ᯓᡣ𐭩 your lips, my lips; apocalypse .ᐟ

there was no denying harvey would burn the world for you. whatever you wanted, you got with a snap of his fingers. clothes, jewelry, dinners, expensive liquor— it was yours. he spoiled you beyond belief.

of course, the love he had for you wasn't just skin deep. he always thought you were beautiful, from the moment he laid eyes on you. but the best part? you chose to understand him; you chose to explore the dark reccesses of his mind, to learn him in and out.

not just harvey, but two-face, too. although he could hardly care for you as much as harvey did— you were alright. a half decent stress reliver, not the worst sort of company he'd encountered and, well, harvey wouldn't let you slip through his fingertips that easy. two-face would be cordial and tolerate you, whether he liked it or not.

now, here you two were, wrapped up in his sheets, his lips on yours; yours on his. "i love you," he murmured against your lips, another peck being left there. then, your jaw, your cheeks, the tip of his nose. he could never tire from this.

his hands slipped from your shoulders, down your arms to take your hands. sitting up partially, he'd press lingering kisses to each of your knuckles, "stay here, with me," he murmured, his voice a quiet plea, "forever?"

there was a silent weight to his question. stay here with him; and two-face. it was perhaps the closest thing to a proposal you'd receive from him, for now. who knew when two-face would snap next. who knew when he'd next he hauled off to arkham. still, the offer hung over the two of you — an open invitation to dive even further into his mad world.