault. what did you expect? notes from previous experiments or old fear toxin formulas, the detail all clinical and grotesque at the same time — just ignore that, okay? move along.

You are trapped.

Not by any restraint or bondage which digs deep into your skin to keep you held in place. A restraint like that could be broken or, at the very least, could be struggled against in a way which proved that you were desperately fighting to escape.

You are trapped.

Not by the threat of a terrible violence to come if you dared to escape or even attempt to move without permission. A threat like that comes from a position of power and power can be bargained with, it can even be argued against.

No.

You are trapped by a mental conditioning which allows your mind to experience the total loss of autonomy which your body is being forced into as it willingly follows the instruction of the twisted captor who is staring at you like you were the one to hang the moon in the night sky.

“Put your new dress on, sweetheart. We can’t have a tea party without it.”

Jervis Tetch has taken much from you in your very short time together. Your sense of self, taken by his full and totally shameless control of your actions. Your dignity, taken by this new command that you strip of your own clothing and wear the dress provided by him. Your sanity, as you watch your body follow his commands as though the limbs were eager and desperate to do so.

Your hands move smoothly as they follow his instruction, pulling your shirt overhead before dipping low to unbutton your denims and begin sliding them past your ass. The underwear which clings to your skin is light and simple, a matching cotton set which you had always liked. For his part, Jervis watches you move with a restless energy, one hand clutching the dress he wants you to wear while the other holds out expectantly for the clothing which he is waiting for you to shed.

His eyes dart across every inch of smooth skin as it is slowly exposed before him and his mouth falls slightly agape as he takes in the swell of your bust – large teeth appearing from behind his upper lip to worry at the lower.

“Oh, oh my.” Jervis’ voice is soft and wheezing, fingers tightening on the dress as he stares between your tits and the panties which thankfully hide away the most intimate parts of you. “How beautiful you will be. How perfect!”

He hands you the dress like he is passing on a delicate heirloom and you take it with a similar reverence, your hands moving like they are being puppeteered by some unknown force. Slipping your arms up within the dress as you hold it high, it glides over your head without catching on anything and you place your arms within the sleeves as Jervis’ smaller hands come to help tweak the detailing until every button and frill sits in its correct place.

“Beautiful. Divine. Enough to drive a man to madness.” Jervis giggles, gesturing to the dress before hiding his smile behind gloved hands. “Now, please join me, sweet Alice.”

The dress he has forced you into is, admittedly, pretty in its own way; a light, dusky blue with an excessive amount of white frills and lace which creates an interesting border around its various hems. Slighter lower cut than anything you would have chosen for yourself, the sweetheart neckline exposes the rounded tops of your tits in a playful, teasing way and every time you catch a hint of your reflection in the polished teapot which sits before you at the table you have been ‘asked’ to sit at, it sparks a deep despair.

“Alice, my sweet Alice.” Stepping back into your direct line of sight as he stands between you and the table, the deep dilation of Jervis’ eyes is almost enough to completely replace the blue with black. “You are so beautiful. So perfect. So sweet. Do you like your dress?”

Jervis Tetch.

Wearing the same costume you have seen on the news multiple times; the blue trousers and long jacket are painfully contrasted by a bright shirt which sits at an odd colour somewhere between mustard and chartreuse. An oversized black bow and dark hat – ribboned in blue and featuring the 10/6 card which juts from beneath the ribbon – complete the ensemble. But what really throws you off isn’t the odd clothing.

It all in his face.

He could have been cute. His nose sits large and proud in the centre of his face, his skin smooth and plump, and his teeth prove to be surprisingly bright as he smiles at you widely. But these features are overshadowed by the absolute madness which lies deep within his beaded eyes. Adoration. Obsession. Desire. All three fluctuate in his heated gaze as he forces you to look at him, to see the depths of his devotion as you meet his crazed eyes with your own.

“It’s beautiful, my hatter.”

Your mouth moves of its own accord, parroting back the positive responses and sick pet name which Jervis had so delightfully chosen for himself. You feel your lips answer as they stretch into a placating smile, hear the words simper out in your own voice, but they are not your own and you burn that truth into your skull with every passing moment.

Unable to help himself, Jervis slips forward and positions himself so that he can grind his tented cock into your hip. His breath comes in short, sharp bursts as he pretends to focus on adjusting the short bits of lace which frill around the puffed sleeves of the dress, but his fingers tremble with every soft touch.

“Not a stitch out of place. No, no, that simply won’t do.” Jervis mutters the chastising words to himself as he tweaks and tailors your dress, his knuckles grazing off your skin as he continues to use your hip as a makeshift grinding pad. “Only a knave would allow such a pretty thing to look so unsightly.”

Shuddering as he pulls away, Jervis takes a moment to loosen the buttons of his jacket, spreading it wide to expose a matching blue waistcoat and more of the lurid shirt which sits below. The waistcoat clings to the roundness of his stomach as the edges of it jut out from his gut slightly, the fabric only just able to fit comfortably.

“Do you want something to drink, sweet Alice?”

No! The word screams inside your mind, a fresh fear rising in your chest at the thought of whatever additional dangers could be lurking within the piping hot tea which is still emitting a steady mist of steam from the spout of the teapot which houses it.

“Yes. Thank you.” The words fall from your lips tenderly, your hand reaching out to slip around the handle of the delicate teacup which sits at your personal place setting.

Jervis pours the tea without spilling a single drop and you dutifully bring the cup to your lips as you sip at the edges of it. Instantly, the pain in your mouth makes you naturally splutter as the roasting hot liquid burns the sensitive skin within your lips but you can’t shake the forced smile from your lips even as a few droplets of the tea drip from your chin and fall to drip down to the pristine dress.

At the display, a flash of something which looks like rage crosses Jervis’ expression as he takes in the slight imperception but he is quick to bury it back beneath the frenzied infatuation which seems to be his driving force at the moment.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He simpers, his gloved hand rising to wipe across your chin and catch any lingering mess, “I am so sorry. I should have known better.” Jervis widens his eyes, his mouth down turning with his own self-inflicted disappointment, and he gently tips your head up to look at him fully once more. “It's always tea-time, and we've no time to wash the things between whiles. Will you forgive me?”

Head giving a nod far too fluid to be natural, you assuage his fears and his sadness is immediately replaced by a manic joy which only increases as he grips your hands within his own – his gloved fingers scoring across your knuckles.

“You are much too kind to me, sweet Alice. Do you need your Hatter to help? Do you want me to take care of you?”

The way he asks the final question, his tone taking on a low and intimate edge which leaves you with no illusions as to how he planned to ‘take care’ of you. Despite the fear and shame which roils within your stomach, you tilt your head and a shy heat blushes across your cheeks as you gaze at him through lidded eyes.

“You always know what’s best for me, my brave Hatter.”

His expression slips from sweet to predatory in a moment as he squeezes your hands and forces you to stand. Doing so, Jervis spins you in place and his hands are shaking as he quickly clears a small space on the edge of the long table for you press your ass against. Taking the hint, you shift back until you can’t move any further and stand stock-still against the solid wood before laying your hands on the edge of the table carefully – ensuring to keep the hem of the dress as low and modest as possible as you avoid catching your fingers on any stray cutlery or teacups.

“Yes. Just like this, sweetheart. Let your Hatter take good care of you.”

With your body pressing into the cleared section of the table, Jervis wastes no time in spreading your knees and positioning himself up between your legs as his trembling hands slowly tease the edge of your dress higher and higher until he’s able to expose the thin, light cotton fabric of your underwear.

Within nothing to stop him now taking what he so desperately wanted, Jervis takes his sweet time as despair only continues to rise within your chest – humiliation and a lack of autonomy tearing strips from your sense of self with every touch.

Jervis stares at your panties with a shameless hunger, his small pink tongue flicking at his thin lips as his hands knead at your thighs with a thoughtless, consuming desire.

“Just the thought of that little oyster, tucked away and begging for- no, not today my sweet Alice. Just a taste, no need to rush. To ruin.”

Body forced into unwilling compliance with his twisted fantasies, you know he has spotted the very damp spot which decorates the centre of your underwear when a pitching gasp escapes his lips, his large teeth once again worrying down on his lower lip as he visibly shudders at the sight.

“Oh, my Alice. My beautiful, sweet Alice.” His tone is low, reverent, and, if the circumstances were any different, then it might have inspired something satisfied within you. However, as things are, the small part of you which has not fully succumbed to his mental conditioning feels a thrill of visceral disgust at the appraisal. “So desperate for her Hatter. But no need to rush. Let’s not sully such a lovely tea party.”

Jervis’ hands are still shaking as he spreads your legs wider to allow him to step fully flush to your groin, his cobalt blue slacks pressing hard into your underwear as he grinds his cock against the damp fabric. He seems almost afraid to go any further, to expose the real prize waiting below, but you suspect that his perversions go further than simply wanting to fuck you and be done with it.

“Six impossible things and I could never have imagined something so,” he gasps as he adjusts himself to allow for a better angle, “perfect.”

The friction of his frantic grinding only encourages the loose sparks of traitorous heat in your cunt as the odd motion causes your panties to graze across your engorged clit – the sensation intense and off-pace enough to catch you by surprise every time even as your entranced body refuses to squirm away or shift on its heels.

His rhythm is erratic and sloppy, almost pathetic in how desperate his is as he rolls his hips and bucks into you like a dog as his hands grip at your waist.

“No March Hare. No dormouse. No wicked Queen. Only a Hatter and his Alice.”

Every sentence in punctuated by a rough thrust, his voice losing any hint of put-upon gentleness as the monster who lurks below the persona slips free the closer he grows to his stuttered release. Pinned into place by him, your throat makes its own series of little noises; mewling whimpers pairing with discomforting sighs as you dutifully push your body out to meet his every lunge.

Before too long, Jervis’ movements grow even more disjointed and you know he’s close to his release. Your own arousal remains steady, nowhere near enough to force you to into an unwitting orgasm and you are thankful for that – unsure how much more self-loathing you can fit within your traitorous frame. Jervis comes with a pitching squeal, the sound pairing with his cock mashing itself into your damp underwear as he grinds himself roughly to the point of overstimulation to milk the wicked sensation for all it is worth.

You remain silent as he rides his release out on your body, your eyes moving past him to stare emptily into the far-off wall while wishing that you could do anything to wipe the unnatural, soft smile from your lips. 

Exhausted from his shameless humping, Jervis pants heavily as he steps back to sit down on the closest chair and you watch with passive, dead eyes as his fingers ghost over the visible sticky mess which decorates his groin – his arousal seeping through the pair with the stolen slick from your panties.

“Come sit with me, my love. You must be exhausted,” Jervis sighs as he taps at his lap, “time to rest your head before you lose it.”

Forced into compliance, you step towards him and fall to the floor to kneel by his chair. You quickly throw one arm across his lap as you press your head to his thighs, following his commands, both spoken and unspoken, like a trained dog.

From this angle, you can smell the mixed arousal which sits only a few inches from your nose as your body tilts to match his expectations. Jervis drops a hand to your head, petting across your hair with a fondness which made nausea rise in your chest as he adjusted the small headband he had placed there much earlier.

“Sleep, sweet Alice.” Jervis soothes, his eyes soft and utterly laced with a madness that your forced servitude was only bolstering with every passing moment. “In the palace of dreams, that’s where we’ll meet again.”

It started with a bouquet of flowers.

First, they were from Jervis. Red roses in a beautiful bloom. One of the most beautiful bouquets you’d ever seen in your life, unable to stop yourself from brushing your fingertips against the delicate petals. You’d taken the flowers inside and put them in water, then set them near the windowsill for some sunlight.

It was a simple gift. One that excited you.

Until another bouquet of flowers appeared on your doorstep a few hours later.

These ones were sunflowers, all bright yellow with extended petals and beautiful green stems. The card that came with told you they were from Jonathan. You’d known they both liked you – the way they spoke to you was clear – but you didn’t think much of it as you placed the flowers beside the roses.

What you didn’t know, at the time, was how much this would become a pattern. 

The amount of gifts only continued over the next few weeks.

If Jervis sent you a box of chocolates, Jonathan sent you one, too – only this time it was twice as large and more decorative with a red bow. When Jonathan sent you a gift card to your favorite store with five-hundred dollars on it, Jervis sent you an envelope with a thousand dollars cash and a little note that read “treat yourself, darling” scribbled on it. At first, you had to admit it was nice being doted on by both men. It made you feel…important, cared for, loved, in a way you hadn’t been in a long time.

Until their antics only grew more over-the-top.

When Jonathan sent you a plush Scarecrow-like doll, Jervis responded in turn by shipping a giant, life-size bunny rabbit to your place. It was so big that you could hardly even get it through your door and find a place for it without cramping up the small space – not to mention you felt like its beady eyes were always watching you.

A few days later, another gift appeared: this time from Jonathan, with VIP tickets to your favorite show that was coming up in a few weeks. You should’ve been excited, elated, even – and any other time, you would be. But when Jervis’s response was to send you backstage passes to a concert you’d been dying to go to (complete with being able to meet the band and all), instead you felt…dread. Irritation. Because their gifts no longer felt like gifts, but like a competition for your affection.

So instead of accepting the gifts, you turned them away instead. Refused to tell either of them “thank you”, sent the delivery driver away, sent everything back.

If they wanted to play this game, then you could play, too.

So when you suddenly got a knock on the door a week later, you opened it just in time for Jervis to come barging in, his blue coat wrapped tight around him, top hat askew atop his head. His face was pale, eyes wide, frustration written across his skin.

As soon as he spotted you, the question slipped from his lips, “Dearest, why have you been sending back my gifts?”

You crossed your arms over your chest and lifted your brows. “Because they’re getting out of control. Between you and Jonathan smothering me, I’m a bit sick of it, to be honest.” Maybe the words came out harsher than normal, but you couldn’t help it.

Jervis frowned for a moment, before his lips twisted into a sneer. “Right. The Scarecrow. Always trying to prove how much better he is,” he scoffed out with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You sighed; you were just about to ask him to leave when another knock sounded from your door. You hesitated, but opened it – only to find Jonathan standing there. In similar fashion, he barged his way into your place, a question stumbling from his lips.

“Is everything all right?” he asked. “You haven’t been accepting my—”

He shut his mouth as soon as he spotted Jervis.

The glare both men gave to each other was like a spark about to ignite, electricity crackling in the air between them, a current of destruction ready to implode. The hairs on your arms raised on end, tension creeping into your shoulders.

“You,” Jervis snarled. “Always in the way. Always trying to prove you’re better.”

“Me?” Jonathan asked, exasperated as an incredulous look passed along his face. “You’re one to talk. Every time I give a gift, you have to show off, thinking you’re so much better.”

Jervis scoffed. “Yes, of course. Because you weaponize your wealth and connections to get what you want. That makes you no better than I.”

Jonathan scowled. “It’s silly you think such extravagant gifts will win her over. Tell me, Tetch, are you overcompensating to satiate your fear of rejection?”

Your jaw fell open slightly in surprise. A deep sorrow bundled in your stomach, aching in your heart. Why is this what their affection had reduced them to? This wasn’t worth the fighting or the petty insults.

Jervis barked out a laugh. “Look in the mirror, Crane. You want to talk about fear? Well maybe—”

“Boys!”

Your sudden cry echoed across the walls, silencing them both. Their heads whipped your way, surprise flitting across their faces at your outburst – but you couldn’t help it.

“This has been going on for far too long,” you sighed, your voice radiating sorrow. “And look, I like you both, and I don’t want to hurt either of your feelings. But…”

You looked between them, into each of their eyes, so filled with a desperate hope for your love and affection. You didn’t want to hurt them, but you knew if you didn’t make a choice, they would only continue to fight – and perhaps this might escalate until something worse happened.

You had to choose, now or never.

So, you sucked in a breath and chose.