#AU Verse: As you wish

[akirakirxaa]

Auraugust Day 23: Flex

Akira had hoped that they could show some flexibility. What was it people said about unstoppable forces and immovable objects?

So this is my first post of a new AU SOMEONE bullied me into making (ilu @azems-familiar and @sunderedazem) where Akira has already been with G'raha and had Stella before the end of EW, but she loves Hyth and Hades too. Shenanigans ensue. I think the booktok girlies call this a 'why choose'.

[brighteuphony]

Begging on my hands and knees for more of your coven/blind Sakura AU because it fucking slaps

Tysm! If you stick around there's sure to be more!!!

[boleynqueenes]

i love your writing and your stories! plus you're pretty much the only one i found on ao3 who actually centres on anne and henry? so thank you for allowing me to feed on my obsession without making me feel wrong for it lol <3

you are so welcome...like snow on the beach:

[cdreambur]

dreambur spiderman au but like spider-verse version where they're both spiderman.

they meet when wilbur stumbles into dream's dimension after one of tommy's many experiments got out of control.

he lands right in the middle of a fight between dream and his universe's green goblin, and doesn't even think twice before jumping in to help, glad that he at least has his backpack, which also contains his suit, with him.

he doesn't expect to be pressed against a wall as soon as the fight ends, hands pinned beside his head by webs that feel familiar and foreign at the same time.

the other spiderman hovers over him, the fact that he's a little shorter evened out by how much broader he is than wilbur.

"who the fuck are you?" he asks, voice demanding.

wilbur breathes out a deep sigh, closes his eyes, lets his head fall back, and gets ready to explain tommy's theory about the multiverse.

when he's done, the other steps closer, tugging the webs away from wilbur's wrists.

"follow me." he tells him before slinging himself on top of the neighbouring skyscraper.

wilbur does.

their destination is an inconspicuous apartment building, wilbur climbing through an open window on the top floor behind the other spiderman.

it's a simple but cozy room, papers scattered over a table next to a computer setup and led lights illuminating the space.

if wilbur were to guess, he would say it belongs to someone his age, something that is proven right when the other pulls off his mask.

blond hair and soft green eyes, freckles and the dark shadow of a beard, a sharp nose. wilbur's gaze wanders over the other's features before landing on his outstretched hand.

"i'm dream."

wilbur takes it, sliding off his own mask.

"wilbur."

after that, they spend the night theorizing. how wilbur got here, how the multiverse works, how to get him back to his dimension.

in the end, they fall asleep when the first rays of the sun reach the window, dream sitting in the corner of his bed, wilbur slumped against his shoulder.

sleep seems to help in their search for answers, because when they wake up, dream suggests finding his universe's tommy.

"if he's the one who sent you here, maybe the one here can get you back to where you came from."

it's the best idea they have, and so, they start looking.

progress is slow, despite the help of the internet. dream has to work, and even though wilbur accompanies him now, patrols still take up most of their nights.

but despite everything, they find time to talk.

it starts with wilbur asking about dream's job one afternoon while they're hunched over dream's laptop, scouring instagram.

soon, they're sharing bits and pieces of their lives in between staring at screens and fighting in dark alleys.

dream enjoys speaking about his work as a programmer and about his friends, always remembering another fun anecdote that leaves the two of them giggling more often than not.

wilbur tells him about how in his universe, he's a rising musician, and about the cat he wants to adopt, and about the science obsessed best friend who feels more like a brother to him.

they find similarities in their lives, like how they're both struggling to balance being a hero and being a regular person.

like how they both started their journey as spiderman after they lost someone.

for wilbur, it was his friend niki.

for dream, his cousin tubbo.

it's easier to open up to someone who knows what you go through.

and soon, dream's stomach starts to flutter every time wilbur smiles at him.

soon, wilbur's heart starts to skip a beat every time dream touches him.

it's the only thing they don't talk about.

their research takes almost a month, but on a rainy friday morning, they find him.

his hair is a little shorter and his eyes are a little darker and his last name is a different one.

but wilbur has no doubts. the face, the mischievous smile, it all belongs to tommy.

the photo is part of an article in a smaller british newspaper, talking about how a group from the local high school is going to present their work at a student science exhibition in new york.

the story is a week old, the mentioned date of the exhibition telling wilbur and dream that they have three days to decide how to approach the boy.

the night before the event, they put on their suits.

through some research (aka dream's hacking), they found the hotel and room tommy's staying in.

it's equally easy to sneak in and wake the teen.

his eyes go wide when they land on the two of them, and the grin on his face when dream explains that they need his help reminds wilbur so much of his tommy that wilbur's heart tightens painfully for a moment.

they bring tommy up to the roof of the hotel to explain the situation, and his face practically lights up as soon as wilbur starts talking.

he asks about a million questions after, wilbur trying to answer them as good as he can with what he remembers from his tommy's rambles.

it seems to be enough, because at the end of it, the boy is smirking at them.

"i think i know what to do."

he guides them to the place the exhibition is happening at tomorrow, a grand complex connected to the company building of the firm that is sponsoring it.

they find a way to a lab where tommy starts collecting things the moment he steps inside.

dream and wilbur stay out of his way, leaving the teen to his work.

they talk. about what wilbur's gonna do when he gets back. which excuse he's going to use when someone asks about his disappearance.

they're so into their conversation and banter that it feels like no time has passed when tommy turns to them.

"done." is all he says, pressing a button placed next to him.

a portal flicks to life on his right, black with colorful lines sparking at the edges.

"it's only going to work once. at least for now." tommy tells them, his eyes fixed on wilbur. they share a smile before tommy steps back.

for the last time, wilbur looks at dream.

neither of them knows what to say, so in the end, they don't speak at all.

just like their first meeting, wilbur finds himself with his back against a wall, wrists pinned beside his head.

but it's dream's hands and lips and body keeping him in place this time.

the kiss is deep, desperate, filled with all the words they couldn't say and probably never will.

for a moment, it's enough.

then, dream lets go. lets wilbur go.

and when he steps through the portal, both of their lips still taste like each other.

it's all wilbur can think about when he lands right where it started. back in tommy's makeshift lab, his friend staring at him. back where he belongs.

but it feels like a part of his home is missing.

across the dimensions, dream is experiencing the exact same kind of pain.

[winged-eggers]

Happy belated birthday Kirby I snapped and mixed the specific version of Welcome to the New World! that I would use for an anime opening to my AU’s version of Forgotten Land which takes place roughly 10 years after the HnK/KRBAY anime

[more-than-a-princess]

" i do not wish to see a citrus colour, ever again. " a fact that he would argue to be an understatement, perhaps, as the conglomerate heir chooses to step outside the far too crowded hall, once blank features scowled into something less opportunistic. he hadn't imagined finding such a familiar face within the crowd, hadn't been so sure on how to react towards such a discovery, either, but now it remains the two of them does he take it a fine opportunity to voice his true opinion. the base of this years theme feels rather similar to the bowl of oranges he passes every morning in the academy's dining hall, yellows clashing with lemons that rest in glasses to the point he considers excusing himself for their brightness giving him a headache. still ... he supposes that is only his opinion, something that no doubt could be either shared or denied by the princess he finally classes a glance back to, scowl only tightening at the flash of orange he catches behind her. hopefully such a trend would no doubt end soon. / from byakuya! <3

Bridgerton Season 3 Part 1 starters - Accepting!

For all the merriment and levity centered within the elegant Tokyo hotel's grand ballroom, Sonia had needed a respite from the constant activity and cheer. Truly, she hadn't thought a retired Japanese politician's 90th birthday to be quite so lively, but she'd been proven wrong: what she'd come to learn, as briefed by her private secretary earlier that day, was that as a young man he'd spent his early years of adulthood, of wealth and privilege from family money well before he served in the Japanese Diet, traveling the world with a distinct interest in other cultures. And none had made quite such an impression as the South Pacific, the Caribbean, Hawaii. Places both tropical and with a good reputation for frivolity and relaxation, to the point that when his eldest son and a politician in his own right asked his father what sort of occasion he wanted to commemorate such an important birthday, the man had shot him a toothy grin and had apparently uttered a single word: tiki.

The result was a curious mishmash of upperclass sensibility and a luau. Real palm trees had been brought in alongside various artifacts from Polynesian Islands and every tiki bar in Japan (all four of them). The guests were instructed to wear colorful black tie and had been given leis or flowers to wear in their hair upon arrival. The live band switched between a string quartet, soft rock, and a ukulele soloist. But despite silver trays filled with crab rangoon, chicken satay skewers, and fruity cocktails topped with small paper umbrellas being offered by suited waitstaff, some things hadn't changed despite the cheerful decor. Namely how many people quickly made themselves known to the Princess of Novoselic upon her arrival: even her security detail seemed surprised by how many prominent Japanese families had swarmed one of the few, yet very prized, foreign party guests. From other politicians to prominent CEOs in an array of businesses, Sonia had given the nod twenty minutes ago that she was in dire need of a break. And a drink.

To her dismay, she'd been handed a virgin mai tai. One she sipped nevertheless in a quiet, yet elegant, hallway a short distance from the ballroom itself. She would have much rather preferred one with rum, or at least a glass of Veuve Clicquot off the trays going around. But it was to her surprise though that her solitude was to be interrupted, and by someone familiar at that.

The one person who would look most out of place at such an occasion: Byakuya Togami. It wasn't unheard of to appear at the same social events. Out of everyone at Hope's Peak Academy, it was his social circles that had the most overlap with her own. But it was unexpected to see him at this sort of party: with plenty of drunken, partying adults and no business deals to be made in sight. 

"Citrus colors?" She repeated, tilting her head and glancing at the very citrus drink in her hand before looking up again to meet his gaze. "I suppose you chose not to 'get lei'd' upon arrival, then: most of them seemed to be predominantly citrus colors." 

In her own attempt to be part of the fun, she'd accepted a white hibiscus flower with a deep pink center, tucked behind her right ear. It was the offering that clashed the least with her dress: an off-the-shoulder gown made of layers upon layers of seafoam green silk organza and lined in duchesse satin, to support the weight of the petticoats. Green tourmaline and akoya pearl jewelry adorned her ears, neck, and wrist: gifts from the man celebrating his birthday to her grandmother, when she'd been queen. She looked like she'd stepped out of a tropical ocean shore. Citrus colors, her mother had insisted, clashed with the platinum shade of her hair and her blue eyes, and she would not be wearing them.

She set her half-finished drink to the side: without food, it tasted too sweet on its own. "Are you taking a respite from the party as well?" She asked, giving him a small smile. Truthfully, he looked nearly ready to tear someone's head off from the way he scowled, and she was already treading in dangerous waters by attempting to start up a conversation with him. Good thing then, that Byakuya Togami didn't intimidate her in the least. "I found it a little enthusiastic upon my arrival and I needed a moment to breathe." And not commit herself to dancing to every single song that night with every man who asked: from boastful college boys to men twice her age or more, if they were single and came from a prominent family, they were quick to chat her up and ask for her undivided attention for a dance. Sonia supposed it was one of the few things money couldn't buy for them: connections to royalty, if not a title of their own in the future.

As much as she liked to dismiss romance novels featuring princesses and balls, there was some truth to them: the marriage market was still thriving in the upper classes, despite it being the twenty-first century.

Still, she didn't necessarily dislike the theme. It made the party far more interesting than the usual elegant fare she was invited to and expected to attend. Togami, from the way his scowl tightened, didn't agree with her, but at least he was looking over her shoulder.

"What in the-" She asked, turning her head in the direction of his disdain. The youngest granddaughter of the guest of honor, a fourth year student at Bunka Fashion College, was making her way towards them both in an orange beaded and sequined ballgown that, with her coordinating high, tight ponytail, rather made her resemble a sparkly pumpkin. Clearly one of her own designs. "Oh. I understand."

Sonia swiftly turned back to face him. She didn't owe him any sort of favor and he'd certainly never thank her, but as someone so often caught in a similar situation, she felt it wrong to let it slide. "If you do not wish to dance with her," She whispered, barely audible as the girl came closer and closer, an eager expression on her face where Byakuya was concerned. "You must ask someone else instead. It would be ungentlemanly to refuse her otherwise."

[llycaons]

there truly was no winning with myu. either she died in the most traumatic way possible and blamed wwx for it in a way he'd remember for the rest of his life, or she lived and kept on being abusive to everyone around her

[northstarscowboyhat]

BESTIE THIS IS PEAK

💫 I love you in every universe

Close ups and all the Cerobas in the picture:

Ceroba Ketsukane

Pacifist Fight Ceroba

Flowey Boss fight Ceroba

Lucky Clover Ceroba by @northstarscowboyhat

Biblically Accurate Roba by yours truly

Childhood Comfort Ceroba by yours truly

Teen Ceroba

Underfell Ceroba by @pantamonte

South Sun Ceroba by @specklx

Farmer Ceroba by @maidenofscorchinglight

Kitsune Miku Ceroba by yours truly

Hot Spring Ceroba by @deathbirby

Golden Years Ceroba by @//StephsArtLab on Twitter

Ceroba the Cashier by @blue-utydt

Bride Ceroba by @snowwgravve

Cool Ceroba by u/dragon640 on Reddit

[solsanguinem]

tag drop.

[magnifiico]

“What's the point, if not victory?”

@experthiese || meme

The words bring Magnifico to cock his head over his shoulder, blink slowly—processing, really, what that in fact means coming from a man like . . . him. “With all due respect, my dear Lupin”—oh, and how he chooses that phrase very deliberately, leaving it entirely up to interpretation how much of that is actually due—“I can't in confidence agree that your version of 'victory' quite lines up with mine . . . or many others', frankly.”

He turns around fully to face the other, appraises him with a slow onceover while he deliberates his next words. “Surely you know not all of us have the luxury of selfishness.” His tone sharpens ever so slightly, though whether it's directed at the thief or himself . . . even Magnifico doesn't spare the time to find out. “There are bigger things than the next great heist to satisfy your juvenile need for a thrill.”

[hstoryhuh-a]

❛❛   tell   me   to   leave.   ❜❜      

alex   doesn't   know   what   willed   him   to   say   it   but   there's   no   taking   it   back.   he's   flown   across   the   atlantic,   stormed   henry's   precious   palace,   and   bared   his   heart   and   soul   to   the   man   that   he   loves   -   he   has   nothing   left   to   lose   at   this   point   after   being   ghosted   and   left   in   the   middle   of   the   night.   the   lake   house   was   meant   to   be   a   new   start   for   them,   at   least   that   had   been   alex's   plan   ...   thought   he   didn't   really   have   one   at   that   time?   he'd   wanted   to   tell   henry   he   loved   him   and   the   next   thing   he   knows,   henry   is   jumping   in   the   lake.   the   next   morning   he   was   gone.

there   was   no   running   now.   he   was   standing   in   front   of   henry,   likely   doing   his   best   impression   of   a   drowned   rat   if   the   water   dripping   from   the   ends   of   his   curls   is   anything   to   go   by.         ❛❛   tell   me   to   leave.   ❜❜         he   says   again.         ❛❛   you   don't   want   this   -   don't   want   me?   you   have   to   say   it.   ❜❜            

@princedickhead wanted an au and this happened.

[akirakirxaa]

A Talk

Persephone is uncertain about the future, and finds a friend in an unlikely place. Timeline: Post-Stormblood Rating: G Wordcount: 714 Words Verse: Written in the Stars (Unsundered Azem AU)

My dearest Hades, I don’t know what to make of this ‘ambassador’ from Garlemald. He claims that their Emperor is interested in peace, but having met the man before, I feel skeptical. Gosetsu has returned to us, though with a former enemy in tow. I’ve written about her before, Yotsuyu, but she has no memory of any of the things she did — or that were done to her, for that matter. I’m torn, Hades. Should she be made to suffer when she can’t remember why? Slain for crimes she doesn’t know she committed? Should she be allowed to live when she is the reason so many of these Domans’ loved ones no longer do? While it’s not my decision to make, you know me. I never could stay out of these kinds of affairs. I—

“You seem sad.”

Persephone jolted on the cushion she’d spirited away to a quiet corner, barely managing to avoid blotting the page with the pen she held. She looked up and saw the pale skin and raven hair of the very woman she’d been writing about; far from the icy glare she remembered from Doma castle, Tsuyu’s eyes were wide and childlike, as if she’d never suffered the horrors Persephone had seen for herself in the woman’s past.

“What was that?” Persephone cleared her throat, attempting to look a little more dignified, brushing her auburn hair back out of her face and almost marking her face with the pen in the process.

“You seem sad when you write in that book,” Tsuyu clarified. “What is it?” Persephone looked down at her book, sunset eyes softening in fondness.

“Ah. It’s meant to be a journal, but I’ve been using it to write letters to someone I care deeply for.” Persephone slipped the cushion out from under her, setting it next to her and patting it in invitation. Tsuyu sat, curious eyes looking at the leather bound tome that Persephone tried to close casually, unwilling to share these private thoughts with anyone. Well. With any but one.

“Are they family?” she asked. Persephone ran her hand along the cover.

“Sort of,” she said with a chuckle. “He’s my husband.” Tsuyu’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t know you were married!”

“Yes, well. He’s missing, and, until I find him, it can be…difficult to talk about.”

“What happened?” The question brought back unwelcome flashes of Amaurot burning and buildings crumbling and so many people calling out for help, more than she could ever reach by herself… But she knew Tsuyu didn’t mean it maliciously, so she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Something terrible happened to my homeland,” Persephone began. “We lost many people and we didn’t agree on how to make things right. And in the chaos, we were separated. I haven’t seen him since. I don’t even know where to look.” She started as Tsuyu grabbed her hands suddenly, clutching tightly as she met Persephone’s melancholy gaze.

“You’ll find him!” she insisted, with a brightness that made Persephone realize the darkness she’d been slipping towards. “You’re brave and strong; if anyone can do it, it’s you! Gosetsu’s told me stories…” Persephone smiled as the woman, looking years younger than in that crumbling castle, went on about what she heard about the ‘Warrior of Light’s exploits, some true and some clearly embellished by her samurai friend.

Before long, Persephone had tucked her journal away and Tsuyu had fetched a plate with really far too many dango to be good for them. Persephone told slightly modified tales of her exploits as Azem, and Tsuyu drank in every word, excitedly reacting with joy or fear or concern as the stories called for.

“Persephone, your life is so exciting!” she exclaimed after a mouthful of the sweet treats.

“Seph.”

“Huh?”

“You can call me Seph,” Persephone reached for another skewer. “It’s what my friends call me.”

“Are we…friends?” Tsuyu seemed to shrink a little, as if the sudden invitation had somewhat frightened her back into her shell.

“If you want to be,” Persephone gave her a smile around her mouthful of food, caring little for how silly she would look, and Tsuyu relaxed again.

Not my decision to make, no, but I never was good at minding my own business. Wouldn’t you agree, Hades?

[tojisun]

the hand that feeds you

— “i take care of her, s’all.”

johnny mactavish x f!reader

cw: 18+ work - minors dni; age difference; daddy issues (kinda the central plot); cooking as a love language; slow burn but in high speed; a breath of angst; power imbalance; canon divergence - regular/non-military life au // amazing divider by @gildui! // 6.5k words

extra notes: this is a very self-indulgent work. there are holes in the plot, 100%, so ignore those holes pretty pls </3 also ik this is more of a captain johnny-verse but midway through, i started projecting so i might’ve written him incorrectly and im really sorry for that!!

being roommates with johnny is not as weird as it is; he’s amicable, at first, then full blown nice when days passed. he’s not loud, per se, but there’s always a constant chatter streaming from his space, like he physically can’t sit still through the silence which is great because you don’t fare any better with the stillness too, so reminiscent of how it was in the suburbs.

you moved to a neighbourhood just skirting past the inner city just because it’s a lot cheaper. but even then, rent was always high and your little box in a rundown complex wasn’t going to sustain you forever even if you wished it would. then, an opening in johnny’s townhouse was posted, almost half-price than whatever is up in the market, and it’s great despite your skepticism. hell, it’s more than great — it’s lifesaving.

your shitty job at the bookstore really can’t cover much of your expenses anymore, and sure student loans and the grant is great, but the growing debt makes you wince so it’s whatever at this point. you’re about to graduate soon anyway, pooling work experience from volunteering and club organizations, and it’s not like you can even go back to how it was.

(underway to law school, primed up before your father’s scrutiny but the burnout got to you before you could even write the LNAT. you realized that being a barrister wasn’t really what you wanted so you changed programs, midway, and switched to children’s education.

god, the disappointment in your pa’s eyes was so big, you knew to pack your shit before he could even kick you out.)

it’s… tough.

god, is it tough. none of your old friends and colleagues could stay in contact, which you don’t hold against them because most of them, by now, have graduated and entered law school. you’re straggling about two years back because of the switch in programs, and everything’s gone too tight. your budget. your social life.

your dating life.

johnny often distracts you from it all — he works in downtown, in one of those high-rise buildings often reserved for limiteds or holding companies, and has to travel off the city every three months. he makes good money, he said jovially, and you know it’s a nudge as to why your portion of the rent is cheap in the first place.

when you finally bit the bullet and asked why he put up one of the rooms in the market, johnny just shrugged and said he needed someone to house sit but sort off permanently. said something like last time he left, the pipes bursted and he couldn’t really fly back to help with the repairs.

it’s great being with him. he’s bright and bubbly, but also dependable in ways you never really thought about. like—

well, it’s all mundane things so listing them feels embarrassing, and it makes you feel as though you’re a touch-starved damsel and johnny just so happened to be the next older man to give you any attention and his time. but you can’t help it. god, you can’t help preen at the way he exists beside you.

he’s just so… beautiful, is what it is.

rugged and charming and loud and filling. the townhouse is too big for the two of you, but johnny makes it work. makes it feel like the two of you just fit into each other’s spaces.

early mornings are spent with him lilting between english and scottish, his exhaustion plastered onto him even after he’s downed two cups of coffee. he bumps his hip onto yours when he ambles out to prepare for his work, grumbling something like good morning and how’re you. afternoons are more lively and productive; it’s of you coming back from campus at six in the evening only to find him in the kitchen, fixing up dinner. it’s always something fancy and rich in flavour; something he always eats with wine on the side.

you, uh, you never thought he could actually cook, let alone feed himself well, but there he was, always a plate ready for you too like it’s expected that you’ll eat dinner with him. like spending time with him was just natural — the sky is blue, the ocean’s deep, and you and johnny fall into each other like there is an invisible string pulling you close to him.

it’s a beautiful change of pace, and there are more days now when you can breathe in a little easier, and you know it’s all because of johnny. it’s all him who pulled you out of your slump and out of that darkness and gave you the room, literally, to grow.

he’s beautiful, but you’ve said that already, haven’t you? he’s just… so good to be with.

then, johnny began picking up and bringing some home.

.

the first time it happened was shocking, really.

you had an early morning, something that’s so murky now in your memories so you’re unsure if it was anything uni related or work related, just that it was five in the morning and you were clambering downstairs as quietly as you could. you rounded the length of the hallway from the platform to the kitchen when you ran into someone.

“steady,” she’d said, voice hoarse and loud in her shock too.

you yelled, jumping, arms swinging because was there an intruder, and it took johnny physically subduing you for you to calm down. looking back now, you burn in embarrassment, but then you had been so worried, your body wound up so tightly in your fear.

“shh,” johnny had murmured with that wry grin. “s’just me, lass.”

your eyes danced between him and the brunette — pretty even in her rumpled shirt, with long legs and a small waist — trying to understand what was going on. you are sure johnny had told you before that he wasn’t seeing anyone so who—

“your girlfriend?” she asked johnny, turning to him with her lips pursed and her brow cocked up.

the question settled in your stomach, doing wonders to your already-fragile psyche. you’d just spent hours thinking about johnny and what he meant to you; what living with him meant. how it eased up something carved within the trenches of your being, like you’d always been waiting for someone like him.

the question was a reminder, like prickling you with icicles, leaving you to navigate the swoop. but johnny had laughed, nothing mean but so dismissive that you felt the curl of shame brandishing from the base of your spine like johnny was laughing at you.

“oh, nah,” he replied, arm still slung over your shoulders. “she’s sorta my ward, yes? i take care of her, s’all.”

that’s all. you’re nothing more to him but a ward. a tenant. not even a friend—

she hummed, then leaned over to kiss johnny, her eyes still drawn to you like she’s watching, waiting for a reaction, and when she got none, she trudged to the door. you and johnny watched as she bent down to slip in her shoes, some stilettos with red bottoms, before wordlessly disappearing into the darkened morning.

“pretty,” you chirped, trying to break the tension of whatever that was.

johnny laughed in that way that surely crinkled his eyes, only to steer the conversation away by asking why you were up early. you remembered what you had to do and you dived to the kitchen in a flurry, chatting about the deadlines and due dates — so it was a school thing — and johnny just watched, silent, humming, eyes still curved in his glee.

you left no sooner than his… paramour did and, for a while, that was that.

but your semester is coming to a close and your schedule is changing, but so is johnny’s. he’s coming home later and later, but always seemed to offer apologies in the form of easy-to-microwave meals for your dinner. they’re still homemade, probably cooked up in the morning before he left for work, and you’d messaged him to say that he didn’t need to worry about you. that, sure, you came to him amidst financial struggle, juggling work and school, and trying to decide if you would have to starve this month because of rent, but you can cook. for yourself and for him too.

johnny’s face did a terrible thing when you mentioned that in person, the first in a while after things got hectic.

“what,” you bit out, embarrassed.

“nothing,” he said, blinking like he was realizing things he shouldn’t. “s’fun doing things f’r you.”

then he clamped up, spooning soup into his mouth, some of it messily dribbling into his chin. it’s not like you were doing any better, with how your throat closed up at his words, eyes going wide.

it’s been a thing, is what it is, but neither of you two have ever acknowledged that it’s a thing. it’s been a wordless experience — of johnny taking over things when it comes to the house because of course he will, it’s his home, but he always covers things for you too. things you’re sure normal landlords don’t really worry about, but not johnny.

there’s always extra food in the kitchen, extra blankets when the weather dips. there’s even a new cooling machine for the summer even though you know johnny’s room already has an installed air conditioning. he’s even changed the seats in the dining room because he caught you once hitting your hip after an all-nighter on a project.

then, he refurbished the den to make it your office.

“you didn’t have to,” you told him, mind racing at your savings, wondering if he was going to increase your rent.

johnny just shook his head with an almost fond roll of his eyes and clapped your back, arm hovering there. “s’all yers, hen.”

everything he did always accounted for you. so why the women?

they’re all long limbed and trimmed waist, with eyes that sparkled even when all you’ve seen of them is always within the poorly-lit hallway. they have voices that curl teasingly, breathy like they’re enticing johnny for one more night. and they’ve always, always, treated you like a—

like a kid.

a burden, almost, of johnny’s.

and, hell, maybe you are. johnny’s almost twice your age; he’s also already well-established in his career, some senior position that you can’t really follow but one he talks about with fondness. he’s got land rover-money, the car in his garage big and black and almost military grade, and it looks so expensive especially beside the crappy civic you were able to snag for a cheap price because it’s got about three-hundred-thousand mileage already.

you’ve got nothing to give him, other than the lousy rent payment that he doesn’t even really need but is just asking for courtesy because it’d be so weird for him to offer a room, or two now given you have the den too, for free. you’ve got nothing on your name, and if it isn’t pity that makes johnny care for you, then you don’t know what.

maybe his string of one-night stands are right — you are just a kid.

that maybe you really are still too wet behind the ears for the real world that you go running to the next person that could protect you from it, stumbling into his life and licking up every drop of his attention, mistaking his kindness for devotion. his care for love.

.

you should have known, then, that the thoughts would ripple, leaving you to feel like the days are unnavigable. obsession quickly took root, growing fangs, and it ensnared you; a vice noose at what had been a pleasant coexistence.

hell, you can barely stand being with johnny because of the jealousy. it’s a shameful thing, but a part of you thinks you deserve johnny more than the others do.

you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s nightmares and the horrors that spill from his lips when it’s twelve in the morning and the two of you have hit the bourbon. you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s aversion to the windows in the living room; that the reason why the curtains are a deep green is not to match the new plants he’s allowed you to fill up his home but because they shroud the panels more than the cream ones had. you tell yourself that nobody knows that johnny can sing; that he can cook a mean tomahawk; that he likes reading; that his wrists were hurting so he’s currently scheduled for a surgery; that he’s soft to you.

the women don’t know this johnny, you tell yourself, nails clawing at the hems of your chest. they don’t know him the way i do.

it’s a pathetic whisper. it’s so laughable. so juvenile.

they’re right. they’re right.

(you’re just a—)

“i don’t see you anymore,” johnny murmured one morning, when things have gone quiet again, a cup of coffee sitting on the counter while he watches you throw orange peels into the garburator.

he just got back from a work trip in aberdeen, his exhaustion loud on his face. his hair is overgrown, the bottom ends of his mohawk curling along his nape. he was there for over three weeks, skirting almost close to a month — the longest he’s ever been away — and you had tried so hard not to message. not to drop casual check-ins because you’re sure no tenant ever does that to their landlord, but johnny had remained just as friendly; asking things like if you wanted another potted plant, a monstera or a dragon tree, or if you still had that swiss chocolate he brought home as a gift, or—

the list of his questions grew, but you’ve given him clipped replies, not knowing how to act right anymore since your quiet realization. even the “thing” that you thought you shared with him had fizzled at the drop of the women coming-and-leaving, and you are left to pick up the pieces.

it’s not like you’re broken or ruined or angry. god, no you aren’t.

but you feel unsteady, like now that you know that you liked him more than he liked you, you forgot how to breathe. how to live without that looming burden because your affection is nothing but a burden.

what will johnny do if he finds out? you can’t afford a new place to move into, not when you’re so close to graduating, the finish line just about to graze your very fingertips with how near it is. money is still tight, and johnny has already spoiled you rotten. has shown you how it is to live a comfortable life. and if he learns of your feelings, you would lose this. more than anything, you would lose him.

so you detached yourself from the noose, curling into yourself and using his work trip as a way to move on.

jesus — move on, huh? like there was a ‘you and johnny’ to even move on from. like there was anything there to read. like there was anything there to pull away from; twitching fingers drawing back into the spaces of your ribs, tucking yourself away from his warmth.

“i’ve been so busy, john,” you muttered, just as tired.

“yeah?” he said, still light. still jovial. “let me cook something nice for ye, huh? reward yer hard work and all.”

“i can’t.” you swallowed down the prickle lodged in your throat, eyes ducking away to avoid seeing his. “i’ve got a meeting with the club.”

(you missed the way johnny’s smile dipped.)

“oh,” he said.

you shrugged, internally wincing at your weak attempt at being normal, before gathering your thermos and your messily-wrapped sandwich. johnny was still standing by the counters when you turned around from the sink, his bulk so close to yours in ages. it had been so long since you could just reach over and feel his warmth; feel the soft pudge of what once were hardened muscles.

he’s looking at you with such sad eyes that it’s jarring to truly see because he’s looking at you like—

like he’s losing you.

“i’m gonna…” you trailed off, not really knowing how to end this truly awkward interaction.

“yeah, f’course,” he croaked out. “take care of yerself huh, lass?”

“thanks.” the smile on your face felt more like a grimace. “see you.”

he said nothing more after that, his eyes still searching; still furrowed like something’s changed and something’s happening, and it made your stomach drop because please. please don’t let him notice.

but johnny just watched as you went, his coffee all forgotten.

(something bloomed in the soft press of your heart, flickering like a young ember. you’ve never realized how longing could feel like your mouth is stuffed with cotton.)

.

johnny hasn't picked up since his return from aberdeen.

they’re getting a new firm so the shuffling has been brutal, leaving johnny to clamber out at five in the morning before coming back home when it’s pushing 11pm. the scruff on his face is becoming more unkempt, salt and pepper becoming more intense, but even then, he’s never looked more ruggedly beautiful as he is now.

it’s like he’s aged years and you shouldn’t be reacting so strongly to the change, but looking at johnny now makes you ache in a different way — core throbbing, throat parched and eyes stinging as you watch him. you’re so drawn to his gravitational pull, unable to detangle yourself now that it feels like he’s more back in your life than he ever was.

and you know it’ll end up hurting you. that you’ll go back to isolating yourself at the drop of a new girl in the house, the smell of her chanel or bvlgari perfume filling up the crevices that you’ve dutifully dusted every saturday morning while johnny’s out for a run. he’s made having casual lovers a cycle, one that you cannot blame him for because johnny doesn’t like you back.

but johnny’s been so attentive to you these days. he’s been a hovering presence even when he looks like he’s one blown wind away from passing out in his exhaustion, his warm hand always on the small of your back as he walks you to the door before chirping a hearty, “kick ass, bon!”

he’s back to fixing up food for you, like that blip in your schedule got him all creative because now, it’s not even just dinner. you’ve got breakfast waiting for you in the microwave, and packed lunch already in your bag, carefully tucked beside the manila folders and plastic envelopes for your capstone. it’s like he’s making up for something which is dumb and wrong because now, you’re all swooping stomach and prickling lungs.

“yummy?” johnny asked, catching you wriggling in excitement at the flavour bursting into your tongue.

your cheeks tingled, feverish, before giving him a shy nod.

he huffed, something so achingly fond, and rested his chin atop his crossed arms. you didn’t know what to focus on — the scruff on his face or the hard lines of webbing veins spilling from beneath his folded sleeves. then, he crooned, “good. that’s good.”

you ran upstairs to your room, throwing an excuse about finishing up your paper, before locking the door, and feeding your cunt two fingers to satiate the burn. the stretch was delicious, raw and sweet, and you humped your wrist, trying to douse the flames burning you up.

you thought of johnny, of the way he looked and how much nicer he’s been; of johnny and the way he was so kind to you, so caring like you’re up in his priority list again, overtaking his busy schedule and the firm restructuring, and his needs.

your orgasm felt like a ripping of reality, your mind splintering at the edges as you’re stretched thin. it felt like you’ve been pulled taut, then released with a resounding snap. it felt euphoric, like the explosion of something intoxicating. something wickedly addicting.

you knew that this could never be unmade. your affections had grown their tendrils, curling past the quiet admiration and spiralling into something unforgiving. into something greater than yourself.

“fuck,” you had rasped out, eyes prickling with tears as shame rushed into your chest. “fuck.”

you didn’t need this. you didn’t need any of this.

but it becomes a cycle — wash, rinse, repeat.

johnny continues to go unshaven; continues to pour his attention to you. and you soak it up, needy and soft, unable to turn away with your tail tucked between your legs. you fall back to the ease of how it had been, hip bumping his, morning coffee shared in the silence, dinner a filling affair once more. all that’s changed are the lingering looks, the resonating touches.

how johnny’s wide hand falls to the small of your back more often; how his fingers just slots against yours every time he passes you your cup; how his eyes rove over your face, always searching for something you dare not hope for.

the last time he flicked his eyes down to watch the way your tongue lapped at your lips, swiping away at the extra cream, johnny’s pupils had constricted before a quiet groan rumbled from his throat. your thighs had quickly clenched close as heat exploded in the pit of your belly, spreading like wildfire through your veins. the pressure on your nub made you hiccup, like a whine dragging itself from your trachea, and johnny had snapped his eyes back to yours so quickly, it made you heady.

“bon–”

“i have to go,” you murmured, clamouring to shaky legs.

you fucked yourself to a deafening point once more, ears ringing as you squirted, the gush of your slick pushing past your fingers. you had to gnash your pillow cover to muffle the moan rumbling from the base of your throat, trying desperately to be good. to not be heard. to be better.

but johnny’s burning gaze on your lips was seared into your memory, blazing on top of everything, and you imagined—

god, you imagined.

the way he’ll take you — beard rough on your chin, thicker fingers spreading you wider, reaching deeper, before finally filling you up with all of him, bullying the whole length of his cock until he bottoms out.

you pressed on your stomach, dizzy, thinking about how johnny would hit that far. you know he would. the women he’s slept with have told you, anyway, in passing, describing how he was in bed with dreamy sighs like they weren’t still reeking of sex and johnny’s aftershave.

(you still wonder why so many of them were mean, their noses tipped up every time they saw you. they were the ones that johnny chose, the ones who were fortunate enough to have been his lover, so you wonder why they still sought you out like you were competition.)

“johnnyyyy!” you moaned, loud and long, your fingers prodding at your walls, and you knew that you’d regret the wrangled cry later, but you didn’t care then, too busy swimming in the aftermath of your orgasm.

.

but johnny heard it anyway.

he told you that he had heard you. 

it happened so quickly — one moment you were bent over the espresso machine, fiddling with the levers with bleary-eyed attempts, then the next thing you knew was that johnny was crowding you, trapping you between the warm bulk of his body and the counter, his eyes furrowed so deeply which made the lines on his forehead run much deeper.

“whu’?” you asked, blinking tiredly at him.

johnny just did this shaky breath that rattled his whole body, like he was propped up by a couple of sticks instead of his whole mass. the mood shifted with that weak inhale though, and you turned to fully face him, ignoring the beeping machine because johnny was still looking at you with those eyes.

the ones that made you feel seen, read, and laid bare before him. like he could weave his eyes past the fabrics of your shirt to peek into the very jagged shards of your heart and see the cross that you’ve been carrying. like he knew things about you that he shouldn’t.

“johnny?” you prodded again, finding his silence alarming.

“yer too young for me, m’eudail,” johnny finally rumbled out, voice thick and deep.

and it’s—

what.

your mind was pressing into your skull, trying desperately to link your synapses together; for the fog to clear and for your coherence to rise above the pull of drowsiness, but johnny was faster. like now that he’s said the first words, the rest just follow, unstoppable in their force and in their meaning.

“i told myself i couldn’t,” he murmured, still breathing shakily; gaze still too fragile. “that yer lookin’ for nothin’ like me, and that yer just tryin’ to get out there with yer career.”

he lifted a hand, fingers twitching, before balling it back down to a fist.

“told myself i’ve gotta let go. found a way to cope and shit.”

johnny took another ragged breath in, and it startled you into gulping one of your own — you didn’t even realize that you’ve held your breath as he spoke to you, your chest clenching tightly as your mind began to link the passageways together, filling you in on what he wasn’t really saying.

“but carin’ f’you was so easy. christ, it was even delightful, hen.” he chuckled, something that was somewhat raw and pained.

you licked at your lips, blinking wide eyes open. johnny tracked the movement, his nose flaring like you’ve done something more than a subconscious thing, his shoulders going taut.

“i like doing all sorta things for you. liked seeing y’eat what i cooked; liked seeing y’use what i got f’you. liked watching y’come home to me. to me.”

a soft sound echoed between the two of you, and it took you an embarrassingly long time to realize that it was a breathless whimper that petered out from the base of your throat. you didn’t even realize that you’ve curled into yourself, almost like you’re trying your best to shrink before johnny, and johnny crooned.

callused palm cupped the round of your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your eye. “told myself yer too young; that surely yer looking for someone closer to yer age, but bon, i heard y’last night.”

you startled in his hold, a quiet gasp piercing through the heat. johnny’s lips danced with mirth.

“s’right. heard a loud thump against the wall and ran upstairs, all worried, but guess my surprise, yes? y’were moanin’ my name so loudly, it’s like y’left yer door open.”

“johnny, i–”

“tell me,” he said, moving closer, his chest pressing against yours. “tell me t’stop, bon, an’ i will. but y’ve got to tell me. y’ve got to push me away.”

you looked at him, your eyes trembling at what he was laying out thickly, and your throat going parched at the blanketing desire rippling from him. there were so many things you wanted to ask, but his breath was tickling the bridge of your nose, dancing so close to the bow of your lips, and your heart ached.

desire coursed through you in waves, dribbling from the cup, and you lurched forward, chasing after his lips.

johnny melted into you. his hesitant touch turned greedier, more possessive, mapping your body and pulling you closer into him. his mouth devoured your own, gulping down the pleased little sighs and keens spilling from your lips. he kissed like a man starved, but you weren’t any softer; all nippy and desperate, fingers digging into his hair and fisting at the thin strands.

it was feverish, almost to a boiling point, and you needed more.

god, you needed more.

“johnny,” you mewled when he pulled away just enough to slide his damp lips along the cut of your jaw. “johnny, need you.”

“christ,” johnny sounded so wrecked, his voice rumbling deeply from where his lips were suckling on the soft curve of your neck. “i’ve been dreaming of this, mo luaidh. i knew i shouldn’t but yer so sweet to me and i– i wanted.” he said that word like it was dirty; like he’d been fighting tooth-and-nail to suppress it.

it made you tremble to hear how johnny desired you just as much. he had always felt unobtainable; always danced too far from your grasp and was always bigger than what you knew you could handle — his lovers had always looked divinely; pretty, yes, but fierce in their own right like they knew how to live without johnny; and you know they could, because they didn’t need johnny the way you do. they didn’t look at johnny like you do, like he hung the stars with those thick and aged hands of his.

but as you stood there, feeling every word punctured onto your skin, you couldn’t help but begin to cry, the tears springing from your eyes to slip down your cheeks. johnny rubbed your back, soothing and gentle. 

“i wanted t’take you – make y’all mine,” he whispered. 

you hiccuped, shaky from the weight of your hunger, and nuzzled close. your hands fell from fisting his hair so you could claw at the sharp corners of his shoulder blades, feeling the muscles there rippling, all taut when he bent forward and kissed you.

“please,” you began, feeling your mind thinning because you wanted more. more. more. more. “i can be– johnny, s’always been you. nobody else but you.”

you tugged him away, cupping his jaw and forcing him to look at you. and god, johnny looked so devastatingly beautiful, his eyes all furrowed and his cheeks all flushed, and his lips spit-sheened.

“fuck me,” you whispered, tired of dancing around.

he groaned, something that sounded so pained, before he was tugging you with him, up the stairs and skirting past your room and into his. 

you’ve never been in johnny’s room before, just as he had never been in yours since you moved in, and until now you still don’t know what you had been expecting upon walking in, but the smell of johnny wafting through was almost gut-punching. he smelled so close, like he was everywhere — surrounding you from the ground-up, dousing every pore with him until even your mouth felt full.

and johnny, he smelt like home. 

there were no more words uttered as he stripped you off your pyjamas, sure fingers making their way down the buttons, unlatching them from the hemmed slits. you watched with heavy eyes, blinking slowly like everything had been wrung out of you, leaving you pliant and soft. johnny hummed, appreciative, and mapped kisses from your heaving chest, teeth nipping at the fat, before moving on, sprinkling every expanse of your skin with such reverence. 

your hands were balled to your chest when he reached the jut of your belly, his chin hovering just above your crotch. johnny flicked up his darkened eyes at you, asking silently.

you gave him a nod, not trusting your own voice too.

johnny’s eyes had turned into slits, pleased, and hefted himself up just enough to be able to fit his hands on your hips and tugged your pants down. you shivered, the warmth in his room not enough to suppress the winter chill, and it made you buck into him. johnny comforted you with a quiet shh, rubbing his palm on the pudge of your thigh in soothing circles.

you don’t know why that touch was what did it for you, but soft sobs finally spilled from your mouth, scrunching up the desire into something undeniably frail. johnny didn’t startle though, like he knew that you had been wounding up to this tipping point, and instead continued to touch you tenderly, almost like if he could, he would cradle you close. 

“i love you,” you said, sniffling, because that was the crux of your vulnerability, right?

you love him. god, you love him. 

you’ve loved him since the day he sat you down for dinner and told you that you’ve got nothing to worry about, not anymore and not with him around. you’ve loved him since the day he flipped the den so you can have your own space for work; don’t mind the fact that he didn’t know if you were going to even stay, just that he insisted that you deserved that room either way. you’ve loved him since that swiss chocolate, since that cup of coffee, since he’s begun filling your painfully lonely days with his care. 

you’ve loved him since and now—

“oh, mo graidh,” johnny breathed out. “i love you too.” he kissed your thigh, scruff ticklish. “gu siorraidh is gu brath.”

you wanted to ask what that meant but johnny was already moving, sitting back up to strip out of his own shirt. you trailed your eyes down his body, capturing your trembling lips between your teeth at how breathtaking he was — soft with fat but still heavy with muscles, fuzzy with hair with the smattering pooling just underneath his belly button before trailing down to where they were hidden underneath his pants. 

you twitched before finally braving enough to reach out and brush your knuckle over the indents of his softened abs. johnny hummed, something that curled with appreciation, before covering your hand with his and holding it there. 

“all of me s’yers, hen,” he said with such finality that you felt it settle deep within the marrows of your bones. 

you nodded, emotionally spent and johnny lilted something else in scottish, so soft that it was almost a croon. you let him manhandle you — pushing your hips up so he could slot a pillow under for your back; you were so malleable to his touch as he took over, bending once again for a kiss while his fingers danced past the laces of your panties and into the damp heat of your pussy. 

you moaned, eyelashes fluttering when he pressed one in, so careful and slow, but you were so wet that it slid in with no resistance, gobbling it up knuckle-deep. johnny had groaned like he could feel your rising euphoria, before nosing along your temple as he wiggled the finger around, stroking at your walls. you wondered if he was going to tease but then he was pulling it out, only to plunge two in the next thrust, curling and stretching, and oh—

oh, ssss’good.

you don’t even remember how long he’d been spearing you with his thicker fingers, rough and long and reaching far, far deeper than you could with your own, but you laid there, sobbing, feeling your slick slip out, pooling, making a mess of your thighs and his sheets. johnny had moved from suckling on your neck to taking a nipple in his mouth, teeth softly gnashing at the bud. you felt like you were on fire, burning from your core, aching for a release. 

“cum f’me, m’eudail,” johnny groaned, breathless himself, his cock poking underneath his boxers, the fabric all wet from where his tip was, leaking pearled pre-. “let me see you.”

“johnny, i’m gonna– i’m–!” you squealed, legs jumping, squeezing johnny’s sides as you jolted, hips twitching at the bloating ecstasy. johnny just pushed down on your thigh, not letting up with the pace of his fingers. he was fucking you so hard that his hand’s slapping against your skin, his palm grinding down on your clit just right, and the pleasure sizzled into something biting. into something that was almost painful.

it was catastrophic, pulling you into two directions. johnny’s everywhere — his scent in your lungs, his fingers deep in your pussy, his mouth hot and wet on your tits, and like this, like this, you felt yourself breaking. 

ripping—

then, your orgasm was punched out of you. 

your senses had gone awry — throat throbbing as you cried out, your eyes going blind as they rolled into your skull at the final curl of johnny’s fingers. white noise filled your ears, and it was like you were submerged underneath water, wading through the crashing tides of your climax.

you came back to johnny peppering your face with soft kisses, whispering something you couldn’t decipher past the croon of your name and something like you did good and so beautiful. he’d already pulled his fingers out, and used both arms to cradle you close. you felt so empty — god, that wasn’t even his cock, yet — but your body thrummed pleasantly, almost like the itch was finally scratched. 

“johnny?” you puffed out, voice all scratchy and weak. 

“i’m here, bon. i’m here.”

you hummed, curling into his chest, head pillowed by his arm. you wanted to ask what about his own euphoria, but johnny seemed so content just laying there with you, not really desperate or needy, so you let it go, losing the battle against your drowsiness before finally slipping into a quiet sleep. 

.

johnny’s there for your graduation, carrying a big bouquet of only eden roses. you didn’t even know that those particular ones were expensive until someone from the graduation party oohed and aahed to their friend. 

your cheeks burned when their friend chirped, “well someone’s clearly loved.”

you know that what they said would have had johnny agreeing loudly if he was allowed in the lineup because he is never one to be shy about what he feels; or not anymore, anyway. he loves so fully and openly that you still wonder why it took the two of you so long to get together, but the days since then had just been kind and filling that you have long forgotten how it was to not be with him. 

they’re going to call your name soon, and your stomach swoops, excitement and anxiety mixing in a dizzying tandem. 

you’re graduating with a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a diploma in early childhood education, and this is not where you thought you would be when you first started university, but it’s the happiest you have ever been. and sure much of your poli-sci courses were scrapped when you changed majors, and that’s also a lot of money wasted, but you have three job opportunities lined up already and it’s like the seismic shift in your life had finally corrected itself. 

(your mom said she’s sorry that she and your pa couldn’t come, but you’ve stopped longing for their acceptance and told her it was fine.

there’s a date saved in your calendar, though, for a brunch with her and that was enough.)

you ducked into johnny’s arms when the graduation ceremony ended, careful of the bouquet he’s holding. 

“congratulations, bonnie,” he says, a hearty laugh rumbling from his chest. “christ, i’m so, so proud of you.”

you never pegged yourself for a crybaby, but tears begin to pool in the corners of your eyes at the weight of his words. 

“thank you,” you reply, soft and raw, and honest. 

johnny pulls you in, his lips warm as they’re pressed on your forehead. 

and this, just like this, you know things will only get better from here on out. 

[cuteniarose]

@rokurookajima Hey, have I ever told you that these two are besties in more verses than just the Modern AU? 😁

Digitalised + coloured + redesigned version of my Suiren and Vaatu sketch from two days ago, as promised!!

Coming up with Suiren’s design was a very long process of trying and failing because after you’ve drawn 9+ different versions of one character, the creativity starts to run a little dry, but I’m actually really proud of this one, she looks absolutely adorable <3

(Also yeah I did mostly just scribble Vaatu’s pattern because who has the energy to draw the all out accurately. Not me, that’s who, I’m chronically tired. People who draw him on the regular have my utmost respect. He’s still a funky little guy though :D)

Bonus, Raava incessantly screaming inside Suiren (and being completely ignored because Suiren is tired of her) while all this is happening:

[acid-ixx]

brutus: both arms cradle you now (villain au concept)

ft. yandere! harley quinn (brief mentions of the poison ivy and catwoman) x gn villain! reader

— masterlist !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

"so, you're saying you hate the batman, for personal reasons, cupcake?"

you've never expected to have a therapy session with one of your mentors who took you in.

harley quinn, the girl who took you into her abode right after she found you bloodied and laying in a crimson bath of your own one faithful night; death your only comfort.

she, alongside her other company, are well-known people within gotham's criminal gallery. she's known to be obsessed with her ex back then, chasing after his toxic love despite hers being consistently thrown away, she's been seen fighting, or even sometimes helping your father when he's wearing the cowl just to find the joker, she dons clown makeup and displays athletic talent for combat—

she's not the type you'd expect to be well-versed with a person's mental health, with her playful attitude and bouncy steps, but with the way she notices your uncomfortable body language whenever you stumble upon the bat, or how you simmer in silent rage watching him care for his vigilante partners during times they get injured; you'd have to admit she's more than qualified to ask you sensitive questions nobody ought to ask a violent criminal like you.

you don't know it, but you share far more similarities with the girl than you thought; chasing after love never once reciprocated, she has every right to know what makes you so triggered seeing the vigilante every damn time he's within the vicinity.

she has every right because she's the one who saved you when you thought your life would be all over.

when you believed that that day would be the time your soul would leave your body, you'd suddenly awoke to her gentle coos and her retelling her company on how she stumbled upon you. and another woman's palms are on your heated forehead, an unnatural shade of green, yet she helps swipes away your hair for your head as she listens intently to harley's story; she gazes at you just as softly as the other. she's seated right beside a familiar face, too, with cropped, jet-black hair and cat-eyes. it was her expensive duvet that you lay on.

it was there that they coddled you collectively.

they've been your saviors then, and your mentors ever since. it's what you've never asked for, to be cared for by criminals who fought on the opposite side from your fathers, but you've been craving affection your entire life that you'd never once complain about.

now, in the same apartment, her question lingers in the back of your head, you feel goosebumps rise on the topmost layer of your skin, and your heartbeats hasten against the cage of your chest.

despite that, she merely looks over at you, her eyes held a calculating gaze. it's not exactly nerve-wracking like batman's whenever you had your occasional encounters with him, but you can tell she's psychoanalyzing every aspect of your being.

like a therapist for most, but to you, she does so because you know she cares.

gone was the ditzy smile she likes to wear on her playful lips, or the active, bouncy lilt she has whenever she sits upon the swivel chair to talk to you. she stares at you, with piercing blue eyes and furrowed brows, nitpicking every reaction you conjure.

it seems like now's the time she wants to open up with such a sensitive topics.

especially right after the incident where you cried after watching batman speak to the youngest robin, with the sweetest, most poisonous tone you've ever heard from the man. it makes you want to vomit watching it, makes you wish to shrivel outside-in your costume and burn until you're mere embers.

you ask yourself, 'do i hate him?'

truth is...

god, you wish you do. but you're different now.

you have new people to care for you, now and you'd rather throw away that heart wrenching life you had back in the past. batman is nobody to you now, you wish you could lead yourself to believe that he was just your usual opponent, nothing more, nothing less.

yet you merely shift on your cushioned seat, ignoring the blaring telltale signs in your head to stay silent, and reply to her albeit the unsureness in your tone. your words taste bitter, sour, salty, and no way sweet. every unpleasant flavor swirls in your tongue in a cacophony of emotions; and you wish to cry the longer you speak, tongue-tied and wishing to will away the ache in your chest.

"i don't hate him, harley, at least not anymore... it's different, i don't know what to feel about him. maybe it's rage, maybe i want to exact petty revenge on him because of my past with him. don't know. it's all complicated..."

"if it's not hatred, then it's something else, no? you feel something deep within for him, don'tcha, sweetheart? you can't lie to me, you're hurt, and scarred, because of him and his other vigilante partners, i can tell."

she replies, quicker than you do, with empathy and comfort laced in every syllable of her words, and you're taken aback at the kindness and understanding. your eyes flutter away from her worried ones, and you look down to your clenched palms and feel the callouses from all the harsh training you've conditioned yourself to endure, dismissing the way she stands from her chair to walk over to you.

hurt... that's true. you're hurt, and all the emotional scars that lay within you are still open, bleeding, and it aches deeply. every time you build new memories with these people, the pain of the past overpowers whatever improvement you make in life; as if it's haunting and taunting you.

when she kneels down to the level of your lap, just right beneath your vision so you could see her beyond the layers of hair that cover your watery eyes, you see her soft gaze and find her dainty fingers holding your palms, ones you didn't notice dig nails deep into skin until the rivulets of blood escape.

when she squeezes your hands, you follow along the patterns of inhaling and exhaling through her squeezing, a silent session with her to help you calm down from your foreboding emotions; your hastened breaths and brimming tears. you've been so used to ignoring all your emotions that you forget what panic attacks felt like in so long, not until you discover that you've been having small bouts of it every day; not until you realize how it's always your mentors comforting you through every one of your silent sufferings instead of ridiculing you for it.

"calm down, cupcake... i just wanted to know why, so i, alongside the girls, could help you through your emotions. what type of mentors are we if we can't help you, no? you've been so tense lately, we couldn't even see your cute, little smile these days. so don't forget you're still allowed to cry, sweetie... let all your emotions out, 'kay?"

she speaks, with a gentle timbre in her voice, and you allow her to embrace your form, one you didn't realize was shivering until now. yet you still bury your head further into her body without shame and allow yourself respite for once; allow yourself autonomy to be controlled by repressed pain and sorrow you've tried to bury deep into the marrows of your bones and the cages of your heart.

and now you realize why, why you're all crying all the same like last time, and you simply cry for longer at the realization.

because what contrasts with love, was indifference, and never hatred. you once loved batman, bruce, with all your heart because you're his kid, and your momma taught you to love without any expectations. but he sees you with indifference, with nothingness. no care, no emotions or opinions about you, unlike harley's who holds you in her arms and comforts you throughout your lengthened crying.

he doesn't even look at you. the thought bothers you more than ever.

"it's— you're right," you whisper through your hiccups, burying your head further on her stomach as her right hand plays with the strands of your hair, scratching your scalp in a comfortable pattern. she hums as a reply, and allows you to continue.

"i'm hurt, harley... it's so painful just thinking... thinking about how much i'm in pain because of him... but he's, he's—"

"shh, you don't have to force yourself to open up anymore, sweetheart."

when she releases her hold on you, you let out an embarrassingly loud cry, hands swiftly trying to pull her back to embrace you; too desperate to let go, too paranoid that this is all a dream, you wish to sink into her warmth forever.

but she holds you back, just as quickly with her warm palms at your wet cheeks, and looks at you. like you're her savior, her peace, and her everything.

her next sentences satiate the foreboding hunger in your heart, one too starved, one that craved and wished to take what it never have.

she feeds you with love and affection too sweet that it rids the bitter taste in the back of your throat and the bile that slowly rises every time you reminisce.

"i get'cha, sweetie. you wanted something from him you can never have, and when he didn't give you that, it destroyed you entirely you felt like you can never pick yourself right back. been there, done that—"

"—but look at where we're both at now! living the best of our lives, doing fun, risky heists and making ourselves happy with what we think is good for us, no? you get where i'm getting at, right?"

you don't. you feel like melting into her hands and never leaving. she gives and you take, take, and take everything she offers you.

and she knows you don't understand, so she continues rambling knowing you'd grasp into every word she says, not once breaking eye contact with you. she stares fondly, you gaze back reluctantly, unaccustomed to the affection your mentors shower you with. but you don't pull back, she becomes sad and sulky when you do.

you want her to be happy.

"sweetheart, i'm telling you the past is past! get him away from your mind and throw all the thoughts about him away! if you were nothing to him, then he should be nothing to you, easy as pie."

"you deserve better people in your life, like me, and pam, and selina. i can tell you're rough around the edges but that doesn't mean you should strip yourself away from any privilege to be cared for and loved for by people who love you as much as you love them. he's nothing to you now, alright? it's painful, but you can move on from him. i trust you can— you know why?"

harley questions you, with all the confidence in her tone, taking your head to lay it on her body again, positioning it so you could hear the buzz heartbeat, you bury yourself deeper into her warm body and nuzzle into fabric. your heart hastens, but it wasn't panic, it wasn't even fear or hurt, but a drive and motivation that burns deep inside of you; that this is what you always wanted, and needed to protect, and what she generously provided.

all her words echo through your head like it's the truth, your holy grail.

"you have us now, sweetheart. to love, to guide, and to protect you. we're everything you need now."

and you believe her like she's god.

just this once, you do. you're allowed to hope, to dream, and to finally feel special. to be embraced like the fantasies you had in the past, to be held and comforted through every gut wrenching experience, just as she does, now.

for once, you allow yourself to be loved, even if it means it's by the same hands that stain itself with blood, all shed in the glory of your name.

a/n: happy halloween! i was laying in bed and suddenly had thoughts about this. i don't like this drabble at all ngl erm 😭 this post is related to events prior to the out for blood chapter (idk if i should make it canon to the plot or not) and what i said in this fanart post. despite this not being my favorite piece of work, i like writing about other charactersn too though, especially when they're so soft to the mc. so yeah! if you guys like more of this, please do comment since idk what to feel about this.

[oceansmelvdy]

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