#so i made 0 up til now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

osarina · 29 days

Text

ᡣ𐭩 OFFER ME MY DEATHLESS DEATH

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: one drunken encounter with dazai sends everything spiraling. suddenly, all of your problems are catching up to you at once and you're lost as to how you should proceed... or that's not entirely true—you know how you're going to proceed but it's impossible for you to come to terms with how far you've let this go.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: sorry that i haven't really been active this week </3 i've been so busy. ill try to get to asks and everything soon. forgive me</3 i hope you guys enjoy part 5, i rlly had fun writing this chapter. as always, comments and reblogs appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited - i've been busy. reader and dazai argue, reader is a bit intoxicated, dazai heavily implied suicide attempt (not outright said/described bc he can't remember, but he assumes that's what happened) & he dissociates, dazai is in a pretty bad mental state the first half of the chapter, i don't think i'm missing anything but pls lmk if i am, i didn't have time to reread

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

You stopped seeking him out after that night.

Dazai sits in his apartment, knees curled to his chest and back pressed against the wall. He has to forcibly keep his breath steady—his homework for his engineering class is discarded somewhere to his left, he’d been working on it for class tomorrow before he made the mistake of checking his phone and seeing that you’d once again stopped reading his messages.

Two days straight now of silence on your end. He could go to your apartment like he’s been doing for the past two weeks but every time he tries to push himself to his feet with the intention of going to you, he finds himself rooted to the ground. Your words ring damningly and persistently through his head—how you told Nakahara Chuuya that you’re only doing this because he found the proof of your occupation, how you told him that you tried to cut him off.

Dazai knew what he was doing by using the video as leverage over you. He knew he was forcing you into indulging him, that he was backing you into a corner, but he’d allowed himself to be blinded by your treatment of him.

Even if it was coerced, no one has ever treated him the way you do—you remember the things he tells you off-handedly like he matters and you buy him the things he wants without him having to say anything like you care. You’re gentle with him—Dazai has only ever experienced bruising touches; Oda and Ango weren’t physical people and he can hardly remember his mother. He remembers the way his aunt dragged him out of the car kicking and screaming, tossing him to the ground in Suribachi before driving away. He remembers all of the nights he would get drunk at bars, ending up in strangers’ beds and waking up with a body that ached painfully and dark marks littered across his bandaged skin.

It’s hard to remember that you don’t actually want him when you treat him the same way he’s dreamed someone would treat him one day. It’s hard to remember that you turn your head away when he leans in to kiss you, that you ignore his lingering touches and change the subject whenever he almost gathers the nerve to bring the topic up to you.

You don’t want him.

He’s forcing you to do this by using the video as leverage.

You don’t want him.

He rests his forehead on his knees. That gaping hole in his chest that had started to return that night after Nakahara Chuuya showed up at your apartment is all consuming now. His entire body feels numb and prickly, he feels uncomfortable in his own skin.

He needs to put a stop to this.

His gaze draws from his knees to the floorboard he’s hiding the flash drive under. He could just… get rid of it. Get rid of it and disappear—you probably wouldn’t even notice. Maybe you would, he remembers how you came to his apartment when you hadn’t heard from him after sending the couch. Then again, you might’ve only shown up because you wanted to lie about why you were cutting him off. Dazai just doesn’t know with you.

Maybe he should just go to talk to you.

But if he talks to you… and the thought of leaving his apartment right now…

Dazai sighs, leaning back against the wall, tilting his head to look up at the ceiling, weighing both options carefully before coming to a heavy decision.

You’re not in your apartment when he gets there.

Dazai would usually wander around and find something to make himself busy with while he waits for you. You have a piano on the opposite side of the room that he sometimes likes to fiddle with—he’s taught himself a few basic songs while waiting for you to get back from work the past few weeks. He ordered a gaming console and a few games to go along with it when you made the mistake of leaving your laptop open last week, but he doesn’t even have the energy to go look for one; not that any are even particularly standing out to him. Sometimes, he just snoops around, but his legs feel like lead, like they’re bolted to the ground, so he just sits on your couch and stares at the black television screen as the minutes tick by.

He doesn’t even know how long he’s been sitting there—too long, it was still light out when he walked his way over to your building in Naka-ku and the sun had set a long time ago. He’s never felt lonely in your apartment before; in fact, he usually seeks out your apartment because he feels lonely and whether you’re here or not, it eases the void that grows in his chest.

But now? Each passing second, he feels colder and colder. A part of him thinks that he should take this as a sign and just leave, but his body is uncooperative, keeping him rooted to your couch as he awaits your return.

He’s planned out what he’s going to say to you; he’s rehearsed it in his head so many times that he thinks he could say the dreadful words while sleeping. Now, he just-

Dazai’s head snaps to the side when he hears the fateful ding of the elevator arriving at your floor. His eyes widen and his tongue swells with anxiety as he stares at the doors, his breath slows and his fingers bite into his pants as he waits to see you step into the room but when the doors finally start to slide open, he freezes when he hears laughter.

“I can’t stand you,” an unfamiliar male voice snorts and Dazai’s mouth dries as his gaze darts around, trying to figure out what to do. The last thing he wants is for a repeat of the other night—if this is another one of your mafia friends, Dazai has to move, but he doesn’t know where to go.

His gaze settles on a nearby hall leading to the bathroom and an unused room—it’s closer to him than the kitchen, he’d never make it to the kitchen because he’d have to go right past the elevator. His legs feel so heavy that it’s an effort for him to push himself to his feet. He almost stumbles right over them as he rushes into the spare room, keeping the door cracked open so he can hear and see what’s going on.

He peeks carefully through the crack, watching as two men enter your apartment—you’re with them and Dazai’s chest tightens painfully at the sight of you. You’re smiling as you lean against one of the men—Dazai recognizes him as the man who had come with you to his apartment complex the first time, he’d been waiting by the car for you—and you’re dressed prettily in a short black dress. You’re so dazzling to him that Dazai nearly tumbles right out of the room he’s hiding in, but luckily, he’s drawn out of his dazed state by another unfortunately familiar face: Nakahara Chuuya, the executive who had been at your apartment the other night.

Dazai quickly leans back into the room when the ginger’s eyes snap down the hall as if he could sense someone watching him. He lets out a puff of air as he looks around the empty room—he’d looked in here before when he first started coming to your apartment, but had been sorely disappointed by the fact that there was nothing in the room for him to snoop around in.

Now, he blinks because while the room is still mostly empty, there are some tools in here as if you’d had someone come in to take measurements to start building something in there. His gaze slides from the far wall to the one nearest to him, dragging his feet against the wood floors to slide his fingers against the lines drawn on the wall in pencil, realizing that it’s about the same size as the piano in the other room.

His throat tightens as he remembers your offer from the other day, wondering if you’d gone ahead and started having it done even after the argument with Chuuya and Dazai not showing up for two days.

God, he doesn’t understand you—he doesn’t understand you at all. He starts to doubt every conclusion he’s come to the past two days because why would you go to these lengths for someone you don’t care about? For someone who’s forcing you into indulging him through blackmail? It doesn’t make sense, Dazai has never had so much trouble reading someone before you.

He leans against the wall, lashes lowering as he looks down at the floor. He doesn’t know what to think and now his well-rehearsed speech starts crumbling in his head. Distantly, he can hear the conversation between you and the other two mafiosos—you’re talking about something happening in Tokyo and Dazai wonders if it has anything to do with that argument from the other night.

But regardless of the topic of discussion, what matters more is that you sound happy. Your voice is light and airy, and you seem entirely unbothered by the fact that you hadn’t seen Dazai in days. Dazai doesn’t think you’ve ever sounded so happy with him before and why would you when he’s blackmailing you? Your laughter rings bright and pretty like a chime and Dazai feels sick to his stomach at the thought of you laughing like that for someone else; he imagines the way your laughter will fizzle when you see him, all of the liveliness in your face dying at his unanticipated appearance.

It feels like an eternity and all too soon at the same time when Dazai finally hears the two leave. He takes one deep breath, preparing to force himself out from where he’s hiding but then freezes at the sound of you raising your voice.

“Dazai, you can come out now.”

He blanches, staring at the partially closed door in front of him, half-debating on not even coming out because how did you know he was here? He thought he’d been careful, there’s-

“I know you’re somewhere in here, the cushion was warm where you were sitting.”

Dazai has half a mind to throw himself out of the window.

He takes in a deep breath as he pushes the door open, stepping out into the hallway that’s suddenly too cold and all too short. He swears it was twice as long when he was stumbling from the couch to hide in the spare room. His feet scuffle against the ground as he walks forward, not coming any closer than where the hallway meets your living room.

You’re laying on the couch he’d been sitting on, head resting back against the pillows and a curious expression on your face as you watch him. He can’t read it—if he didn’t know any better, he’d almost say it was fond, but he refuses to let that hope bubble up into his chest only for it to be crushed again. He thinks he should say something, tossing around a few options in his head, but he doesn’t get the chance to.

You hold out your hand to him. “Come here,” you say.

Dazai hesitates, eyes lingering on your extended hand before flitting back up to your face. He shouldn’t—he knows he shouldn’t—but he finds his feet moving forward before he can stop himself. He stands in front of you awkwardly for a moment, not sure what you want from him, but then his eyes shoot open when you reach out and grab his wrist, tugging him forward onto the couch with you.

He pretends he doesn’t yelp when he lands on top of you, face flaming up when he shifts himself into a sitting position so that he’s straddling your waist, trying not to drop all of his weight onto you. He also pretends that he’s not entirely thrown off by the way your hands rest on his thighs, absently running them up and down the sides of them.

“Where have you been the past few days?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai’s blood pressure spikes at the curious look you give him, as if he hadn’t been texting you for days with no response. He can smell the alcohol on you now that he’s closer and he wonders how much you drank—he thinks that’s probably why you looked so fond before and that’s probably why you’re suddenly being so touchy with him, it has nothing to do with him. That empty feeling in his chest starts to return.

He should have just left, should have just destroyed the flash drive and disappeared.

“I texted you,” he replies tightly, feeling wildly uncomfortable as he’s unable to get a hold on the way he’s spiraling internally. “I can see you’ve been busy though.”

You tilt your head to the side as if you’re unsure of what he means and Dazai almost wants to get up and leave but the feeling of your hands on him, his lower body pressed to yours, it leaves him dizzy and slow. His breath catches as your hands slip beneath his sweatshirt, smoothing out against his bandaged sides, thumb drawing slow circles over the covered skin as if trying to calm him down.

Dazai thinks he might hate you.

He thinks he might hate himself more because it works. His heartbeat slows and relaxes into you a bit more. He wants to take you by the shoulders and shake you, wants to demand answers, wants to know if you actually care about him or if this is all just some big show for the flash drive.

“I haven’t looked at my phone,” you finally say. “I’ve been the one dealing with the issues in Tokyo. It’s just been meeting after meeting the past few days. I thought you’d be here when I got back but you weren’t.”

Were you waiting for him? He wants to ask. Expecting him? Or are you just saying that because you can tell he’s unhappy and don’t want to deal with his attitude? Dazai just doesn’t know, it’s hard to concentrate with your hands on his body.

“Can we talk?” Dazai asks quietly after a few moments.

“What about?”

About the flash drive. About you. About him. Dazai doesn’t know—about everything. So, instead he just says: “About this.”

Instantly, you turn your head away from him and Dazai’s frustration rises at your attempt at blatantly ignoring him. He reaches out to grab your cheeks, forcing you to look up at him and Dazai’s breath catches when your lidded stare lands on him.

“I’m drunk,” you tell him flatly. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Bullshit,” Dazai immediately snaps, the pads of his fingers digging a bit too hard into your cheeks but you’re unfazed by it, staring up at him with an unreadable expression. “I think-”

Dazai doesn’t even have the chance to finish his sentence because you’re pushing yourself up from your laying position, one hand slipping out from his sweatshirt to cup the back of his head, the other still firm on his hip as you drag him down against you. Dazai’s breath catches when you press your lips against his, lashes fluttering shut. The hand on his hip slides around to his back, holding his body flush to yours—he lets out a low moan into your mouth when you nip at his bottom lip.

No, he thinks hazily, trying to push himself off of you but instead, his hands cup your cheeks and he tilts your head back to deepen the kiss. Your tongues dance in a way that leaves him dazed, it feels almost intimately familiar to him, somehow so in tune with one another that it’s like you’ve kissed hundreds of times before.

He shouldn’t be doing this, he knows this. You said it yourself that you’re drunk, he knows you only kissed him to get him to stop talking but…Dazai sighs into your mouth when he feels the tips of your finger card through his hair, feeling you shift beneath him to let his hips slot between your legs.

But isn’t this what he’s wanted this whole time?

Aren’t you finally giving him what you’ve denied him for weeks?

Your lips are intoxicating against his, and not because of the gin staining your tongue, he can hardly focus on anything with the way your tongue traces the back of his teeth, dragging against the roof of his mouth. He groans when you shift beneath him, one leg hooking around his waist. He separates his lips from yours to gasp for breath.

Shit, he thinks, lips parting when you kiss his jaw, trailing your lips to his ear to suck gently on the skin there before kissing slowly down his neck. He swears his entire body is on fire, breaths quick and shuddered; his mind feels so muddled and hazy that he has to actively tell himself to put a stop to this and even that is almost not enough.

It takes all of his willpower to push himself off of you, still breathing heavy, lips wet and swollen, his whole body tingling everywhere your lips and hands had touched. You stare up at him and Dazai’s body aches with need when he sees you’re nearly as breathless as he is, your own lips wet from his, eyes a bit glazed over. Heat burns in his lower abdomen but he can’t, not when he knows you’re drunk and not when he knows you’re only doing this to get him to stop talking.

Before Dazai can say anything, you look away from him again and he knows that it’s over.

“I’m tired,” you say. “Help me get to bed. We can talk in the morning.”

Dazai’s lashes lower as he nods, leaning down to help you to your feet. Even with your heels kicked off, you wobble on your feet, so he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady. The silence is almost foreboding as Dazai guides you up the stairs to your bedroom; you don’t make any move to break it, so Dazai does.

“We’re not going to talk about it in the morning, are we?” he asks quietly, looking down at you. You don’t look up at him and Dazai just wants you to at least look at him so when he gets you to the door of your bedroom, he stops and looks at you. You still don’t look at him. “Can you at least look at me?”

Dazai thinks he might be sick from the way you have to seemingly force yourself to look at him. Even drunk, he can see the displeasure plain on your face and it makes him want to curl in on himself again.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Dazai,” you finally say, your voice is tight. “I want to go to bed.”

“I want to talk about it,” Dazai stresses. “I-”

Frustration flies across your face, emotions loosened in your intoxicated state. You turn away from him and slam open your bedroom door and Dazai winces, taking half a step back.

“It’s always what you want, Dazai,” you hiss.

Dazai’s heart sinks, shaking his head because he doesn’t want to hear where you’re going with this. “Stop.”

“For weeks, I have been catering to what you want and now I don’t want one thing and you throw a fucking tantrum over it. I don’t want to talk about this—I don’t want to talk about it now, I don’t want to talk about it in the morning, I don’t want to talk about it. Can you just leave it be?”

Dazai takes another step back, staring at you silently. His ears ring as your words echo through them and though he can watch your face shift from frustration to guilt, it doesn’t process in his head—not really, not when all he can hear are your words on repeat over and over again.

You reach out for him, fingers curling around his wrist but Dazai pulls his hand back, taking a step away from you, closer to the stairs. All of his fight or flight instincts are triggered, his body itches to run, to flee downstairs and get out of your apartment, but his legs are uncooperative, feet rooted to the ground as he stares at you blankly.

“I didn’t mean that,” you say after a few moments. “I didn’t-I just-”

“It’s okay,” Dazai replies, voice a bit distant even to his own ears. “I’ll drop it.”

“Dazai-”

“Let me help you get into bed,” Dazai interrupts, forcing a smile onto his face as he pushes himself forward. His movements feel weird and clunky, unnatural almost, but he successfully leads you into your room, pulling back the sheets to help you into bed. “C’mon.”

He helps you slip into the bed and pulls the sheets over you, there’s still that hazy look in your eyes as you look up at him and Dazai tries his best to make sure that the smile on his face doesn’t look strained. He’s pretty sure you can see through it even while drunk. You reach out to grab his wrist again and this time, Dazai doesn’t pull away.

“Stay here tonight,” you say quietly. “Lay down with me.”

“I have class in the morning.” Dazai shakes his head, as much as he might ache to stay in your presence, he thinks if he stays in it a moment longer, he might actually break down—he can’t get your words to stop echoing. Only a steadily crumbling dam is holding back the torrent of emotions ripping apart his chest. “I can’t.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“I have to get all of my books, and finish my homework,” he tells you. “I can’t.”

“We’ll leave early,” you press, leaning up on your elbows. “C-”

“I can’t,” Dazai stresses, taking a step back and shaking his head. “I can’t. I have to go.”

You look conflicted, but to his relief and distress, you finally let go of his wrist. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. After your classes. You finish at three, right? There’s a restaurant in Minami-ku I’ve been meaning to take you to.”

Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows, shaking his head again. “I’m busy after class tomorrow. I have meetings for group projects.”

“When are they over? I’ll pick you up after.”

He feels a bit sick to his stomach as he looks up at your ceiling, in turmoil and unsure as to what to do. He knows you’re not doing this because you feel bad—not really—he knows it has to do with the flashdrive. He knows it. He thought it would be easier having someone to talk to, someone to hang out with, even if it was only because of blackmail because at least he would have someone, but he was wrong because this is a type of torture that Dazai just can’t endure any longer.

“I’m not going to want to do anything after, I’ll be drained.”

“Then we don’t have to do anything.” God, you won’t stop trying. You won’t stop trying and Dazai knows that if it wasn’t for that stupid flash drive, you’d have laughed in his face and told him to get out. He thinks he might actually throw up. “I’ll pick up the food before going to get you. We’ll stay in. Watch a movie.”

“No,” Dazai says, raising his voice now. “No. I’m just going to go back to my place. I have to go.”

Though his legs feel like lead and his body still yearns to be near yours, he forces himself to leave your room. Doesn’t look back when you call his name. Doesn’t hesitate at the top of the stairs when you tell him to wait. He nearly stumbles as he makes his way down the stairs and when he gets to the bottom instead of rushing toward the elevator, he sits on the arm of your couch, resting his head in his hands as he tries to gather his thoughts.

You’re so frustrating. So impossible to read that it’s beginning to take a toll on Dazai. He doesn’t understand why you’re so adamant on not having a conversation about all of this. He thought you would’ve wanted to have a conversation about it for the chance of getting the flash drive away from him.

You’ve done everything in your power to avoid any physical contact with him until now; only finally giving it to him when there’s an issue you really don’t want to talk about to try to distract him. Hell, you’d prefer to even talk to him about mafia business—you vented all about the issues with the Shimazaki-kai to him, and Dazai would think that’s the last thing you’d want to talk to him about.

It doesn’t make any sense.

He’s drawn from his thoughts at the sound of something buzzing against the ground a few feet away, frowning as he looks around and spots your phone on the ground, probably lost in your drunken attempts to get to the couch. He hesitates before pushing himself off the arm of the couch, taking a few steps toward it before kneeling down to pick it up.

He chews at the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the home screen of your phone, staring at Nakahara Chuuya’s name in the text notification. He knows that he shouldn’t go snooping. He knows it.

He does it anyway.

He spares one last glance up the stairs before unlocking your phone with the code he’s seen you put in hundreds of times by now, clicks on your message app and lets out a puff of air when he realizes that no, you hadn’t been lying. You have at least twenty unread message threads—Dazai’s is pinned at the top with Chuuya’s and someone called Mori, who you’ve never mentioned to him. There’s only one message thread you’ve evidently been reading the past few days considering there’s no dot next to it: Tolstoy, the last message being from a few hours ago.

He shouldn’t look. He knows he shouldn’t look.

He clicks on it anyway.

He bites down hard on his bottom lip as he scrolls to the top of the conversation—only a few message exchanges between the two of you, but they’re decently long.

Tolstoy: Do you still want Ilya? I can have him there by the end of next week, I just need him to finish up some business in Moscow first. You: Haven’t decided. You haven’t even given me the rundown on the side effects of his ability. I’m not going to use it if it’s going to fuck up his head—stop playing salesman and tell me what’s actually up with him. No ability comes without consequences. You know that. I know that. So stop fucking around.

Dazai suddenly has a sick feeling in his stomach, vision tunneling on the ‘him’ you’re speaking of in the messages. A foreboding air settles over him, dark and oppressive, he has to physically force himself to keep reading.

Tolstoy: We don’t know of any side effects. Haven’t used it enough to figure it out. You: So, you want me to use him as a lab rat? Be real, Tolstoy. Thought you had more respect for me than that. Tolstoy: I’m trying to help you. You want that kid’s memory wiped, I can have it done for you, it’s just a matter of how badly you want it done.

Dazai doesn’t read anymore than that. He drops your phone onto the couch, takes a step back, a step away. His mind spins, ears ringing as he stares down at—he doesn’t even know what he’s staring at. His vision is swimming and blurring—with tears, maybe? Or just from exhaustion? From panic? He can’t tell but he knows he’s not breathing properly and he knows he needs to leave, everything suddenly feels too suffocating, too enclosed.

He stumbles over to the elevator, slapping the button and leaning against the wall as he waits for it to come up to your floor. It takes long—too long, each second that passes feels like an eternity and he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

There’s only one “him” that your texts could be referring to. And it makes sense—it makes sense, doesn’t it? It makes sense why you’re so willing to divulge confidential information if you don’t intend for him to keep the knowledge of it. Makes sense why you’ve been notably careless with leaving files around your apartment. Makes sense why you told him about your ability. He’d thought you were finally letting him in, letting him know you, but-but of course, you weren’t.

Of course, you weren’t.

You were just…you were just trying to keep him placated, feed him bits of information to keep him happy because you knew you weren’t going to let him keep the knowledge of it. That you were gonna wipe his memory of it, of you, and send him back into that cold, dark void that’s been following him around his entire life and-

The bing of the elevator startles him, he flinches and still, he can’t breathe. His skin feels numb and prickly, his bandages are scratching uncomfortably at the scars hidden beneath them and he can hardly see straight.

Dazai needs to go.

He needs to go.

You wake up with a dry mouth, a pounding headache and an oddly foreboding feeling hanging about you. You push yourself into a sitting position, grimacing at the sun blinding you through the window—you don’t remember much of the night. You vaguely recall leaving the club last night with Albatross and Chuuya, the two of them incessantly bitching about dealing with you while you were drunk but in your defense, you think you deserved it after three days straight of meetings with the Shimazaki-kai on behalf of the Sun and Steel.

Everything after leaving the club is a blur. You grimace as you push yourself out of bed, glancing around to see if you’d dropped your phone anywhere near the bed only to come up empty-handed. You don’t even bother to go to the bathroom and brush your teeth, anxious to find your phone and figure out what happened once you left the club.

You pray to god that it’s downstairs and you hadn’t left it at the club, making your way out of the bedroom with a sigh. You doubt Chuuya or Albatross would’ve been dumb enough to leave it there, but you’re pretty sure they were both drunk too and neither of them are functioning drunks.

You’re not even halfway through the door frame when pain shoots through your head, sharp and uncomfortable and then-

“It’s always what you want, Dazai.”

Suddenly, that foreboding feeling you awoke with makes sense. You stare ahead blankly as you remember who exactly was waiting for you at your apartment after you got back from the club. You remember the argument, you remember the crushed expression that crossed his face when you snapped at him, you remember pleading with him to stay or to at least let you take him out today and you remember him refusing, his voice pitched and cracking, wobbly, on the verge of collapse because-

Because of you.

Fuck.

It’s with increasingly more urgency now that you rush yourself down the stairs, a small lingering hope remaining that maybe Dazai had stayed in one of the guest rooms or on the couch, that you could do something to fix this before it escalates even more.

You don’t even know why you said that—it’s not like you mind giving Dazai what he wants, in fact, you enjoy it. You enjoy it a lot. You like seeing his face light up when you do nice things for him, you like when he tries to hide the way he gets all flustered, you like that he’s allowed himself to have hope with you—something he’s clearly denied himself for too long—and you what?

You ruined it because you got scared?

You ruined it because you didn’t want to talk about… whatever you have going on with him?

You ruined it because you were terrified he was going to force you to come to terms with the fact that you’re using his stupid flash drive as an excuse to indulge yourself in him. That it would take minimal effort to have it destroyed but you’re putting it off because you want to be able to rationalize what you’re doing.

You feel sick to your stomach when you realize that your apartment is empty, eyes darting around to try to find your phone. You need to call him—he told you that he wanted to be alone today, or maybe he didn’t say exactly that but he implied it, but you need to at least talk to him now that you’re sober and can think straight.

A distant part of you, a cold and logical part of you, tells you to just use this as the excuse to cut him off—you don’t need to get Ilya to fuck with his mind if he just hates you, you don’t want Ilya to fuck with Dazai’s mind. The thought of it makes your chest feel tight with guilt, so maybe you should take this opportunity for what it is, no matter how shitty it might make you feel, but-

But you won’t.

Finally spotting your phone on the couch, you snatch it up and unlock it, grimacing at the low battery percentage and then grimacing even more when there’s not a single message from Dazai lighting up your home screen. There’s seven from Chuuya, three from Albatross, and two from Mori, but you’re more concerned by the missed call from an unknown number and the unread voice message.

The foreboding feeling that has been looming only grows more intense when you click on the message for it to play out loud.

“This is Doctor Okamoto of Keiyu Hospital calling on behalf of a recently admitted patient… listed you as his emergency contact when he was brought in last night… unable to disclose any information regarding his injuries over the phone… suggest that you get here soon…”

At once, your vision tunnels and everything around you becomes white noise, your gaze is pinned on the ground, a smudge on the tiled floors as you try to keep yourself grounded because what? Dazai is in the-he’s in the hospital?

Because of you?

You hadn’t been subtle approaching him that day in the library, it’s been a lingering thought since then, wondering if unsavory eyes had caught sight of you talking to him. The bar and the cafe were different, he had approached you—if any of your enemies had happened to see it, they wouldn’t think twice about it. But you approaching him had been dangerous.

It had been a mistake.

Had it been a mistake to cost him his life?

And it’s not just that—you’ve taken him out to dinners. Picked him up at his apartment building. Places that you or your trusted affiliates own but there’s always the chance… and if he left the Port Mafia building last night in a rush, upset and not thinking straight…

Oh, you might throw up.

You’re not dressed properly. You’re still wearing your dress from last night and you fumble to put on the heels you must’ve kicked off in your drunken state. You don’t even care to get dressed, more intent on getting to the hospital and figuring out if—nausea builds in the back of your throat—if Dazai is alive, if he’s okay. You need to re-listen to the voicemail because your hearing had been unfocused and you’d only been able to catch bits and pieces of the doctor’s message.

And-

And you don’t even get into the elevator because your phone is ringing again as soon as you click the button. You don’t even look at the number before picking up, fearing that it’s the hospital again—it’s not, it’s Chuuya, and you immediately regret your decision because you aren’t even able to bark out a ‘what’ before he’s speaking.

“Where the hell have you been?” Chuuya snaps on the other side of the line. “We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for hours, we-”

“I’m busy,” you hiss right back, interrupting him. “I can’t talk-”

“You can talk,” Chuuya says harshly. “Get to headquarters. The Guild is in Yokohama now. We don’t have time to fuck around anymore.”

You don’t respond to Chuuya, heart sinking to your feet at his words, distress clawing at your chest so painfully that you think it might be easier if you just carve out your heart and toss it out the window. You hang up the phone without another word just as the elevator makes it to your floor, but instead of going inside, you make your way back up to your room, numbly changing into one of your suits so you could at least look somewhat presentable.

You hardly even recognize yourself in the mirror as you wipe off your smudged makeup from your night out. Your eyes are vacant and your expression so empty that you think you could almost be looking at a statue.

War with the Guild. Dazai in the hospital.

Everything is catching up to you at the same time and your mind is fraying at its seams, collapsing in on itself as the weight of everything bears down on you. You do your best to compartmentalize, focus on one thing at a time but you can’t even concentrate on one issue.

You try to figure out what to do about the upcoming conflict, try to determine what exactly Fitzgerald might be planning so you can figure out what the Port Mafia will retaliate with, and your mind drifts to Dazai, you wonder if he’s okay, if he’s in critical condition, if it was one of your enemies that got to him or if it was something else.

You think about Dazai, all of the fear and guilt and anxiety tearing you apart, and your mind shoots straight to the Guild. Because if Fitzgerald knows about Dazai—if he knows about Dazai—then it’s over. It’s all over. If the Guild gets their hands on him, they’ll kill him when you don’t give them what they want because you can’t give them what they want. They want Yokohama and you can’t give them that.

You can’t, not even for Dazai.

You don’t even register that you’re standing in front of the elevator again until it bings, startling you right out of your thoughts. You can’t leave the building while you’re spiraling like this—you need to get a grip on yourself, you don’t even know where you’re going yet. You need to figure out if you’re going to go meet with Mori and the other executives or if you’re going to go find Dazai.

As you step into the elevator, it takes all but five seconds for you to make a decision.

Dazai wakes up to the familiar scent of antiseptic and a citrus-scented floor cleaning solution, the air is too stale and the air-conditioning is cranked up too high. He forces his eyes open, lids heavy and uncooperative, but he immediately lets them fall shut again briefly when he’s met with too white walls and the steady beeping of the heart monitor next to him.

His throat feels swollen as he stares up at the ceiling—the last time he was here in the hospital he was seventeen and had nearly bled out in the bathtub in Odasaku’s house. The only reason he hadn’t was because Ango happened to stop by the house to pick up papers that Odasaku had left for him, finding Dazai unconscious and face half-submerged in the water. He woke up here to find both of them hovering over him, Ango concerned and Odasaku visibly upset for the first time since Dazai met him.

He wakes up alone now because Odasaku is dead and he hasn’t spoken to Ango in four years—doesn’t even know where the man is anymore, doesn’t even know if he’s alive, doesn’t want to know either.

“Dazai-sama.” He hears a nurse say from the door to his room. “You’re awake, how are you…”

The nurse’s voice becomes white noise with the beeping of the heart monitor and the vents blowing above. Dazai retreats back into his own mind—a dangerous place, but right now it’s safer than the white walls that surround him, knowing he’s going to be badgered with questions that he doesn’t want to have to answer.

How are you feeling, Dazai-sama?

What happened, Dazai-sama?

We need to ask you a few questions, Dazai-sama.

Dazai feels defeated.

His head falls to the side as he stares out the nearby window, watching as a bird swoops down in view before taking off into the sky.

He doesn’t even remember what happened. He remembers leaving your apartment, he remembers… he remembers seeing your texts, your plans to wipe his memory. And… that’s about it? He vaguely remembers the familiar feeling of his lungs burning, remembers being tossed around by the rough currents of Tsurumi River. He doesn’t remember how he got there but it’s not exactly hard for him to piece together—even now, Dazai thinks he would rather be dead than have his memories forcibly erased.

“… to know what exactly hap…”

A dark and familiar cloud settles over him. His eyes feel heavy and his chest hurts. Dazai—he doesn’t even know what to think anymore. He’s so tired that his bones ache and his muscles feel so weak that he just sinks into the stiff mattress of the hospital bed.

He doesn’t know what he expected—he thinks that to some extent he expected you to leave him. Everyone has left him. His mother, his aunt, all of the brief friends he’d made over the years before they see him for what he is, Odasaku and Ango—everyone has left him, so he knew that you would too but… in this manner? Using an ability to wipe his memory of you?

Dazai has considered it before. He’s wondered if maybe his life would be easier if he could just… forget. If he could live without the memory of everyone who has left him hanging over him. Some days, on really bad days, he thinks it might be easier. To try to make himself feel better, he thinks that maybe he isn’t the issue, maybe it’s all just a self-fulfilling prophecy, that it’s his past experiences cursing him to make the same mistakes over and over again; that without them, he might stand a chance.

But then when he thinks about it—when he really thinks about it—he knows in his heart that it’s not true, and he knows that without the memory of them all, Dazai will only feel more empty. And to think that you were trying to take his memories of you from him… without even asking, without giving him a choice in the matter… it almost makes Dazai-

“Dazai.”

His gaze snaps to the side when he hears your familiar voice come from the door leading into his room. Instantly, he’s shaking his head and looking away again, he can’t even bear to look at you but you’re walking over to him, you’re coming to his bedside, you’re sitting next to him on the hospital bed and you’re reaching out to cup his cheek, forcibly turning his face to make him look at you. You look worried, something sharp and concerned in your eyes that makes his throat swell and he wants to spit at you and call you a liar but he can only sink into your touch.

“Why are you here?” he asks. His voice is hoarse, almost painful for him to use.

“What happened?” you ask him quietly instead of answering his question—you never answer his questions, you always deflect, always maneuver around them. The ones you do answer, it’s only because you plan to- “Dazai, what happened? Are you okay?”

Dazai doesn’t know how you can look at him like this all the while planning the most diabolical betrayal that he could ever imagine. You’re either an actress deserving of international recognition or… or Dazai doesn’t even know.

“I’m fine,” he says, voice clipped. “Why are you here?”

“The hospital called me-”

“But why are you here?” Dazai cuts you off, grateful that his voice is firmer than the turmoil wreaking havoc through him. He must’ve given them your number while he was half-delirious when he was brought in—he figured that out already—but that doesn’t explain why you actually came. “Why did you come?”

“Because you’re hurt,” you say as if Dazai should believe you.

And he wants to believe you. Wants to believe that you’d come running just at the mere idea of him being hurt, wants to believe that you would care enough to come for him. He wants to believe you so bad, but he knows what he saw.

“Don’t lie to me,” Dazai tells you, finally gathering the willpower to pull his face away from where it’s resting in the palm of your hand. You don’t even let him shift away, hand slipping behind him to cradle the back of his head, fingers entwined with his hair. “Stop.”

“I’m not lying to you,” you say like a liar. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

You sigh heavily and Dazai hates the way you’re absently drawing circles against the nape of his neck with your thumb, hates how it makes him feel at ease and especially hates the way his lashes instinctually flutter shut.

“I didn’t mean what I said last night, Dazai,” you say so quietly that Dazai almost believes you. Almost. “I was drunk, I didn’t… I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean-”

“I don’t care about that,” Dazai says, proud of the way his voice stays sharp and cold. “I saw the messages between you and Tolstoy. I know what you’re planning. I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t even want to look at you, just leave me alone.”

You draw back at his words, concerned expression melting into a blank slate as you pull your hand away to sit back straight. Dazai misses your touch instantly, longs for the warmth to return but he forces himself to ignore it all, keeping his gaze pinned on you, watching the way your mind races behind your eyes. He wonders if you’re trying to figure out if you can salvage this, wonders if you’re going to lie.

Instead, a heavy look settles over your face as you frown, glancing back at the way you came and for a moment, Dazai thinks you’re just going to leave. You rise to your feet and words lodge in the back of his throat, preparing to spit insults at you: he wants to call you a coward, a liar, wants to tell you that you’re cruel and vile and he can hardly even stand to look at you.

But then you look back at him and hold out your hand to him. “Come on,” you tell him. “Let’s sneak you out of here… I’ll explain everything when we get out of the hospital.”

Dazai wants to be spiteful, wants to turn his head away and ignore you, wants to slap your hand and tell you that there’s no explaining what he saw.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he places his hand in yours and lets that treacherous, treacherous spec of hope bloom in his chest again.

Dazai hasn’t spoken a word since leaving the hospital. You’ve tried to make small talk with him, but every time, he just turns his head away to look out the window. You gave up twenty minutes ago and Dazai is already regretting not indulging conversation with you because the silence is agonizing. He knows he should break it, but he doesn't know how to now.

He glances at you from the corner of your eye. You’re leaning back against your seat, one hand on the steering wheel—he can’t see your eyes because they’re masked by sunglasses, but he can see the way your free hand rests on the gear stick, knuckles tense.

“What is this place?” Dazai clears his throat as he leans forward in his seat, peering out the windshield of your car to try to figure out where you’re taking him. He forces his tone to lighten, the smile on his lips strained. “Are you kidnapping me? Oh! Or are you taking me to some remote cabin to kill me? Bella, you truly know the way to a man’s heart.”

You let out a heavy sigh, one that makes Dazai toss a sweet smile in your direction.

Some type of beach house, he recognizes as you pull up a windy road to the top of a cliff looking over the water. He can see to his left a path leading down to the water and to his right a nice view of a distant pier. It’s not a large house, but it’s nice—well-kept and refurbished with a view over Sagami Bay. It’s not too far out from Yokohama, probably only a little over an hour, but considering Dazai’s never left the city in his entire life, this might be the furthest he’s ever been. He can almost feel a bit of excitement bubbling in his chest.

“I wanted to take you here, away from the city for a bit,” you finally say, fingers thrumming against the wheel of the car as you slowly guide the car up the gravel path. “So we can talk in peace.”

Your bland words whittle away his excitement and Dazai’s smile falters. He tries to distract himself with counting the strands hanging off the sleeve of his sweater but keeps losing count.

“Something you couldn’t have talked to me about in Yokohama?” Dazai asks airly as you pull to a stop in front of the beach house.

He doesn’t turn to look at you, doesn’t move until you finally get out of the car, reaching into the back seat to grab two duffle bags, nodding for him to follow you.

Wow, he thinks dryly, you came prepared.

Dazai feels distinctly like he’s walking to his execution as he follows you to the steps leading up to the house, but instead of walking up them, you toss the bags on the porch and then continue up the path.

You’re going to push him off a cliff, Dazai thinks, feet dragging against the gravel as he follows you. This is it, all of the years that he’s longed for death and it’s finally about to find him at your hands.

“I might not die from the fall,” Dazai says, words drawn long as he pouts. “You wouldn’t really leave me to suffer in freezing water, would you?”

“No,” you say, glancing back at him. He lets out a quiet breath of relief that’s quickly snuffed out when you add, “I’m not that sloppy with my kills. I’d kill you before dumping your body over the side of the cliff.”

Dazai blanches, but your lips curl up into an amused smile so he settles down, sighing as he purposely knocks his shoulder with yours.

“My bella is so cruel,” he sighs dramatically. “She hates me.”

You sigh as you reach the edge of the cliff, not turning to look at him. The wind whips around the two of you—it’s a cool, early spring night, the temperature just enough to be uncomfortable but you don’t seem bothered by it as you stare out across the water as the sun starts to set.

You’re beautiful, Dazai thinks, breath catching at the sight of you beneath the setting sun. The golden rays cast an ethereal glow over you, the wind ruffles your clothes and hair, and your expression is solemn in a way that’s become terribly familiar the past few weeks.

“I’m not going to do anything with the video,” Dazai finally says, voice quiet—finally taking the chance to say what he wanted to say last night. “You don’t have to keep… pandering to me because you’re trying to protect yourself. I was never going to do anything with it, I just… wanted you to give me a chance.”

When you look over your shoulder, you give Dazai a small, genuine smile that makes all of the air whoosh from his lungs.

“Dazai, I’ve known you weren’t going to do anything with that video since day one,” you say, amused. “If I thought you were, I would’ve had someone confiscate it from your apartment.”

Dazai’s lips part, mind racing. “But then why-”

Your smile softens at the edges and you sigh as you lower yourself down to the ground, feet dangling off the edge of the cliff. Dazai joins you, thigh brushing yours and shoulders absently knocking together. Your hands rest in your lap and Dazai’s fingers twitch to reach for yours. He only hardly refrains himself.

“I don’t remember a life before this,” you say after a few moments, a distant look in your eyes as you stare ahead. “When I was seven… eight, maybe, I was pulled out of a warzone by the current leader of the Mafia. I don’t even remember my parents—anything about them. Their names. Faces. What they sounded like, what their job was. Mori… he found me in my town sitting in the middle of a whole pile of bodies and I couldn’t even point out which pair of corpses were my parents. I don’t remember anything before him… It’s all just black. Blurred.”

Dazai stares at you, eyes a bit wide as he listens to you speak. His lips part to say something but he decides against it, instead he seals his lips back shut and presses his shoulder against yours. Mori—that was the other name pinned up with Dazai’s message thread and Nakahara Chuuya’s—he must be the Port Mafia boss. His gaze traces your face as you stare ahead, catching the melancholic expression on your face. He itches to reach for your hand.

“I could hardly remember anything about myself. My first name… that’s just about it. My new birthday became the day Mori found me, my new surname—when needed—was his, he… he became my reason to live when I had none. Gave me a purpose,” you tell him faintly. “I spent two years on a warfront trying to figure out what my ability was so I could be the finishing touches of the immortal regiment that he was trying to create. As far as I remember, all I’ve known is… this. Him.”

Dazai wants to say something but every word he tries to push out dies on his tongue. Instead, he finally does reach out to grab your hand, fingers curling around yours tightly. You look down briefly, an unreadable expression on your face before it softens and… and for a split second, Dazai can see you, he can see you: not a hardened executive of a mafia, but an eight-year-old girl, lost and confused and landing in the arms of the wrong man, and it makes him sick.

The traitorous part of him wonders if you’re only telling him this because you still plan on following through with the memory wipe, so Dazai does what he always does when someone threatens to take one of the few things he wants—he digs his claws in and doesn’t let go.

“The war ended before I could figure out how to use my ability and I followed… him to the underground. We ended up with the Port Mafia while the previous boss and his family were still leading. He was…” You trail off, frowning. “Dangerous. Yokohama was a terrible place under his leadership. He slaughtered civilians who spoke poorly about him and the Mafia, killed his own men for looking at him wrong… Mori became his doctor and for the good of the city, he decided to kill him.”

“I remember the old boss—what he did to the city,” Dazai says quietly—how could he not? His aunt was terrified of being in Yokohama because of him, was constantly talking about leaving the city… she finally did after dumping Dazai off in Suribachi and leaving him to fend for himself against the wolves. “It was bad.”

“It was,” you agree absently. “Mori—he wanted it to be as bloodless as possible. He tried every route, but the only way for it to be bloodless was if he had someone to corroborate that the previous boss died in his sleep and left the Port Mafia to him.”

Dazai almost scoffs.

“No one would believe that.”

“We’d hoped maybe one of his grandchildren would step up. Even if it was clearly a lie, people would have to listen because they were his blood,” you say with a wry smile. “They didn’t.”

“So, what happened then?” he presses when you don’t immediately continue. He frowns when he catches the sudden change in your demeanor, like you’re sick to your stomach, unable to push out the next words. He feels a bit dreadful, squeezing your hand gently.

“We had to wipe out the whole family,” you whisper, looking down at your lap, “and any loyalists. I was fourteen when I killed someone for the first time. She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arm and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.”

Oh.

Dazai’s throat spasm as he swallows, the picture forming in his head cold and chilling, but instead he forces out:

“You were a kid too.”

“No, I wasn’t. Hadn’t been for a long time,” you say, voice flat, leaving no room for argument. “We hunted down the whole bloodline, immediate to extended family. Mori was insistent on it, said we couldn’t risk one of them ever returning and upending everything we’ve built. He’s still searching for some to this day just to make sure.”

That’s… foreboding to say the least. Dazai watches you carefully, the grim expression on your face and the frown on your lips. He pulls your hand into his lap, tracing your fingers gently to try to ease you and he watches from the corner of his eye as your expression softens again when you look at him. It makes his chest feel tight and fluttery.

“I was sixteen when I met Itou.” The cold expression on your face warms at the unfamiliar name. Dazai watches as the corner of your lips curve up into a fond smile, as if you’re reminiscing. “He was seventeen. We were partnered up for years. This was his beach house—or, well, I don’t know whose it was but Itou took it. He was awful, honestly. A terrible fucking person, had more blood on his hands than any other member of the Mafia, found way too much joy in tormenting people. He was awful, but he was the closest thing I had to family. He tried to show me a world beyond just… bloodshed and violence. Took me to amusement parks on days off, snuck me onto school trips with random groups of kids and told me to ‘blend in’ as training for infiltration missions, showed me how to live, not just… survive. He died on a mission a few weeks after I turned eighteen, made me promise him that I wouldn’t go back to how I used to be without him, that I’d at least try to be happy.”

Double oh.

Dazai almost does throw up now, mind drawing back to a face that has been haunting Dazai for four years now, Odasaku’s last words ring through his head painfully—a reminder of his own inadequacy, of his failure to fulfill his friend’s dying wish.

He remembers the way your face shifted when he told you about Odasaku at Kido’s Boutique and he wonders if he’d reminded you of Itou back then when he spoke of the man and his promise, just like how he was reminded now. His grip on your hand tightens unintentionally—as if you can sense his thoughts, you squeeze his fingers gently.

“I didn’t,” you say with a tight smile. “Threw myself into work, accepted that my fate was to live, breathe and die for the Port Mafia. I didn’t see the point of anything—well, not until I met you, at least.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker up to you, breath catching when you meet his gaze this time. And god, you look beautiful—so beautiful that Dazai thinks that if he dies now, he could die happy. He almost wishes that he could die now, fall off the side of the cliff with the image of you burned behind his eyelids. It would be a better death than he deserved.

“You made me happy. Make me happy,,” you tell him quietly and Dazai’s heart leaps into his throat. “So effortlessly that I can’t even understand how you do it, but it’s impossible for me to justify dragging you into this world just because I’m selfish.” Dazai parts his lips to disagree but you don’t even give him a chance to speak. “So when you came to me with your stupid blackmail, it was so… easy to just use it as an excuse for me to indulge in you.”

Dazai doesn’t get it. He still doesn’t get it. You’re sitting here talking to him, explaining everything, and Dazai still doesn’t understand. He makes you happy—he makes you happy and you make him happy, there doesn’t need to be any more complications than that. You don’t have to push him away, you don’t have to cut him off, you don’t have to use that memory wiping ability on him.

“I don’t understand,” Dazai says, voice hoarse. “You make me happy too, so why is…”

“Because Chuuya is right,” you say with a smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. “The risks… Dazai, you can’t ask me to put you in danger like this. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair to cut me off because you’re scared,” Dazai counters, voice a bit pitched. “It’s not fair that you want to wipe my memory without my consent. I don’t care about danger, I don’t-”

You look at him sharply, an intense expression on your face that makes Dazai hesitate.

“I never would have done it without talking to you first,” you say tightly. “Do you really think that little of me?”

Dazai looks away, not answering the question. “I never would have agreed to it,” he replies, voice equally tight as yours. “Never. It’d be a waste of your time.”

You sigh and Dazai feels you shift next to him but he pointedly keeps his gaze trained ahead, refusing to look at you. He feels your fingers brush his cheek before the pressure becomes a bit firmer as you turn his face so that he’s looking at you. You’re so close that his nose brushes yours, the pads of your fingers are warm against his skin; if he leans in just a bit, he’d be able to kiss you.

He wants to kiss you.

“You don’t know what’s at stake,” you say softly, breath fanning across his lips as you speak. He can almost taste the mixture of mint and nicotine on your lips—you smoke when you’re nervous, he’s noticed it over the past few weeks with you. The more nervous you are, the more cigarettes you run through; he wonders how many cigarettes you’ve gone through since you’ve gotten the call from the hospital. “The danger-”

“You want me,” Dazai whispers, squeezing your hand, leaning in a bit more. “No one has ever wanted me before. Not like this. Not for me. You want me.”

The last sentence—it doesn’t come out as a statement, it comes out as a plea. He wants you to say it. You didn’t the last time, but he needs to hear it now. Desperately. His nails dig into your hands, he doesn’t even dare to breathe as he waits for you to speak.

“I want you,” you agree, voice so quiet like you don’t even dare to speak the words out loud in fear of the consequences of them. “I want you. I want you so bad that it scares me, Dazai Osamu.”

And Dazai breathes. The breath he lets out is long and shaky, the relief that sweeps over him is almost debilitating. He searches your eyes to make sure you mean it and when he only finds honesty and a type of fear that he’s never seen in you before, Dazai knows.

“You think it doesn’t scare me?” Dazai asks you, voice cracking. “Everything I ever come to want is always lost. Ever since that first day we met, I-I knew that I wanted you more than anything I’ve ever wanted before and I’ve been terrified that one day you’ll leave me. Promise me that you won’t. Promise me.”

You stare at him and for a terrible moment, Dazai thinks that you’re about to shake your head and say you can’t, but then you swallow, nod and say, “I promise.”

Dazai kisses you. And then he kisses you again. And again. And again. Until his lungs burn and he can feel your lips curve up against his and even then, he kisses you still. Kisses you as the sun sets over the bay and the moon rises above the mountains. Kisses you until the wind becomes too bitter for the two of you to stay outside and still, he smiles as he peppers kisses across your face, walking back down the path to the beach house.

He ignores how your phone has been buzzing incessantly all night, praying for at least one day of peace before reality slaps the two of you in the face again.

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #dazai osamu x you

404 notes · View notes

rememberwren · 4 months

Text

/•Harmless Fun 4•\

For anon who asked for reader calling simon and johnny to pick you up from the bar after getting drunk. Thanks for requesting!

The phone rings, and Simon answers it before he even knows he is awake. Perhaps it’s that ingrained military training within him that has him snapping to attention at…quarter til two in the morning according to the glowing numbers of the digital clock on the nightstand. Or maybe it’s the remnants of the sleepless nights when Johnny was in hospital, when Simon would spend the hours staring at the ceiling and dreading the ring of his cellphone. Yes, he was perfectly fine when he kicked you out, but he’s taken a turn for the worse and doesn’t have long left…

“This is—” Ghost. Bravo-0-7. “—Simon.”

“Wha’ is i’?” Johnny slurs from the bed beside him, still more than half asleep. His hair is a mess, lines on his face from the pillow. He reaches out and finds Simon’s hand and they tangle fingers briefly, communicating via touch. Soap’s head lowers, though he doesn’t begin to snore again. He’s listening, more than likely. That military instinct is still in him too, even if his body can’t make the same use of it anymore.

There is ambient noise from the other end of the phone, but Simon can’t quite make it out. He untangles his fingers from Johnny’s and puts the hand against his exposed ear, blocking out extraneous stimuli. There are voices, talking back and forth. Someone somewhere is laughing. Music, in the distance, though he can only make out the undercurrent of it, something with a heavy beat that he could likely feel in his teeth if he were there.

Rustling. Then your voice: “—ut it, I’m on the phone, can’t you see? I—Simon? Are you there?” Distantly, like you’ve held the phone away from your mouth, he hears you admonish: “You made me miss him!”

Simon slips out of the bed wearing only his boxers and leaves the bedroom in case Soap decides that he wants to fall back to sleep. He keeps his voice low when he says into the phone: “I’m here. What’s going on?”

“My girlfriends all found boy-friends,” you mutter morosely, your every emotion heightened by the alcohol pulsing through your system. Simon doesn’t think he’s ever heard you sound so sulky, not even when Soap ate the last of your leftovers from the diner last week.

Someone in the background says, full of charm: “I could be your boyfriend.”

Simon’s eyes narrow. He switches the phone to his better ear. “Who’s that?”

“Who’s—? Oh. That’s Alan,” you say, your effect brightening somewhat. “He’s buying my drinks at the bar. Free drinks, Simon! Isn’t that nice?”

Simon wrenches his keys off the hook beside where your own should be resting. Slipping back into the bedroom, he sees that Soap is sitting up now at the edge of the bed rubbing at his thigh. Simon gives him a nod, searching for his pants in the dark and stepping into them. He shoves his keys in his pocket.

How fucking sweet, Simon thinks. He can imagine exactly what a pissant like Alan is thinking, too: that if he buys this lonely girl enough drinks at the bar, she’ll be easy to convince to come home with him. That maybe even if she puts up a bit of a fight, it wouldn’t be much trouble to persuade her…

He picked the wrong fuckin girl.

“Have him open up his generous wallet and buy you a fuckin’ water. A bottle of it. Break the seal yourself, understand?”

“I understand,” you say, sounding a little more sober in the face of Simon’s obvious displeasure. He works to temper his voice.

“Put Alan on,” Simon says silkily. “Let me make sure he’s taking good care of you.”

“You want to talk to him?” You sound baffled. Maybe you aren’t as drunk as he thought.

“Said so.”

There is a rustle as the phone is exchanged.

A very unsure, masculine voice says, Hello?

“I’m going to be there to pick up my girl in ten minutes or less,” Simon says into the phone. “If anything happens to her between then and now, I’m considering you personally responsible, Alan, do you understand me? Whether you had anything to do with it or whether it was an accident out of the clear fucking blue. You will answer for it. So if I were you, I’d take good fucking care of her. Am I clear?”

“I—I didn’t know she was taken—“

“Put her back on the phone,” Simon barks.

You pick up the conversation right where you left off, not missing a single beat. “Anyway, Alan said he would give me a ride home since all my friends bailed, but I remember you said that if I needed a ride, I should call you and…oh Simon, I’m sorry if I woke you. This is stupid, isn’t it?”

“Negative,” he says, slipping his belt through the loops. “Not stupid, I mean. Send me your location—your address. Get that water. Absolutely do not go home with any fucker who isn’t named Simon.”

“What about fuckers named Johnny?”

“Not even them. Name’s too common. Can’t trust you’ll get home with the right one.”

“I resent that,” says Johnny, reaching for pants of his own.

Simon hangs up the phone with you. “Ready for some field work?”

“You know it, LT.”

Johnny’s heart is thrumming happily the entire way there, something about the late night adrenaline and knowing you are on the other end of this excursion. He’s fine in the passenger seat, even if Simon’s driving is enough to give a civilian a heart attack. Johnny can tell that Simon desperately needs the control right now, his knuckles white where he grips the steering wheel, eyes dark and glued to the road except when he glances at Google Maps on his phone every now and then to be sure they are heading in the right direction.

Johnny hasn’t driven since the accident. He could, likely, but it would be hell on his sore leg. Maybe after he heals more…

By the time the two of them arrive, it is threatening to drizzle, the wet sapping the warmth out of the air. He’s glad he brought his jacket, already shrugging out of it to give you, memory vivid with the skimpy little dress you were wearing when you left the house, the one that bared your legs even while it covered you from shoulder to wrist.

They spot you leaning against the brick wall outside the bar, sipping your water bottle. They pull up to the curb and Simon reaches for the jacket, abandoning Johnny inside with a firm, Stay Here. Johnny watches from the passenger seat as Simon slips the jacket around your shoulders and takes the water bottle. You are clearly unsteady on your feet (those shoes don’t help, bonnie though they are), and Simon gets to loop his arm around your waist to guide you to the car where the hazard lights are flashing ominously.

Johnny rolls down the window.

“Hey lass,” he says.

Your face lights up at the sight of Johnny. You put your arms through the window and wrap them around him, smelling faintly of your perfume and sweat and Johnny’s own jacket.

“Alright,” Simon says dryly. “Wrap up the reunion. It’s about to rain.”

“Come sit in the back with me,” you breathe, breath smelling of sweetness with the underlying tinge of alcohol. Whatever you had been drinking tonight had been strong to have you so out of sorts. Your fingers tangle in Johnny’s shirt a little, tugging. “Please, Johnny? Sit in the back!”

“Alright, alright,” he agrees with a laugh, even though it is painful to get out of the car and into the backseat, and there isn’t as much room back there for his leg to stretch out. He’s afraid that he might do anything for you if you asked him like that: looking at him with your guileless eyes, fingers tangling in his clothes, moonlight like liquid silver on your skin.

He slips into the backseat with you and has to help you buckle your seatbelt when you can’t get the clasp closed. Johnny feels Simon’s eyes on him, heavy and dark through the rearview mirror. He meets those eyes and gives a nod. He knows that you're drunk; he doesn’t intend to make any passes at you.

He just doesn’t expect the passes you make at him.

Cuddling up to his side, you slip his arm around you and meld into him, careful of his bad leg. It’s hard not to be half in love with you when you treat him like this: with such care, even when you’re three sheets to the wind, but never like he is broken. Never like you doubt his masculinity. You look up at him, forehead briefly brushing against his jaw.

“Did I wake you up, Johnny?” you ask him, soft and sweet.

“Aye,” he says. “From good dreams, too.”

You groan. “I’m so sorry. I knew I should have let Alan drive me home.”

“Who the fuck is Alan?” Johnny asks with a laugh.

“Forget it,” you mutter sleepily, burrowing against him. His jacket slips off of one of your shoulders, and he has to stretch to replace it.

He thinks you’ve fallen asleep when it happens: your mouth brushing against the juncture where his shoulder meets his neck. He goes still, eyes flickering to Simon in the rearview mirror (he is dutifully watching the road). Was that an accident? Were you asleep? His every cell seems attuned to yours, to the quiet even breaths you draw in, to the warmth of your body pressed flush against him, to your bare legs stretched out beside him changing lights thanks to the passing streetlamps. Then it happens again: your lips brush against his throat, this time with more intention.

Johnny can’t help but tilt his head to give you more access, his eyes falling shut, full mouth parting around a longing sigh. Even as his body encourages you, his words seem to carry a threat to them. “Lass, you shouldn’t.”

You hum and press a kiss there, soft and chaste as anything. The next one though is burning with the warmth of your tongue, and Johnny groans softly, unable to stop himself. You match the sound with a whine, shifting in your seat. Uncomfortable, he realizes—because you’re wet. Because you’re searching for friction on your needy little cunt.

“Fuck, you don’t know what yer doing to me,” he whispers roughly.

“Johnny,” Simon says, an audible warning rumbling in his tone, eyes now watching in the mirror as often as he dares take them off the road.

You slur something, but what it is and who it is to is lost in your drunkenness. The hand of the arm you had slipped around him finds a way to his belly, resting against his abs, rustling his shirt upwards a little as you cop a feel.

Johnny half-heartedly takes your hand away, tries to lace your fingers with his own but you are single-minded in your desire to touch him.

“This is hardly fair,” he says, his breathy laugh turning into a groan when your fingers brush against one of his nipples by accident. Your fingers finally find the way beneath his shirt, your touch chilly and soft against his heated skin as you stroke along the trail of hair just beneath his navel—

Simon hits the breaks hard, jostling you both in the backseat. The seatbelt locks for a moment and is pulled tight across Johnny’s chest, the lap belt scraping against his hard on in a way that has him hissing.

You lean forward, blinking owlishly. “Did we almost hit somethin’?”

“No,” says Simon. He deadpans: “Just traffic.”

The road is empty. You find this hilarious, laughing until tears are in your eyes. Even Simon can’t help the effect your laughter has on him; he seems to sit taller in his seat, his hands gripping the wheel with less anxiety, the lines at the corners of his eyes growing as he fights a smile.

Johnny lets out a chuckle too, one that is more of relief than anything. He doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, but the last thing he could let himself do is take advantage of you. Nuzzling against the crown of your head, he breathes in the scent of your shampoo. His erection fades alongside your laughter, and the rest of the drive passes in silence.

They pull into the parking lot of the apartment building at half past two in the morning.

“Can you walk, love?” Johnny asks.

No response. Your eyes are closed where you lean against him, mouth parted in a silent snore.

“Fast asleep,” he tells Simon, brushing his fingers against your temple in an apology when you flinch a little at the sound, eyes fluttering open before settling back into sleep.

“This is getting out of hand,” Simon says simply. In the mirror he looks tired…and maybe it is just a trick of the light, but he looks sad. “You need to talk to her.”

A beat of silence.

“Don’t you mean we need to talk t’her?” Johnny asks.

Simon doesn’t answer.

Outside, it begins to rain.

#ghoap x reader #harmless fun

710 notes · View notes

skyview-temple-spring · 5 months

Text

skyward sword dash board simulator! only like three months late to this trend

🌅skychild

hey guys can someone remind me the wing ceremony is in like two hours. im just gonna take a quick nap

🟦bigbluebird Follow

link the wing ceremony is happening

🟦 bigbluebird

LINK THE WING CEREMONY

🗡️why-fi Follow

skyloft heritage post

🌅skychild

I made this two hours ago???

🌅skychild

SHIT THE WING CEREMONY

1,506 notes

🌅skychild

I'm trying to prove a point

🏋️fledglingwarrior

I think you're the only person having this problem

50 notes

🏋️fledglingwarrior

does anyone know if you can get addicted to stamina potions?

2 notes

🌃knight-shift

what happened to normal, good natured usernames. now it seems like everyone is named something like pumpkinplower or remlitgirldick

🎃pumpkinplower Follow

I'm just trying to find someone to help me out on the farm :(

🌃knight-shift

KINA IM SORRY I DIDNT MEAN YOU

800 notes

thegroosinator reblogged bugenthusiast

🌅skychild

she skyward on my sword till I strike

✨sword-of-a-big-dealdeactivated18112011

blocked.

30k notes

🌅skychild

Hey guys I didn't want to do this but this is a call out post for @/sword-of-a-big-deal. It started like two weeks ago when that weird tornado happened. @/knittinggoddess can back me up she has screenshots (she didn't deactivate she's just been gone for a while)

~keep reading~

0 notes

🌅skychild

IMPORTANT impr1s0n3d changed its username to bringer-of-demise!! plz block it don't engage

✨sword-of-a-big-dealdeactivated18112011

umm his pronouns are he/him now please stop using it/its :/ and the rumors he was the one that got the Sealed Temple site shut down are literally false???

15 notes

🌅skychild reblogged

✨sword-of-a-big-dealdeactivated18112011

how about you suck my DICK

🌅skychild

dude she didn't block you for your weird ass parasocial relationship she blocked you because you killed people

6 notes

💌 night-in-armor

she liked my post about how the wing ceremony was rigged this year... should I message her...

#personal post #vent #vent post #vagueblogging #don't reblog

0 notes

🧵knittinggoddess reblogged skychild

🏋️fledglingwarrior

til that remlits attack you at night because of their proximity to demonic energy. Which means there must be a demon on Skyloft. Sleep well!

🙀bats-and-cats Follow

This is false. Remlits are hostile at night because they're predators and do the majority of their hunting then. There are no demons on skyloft

🌅skychild

net zero information. love this site

🐈is-the-remlit-cute Follow

Idk what @/bats-and-cats is talking about. Remlits have been proven to be more hostile when exposed to demonic energy, ESPECIALLY at night. normally they're very docile and only attack if provoked, which prolonged exposure to demonic energy can cause

🌃knight-shift

So there's a demon on Skyloft?

🌅skychild

yeah at ur mom's house lol

#prev you're one to talk #or was that bruise on your neck from 'falling down the stairs' again?

716,021 notes

#skyward sword #unreality

315 notes · View notes

cavernclaw · 10 months

Text

Daniel Mullinverse Dashboard Simulator

🎮 lionelsnill follow

Walk WIP! Usually I don't share these for free but I've decided this would be a great way to give the game some publicity and promote my kofi

🐹 weazelkid01 HELLO?? WAS NOBODY GOING TO TELL ME THE CREATOR OF SUPER FUCKING WEASEL KID WAS ON TUMBLR??

#rb #HOLYSHIT??? #super weasel kid

(123 notes)

🌵 ilovecowboys unpopular opinon, rust from waste world is a gilf

🌵 ilovecowboys

🐱truekeytohappiness

I cannot believe you OP, rust is a fucking DILF not a gilf. get your fucking facts together

🌵 ilovecowboys

oh fuck you're right im sorry. rust from waste world is a dilf.

#ww rust #waste world

(200 notes)

🃏 luckycarder

hey guys, sorry to have a serious video out of the blue but some important stuff has popped up. i'll keep this post pinned for a while since it's a big issue rn

youtube

#important #lucky card posts

(320 notes)

🔼 gamefuna-offical follow sponsored

merry christmas from gamefuna headquarters! as a little gift super weasel kid 09 deluxe is going on sale til january! #gamefuna #merry christmas (2 notes)

🎣 carla51

merry christmas guys, remember to boycott gamefuna because they fucking suck and so do their games.

#carla goes fishing

(5,200 notes)

🎩 thedarkclown follow

:) #i see you (666 notes)

💎 orbofpoweryum

#vallimar speaks #secrets of legendaria (170 notes)

🎣 carla51

i saw the secrets of legendaria poll and HOLY SHIT THANK YOU for saying all that nice stuff about the fishing bit it genuinly means the world to me people found that and enjoyed it anyways im gonna go cry now :') #carla goes fishing (61 notes)

🐹 weazelkid01 happy birthday super weasel kid! :D #super weasel kid #swk #super weasel kid: radical road (20 notes)

⬛ bandito7

(70,000 notes)

🔼 gamefuna-offical follow sponsored we are sad to inform everyone that inscryption, a game that many have been talking about is not real. it's simply a rumor that some very rude people made up. if you have come across any sort of content of gamefuna without it being sold, please not that (read more) (10 notes)

📺 t0theweb follow

HII HII HELLO!! IM NEW TO THE WEB AND IM SO EXCITED TO BE HERE AAAAAAAA YAY!!!!!!!! #FUCK YES YEAH WOO (0 notes)

🎣 carla51

taking a break from tumblr, alot has happened in the last few days and i need some time to process it. i'll hopefully be back in a week or two, sorry. #carla goes fishing #important (30 notes)

🃏 luckycarder

gonna start a gameplay series soon! i know most people probably only follow me for card stuff but found this neat little game in the woods and i wanna check it out, i'll upload the first video soon! (120 notes)

#stupidwarriorkitties #tw death #daniel mullins games #daniel mullinverse #carla dosa #luke carder #gamefuna #the hex #inscryption #inscryption g0lly #the dark clown #Youtube

503 notes · View notes

jaythelay · 2 months

Text

Dump's outta ammo.

1. He tried to start a rumor of Biden coming back. He then, very exceptionally poorly, tried to insert this talking point in the middle of a completely different rally. This, made him look like he has dementia. But make no mistake, the issue was nobody believed him literally instantly, and everyone forgot he even said it the week/day prior because he never built it up. He then immedietely dropped the "Biden's coming back" bit afterwards. Making him look far more dementia riddled than previous.

2. He's trying to claim nobody know's Kamala Harris' last name. Only reason to try this angle is because you're outta ammo and wanted to somehow make her name less recognizable in the moment. But soon after, much like with point 1, he went in too early before it could spread and become common, and thus, had to drop that angle entirely aswell, causing more dementia awareness of himself.

It's like he wanted an instant "her emails" or "his laptop" angle without any time or work at fucking all.

The goal is make shit up til something sticks but it's so old and tired and he's incapable of patience. If it doesn't immedietely work, he jumps to another made up point. Much like with point 1 and 2, point 0 was "Kamala ain't black" which he then, also, abandoned when it didn't immedietly stick.

His cohorts are trying to make it stick but if you call them weird they get reeeeeal defensive and forget what the conversation was, so, the points aren't sticking at all.

3. Him almost getting shot by one of his own party absolutely scared the shit out of him. It's partly why he's sending Vance out. Let him get shot next time, not Dump. Regardless of accuracy on that bit, the fact remains, Republican voters Scared Donald Trump from going to rallies, and Vance is a bodyshield for his weak ass.

4. On top of all this is the stunning double fact: One, is that we all collectively moved on from the republican shooting dump situation, because republican violence is so normalized, and second, his rallies are shrinking Because Even The People Find Them Too Dangerous.

Turns out guns are a problem for republicans. But unlike kids in school, they have the choice not to go to a dangerous republican gathering.

All this to culminate in my theory: R's will drop Dump 2 months in and just accept the losses by replacing him with god knows who probably RFK tbh. They know his goose is completely cooked if he loses, and presently? He's losing. Publically and Loudly.

He's scared as fuck right now and R's eat each other for any social weakness they can create. Dump looks weaker than inch thin frozen piss like my god Cruz has more of a spine now and it may be entirely due to age.

You also have his core fanbae (white supremecists) starting to turn on him. There's leak after leak of stuff he's saying none of it new but desperately old and tried and thus nothing sticks for his fanbase. Every poll has him losing hard, worst of all? To a Bi-Racial Woman. His voters hate her but hate a weak man more. (see how they view trans issues)

He himself will never ever drop out. But his party Absolutely Will Kick Him Out Guaranteed. And we'll see a very bizarre flop in the narrative about Dump from R talking heads. Suddenly when he's gone, they can be honest about him. (Like dems with Biden, literally already, as I called it probably a year ago now)

All this to say, Ya'll if he doesn't have a stroke or some shit, it's either his voter base or cohorts that'll ensure one for him. I kinda feel like most of the political violence that'll come out when Dump loses, will turn inward near immedietely, likely, towards himself.

I mean, they didn't make gallows with a dems name on em, and they did kill some cops, just saying they appear to go after their own when they're in crowds. That and a single gunshot sent them all running, and a single black man completely diverted their attention from their actual goals simply by being black. Literal Toddlers are more successful in any of their goals.

NONE of this is to placate. Vote Kamala, vote Third Party. Just don't not vote. Don't let this opportunity slip away, Dems actually trying is a first in a lifetime, keep that momentum going, and stop allowing bullshit based on party affiliation. God damn RFK the starved brain word dude is considered dem, we deserve better than Biden or RFK, and Kamala/Walz is a hell of a start.

Vote. But ensure you crush R's voting spirit.

We don't need nazis voting for nazis. Ya don't have to sell Kamala/Walz to R's, you need to make R's and Dump appear as weak as they've always been, that's what is working best, because their image is actually everything, we saw it with Rittenhouse and Rogan. Immedietely flip flop because their image was made weak.

That's all a theory, a politic theory. Thank. go now.

#donald trump #Straight up the writing is so on the wall and they're all such backstabbing fucks I can't imagine they don't kick his ass out eventually #before the elections even #like they got some riggings going on but he's even arguing with Georgia a state he directly named the treasoners were operating within #like shit man any plans they got he tells the world about it #republicans #j.d. vance #politics #democrats #kamala harris #joe biden

43 notes · View notes

bitchyfoxymama · 2 years

Text

Saviors - Sinclair Brothers x F!Reader

Warnings: abuse but not from the Sinclairs, murder, language used against reader, Bo being out of character. Fluff, let me know if I missed anything.

A/n: this is possibly the second longest one-shot I've ever written besides petals and bullets. I hope you all like this one.

...

You, your two friends, well they were technically your boyfriend's friends and said boyfriend had decided that driving from California to Florida to go to Disney world would be cheaper and way more fun than flying. What a dumb idea that was. Your clock read just after midnight and you've made it just forty miles out of Baton Rouge when your back left tire blew on your Volkswagen minibus.

"Fuck," you moan out as you gently pull to the side of the empty road.

"What? What happened?" The sudden jolt from the blow tire woke everyone including your easily irritated boyfriend, Ben.

"I think we blew a tire so I pulled over," you say un buckling your seat belt just as you turned the key in the ignition. You open your door, the Louisiana air is sticky and wet. Of all the places to break down it had to be here.

You stop next to your back left tire and inspect it, a rusted nail sticks out of the tire as it slowly deflates. You begin mumbling swears as you open the back of the minibus searching for the spare you are more the positive you replaced when the front tire blew six months ago.

"Fucking damnit!" You place both hands in your hair giving a frustrated tug.

had already gotten out at this point and was standing next to you, his voice making you jump.

"I asked you if you had put the spare back in, god do you always have to be so stupid!" He slams his fist against the side of the minibus.

His anger makes you feel small, if there hadn't been people in the bus he would have punched you instead of the bus.

"I-I could have sworn I put it in," you say barely above a whisper.

"Yeah? You thought? Well you didn't and now we're stuck out here in bumfuck Louisiana!"

"Hey, what's going on?" Rebecca rubs the sleep out of her eyes.

"Y/n forgot to replace the spare tire and now we're stranded here til morning when another person probably comes down this road."

You look down ashamed, reaching out to grab the camping gear and flashlight. You head off the road and just want to set up camp and sleep. You've been the only one driving for the last couple of days.

"Come on let's just set up camp so we can all sleep and hopefully get help in the morning. 0 on, let's find level ground." You don't want to make Ben any madder than he already is.

Everyone gets out of the van and follows behind you with sleeping bags and backpacks, in case someone stumbled upon the bus and decided to have some sticky fingers.

Once you're all settled, you finally turn in for bed. Ben, still angry and annoyed, decided to sleep next to Rebecca and her boyfriend, leaving you alone near a tree stump. You let the tears flow freely from your tears. None of you noticed the truck slowly driving past with their lights off or the man that got out and took the spark plugs.

…

When the sun begins to rise you peek your eyes open and see everyone has already begun packing up camp, it seems they forgot to wake you. It's silent. Not the friendly enjoyable silence, no this silence is awkward, as thick as the Louisiana humidity.

You walk back to the minibus, packing everything up as they all wait for a car as they lean up against the bus. Maxwell, Rebecca's boyfriend, opens the side of the bus to sit half inside and half out.

You decide to turn the keys in the ignition to at least getting the inside of the bus cool. But to your surprise the ignition does turn over.

"What the fuck is wrong now," you groan getting back out of the car and popping the hood, "where the fuck are the spark plugs?!"

You slam the hood shut and walk over towards the trio standing outside the bus.

"Who took the spark plugs out of the bus?"

"What are you talking about?" Ben asks giving you an annoyed look.

"The sparks are missing, did you guys hear anything last night?" You ask again looking around the three of them.

However just before you can get your answer a truck comes round the bend. It's an old beat up pick up. The driver slows and stops just before you guys.

"Well howdy there? Whatch y'all doing out here so early in the mornin'?" He's a scrawny man with a cute dog in the bed and you think that makes him all the more attractive too you.

"Oh well we-" you're cut off by Ben.

"Well my girlfriend here, she blew a tire and seemed to forget to get a new one. She also says she's missing her sparks but you know how women are with cars," he says roughly slamming his arm over your shoulder, making you flinch. The stranger's eyes flickered to you softening for just a moment before going back to a stoic look and staring at Ben.

"I see well, I can take you to Ambrose, it's just 12 miles up the road, my brother owns a mechanic shop and he should be able ta help yall with yours problem. Only this is I only got room for two of ya's," he says rubbing his chin.

"Why doesn't Y/n go? It is her car after all," Rebecca says looking at you.

"I'll go too right babe? Can't have you going alone," Ben says, squeezing your shoulder painfully, you have to bite your lip from crying out.

And so you and Ben pile into who you all found out to be Lester Sinclair. He was the youngest of three.

"So where y'all from anyway? Don't seem like locals round these here parts,"

"Oh well-"

"Were from California, driving cross country this summer to go and see disney world"

You stay quiet now and just look down at your lap. You don't feel like getting Ben angry once again.

Lester looks at you from the corner of his eyes. Planning on ways to make your boyfriend shut up and let you speak for once. He had this overwhelming sense to protect you. Don't go thinking that healing black eye and the way you flinch any time that no good asshole would touch you.

that. But why did yall choose to drive and not fly? Seems like you'd saved some time flying?"

"Yeah well it seemed fun at the time until this one had to go and get the tire popped" Ben says annoyed.

"Well shit, I forgot the roads flooded. We may have to go the long way." Lester says stopping in front of the road that leads into Ambrose.

"Oh that's OK! We can walk from here, that way you don't have to worry about going an extra way," you say, smiling up at him with a genuine smile. He smiles back at you but doesn't miss the scowl on your boyfriend's face.

You wave at Lester after you've both exited the truck, you give jonesy a rub behind her ears and head over to the little step stones that have taken place in the washed out road.

"Come on, the faster we get into town the quicker we can get the shit we need and on the road again," Ben said, grabbing your arm and pulling you hard. He drags you all the way to the mechanics shop. He knocks on the front door.

"Hello! We were told you were open and could help us!" Ben yells.

…

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Bo was on the back roads talking with Lester.

"She needs our help, he doesn't treat her right neither. She's got a healing black eye and every time he touched her she flinches, and you should've seen her, she's finer than frogs' hair split four ways,"

"Hmm, and you say she's got two other with 'er? Well bring them back to Vin and he can take care of them while I go and help our visitors. You grab them sparks and hide them in the house, right?"

Lester shakes his head headed back into his truck to get Rebecca and her boyfriend.

…

Back at the shop, Ben was getting impatient and you were bored.

"I'm gonna go explore, since I'm just a woman and wouldn't know anything about cars right?"

"You don't have to be such a bitch you know," he huffs.

"Well you are such an asshole, after this all over and we're in Florida, I'm going to drop you all off and head home, beauce this," you say pointing between yourself and him, "is over. For good this time."

He back hands you hard enough to draw blood from your lip that his fist made contact with.

"Fuck you Ben!" You screech, "find your own ways to Florida you fuckwad" you walk away up towards the house of wax wanting to clear your mind and maybe have a good cry.

You are amazed when you make it up the hill to the beautiful building, only realizing as you got to the front that the architecture was made entirely of wax. You gently pushed open the door and stepped inside, giving yourself your own guided tour of the house.

Everything was beautiful and the little intimate details intrigued you.

"These look so life like, the artist must have such magical hands," you say in a hushed voice as though you were in an art museum and let's be honest here you really were.

Hiding in the shadows, watching you as you gushed on and on about his art work was Vincent Sinlair, the middle son of the Sinclair brothers and the artist behind the house of wax.

His eye stared at you as though you were a beautiful piece of art that needed to be taken care of and looked after. He silently followed you around like a lost puppy.

Once you finished admiring the art work and decided enough time had passed and Ben more than likely got the parts needed to get back on the road. You walk towards the exit when the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You peak over your shoulder and you are more than certain you saw a flash of long raven hair.

…

Back at the mechanic shop just after you had left Bo's voice was heard booming from inside.

"Hold your fuckin' horses, I could hear you banging like all hell!" He opens the door with a scowl on his face, Bo hopes to see you there as well. With the way Lester was talking you up he was excited to see the beauty that was you. But alas you were there, only you annoyed looking boyfriend.

"Whatchu need?" Bo asks, folding his arms over his chest.

"My girlfriend's minibus has a popped tire and missing sparks. We need them as soon as you can give them to us. And I can make the pot sweeter," Ben says, pulling out a $100 from his wallet. You see Ben, Rebecca and Maxwell were silver spoon babies, you were lower middle class.

"Well I'll be damned. As much as I'd like to take you up on your offer, I'll have to check in our basement to see if we have them. Why don't you come with and we can work out the price," Bo says, making room for Ben to come in through the door. Ben walks in further into the shop not paying any attention to where Bo had moved. Rookie mistake. Bo hits him over the head and Ben is out cold.

When Ben wakes he is secured to an old barber chair under a grate in what he assumed to be the mechanic shop. He's gagged and wiggling trying to escape. He's screaming but nothing comes out.

…..

When you make it to the mechanic shop, you try the door and are happy to see it's finally open.

"Hello! Is anyone here? Ben! Where are you, you still here?" You ask out walking around, fingerings all the different products on the walls.

"Why hello there darlin'" you jump at the sudden voice behind you. You are greeted with quite the sight, a gorgeous man with a trucker hat and mechanic overalls.

"H-hi! I um, I'm looking for the guy I was with, he came here to get a new tire and spark plugs. Have you seen him?" You can feel a blush creeping up your neck. Curse your affinity for getting nervous about gorgeous men talking to you and making you lose all sense of yourself.

"That one fella with the permanent annoyed look? Yeah, I sent him on up to our house, we didn't have the right type or sparks here so I sent him up there to get help from my twin Vincent. I could take you up there if you want or you could wait here?" He says while taking his hat off and running his hand through his damp hair. It makes him look all the more attractive to you.

You smile at him, "is your brother the one who made the art in the house of wax by chance?"

"That he is ma'am, that he is. He's our own lil family artist," he says showing off his award winning smirk, now how about we get you on up to your friend? Maybe even get some food in yall too. You must be hungry." Just as the words left his mouth your stomach growled causing you to blush and wrap your arms around your noisy tummy.

You smile at him. You've smiled more around these two strangers than you ever had in your entire relationship with Ben.

"Of course, please lead the way," you follow after him and to his pick up truck, this one much nicer than the one you previously rode in only hours before. The silence on the drive to the house is silent but peaceful.

You get a better peak at him as he drives, he's attractive and knows it. His hands are big and veiny. Suddenly you are having thoughts about how they'd feel between-woah there y/n you have a boyfriend. Wait wait no you don't you broke it off with the fuckwad. Yes continue with the thought of his fingers in between your thighs as he moves them in and out of your-

"Doll?" Bo lays his hand on your shoulder startling you.

"Yes?" The blood rushes to your cheeks and head almost making you dizzy.

"I said we're here now," he says while fixing his hat and getting out of the truck.

"Oh." You peep out as you follow him into the house. It's beautiful, it's very homey and definitely has the feel that three grown men live here.

"I'll get started on some lunch for you" he says walking to the kitchen as you stand awkwardly in the living room.

There are footsteps heard coming up from what can be assumed is the basement. When the door opens you are met with a beautiful sight, a man appears sporting long black hair, half up in a mini bun. He's wearing a wax made mask. He was beautiful.

"Wow you are beautiful," you say out loud.

He head snaps towards you and he then signs 'Thank you' you smile, you took a few ASL classes in high school.

"Are you the one who made all the beautiful sculptures in the wax museum?"

'Yes, did you like them?' He signed again.

"I didn't just like them, I loved them! You have such a beautiful talent!"

'Would you like to see more?' He signs, 'I have just finished one at the workshop I have in the basement of the house of wax,'

"I would love to, but I'm only in town until my minibus is fixed. It would've been a great honor to see it though!"

Just ask he was about to reply, Bo is calling you both to the dining room table.

…

The 3 of you are enjoying a wonderful meal when it's interrupted by the front door being slammed open. All three of your heads look towards and see Ben.

"B-ben!" You stand abruptly.

"Get the fuck away from them y/n! They are a bunch of freaks!"

Neither man speaks as they are stiff as a board.

"What do you mean? They've been nothing but nice to me this entire time," you say staying put.

"That one locked me up in some torture device!" He says pointing to Bo, causing you to look at him, "I think they're the ones behind the missing sparks and blown tire," this causes you to slightly step back.

"Now darlin' it ain't what you think, ok maybe it is," Bo begins looking at Vincent for help.

"Get the fuck over here now, so help me. Don't be fucking stupid!" Ben says.

"What did you say?" You look at him. Without you even realizing, you subconsciously grabbed the knife on the table. You don't even realize what your doing until you hear Bo say "don't go at the throat or head. Vinny needs those intact."

"I am so sick of you abusing me and belittling me! I am so sick of it!" You scream.

"You wanna stay with the freaks you crazy bitch? Fine you do that but dont you ever forget who owns you." He says stepping back away from the three of you. "You don't own me, you've never owned me!" You land the first blow in his stomach twisting the blade. You don't stop until Bo is pulling you off of him. Holding you close to his chest as Vincent wipes away the tears that have begun to fall. You're free, you're finally free of the abuse.

"We'll always protect you doll, always." Bo says as he holds you close and kisses the top of your head.

#bitchyglitterfox writes #house of wax x reader #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x you #sinclair brothers x reader #vincent sinclair #bo sinclair #lester sinclair #slashers x reader #slashers #house of wax #house of wax imagine

516 notes · View notes

ros3ybabe · 5 months

Text

Daily Check-in: April 24, 2024 🎀

Wednesday started out so rough, I had a really bad stress breakdown from the pressure I was putting on myself for the exam I have today (Thursday), but luckily my dad was able to calm me down over the phone and my boyfriend motivated me and encouraged me. I don't feel as stressed out anymore, I know that I know the material and I'll do great! (it's a chemistry exam)

🩷 What I Accomplished:

studied chemistry for a good bit

completed 3 chemistry homework assignments

scheduled a make-up quiz for my psyc class

did the Total Body Pilates video from Blogilates

did the 11 minute Wake Up Yoga from Yoga with Adriene

did my morning skincare and journaling

actually, just did my entire morning routine and felt great about it

shipped off shorts I sold on depop

went to chemistry lecture to review for the exam

went to my virtual appointment with a registered dietitian and set some goals for the next 2 weeks

decided to join a step challenge with my health insurance company to win points (they have some cool things in their points shop, plus extra steps during the day is good for my health!)

washed my laundry

made a brain dump list for the remainder of the week

💞 Good Things That Happened:

I really like the dietitian I met with and have another appointment with her in 2 weeks

I really enjoyed using my new 40oz Simple Modern insulated tumbler cup

didn't let my stress breakdown make me go home, very proud of myself for sticking to my plans

went to sleep early

sold another item on depop!

I felt very reassured that I know the content that is going to be on my upcoming exam

the guy who makes sushi at my campus food court made sushi for me and held it until I went to get it so no one would buy it, i could've cried it was so nice of him

I drank coffee on campus and it didn't hurt my stomach for once!

💔 What Could've Gone Better:

need to put less pressure on myself

had some issues with food after my dietitian appointment (sometimes thinking too much about food can be triggering for me, tbh, but my goals are nutrient based which is helpful!!)

started crying before I went to bed because I was feeling oddly emotional (I think I'm starting my period soon)

had to turn down a work shift because I had too much school stuff and that appointment (I need the money so bad tho)

did not drink near enough water

need to be more patient and gentle with myself

also need to really figure out what's going on with my priorities, I keep struggling to do the things I say I'm going to do which is difficult for me to deal with sometimes

need to remember progress over perfection, 50% is always better then doing 0% of something

💗 Stuff For Thursday

clean my room

listen to a podcast episode

maybe do some more laundry

make a grocery list

clean my bathroom

therapy today over video call

reschedule a morning appointment

chemistry exam tonight

try to ship off the shirt I sold on depop

do some more planning and organizing for my life

that's all for now! Thursdays gonna be good. My exam is gonna go great! I have confidence in myself, and my knowledge and I know I've got this!

til next time lovelies 🩷

💕 Song of The Day: Baddie by IVE

Gotta remind myself of this sometimes <3

52 notes · View notes

roughdaysandart · 18 days

Text

Page done and more girl daddy Mand'alor!Din brainrot

closeups at the end. I wonder what the hell some of yall think is going on becuase alot of these 0-2 pages are jump-cuts to random or sporadic time periods that dont appear to be part of the 'rough day' main fic, so it must look like alot of sidetracking for new people. so, just to reiterate for anyone new to my page, we're working on the preface chapter right now for SG, which introduces her charcater components through alot of visuals and scenarios both from canon and added story arcs. we wont get to the main 'rough day' stuff til chapter 1 (buuuuut first we gotta release prolougue pt 0!).

Didn't expect this environment to turn out so pink, but i adore it! Also am thinking that lineart for the rain might be better than leaving it just white and plain, as it looked a bit undefined from far away.

the rainbow I think is my favorite part. its just so over the top magical and a grossly cliche and i love that.

rain was definatley the biggest hurdle in this page. Its very dificult to hand draw the streaks and make it appear natural, so I ended up pasting a clipart and durplicating and transforming it and resizing it as a base, then altered the raindrop colors etc. I think it turned out fine, definatley a good time to use photos directly. it was nearly impossible to find referance photos for the last frame, so I had to hand place all the raindrops. I'm honsetly still not 100% satisfied with how they turned out, but my eagerness to move on outweights my perfectionism in this particular instance.

aside from the rain, i think the next biggest challendge or hurdle i had to figure out was incorporating the reflections of the building, made of crystal, into objects like SG's skin and the ship. I didint expect it to make such a difference, adding the slight teal streaks, but I think it has something to do with bringing all the background colors onto the chracter/main objects inorder for them to really refelct that they fit in the actual scene and its components/color pallete. Huzzah!

I still think I can do better with the metal. Im still figuring out how severe to make the reflective aspect, as I dont want it to end up looking like glass or water. All in all though, I think Im doing a good enough job where the audience can tell its metal well enough for now.

ahhh you know what i just realized upon re-looking at the storyboard of this frame? I wanted to make her knees pop out of the rightmost frame....ahhhh fuck idk if i wanna take the time to go back and do thattttt ughhhhh. ill see if it makes that big of a 'wow' difference then decide...fuck uGHHH.

Currently getting a foothold in school after finally cutting hours at work, so let's see how things improve-lifewise when I can actually catch a break and have the ✨energy✨ to study.

@the-mandawhor1an

@lastresortacontact

25 notes · View notes

innalheid · 4 months

Text

Hiya gamers,

I know I've made posts like this before, but I could really really use help right now - I've got two jobs, yay!! But it'll be another two weeks before I get paid anything substantial. My first paycheck was for just one shift, and bills have already gobbled it up.

I have no money. I have two over-limit credit cards. I have zero dollars in my saving. My chequing is overdrawn by 533.27$CAD. I have scrounged all the change from my couch, car, bag, all I have left is a few dimes and nickles. I have reached the end of my resources. I am so, so desperate.

My phone bill is way overdue and is 531.26$CAD. My car payment is 256.98$CAD. thankfully I have incredible partners who buy me groceries, but there's still the electricity and water and internet bills. Those go through my mom so I'm not sure how much they are, but I know internet is about 75$. My partners will also be here in a few weeks, and will be able to help with groceries, meds, various in person costs. But until then, I could really use any help you can spare. My paycheck comes in on the 14th, and it should maybe *just* cover my phone bill and car payment. I don't know if I can make it til then. And even if I do, I'll be left with no money for another two weeks after that. Which means another month, which means another couple hundred in bills - you get where I'm going with this.

Yeah. Please, please help me, if you can. Anything. Five bucks. One buck. Twenty. I don't care. I paid for five dollars of gas in nickles the other day. Anything.

P*yp*l is innalhileid, within Canada I can accept e-transfers via email, dm for that please

0$/800$ CAD

42 notes · View notes

dickgraysonwayne · 6 months

Text

Today? Yesterday?

Ao3

Summary: Of all the things to kick off a time loop…

@dickgraysonweek 2024, Day 3: DILF Dick Grayson | Apologizing To Dick | Time Loop

Day 0

Dick knows it’s bad news when the man shrieks “A curse upon you!”

He changes course mid-flip, trying to predict where he’d be hit. He feels nothing, so he lands on the ground steadily, looking up at the platform where the man stands: finger pointed in his direction and a wild look on his face.

“Whoa,” Dick says, putting his arms up. “I didn’t know we were rolling like that.”

For all he had figured, this was supposed to be a quick grab-and-go rescue of a Blüdhaven mayoral candidate. She’d made a promise to clean up the city and, of course, certain groups weren’t very pleased with the concept.

Instead, he’d run into an armed-to-the-teeth gang that were not making this rescue any easier. So, he’d opted for a more subtle approach, sneaking around on rooftops until he was able to maneuver his way into a large warehouse. He’d wandered through, found a locked room in the corner, and then—

And then he’d run into…whatever this was, and the situation turned from guns&gangs to curse&magic territory.

He really hadn’t been ready for curses.

“Okay,” Dick says, eyes darting around. He needs to get to that door. “So, um. When you say curse, do you mean a plague on both your houses lamenting type curse or may you turn into a frog type curse?”

The man doesn’t clarify. “A curse,” He screeches again. “May you never find satisfaction in validation. May you be locked in a cycle of discontent. May the one who you need the most from—”

The man squacks as he’s interrupted by a Batarang to the head. Stunned, he falls backwards onto the platform and stays there.

Dick puts his arm down. “Well,” He says. “That was more…high minded than curses usually are. Very psychological.”

He hadn’t seen any physical indications of anything actually happening, but you can never be sure with this kind of thing. He hopes that whatever this was didn’t take.

“Okay,” He mutters to himself. He wishes Roy would’ve seen this, he would’ve found it hilarious. “Let’s finish this.”

He runs towards the door probably holding the promise for Blüdhaven’s future, hoping that the rest of the day goes by without any further incident.

Day 1

They’re not even in costume when it happens.

Hell, they’re not even working when it happens.

Instead, Dick finds himself making the long trip to Gotham the next morning, called in to assist with something Tim is working on. It’s something from your files, back in the day, Tim had said over the phone. Can you make your way over?

He’d slept in a bit, hoping to enjoy his Sunday. But getting to spend time with Tim is always great too, so he had agreed to make his way over.

It had taken maybe a few minutes to explain the case (Two-Face, now that was a time), before Tim had gotten what he needed. “Thanks, Dick,” Tim says, scribbling down in his notes. “I think I just need to set up a trap, and then we’ll be all good here.”

“Need any help?” Dick asks, tapping his fingers on the table, feeling restless.

“If you’re staying,” Tim says. “I’ll be going out at, like, 2300 so. You sticking around?”

Dick shrugs. “Sure,” He says. “Since I’m here. B around?”

“Yeah,” Tim says, sitting back into a stretch. “He’s workin’ on something else, I dunno.”

“Look at you!” Dick says, messing with his hair. “Solo mission guy over here!”

“Quit it!” Tim says, batting his hand away. “I’ve been solo mission guy!”

Dick laughs. “Hey,” He says, getting off of the chair. “You wanna go get some burgers or something? There’s still a long way to go til 2300 hours.”

“Sure,” Tim says, languidly getting up. “Man, I feel like I’ve been sitting here for ages.”

And that’s when, whilst heading over to grab a burger in town, Dick tells Tim about his encounter the day before.

“It was pretty insane,” He tells him as they pull out of the manor’s driveway. “The whole curse thing made me a little nervous, not gonna lie. That stuff gives me the heebie jeebies. But I got up just fine today, everything totally normal. So either the dude didn’t actually get me, or he was talking a big game.”

Tim frowns. “That’s a little weird,” He says, taking a sip of water from his Robin branded water bottle. “You should be careful though. You never know with magic.”

Dick nods vigorously. “Exactly!” He says, making his way to the manor’s large gate. “There aren’t any rules or anything to watch out for. You just gotta wait and see for something to happen before you can do anything about it.”

Tim’s frown only deepens. “I don’t know about that,” He says. “Maybe you should go talk to Zatanna. I dunno, I wouldn’t mess with this stuff. Have her check you over or something.”

“Yeah, but it’s not even a guarantee with her,” Dick says, waiting for the gate to open. “Sometimes magic doesn’t show up or whatever even when she checks. It’s a total crapshoot. But the smart idea still would be to check anyway—”

He jumps as Tim loses his grip on his water bottle, spilling it over his lap and the seat. “Ah, shit!” Tim says, hurriedly picking the bottle back up.

“No worries, Timbo,” Dick says, grabbing some tissues from the side of the door. “It’s just water.”

“I know,” Tim says. “Even so, though, I’m sorry-”

Everything stops.

Day 2

Dick wakes up.

He blinks up at his apartment ceiling. Damn, he thinks, yawning deeply. That was one hell of a dream. He feels around on his bedside table for his phone, then blinks at the numbers on top: 08:04

Damn. Slept in.

That curse must’ve really been playing in his thoughts, to follow him into his dreams like that. Unless it was a curse about dreams, which means it was now starting to work…

Dick shakes his head. He can’t think like that. If he does, it’s never going to end.

He levers himself up, stretching again. He’s going to enjoy his Sunday morning before updating his reports on the night before, maybe figure out what to do about the whole curse thing…

His phone buzzes, and he picks it back up. Tim.

Curious, and trying to push away the ominous feeling in his gut, he answers.

Okay. So this is a little weird. But, hey. It’s not like he’s never had a dream about hanging out with Tim before. It’s a perfectly normal thing for him to do. Plus, well, he has been keeping an eye on Gotham. Maybe he’d subconsciously known that something was going on, that Tim would reach out to him for help…

And then it had gotten weirder. But. Still explainable. If he’d been keeping an eye out on Gotham, maybe he’d figured out somewhere back in his mind that Two-Face was going to be the problem…

“Thanks, Dick,” Tim says, scribbling down in his notes. “I think I just need to set up a trap, and then we’ll be all good here.”

“Hm,” Dick says. He taps on the table, feeling off. “Okay.”

“Dick?”

He looks up. Tim is looking at him, concern in his eyes. “Everything good? You seem a little…distracted.”

“Oh,” Dick says, trying to pull himself together. “Yeah. I’m good. I’m just…you know. In my head a little. There’s a whole—” He waves it off. “I’ll explain later. Um, you gonna need any help on your mission?”

“If you’re staying,” Tim says, still eyeing him with concern. “I’ll be going out at, like, 2300 or so. You sticking around?”

The Deja Vu hits him even harder. “Sure,” He says. “Hey. Is this a solo mission?”

Tim gives him a small smile. “Yeah,” He says. “I’ve been doing them for a while now. B’s working on his own thing, I’m working on mine.”

“Nice, Timmy,” Dick says, finding a smile for him in return. “Hey, wanna go get something to eat? I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.” He shoots to his feet, needing to move, needing to do something.

“Um,” Tim says, stumbling up with him. “Yeah, sure. Yeah let’s get…let’s get burgers, or something.”

Dick nods, fast walking his way out. An icy feeling grows in his stomach.

“What were you saying earlier?”

Dick starts, looking away from the slowly opening gate. “Hm?”

“You had a whole,” and Tim makes a circle gesture with his hands. “Thing you were thinking about. What was it?”

“Oh,” Dick says. “Well. Um. I had a little…run-in yesterday. Some guy yelled that he was gonna put a curse on me. And, like, I didn’t feel anything off or anything like that. But today…I don’t know. It’s all weird today. Like majorly Deja Vu or something.”

Tim frowns. “That’s weird,” He says, taking a sip of water. “You should be careful though. You never know with magic. In fact, you should probably—”

“Go to Zatanna, I know,” Dick says distractedly. “I will. I think I should. After our mission today, I will. It’s just…nothing specific, you know? Just an off feeling.”

The gate opens, and Dick quickly turns to the side. “Hey—”

He catches Tim’s water bottle, just as Tim drops it.

“Oh!” Tim says, flinching back. “Hey. Nice catch.”

Dick hands it back to him, mind spinning.

“I don’t know what happened,” Tim continues. “I wasn’t paying attention, I guess, sorry—”

Everything stops.

Day 3

Dick wakes up.

He shoots up in bed with a gasp. He throws his sheets off of him then lunges at his phone, unlocking the screen to check the day and time. Sunday. 08:04.

He falls back into bed, phone clutched tightly in his hand. Okay, He thinks, slightly hysterical. Okay. This is…this is probably the curse, huh? This is probably the curse.

What had the man said again? Something about…validation. Satisfaction in validation. And a cycle of discontent.

Well. That’s the cycle part figured, then. He’s gonna keep resetting until he breaks whatever curse this is. So, all he needs to do is figure out exactly what it is that’s going on that’s causing the resets, and he should be good to go. Right?

“Okay,” He tells himself. “Okay, what were the factors that set this off? What made me reset?”

The obvious answer, is, of course, Tim.

He thinks on this for a moment. He’ll need to tell Tim everything, brainstorm through the issue with him. He’s smart, he’ll probably help him figure this out…

His phone rings. He looks down. Tim.

He picks up.

“Hey, Dick,” Tim says. “So, I’m working on something—”

“I’m on my way,” Dick says, running to his closest to grab something. “Just gimme a—”

“Hey,” Tim says, confusion clear in his voice. “It’s okay, there’s no emergency or anything, I just need your help with something.”

“I know,” Dick says. “And I can do that. But I need your help with something too. Buckle up, it’s a weird one.”

“Time loop?” Tim says, eyes wide.

“Time loop.” Dick confirms with a nod.

Tim sits back in his chair, baffled. “Well,” He says. “The good news is that you’ve only just started on this, I guess. Maybe you won’t have to deal with it for much longer.”

Dick groans, going facedown on the table’s surface. “Don’t do that,” He says, voice muffled. “You just jinxed me.”

“Shut up,” Tim says, but he sounds distant. “What did the guy say again?”

Dick lifts his head. “He cursed me with never finding satisfaction in validation,” He says. “And told me I’d be stuck in a cycle of discontent. And then he started saying something about a person I’d need it from before I stopped him.”

“Hm,” Tim says, steepling his fingers together. “And when you went through the days with me, it reset at about the same time both times?”

“Yeah,” Dick side eyes him. “You’ve got your I-have-an-idea face there, Timbo.”

“I do not,” Tim says, making his I-have-an-idea face. “Well. I do have an idea…not a very specific one, but still.”

Dick raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“There’s a specific series of events,” Tim begins, “That lead to your reset. I speak with you, you come here, we discuss the case, we go out to get food, I drop my water, and then you wake up. Is that right?”

“Yeah,” Dick says. “That’s right.”

“So,” Tim says. “What if we disrupt it? We break the chain of events. And then we can see from there. It could be time related. Did we leave at about the same time both days? Did the reset happen at about the same time both days?”

Dick thinks about it for a second. “You know what…” He says slowly. “Yeah. It did. Around…12:30, I wanna say?”

“Okay,” Tim says. “So let’s stay in. And then wait for 12:30. Disrupt the chain of events, and then see if you reset or not. And if you don’t…we’ll know it’s not time dependent, and we can try to work on it from there.”

“Timbo,” Dick says, beaming at him. “That’s a great idea. You’re great!”

Tim blushes. “Come on,” He says. “Stop it. It’s just an idea. I didn’t even think about what the actual phrasing of the curse could actually mean.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dick says, grinning. “It’s a start! And if I don’t reset at 12:30…it means we’re making progress! And maybe I won’t have to be stuck in this, which I would very much appreciate.”

Tim smiles back. “Well,” He says. “If you do reset, come find me, okay? We can pick up where we left off, and you can explain everything we’ve tried so far.”

“You’re the best, Timmy,” Dick says. He checks his phone. “I think we’ll find out soon, anyway. We hit 12:30 in about half an hour, so. We’ll know then.”

Tim nods at him. “Okay,” He says, sighing. “So. We wait.”

Half an hour passes with the speed of molasses. Dick can’t sit still the entire time: his knee jumps constantly, he fiddles with anything he can get his hands on, he gets up and paces on occasion.

Fifteen minutes in, Tim looks at him askance. “That isn’t helping you, Dick,” He says, clearly trying to be patient with him. “Sit down. Nap, or something. Wait, actually don’t. Go watch puppy videos on your phone, or something.”

“As cute as that sounds,” Dick says. “I don’t think that’s gonna help.”

Tim sighs. “You’re so fidgety,” He complains. “You must have been such a nightmare child. I feel like apologizing to Bruce on your behalf.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” Dick defends. “If anything, Bruce needs to apologize to me for not being able to manage my energy.”

Tim grins. “Well,” He says. “Can’t say I disagree with you on that.” He checks his phone. “Okay,” He says, countenance turning entirely. “Minute to go. Tell me if you start feeling weird, or something.”

Dick nods, shifting nervously. “Will do,” He says, then starts counting time in his head. 60, 59, 58…

He makes it to the last few, 4, 3, 2, 1, then braces himself.

Nothing happens.

Dick turns to Tim. “I feel normal,” He tells him. “No resetting feeling or anything going on from here!”

“Let’s wait a little longer, Tim says, eyebrows furrowed. “Maybe there’s a specific time to the minute or second to hit, and we haven’t gotten there yet.”

Dick groans. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” He says, sitting down again. “Okay. Let’s wait.”

Another fifteen minutes pass. Then twenty.

And still nothing.

Dick turns to Tim again, eyebrows raised. “It looks like I’m still good,” He says. “I think we can say that I’m in the clear?”

Tim nods. “Looks like,” He says. “So it’s not time dependent. Nor chain of events dependent. There has to be a trigger here. We have to find out what it is.”

Dick nods, tapping a finger to his knee. “Satisfaction in validation,” He mutters. “So that means…it’s something where I got validated for something? When did that happen in the previous resets?”

Tim frowns. “Let’s try to go through your day,” He says. “Specific things you did. Specific things you said. Maybe we’ll figure it out that way.”

Dick sighs, running a hand through his hair. “My memory isn’t as good as yours,” He says, running through his days in his head. “And…I don’t know, the details are kinda fuzzy. But I’ll try.”

“I know, Tim says, not unsympathetic. “It’s not easy, sorry—”

Everything stops.

Day 4

Dick wakes up.

Shit, he thinks. It’s unnecessary at this point, but he checks his phone again. Sunday. 08:04.

He taps his phone to his chin, frustrated. Right. So, it clearly isn’t a Tim-specific problem. Or, maybe it is? Maybe it’s the combination of location and person?

If that’s the case…maybe if he just doesn’t go, then he doesn’t reset.

Satisfaction in validation.

He still isn’t sure about that one. But if he can hack it by breaking the curse without figuring that out, then he’ll take it.

Anyway, if he stays away from Tim for the day, he might figure out how long it’ll let him go before it resets. Will it go on forever, until he sees Tim. Will he have to avoid him for a while? Can’t let that happen, He thinks. That would be ridiculous.

He really should give Zatanna a call. She might be able to break the curse without even needing to figure that part out.

His phone rings, and he picks up without even looking the screen. “Hey Timmy,” He says, deciding not to try to tip him off that anything was amiss. “How’s it going?”

“Hey Dick,” Tim responds, “I’ve got something here—”

“Okay Tim,” Dick says, going to get his day started (again). “If you need my help with something, I’m all in. But I’ve got something I gotta go do, so I can’t actually come over. Is it something you can send me? Promise I’ll help out.”

“Sure,” Tim says, sounding a bit taken aback. “Yeah, no worries. Thanks for the help, Dick. I’ll send it to you now. Standby.”

“Thanks, Timmy. See ya.” Dick says, disconnecting, and feeling a little bad about the whole thing. He’d usually jump at any opportunity or hang out, which Tim knows. He doesn’t think he’d hurt his feelings or anything, but he still does feel a bit guilty for blowing him off like that.

It’s for a good cause, He thinks. I’ll come by to see him when all this is over.

He thinks about Tim’s directive to come see him during the next reset. Sorry, buddy. Maybe if I reset again. So, what can he do? How does he go about solving this problem?

He gets ready, thinking about how to go about his day. Maybe I should call Zatanna, He thinks, putting his jacket on. And hopefully she’ll be able to see me now.

Dick heads out of his apartment, not having a particular plan in mind. He pulls out his phone, considering giving Zatanna that call. He scrolls through his contacts, hovering over her name, conflicted.

As he goes to open the doors to his building’s stairwell, they suddenly swing open in his direction. Startled, he steps back, just about missing being flattened by the door.

One of his neighbors emerges, almost bumping into him. “Oh my god,” The man says. “I didn’t see you there, I’m so sorry—”

Everything stops.

Day 5

Dick wakes up.

Sunday. 08:04.

He sighs, leaning back against his pillow. Take 5, I guess.

Right. Okay, so. It’s pretty clear what’s causing this now.

Satisfaction in validation. Apology.

If he receives an apology, no matter who it’s from, then his day resets.

He can’t believe he hadn’t noticed before. Both times with Tim and the water bottle, he’d apologized to trigger the time loop. In the non water bottle day, Tim’s “sorry” had triggered it. With his neighbor, the apology from the door had triggered it. Getting it from a new person had really brought it home.

So, solutions?

He sits back up, holding his phone, waiting for Tim’s call. The obvious play would be to just…not receive any apologies. While it’s easier said than done, it would definitely give him an idea of what’s going on, and help him test how far this loop is going to let him do. Could he go days, weeks, even years without an apology, then receive one and loop back around? That would be a problem.

Well. Maybe he can test it out, just for today. A no-apology-day.

The phone rings. He picks it up. “Hey, Timmy,” He says. “How’re you doing?”

“Hey Dick,” Tim responds, “I’ve got something here—”

Well. If he wants to be left alone today…

“Oh yeah, Tim,” Dick says, trying his best to remember his earlier statement. “If you need my help with something I’m ready. But I’ve got something i have to do today, so I can’t actually come over. Can you send me the files and I’ll give you a call about them later? I’d come if I could, promise.”

“Sure,” Tim says, and he sounds the same as last time, excellent. “Yeah, no worries. Thanks for the help, Dick. I’ll send it to you now. Standby.”

“See ya Timbo,” Dick says, disconnecting with a sigh. It’s more waiting, then. And this time, he’s gonna have to do it alone.

Staying away from people all day is difficult.

He knows he’s got a reputation as a people-person, but that’s only because he has the fortune to be in probably the most socially awkward family in history. He actually doesn’t mind a little alone time every now and then.

This, though? This is total isolation. And, while he’s wired and worried and anxious, is a tough thing for him to overcome.

He spends the first part of his day working on the stuff Tim sent him. He’d seen it all before, of course, but he makes sure to really pour over the information, adding a lot of very detailed explanations and analyses. He hopes this doesn’t make Tim suspicious (who is he kidding? Of course it will) but hopefully he won’t have enough time to actually act on his suspicions before Dick can hopefully move on to phase two of his curse-breaker plan.

After he sends all his notes to Tim, he finds himself left with hours and hours of time and people to avoid. Which, actually, is harder than he’d anticipated.

He spends the rest of the day from late afternoon fielding calls. As a general rule, Dick always picks up (just in case. You never know who’s using a burner). But man, he hasn’t realized exactly how many people call him until he wanted to avoid talking. After checking to see if anyone was in any immediate danger (they were not) he’d make his excuses and hop off swiftly before anyone got it their minds to give him an apology of some kind.

Not to mention the texts. And half of them aren’t even work stuff: just Wally sending him memes, or Donna sending him memes, or Babs sending him another article on the activities of the Red Hood, or Amy sending him memes, or Clark sending his weekly “good afternoon 😊” texts that he somehow manages to stick to every single week. Dick doesn’t know if apology-by-text would count here, and it is a minefield navigating conversations to make sure that the word is never sent from the other end.

“Sorry” is, in Dick’s opinion, very overused.

As for the rest of his time in self-induced isolation, he tries to keep himself busy. The TV is on, and he scrolls through all the things he’d put on his watch later list on streaming services (he watches nothing). He picks up a book he’d planned to trying (only to put it down minutes later, unable to concentrate). He tries stretching and running through some gentle warmup exercises (this one takes).

Overall, it’s not an experience he’s keen on repeating. If I make it 24 hours without looping, he tells himself firmly. I’m going to call Zatanna.

It probably would’ve been smarter to start with her, like Tim had said, but hey. The more info he can give her about how this works, the easier time she’ll have lifting it.

He makes it to the evening, and then into the night without further incident. Thankfully, Tim hadn’t tried to call him back. Nor did, to his relief, Bruce. Bruce would probably see through him in a heartbeat, and involving him in this would be a headache and a half to deal with.

As time ticks down to midnight, Dick feels exhaustion wash over him, thanks to the nervous tension he’d held on to the entire day. No he tells himself, staring at the blurry numbers on his phone. Stay awake.

Once midnight passes, maybe he can take a nap. Then he can figure out what to do next.

He rubs at his eyes, glancing at his phone again. 23:59.

Well, he’s almost done with the full day. This should give him a good idea of how this curse wo—

12:00

Everything stops.

Day 6

Dick wakes up.

Sunday. 08:04.

He doesn’t even wait for the phone call this time. Instead, he scrolls through his contacts, tapping on Zatana’s name with a determined finality.

“Ah. Well, that seems like an issue, doesn’t it?”

Dick groans, putting his head in his hands. “Yeah,” He says, voice muffled between his fingers. “It really is. Thanks for coming to help break it. I couldn’t risk going out to you.”

A hand pats his head. “No problem,” Zatanna says, sounding amused. “And, look. Could be worse. You’re, what, a week in? Not too bad. And with the myriad of curses out there? This is a pretty light one, comparatively speaking.”

Dick sighs, dropping his hands on his lap. “I guess,” He says. “So. What’s the deal here? Can you break this…whatever it is?”

“Let me check,” Zatanna puts a hand on his head and closes her eyes. Her hand glows into a warm, white light, and he feels a sense of peace wash over him…

She takes her hand away. “There’s definitely something there,” She says, sitting back down across from him. “But. I’ll tell you right now, it’s more risk than it’s worth to break from my end.”

Dick frowns. “What’s the risk?” He asks.

Zatanna shrugs. “Since I don’t know the magician, or the source of the magic,” She says. “I’d have to go with a general curse break. It would require a lot of energy from both our sides, and then you would need to keep feeding the break from your own energy. It takes too long, or you don’t have enough? Well…it would be risky, let’s just say that. It wouldn’t be worth it for a relatively low stakes curse like this.”

“Okay,” Dick says. “Yeah. I see your point. So,” He crosses his arms. “What do you think? How would I break this and resolve the time loop normally?”

Zatanna goes over to his fridge, pulls out a water bottle. “Here,” She says, giving it to him.

Dick takes it, confused. “Will drinking this solve it?”

Zatanna laughs. “It’s just water,” She says, sitting back down next to him. “You look dehydrated. Okay. I need your memory recall.”

Dick takes a sip. “Okay,” He says.

“We need to go through the exact wording of the curse,” She says. “Figure out exactly what you were cursed with, and then resolve it. Probably the best way to deal with it would be to confront it directly.”

Dick frowns. “Okay,” He says, going through the memory. “Exact wording? I went through this with Tim earlier. Um,” He thinks for a moment. “May you never find satisfaction in validation. May you be locked in a cycle of discontent. May the one who you need the most from—” He stops. “He cut off there.”

“Huh,” Zatanna says. She looks elegant even when she’s confused. “That’s…verbose.”

“Tell me about it,” Dick says. “Anyway. I think I’ve figured out what the first two parts mean. Satisfaction in validation probably refers to the apologies, because every loop occurred right after I got one. Cycle of discontent is probably the loop, because, well, I’ve been looping. The third part got interrupted, so I don’t know if it went through…”

Zatanna gives him a piercing stare. “Interesting,” She says. “Wait a moment. Let me try something.”

Dick nods. “Go for it.”

She looks directly at him, mouth curled up in a slight smile. “I’m sorry,” She says.

Dick flinches, slamming his eyes shut. A moment later, he opens them to find Zatanna still sitting across from him, eyes sparkling.

“Why’d you do that?” Dick demands, heart pounding. “At least warn me first.”

Zatanna laughs. “I know,” She says. “I needed to check something. So. It looks like the apology needs to be sincere in order to trigger the reset.”

“Oh,” Dick says. “Okay. I see what you did. So this is better, right? Just hearing sorry won’t be enough to catapult me back?”

“Yes,” Zatanna says. “I have to tell you, though. I think this just made the curse break a lot more complicated.”

Dick frowns. “How so?”

“Well,” Zatanna says. “The third part of the curse. That’s the key to breaking it. He may not have finished the phrase but he started it, which should’ve been enough to make it stick. It looks like you’re gonna have to hear an apology from a specific person, a sincere apology, in order the break the curse.”

Dick breaks out into a smile. “Thanks, Z,” He says. “Should be easy enough, right? I have to tell you, I was expecting something a lot more—”

He trails off at the sympathetic look on her face. “What?” He asks, an ominous feeling settling over him. “What is it?”

“Well,” She says. “The wording says ‘the one who you need the most from’ is the person you’ll need to get the sincere apology from. Tell me, who do you think that is?”

Dick turns it over in his mind for a moment, then…

Bruce…A voice in his head whispers. It sounds like his own, but not.

He freezes. “Oh no.”

“Yeah,” Zatanna says, exuding sympathy again. “I think we both know who that should be.”

“How do you know?” He asks, heart pounding. “Are we even thinking of the same person?”

“Oh, please,” Zatanna says. “Who else could it be? We can confirm it though. Does he dress like a bat and fight crime?”

Dick groans. “Oh my god,” He says. “How am I even gonna do that? Get a sincere apology from him? I can’t even talk to him most of the time.”

“You’ll have to, to break the curse.” Zatanna says. Dick takes another sip of water. “And remember, you only have til midnight of the same day to do it.”

“A deadline,” Dick says, despairing. “Even better.”

“Right,” Zatanna says. “So you have a plan, then? Know where you’re going?”

“Yeah,” He says. “I just have to come up with an idea…”

“You’ll probably need the full day,” Zatanna says. “So allow me, okay? Good luck.”

Dick frowns at her. “What do you mea—”

She looks him right in the eye. “I’m sorry.”

Everything stops.

Day 7

Dick wakes up.

Sunday. 08:04.

He groans, considering just going back to sleep and dealing with this again tomorrow. Today. Yesterday. Whatever.

Because, well. Getting Bruce involved? That’s gonna be a whole ordeal.

Not to mention, getting Bruce to give him a sincere apology in less than a day? Talk about an impossible task.

He might as well get started now. He’ll need all the time he can get.

The phone rings.

“Hey, Timbo,” Dick says. “How’s it going?”

In many ways, this day plays out a lot like the first one.

He shows up at Tim’s invitation, then takes him through the case that he now knows like the back of his hand. Tim’s shocked but impressed, and it’s really amusing even though he’s kind of cheating.

“Thanks, Dick,” Tim says, scribbling down in his notes. “I think I just need to set up a trap, and then we’ll be all good here.”

And here’s where the divergence has to happen.

Dick nods. “No worries,” He says. “Hey. Bruce around?”

“Yeah,” Tim says. “He’s around here somewhere, probably down in the Cave. Why?”

“Gotta talk to him,” He says, standing up. He ruffles Tim’s hair on the way. “See you later.”

He can’t tip them off. If the apology needs to be sincere, Bruce cant be aware that it has to be, or the sincerity is gone. Right?

It’s gonna be a challenge either way, and he takes the route down to the cave in a grim sort of silence.

He taps on the large wall twice as he walks in, sound echoing across the cave. “Hey, Bruce,” He says, heart pounding. “How’s it going?”

Bruce is sitting at the computer, staring at bits of data that only make sense to him. “Dick,” He acknowledges, without turning around. “Working on this. You been hearing about what’s going on in New York?”

“Hm?” Dick goes through his non-time-loop-related memory bank. “Oh. You mean…the alien incident? Yeah. Why, is that relevant to us?”

“Maybe,” Bruce says, still staring at the screen. “Possibly. There’s something there…”

He trails off. Dick is familiar with the pauses, so he waits patiently.

He’s putting it off. Time is of the essence, and he’s putting it off. But goddamn. He really does not want to do this.

The only thing he can think of doing at this point is to go in bluntly. He doesn’t have time to plan a more nuanced approach, and Bruce’ll probably see right through it anyway.

Here we go, Dick thinks, before taking a deep breath. “Bruce,” He says, and he can barely get the words out. “We need to talk, okay?”

He’s not sure if it’s the words or the tone that gets Bruce’s attention, but it works. Right away, Bruce whirls around in his chair. His focus, previously fully on the screen in front of him, is now concentrated entirely on Dick. “What is it?” Bruce asks, and he staring at him like he’s able to see right into his brain, like he’s reading through his thoughts one by one.

The weight of his attention is almost too much to bear. “Um,” He says, taking another breath. “It’s. Well. It’s kind of a long story.”

Bruce isn’t moved. “You’re sacred,” He observes, leaning closer. “What is it? What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

Dick lets out a shaky breath, trying to regain his composure. “Do you trust me?” He asks.

This probably doesn’t help with Bruce’s concern. His eyes narrow. “Why?” He asks. “What’s wrong?”

“If you do,” Dick says. “I need you to trust me on this. Um. I need an apology, okay?”

Whatever Bruce had anticipated he’d say, it was clearly not this. “What.” He says flatly, more of a statement than a question.

“I…” Dick says, feeling like he’d made a mistake with his approach. “I need you to say sorry, okay? To me.”

Bruce is, uncharacteristically, shocked into silence. He sits back, face impassive, eyes confused. “For what?” He finally asks, when Dick doesn’t elaborate further.

Of all the questions…“Anything,” Dick says, and he feels his face grow hot. “Pick something. There’s a lot… I just need a verbal apology from you, okay? And you need to mean it.”

Bruce’s face finally cracks, settling on a frown. “What is this?” He asks, voice rising. “Where is this coming from?”

“You trust me, right?” Dick says, an edge of desperation to his voice. “I need you to do this. Please.”

He thinks the plea will be enough. It isn’t.

Bruce just stares at him. “What is this?” He repeats, then: “Tell me this: how old were you when I fired you?”

Dick’s stomach drops. “Bruce,” He says. “It’s me. I’m me, you don’t need to check—”

“How old?” Bruce snaps. Dick can see his hands drift to his belt.

He exhales. “Seventeen,” He says, conceding defeat. “It was after I got shot.”

Bruce’s hands pause right before they get to his weapons. “Then,” He says. “Why are you asking this? You’re not making any sense.”

“I know,” Dick says. “But…I’ll explain later. I just need this from you. Please.”

Bruce grits his teeth. “I can’t do that unless I know..”

Dick stares at him. “You won’t?” He asks. “You’re not gonna trust me on this?”

Bruce doesn’t answer, still eyeing him suspiciously.

Dick tastes defeat on his tongue. Embarrassment, rage, and sadness battle in his throat. “Fine,” He says shortly, turning around. “I’ll…I’ll go then. See you tomorrow.”

Bruce doesn’t go after him.

Dick gets back home and goes right to his apartment, slamming the door shut as he enters.

He’ll need another plan tomorrow. Today. Yesterday. But, for now…

For now, he sits and stares at the time until it hits midnight.

Day 8

Dick wakes up.

He doesn’t even bother to check the date and time, jumping out of bed and grabbing for his clothes.

Okay. New plan. New approach. But what? Straightforward isn’t going to work. Subtle isn’t going to work. What’s left to him now? How can he possibly get Bruce to apologize to him and mean it?

He freezes in the middle of putting on a sock. Maybe…maybe he wasn’t doing enough earlier. Maybe he needs to get more straightforward. God knows Bruce can pull out sincerity when he needs it. Maybe hearing that the world is in a time loop that only he can break will do enough.

Grimly, he pulls the rest of the sock on. He’ll be able to tell Tim this way too, and maybe the both of them can convince Bruce of doing this together.

The phone rings. He grabs it. “Timmy,” He says. “It’s Two Face, by the way. Your case. You’ll just need to set your trap for tonight, and you’re golden.”

There’s a short silence, then: “How did you know that?” Tim asks, baffled. Dick can practically hear him peering at all corners of his room. “How—”

“I’m on my way, okay?” Dick says, grabbing his keys. “I’ll explain everything when I get there.”

“Time loop?” Tim says, eyes wide.

“Time loop.” Dick confirms with a nod.

“Damn,” Tim says, shaking his head. “And I told you to keep coming to me to figure this out and you didn’t? Lame. This could’ve been over by now.”

Dick huffs a laugh. “Honestly,” he says, shrugging. “You might be right.”

“How’re you gonna…you know?” Tim says, giving him a sideways glance. “Get Bruce to agree? Think cluing him in to all this is gonna help?”

“It has to, right?” Dick says, sighing. “I mean, asking him to do it didn’t work. If he knows it’s a time loop, then he’ll try.”

“But what if trying is the problem,” Tim says, and Dick stops him before he can continue.

“I know,” Dick says. “I considered that one too. But we have to try. The other way didn’t work, and if this does then we’re golden. If not…then I guess I’ll have to try something else.”

Tim rubs his head. “Well,” he says. “At least you get a bunch of do overs, free of charge. It’s not even a this-place-kinda-sucks Groundhog Day situation.”

Dick can only laugh. “Yeah,” He says. “We’re only on round 8, too. Haven’t even reached double digits yet.”

“Light work,” Tim scoffs, then stands up. “C’mon. Let’s go tell Bruce now.”

“Yeah,” Dick says, the familiar dread starting to form in his stomach. “Okay, let’s go.”

When they make their way down to the Cave, Bruce is exactly where Dick had left him. Staring at the a screen, contemplating the information within.

“Dick,” Bruce says, almost like an announcement. I know that you’re there. “Come take a look at this. You been hearing about what’s going on in New York?”

“Yeah,” Dick says, making his way over. He doesn’t look at the screen. “I couldn’t tell you if it’s relevant or not to us, though. But, Bruce. Listen. I need your help with something.”

“Hm?” Bruce says. His eyes stay on the screen, but Dick can tell that he’s listening. “What is it?”

Dick gives a side glance to Tim. Tim gives him a thumbs up. “Well,” He begins. I seem to have found myself in a…time loop situation. Groundhog Day style.”

This interests Bruce enough that he turns around, pinning Dick with a very familiar searching look. “Time loop?” He asks, then. “Report.”

“I got cursed,” Dick says, keeping it short and simple. “In Blüdhaven. I’ve completed about 7 resets so far. The loop triggers whenever I get an apology, and when the day ends. I spoke with Zatanna during one of the resets, and she told me that I essentially got cursed with needing to hear a sincere apology from…well, you. And if you do that, it’ll stop the loop.”

Bruce barely flinches. Dick’s kind of impressed despite himself. “Hm,” Bruce says, eyeing him critically. “Is this verifiable?”

“It is,” Tim chimes in. “He knew about the thing I’m working on. Knew the questions I was gonna ask him before I was able to do it.”

“Interesting,” Bruce says. “Well. An apology, you say?”

Dick shrugs. “Yeah,” He says, “Should be easy enough, right? It had to be sincere to work, though. The word itself doesn’t trigger anything. It’s more like the word plus the intention.”

Bruce considers him further. “Right,” He says, almost to himself. “Well then. My apologies.”

Dick waits. Nothing happens.

“You have to mean it, Bruce,” He tries. “Just…anything. Anything you have any guilt about. It should work.”

Bruce looks him in the eye, holds contact for a few second, then darts a glance to the side. “I’m sorry,” He says. It sounds somber, real.

Another beat. Nothing happens.

“Are you sure?” Bruce says, and Dick makes an annoyed sound. “That this is supposed to be me?”

“Pretty sure,” Dick says, already tired of the conversation.

“Why?” Bruce says. He gets up, clearly getting into detective-mode. “What did the curse say exactly? I need precise details.”

Dick sighs. “Bruce…”

Tim sidles up to him. “Dude,” He says, sympathetically. “Sorry.”

Both their eyes go wide at the same time before—

Everything stops.

Day 9

Dick wakes up.

He knows what’s gonna happen, but feels the need to check anyway:

Sunday. 08:04.

Great.

Well. He’s still chasing this Bruce angle, so he needs to up back to the manor for take 3 there. One more round of loops, and I’ll hit double digits. He thinks.

The straightforward approach didn’t work. Telling him the situation didn’t work. So he’s going to need to be more subtle with it, try to manipulate the situation into getting an apology.

Dick shakes his head. How is he going to do that, when Bruce has never apologized to him for anything big that he’d done?

Well. He doesn’t have a choice, does he? If this fails, maybe he’ll make a PowerPoint presentation of all the relevant points, and maybe Bruce will be convinced enough to apologize…

He’s getting ahead of himself. He should just try this round and see…

He grabs his phone, dials Tim.

“Hey!” Tim picks up. “I was literally just about to call you.”

“Oh, great,” Dick says, grabbing his shirt. “What a cool coincidence. I just wanted to check with you if Bruce is around, I wanted to talk to him.”

“Yeah,” Tim says. “Mind if I pick your brain before you go in?”

“Sure,” Dick says. He doesn’t want to alert Tim’s suspicions. “I’m on my way.”

Dick stops right outside the Cave, indecision burning away at him.

He needs a battle plan. If he doesn’t go in fully prepared, Bruce is gonna pry him apart in seconds.

Okay, He thinks to himself. Be friendly. Be open. Be helpful. And then…pick a fight. But don’t yell. Act hurt. And see

Oh, this is gonna go great.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he saunters into the cave, tapping at the wall twice. “Hey, Bruce,” He greets. “What’s up?”

“Yeah,” Dick says. He approaches the screen, actually looking at the information this time. “Why? Think it’s something we should look at?”

He tries to include himself in the discussion, signaling to Bruce that he’s here to help.

It works. “Maybe,” Bruce thinks. This time, he gestures to Dick to come forward. “If you look here,” He points. “The origin of these beings seems…oddly familiar.”

Dick nods, barely processing the information. He keeps looking for a way in, a way to fall into an argument. “Sure,” He says. How is he going to do this? How is he ever going to get Bruce to say sorry? “You think it’s…uh….”

The words get stuck in his throat.

Bruce looks at him. “Dick?” He asks.

His voice sounds so genuine in that moment that Dick almost can’t handle it. “I’m good,” He says. His voice cracks. “Yeah, I’m good. Just…uh. I’m good.”

Oh boy. This is going great.

Shut up. He tells himself. Pull yourself together.

He looks down at his hands. They’re shaking.

He feels himself being pushed into a chair. “Dick?” A pair of hands grabs his face, lifts it up. He sees Bruce peering into his eyes. “What’s going on?”

Dick chuckles between breaths. “Nothing,” He says, trying to get himself back under control. “I’m good.”

“Clearly not,” Bruce eyes him. “Hold on. I’m going to do an assessment.” He pats Dick’s shoulder. “Stay calm.”

“I am,” Dick insists. He’s mostly embarrassed, really. His hands are still shaking.

In no time at all, he feels his head being yanked back over the top of the chair. A bright light is shined in his eyes.

He hisses, the sudden change in position confusing him. Pain radiates through his neck. “Sorry,” Bruce says, offhandedly, peering into his face. “Need to do this. You don’t look like you have a head injury…”

But Dick…

Dick has…

Sorry…

The word echoes in his head. Did he just…

He gets a feeling like a bucket of ice water has been thrown on him. Everything around him comes into focus with a scary amount of clarity.

Bruce clearly feels a difference, because he pauses. “Dick?” He asks again.

Dick blinks. Once. Twice. “I’m okay,” He gasps. He thinks he means it this time. “I’m okay.”

Bruce had been reluctant to send him home after that.

Dick doesn’t blame him. He’d completely fallen apart right then and there and probably scared the shit out of him, so.

And, well. His panic had been clear in the fact that. That he’d apologized. And…and it may have broken the curse? He thinks? He’s no expert, but there’s only one way to find out, really.

So, Bruce’s absolute insistence that he stay the night didn’t push his buttons the way it usually would. Instead, he gives in to the pushing. He’s too tired not to.

Plus, once Bruce got Alfred involved…there was no way he was gonna get away after that.

That’s why Dick finds himself in his childhood bedroom hours later, staring at the stick-on glow-in-the-dark stars and moons on the ceiling.

Satisfaction in validation. He thinks, then. Suck it.

He should probably go back to the warehouse anyway. Can’t have the dude going ahead cursing other people willy-nilly. Next time, he’ll bring Zatanna.

Bruce apologized. He thinks. It still blows him away. He actually apologized.

Not for anything major, either. Just…just in the moment, not even thinking about it. The words slipped out, just like that. Like he did it all the time.

Dick thinks he should be feeling some type of way about that. That it should resolve at something inside of him, at the thing that’s been there ever since he was seventeen years old.

May you never find satisfaction in validation..

He shakes it off. Maybe he would feel differently if it was a bigger apology. Or maybe it hasn’t quite sunk in yet. Either way. He’s pretty sure that the curse has lifted, but he’s not gonna count it a done deal until he hits the next day without incident.

May you never find satisfaction in validation…

Dick keeps an eye out on his phone, trying his best to stay awake.

The time ticks down…

12:00.

He draws a breath, then another. He waits.

Monday. 12:01.

He drops his phone on the bed, breathing deeply. I did it. He thinks. I did it.

May you never find satisfaction in validation

He swallows all the feelings still simmering below the surface, then drops off to sleep.

#dickgraysonweek #dick grayson #nightwing #Tim drake #Robin #Bruce Wayne #Batman #speaks

34 notes · View notes