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schrijverr · 4 months

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It Just Hits Different When It’s Batman

5 times a League member heard Batman use slang + 1 time they knew where the fuck he got it from.

This fic is based off this post by @wednesday-if-it-was-tuesday bc it was just too good! Hope you don't mind :D

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

~~~~~

1. Flash

Barry is pretty sure he has to get his hearing checked as he speeds through a city, trying to find a series of bombs, courtesy of a new alliance of villains. He and Batman are on bomb duty, thus sharing a private com line as to not distract the others or be distracted as they coordinate.

However, Barry is very much distracted by his own partner in this whole mess, because unless he’s gotten a few too many hits to the head in recent years, he’s pretty sure Batman just reported: “The bombs look like yassified thermos flasks.”

“What?” Barry chokes, nearly tripping over his own feet as he does.

Batman doesn’t seem to notice, instead explaining the bomb, not his wording: “The casing looks to be made from plastic, likely to escape Superman’s notice. Start checking water pipes, I found this one near a toilet. I’ll report again once I figure out how to disarm it.”

Okay, questing his sanity later, finding bombs, now.

So he zooms off again, having to agree with the fact that the bomb does look like a yassified thermos flask. He wonders if he can use that in his report or if Batman will scold him for language. He has worked with the man for long enough that he knows Batman isn’t above hypocrisy.

Then he wonders again if he even heard it right. In the heat of battle, the brain sometimes does weird things, especially when someone thinks at the speed of light. Or faster.

He’ll put it out of his mind for now, maybe tell Hal about it just so he’ll have someone to share the bizarre experience with.

Clark probably has a thesaurus, he should probably also find a synonym for yassified. Does a thesaurus have slang too?

2. Green Lantern

It’s true that Barry had told him about Spooky saying yassified in that one battle, but Hal hadn’t truly believed that Bats was capable of something like that. I mean, look at him. The guy might be a weirdo who dresses up as a Bat, but he’s not a weirdo who says shit like yassified.

However, at the moment it is starting to look more and more likely. Fuck, Barry is gonna give him so much crap for not believing him.

The moment in question is Batman working with him on the stealth mission. It’s one for the Green Lantern Corps, so Batman is doing him a favor. Though Hal is starting to wish that he hadn’t done him that favor, because Batman has just said: “It looks like Luthor is being thristy for Superman again. For someone who hates the guy, he sure wants his attention a lot. That’s Kryptonian honing device.”

Hal doesn’t react, still thinking about the fact that he’s just heard Luthor, thirsty and Superman in one sentence. In Batman’s voice no less.

“What?” he says.

“A Kryptonian honing device,” Batman repeats, sounding as if he thinks Hal is stupid, not uncommon. “So he can hone in on Superman, find him. Something we need to do something about.”

Hal decides to take the smart way out and lets the whole thing drop in favor of focusing on the mission. He’s not just telling Barry, but Ollie about this as well.

3. Cyborg

Being in the Justice League isn’t much different than being on the Teen Titans. Like right now, being in a building that could explode at any moment unless he hacks into the system and stops that from happening.

Ah, good old life-threatening pressure.

Batman is fighting some of the goons in the background. They’re on their own here, with the others fighting through an army outside to get to them. But it’s mostly up to them. Batman yells: “Cyborg, status.”

“I’m getting through, but something is bugging me about this whole thing,” Victor calls back. “I think there is someone I’m missing that will allow me to crack this.”

There are a few grunts in the background as Batman fights on, while Victor starts to scan through everyone who worked for the organization, trying to find the missing link.

He is interrupted by Batman, who says: “I took a tour here once. There was an intern, Kyle Paulson, he was kind of sus. Look him up.”

For a second, Victor is thrown by the sus in that sentence, but he quickly focuses back on what’s important. Indeed finding Kyle to be the missing link that gets him to disarm the bomb. While Batman is taking out the last of the bad guys.

In fact, the whole thing slips his mind until he’s writing his mission report, going through the footage to get accurate information in there. Then he pauses again, before dismissing it. Those who trained under Batman are always prepared, maybe it’s not slang but shorthand to be useful in the moment. Or he’s trying to include him, sweet, though unnecessary.

Victor puts it out of his mind.

4. Green Arrow

Ollie doesn’t believe Barry or Hal for a second. Like, really? Batman using slang that the sidekicks are using?

Sure, Nightwing sometimes uses some here and there, but Red Robin is always very professional and Robin is closer to a Shakespearean actor than a TikTok teen. There isn’t anyone else he could have gotten it from and it doesn’t make sense with his whole ‘I am the Night’-persona.

Victor suggested it was to make the newbies more comfortable when he overheard them talking, but that’s even more ridiculous in Ollie’s opinion.

So, he’s not at all in the slightest prepared for Batman’s reaction when he shows him the new arrows he developed. Because Batman’s reaction is: “Hm, serves cunt.”

“Excuse me, what?” Ollie says, his eyes nearly bulging out of his skull.

Batman just stares at him, then in a confused sort of voice goes: “You know, it slays? It’s, you know, good? Positive.”

“Huh, what? No, I- I know what that means. How the fuck do you know?” Ollie splutters.

“I’m Batman,” is all he says. Then he walks away and leaves Ollie to stand there, still frozen in time, because what the hell was that? Batman can’t just do that, can he? That’s illegal. How does he even know that?

What Ollie doesn’t know, is that this was a calculated move. Bruce had overheard the three talking as well and decided to have a little fun. All the times before, it just slipped out in the heat of battle, but this one was purposeful.

Bruce knows Ollie would know what it meant, because billionaires Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen have done TikTok trends in the past and try to keep up to date, despite their age. Not that Ollie knows it’s him under there.

And last gala, he left Bruce for the wolves – Vicky Vale – so now Bruce is dealing psychological damage to him as petty revenge.

5. Superman (and Practically the Entire League)

They’re in a meeting with most of the Justice League members that are present on earth at the moment. It’s not often they hold such meetings, since they are a little overwhelming and tend to drag on more than be productive.

However, Clark thinks it’s important to ensure there are avenues through which ever member can state their piece and be heard. So, here they are again.

Booster Gold is complaining about always being on the sidelines and never in the heat of the action, even though he’s a great hero. He’s claiming that there is a bias against younger heroes, despite the fact that the ‘old guard’ will have to give it up eventually.

Apparently, Batman has had enough, because he gets up and snaps: “We don’t have bias based on age, we have one based off skill. Maybe if you stopped abandoning your post and being someone reliable, you might get put out in the field more often. Now stop being salty about it.”

It’s silent.

Clark is scrambling his brain, to figure out the meaning. As a journalist he tries to stay up to date on current language use, however, the only person he’s heard use that word is Jon. The boy never explained, but Clark guessed what it means. Doesn’t explain why Batman knows it.

Then the silence gets broken by a snort, everyone’s head whipping towards the source. It’s Nightwing, a newer addition and one affiliated with Batman himself. The only one there brave enough to laugh at Batman, mirthfully asking: “Did you actually say salty?”

There is no change on Batman’s face, but as a longtime friend, Clark knows he isn’t emotionless. Indeed, when he listens close, he can hear the blood rush to his face, blush hidden by the cowl.

“That was not the point of the sentence, Nightwing,” Batman counters, the name a little bit pointed on is tongue.

“Okay, okay,” Nightwing grins easily, showing his hands in surrender, an act which is made null by him adding: “Just pointing out that this is an official meeting. You’re on the record and you know I’m reporting this to the others.”

Red Robin and Robin, Clark fills in mentally, the other two known associates. Everyone already guessed that Nightwing must be close to them as well, since the younger two are closer to being Batman’s children. Now that is confirmed.

“Thank you for reminding me,” Batman says tersely, before quickly pivoting to the next point on the agenda. No one calls him out for it.

However, just because no one calls him out on it, doesn’t mean they drop it. In the weeks after the incident, whispers make their way through the halls of the Watchtower as people speculate why or how Batman came to use the word salty and how out of character it is.

Clark can hear the gossip all over the Watchtower and he’s sure Batman is aware of it too, because some brave souls have asked about. Especially when some of the others talked about the incident not being the first one.

Batman hasn’t replied yet to any of the questions or rumors. Clark thinks he likes the mystery and chaos, likes that they don’t know why the hell he sometimes lets slang slip. Even Nightwing has been seemingly silenced, never commenting with a sort of professional ease at evasion.

Nightwing is the only clue they have, along with Robin and Red Robin, but none of them seem like the culprit.

It just doesn’t make sense and Clark can’t help but have his reporter brain itch.

+1. The Batfamily

There is going to be an attack somewhere in a major city in America tonight. They cannot figure out where, so there is a nation wide stake out at all the important places. Nearly the entire Justice League has been pulled out for it and even then they don’t have enough.

Batman insists on having a skeleton crew remain on the Watchtower in case the threat turns out to be a distraction. And when it is protested, he pulls out an army of associates none of them have ever heard about to fill out the last gaps in their observational net.

The sudden introduction of about six new Gotham vigilantes, which have apparently been operating inside the city as well as outside of it, would have been the main shock if it weren’t for how they are on coms.

Red Robin and Nightwing are known as professionals like Batman, while Robin isn’t a known entity in missions, though those who have met him, know him to be serious. However, with the introduction of the others all of that professionalism melts away.

It starts about 45 minuted into their mission when Spoiler’s voice suddenly crackles over the coms: “I fucking hate stake outs, they’re so boring.”

“I know right, my ass is starting to hurt,” Red Robin – to everyone’s surprise – replies.

“No chatter on the coms,” Batman dutifully reproaches like he always does, but he sounds less stern this time. It’s as if he knows they won’t listen, but says it because it’s his role to do so.

Red Hood ignores Batman completely, idly commenting: “I don’t know, stake outs always hit different for me.”

“That’s just because you’re boring AF,” Spoiler says, an eyeroll practically audible.

“Oi, take that back,” Red Hood says, offended. “I didn’t die to have you slander my name like that!”

This is horrifying news for most of the other people stuck on the coms, however, there is a cacophony of annoyed groans as well. Why anyone would be so blasé about someone mentioning their death, they don’t know.

Until, Robin says: “Cease mentioning your death as excuse. It’s unbecoming to be so reliant on one measly event. You’re not the only one who has died, don’t be – what was it? – ah, yes, don’t be basic, Hood.”

“Yeah, Hood, don’t be salty just because you’re becoming a boring old man,” Red Robin pipes up, sounding smug. That solves the salty mystery.

“Shut up, Replacement,” Red Hood huffs. “I can talk about my death as much as I want to and you can’t stop me.”

“Hood, please, stop talking about your death, you’re going to make B sad,” Nightwing suddenly interjects, stopping the conversation before it can get out of hand.

Those with super hearing will hear Barry mutter in a shocked manner: “Is he talking about Batman?” But he is overshadowed by most of the newly introduced (and already) known Bat-associates booing loudly.

“Don’t be a fucking suck up, Dick” Spoiler hollers, only those in the know picking up on the fact it’s his name. It’s the only time Batman won’t correct them, because not everyone will know it’s a name unless it’s pointed out.

“Periodt,” the quiet voice of Black Bat supports Spoiler.

“Hell yeah, that’s what I’m talking about, BB,” Spoiler cheers when she hears the other girl.

“That was the correct usage?” Black Bat asks.

“It was, well done,” Oracle’s kind voice comes over the coms, from where she is in her lair helping with coordination.

After that it all quiets down again for about half an hour, then Bluebird breaks the quiet again, complaining: “I can’t believe I had to stay behind in Gotham of all places.”

“You live there. Willingly,” Signal answers. “And I had to stay behind too, you know.”

“They’re sleeping on us, Signal, be upset with me,” Bluebird exclaims, indignantly.

“Okay, but tea though,” Spoiler says, most of the Justice League listening in are starting to learn she likes stirring the pot a little.

“Don’t be a simp, Spoils,” Red Robin says.

“Oh, look who’s talking about being a simp,” Red Hood snorts loudly. “I observed you, loser boy, you’re the simp.”

“It’s not as much of the serve you think it is to admit to stalking me,” Red Robin deadpans.

“RR, not to be that bitch, but you’re the OG stalker, maybe- maybe don’t do that,” Nightwing says cautiously, which is apparently funny enough that multiple people start laughing.

Meanwhile Red Robin complains: “Stop laughing at me, when I did it was totally different, I didn’t plan on killing any of you.” Which is mildly disturbing

“Oi, I never planned to actually kill you-kill you either,” Red Hood protests, even more disturbing. The Justice League is starting to wonder why Batman works with the man.

“Stop with the chatter,” Batman interjects again, before it can go further. “It’s not just us on the com lines now. At least try to be professional.”

And much to the horror of the League, who could never imagine doing such a thing, Batman gets booed. Again. This time directly.

Then to add to the horror, Batman doesn’t explode in anger, like everyone would have imagined, instead he just sighs. Defeated. Batman is like a cockroach, he doesn’t get defeated. However, these kids are managing.

Batman remains defeated too, because the Gotham vigilantes continue to idly chat all throughout the next hour. They are definitely bat associated, because they never reveal any information that could be tied to their civilian identity. Instead discussing other missions, general news, funny things they saw on patrol and personal grievances with the others on the line.

If this is what Batman deals with on the day to day, some are starting to see why he would prefer the heroes of the Justice League to keep their mouths shut on missions unless it’s important.

Most try to tune it out and focus on their own stake out, though the voices keep them awake. But they notice when Spoiler’s voice suddenly becomes serious as she reports: “Sus individuals moving towards the Mayor’s office.”

“Received, getting visual on your location,” Oracle’s voice replies, also snapped back into professionalism.

Spoiler reports their appearances and currently location, until Oracle has them, running a check on them, before confirming they have a criminal record and might be thugs for hire. Spoiler says: “I am going to move in.”

Batman says: “Do not engage, Spoiler, they could be a decoy. Try and get more information first.”

“Alright, alright,” Spoiler huffs. Then adds petulantly: “I’m not gonna do it, I was just thinking about it.”

Which sounds pretty reasonable for most listening in, who aren’t of the right age group to know the meme. Batman, however, does know, because he’s been subjected to it multiple times. So, he yells: “Spoiler, no!” startling some members.

A second later, there are sounds of a fight and Spoiler gleefully saying: “I did it.”

Batman lets out a frustrated growl, but Spoiler pays it no mind and she can’t truly get chewed out, because more and more start to report suspicious individuals moving in on the targets they’re watching.

Within minutes of it starting, Nightwing reports: “They’re decoys with targets. Not the main attack, but will do damage if they succeed.”

“Everyone make sure to take out the decoys,” Batman says. “Those without decoys, keep your eyes peeled, you might be at the real target.”

“Done with my targets, moving to help the others now,” Nightwing reports seriously, before he adds: “And can I just say that I’m the GOAT. Dibs on cookies for finishing first.”

“Okay, shade much,” Bluebird says.

“Don’t be arrogant, it’s unbecoming,” Robin retorts as well.

“Yeah, stop flexing,” Spoiler adds. “I’ve wrapped up too, by the way. You’re not special.”

“Let me have this,” Nightwing complains. “You already took all my shit, let me be cool. You all used to think I was cool.”

“Yeah, used to,” Red Hood scoffs. “Then we all realized you’re a looser.”

“Ha, get wrecked,” Red Robin snorts.

“Baby bird, wasn’t I your favorite?” Nightwing asks hurt, though over the top enough to show he is faking it.

“No, sadly, that was Hood,” Red Robin replies, sounding a little like he’s grimacing.

“No cap?” Red Hood asks, surprised.

“No cap,” Red Robin confirms.

“Now I feel kind of bad for you,” Red Hood says, before some bullets are fired. “Wrapped up here, moving to help.”

Red Robin seems glad to not have to reply and none of the other Gothamites do either. With what the League has heard so far, they’re also kind of happy the topic is being dropped, unsure what to think.

Batman’s associates are among the first ones cleaning up, however, soon others are joining them and the true battles grounds – yes, there are multiple targets, these people are organized (Batman will likely obsess until he has tracked down their organization afterwards) – are discovered and heroes move in to fight them.

Throughout the battle, everyone catches snippets of this strange, newly introduced group. A group, who works well together, like an oiled machine, yet obviously made up of highly competent parts that can act on their own as well.

Like Black Bat calling out: “Red Hood, yeet,” before those fighting alongside them see Red Hood boost her into the air, so she can come flying at the terrorists.

But they also make comments about the people they’re fighting and the others that are fighting alongside them.

Signal calling out: “Bluebird is pulling some sick ass moves. Another one for her on the slay-board, Oracle.”

Or Spoiler commenting: “Okay, not to be like that or whatever, but these terrorists are kind of looking snatched.”

To which Batman sighs: “Spoiler, please, no chatter,” in a vain attempt to get them under control.

“What?” Spoiler says. “I can appreciate when they’ve at least tried to pull a fit instead of that usual para-military, ninja type BS.”

“Go off,” Black Bat pipes up again and Spoiler cheers while Batman drops it. Defeated again.

They also check in on each other, with Red Robin hissing in pain, which is immediately followed by Nightwing going: “RR, you good, fam?”

“Gucci,” Red Robin replies. “Just low-key got stabbed.”

“There’s nothing low-key about getting stabbed!” Nightwing exclaims, getting called a hypocrite by many people, while Batman is already calling for Oracle to get a visual and for a medic to head Red Robin’s way.

By the time the battle is over, the Justice League understands how different the team is that Batman usually works with. If they were surrounded by heroes who talked like that continuously, they would have probably picked up some things here and there too.

Still, it fucking weird when Batman checks over his horde, before declaring: “You were all lit out there,” causing multiple of the kids around him to groan loudly, with Bluebird calling Batman a boomer.

Clark, however, sees a small uptick in Batman’s mouth. And in that moment, he knows Batman is doing it on purpose, that he’s enjoying it. That he’s fucking with them. He doesn’t know what to do with that, nor does he think that anyone will believe it. So, he decides to share the amusement and drop it.

They’re never going to figure out Batman.

A/N:

This work is going to get dated so so so fast lmao, but it’s fun rn (if ur commenting in the future, welcome to outdated slang vibes from someone who wasn’t that up to date with current slang when writing it, bc im secretly a grandpa).

Hopefully I didn’t overdo it to an unrealistic degree, but if I did, such is the story that was being told oops

Also this whole fic is just an excuse for me to write batfam banter bc I love it lmao

I didn’t include Batwing, Batwoman and Flamebird here, sorry, but writing the batfam is always so hard bc there are so many characters T-T

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zvaigzdelasas · 2 months

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[ABC is Private US Media]

Attacks on the international airport in Port-au-Prince generated headlines worldwide. Coordinated assaults on multiple prisons freed thousands of prisoners over the weekend. But all that could be just the beginning of what an increasing number of Haiti experts are openly referring to as a full-blown rebellion against the country's sitting government.

I was speaking to a senior diplomatic official in Haiti on Monday, a very sober and calculated person not prone to hyperbole. In discussing the situation, I used the word "gangs" and he cut me off.

"I would stop using that term if I were you," he said, arguing that gangs are what you find in American cities. In Haiti, there are multiple large criminal groups with enormous firepower, now unified with the stated goal of toppling the sitting government.

"They are armed rebel groups and this is civil war," the source said.[...]

Some 80% of the capital is under gang control, if not more, according to the UN. Those groups have fought each other and the government for years[...]

But things have fundamentally changed in the last month. We will get to the "why" in a moment, but consider the following:

-Haiti's dozens of gangs, largely grouped into two competing alliances, have seemingly set aside their differences and rather than attack each other, are working together to attack the government.

-The gangs are not hiding their goal. It is a change in government. Gang leadership, most notably a man called Jimmy Chérizier, aka Barbecue, has said the fighting won't stop until the unelected acting Prime Minister Ariel Henry is no longer in power. He's called for Henry's arrest.

-The gangs have launched a series of well-planned, massive attacks against key targets around the city. Nearly 30 police precincts have also come under fire, many completely taken over or destroyed. Government buildings have also been attacked, including one just 500 meters from the U.S. embassy. There is random, sporadic violence constantly around the city, but these attacks are strategic and targeted.

As to the why—gangs have long sought to fill a power vacuum left behind when President Jovenel Moïse was assassinated in July 2021. But an inflection point came last month.

Henry, in charge since just a few weeks after Moïse's death, had said he would step down by early February. But then, he changed course. The U.S.-backed Henry said the security situation needed to improve before he could leave and new elections could take place. Last week, he committed only to holding elections in August of 2025, a full 18 months away.

That appeared to be the final straw.

In a way, this gang-fueled violence is the armed manifestation of widespread popular anger against Henry and his government. Ordinary Haitians are furious over the ever-worsening poverty, hunger, and violence we've seen under Henry. He is a near-universally loathed public figure.

It is not hard to find people in Port-au-Prince who fully support the actions taken by the gangs, even if they are terrified that they themselves or their families could be collateral damage.

It is not that most in Haiti support the gangs or the chaos they cause. Far from it. Most despise the death and destruction they’ve wrought in the country. But for now, some feel the gangs are the only group capable of forcing Henry out.[...]

Remember this staggering fact: in this democratic country, there is not one elected leader serving at any level of government anywhere in the country. No elections have been held since 2016.[...]

So the rebellion, the attempted revolution, has begun--alongside the seemingly never-ending suffering of millions of innocents.

6 Mar 24

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msmorningstaarr · 4 months

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let me fill you up | Jaime Lannister x F!Targaryen reader

ao3 | masterlist

Pairing: Jaime Lannister x F!Targaryen reader

Summary: You, a Targaryen princess were married into the Lannister fold to ensure the alliance between the two houses, ensuring your eldest brother’s claim to the Iron Throne. Now, Lord Jaime makes your days filled with happiness and makes you eager to present him babies.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: rhaegar wins AU, no targcest, smuff, fluff, breeding kink, praising kink, a lot of pet names (sweet girl, princess, love), reader has no physical description besides the silvery white targaryen hair, creampie, oral (f receiving), a very devoted husband commited to your pleasure, smut, sex;

a/n: Happy new year! I had posted I wanted to write something like that and it's been a while since I want to write something other than holy and heathen because I must admit I'm not very satisfied with what I've been writing lately. Some validation kudos, comments and reblogs would be very important to me, seriously :') I’ve been thinking in turning this into a small series but I’m not so sure. Could you give me your thoughts on this too? please, enjoy your reading!

Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa @hiraethrhapsody

You are sitting surrounded by your maids and children on a breezy night, covered with a fur coat and a crimson silk dress under it. Attentively, you go stitch by stitch and slowly form a lion, sigil of your husband’s house. Ever since Robert’s Rebellion ended and your brother, King Rhaegar Targaryen won, you became promised to the former knight of the Kingsguard, now Lord Jaime Lannister. Life in the lion’s den was not difficult, once Lord Tywin treated her with the most kindness and Jaime was still coming out of his shell. At first, he was your sworn sword in King’s Landing and spent plenty of time together in an unbalanced relationship. Now, you two are sharing a bed after a tumultuous year of war and destruction, as equals. In the beginning, you were sceptical about marrying into the Lannister household, but as the months went by, you found yourself drowned at him. Jaime is careful, gentle and kind. He brings you a small dandelion every morning once he knows it reminds you of home.

His only quirk was the strange attachment to his sister, Lady Cersei. But after being sent to Dorne to marry Prince Oberyn of House Martell and getting distant from each other, your relationship with your husband seemed to finally thrive.

“It appears to be beautiful, my lady.” Said one of her maids, taking care of your youngest son, a small silvery blonde figure of two years of age.

“A bright lion handkerchief for Jaime to carry with him.” You reply, admiring your piece of work. “Do you believe your father will like it, sweetling?” You then ask your eldest daughter, an adorable child of four. Your daughter eagerly nods her head and wraps her hands around one of your fingers to pull the fabric closer to her eyes.

“Dada will love it, mama!” The little one exclaimed, spinning around with the kerchief on her tiny hands.

“What will I love, if I’m allowed to ask?” A tall, blonde figure shows up in your private bedchambers, wearing a classic Westerland attire with a crimson fabric and intricate strings of gold shaped into the sleeves and collar. You smile sweetly to Jaime as he approaches you and grabs your middle child to hold in his arms.

“Papa!” The blonde little girl runs towards her father to embrace his legs and your maids stand up to bow to their lord.

“Have you missed me, dear?” Jaime asked and the fussy children eagerly nodded at him, embracing their father even more. Sometimes, seeing Jaime being so loving and kind towards your children simply melted your heart. You felt the urgency to kiss him and dig your fingers onto his bright hair, begging him for another child. Your cunt ached in pleasure to the thought of Jaime pumping his seed inside of you. You were still young and could bear many more children.

“Mm-rrhm…” You scoffed. “I have missed you too, husband.”

The three children giggled and the child on his arms hid his face on the crook of Jaime’s neck. The eldest covered her laugh with her tiny hands and the youngest beamed along their siblings. Jaime came closer to you and caressed your cheeks with his free hand. Then, a single and gentle kiss he places over your forehead, making your heart flutters with love and passion.

“I have missed you too, my love.” Jaime said, passing his fingertips on your chin and smiling at you.

Your maids quickly stood up and bowed at their overlord as a sign of respect. “Excuse me, my lord, my lady,” Said the servant girl. “Let us take the children so you can rest.”

“But I want to stay with papa!” Said the elder daughter, pouting and crossing her arms. The other two children whined and complained along, but you lowered into their level whilst Jaime talked to the youngest on his arm.

“Sweetlings,” She said, caressing their cheeks. “Your father is rather tired after riding for so long. Go with her, I promise you, your siblings, me and your father will have plenty of time together on the morrow. Is that understood, my loves?”

“I can take you to ride a horse tomorrow and even let you eat lemon cakes before super. What do you think?” Jaime asked, delivering the fussy child from his arms to the other maid. In unison, the three infants agreed and left disappointed. Once you and your husband were alone in your bedchambers, Jaime smiled at you gallantly. You embrace him intimately and are finally able to feel the warmth of his muscular body and feel the softness of his golden hair. His lips reach yours and in a whirlwind of sensations, your cunt is already dripping in anticipation just by a simple touch coming from him. Once he breaks the kiss, he keeps holding you by your waist and gazing at you with admiration.

“You have been gone for too long, love.” You say, passing your fingertips on his lips. He smiles and gives you a peck on the lips before speaking.

“I had duties with your brother, Our Grace King Rhaegar, sweet girl.” Jaime replies, pulling her out gently and grabbing the fabric she embroidered for him.

“I hope you like it, I made it just for you.” You point out, joining your hands to follow him. He keeps smiling as he observes attentively the intricate work you did.

“I shall cherish it and take it wherever I go, dragon princess.” He replied, folding and putting the kerchief in one of his pockets. You giggle as you hear him calling you ‘dragon princess’, a custom he chose to never abandon as a form to remember the late days of their relationship “I wish I had more time to be around and play with the children, I have been missing them and you.”

“They made drawings every day and left it on your desk at your office.” You reply, walking to the window and being followed by him.

“I will make sure to have them guarded in our chambers. Safe as our gold.” He says, hugging you from behind and kissing your neck lightly. You beam in ecstasy feeling his body smother you into a comforting embrace and full missing him.

“Sometimes I still cannot believe we are wedded to each other. You were my sworn shield in King’s Landing!” You exclaim as his hand caresses your empty belly and it tingles by his touch. He grins at your words and says.

“Most people are not so lucky to know your spouse before the wedding day. I consider myself the most lucky man in the world because I could be in your acquaintance from so long ago.” He replies, falling his head on the crook of your neck.

You turn around to be face to face with Jaime, feeling the cold breeze of the rock hitting your back and giving you small shocks as Jaime caresses your back, making you experience a thermal shock and shudder to his touch.

“I feel very lucky to be your wife, Jaime. Most women are not so fortunate to have such a kind, loving and handsome husband.” You mutter as he strokes your hair, in awe with your beauty.

“I guess we are fortunate to be together after so many troubles in war. We even brought new lives into this world to paint a new, brightful history.” He replies, caressing your womb. You stare at his fingers passing up and down your belly and glances at him with a sweet smile.

“And we could have more, love. I must admit I feel empty for so long and I want to give you more children… I know I can give you an entire army of your own. Half lion, half dragon. Unstoppable creatures.”

“You feel empty, love?” He asks, smirking and you eagerly agree with him. “Then allow me to fill you up…” Jaime finished, slowly undoing the intricate laces of your dress to reveal your bare skin under the crimson fabric. In response, you open his attire slowly and little by little his white tunic appears to her eyes.

By this point, your cunt is already sore in anticipation for the moment about to happen and clenches around nothing once he pushes the last section of string holding your garment, releasing you from the pressure tightening your upper body. Jaime pushes down your dress and your underwear is now on display for him, which makes him bite his lip and eagerly take down your white camisole to show him your bare body. You moan as he squeezes your breast and pinches your nipples whilst kissing you. You quickly take off his own undershirt to show off his chest.

“So eager is my dragon princess.” He playfully says, leading you to bed and carefully laying you down. With devotion, he starts to kiss your feet, legs and knees, his hands roaming through your thighs and hips. “Spread your legs for me, little dragon.”

You part your legs, obeying his soft command. “So wet… I can see you truly missed me, my love.” He says, kissing your inner thighs as your body squirms in pleasure before he reaches your intimacy.

“Oh… I have missed you so much, my lion.” You moan your words as he kisses your groyne and passes his fingers lightly over your clit, making your womb tremble and convulse to his touch.

“I can see that, just as I missed you, my dragon princess. Do I have permission to give you a lord’s kiss?” He asks and you only nod in response, making Jaime wet his lips with his own saliva before diving into your dripping core and you to scream involuntarily as his tongue and lips eat you up with full desire. Jaime circles his tongue around your clit and roam around your entire intimacy, making your hips bounce onto his direction. It was his costume to make you come every time before he would be inside of you, now could not be different.

You feel your body explode as if someone threw you into dragon fire as Jaime relentlessly pleases you, making magic with his tongue. Skillfully, he explores your intimate area inch by inch with eagerness, making you dig your fingers on his golden curls, pulling him closer to your cunt and you contorses your body urging for more. Tears of pleasure fall off as you feel goosebumps once you realise you are close to your climax.

As the intensity builds, Jaime's movements become more deliberate, pushing you closer to the edge of bliss. Your breath hitches, and your fingers entwine in his golden locks, urging him on. The world narrows down to the pleasure he provides, the connection between you deepening with every passing moment.

When the climax finally crashes over you, Jaime doesn't relent. He continues to caress your sensitive core with his tongue, prolonging the sweet release. Your body shudders with pleasure, and you feel the bond between you and Jaime reaching new heights.

“Husband…” You try to stop him and give yourself some time to take a breath, but Jaime does not back off and part your legs once more, holding it as he keeps licking, kissing and sucking your pussy.

“No no, wife… let me please you and bring you to climax once more…” He cuts your words and gently goes back, but now he plays with his fingers on your clit, with far less pressure and slowly draws circles around it, taking soft moans from you. Jaime rises to hover over you, a wicked glint in his eyes. His fingers trace patterns on your flushed skin as he leans in for a heated kiss, allowing you to taste the remnants of your own pleasure on his lips. “Taste yourself, love.”

And not so long after, you scream his name as you feel waves of pleasure hitting your body as a lightning bolt hits the ground in a storm. Your body is trembling and your legs seem to be two wooden sticks, barely able to stand.

“Please… inside of me, Jaime… I need you…” You plead with him, pulling his body to be on top of yours.

“Your wish is my command, princess.” He replies, kissing you passionately once more and positioning between your legs. Jaime's eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. The anticipation was hanging heavy in the air, your bodies aligned perfectly, and as he slowly entered you, a shared moan escaped both of your lips.

The sensation is electrifying, the culmination of the pleasure he bestowed upon you and the intimate connection between your bodies. Jaime moves with a rhythmic precision, each thrust deepening the bond that exists only between you two.

“My perfect princess takes me so well…” He grows as thrusts into you going back and forth nonstop. You lock him by involving your legs around his waist and feeling his hard cock entering your cunt in full force, reaching your cervix and making you beg for more in his ear.

The room echoes with the sounds of your shared ecstasy, a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through the stone walls. The flickering candlelight casts shadows that dance across your entwined bodies, creating a tapestry of love and passion.

“Put another babe on my belly Ser, please…” You beg him as moans leave your mouth and the sound of crashing bodies fill the room quickly.

“With pleasure, love…” He says once more. Jaime moves with a rhythmic precision, each thrust deeper inside of your pussy in farfetched positions. He missed you too much after months away from you and it shows by the way he kisses you as he moves desperately to have more of mounting his dragon. The room echoes with the sounds of your shared passion, a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through the stone walls. The flickering candlelight casts shadows that dance across your entwined bodies. As Jaime's movements become faster, the pleasure intensifies, and you find yourself on the verge of another climax. The pleasure is overwhelming, and your bodies move in perfect harmony.

With a final, fervent thrust, Jaime succumbs to the ecstasy and releases his seed deep inside of your womb, growling and grunting with relief and utter bliss. You hit your own orgasm as you feel the warm jets of his seed invading your walls and your body squirm and you scream his name, crying out.

Your bodies tremble in the aftermath, and he collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. The room is filled with a comforting silence as you both catch your breath. Jaime's fingers gently trace patterns on your skin as you bask in the warmth of the afterglow. “Do you think we created one more life for our household, love?” You ask him, laying your head on his chest. The world outside your chambers seems distant, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, lost in the serenity of each other's embrace.

“Depending on your fertile womb, my love, I have no doubts you are.” He replies, caressing your silvery white hair. “But we must endure in our pursuit on a daily routine. Just to make sure our fourth babe is on the way.” He playfully replies, smirking at you, who mischievously smiles back at him and kisses his lips, wiping some strings of sweat from his face.

Jaime presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his voice a soothing murmur, "I love you, my dragon princess."

And you, wrapped in the arms of the man you love, whisper back, "And I love you, my lion shield."

415 notes · View notes

fyorina · 2 days

Text

ᡣ𐭩 ICARION

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai had known he was flying too close to the sun, he should have stopped himself while he still had the chance. {wordcount: 11.5k; fem!reader, romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: installment fiveeeee otherwise known as part 2 of installment four LOL! ugh guys i'm dragging myself thru the trenches right now i'm so miserable - i wasn't even up to posting this today i won't lie but </3 i pulled thru </3 if only barely. fun fact this is actually only a 3 scene chapter but the second scene is just MASSIVE. i wasn't up to restructuring so you guys are just going to get it as it is. this is also unedited because i just wasn't up to it so bear with me regarding mistakes. JUST TO REMIND YOU ALL: the last installment is DELAYED - i have 3 finals next week and haven't had the time to finish it. it will be up by the end of may </3 sorry guys. wow this actually is attempt number three trying to post this correctly - i'm so shot

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR 17 & UNDER FOLLOWING THE SERIES: partially copy and pasted from badlands - if you guys read badlands, you know the deal. y'all knew what you were getting into. this is the smut chapter. but again, i'm not going to ask y'all to not interact/read a whole 12k chapter just because there's 4k words of smut, but i am going to say here the smut is in the SECOND scene. there is very little plot development in the smut itself, so i ask you guys, again, to respectfully scroll past it. i'll make the sentence when the smut starts red like this so you know that's when it starts, and then you can continue reading at the next divider. thank you for understanding! there is NO plot development in the smut, i'll reiterate that at the end where i put the summary in badlands, i restructured to make sure none of it was in it.

SMUT WARNINGS: unprotected sex, dazai cries </3 poor baby, sub!dazai, as always pussy drunk!dazai, bit of overstim on dazai's part too, jfhsuhdfsu i will say it starts on the bathroom floor so that might be a bit gross to some of you but dazai hardly even uses his apartment anyway so trust it's clean. bear with me. it just flowed from there i had to go with it. the story writes itself, i'm only the scribe. LOL let me know if i missed anything, i might have

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

Dazai is hardly listening to the conversation at hand. They’ve been going back and forth for thirty minutes about inconsequential matters. Tolstoy is getting increasingly heated as he goes tit-for-tat with Nabokov, evidently the tripartite alliance between the Russian mafias is not quite enough to quell all of the bad blood that’s simmered between them, but something about the situation isn’t sitting right to Dazai. He can feel it in his gut, swirling in the depths of his chest—something is wrong but he doesn’t know what.

Mishima looks equally put out, gaze trained on Tolstoy and Nabokov’s conversation, occasionally looking back at his executives. Cao seems bored, head tilted back against the red cushions of the round booth as he smokes a cigarette; in all regards, he seems relaxed, but Dazai notices the way the fingers of his free hand are tense on the table, as if he’s bracing himself for something.

Something isn’t right.

Dostoevsky is cunning. Intelligent. He’s been lethally sharp in every universe that the other Dazais have encountered him in. He wouldn’t send Tolstoy and Nabokov into this meeting with them at each other’s throats like this without an ulterior reason. Dazai is missing something critical; he knows it’s not something as simple as wanting to give off the appearance of a divided front as means to get Dazai and Mishima to lower their guard. Nothing is that easy. There’s some ulterior motive that Dazai has to figure out.

Cao’s presence. Tolstoy and Nabokov’s blatant hostility toward one another. Mishima’s words from earlier, warning him that something seems to be brewing, that Tolstoy and Nabokov had been on edge since he arrived at the event hall. Dazai’s head hurts, and he can’t focus, not when you’re in the other room without him.

Already, he feels as if he’s been separated from you for too long, he’d been hoping this meeting was only going to last thirty minutes at most, and it’s been thirty minutes already and hardly any progress has been made. If Dazai didn’t know any better, he’d think that…

He’d think that Tolstoy and Nabokov were stalling.

At once, Dazai starts catching onto the things that he missed. The way Nabokov keeps glancing up at the clock on the wall above Cao. The way Tolstoy’s gaze keeps flickering to his phone. The way Cao’s attention seems to be elsewhere.

Cao Xueqin. A Dream of Red Mansions. A scrying ability.

His heartbeat slows and Dazai blinks. Once. Twice. Blood roars in his ears as his gaze twists down to where his phone is laying on the table in front of him, on its face. Tachihara should have texted him to let him know that he got to you. Him or Chuuya. He usually reports to Chuuya anyway, so Dazai figured that Chuuya would’ve gotten the confirmation. He turns his head to the side to look at the executive from the corner of his eye, trying to keep his breath as slow and steady and natural as possible when he realizes that Chuuya is frowning with furrowed brows, looking at his phone. Unsure.

Dazia reaches for his own phone, fingers deceptively steady despite the way his insides are curdling with a sudden jolt of anxiety. His eyes zero in on the top right corner of his phone. No signal. Dazai has been to this event hall countless times in this life and dozens of others—there’s always service throughout the building.

Unless it’s being jammed, that is.

Dazai’s blood runs cold, gaze dragging from his phone to the door that leads to the hallway connecting to the event hall where you are. He feels as if he’s been doused with icy water and lit on fire all at once. For a second, he doesn’t move—he’s not sure if it’s anxiety or fear, or both, but he knows it’s because you’re out there and Dostoevsky is plotting something while trying to keep him out of the picture in this meeting.

He should have known better. Mishima had assumed that Dostoevsky wasn’t in the building—he had his three best scouts prowling the whole building trying to place the real leader of the tripartite but had failed. Nabokov had apparently told him that Dostoevsky had to stay back to handle residual business in Russia, a blatant lie, one that has had Mishima on edge all night.

The one with the overcoat. The clown.

Dazai stills as he remembers the white haired man who hung around Dostoevsky in some of the other universes. Not all of the other Dazais encountered him—in fact, Dazai thinks there were only half a dozen other universes where he met the man, he can hardly remember his name, but when he did…

Spatial linking. Of course Mishima’s men hadn’t been able to hunt down Dostoevsky. Dostoevsky would’ve predicted that the Sun and Steel would seek out the mastermind with their scouts. He used the clown to enter the building without anyone knowing after the scouts finished their hunt.

Dazai had missed a critical piece on the board.

Dazai rises to his feet abruptly, mind numb, eyes distant, and lips parted to speak but no words escape them. Tolstoy and Nabokov exchange a sharp, pointed look, pausing in their hostilities, and Dazai knows. He knows.

Dostoevsky is going after you.

He hears Chuuya and Kouyou calling after him but it sounds like a distant buzz. His throat feels clogged, his heartbeat is erratic and uncontrollable, his ears are ringing. His surroundings are blurry, a part of him doesn’t even know where he is: the event hall, your apartment, in the cafe below the Armed Detective Agency, it’s all blurring together.

This is it.

His vision swims and his head spins. The hallway seems impossibly long, much longer than it was to walk to the room. He can hear Chuuya spitting curses, scrambling out of the room, and he’s sure that his other executives and the other mafiosos aren’t far behind, but Dazai’s mind is on a single track. He doesn’t know how fast he’s moving—fast enough that Chuuya is chasing after him but can’t catch him. Something is heavy and cool in his hand—his gun—numb fingers moving to click the safety off.

This is it.

He might enter that hall and find you dead, slumped over the bar he’d last seen you sitting at, blood splattered across your face. Limp, cold. Just like you were on your bedroom floor. In the booth at the cafe. He’s pulling you from the water. He’s screaming for Yosano when he’s with the Agency. He’s screaming for Mori when he’s with the Mafia. Sometimes he’s alone, and he has no one to call for help, so all he can do is hold you and cry.

It’s his fault. He knew this would happen from the beginning. He knew that being with you would lead you to the same fate that you’ve met in every other universe because of him. He knew that being with you would be your death sentence, but he couldn’t stop himself.

His vision swims again, the red and gold patterns on the walls of the event hall are indistinct blobs, he feels someone try to grab his wrist—Chuuya, probably—but Dazai rips himself free and pushes himself into the event hall.

He ignores the eyes on him and the way people all instinctively move away from the sight of him with his gun out, he’s sure he must look deranged but he’s hardly even keeping himself grounded to this reality. Pages pile around him, every single one has variations of the same scene that’s haunted him for almost eight years written on it; one is being written before his eyes, he can see the words appearing on the blank sheet. He needs to find you before it’s complete. He has to stop it.

His eyes cut across the room, toward the bar he’d last seen you at, and you’re there. You’re there. It’s almost enough to make him scramble to put his gun away, cover up his steep spiral of paranoia even if you are looking right in his direction and see the gun in his hand. He can hardly come to terms with the consequences of this, how you’re seeing him right now, because his gaze tunnels right in on the person sitting next to you and his world comes to a halt.

He lifts the gun. He ignores as people shriek and scramble to the edges of the room. He ignores the look on your face as he moves closer to where you’re sitting with Fyodor Dostoevsky. He ignores the way Chuuya and Kouyou and Piano Man have all skid to a stop somewhere behind him, trying to figure out what to do. Dostoevsky’s hand is mere inches away from brushing against your body, it would only take the slightest movement and you would be dead. It would be a game of who’s faster: Dazai’s trigger finger or Dostoevsky’s ability. Dazai’s always been quick to pull the trigger but now, faced with your life on the line, when he should be at his best because of what’s at risk, he finds himself scared and unsteady.

He can’t lose you. He can’t watch it happen.

He paces toward you slowly, steadily, he swears each step he takes echoes across the suddenly silent event hall. He doesn’t stop until the muzzle of his gun is pressed against the back of Dostoevsky’s head.

“Stand up.” Dazai’s voice is deceptively cold and steady for the rage and fear that’s clawing at his chest, threatening to take control.

Dostoevsky turns his head to the side to look at Dazai, faint amusement in his eyes. “Are you sure you really want to do this here, Dazai?”

The mocking lilt his voice takes is almost enough alone for Dazai to pull the trigger. And if that wasn’t, the way Dostoevsky smiles at Dazai like he’s won is certainly enough to push him over the edge.

Before he can, he feels Chuuya grab his bicep hard.

“You can’t do this here,” he hisses quietly. “If you kill him now on neutral territory, we’ll have all of the mafias in the Eastern Hemisphere coming after you and the government on your ass. You can’t do this here and you can’t do it in public.”

Dazai doesn’t care. He doesn’t care how many mafias come after him for killing on neutral territory when invited as a guest. He doesn’t care that the government will come after him for such a blatant murder. All he cares about is getting Dostoevsky away from you.

“Chuuya is right,” Kouyou murmurs, low enough for only Dazai to overhear. “We can cover this up as is. If you pull the trigger, there’s no hiding what happened here. You know better than this, boy. You won’t be the only person this affects if you do this. Think of her. She will be implicated for coming here with you. Lower the gun and let us handle sweeping this under the rug.”

Dazai can’t even bring himself to look at you. He’s scared of what he might find. But he doesn’t even consider lowering the gun, not until Dostoevsky raises his hands and slips off the bar stool to step away from you. Even when he does, Dazai keeps it trained on him, still tempted to blow his head right off his shoulders.

“I meant no harm,” Dostoevsky says smoothly. “I was intrigued, wanted to know the girl who’s managed to capture your interest. I must say, I see the appeal. Beautiful and intelligent, you have quite the eye, Dazai.”

Dazai’s lips stretch into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s not kind, and it’s mildly feral, and Dazai’s pretty sure he must look entirely deranged from the way Dostoevsky’s eyes widen in a mixture of surprise and entertainment, just enough to be noticeable.

“If you ever go near her again, I’ll put a bullet through your fucking skull, Dostoevsky.”

He should do it now. He should. Fuck Chuuya and Kouyou’s warnings, he should put a bullet in his head and be done with it, move onto handling Christie so that both of the major threats to your life are gone. But he can’t. If he takes this opportunity now, if he kills Dostoevsky so blatantly on neutral territory, the Pale Flame and Three Deaths will come at him in full force, and Dazai is sure the Red Chamber won’t be far behind them with Cao’s recent interest in expanding his business into Japan. And you’ll be caught in the crossfire of all of it, Dazai has ensured that by bringing you here. Dostoevsky must have accounted for all of this. He knew that Dazai would be put in a situation where either way, whether he kills him or lets him go, he’d be throwing himself onto a blade.

Is that it? Killing you wasn’t the goal, was it? Exposing Dazai was. Forcing him into this impossible decision.

Did he really just fall into Dostoevsky’s hands so easily? Even with all of the forewarning the other universes have given him?

It’s you. You always make him reckless, his mind is never as sharp whenever you’re involved, muddled with thoughts of you, plagued with spirals of paranoia and anxiety that make him double guess himself. It’s like this in every universe—he becomes stupid, he becomes rash, he becomes careless. It’s you.

You.

Suddenly very hyper aware of your eyes on him, Dazai lowers his gun, gaze turning in your direction. Dostoevsky lets out one last snide comment, something toward you, telling you ‘don’t you see’ but Dazai doesn’t even process it, heart in his throat as he looks at you. He doesn’t know what he expects—fear, betrayal, even anger. He’s not prepared for the emptiness. He can’t read a single emotion on your face, your eyes eerily void of any feeling as you stare at him.

He says your name quietly. His voice cracks. He should be embarrassed, so many people watching the scene play out, so many of his enemies and allies and subordinates, and he’s staring at you like a lost child with an unsteady voice, but he can’t bring himself to care. The fingers of his free hand are trembling, and the ones wrapped around the grip of his gun are so wound so tight that his knuckles are white.

You’ve never looked at him like this before. Not in any universe.

He thinks he might throw up.

You’ve been mad at him before, scowling at him whenever he distracts you from your work and snarling whenever he makes messes that he never cleans up, but your eyes always stay soft in spite of the venom you spit. He’s seen betrayal on your face a few times before, screaming at him through tears when he got a bit too close to a successful attempt, cursing at him for trying to leave you, but you hold him so gently that it makes up for the harsh words. You’ve been scared of him once, when he lashed out so badly during one of his slumps that he nearly hurt you, but even then, you were more concerned for him then you were scared for yourself, speaking to him softly to settle him down.

He’s never seen this. He wants it to go away. Desperately.

“I’d like to leave,” you finally say after a few moments of silence, and your voice is so vacant of emotion that it leaves him feeling even more sick.

Dazai nods, because he can’t bring himself to speak.

He holds his hand out for you, waiting for you to take it.

You don’t.

You haven’t spoken a word since the event hall, and Dazai doesn’t know what to do. He used to find peace in silence—for years, he’d become accustomed to it, isolating himself from everyone around him, keeping everyone at arm’s length. The most he ever spoke was a few sentences to give out orders to his executives; his voice had become hoarse and raspy over the years of self-imposed isolation, unused to being utilized. But the past few months with you have utterly obliterated any semblance of comfort Dazai had found in solidarity.

It’s become entirely intolerable, the silence is making him sick with anxiety; he has hundreds of lifetimes worth of memories with you and he can’t even vaguely predict what to expect from you right now. You’ve been tense and cold since leaving the event hall. Dazai tried to open up a conversation in the car once but found himself promptly ignored. Chuuya tried to say something to you but only received the same cold shoulder. Even Albatross tried to lighten the mood when the four of you got in the car, but all you did was stare out the window with your back to Dazai.

Now, you’re back up in his penthouse with him. You haven’t sat down. You’ve hardly budged from where you’re standing near the elevator—Dazai wonders if you’re scared of him now, if you want to be as close as possible to the only exit in fear of him lashing out at you. The thought makes him even more nauseous.

He doesn’t even know what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to sit down, he’s uncomfortable standing in the living room, waiting for you to say something, and he can’t bring himself to try to break the silence because if there’s one thing he learned very swiftly, it’s that he can’t handle being ignored by you. He’d prefer anger and hate to the stonewall iciness you’re giving him.

He can’t even fathom what you might be thinking right now. You’re not looking at him. You’re staring at the window that looks over the city, he can see the bright flashing lights from Cosmo World flickering faintly in your eyes. It’s so quiet that he can hear the distant honking of horns, police sirens coming from the streets below.

He just wants you to say something, do something. Yell at him. Scream at him. Hit him or punch him. Anything is better than this.

It feels like an eternity before you finally move away from the elevator. You still don’t speak, but Dazai watches raptly as you make your way into the kitchen. You fling open the cabinets, searching for something, and Dazai’s lips part to ask what you’re looking for but he decides against it. You stop with your jerky movements when you catch sight of the numerous bottles of sake Dazai has stored in his cabinets—room temperature, because Dazai can’t stand cold drinks, they make his teeth hurt. He watches you struggle to uncap it and his body itches to move toward you to help but he knows it won’t do any good. It’ll probably just piss you off more.

When you get the cap off, you’re immediately bringing it to your lips. One. Two. Three. Four large gulps before you put the bottle back down on the counter and turn to look at him. The emptiness in your eyes is gone, replaced by something caught between hurt and anger and betrayal. It makes his heart sink, but he thinks it’s preferable to the emptiness.

“You lied to me,” you finally rasp out, shaking your head as you pace behind the counter. There’s a whole length of a room separating the two of you and Dazai longs for your touch but he forces himself to stuff his hands in his pockets and keep still. “You lied to me, Dazai.”

“Osamu,” he corrects quietly without thinking, not liking the switch up. He’d finally gotten you to call him by his given name earlier in the night, he doesn’t want to lose it so quickly.

For the briefest of seconds, the hurt and betrayal in your eyes disappears and only fire rages in them. “Dazai,” you spit out pointedly.

Dazai almost draws back, not having expected that. In all of the other universes, you’ve always been gentle with him even when you’re livid. You speak his name softly, even with a tight jaw and fisted hands—his given name, you’ve never used his surname against him like this before. Probably because most of the major fights he had with you in those other lives, it was months into the relationship; it’s only been a few weeks in this life so of course-

Dazai realizes, a bit dizzy, that he’s about to lose you.

You found out too soon. You found out through Dostoevsky, through Dazai's own loss of control. You found out in the worst possible way and you found out too soon.

Dazai is about to lose you.

“Okay,” he murmurs, not wanting to test your temper anymore, giving in as a means to try to soothe your anger, regardless of how much it might wound him because being wounded is nothing compared to losing you. “Dazai.”

His compliance seems to do nothing to quell your anger from the way you just scoff and shake your head again, looking away from him. You stare out over the city, dozens of emotions cloud your expression but Dazai still can’t predict what you might do next. He feels out of his depth, in murky waters with an anchor tied to his ankle.

“I knew it, you know?” you finally say quietly. “I knew it from the beginning, honestly, but I kept making excuses for you. I mean, the guns. The secrecy. You weren’t really subtle about it. Did you think I was stupid, or something?”

“Never,” Dazai says honestly, without hesitation. He sees your gaze flicker down to the ground at his words, but you don’t make any move to speak again so he takes the opportunity to, in hopes that you’ll finally listen. “You’re the smartest woman I know. I-”

You interrupt him with a sharp laugh, it’s loud and almost cruel, and Dazai turns in on himself at the sound of it. He feels small and unsteady, like a child who’s being scolded by a parent. When you look at him again, your eyes are wide and wild, half-crazed in sheer disbelief. You don’t believe him. Of course, you don’t. It’s plainly displayed on your face. And why would you anyway? He’s given you every reason not to.

“If you think I’m so smart, why didn’t you think I would figure it out?”

He tries to say that he knew you would. That he’s been living in fear for weeks that you’d finally see him for what he is but when he opens his mouth to say it, no words leave him. Like he’s frozen in fear, ice crawling through his veins, stones weighing on his tongue; he can’t respond, and he knows that he’s only condemning himself more. He tries to force something out but he can’t even make the barest hint of a sound. The mindkiller. He’s never responded well to fear, much less when you’re involved.

You click your tongue, as if to solidify that his silence proves your point, or maybe you know what he can't bring himself to say and you just don't believe him. His stomach churns again, and dread spreads through chest when you say: “If I’m so smart, and I was going to figure it out anyway, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“You would have left.” Dazai is finally able to speak, but he speaks the wrong answer, clearly, from the way you let out another humorless, breathless laugh, eyes wide in disbelief. You look at him like he’s the most audacious man in the entire world. Maybe he is.

“Yeah, I would have,” you agree and Dazai flinches. “Without hesitation, without even looking back. And now, I can’t because you made me fall in love with you without even warning me about what I was getting myself into.”

Dazai’s heart should be leaping through the roof at your confession, but if anything, he feels even worse. His throat feels clogged and his chest feels so heavy. You’ve never regretted falling in love with him before. Not in any lifetime.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, because he doesn’t know what else to say. The words are still foreign on his tongue, he doesn’t think he’s ever apologized to someone in this life before the last twenty-four hours.

“No, you’re not,” you say bitterly, looking away. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to care so much about you that when you finally tell me who you are and what you do, I won’t be able to leave.”

Dazai stares at you, lost. He remembers how just the other day he was finding comfort in the way you could read him so easily, knowing he didn’t have to speak for you to know what he needed at the moment. He thinks he hates it now, because you’re finally reading deeper into his soul and seeing him for the sick, twisted monster he really is. Just like he feared from day one. Manipulative. Selfish. Undeserving. His fingers tremble in his pockets, nails biting into his palm so deep that he can feel blood trickling down his skin, but not even the stinging pain can distract him from the numbness spreading through him.

“I didn’t-”

“Didn’t what?” you interrupt him. “You didn’t think I’d be upset? You didn’t think I’d be angry? Or maybe you didn’t think it would happen this soon? Is that it, Dazai? You thought you’d have more time to win me over in hopes that I’d take the news in stride. News flash, Dazai, no amount of time or charm would have made me accept this easily. Accept you easily. How could I ever accept any of this?”

Nausea rises to his throat so suddenly that he almost gags. He feels dizzy, taking a step back so that his back is against the wall, keeping him steady. Your last words echo through his head over and over again, he can’t escape them. The one person who’s always accepted him in every lifetime, the only person he was ever able to find a home in—how could I ever accept you?

His cheeks feel wet, his eyes are wide as he stares at you. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. He doesn’t even think he could if he knew how to respond to that. His lungs are burning and his throat feels so swollen that even just the thought of trying to speak is painful.

You let out a sharp breath, caught between a hysterical laugh and a sob as you press your hands to either side of your neck and pace across the kitchen. “What am I supposed to do, Dazai?” you ask, voice hoarse. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

He thinks it might be a rhetorical question, but he still forces out: “Don’t leave me.”

You scoff again, louder and harsher this time. Dazai’s eyes flutter shut as if to futilely minimize the blow. “I wish leaving you was still an option for me.”

Oh. He’s going to throw up.

He wants to blame it on the alcohol he drank earlier in the night. He wants to blame it on the stress of the past few weeks. He wants to blame it on anything but this, even though he knows damn well that this conversation is what triggered the bile that rises to his throat. He forces himself to move, nearly tripping over his feet to get to the bathroom because he doesn’t want you to see him vomiting up his guts.

He hardly makes it to the toilet, crashing to his knees and clutching at the seat as he dry heaves. Nothing comes up—he hasn’t eaten enough the past few days to have anything solid in him, too busy with preparations—but he can’t stop gagging, eyes stinging with tears and throat burning. He doesn’t know how long he stays crumpled at the toilet, losing track of time entirely, a part of him just wants to stay there forever so he doesn’t have to go back out and face you.

Evidently, he doesn’t have to go back out and face you because you come to him.

He’s gagging again when he feels your hand brush his back, hesitantly at first and then firmly. Your touch is warm, and Dazai thinks he must look pathetic as he turns his head to the side to look at you. Your expression isn’t as harsh now, your eyes are still conflicted but your face is softer. After a moment, you take a seat on the floor next to him—you don’t say anything, but you let out a soft puff of air as you slip your arm around his shoulders once he stops heaving.

He crumbles into your chest, body collapsing against yours. You wrap your arms around him, and at once, the numbness starts to fade away. His fingers clutch at your dress desperately, afraid that you’re going to disappear, but you only hold him tighter. You bury your face in his hair, forehead pressed to the top of his head.

“You’re so unfair, Osamu.” Your voice cracks, you’ve lost all of your fire, but Dazai finds no solace in it.

“I know,” he croaks out, throat scratchy and voice wavering. “I know.”

And then words are spilling from his lips before he can stop them, jumbled and hardly intelligible and he’s not even sure that you’re understanding what he’s saying but he can’t stop himself: “I tried. I tried to stay away, I tried so hard, you don’t understand. I knew it would turn out like this, I knew I would ruin you so I tried to stay away, but I’m selfish. I’m so selfish, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I knew better, I’m going to-you’re going to-”

The panic is returning, the words he wants to say but can’t push out are too damning: I’m going to get you killed. You’re going to die because of me. Dazai is breathing but the air isn’t getting to his lungs, his chest burns, and now even with your arms around him, the numbness is returning. It’s rapid now, spreading from his chest to his arms, down his abdomen to his legs; it’s going to consume him entirely, he can feel it, he can-

Oh.

Your lips press to his. Tilting his head back to angle his face up toward you, you lean down and press your lips against his, swallowing his words, his air, his panic. One of your hands cup his cheek while the other cradles the back of his head, Dazai can hardly kiss you back, his lips feel cold and prickly, but his eyes flutter shut as your lips move slowly and carefully against his.

Not for the first time, he thinks that he doesn’t deserve this. Especially not now. He tastes something wet and salty against his lips—he doesn’t know if you’re the one crying, or if he is, and he doesn’t want to know, so he forces himself to move. His arm feels heavy and clunky, and his fingers feel stiff, but he’s able to bring them up to your face, palms cupping your cheeks as the tips of his fingers tangle into your hair. He kisses you until his lungs are screaming for air, and even as he starts to feel lightheaded, he kisses you still, because your lips are the only thing able to push away the numbness overwhelming him.

When you break away from him, you keep your foreheads pressed together, nose nudging against his. You share the same thin sliver of air and Dazai feels dizzy, he wants to kiss you again but he doesn’t think he’s capable of moving yet, so he only stays crumbled in your arms, waiting for you to grace him with your lips again.

“I wish I still had the chance to be a better man,” Dazai says hoarsely, honestly, gaze searching yours desperately. “I would be. For you.”

Please believe me, he thinks to himself helplessly, because it’s the truth. He would try to be. For your sake. He might fail, he might be too far gone, his soul corrupted beyond salvation and his blood black beyond purification, but he would try. He would try so hard for you. But he can’t, not in this lifetime, not without risking everything he’s strove to protect since coming in contact with the Book. He has to stay the criminal, the monster, the demon so that you and Odasaku can live out your lives here. Until Dostoevsky, Christie, and any other person that could turn out to be a threat to either of you are killed, Dazai has to keep playing this role. He has to.

You don’t respond. Dazai thinks it’s because you don’t believe him and it makes him feel sick again. His lips part to repeat himself but you only press yours against his, as if to silence him.

You don’t believe him, the kiss confirms it, and his heart sinks but he can’t even bring himself to protest, to insist that it’s true. Instead, he decides if he can’t prove it through his words, he’ll prove it through his actions. Even though his limbs still feel leaden and clumsy, he forces himself into a better position, sitting up a bit more and bringing both of his hands up to cup your cheeks. He tilts your head back, leaning into you and slowly pressing you back against the floor and distantly Dazai recognizes that this is not the place for this but the thought is only fleeting, he’s too lost in the feeling of your lips against his and your body pressed to him.

And you let him ease you back against the floor. You let him tilt your head back and when his tongue darts out to swipe against your bottom lip, you part your lips for him. He doesn’t have to knock your knees apart, because you spread them just enough for him to slot his hips between them to keep your bodies flush. He wonders if you can feel how clunky his movements are—his fingers still feel heavy against your face and he can hardly hold himself up above you. He hopes he’s not crushing you with his weight, he might be, but you don’t seem to care.

He pulls back to ask if you’re okay with this but you chase his lips and he lets out a soft, muffled noise when you tug gently at his bottom lip and bring your free hand up to cup the back of his head, fingers tangling with his hair, pulling him back down to you. You drag your lips from his to slide them down his neck to the edge of his bandages. He twitches a bit at the feeling, wondering if you’re going to ask to take them off, but instead, you just trail your lips back upward, nipping at his jaw, and he shudders.

And then he finally hesitates, pulling away and not letting you chase after this time. He weighs his options in his head anxiously. He feels like he should do something, that he owes something—a lowering of a mask, a show of vulnerability, you’re entitled to at least that much after everything he’s done. Aren't you?

You give him a curious look and he tries to respond—he does, his lips part for him to speak but nothing leaves them. He swallows thickly, eyes fluttering shut as he braces himself before trying again, bringing one of his hands to yours and wrapping his fingers around it gently, lifting it from his chest to the bandages covering the left side of his face.

“Take them off,” he tells you, voice hoarse and shakier than he would have liked.

Your eyes widen, and he shudders a bit when your fingers smooth against the bandages, uncertain. “Are you sure?” you ask him softly, bringing your other hand to his opposite cheek, cupping his face in your hands again, eyes searching to make sure he means it.

Is he sure? Dazai doesn’t know. He can’t speak again as he stares down at you; a part of him is nervous, and he doesn’t even understand why. You already know who he is, what he is, but a part of him still fears that once you actually see him, something will change. And it’s ridiculous, so many other universes you’ve seen him without his bandages and you’ve never made him feel uncomfortable about it. But you’ve also never used his surname against him during an argument in the other universes, you’ve never regretted loving him, and you’ve certainly never wished you could leave him.

So, yeah, he thinks the anxiety of you removing his bandages and then seeing him in a different light might be more of a possibility in this universe than any other one. His body is more covered in scars than not, and he knows it’s not attractive; he thinks if he sees your expression shift in a negative way when the bandages come off, it might shatter him entirely.

Just the face bandages then, he bargains with himself, swallowing thickly as he forces himself to nod. You sit up from where you’re still laying back against the tiles, propping yourself on your knees to shift closer to him.

Dazai thinks his heart might be in his throat when he feels your fingers unclip the clasp holding the bandages together around the left side of his face, eyes fluttering shut as you slowly unwind them from around his head. He isn’t sure why he’s so nervous for this part—there are no scars on his face, but he still feels distinctly vulnerable, like he’s giving you a window into himself that might reveal more than he means to. He can barely breathe as he feels the last of the bandages fall to the floor, he can hear you push them to the side.

Still, he keeps his eyes shut, counting each second that passes. He’s anxious, can’t even bring himself to look at you until you cup his cheeks again.

“Look at me,” you say quietly.

Dazai does as you ask, he always does. He doesn’t know what he expects when he opens his eyes to meet your gaze; he prepares himself for the worst, for a twisted expression or thinly veiled pity, but he finds none of it. Rather, your eyes are soft and fond, tracing over his face, looking between each of his. He can feel the pads of your fingers gently brushing over his cheekbones, tracing absent patterns.

“You’re so handsome, Osamu,” you whisper, one of your hands sliding behind his head, intertwining with his hair. “Why do you wear them?”

Dazai doesn’t know how to answer that. His throat feels swollen at your words, eyes a bit misty and fingers trembling against your thighs. Instead, he breathes out, “Kiss me.”

And you do.

God, when you kiss him again, it’s so intense that it has his head spinning. He doesn’t know how long he sits there kissing you, back against the cabinets with you half in his lap. It could be a few seconds, or a few minutes, or a few hours—he has no concept of time whenever his lips are against yours. It’s only when you press your hand against his shoulder, murmuring for him to get up, that he finally pulls himself away from you.

Dazai forces himself to push up to his feet—it’s much more difficult than he thought it would be, nearly tripping over his own feet, but you follow him up to your feet, steadying him when he almost tumbles over. You bring your hand up to rest against his cheek, fingers gently toying with the edges of his hair. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before he forces himself to look you in the eye.

“You’re so frustrating,” you say softly, but all of the fire is gone, replaced by that same soft look you’ve directed toward him—not him—hundreds of times before. “You are so frustrating, Osamu.”

His throat feels tight again, the sound of his name on your lips causing a wave of warmth to spread through him, the numbness slowly subsiding.

“I know,” he whispers, swallowing thickly, and you sigh, gaze averting to the side for a moment before you look back at him. He still can’t fathom what you might be thinking and it scares him.

But then you kiss him again, your other hand coming up to his other cheek and his hands fly to your waist, holding you close. You walk him backward, out of the bathroom and into the hallway. His back hits the wall and you press your body close to his, and this time it’s you whose tongue is darting out to brush his bottom lip, urging him to part his lips for you. He does, and he thinks he might be in heaven when he feels your tongue dip into his mouth, sliding against his tongue. His eyes flutter shut, rolling back just a bit when you trace the back of his teeth with your tongue before sucking gently on his bottom lip.

Your hands slide down from his face to his chest, over his jacket, down to his waist. Your fingers hook in his belt loops and Dazai groans as your lips ghost from his down to his jaw, breath shaky as trail slow, wet kisses to the sensitive spot behind his ear. He can hardly do anything but follow along as you guide him from where he’s been backed against the wall into his bedroom, dazed and entirely consumed by your touch. His head already feels a bit fuzzy, breath hitching as your teeth graze his pulse point, kissing down to the edge of his bandages and then across his throat.

He barely even knows where he is until he feels the back of his knees hit his bed and he topples backward until he’s laying flat on it. His chest is heaving, head dizzy and breath shaky as you straddle his waist. You don’t kiss him again and Dazai wants to drag you down for another but he can’t even bring himself to move. His body refuses to cooperate, nervous that he’s going to make the wrong move.

“Do you want this?” you finally ask after a moment, voice raspy as one of your hands squeeze his gently, as if to get his attention.

Dazai’s brows furrow a bit, lips parting to respond but for a second, no words leave them. You wait with the patience of a saint as Dazai tries to process what you’re asking and respond to it. After what feels like an eternity, he nods once. Of course, he wants it. You search his eyes as if to make sure he’s not just agreeing to agree, and once you’re satisfied, you continue you with:

“And do you trust me?” you ask softly, your gaze gentle as it searches his face for the next answer.

Dazai doesn’t hesitate this time, and he speaks as he breathes out, “With everything.”

He can’t tell what you’re thinking, but your expression is still soft and your touch is still gentle as you run your thumb over his knuckles. Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the gentleness you show him. You lift your hand to cup his cheek and he leans into your touch, throat spasming beneath his bandages as he waits for you to say something.

“Let me take the lead then,” you say quietly, his eyes widen a bit at your words. “I want to try something.”

He watches you carefully for a moment, guarded and studying you. He thinks this might be another first, and the thought alone makes him feel a bit giddy because he can’t recall any other life where you’ve ever been the one to take the lead like this, especially the first time the two of you sleep together. You look a bit anxious the longer he goes without responding, so he nods and says, “Okay.”

He’s pliant beneath your touch as you lean down to press your lips against his; he lets out a soft, muffled noise when he feels your hips shift, unintentionally grinding down a bit on his straining cock. He’s more hesitant this time in the way his lips move against yours, unsure of what to do with himself. His fingers twitch from where they're resting on the bed, itching to grab your hips but not wanting to make the wrong move.

This has happened every time one of you tries to take the next step, either he gets interrupted or he ends up getting cold feet because he’s scared of doing the wrong thing and making you uncomfortable. And it’s ridiculous because Dazai has so many memories, he should know at least vaguely what you like and what you don’t like but he thinks having the memories are a double-edged sword because he overwhelms himself if what ifs: what if he assumes you like something and you end up not liking it in this universe, what if he does something that you only liked after the two of you have been together for a while and you’re uncomfortable with him doing it because you’re not as comfortable with him. Maybe Dazai is just overthinking it all but how can he not when you’re involved. He wants everything to be perfect for you.

“Is this okay?” you whisper, separating your lips from his just enough for him to answer your question. Your breath mingles with his and Dazai can hardly think straight; it’s hot, dizzying, there’s something so intimate about it that it makes his body fuzzy.

“Yeah,” he says, eyelashes fluttering as he looks up at you. “It’s okay.”

You kiss him again. His lips move against yours desperately, needy, he’d be embarrassed if you weren’t matching his energy, but you are. He can feel your fingers tugging at his hair, your hips grinding down against his. Every time you start to pull away, he lifts his head from where it’s laying flush against the pillows, chasing your lips.

He needs you. His hands slide from your thighs to your waist, keeping your body pressed to his. He’s needed you since the day he came in contact with the Book and learned about you, since the day he met you at the club, maybe even since the day he was born even if he hadn’t known it at the time. He thinks his entire life has led to this, to the two of you being together; your souls have been entangled since the moment you were born and he isn’t sure how he ever thought a life without you was possible.

“I need you,” he gasps against your lips, hips jerking up just a bit to try to alleviate the pressure building in his lower abdomen, desperate to reach down and unbutton his slacks, but wanting you to make the first move.

Whatever nerves that have made him get cold feet all of the other times the two of you have tried to take the next stop are long gone. You don’t give him any time to wonder if he’s doing the wrong thing—the fingers of one of your hands intertwining with his dark locks, just tight enough to make him hiss into your mouth, eyes rolling back at the pleasant sting. Your other hand slides across his chest, even through his dress shirt, your fingertips seem to scorch through to his skin, leaving his body tingling everywhere you touch.

“You have me,” you tell him, breathless, and Dazai can’t bite back the noise that slips from his lips, wanton and obscene, borderline pornographic—if he was any more coherent, he might be embarrassed but he can’t find it in him. Not when he’s finally getting what he’s wanted after all of this time.

His hands fly down to his slacks, he fumbles with the button and zipper before yanking them down just enough to free his cock and he watches as you sit back on his thighs, eyes wide and lips parted as your gaze focuses in on his cock, watching as the leaking precum dribbles down his length, alongside the vein running along the underside of his cock.

“Please,” he breathes out, fingers biting into your thighs as he bunches your dress up to your hips, another low moan spilling from his lips just at the thought of what’s about to happen, lashes fluttering.

You don’t even take off your panties, clearly driven by the same desperation that he is as you slide them to the side and position yourself above his cock and Dazai gnaws at his bottom lip when he feels the tip pressing against your entrance. He can feel how wet you are already, so drenched that your slick is dripping down the length of his cock. His hips stutter up instinctively, but instead of pushing inside, his cock slides between your folds and he whimpers, arm flying to cover the lower half of his face. You don’t let him, fingers wrapping around his wrist to pull his arm from his face and pin it to the mattress above him.

“Don’t hide yourself,” you say softly.

Dazai thinks there must be stars in his eyes as he looks up at you. You’re so beautiful, lips parted as you pant softly, an adoring expression on your face as you look down at him. He loves you. He loves you, god, he loves you more than he’s ever loved anything in his life; he thinks that nothing the other Dazais ever felt for any of the other yous could ever compare to how he feels for you.

When his tip starts to push into your tight hole, all he can let out is another loud, lewd noise; his head falls back against the pillows. His ears are ringing, but distantly, he can hear you gasp. His vision is blurry as he forces himself to look up at you but Dazai thinks you look otherworldly with your head tilted back as his cock starts to stretch you out, lips swollen and wet from the kisses you’d shared. He thinks he must look insane, pupils blown wide and eyes wild as he tries to focus on the sight of you. All of the clever wheels that usually turn within his mind are crumbling.

His fingertips leave crescents in your thighs as you sink down on his cock slowly—too slow, it leaves his head dizzy as your warmth slowly envelops his length. He’s imagined this so many times before. Dozens. Hundreds. He has so many memories of the feeling of your body flush to his, thighs over his shoulders as he fucks you deep and slow, swallowing your moans, but he thinks that nothing compares to this, the sight of you above him, watching your body tremble and face shift as his cock stretches you out. He barely refrains from letting out a string of strangled curses, barely able to hold his eyes open to watch you.

You give yourself a moment to adjust, and when you do, you look down at Dazai. He thinks he must look a mess—chest heaving, breath erratic, eyes heavy and lidded and entirely glazed over—but he doesn’t care, not with the way your hand slides up his abdomen, fingers tracing patterns along the bandages covering his body. You look beautiful—you always look beautiful—but you look extra beautiful right now, and he thinks he could stare at you forever and never tire of it.

Experimentally, you roll your hips—it’s still slow, agonizingly slow—and Dazai throws his head back, another obscene moan spilling from his lips.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his fingers falling from your thighs to twist the sheets below him, knuckles white. “Feels so good. So good.”

You let out a hum that’s caught between a moan and agreement as you continue the slow rolls of your hips, hands sliding up and down his abdomen in a way that’s deceptively innocent and soothing compared to how his cock is dragging along your walls. His body shudders at the feeling of it, heat pooling in his abdomen so quickly that it has his whole body tensing as he tries to push it away.

“You’re so perfect.” Words spill from his lips, more of a babble than anything else as you lean down to ghost your lips over his jaw, nibbling over the bandages covering his Adam’s apple. It bobs beneath your teeth as he lets out another shaky noise. “S’like you’re made for me. I’d do anything for you. Anything. You know that, right? Anything you want, it’s yours.”

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, clawing at the sheets and occasionally reaching for your thighs, and he doesn’t know what to do with his body, hips jerking up at an erratic pace, like he’s trying to meet your pace but his body simply can’t match the slow rolls of your hips, desperate for more. He doesn’t know how you’re so put together—maybe you’re not, he can see through a blurry vision how your lashes are fluttering with each roll of your hips, breath shaky, but you’re just not as far gone as he already is.

“Anything?” you murmur, and he can feel your lips curve up against his neck.

“Anything.” His breath hitches, fingers reaching for your hips as he rocks his up into you, a desperate attempt to get you to pick up the pace. “‘d give you the whole world, burn it for you, anything you want, I’d give it to you.”

His hands slide up from your thighs to your waist as you lean down to press your lips against his in a deceptively innocent kiss. He tries to chase your lips as you straighten up but you don’t let him, one of your hands curling around his throat—not choking him, but firm enough that it goes right to his cock, lips parting in a silent moan—while the other braces back on his thigh.

He thinks that nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of you picking up the pace. His breath hitches, he chokes over a moan, stars sparkle in his vision as the tip of his cock presses deep inside of you. You sigh out his name and Dazai thinks this might be the closest he ever gets to heaven: you on top of him, cock buried to the hilt in your cunt, the sight of your blissed out face above him as his head spins.

“Oh, fuck,” Dazai cries out, back arching and hand flying to cover his face again but the hand you have on his thigh flies forward to snatch his wrist before he can, pinning it back above his head. Dazai’s eyes roll back, you’re leaning over him entirely now, leaning most of your weight on the hand that’s pinning his wrist but the new angle adds pressure onto how you’re squeezing his neck, paring his airways just enough to make his lungs burn. “More. Faster, fuck, I-ah-”

His voice falls off into another moan, head falling to the side to press his cheek against the pillow. He thinks drool is starting to pool at the corner of his lips but he doesn’t care, he can’t even think at this point, too lost in the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock fucking deep in your cunt, your soft moans and gasps, lost in the feeling of your tight walls clamping down on his cock, the warmth, the wetness, your fingers digging into his wrist and the sides of his neck. He wants to tell you that he needs more but the words are garbled, entirely unintelligible.

He forces his eyes back open, feeling the tears spilling over his cheeks just from the intensity of it all, the intensity of you. You’re gentle with him even when your hand is wrapped around his throat and his cock is splitting you open—he can feel the soothing circles you rub with your thumb, he can see the way you’re searching his face to make sure he’s okay. Dazai is just so overwhelmed that he can’t stop the way his next moan breaks into a sob; acutely realizing just how deprived he’d been of any type of care or love before meeting you, and forcibly coming to terms with the fact that he is never going to be able to go without this again, without you again. He’d known it to some extent before this, the thought of losing you and the light you bring him has made his stomach churn violently but this…

He’s torn from his thoughts when you suddenly stop the rolls of your hips, halting the spreading heat in his lower abdomen desperately. The noise that escapes him is something caught between distress and betrayal, dark eyes wide as he looks up at you questioningly, but the expression on your face makes his breath catch. Your hand slides up from his throat to cup his cheek, your other hand releasing his wrist so that you can hold his face between your hands, thumbs wiping away the tears spilling over his cheeks.

Distantly, Dazai recognizes that he’s still choking over sobs and that’s probably why you’ve stopped and that only rips his chest apart more because of course, you’re still putting him above you—even when you’re mad, even when you’ve just fought, when he’s betrayed you in a way that should be unforgivable, you’re still kissing away his tears and putting aside your own needs to take care of him

He doesn’t deserve you. Not in any universe, but especially not in this one.

He thinks he could stay here for eternity. Fuck the rest of the world. Fuck the Port Mafia. Fuck his plan. He just wants to stay here with you, your lips brushing his, sharing the same sliver of air. He leans into your touch, groaning against your lips when he feels your walls spasm around him.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes out, unsure if you can even understand him. “You’re so-”

His words fall off into another moan, and he can’t control his hips as they thrust up sharply against yours, another string of incoherent curses escaping his hips as your breath catches and you straighten back up, head falling back as you gasp his name.

Your nails dig crescents into his upper thighs through his bandages as you brace yourself back against them. You move your hips again—faster, this time, harder, and Dazai thinks his head is in the clouds. He’s so deep inside of you that he can feel everything, jaw falling slack as heat spreads through his body too rapidly for him to get control over. He wants to throw a hand over his mouth to muffle the lewd, pitched moans spilling from his lips but he can’t drag his hands from where they’re clawing at your hips, desperately trying to help you meet him with each thrust.

“I-hah-shit, I’m gonna-fuck-”

He slurs out your name and several obscenities, trying to warn you that he’s going to cum when he feels his cock twitching inside of you and his abdomen tensing, but you only lean down to press a lingering kiss to the corner of his lips and Dazai is gone. He wants to watch you, he tries, but he can’t hold his eyes open, they’re half-rolled back as he chokes over moans of your name, hips stilling as he cums deep inside of you. His body twitches, expression twisted as he presses his head so hard into the pillow that he thinks he might permanently indent it.

His head is spinning, lungs burning, sweat beading at his forehead and hair matted to his face—he thinks he’s never cum so hard in his entire life; all of the nights he spent alone, desperately trying to fuck his hand to the thought of you in attempts to mimic how you’ve made all the other Dazais feel, to give himself some semblance of the pleasure you’ve brought him in other lives to hold him over on particularly lonely nights, they’ve never felt like this.

You don’t stop, even as he squirms and lets out jumbled pleas beneath you, body shuddering at the overstimulation but you’re too lost in chasing your own high now. He spasms beneath you, nails digging into your thigh as you fuck his cum deeper inside of you, bouncing on his cock desperately. He doesn’t care that the sensitivity is pushing his body to the brink, letting you use him however you want if it means he gets to see you like this.

Dazai’s head feels light, pins and needles pricking his body—he thinks he might pass out but he forces himself to hold on, enraptured by the sight of you on top of him with your eyes half-rolled back, lips parted and throat bared to him. Your tits are half-spilling out over the low-cut of your dress and Dazai thinks you’re fucking divine. The only holy thing in this godless world. He wants to spend the rest of his life worshiping you.

“I’m gonna-” you gasp, head falling backward as one final roll of your hips that has your clit grinding against his pelvic bone sends you spiraling over the edge.

Dazai wants to sear the image of you behind his eyelids, watching as your nails drag against his thighs, drawing red lines even through the bandages, back arching, head tossed back—your body is trembling violently as you cum on his cock, expression twisted and entirely blissed out, sobbing over his name. He chokes and gasps at the feeling of your cunt tightening around his sensitive cock again, jaw tight and spots dancing in his vision as he’s so abruptly pushed over the edge a second time, the coil in his abdomen tightening and snapping all within the span of a few seconds.

He’s still reeling when he feels you slump forward onto his chest, burying your face in the crook of his neck, shivering in the aftershocks of your orgasm. He’s only half aware as he instinctively brings his hands up to rest on your hips, rubbing soft circles of your hip bones to try to soothe you.

He shudders when you press a kiss to his neck right at the edge of his bandages, and then tilt your head up to press another on his jaw. One of your hands comes up to caress the back of his head, fingers carding through the dark locks in a way that has his eyes drooping shut.

“We’re not done with this conversation,” you finally say after a few moments of silence, voice soft, breaking the silence. Dazai stiffens a bit, lips parting to respond but no words leave them. “... but let’s just lay like this for a while first, okay?”

He lets out a shaky breath, still not entirely convinced that he’s not going to lose you, so he lets his eyes flutter shut as he nods. He may as well bask in this for as long as he can, and if you notice the way his fingers dig just a little deeper into your skin after your words process, you don’t mention it.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “okay.”

Dazai wakes up the next morning and you’re nowhere to be seen. The bed is frighteningly cold next to him and his heart is instantly in his throat. He doesn’t waste a second before he’s sitting up in bed, looking around, eyes wild and heart racing. He doesn’t settle down, not until his eyes fall upon where you’re sitting curled up on the chair of the desk he never uses, eyes trained on the dark clouds outside the window, the beauty of the sunrise wilted by a morning storm.

“His intention was to make me leave you.” You’re not looking at him, but you must have heard him sit up. “Fyodor Dostoevsky. The things he told me, they were to make me leave you.”

Dazai doesn’t move an inch, throat swelling. He forces himself to ask, “What did he tell you?”

He isn’t sure if he wants to know.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say—Dazai thinks that it definitely does, but he bites back the questions that rise to his tongue because you’re clearly not about to budge on your answer. “Who is he?”

“A monster,” Dazai bites out, bitterness seeping into his tone as he leans back against the headboard, eyes still trained on where you’re curled on his chair, gaze distant. “You have to stay away from him.”

“Well, I didn’t intend on seeking him out,” you say it so dryly that Dazai nearly finds humor in it. Nearly. The smile that rises to his lips is mirthless at best. You turn to look at him, finally, and Dazai finds only cool indifference on your face; the fondness, the softness, the gentleness from last night are all gone. He wonders if you regret it, but he doesn’t let that thought linger, it’ll only make him sick. “... He doesn’t seem like the type to give up.”

“He never is,” Dazai murmurs, ignoring the brief, questioning look you direct toward him, mind drifting off to all of the Russian’s incessant attempts to take you from him in all of the other universes. “Did he tell you what his plan was?”

Dazai doubts it, but maybe there was something he said to you that shed some light to it.

“He didn’t have to,” you say quietly. “He wants Yokohama, for whatever reason—couldn’t figure that out, I think he’s looking for something—and clearly, he has to get through you to get it. He thinks the best way of getting through you is by taking me away from you first. That’s what I’d gathered from how he was talking at least, what he was saying about you, the way he was phrasing it. I’d put together enough on my own during the night to fill in the blanks. He told me things about what you’d done as… what you’d done as boss of the Port Mafia—things you’ve done to enemies… to allies. He told me that I’d see the real you as soon as you realize that the meeting he set up was a farce; that the mask you put up would crumble and I would see you for the demon that you are.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, jaw tight as he averts his gaze to the window—he’d played right into Dostoevsky’s hands. He can hardly bring himself to look at you; he wonders if you do see him differently now that the cloud from the night before has worn off, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Now’s not the time anyway, there are more pressing matters.

“... He’ll come after me again, won’t he?” you ask quietly. “Getting me to leave you willingly didn’t work. If he’s so set on me being the trigger to your downfall, then he’ll come after me again.��

He would. As he always has. Of course, Dostoevsky would try to get to him through you, he’s tried it in every universe, and Dazai hadn’t been careful enough. He hadn’t been smart enough. He’d known this was going to happen and was still arrogant enough to believe he could somehow prevent it. He was a fool, and he was a fool at the cost of your safety. He doesn’t know how to respond to you, he doesn’t want to confirm your suspicions, he doesn’t want to admit that this is all his fault, that he knew this would happen and was selfish enough to pursue you anyway.

“... I’m scared, Osamu,” you finally say quietly, and you suddenly look a lot smaller from where you’re sitting on his desk chair, hunched over with your knees tucked to your chest. “I’m really scared.”

Dazai’s heart claws up to his throat and he pushes himself out of bed, still dressed haphazardly in his suit from the night before. He makes his way over to you and kneels in front of you, hands curling around your ankles as he looks up at you.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he tells you, voice a bit more raspier than he intended for it to come across as. “I don’t care what I have to do to ensure it, how low I have to stoop. I will not let anything happen to you, do you understand?”

Your eyes meet his, and he can’t help but notice that doubt still riddles your gaze as you search his face, as if you want to believe him but can’t bring yourself to. A pit starts to grow in his stomach, wide and gaping as he realizes that this is all really about to happen, and one mistake on his part could lead you to the same fate you’ve met in so many other worlds because of him.

Finally, the doubt slowly clears as you let out a soft breath, nodding, and Dazai inhales sharply, laying his forehead against your shin as he lets his eyes slide shut.

He won’t let it happen. Not again.

again there was NO plot development in the smut - you guys didn't miss out on anything, pinky swear. i restructured the scene to fit the only notable scene (bandage removal) into the part before the smut, so if that felt a little forced, that was why </3 it wasn't supposed to be there. i was struggling trying to figure out how to move it upward a bit. the only arguable "plot" development was dazai letting go of his control freakiness to let her take the lead

#ᡣ𐭩 carina’s archives #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai smut #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu smut #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs smut #bungo stray dogs x you

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krashlite · 2 months

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I think that c!Jimmy liked being a Bad Boy and a Big Dog because for once in this series a role let him be reckless without being mocked/put down by his allies and without truly harming anyone through the risks he took. In this essay I will explore his character through this lens

Jimmy is an extremely optimistic character, almost always seen smiling and laughing about whatever’s going on. Not in the sense that he laughs when he’s nervous, but in the sense that he makes light of whatever scenario he’s in. On a deeper level, this also translates into overconfidence in a glass-half-full type of way. If there’s a chance a plan could go south, he only focuses on the potential benefit. If there’s a chance he loses a fight, he only focuses on winning

This isn’t to say he’s unaware of negative outcomes, he just chooses to ignore them. The result is him making poor decisions over, and over, and over again. Jimmy knows exactly why he did that but from an outside perspective he’s regarded as stupid

This is seen as early as 3rd life, with Scott practically putting him on a leash to stop him from fighting Ren and his army. Specifically when they manage to chase Dogwarts away from Joel’s base, Jimmy goes to give chase and Scott immediately stops him. They’ve won, and he doesn’t understand why Jimmy would push it further. Jimmy, on the other hand, is thinking about how they’ve been chased across the map like rabbits and knows DW will be back unless they establish themselves as a threat. Now’s the perfect time, since they have the upper hand

But again, Scott doesn’t see this. In his mind, the battle is won and they shouldn’t expend more time, energy, or resources on it. Ultimately he doesn’t want to see Jimmy hurt and believes that restricting what Jimmy does will protect him from harm

I think this shows a fundamental difference in how they interact with the world. Scott’s more practical- he only does what he feels is necessary and is humble enough to know when the risk isn’t worth the reward. Jimmy, on the other hand, wants to test the limits and see what he’s able to accomplish through, once again, taking unnecessary risks.

But this is where things get messy

Again, there is a fundamental difference in their thought processes. This causes them to clash, and since Scott is the one who held more “power” in the relationship (being the one to decide many aspects of their base and being the one to make most deals and plans for the both of them), resulted in Scott putting Jimmy down A Lot. This started with Jimmy returning from the desert without several of the armor pieces he left with and continued throughout the war.

Jimmy, in response to this treatment, started acting More reckless as a means to prove himself. He wanted to be seen as just as strong, smart, and capable as the people around him. Ultimately, he wanted to be respected in his own right, and that didn’t really happen this season!

Nor did it happen in LL,

LL was an entire mess for so many reasons and most of it was due to the game mechanic itself. Lives being treated as currency caused rifts in many alliances, especially the Southlands

This coupled with the fact that Jimmy is already back in 3L habits, trying to prove himself constantly, makes an incredibly messy situation. His efforts in monopolizing sugar cane are downplayed and mocked, he spends so much time getting spyglasses just for Mumbo to lose them. These are meant to be harmless jokes (and really, they are) but Jimmy’s coming off of an unbalanced power dynamic and a tiny bit of it eats away at him and he can’t figure out Why.

Jimmy doesn’t understand why he doesn’t feel valued in the team, so he starts looking at arbitrary reasons Why. The reason he settles on is the life count, with Grian’s death making it known that Yellow-Names are on the brink of being exiled.

This comes back to the game mechanic. Jimmy sees Martyn with four lives, with the ability to either a) bring Grian back to Yellow or b) offer a Yellow-Name in the alliance a life to keep them safe, and Martyn Doesn’t. This tells Jimmy that Martyn either doesn’t trust him or doesn’t value him enough to even attempt to protect him

I think this was even voiced a couple of times during LL, with Martyn closely guarding his lives and finding every reason he could to justify it (he was fully in the right for keeping them, even if doing so hurt others). Jimmy backed off, but there was just a small amount of bitterness that lingered

With Martyn, I think Jimmy picked up on the fact that Martyn was more concerned with protecting his Alliance than the people in it. He needed a group around him, but wasn’t terribly concerned with them otherwise

And that’s what fueled his decision to steal the life. If Martyn doesn’t respect him, if he doesn’t trust him, if he doesn’t care enough to protect him, why should Jimmy do the same. Why should he be a human shield for someone who barely looks his way. Impulse and Mumbo could stay if they wanted, but he wasn’t going to

Which makes it hurt so much more when Martyn asks to run away with him, when Martyn says he cares about Jimmy more than anyone else in the alliance. I want to remind you, Jimmy’s an optimist. He looks at the half-full cup. He doesn’t consider Martyn could be lying because he wanted so badly to just be Seen. So Jimmy gives it back

As it turns out, Martyn was lying. He calls him an idiot, and Jimmy is exiled immediately

All the resolve that Jimmy had in stealing the life crumbles then and there. He starts hanging around the Southlands alliance like a lost puppy, basically begging them to take him back. Martyn’s little ruse inadvertently showed Jimmy that, really, all he wanted is to be valued and supported. The life counts stops being an issue because he’s able to recognize the real issue- he feels undervalued and he feels stupid

That’s a factor even after the Southlands reunites, after he’s almost unanimously voted back in but Grian’s insistent on a recount. I think it’s the main reason why he’s so risky when he goes down to red- with him falling for a trap that he easily could have avoided

Again, it’s the same as 3L. He feels disrespected and undervalued so he takes unnecessary risks in order to prove to himself and to others that he’s just as strong, just as smart, and just as capable as they are.

This is later coupled with Mumbo’s extreme bloodlust when he turns Red. On Red, Mumbo was needlessly violent and is basically the only Red to swing at anything that moved. And I do mean Needlessly violent, he got himself and others into several dicey scenarios because he was impulsive and wanted to Stab. He gave the server a reason to be cautious of Mumbo and any other Red-Name. If Mumbo was a loose cannon, how would others be?

Except Mumbo was only aggressive towards Non-Reds (obviously) and was otherwise supportive of those on his side

I think this actually greatly influenced Skizz’s decision to leave BEST behind, with him seeing Mumbo as someone worth defending/standing by. Not only was he a visibly strong ally with a reputation, he genuinely cared for and supported those who were at his side. In Skizz’s case, he offered a source of stability where BEST couldn’t, and I think the same is true for Jimmy.

Jimmy sees this, and sees Mumbo as someone who can both show him how to be dangerous and respect his abilities in this game. Mumbo was respected as a threat and genuinely cared for those in his company. So he’s the perfect ally, right?

Actually, no, and this isn’t where the Skizz comparison ends either. Remember, Mumbo created the reputation that Reds are a worthy threat and that they’re violent without cause (“oh but what about Joel?” Joel was a joke at best and an annoyance at worst. He I think he definitely did influence Mumbo’s actions but that’s another essay entirely). Mumbo influenced Skizz’s aggression this season, with him becoming more bold in who he threatened or even attacked

So how does this compare to Jimmy? Both of them were coming off of alliances where they were unsupported, so they leaned more into Mumbo’s habits- good and bad. Except they didn’t really see it. Good traits were associated with Mumbo, their friend, and bad traits were associated with their shared condition, their Red-Life.

The plan to trap the bunker played on both, but was coupled with Jimmy’s bad habit of shooting for the best possible outcome. Mumbo had previously turned tail and ran whenever a plan went south, but that’s not how Jimmy is. Jimmy only focuses on the possible gain and ignores possible dangers. When the trap didn’t set off, he insisted on pushing Grian into it. And that actually goes back to him trying to chase Ren’s army- he didn’t know when to call it quits

And of course this causes both of their deaths. To Jimmy, his death caused Mumbo’s. He caused the death of the one ally who actually stood by him. I think this is when he fully internalizes criticism from 3L and LL as a whole. He feels weak, he feels stupid, he doesn’t feel nearly as capable as those around him.

And this carries into DL

Except DL was a much different season than the previous two. The soulmate mechanic in DL meant that you and your ally have to rely on each other, you have to support each other because failing to do so will surely spell your doom

Not only that, but Jimmy was finally paired with a supportive ally from the start. They made their base together because they trusted the other to build more than they trusted themself. When Jimmy came back with cows, Tango’s immediate response was to exclaim “you’re amazing!!!” Instead of criticizing him like previous alliances had- even back in 3L!! This is the first time Jimmy got a fully positive response to his efforts. Tango was overwhelmingly supportive towards Jimmy and Jimmy returned the favor. The base didn’t look perfect, but it was theirs. The server didn’t want them to have a horn so they devised a plan to get one.

Tango had also been following a similar arc up until now- with him being undervalued by his alliances. Except in those alliances, he was pushed to the side or physically harmed instead of being an object of ridicule. I think this is part of why it isn’t really out of place for them to meet through dying. Tango was expecting to be harmed and so was Jimmy, so neither of them blame the other

With Tango being pushed to the side, he also shied away from leadership positions, finding it more comfortable to follow. This paired well with how Jimmy typically takes charge of things, with Jimmy making most plans for the both of them (most, not all)

But again, this is where things get messy

Remember, Jimmy uses risks to prove his worth. He wants to see what he can do, but is also still recovering from previous seasons. He still thinks he’s the reason why him and Mumbo died, and doesn’t want to cause the death another ally, especially one who loves him. Instead of staying careful, he devises a plan to steal livestock, to steal Scar’s horse. It’s for the ranch, it’s for Tango

I think Jimmy realizes the problem when the Ranch is burned. He’s forced to confront this when he sees Tango fly into a rage and almost try to fight a group of people he’d surely lose to. Jimmy cannot be reckless here, he has to talk Tango down from the proverbial ledge.

With this, the roles end up reversing, with Tango being the reckless one and Jimmy trying to steer him to be more tactical. And Jimmy is So careful about this too, not wanting to act like Scott or the Southlands. Because of that he never actually tells Tango no on his dangerous plans- ESPECIALLY the plan to release Rancher’s Revenge, the warden- but instead suggests ways to make the plan better

The dilemma here is that Jimmy needs to choose between being risky and being safe. Both would benefit Tango, except Jimmy knows from experience how much it hurts to be bound in bubble-wrap all the time

Jimmy sees no way to avoid risks without hurting Tango. So instead of fighting against that part of himself, Jimmy leans into it. He accepts it as a key tenet of his identity, even as it puts the both of them in harms way. Yes they went down in the end, but they went down together, Always Together.

It didn’t matter if Jimmy was a “worthy” ally, he didn’t need to be Smart, he didn’t need to be Strong, he didn’t even need to be Capable. He learned that he deserved love not in spite of his flaws, but alongside his flaws.

And this is the lesson he carries into the next two Seasons, with both alliances being fully centered on being reckless

The Bad Boys acted dangerously, but they acted as a unit- ESPECIALLY him and Joel. Bad Boys dig straight down, Bad Boys water bucket clutch from the build limit, Bad Boys care about each other not in spite of endangering themselves, but because of it

And this is because Joel had a nearly identical arc. Joel in previous seasons had a habit of acting recklessly in the same way Jimmy did, and was cast aside because of it. In 3L he ended up a Lone Wolf, in LL he was forced into a position where he’s the villain, and in DL he and Etho leaned into the danger in the same way Jimmy and Tango did. Their stories run parallel so it only makes sense that they’re the ones who end up supporting each other in LimL

And Joel was Jimmy’s main source of support that season, with Grian representing the criticism of previous seasons. This gave Jimmy the ability to confront said criticisms through, again, leaning into them. He did something stupid? Yes, but him and Joel were having fun. A plan went south because of unnecessary risks? Yes, but Joel was being risky with him. Joel gave Jimmy the ability to basically cut through the aforementioned “bubble wrap” Grian was trying to put around them

And I think it’s also important to mention Grian did this out of both love and cowardice, not malice. Ultimately he didn’t want to lose either of them and was trying to keep them alive longer. But because Grian never learned the lesson they did- that it’s more important to act together than to survive alone- Grian chooses survival and ends up alone.

Anyways, recklessness being the foundation of Jimmy’s alliances carries into SL as well

Jimmy was on the brink of death for almost the entire season, man was not thriving whatsoever and that was known. Funnily enough, he ends up with Martyn, who again was previously more concerned with his own safety than the people around him

But Martyn is just coming off of a victory, of finally achieving the very thing he’d been working towards and the thing he centered his motivations on. Without that goal, he’s left with his methods- which was mostly having dangerous ideas and seeing them through

With Jimmy, Martyn introduced plans that involved them being risky and in everyone else’s faces. This, to Jimmy, echoed both Joel and Tango’s behavior. He was able to fully settle into the fact that, for him, good things come from being reckless, from shooting for the best possible outcome and refusing to back down

Jimmy maintains his optimism and his recklessness, traits that had previously been challenged but traits he stubbornly holds onto and values in his Life

#someone pointed out that the only psychoanalyses of this man are abt the curse #and I might be making an amv specifically About The Curse but goddamnit I can’t let him be done dirty like this #will actually write the essay so if you come back to this and there’s a wall of text that’s why #edit essay is written #trafficblr #jimmy solidarity #traffic smp #grian #scott smajor #mumbo jumbo #skizzleman #martyn inthelittlewood #tango tek #if you want the canary curse tie in-#it greatly factors into the image of him being weak and lacking value #that’s why he fights so hard against it #he needs to prove that he has value and he needs to prove that he isn’t worthless because of his shortcomings #long post

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gallusrostromegalus · 1 month

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Im not starting another fic, but I did figure out how I would fix death note.

The short version is that instead of the mid-series twist being L dying, the mid-series twist should have been something that would force Light to cooperate with L, even confess to him, and force both L to consider what he's going to do with Light, and force Light to confront the kind of person he is, and let Misa's involvement in this debacle actually impact what happens. A twist where there is the sudden* involvement of a fourth party that makes the characters all reconsider their alignments and alliances.

*at least, sudden to the characters.

Deathnote needs a good old fashioned Ninja :)

#note: i am not actually starting a new fic because i only know about deathnote third hand from friends and memes #and have no intention of actually reading/watching it #but i do know a lot about setting up a good twist and foils for characters to go completely apeshit

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coralinnii · 1 year

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I love the villain scorned by the world feat: Leona genre: budding romance note: continuation of the sequel to Villain/ess au Leona’s ver., not gender-specific reader, no pronouns used, established political relationship, Leona and reader are adults, roughly 1.5k word count, reader is interpreted as extremely ticklish,

Series masterlist

The Royal couple is in trouble!

No, not the King and Queen. And you and Leona are not really in danger, nor are you breaking up or anything…ok no one is really in trouble.

But there’s definitely some tension between the newlywed couple as the servants fear the honeymoon phase has finally fizzled (though you wanted to argue that there never was such a phase to begin with).

First, it started with the lover’s quarrel (the lovers part is also debatable, you muttered) the day Leona revealed fresh scratch marks on his shoulders and chest. The knights recalled the frustration and embarrassment on your face when you verbally tore into Leona over the marks, yelling at the young prince how humiliating it was that King Farena himself had to mention it.

Leona’s words didn’t help your ire, casually replying, “I couldn’t care less what my brother or anybody says about me or our relationship, and neither should you”

Unfortunately for him, you don’t agree with that as you left the training grounds right after calling him a “tactless housecat”. The knights kept their awe for you internally so as to not get caught by the stunned prince. No one but you could ever call Leona Kingscholar that and leave unscathed. Kudos to you

Since then, you have avoided your shared bedroom with your husband, making excuses of obligations and signs of illness (a huge migraine counts, right?). but no one knew you were actually just fearful that Leona would exact his revenge on you through tickling. You don’t regret pissing off the great Leona, you just regret showing a vindictive beastman your weak spots.

Leona was pissed but not because you called him a housecat (ok, maybe a little), it was mostly because your absence has disrupted his naps.

Since your union, you two were obligated to share a bed frequently to maintain your relationship despite having your own personal rooms. At first, it was a pain for Leona to share his peace and quiet with someone but he has grown accustomed to you as the two of you come together to sleep.

The warmth of your body that radiates that perfect amount of heat beside him, the pleasant waft of your scent that sticks to the sheets and pillows that doesn’t overwhelm his senses unlike the obnoxious perfumes of those gold-diggers, your soft breathing that lulls him to sleep as he unconsciously inches closer to you to hear and feel you better. He finds himself waking up in a much better mood and more well rested after your shared nights. You can’t just take that away from him after getting so comfortable.

You ruined his napping routine so you gotta fix it now.

Leona came up to you, calling a truce to “that incident” and promising not to tickle you as revenge for your yelling and insults. You immediately picked up his wording, noting he didn’t say he’ll stop tickling for good, but you figured that’s fine for now.

Ironically though, you really did have obligations that required you to stay in your personal bedroom. You have been exchanging letters with someone from a neighbouring kingdom who was planning a visit soon. So, you were now avoiding sharing a bed with Leona since you didn’t want to disturb his sleep as you stayed up to make preparations for the visiting Royal.

With your prolonged avoidance and Leona’s growing grumpiness, the castle has been tense with worry that the peaceful alliance may be at risk. Everyone was on edge and nearly in tears, especially one young lion cub.

“The kingdom’s in danger!” Cheka bawled as he buried himself into your arms, clutching to your clothes. He had walked into your bedroom with tears in his eyes, towards your seated position by your work desk and climbed into your lap.

You were at a loss at the young cub’s sudden proclamation. You turned to Leona who was lying on your large bed, spreading himself across the mattress like he owned it. He only shrugged his shoulders, confused as you are (though clearly not as worried).

“Cheka honey, what do you mean? Did your father say something today?” You asked worriedly, wondering what news could lead to such a statement.

But Cheka shook his head, still holding onto your shirt. If you weren’t so concerned with his words, you would have joked about how the young heir acts more like a koala than a mighty lion right now.

“Then spit it out, you brat” Leona irritably said, earning a side glare from you which he ignored, “What do you mean the kingdom’s in danger?”

“Hic…everyone is saying you two are gonna b-break up” Cheka choked out, tears filling his eyes again, “Then the union is gonna fail and everyone might go to war”

…

There was now silence as you and Leona processed the child’s words. That was one hell of a stretch of a scenario. Sure, your union with Leona was one of political benefits, but you weren’t crazy enough to start a war with an entire kingdom over a bad break up.

“We ain’t breaking up”

“Oh right, that too” you thought, realizing the obvious that Leona pointed out with an angry growl in his throat, his tail thumping down against your bed in visible annoyance.

“You and Unca aren’t?” Cheka asked, finally lifting his head to look up at you with hopeful eyes. You smiled at the cute cub beastman, weaving your hand through his fluffy hair.

“No, your uncle and I are perfectly happy. We’re not breaking up anytime soon” you reassured your nephew, too distracted to notice the way the aggressive thumping on your bed had stopped.

“Happy? Like mommy and daddy?” Cheka asked with a quizzical look, leaving you to gush internally over such cuteness.

You absentmindedly nodded your head. “Yes, just like your mommy and daddy”

“Then how come Unca and you don’t kiss?”

Oh, the silence is back.

“Mommy and daddy are always happy with each other, and they kiss all the time” Cheka continued, tapping his mouth to show where he sees his parents leave kisses, “If you’re happy, don’t you kiss each other?”

You’re cursing to yourself a mile a minute in your head, a rush of emotional stress going through your body. You didn’t want to explain the complexity of your relationship with Leona to the young Cheka, especially when you didn’t want to destroy his views of love and romance.

“How dare King Farena call me out on my PDA with Leona when he goes ahead and does this?” You frustratingly thought as you looked to Leona who has been unhelpfully laying on your bed, suspiciously quiet for a while. You glared at him while tilting your head to his nephew, wordlessly demanding help from your husband.

Surprisingly, it looked like Leona was willing to help you afterall. He finally got off your comfy bed and walked towards you and Cheka, settling to place his hand atop the backrest of your chair and leaned down towards your head.

“Yea, why don’t we kiss?”

You take back everything you thought. Leona Kingscholar is never helpful and you’re a fool to ever think that. You hoped your glare would eventually burn Leona, but sadly he still stood proudly over you with a smug look on his handsome face. Damn his handsome face.

“It’s your move, herbivore” Leona said, purposely baiting you by calling you a herbivore. He took the teasing further by leaning further down towards you, eager to see your next move.

He’s calling you out, waiting to see if you’ll chicken out and make an excuse to Cheka as he was watching you with anticipation. Fine, you’ll make the great Leona Kingscholar think twice before testing you.

You made the first move, boldly capturing the cocky prince’s lips with your own.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. The two of you have done it before on your wedding day. It should mean nothing to you as it did that day, just a formality to show your dedication to this alliance. Just a meaningless skinship between adults, right?

But why did it feel so good?

Why did you enjoy the surprising softness of Leona’s lips, or the way he didn’t seem shocked by your sudden attack but instead pressed his lips further onto yours. Why did it feel so nice to feel the Leona’s warmth on you, his natural scent strangely attractive to you. Even the stray locks of his dark mane felt nice as it lightly tickled your cheeks. You rather perish than to verbally admit, but your prideful husband was a good kisser. Firm and confident, if a little strong.

Actually really strong, why is he getting more aggressive?!

You had to fervently whack the tall prince on his shoulder to signal him to get off, to which he very slowly did. He backed away from you slightly, a little annoyed but still satisfied according to his little smirk. He certainly enjoyed the flustered mess of your face.

“Yay! No break up!” Cheka’s chirpy voice broke your daze and he cheered over your apparent “happy” relationship.

You sighed, but at least you were thankful to settle this weird confusion. You should probably speak with the servants to clear the misunderstanding around the castle.

But Cheka once again surprised both you and Leona

“Now, you and Unca can sleep together again!”

The life of royalty is not easy.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #twst Leona x reader #twst Leona #villainess au

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wntrs0ldier · 11 months

Text

An Offer · part 09

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 5,1k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.),

series masterlist

series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

It had only been a few hours since the whole disaster.

Before, you had thought that you would return to your family home purely to collect your things; now you were lying in your bed again, in a room buried in the darkness of the night, staring mindlessly at the white dress hanging over the back of a chair. You associated it not with being abandoned, but with the nightmare that was your wedding. Maybe Bucky was doing you a favor? He'd bought you some time before you had to go through all that again, to eventually tie the knot anyway?

You didn't blame him for doing it. He had made it clear to you right from the start that such a relationship was out of the question; in fact, he had told you so at every turn – that he wasn't husband material, that he wasn't trying to be charming, that he was a stubborn asshole, a piece of shit…

But the truth was – despite everything – you didn't see him that way. To you, he was just a scared, confused human trying to do this for you. He had failed, the situation had overwhelmed him, and all you could think about was how much you wanted to see him. Where was he now? What was he up to?

What did Timothy say to him?

Although Michael participated in this conversation, he did not want to reveal its details to you. He decided that it was a man's conversation, and it was better for you to stay in the dark about it. Apart from a businesslike, practical alliance, you no longer had anything in common with the Barnes. But if it had been up to you, you would have crushed that alliance and shoved it down Timothy's throat. However, destroying a long-standing friendship was not in your intentions, but one thing remained clear – Timothy Barnes wasn’t your friend. Now you weren't even sure he had ever been your father's friend. You understood that he cared about securing his Family, but he shouldn't have kept that from you.

You rolled onto your back, your eyes stuck on the ceiling.

At that point, you didn't really care what was going to happen next. You didn't care about your future or the fate of your Family; you figured you had every right to, since submitting to the expectations of others wasn't producing the desired results. You needed a moment without worrying about everything and everyone. You would have liked to focus entirely on yourself, but your thoughts revolved around him. It was far too soon to forget, but why couldn't you hate him? You were naive and weak. But you could allow yourself to be. At least until the morning.

Suddenly, you pulled yourself up to a sitting position. You heard something, or you only thought you did, still, you froze motionless, listening to the sounds of your surroundings.

There it was again – a quiet knock, knock coming from somewhere downstairs.

Your heart beat almost painfully; you left the bed, hesitant and a little stiff, and although you immediately wanted to be at the door, you got out of the bedroom carefully, then went down the stairs to the floor below. Without thinking much, you turned the key in the lock and pulled the handle. And your first instinct was to be terribly disappointed when you found Sam Wilson behind the door.

“We don't have much time,” he began, before you had a chance to say anything. “I parked across the street. A black car,” he emphasized, as if you should remember this particular piece of information. “I will wait ten minutes. If you don't show up, the case will be closed. If you're going to show up, you'd better pack some things.” Without waiting for your answer, he turned and walked away.

You were more than surprised – completely thrown off guard. You had loads of questions, but no time to dwell on them. Sam had only given you ten minutes and you weren't going to waste a second. You couldn't even imagine what it could all mean, but you felt with all your being that you had to make the most of this opportunity. All the heaviness, the soreness, all the lethargy you had been stuck in for hours - it was all gone, replaced by a sudden adrenaline and a need for action.

When you rushed back into your bedroom, you immediately found the bag you had packed with Connie's help much earlier – you weren't sure where you were going to go after the wedding, so you wanted to be prepared, and even though the wedding didn't work out, the bag turned out to be a lifesaver. At least you were confident you'd make it to Sam's car in time.

You grabbed your phone, which you'd turned off anyway beforehand so you wouldn't have to talk to anyone, your charger from the bedside table, and pulled Bucky's sweatshirt from the wardrobe. Everything else you might need fit into the bag. Before just leaving the house, you slipped comfortable sneakers on your feet, meanwhile you turned on your phone and texted Suzie to lock up the house. In the process, you read a message from an unknown number; Sam had tried to contact you earlier.

You stepped out into the cool, refreshing night air. You threw your hood over your head, adjusted the strap of your bag over your shoulder, and, having taken a look around, walked to the other side of the street. You expected to find a typical SUV somewhere on your path, but after a dozen or so steps you reached an area where the only car was a black sedan. So Sam wanted to give the impression of being a civilian. You ran up to the car, and it started up ready to go before you touched the handle.

You shut the door behind you and looked around the interior of the vehicle, but the only person inside was Sam.

“What’s going on?” you asked. “Where are we going?”

“We're going to fix something.”

The car stopped in front of an isolated, abandoned hangar.

You were on pins and needles the whole way, and reaching – as it turned out – the destination didn't bring you peace of mind. Not having the slightest idea what you could expect, you were even more nervous.

You took your bag from the back seat and followed Sam to the entrance. He opened the heavy metal door with a creak indicating a lack of proper care for the building, and let you inside. For a hangar, the interior of this particular one was surprisingly dimly lit; the enormous space was unpleasantly cold.

You heard quiet, echoing footsteps, so you immediately turned to look in that direction. Seeing him, you unconsciously held your breath, and all the emotions bothering you that day, which had not yet found their way out, gathered in your eyes in the form of tears. As the first, salty, burning tear ran down your heated cheek, you dropped your bag so that you could freely cover your face with your hands; to hide from him in this moment of weakness.

“Hey, hey, hey…” Bucky said softly. You didn't even notice when he crossed the distance separating you and got right beside you. He scooped you into his arms, drew you close to his firm, warm body and closed yours in a strong yet gentle embrace; one of his hands remained in place, wrapped around your back, the other moved higher, to the back of your head – he stroked your hair tenderly, and you still felt like hiding, but this time not from him but from the whole world, in his arms; you wanted to melt into his body, into his broad chest.

“You f-fucking-,” you choked out between sobs, tightening your fingers on the material of his t-shirt.

“I know, Y/N. I acted like a dick,” he agreed without hesitation. “Cry it out, just like that,” he praised, keeping on stroking your hair. “Can you take a deep breath? Come on,” he instructed gently. Your chest was beginning to ache because of the spasms of crying clenching your muscles, so you obediently breathed air into your lungs. “Yeah, just like that.”

You knew what you had to do next, and Bucky knew what you needed. Clarity of mind and calm slowly returned to you, but there was still that most important part.

You lifted your head and looked at Bucky’s face, therefore meeting his gaze. He was watching you in such a soft, vulnerable way that made you feel like crying all over again. He moved his hand from the back of your head to the side of your face and tenderly wiped your wet cheek; you could feel his skin on your skin, and the bandage he must have used to wrap the cut in his palm.

That reminded you of the situation from a few hours ago; of the lack of knowledge regarding your appearance here. Despite everything, you didn't have the slightest desire to break out of his arms. Why would you deprive yourself of this comfort and sense of safety? You deserved it, especially after the events of the last twenty-four hours; maybe even the last few months.

“You left me,” you finally spoke, your voice weak because of all the crying.

“Only for a moment.”

“For a moment?” Your forehead puckered. “You destroyed the agreement,” you said, pulling away from him against your will. A flash of mild anger didn't let you stand as close as before. “We are no longer married, I am alone again and still need a husband,” you pointed, determined to make Bucky realize the situation he had put you in.

He sighed heavily. “I know what I did. But I didn't do it without a reason,” he claimed, making you even more confused. He clenched his jaw briefly, not taking his eyes off you. “I owe my uncle a debt. After my father's death, I should’ve been the head of the Family, but I couldn't handle it, I wasn't in the right place. Timothy stepped in, helped me out,” he admitted reluctantly. “Now he wants complete obedience from me; he expects me to do absolutely everything for him, and basically, he is right, because otherwise it would be a betrayal. But I couldn't let him use this against you. You don't owe him anything.”

Now you understood his position – you understood it, and in that moment you hated the feeling, your forbearance. But you said nothing; just folded your arms, waiting for further explanation.

“We can still get married,” Bucky continued. “But outside his rules and conditions.”

Your eyes went round, that familiar wave of warmth ran through your body. “What… What do you mean?”

“All we have to do is actually get married. Legally, without any deals, tricks or fucking loopholes.” He took a small step towards you, and probably didn't predict that you wouldn't move away this time. “We'll just create a proper prenup, and when you want to divorce, you'll get back everything that was yours before the marriage.”

You raised your eyebrows. Up to now you had been convinced that he had run away because he didn't want to get married, and it turned out that he wanted to get married again. You didn't even know which question you should ask first. “Buck…” you said tentatively, as if that would bring him back to his senses. “An actual marriage is something different, something more... real.”

“People get married for various reasons,” he asserted, not giving up. Your sceptical approach was no obstacle. “For money, insurance, visas…” Bucky listed casually. And he was himself again – a calculating, clear-thinking strategist. He impressed the hell out of you with that. “As my wife, you will still become part of my Family, and this’ll give you protection. Except it will all happen more naturally, not like my uncle wanted. We will have more freedom.”

There was still too much chaos in your head for you to be able to pick out any rational thought. “Wait…” You raised your hand, closing your eyes for a moment. “Why didn't you tell me any of this earlier? Why did you leave me like that? I was scared to death.”

“My plan was just coming clear then, at the wedding,” he confessed, his lips pressed together in an unenthusiastic smile. “I didn't want to tell you about it till I was sure. Till I could find some safe place for us.”

His words effectively made you soft. “And did you find one..?”

You could see that for a split second he hesitated; as if he wasn't sure how you would react to further news. “Vegas..?”

“Of course Vegas.” You rolled your eyes, shaking your head.

“Look, it'll be quick and relatively painless.”

“I haven't agreed yet.”

“Then why didn't you take off the ring?”

Your eyes wandered to your hand. Bucky was a little too observant for your taste; his grandmother's ring stayed on your finger. Unlike the wedding band. Maybe you kept it subconsciously, since the ring had such sentimental value?

“You already ran away once, so why do you still want this? You could’ve never come back, wouldn't it be easier?” Having looked back at his face, you could tell he wasn’t offended by your question.

“You still need me. This marriage,” Bucky answered, and didn't do it with audacity or meanness; he was simply stating a fact. “And Timothy fucked me over, so I want to do the same to him, just for the hell of it.” He shrugged indifferently. For a while, he stared at you in silence. “And… I didn't see through his intrigue, because I was distracted… By you.” His jaw clenched. You swallowed hard, your palms became wet, and a warmth flared up again in the pit of your stomach. Bucky turned his gaze away, sticking it into the ground. “So, I need this marriage too, I guess.”

You took an uneven breath and scratched the back of your neck. Bucky was distracted by thoughts of your safety, or...? “What other choice do I have?” you asked; partly out of curiosity, partly for the appearance that this marriage was not your last resort at all.

Bucky immediately brought his eyes back to you, his face taking on the harsh expression with which he usually handled business. “If you don't agree to do this, I will personally find you a suitable partner. I won't be more picky than necessary. And then I will disappear from your life for good,” he said bluntly.

You nodded slowly, absorbing that side of the story. You gave yourself some time to imagine it somehow – you with someone else; someone who wasn't Bucky. Then you remembered the weeks of longing when you were dating John Walker, and already knew that you didn't stand much chance of surviving without Bucky beside you.

Still, you decided to approach it with calm. “Okay.”

To your surprise, Bucky's face lit up with a slightly excited, satisfied smile. “Yeah?”

You nodded again, also unable to stop a grin creeping onto your lips.

“Whose house is this?” you asked as the headlights fell on the stately building.

“My godmother’s,” Bucky answered, turning off the engine. “I know there is no lack of hotels in Vegas,” he added straight away. “But I need a good night's sleep, and I trust my aunt enough to get some shut-eye.”

You shrugged. “I don't mind. After all, we'll all become one big, loving family, right?”

Apart from the clear, audible irony in your voice, Bucky smirked with delight. You wondered when the thought of marriage – of you being together – had stopped burning him. You supposed he was just exhausted; you both were. After a total of forty hours of car trip, interrupted only by bathroom stops. You took turns at the wheel so that the other could rest, but Bucky's stubbornness resulted in him driving most of the time.

You got out of the car. Bucky opened the trunk so you could get your bags out, then you headed to the front door. Despite the evening, it was hot outside; not as torturous as during the day, but it was doing its job.

The aunt that Bucky mentioned greeted you right at the door. She put her arm around Bucky's shoulders, their cheeks brushed together. In your case, she respected your possible need for personal space; she looked at you carefully but not suspiciously. “Is this the girl?”

Bucky also glanced at you, as if he had to make sure his aunt was talking about you; as if he had to make sure you were still there. “Yeah. Y/N,” he confirmed.

“Marion.” She held out her hand to you, which you shook. “Jamie told me a little about the situation you kids are in,” she began, and you were prepared to hear some scolding words, disapproval. “That prick, my brother, didn't inform me – not to mention the invitation – about my godson's wedding?” She snorted with annoyance and almost contempt. “You’re doing the right thing, and have my full support, and the place to stay, for as long as you want.”

Although you and Bucky preferred to freshen up and rest after your trip, Marion persuaded you to have dinner with her. Her justifications for why you should do so were really reasonable – firstly, her chef had served the meal minutes before you arrived; secondly, Marion was going to leave the house right after dinner, and as befits an exemplary hostess, she wanted to spend some time with her guests. And with that, you had the opportunity to get to know Bucky's aunt a little better.

She ran a casino and owned an elegant nightclub, she was independent not only financially – she had no husband and no children; she lived as she wished and with whom she wished, and she must have been really organized, since the businesses she operated did not fail, on the contrary, they were doing very well, as you could tell from the luxurious furnishings of her house, expensive designer clothes and sophisticated dishes, prepared by her costly chef.

You were jealous of this life; maybe not its pace, but this independence – Marion Barnes didn't have to marry anyone to stay alive. You learned that the Barnes simply didn't do that – they didn't give away their children; they didn't arrange marriages; they didn't take part in weddings for the sake of business. Considering Timothy, this wasn't a very strong rule.

Pulled abruptly out of your sleep by something that seemed so terrifyingly real, your gaze wandered unconsciously over your surroundings; a new room, a strange room. Only after a while did you remember where you were and why. You were given two separate bedrooms; Bucky didn't care where he was going to sleep, and you felt a little more comfortable alone. But at that moment you didn’t feel comfortable at all.

Memories of what you had just experienced swirled vividly in your mind – you were standing in Timothy's cave, wearing a white dress and veil, and you were about to be married by Elvis himself. The thing was, Bucky, your groom, was sitting in the front row right next to his uncle; they looked at you with amusement, whispered something to each other and burst out laughing. Bucky never stood at the altar; he whispered back and forth to Timothy and they both laughed. They laughed at you – at how stupid and naive you were.

You got out of bed and walked noiselessly to the bathroom. Having turned on the cold water, you washed your face. It helped; you felt less panicked. But were you still so sure of your decision?

Because of the dry air, your throat was craving water; anything to drink, so instead of returning to your bedroom, you went to the kitchen. Despite the fact that the whole house was air-conditioned, the downstairs was much more pleasantly cool than the floor above. Maybe you felt this way because of the cooled tiles your bare feet touched.

Having found a glass in one of the cabinets, you filled it with tap water; it had a slightly strange aftertaste, but you wouldn't call it bad. Besides, your dry throat would settle for anything.

“Can’t sleep?”

You almost dropped the glass. Though you knew his voice, you were still startled to see Bucky when you turned around. He was leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen entrance, and you – regardless of the temperature around – felt hot again. The muscles of his crossed arms strained and accentuated, but you had seen those before. Unlike his torso. You knew he had a broad chest, but shirtless it evoked a completely different sensation in you; you also expected a well-sculpted stomach, but expecting and seeing with your own eyes were two different things, and your own body didn't let you confuse the two experiences. And his thighs? Oh, his thighs…

Apart from his face – as beautiful when it expressed tenderness as when it expressed indifference, his spirit – so unpredictable but caring for you for no apparent reason, there was also his body – perfect, godlike, seeming to have cost a ton of work.

With restless eyes you scanned what was in front of you, your throat getting dry again. You were stunned, as if you had never seen a man in just his underwear before. You had. But you were convinced that you didn't miss any physical contact after that situation in the nightclub; after you almost let some man get into your pants. And you didn't miss it. You didn't miss just some man; you desired Bucky – you'd been drawn to him since that evening when he and Timothy turned up at your house.

You suddenly remembered that he could see you too; see the way you were looking at him. Tentatively, you lifted your gaze to his face – puffy because of the recently interrupted sleep, rested – and met his stare. For a brief moment you wondered why he let you do that; why he didn't stop you.

You brought the glass back to your lips and drank the rest of the water.

“I had a bad dream. And you..?”

“And I have my future wife in the back of my mind, and something told me to check if she was safe,” Bucky said with conviction, pulling away from the doorframe. He casually walked closer and rested his lower back against the edge of the kitchen counter. “Tell me.”

“About my dream?” you asked, to which he nodded. “There is nothing to talk about. It was... weird.” You shrugged. “I think... I think I'm subconsciously afraid of this wedding.” You nibbled your bottom lip and looked away. “You left me the first time, so who knows what will happen next time.”

Bucky gasped. “I didn't leave you. And I never was going to. I just changed the plan,” he asserted. “I know I should have told you earlier.” Seeing your lips parting, he interrupted you before you had the chance to speak. “I made a mistake, I know that now. And I will keep making them. I'm just learning, Y/N.”

“And all of this has no right to hurt me, and I can't get angry, because from the very start, you didn't want any of it. I get it,” you answered calmly.

“I didn't say that,” Bucky protested, standing right in front of you. “I said you're not in my debt, and that hasn't changed. I-” he paused for a moment, his mouth set in a hard line. “The truth is, I would not let you marry anyone else. I couldn't stand it. I would go fucking mad,” he added. Firmly, yet cautiously, he grabbed your hand and brought it to his face. Without taking his eyes away from yours, he placed a barely noticeable kiss on your palm; on the still unhealed cut. “I told you,” he whispered. “I stepped into your life, and now I can’t get out. Don’t want to. Okay?”

You replied with a delicate nod.

“No, baby,” Bucky continued in the same low tone, and a cloud of butterflies rose up in your stomach. “I need to hear it from you. To be sure you understand.”

Your bodies were only millimeters apart; you could feel the heat radiating from him, the warmth of his breath on your cheeks.

“I understand.”

“You understand what?” he asked softly, persistently searching for something in your eyes – Fear? Decisiveness? Resentment? Permission?

“That you’re jealous-”

“Very jealous.” His voice was more like a heavy breath.

“And that you would be angry if I married someone else-” you added. Bucky sucked hungrily on his bottom lip, his stare seemed half-conscious, he shook his head slowly. “You would go mad,” you corrected yourself.

“Mm-hm,” he murmured, and keeping his instincts in check, covered the rest of the distance separating you, then pressed his lips to yours. You instinctively lowered your eyelids, and as his soft mouth laid on yours, you were hit by a wave of unknown sensations.

You welcomed him without thinking, throwing your arms around his neck.

When you did; when you allowed his mouth to devour, to abuse yours, his inner leash tightened and then snapped, enabling him to let it all go. He thrust his body against yours with surprising force and need – it was so rapid that the bottom of your spine collided painfully with the edge of the countertops.

You moaned – not from the feeling of sudden discomfort in your lower back, but from the overload of impulses coming from everywhere; his lips turning the mouths of you both into a wet, sweet mess, his stubble so rough on your chin and cheeks, his massive body pushing against yours, caging it and cutting off a way out that you hadn't even considered.

Bucky's hands desperately slipped down the sides of your body, over the silky material of your nightgown, and stopped under your tights; he squeezed your ass, making you gasp. He lifted you up, and you involuntarily wrapped your legs around his hips; he sat you on the countertop and pressed himself between your thighs. His tongue slid between your lips, and again, you eagerly welcomed it. Warm, soft, wet, it explored the inside of your mouth, the texture and taste of your own tongue; and this time it was Bucky who let out a whimper – desperate, yearning for a feeling he'd never experienced before; this horrible hunger you were driving him into. There was no doubt that Bucky wanted you as much as you wanted him.

You felt something hard on the inside of your thigh. You barely pulled away from his mouth to see it – the material of his briefs stretching over his stiff cock, stopping it from jumping out. You felt lightheaded when staring at it, but also somewhat delighted – it was all for you, because of you.

You dared to reach out your hand for what was soon to be yours; your fingertips touched - still through the material of his underwear – his bulging length, and Bucky let out a rasping sound. He immediately grabbed your wrist, stopping you from going any further.

With lips parted and swollen from kisses, eyes full of desire yet innocence, you looked at his face. He wasn't angry or displeased; he was burning with an aching need, and you both knew that sinking his cock inside you would put out that fire, ease that pain – for you both.

“I can’t,” Bucky said, panting. “I want to do it right, the way you deserve. And now I don't trust myself.”

You didn't share his opinion – you were ready to take him now, anytime. But you respected his boundaries. “Okay,” you whispered; your voice weaker than you expected. Bucky smiled, then placed a tender kiss on your forehead. Not being able to resist, you glanced restlessly at his crotch again.

“Don't worry, baby, I won't touch myself. I'll wait for you, promise,” he said with slight amusement somewhere into your hair, leaving another kiss there. He moved away a little. “Come on. I'll walk you to your room,” he instructed and put his hands on your hips so that you could safely slide off the countertop.

“You don’t have to, I’ll be fine,” you claimed, but in reality, you were glad to have him right next to you – your legs were like jelly.

“Yeah, I know, but-” He exhaled heavily, glancing down. “I need to, uh- walk it off.”

Drunk with all the touch, the heat, the wetness and the rest of the experiences of a moment ago, you let out a soft giggle.

True to his word, Bucky escorted you to your bedroom. Seeing his exposed body, remembering how much strength he possessed, you were amazed at how someone so big, so strong moved so silently. With that, you realized how little you knew about him; how little you had managed to observe so far in a man who was to play such an important role in your life.

Feeling his hand on your hip, you looked at him immediately. “You okay?” he asked.

You were tired, distracted, still insatiable. Nevertheless, you nodded in response, and after a brief consideration – which was more like staring into a black hole – you climbed on your toes, and, resting your hands on his shoulders, crashed your lips into his. Bucky instinctively wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing you against his body as tightly as possible. He grunted into your mouth.

Although there was still that devouring fire smoldering between you, that kiss was different from the previous one – slow, lazy, as if you were giving each other time to get to know your lips, even though they were still pulsating from the last caresses.

Bucky's mouth parted; he let out a loud, heavy breath. You sucked on his lower lip, then bit it - a little harder than you both expected; Bucky hissed, and you tasted blood. You pulled away, but he didn't look angry or even shocked. He touched his lips with his thumb, and when he saw the blood, he smirked. “Don’t make me break my promise, baby.”

“Sorry-” you said quietly, but he shook his head.

“That’s okay,” Bucky answered, leaned towards you again and pecked on your lips gently. “If you have a bad dream again, you come to me, alright?”

“Alright.”

He opened the door for you and waited until you got inside and made your way back to the bed. He gave you another smile before disappearing from your sight.

You let out a heavy breath, closed your eyes and flopped back on the mattress. You were aware that you wouldn't fall asleep, but it wasn't the nightmares that were to blame.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

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