#and you were so sure it would be a good time that you got several of your friends to sign up with you

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 I WISH I WAS YOUR GIRL

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you don't know why dazai has suddenly become so standoffish with you the last week—there's something that everyone isn't telling you, but you can't even bring yourself to make that your biggest concern. you're just so at your limits with the back and forth with him that you can't concentrate on anything else. mishima is hosting a ball is this evening and you think that this is it: if things are going to happen between the two of you, it'll be tonight or it'll be never. you can't wait forever on someone who's just going to string you along the rest of his life. you won't.

(wordcount: 6.3k; fem!reader, sfw but a bit of tension, angsty)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hihihihiiiiiii guys ^.^ happy friday. we've gotta angsty fic for tonight. i fear this one does not end happily but TRUST the universe does <33 but angst is necessary to move the plot forward. the price you pay for a happy ending is an angsty path there. specially dedicated to my beloved sophie who hates angst <33 happy birthday luvr

You are severely unhappy.

You finished getting dressed almost an hour ago, but you still haven’t left your room. You’re sitting at your vanity staring at yourself—you’ve changed your jewelry three times already, and you’re about to change it a fourth. It’s not that you’re not satisfied with how you look, it’s more that you’re just frustrated and fidgety.

More than that, you’re upset. Dazai hasn’t spoken to you in a week, and you don’t even know why. It has something to do with the incident that happened a week ago with the child called Kyusaku, but you’re not sure what because you don’t know what was real and what was concocted by the child’s ability after you were affected by it. 

As much as Dazai likes to pretend to be aloof and unbothered, he’s easily worked up by small things, and he’s been upset with you before, but never like this. He’ll usually sulk where he knows you’ll see him and wait for you to ask him what’s wrong so he can use the opportunity to guilt you into watching a shitty movie or going out to buy him snacks. 

But this? Radio silence. He came up to your apartment once when you weren’t here to do his laundry and was gone before you got back. You don’t even know where he’s been staying, because you went looking for him at the shipping container and he wasn’t there. You don’t know what happened. You guys were good, more than good—you really thought that maybe the two of you were making progress past this awkward more than friends, not lovers stage, but now it’s back to square one. Worse than square one, because at least at square one, he was still talking to you.

A low whistle comes from the entrance to your room and you raise your eyebrows as you look up in the mirror, catching sight of Chuuya leaning against the doorframe, head tilted to the side as he observes you. He’s already dressed up—out of his normal outfit and in a sleek black suit instead, he looks different without his hat, but you don’t even have it in you to make a teasing comment about it. You can’t help the disappointment that clogs your throat at the sight of him: you’d still been holding out hope that Dazai would show up. 

“I forgot how nice you cleaned up,” Chuuya murmurs. “It’s been a minute since we attended an event together.”

You turn in your seat to face him, eyes roving over his form once before you say, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your hat. I almost thought you might be balding beneath it.”

Chuuya instantly rolls his eyes as he pushes himself off the door frame to make his way over to you. You give him a simpering smile as you look up at him, but you can tell it doesn’t reach your eyes from the way he frowns at you. He reaches out to straighten the necklace you’re wearing and then holds a gloved hand out to help you up, ever the gentlemen.

Even though it’s unnecessary, you still take it and sigh as you rise to your feet, smoothing out your dress once you’re upright. You look up at him and ask, “I take it you’re the one escorting me tonight.”

“Don’t sound too pleased,” Chuuya replies dryly, holding out his arm for you. You sigh as you hold his bicep loosely, making your way to the elevator. “He still hasn’t talked to you?”

“Not once,” you answer bitterly. “I thought for sure he would get over whatever his problem is to be my escort tonight, but I guess not. I don’t even know what happened, Chuuya. I feel like people just aren’t telling me something.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, your gaze is cutting to the side to observe Chuuya’s reaction. He grimaces instantly and averts his gaze, and you take in a deep breath, realizing you hit it right on the nail. What the hell are they hiding from you? You know now isn’t the time to get into it, but you make a note in the back of your head to do some snooping as to what really happened during the incident last week. 

“Interesting,” you say, just to let Chuuya know that he needs to work on his poker face. He catches the implication and sends you a scowl, but you only raise your eyebrows at him with a small smile, waiting for the elevator to come up to your apartment. “He’s not coming tonight at all then?”

“No, he’s coming,” Chuuya corrects absently and the smile on your face freezes.

“Is that so?” you ask tightly. “Who is he attending with then?”

Chuuya gives you a long, knowing look as the elevator gets to your floor, holding it open and waiting for you to step in before joining you. You’re tense as you wait for his answer, and you know he’s getting back for the balding comment with how long he’s taking to give you it.

“No one,” he finally says, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Chuuya barks out a laugh. “Jesus, you’re so embarrassing—get yourself together. Who the fuck would actually be his date? No one wants to get within ten feet of him.”

You give Chuuya a withering look and then reply primly, “I would.”

“The entire Mafia knows that,” Chuuya says dryly, making your face hot. “You make me sick.”

“Likewise,” you scoff and pointedly look away from him. After a few seconds pass, you ask, “Are you sure he’s not bringing anyone?” 

Chuuya groans. “What would it even change if he does?” he asks, which does not settle your nerves at all. “You’re just going to work yourself up thinking about it.”

“It changes whether or not I’m going to have Akutagawa Ryuunosuke on standby to eliminate a potential threat to Dazai’s life,” you say with a sweet smile. “Assassins come in many forms, but most frequently in dates at big events. We shouldn’t take that risk with our most valuable executive, naturally.”

Chuuya’s jaw drops as he fully turns to look at you. “Sometimes, I wonder why you like that fucked up bastard so much, and it’s only very rarely that I’m reminded that you’re just as evil as he is.”

“I’m kidding,” you complain, waving him off. Although, now that the thought is in your head, it’s becoming increasingly more appealing. “I think.”

The elevator doors slide back open and Chuuya holds his arm out for you again. You take it, lifting your hand to wave at Hinata, an older man who's been working with the Port Mafia since longer than you’ve been alive. He ran with Hirotsu in the Black Lizards before he was hurt on a mission and put on desk duty—you stole him from Mori when you came back from Kyoto. On paper, he’s just your doorman, but he’s helped you a lot with mission planning the past year and a half; you honestly contribute half of your success to his experience.

“Good luck tonight, hime, Nakahara-san,” Hinata says as the two of you make your way out of the building.

You let out an exaggerated sigh and toss your head to the side to look back at him with a smile. “Hinata-san, you should come and be my date instead of this bum.”

“Why am I always catching strays from you?” Chuuya scowls, but you ignore him as you flutter your eyelashes at Hinata, who only laughs at you.

“I’m far too old for that to work on me, hime,” Hinata replies. “I’ll have the scout reports from Sapporo ready by the time you get back tonight.”

“My hero,” you sing. “Thank you.”

You wave at him one last time before leaving the building with Chuuya. As soon as you’re out of sight, your smile drops and Chuuya gives you a concerned look, stopping before the two of you can get in the car so he can turn to look at you head on.

“Do you think he’ll show up with someone to spite me?” you ask quietly. 

You know Dazai—he doesn’t like feeling wounded, so when he does, he lashes out tenfold. He gets cruel and vicious, and because he’s Dazai, he knows exactly what to do to make people hurt more than he does. You don’t know what you did to upset him, but it has you on edge now because it will hurt if he shows up with someone else, knowing that you were waiting for him back at your apartment.

Chuuya says your name quietly, and because it’s not an immediate ‘no’, you know that he knows that Dazai might very well stoop that low to hurt you. You swallow thickly and look away—it’s fine. You’ll act unbothered, you have an appearance to keep up and that’s more important than anything. And anyway, it’ll hurt him even more when he doesn’t get the reaction he wants from you.

“Hey, look,” Chuuya says, forcing your attention back on him. “Dazai’s being a fucking dick, alright? But what else is new? You look beautiful—make him regret that you’re not coming in on his arm, yeah?” 

You smile softly and look away before saying, “It’s unnerving when you’re sweet.”

You don’t have to look at Chuuya to know he’s rolling his eyes at you. You hear him open the car door for you and sigh as you look back over to him.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go.”

———

As always, your entrance is something to marvel over. It never fails to be the highlight of the night, and it’s only more of a spectacle when you enter on the arm of Nakahara Chuuya. 

Lingering looks in your direction, wary stares in his—you’re grateful that he came to escort you, because if you’d come alone, you would’ve swarmed with suitors as soon as you got down the steps. Chuuya is not quite as much of a deterrent as Dazai would’ve been, if only because Chuuya won’t actually kill someone in the middle of Mishima’s ball and nobody can ever be sure of what Dazai is capable of, but his presence and reputation will keep unwanted annoyances away for most of the night at least. 

By the end of the night, they’ll get more desperate for a conversation, and only Dazai and Mori himself are capable of keeping them away from you at that point, unless Chuuya steps up his game, of course, but he has as much of an appearance to keep up as you do. You’re not looking forward to it—your eyes keep darting up to the ticking clock, knowing each passing second draws closer to suffering. 

You didn’t even want to come tonight. You weren’t going to come, you’d gone to quite the lengths trying to fake being sick, and you thought you succeeded until Mori messaged you this morning telling you that you could either come to the event or go deal with Shikibu Murasaki’s little stunt in Sapporo that has your biggest weapon supplier backing out on your next shipment. Since he knew very well you didn’t want to deal with that, the only option was to come to the ball—someone must’ve ratted you out to him, but you don’t know who. You almost think it must’ve been Chuuya, because Dazai hasn’t spoken to you in over a week.

You still haven’t seen him, which you suppose is a good thing because if he was going to shove in your face that he came here with someone else, then he would’ve done it by now. You aren’t even sure if he’s here; you’ve tried to keep an eye out for him, positioning yourself in a way that your gaze can always stray to the edges of the room in hopes of catching sight of him, but you haven’t seen him at all in the three hours that you’ve been here.

You’re standing with Chuuya and two of Mishima’s daughters now. Noriko keeps trying to shift closer to you, lashes fluttering and lips curled up into a soft smile. Usually, you would entertain the girl—she’s pretty, and at the very least, makes for entertaining conversation, which is more than you can say for the rest of the Sun and Steel upper echelon, but you’re so occupied with Dazai that she can hardly hold your attention for more than a few seconds.

“I haven’t seen him at all tonight,” you say quietly when Mishima himself comes over to your small group, a stern expression on his face as he beckons his daughters over before giving both you and Chuuya an apologetic look. “Have you?” 

“No,” Chuuya says, taking a sip of his champagne as he leans against the wall. “I know he said he was coming though.”

Your expression twists in annoyance as you take in a deep breath. Your glass is empty, and usually, there are people circling to keep them full—your old mentor always used to warn you not to fall for the trap. The hosts of events always like to liquor up the attendees; drunker you are, the looser your lips, and you’re usually quite careful to keep it to one drink and never finish your second.

Tonight, you are on your fifth. Dangerous work, because you’re still going to have to entertain people when they inevitably start coming up to you—which is any minute now, you can feel the lingering stares and you can see how people are creeping closer. But you’re just so bothered by everything with Dazai that every time you finish a glass, you’re seeking out the next to try to numb your nerves.

“You know something,” you accuse quietly, giving Chuuya a cold side-eye. He stiffens, but neither confirms nor denies, which is a confirmation in itself. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“I can’t,” Chuuya says tightly, and you raise your eyebrows because you expected him to say ‘it’s not for me to say’ like he usually does when he feels like you should hear something from someone else. He can’t, does that mean… “I just…”

“You can’t because you’ve been ordered not to,” you realize, face shifting in confusion. “Mori ordered you not to. What happened during the incident last week, Chuuya?” 

The expression that crosses Chuuya’s face is haunted, and it makes your mouth dry, because what the hell happened and why is no one telling you the truth? You don’t even get the chance to badger him about it, because Noriko and Michiko are coming back over, both of them looking incredibly displeased by whatever their father said.

“He’s so annoying,” Noriko complains, immediately clinging to your arm and resting her head against your bicep dramatically. “You two are so lucky that you don’t have parents to helicopter you like he does.”

You and Chuuya immediately exchange a look at her words, and even Michiko cringes a little, but you otherwise don’t react beyond just trying to not roll your eyes. These girls are so out of touch with reality that it’s almost concerning, but they, more than anyone else at this event, have loose lips that you like to take advantage of.

“No,” you sigh lightly, “I only have Mori. Somehow, I feel that’s worse.”

Noriko giggles like you’ve said the funniest thing in the world, and you miss Dazai desperately. At least him being here would have Mishima’s daughters acting a little more subdued, would maybe even chase them off. You don’t like how they act around him because you know it used to bother him, but you’re not gonna complain when you could be benefiting from it if he wasn’t being an ass.

She starts to say something else, but before she can, Chuuya’s eyes shoot open as he looks at something behind you. You instantly straighten, turning your head to follow his gaze and your breath catches when it lands on just who you thought would draw that reaction from Chuuya.

Dazai.

He’s finally made his appearance, and you can’t draw your eyes away from him. He never gets dressed up for these events like you and Chuuya do, so he’s still wearing that same black three-piece suit he wears every day, just without the dark trench coat he usually wears over it. He’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest and a cold expression on his face as he stares in your direction. He doesn’t meet your gaze, but he does stare at where Noriko is clinging to your arm, lip twitching in irritation; Noriko seems to notice too from the way she lets go of your arm and tries to casually shift away from you, an annoyed look on her face as she does.

You hear her let out a noise of disgust, side-eyeing in Dazai’s direction, and you raise your eyebrows at her pointedly. You know that it was directed toward Dazai’s sudden appearance, but you’re not about to sit here and let that slide, so you turn a cool look onto her in response. Noriko instantly looks down to the ground, an ashamed look crossing her face—not for the disparaging attitude toward Dazai, but for being obvious enough for you to notice it.

You feel a bit more tense now as you force your attention off of Dazai back to Chuuya, who exchanges a short look with you before pointedly glancing over to where one of Mishima’s newer executives, Ibuse Masuji is whispering with one of his colleagues, looking in your direction a bit too frequently for comfort. He’s going to come over and ask you for a dance soon, probably around the same time Michiko starts tugging Chuuya in the direction of the hardwood floor at the center of the room—Noriko won’t ask you now that Dazai is here.

Wonderful, you think to yourself bitterly. You don’t really want to deal with Ibuse tonight, but you suppose you’ll probably get better information from him than Noriko. Noriko likes to ramble about more general gossip—who’s sleeping with who, who’s mad at who, and all of that is useful to an extent when you need to figure out what’s going on with Sun and Steel internal politics, but Ibuse has loose lips about more meaningful matters, and you’ve heard some nerve-wracking rumors about the Red Chamber recently.

The things you do for the Port Mafia. 

You straighten your necklace, gaze lifting to Chuuya again as you withhold a sigh. You can see Ibuse starting to make his way across the event hall in your direction, and Chuuya gives you a pitying smile that instantly freezes as his eyes pin to something behind you again. You also freeze, because you know it could only mean one thing.

Dazai is coming over.

You raise your eyebrows at him pointedly, wanting to know whether or not Dazai’s approach is a good or bad one—if he’s coming over to finally address you, or if he’s coming over so he can more blatantly ignore you. Each one is equally possible, and the way Chuuya grimaces and shrugs only makes your anxiety spike more.

But you get your answer as soon as he arrives.

You inhale sharply when you feel Dazai’s fingers brush over your hip as he comes to stand directly behind you. You can feel his chest brushing your back, his presence warm and looming directly behind you. With his sudden arrival, the conversation happening between Noriko and Michiko comes to an abrupt halt, and you can see Ibuse freeze mid-step from where he was drawing closer to you. The two girls avert their gaze to the ground, not acknowledging Dazai, and it irritates you, they’ve never hidden how unnerved Dazai makes them, and though you don’t think it bothers him anymore, you know very well it used to. 

Your throat spasms when Dazai’s hand settles more firmly on your hip, and you turn your head slightly to the side to look up at him, breath catching when you find that his gaze is already lidded and focused on you, visible eye far too dark and tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Dance with me,” Dazai murmurs, only for you to hear.

“You want to dance?” you ask, a bit incredulously, trying not to be hyper-focused on how he’s touching you. You don’t know what has gotten into him, but it has your heart racing. “Dazai, what-”

“Dance with me.” 

It’s not a request, you realize, taking in a sharp breath as his gaze becomes more intense. You can feel curious eyes on you from around the room; it’s to be expected, it’s you and Dazai. Of everyone here, the two of you always have the most eyes on you at all times, but it’s different now. 

Dazai usually keeps to himself during events, he wanders up and down the length of the room, keeping to the edges to observe what’s happening unless he’s looking for information from someone. He really stays true to his moniker, a black wraith haunting the shadows and keeping everyone on edge. You can’t remember the last time he willingly stepped out of them to interact with people, much less engage in things like dancing.

“Okay,” you agree quietly, not even bothering to look back at your previous companions as Dazai’s hand slides from your hip to your lower back, guiding you to the hardwood floor where several other couples are already swaying along to the music being played by the quintet in the corner of the room. “What’s gotten into you?”

Dazai doesn’t answer your question, looking down at you from the corner of his eye for a moment before looking back ahead. He doesn’t have to search for a spot on the dance floor—as soon as people realize that’s where he’s headed, they’re quick to leave a wide berth for the two of you, no one wanting to get too close to the most infamous Port Mafia executive.

Your heart races as he leads you to the center of the hardwood floor. Though you can feel dozens of eyes pinned on the two of you, all you can focus on is him. You can hardly breathe when he turns to face you, one hand resting on your hip while he holds the other out for you to take. You swallow thickly as you place your hand into his. He entwines your fingers with his instead of the traditional palm-to-palm, and he pulls you toward him so that your chests are brushing. You’re so close to him that you catch the faint and familiar scent of smoke and iron and it makes you dizzy.

Distantly, you know that this probably isn’t smart. If people think that you and Dazai are together, it will only be harder for you to get information from them. They’ll be wary around you in fear of him, and you’re not even sure if your ability will be enough to counteract the anxiety he triggers in people. You shouldn’t be risking that just for a dance, but…

But you can never think straight when he’s around, even less when his skin is warm against yours, and the way he’s looking at you… His dark eye is heavy with so many emotions, too many for you to even place a single one—you’ve always been good at reading people, but never him, and now, more than ever, you wish you could. You want to know what he’s thinking. You want to know what he’s feeling. You want to know him, because as much as you claim you do, you know that he masks himself from you. You want to ask him again—what’s gotten into you? Why have you been avoiding me? But you think it’ll scare him off, so instead, you ask:

“When did you learn to dance? Today?”

He’s better than you thought he would be. He effortlessly spins you across the dancefloor. Each step is quick and precise—you’ve had training in this type of dancing, but you still struggle a little to keep up with him. Though, you think it’s less because of your own skill, and more because of who exactly your partner is.

“What makes you think I haven’t known how?” Dazai drawls, voice low and languid, dark eye glittering with amusement. His grip on your hand tightens just a little as he pulls you into a half-spin. He presses when you don’t immediately respond, “Hm?” 

“Because you’re you,” you finally answer with a fleeting smile. “So? When did you learn?”

“Tonight,” he tells you. “I’ve been watching them.”

“Hah,” you say—of course he’s this good just through observation. Ever the mirror. “You better not embarrass me.”

“Like this?” he asks with a smile that puts you on edge, and you give him a dirty look when he purposely takes a wrong step, forcing you to overstep in order to not land on his foot. You’re careful to make it look casual—a wider turn rather than a misstep—but with the number of eyes currently on the two of you, you know very well that people probably caught it. His apology comes in the form of an airy, “Whoops,” that you know he doesn’t mean.

His lips curl up into a smug smile, and your breath catches when you feel his hand slide from your hip to your low back so he can pull your body flush to his for the next turn. Your throat spasms as you tilt your head back to look up at him, and again, there’s that unreadable look in his eye as his eyes rove over your face. 

“Why?” you finally brave yourself to ask, voice quiet and too breathy for your liking. You don’t specify what the why is, and that’s intentional, this way he can pick what he wants to answer and won’t feel as cornered by the question. 

His visible eye narrows for a moment, and then something akin to reluctance spreads across his face, and then resignation. You wonder if he’ll answer, hardly even able to breathe as you wait for him to speak. But after a few tense moments, disappointment hits you hard, because a teasing smile spreads across his lips and you know he’s going to evade the question.

Still, your heart races when Dazai dips you down, lowering his face so that his lips brush your ear as he says, “You looked like you were bracing yourself for a bullet with Ibuse getting ready to come over. Figured I’d rescue you.”

Though the music continues, Dazai doesn’t lift you from the dip. He does pull his face back so that he can look you in the eye. He’s so close to you that you can feel his warm breath fanning across your lips and it leaves you dizzy. The look in his eye now—you almost want to dare to believe you know what it is—it’s too close to the same emotion you feel whenever the two of you are curled up on the couch watching a movie. It’s too similar to longing, yearning, the desperate need for more, the desire to be yours just as badly as you want to be his, but you don’t want to get your hopes up when you know he can crush them in an instant.

His gaze drops down to your lips and then drags back up to your face, and you know he won’t kiss you, not in front of all of the eyes currently pinned on the two of you. Not in front of Mori. It’s nice to imagine though.

“Is that really why?” you breathe out, eyes searching his for an answer.

Something new crosses his face—it’s sharp and it’s angry, something that promises violence, not toward you, but toward the one who provoked it. His gaze cuts to the side briefly in the direction of where Ibuse Masuji is still standing frozen in the middle of the event hall, staring at the two of you, and then he looks back down at you, lips tilted up into a wry smile. 

“Partially,” he says, but doesn’t give you the chance to question any further, finally pulling you up from the dip to fall in line with the last steps of the dance. 

He turns you so that your back is pressed to his chest, palm cupping the back of your hand, fingers interlaced. His free hand slides around to your abdomen, holding your body flush to his. The music slows as the song comes to an end, but Dazai doesn’t release you. You turn your head to the side and tilt your head back to look up at him, inhaling when you find that he’s already looking at you, dark hair hanging in his lidded eye as he watches you.

“Are you… coming home tonight?” you finally ask, voice soft and hesitant.

“I’ll think about it,” he says, but his eye is glittering playfully, so you know that he’ll be home waiting for you by the time you get done at the event. He always manages to leave early—no one has the nerve to try to stop him. He dips his head a bit lower, lips ghosting your ear as he says, “You should thank me, you won’t have to worry about anyone else bothering you tonight.”

He finally lets go of you, your arms fall limp to your side and your breath is a bit too shaky for comfort. He tosses a wink in your direction before shoving his hands in his pockets and making his way back toward the outskirts of the room.

And he’s right—for the rest of the night, not a single person dared to approach you.

———

Even though you’re fairly certain Dazai will be there waiting for you, you still hold your breath as the elevator doors slide open to your apartment. Your feet are aching, you hardly got a chance to sit once during the night and you’re ready to curl up on the couch and watch a movie. 

As you step into your apartment, you can’t help the way your heart drops when you don’t immediately see him, and you especially can’t help the relief that spreads through you when you realize he’s lounging on the couch, out of sight from the angle you entered at. At once, you can breathe again—you’ve missed him the past week, more than you ever could’ve imagined.

“Hi,” you say quietly, coming to stand at the foot of the couch.

Dazai shed his black waistcoat, his shirt is untucked and his tie is loose around his neck, head resting on the far armrest as he looks up at you with a lazy grin that lights your nerves on fire.

“Hi,” he echoes. “I picked a movie.”

“A good one I hope,” you tell him with a small smile. “Let me go get changed.”

You turn on your heel to make your way up the steps to your bedroom, but before you can get to the staircase, Dazai speaks up again, “Can you even reach the clip?”

You hesitate as you glance at him over your shoulder. You technically can, but… “No,” you reply, and then lie, “Chuuya helped me get it on.”

Dazai’s lips flatten, but he does push himself to his feet to follow you up the stairs. You spare a glance behind you, catching the hard expression on his face as he stares at your back. You raise your eyebrows at him and it instantly washes away, replaced with a teasing smile as he raises his right back at you. You squint at him, but shake your head as you reach the top of the stairs, stepping into your room. 

When Dazai steps in after you, you swear the temperature in the room rises. 

You turn to look at him, and he tilts his head to the side idly, dark eye dancing with amusement as he slowly approaches you. He looks a mess with how his shirt is untucked and his tie is loosely hanging around his neck, hair tousled from laying back on the couch—he looks a mess, and you’ve never wanted him more.

You’re sick of the back and forth with him—it’s been a year and a half of it and you’re tired—you want to be his, you want him to be yours. Every time you think Dazai might finally make the first move, he ends up taking fifty steps backward for whatever reason. You don’t want to push it because you have a feeling it will only make him even more standoffish. Tonight has been more progress than you’ve made in a while—if you and him are going to happen, it’ll be now or it’ll never happen. Your pride won’t allow you to chase and pine for any longer.

He comes to stand directly in front of you and you think he wants you to turn around, but just when you’re about to, he gives you a sharp smile that instantly has you on edge, and then he lowers himself to his knees in front of you. Your lips part in shock, heart beat stuttering in your chest.

“We should get these off first, right?” he hums, reaching down for the clasp of your heel, knowing damn well the effect he’s having on you from the smug expression on his face. Although you can’t help but notice that his eye is darker than usual, pupil blown wide as he undos the clasp and slides your heel off. 

“Right,” you agree breathily, lashes fluttering when you feel the pads of his fingers press against your ankle as he places your foot back down on the ground before shifting to do the same for the other one.

This time, his throat bobs nervously and his fingers fumble over the clasp. When he finally gets the clasp off, he looks up at you through his lashes as he slides your heel off, but he doesn’t rise to his feet right away once he sets your foot down. Your fingers twitch at your side to reach out and brush them against his face, but you refrain, if only barely. 

After what feels like an eternity, Dazai finally rises to his feet, and he’s standing all too close to you. You can feel the heat of his body, you have to tilt your head up to look at him and when you do, you can feel his breath against your lips.

“Turn,” he murmurs.

You swallow thickly as you do as he asks, and your breath audibly catches when you feel his fingers brush the nape of your neck as he shifts your hair out of the way. You expect him to tease you, but you realize his breathing is almost as unsteady as yours is, you can feel each puff against the back of your neck and it has your hair on end. Your lashes flutter as Dazai slowly unzips your dress, the cool air of your room stark in contrast to the line of fire left behind with each brush of his fingers against your spine.

When he gets the zipper all the way down, he doesn’t move away, hands settling on your hips as he hovers behind you. You think your heart might race right out of your chest, head foggy and unsteady on your feet.

For a few long moments, neither of you speak.

And then, you make a terrible mistake.

“Why have you been avoiding me the past week?” you ask quietly, desperate for some sort of answer as to what happened between the two of you that made him go cold on you like this. His grip on your hips tightens, and you instantly want to eat your words. “Dazai?”

He doesn’t even deign you with a response.

Your heart is lodged in your throat when you feel his hands drop from your hips and his presence leaving from behind you. You’re cold, your body is, your heart is, and now you really are unsteady without his hands to ground you. You whip around to face him, knees wobbly as you call after him again, but you don’t chase after him—not this time. Bitterly, you think you’ve spent the last year and a half chasing after him and all you ever get in return is him running away.

You watch him disappear down the steps, frozen in place because how did one question ruin everything. For the first time in weeks, you thought you were actually making progress with him and just like that, it’s back to square one. You feel like you don’t breathe until you hear the elevator arrive on your floor, signalling that he’s left.

“Shit,” you breathe out shakily, sitting back on your bed and burying your face in your hands. You can feel all of the champagne you drank earlier in the night threatening to come up and your head feels light. You fumble for your phone, clicking on a familiar contact and gasping his name as soon as he answers the call, “Chuuya?”

“Yo,” you hear him ask, concerned. “You good? Aren’t you with-”

“Can you come over?” you push out before he has the chance to say his name. “I just-I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep waiting. I can’t-”

“I’m coming,” Chuuya tells you when your words cut out into a sob. God, you can’t remember the last time you cried like this. Your whole body aches as you pull your knees to your chest and rock yourself back and forth trying to calm yourself down. “I’ll be there in five. I’m coming.”

You told yourself before that it was tonight or never, and you’re done waiting for him. No matter how badly it hurts to force yourself to move on—you’re done. 

You have to be, for your own sake. 

[niwaart]

Hiii i really love your writings can you please give us more of the doctor reader pleaaase🙏🙏🙏🙏

Doctor! Male! Reader X Batfam

[Part1 - Part2 - Part3 - Part4 - part5]

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Bruce has a severe headache, and the family dinner turns into a family war. Damian and Tim try to kill each other, Dick passes out on the floor, Jason and Stephanie die laughing while filming Tim and Damian fighting and filming an unconscious Dick, Cass helps Alfred gather edible food before Tim and Damian destroy it while Duke tries to talk them out of the fight, and Y/N tries to salvage the remaining food (cake) and puts it in her bag. How did this all start?

It all started when Y/N arrived at Wayne Manor, before pressing the bell button he made sure he packed everything he would need today in his bag. What did he pack? He packed several things, first the pepper spray, why? Because what if they accused him of stealing? Or decided to lock him up inside the creepy mansion?... Well he knows he's exaggerating and the reason is because of the series he watches but there's no time for regrets. Second he packed papers proving that he's an adult and can live on his own and has a good salary and job, and third he has lollipops, why? Because he's sure his father is evil to the point that he won't serve candy and cakes early... So Y/N is ready, he was going to take the hospital scalpel but Sammy stopped him and beat him up for that idea... But that's okay.

Y/N took a deep breath, pressed the bell button and waited for someone to open the door, as he expected and saw in his TV series the butler opened the door!... He should really expect from watching those TV series... "Welcome Mr. Y/N, please come in, Mr. Bruce is waiting for you." Alfred stepped aside to let Y/N in, Y/N entered with closed eyes... Why is the house glowing from the inside? Did they buy the sun or something?... Y/N made a note to himself to take sunglasses with him next time... He was sure that if he got out of here alive that meant there would be a next time... Y/N followed Alfred into the dining room, as he walked behind the butler Y/N was looking at the paintings, Bruce and his children... Why are they all wearing black in the pictures? Y/N didn't think much about it, all he wanted was cake... The world is hard sometimes.

When they arrived at the dining room, Bruce greeted them in a formal suit and a bright smile with a model's pose... Y/N wanted to leave now. Bruce approached him with the same smile "Hello son, glad you came." Y/N nodded "Yes, hello, Mr. Wayne." Bruce frowned at Y/N's formal response "You can call me dad you know, no one here but family..." Y/N ignored Bruce's words and sat down in one of the chairs before they forced him to sit next to Bruce. Bruce sighed and sat down in his chair at the head of the table "Well, that's okay, maybe later. Now I want you to meet your siblings, not everyone is here yet but they will be soon." Y/N looked around the table, there were only two people who hadn't arrived... "First off, this is my son Damian." Bruce pointed at Damian, Y/N remembered all the pictures taken of Damian and Bruce, Damian didn't smile once... Creepy. "And this is Timothy." Bruce then pointed to Tim who nodded in greeting and said, "You can call me Tim." Y/N nodded and Bruce continued, "And this is my daughter, Cassandra." Cassandra waved and Y/N did the same. "And this is Duke" Bruce pointed to Duke who smiled shyly at Y/N and Y/N smiled back at Duke. Bruce then pointed to Stephanie who introduced herself before Bruce could. "Hi!! Oh my god, nice to finally meet you!! I'm Stephanie, you can call me Steph." Stephanie extended her hand to shake Y/N's who laughed at her enthusiasm and then shook hers in return. Bruce smiled as he watched his son integrate so seamlessly into the family. Timothy's plan to bring Y/N here via cupcakes was genius.

Maybe bringing chili pepper was a bit much, the family seemed pretty normal… except for the kid, he still looked scary to Y/N, if looks could kill, Y/N would be dead. “Well, time to serve dinner.” Alfred said as he brought the plates with Cassandra’s help. “Cake?!” Y/N said excitedly as he looked at the plates Alfred was holding. Alfred laughed and said, “No, dessert is after dinner, Mr. Y/N.” Y/N’s smile faded, he knew they would keep the cakes late… that’s why he brought the lollipops… He pulled one out of his bag and it caught Damian’s attention. “Aren’t you going to eat Alfred’s food?” Those were Damian’s first words to Y/N and he felt the tone was familiar… Y/N didn’t think much of it, the point was to answer the kid before he choked him. “I came for the cake, so I’d rather keep my stomach empty for dessert.” Y/N said as he put the lollipop in his mouth.

Damian raised an eyebrow at Y/N's words and everyone at the table turned their attention to Y/N who felt like he was in exam class. "We know you love cake but we didn't expect it to be this bad." Stephanie said with a playful smile and Cassandra nodded at her words. Y/N said nothing as he looked at his plate, his pasta... well it looked delicious... but he still wanted cake first. So he pushed the plate away from him. "Can't I have cake now?" Y/N looked at Alfred sadly. But Alfred has strict rules, no dessert unless you eat the main course first. Y/N sighed and looked at his father... then a brilliant idea came to him.

“Dad… can you help me with my plate?” Bruce who was about to choke when Y/N called him dad, looked up from his food to Y/N… Y/N was looking at Bruce with big sad eyes. Bruce was confused… he didn’t know what to do, because his children had never looked at Bruce that way before… in fact no one had… he wasn’t trained to handle this “Okay, I’ll eat your plate.” Bruce sighed in defeat and took Y/N’s plate. Stephanie, Duke, and Tim laughed at Y/N and Bruce’s actions. “Oh man, I can’t believe you made B do what you ordered!” Duke said looking at Bruce who now had two plates and Y/N who was smiling proudly at his great accomplishment. Damian was watching Bruce in shock. Had his father just given in to the demands of someone who had come to the mansion for the first time in his life? No way... Then Damian looked up at Y/N... He should be careful of him in the future, he wouldn't let him take the Robin suit.

While everyone was asking Y/N about himself and his job, he heard the door open, Y/N turned to the door to see two people… oh Bruce’s sons. “Sir Jason, Sir Richard, you’re late, please sit down so I can serve you dinner.” Alfred said who immediately went to the kitchen. “Thank you Alfred. Sorry for being late, but Jason is not an easy person to bring here.” Richard said smiling cheerfully as Jason sighed as he sat down lazily in his chair. “I didn’t want to waste Alfred’s food, that’s why I came.” Jason said aggressively, Jason was sitting next to Y/N who was now terrified. Jason was huge… to his right was Damian who was terrifying enough… and now to his left sat a huge man who could crush him in seconds… reminding him of Red Hood whom he had met before…

Richard had been excited all morning to meet his big brother, finally he wasn't the big one anymore, he could be pampered... Richard approached Y/N from behind while Y/N was distracted by Jason and hugged him from behind which startled Y/N who screamed in horror and hit Richard's head hard, Richard fell unconscious from the headbutt and at the same moment Y/N accidentally pushed Damian's arm causing Damian to throw his spoon in Tim's face... Tim got angry and threw his spoon at Damian who decided to wage war on Tim, he was angry enough that day. Jason and Stephanie burst out laughing and took out their phones. Alfred had already set out a few plates of cupcakes. Y/N wasn't focusing on the trouble he caused, he was focusing on the cupcakes... He had to take the cupcakes, he got away from Damian and Tim who decided to wrestle on the table, Y/N moved to the other side of the table, where the cupcakes were. And he started to collect the plates, since no one was sitting now, Stephanie and Jason were filming Tim and Damian, documenting Richard who was lying on the floor unconscious while Duke was trying to separate Damian and Tim from each other, Y/N asked Alfred for cupcake containers for the cupcakes, Alfred didn’t hesitate to get them, Y/N immediately took the containers and started to grab the cupcakes so he could leave quickly, Cassandra was helping Y/N collect the cupcakes and keep the food away from Damian and Tim. Bruce stood up to stop Damian and Tim who were literally about to kill each other and Duke who gave up and left them while Y/N collected all the cupcakes, but he still needed to apologize to Richard, so he took the lollipop out of his bag and put it in Richard’s pocket then ran out of the dining room as fast as he could with a bag full of cupcakes. He did it! He left alive!

Bruce sighed as he looked at Y/N out the window, then turned to Damian and Tim angrily while Alfred was cleaning the table and Cassandra was trying to wake Richard up, Stephanie and Jason were sharing pictures of Barbara who couldn't come and editing the videos to make them funnier. "That ended badly tonight." Bruce said in frustration... "But it's okay, there's definitely next time." Jason laughed at Bruce's words and replied sarcastically, "Oh yeah, next time will be more fun."

Bruce sighed again and sat back in the chair thinking of a new plan to bring his son here, and keep him here forever this time.

@roxy776699 @missmannequin @theultimatezazasniffer @chericia @mybones537 @thegothamsiren

[lucygraysboy]

“no, i don’t think so. the amount of embarrassment would kill us,” he reasons with a laugh, wondering why it’s always kind of awkward seeing old videos of yourself. “it’s only a matter of time, lucy gray. i’m bein’ serious here, okay? your followers count on youtube keeps growin’, tickets to your upcoming show sold out in a day, and i’m pretty sure i’ve stumbled upon a fan page or two dedicated to you and the covey on instagram, that means something. people are curious. they want to see more of you, and you… well, you were born for this.” to be a super star. everyone can see it, billy thinks. what she needs is a good PR manager and a record deal, and she’ll be the next international sensation. “they keep me warm,” he unabashedly admits, beaming at the doe-eyed girl and shrugging innocently. god, sometimes he wishes he could read her mind. “i’ve always wondered what actors’ children think of stuff like that. i mean, just imagine, ten or fifteen years from now, my child turns on the TV, finds some random movie and suddenly there’s daddy on the screen makin’ out with another man.” must be a funny feeling. laughing when she buries her face in his sweater, her cold forehead sending shivers down his spine despite the thick layer of wool protecting him. at least she’s not trying to put her frozen hands under his sweater. “you can stay right where you are, i’ll be your portable heater. i could carry you back home, but maybe runnin’ is a better option.” nodding his head, thinking she’s got a point — running will keep their blood warm. he squeezes her hand and takes off, making sure her little legs can keep up. his sled almost flipping over on several occasions, but he manages to return it unscathed.

“you’re my favorite backup singer, you got a pretty voice.” lucy gray compliments, smiling sweetly. the added sweetness to her smile comes easily at the thought of how he’s always been the best team player. “that sounds the coolest.” she softly laughs, sparkles in her doe eyes as she looks at him across the park. “why sabotage mine just so you have to freeze your ears off?” so like her to be mad at him but not wanting him to freeze either. “a—?!” a what show, but hand covers her mouth, laughter spilling out of her. knowing she can’t repeat that, it’s not appropriate to yell out gay in public. “i’d like to, but i’m not so sure i can handle it. i should’ve worn more clothing.” teeth chattering, dragging the sled behind her while reaching out for his hand. “can you lock me up in your jacket too?” playfully questioning.

[ididntthinkiwould]

I was inspired by all the tiktok edits using Mexican songs for JayVik, so I decided to do an AU where they're mariachis!!

Viktor's cane is hanging off a string in his belt, it's something I saw a man using the other day while on public transportation and I thought Viktor would totally use it too lmao

More about the AU:

🔹️In this AU both Jayce and Viktor are Mexican, Viktor's parents are immigrants that met in Mexico, his dad is Polish and his mom is Czech, but Viktor was 100% born in Mexico

🔹️Jayce and Viktor met when they were kids, they instantly became friends

🔹️They started singing together when they were kids at the parties Jayce's family organized to entertain the guests, but they were really good at it

🔹️as they grew up Jayce's aunts and uncles started inviting them to parties specifically to sing

🔹️family's friends then started inviting them to their parties to sing and paid them, that's when Jayce and Viktor realized they could make money out of it

🔹️they both studied in the UNAM, but kept singing on the side as a way to make money

🔹️The idea was using the money they got singing on bars and parties as a way to fund their research

🔹️Then they met Mel, who owns a very important record label, she convinced them both to sign a contract with her

🔹️Viktor isn't so sure about it because singing was just their side job, but Jayce tells him that they could make even more money to fund their research, so Viktor reluctantly agrees

🔹️both of them know how to play several instruments, but after they sign the contract with Mel, Viktor mostly focuses on playing violin and being the harmony to Jayce's vocals, they go from being a duet to Jayce being the main singer

🔹️They get extremely famous very quickly, Jayce becomes a celebrity

🔹️Mel and Jayce then start dating

🔹️Viktor dislikes how forgotten their whole research is while he gets sicker and sicker. After some time he start experimenting with illegal drugs as a way to cure his illness

🔹️this leads to an accident caused by Viktor that ends up with Sky's death (Sky was one of the musicians they play with during concerts)

🔹️Viktor is pretty shaken by it, but Jayce doesn't notices as he's to focused on the fame and his relationship with Mel

🔹️during a concert, a bomb goes off near the stage and Viktor gets badly injured

As a bonus, the song I think Jayce is singing here to Viktor is "Paloma Querida" here's a translation of a fragment because that song fits so well with JayVik:

"You found me in a dark path

Like a pilgrim without direction and without faith

And the light of your divine eyes

Changed my sadness for happiness and pleasure

Since then, I feel loving you

With all the strength my soul gives me

Since then, dear dove

I've changed my chest for a dovecot"

Aaaand, that's all for now, let's see if I get around to making the other illustrations I have in mind for their divorce and them getting reunited lmao

Hopefully it won't be full illustrations because the lineart in this one was kicking my ass lol

[aftepes]

Febuwhump Day 26 Zaundads Week Day 7

Concealing an Injury/To the Last Drop. Little bit of hurt/comfort. Little bit of Hope.

He hadn’t been here since before the bridge. Since they were happy, since Felicia was alive. But what choice did he have now? Bleeding out, slowly, he clutched at his side, trying to staunch the flow of blood from the wound. Hold himself together. He wouldn’t make it to the caves, he wouldn’t make it to his own hideaways. The Drop was his only hope. And Vander hadn’t changed the keys. He could still unlock the doors, Vander hadn’t taken that from him. Like he was still welcome. And the man himself was cleaning the bar, closing up. Night was becoming dawn, but he was still working. Perhaps he had put the girls to bed, come back to clean up. Perhaps the night had been long, bar fights and demanding patrons. His head snapped up with the door, and he stilled. And Silco stilled in turn. Stared. For all Vander had changed, in the years, the lines of smiles, peppery grey beard, he was just the same. The same softness, the same strength. He just stared. Because after all this time, it was Vander. Vander, who he had loved, Vander, who had killed him. “Fuck’s sakes Sil, you’re bleeding all over my floor. Just mopped there.” Vander acted like it was normal, like there was no time passing between them. Like Silco had just been in a fight, he was always getting into scrapes. 

“I’ve had worse.” He grumbled. Immediately defensive. Immediately regretting coming here, trying to hide the severity of the wound. “Then clean up, huh.” Vander went to him, all the same, grabbed his head in one huge hand to search his face, looking at his one good eye, blackened from the fight, wiping blood from his lip, his nose. His touch was so gentle, always so gentle. His calloused hands cleaned the blood from Silco’s face, made sure he stayed standing. And with the same gentle, massive hands, he moved Silco’s hand away from the biggest wound. “Shit, Sil.” Vander urged him into one of the chairs, hesitated, over the buttons of his shirt. “Can I? I need to see how bad it is. We need to get this cleaned up.” “Do what you have to do.” Silco grimaced. Mostly over the way his breath hitched at Vander’s hands on the buttons of his shirt, at the care in his touch. The way he could no longer look at Vander, the way Vander focused so much on him.  “What happened?” Vander opened Silco’s shirt, exposed the deep stab. He ran his finger underneath it, so gentle. So careful.

“Never mind that, Vander.” He dismissed. The enforcers had been closing in on his territory, he’d ended up in a fight he couldn’t win. “Just help me get patched up enough to get out of your way.”

“You’re not in my way, canary.” Vander used the old pet name, gentle, so calm, he cleaned the wounds with a clean bar rag, a bowl of water still warm from the kettle. “Should stay overnight. Make sure nothing’s infected.” He continued, cleaning until the wounds could be bandaged. Wrapped clean cloth around his waist, tight enough to close the wound. Not perfect, but it would do. He’d had worse. He’d cleaned worse off of Vander.

“I can’t do that.” He wanted to. He wanted to collapse forward into Vander, hold on to him. He wanted to feel those strong arms around him, bury his face. He just wanted to hold on to Vander, to plead for the pain to go away. To seek comfort, in the man he’d loved. The man he thought would be by his side through all of this.

Vander reached up, once more. Brushed his thumb over his split lower lip. Cradled his face. “Please, Sil. Stay.”

He couldn’t refuse the plea in those storm colored eyes. Couldn’t stay away. He slid off the chair, forward, until he was pushed against Vander. Until his head was notched into Vander’s shoulder, His hands pushed around the broad expanse of his waist. And Vander wrapped his arms around Silco, rubbed his back, just the way he had, all those years ago.

“I’ve got you, Sil. I’ve got you.”

“Just for tonight.”

[airas-story]

https://www.tumblr.com/airas-story/770904004268048384/httpswwwtumblrcomairas-story7591035972974673?source=share

I would absolutely read anything you write about this trio. Maybe random ficlets from this universe but they don't have to be related? Since you are not sure of the long form content.

Maybe something slightly angsty-fluffy where Morgan falls sick or gets kidnapped

From the same AU as drabbles one and two. I played around with your two suggestions... but I just couldn't get either to work right now. So I instead did some of the earlier moments, since it's still in universe. No Pepper or Morgan in this one, though, just some setup.

“Here, to the left is the lake,” Tony said, tone officious. “Of significance is the time Morgan threw herself off the pier without floaties while she and Pepper were swimming. I was going to a meeting… Didn’t happen. My suit didn’t survive the rescue.”

“A fair exchange,” Stephen pointed out, amusement drowning out his anxiety. He and Tony had been dating for several months, but this was his first time at the cabin, ‘meeting’ Pepper and Morgan as Tony’s partner—not just a friend. “Did she learn from the incident?”

“She learned I’ll always jump in after her,” Tony said, laughter in his voice. “Not so much to stop doing it. She’s good enough at swimming it’s no longer heart-attack inducing.” He moved on. “Now, if you turn your attention to the right, you’ll see the alpaca pen where Gerald eats all our goji berries.”

Stephen snorted. “Never been a fan. Let Gerald eat them.”

“Don’t let Pepper hear you say that,” Tony said. “She loves them.” Tony glanced at the cabin then back to Stephen. “Speaking of Pepper... Ready to meet them or do you want to continue our tour?”

Stephen’s heart jumped. “I’ve met them before,” he pointed out.

“Then why are you nervous?” Tony retorted. He leaned in for a kiss. “There’s no reason to be.”

In theory. Stephen knew Tony wouldn’t be dating him if Pepper wasn’t okay with it. Stephen and Pepper got along and while he’d only met Morgan twice, Morgan had seemed to like him. Why was he nervous?

“What if…”

“I wouldn’t be bringing you home if you weren’t welcome,” Tony said quietly. “You fit Stephen. And as long as that’s something you want…”

“I do,” Stephen whispered. “I just—”

“Then don’t stress,” Tony said. “They’ll love you. I do, after all.”

[anon-sect]

Story requested by @marcos1225

Uninvited

Part 1

Carlos heard that five of his best friends from high school were going to be in town for the weekend. It had been several years since they all had gotten together. They had kept in touch on a regular every month. Seeing it was the perfect time, he sent an invite to Alejandro, Miguel, Ricardo, and Tomas. They all responded back enthusiastically. He was so looking forward to the weekend.

While over at his cousin's place, Pedro happened to notice the stream of text when Carlos laid his phone down. "Whose party?" He asked him.

"Just me and my five best friends from high school are hanging out this weekend. We haven't done it in a long time." Carlos closed his phone. He was slightly annoyed that his cousin was being nosey.

"Can I come over then?" Pedro asked him. He liked hanging out with his super cool cousin.

"Not this time. I just want it to be my five friends and I. We have a lot to catch up on." Carlos paused. "Besides, they don't know you. Some of the stories we will talk about, you won't be familiar with. But, next time I have a party, you can come." He explained to Pedro, hoping he would understand.

"I understand," Pedro replied, feeling disappointed.

The weekend arrived as all five friends pulled up to chill and hand out. Carlos had a load of snacks set up as well as the beer and sodas.

Carlos greeted everyone and invited them in. It was a great time meeting up again. They all enjoyed their time together, remembering the good times and catching each other up on what was new.

Carlos then heard his doorbell ring. He got up to see who it was. He opened the door to see it was Pedro. "What's up?" He asked him, curious as to why he was at his place.

"I came for the party. I hope I am not late." Pedro spoke, waiting on the invite to come in.

"I told you earlier in the week, It was a private party. Remember?" Carlos reminded him.

"I just thought you would change your mind if I showed up." Pedro tried to reason with him, but seeing that Carlos wouldn't budge.

"I haven't, so just leave, okay." Carlos was slightly annoyed by this point.

Pedro would not take no for an answer. He pushed Carlos aside and walked in. "I think I will stay." He continued on in.

Alejandro, Miguel, Tomas, and Ricardo looked up as Pedro walked in the room. They didn't reconigize him. They saw Carlos walking behind him with an annoyed look on his face. "Sorry about this, my cousin is just leaving, right?" Carlos directed his statement at Pedro.

"No." Pedro simply said as he started eating some of the snacks.

Carlos was starting to get upset with his cousin. "Please just leave, okay." He was trying not to get too upset over Pedro ruining their good time.

"If I can't stay, I may as well bring some beer back home with me then." Pedro spoke up, seeing that he truly was not welecomed. He took out his phone and opened up this TF Pro Max app. He walked around and pointed the camera at his five friends. He hit the flash option at the camera focused.

Carlos saw all of his friends get turned into beer cans right before his eyes. He saw Pedro gather them up in his hands. "Turn them back to normal right now!" He demanded.

"I need something to drink at my place. But since this really bothers you, I know how to fix that." Pedro put done the cans and pointed the phone camera at Carlos and hit the flash. He picked up the last beer can. "I am sure you six will taste so good while I sit and watch tv." He laughed as he gathered all six beer cans and went back to his house.

Carlos was surprised his own cousin had turned him into a can of beer to drink. It was all because he wasn't invited to a private party. He couldn't scream for help or even run away. He was powerless as he was carried away to his cousin's house to quench his thirst. He only hoped that Pedro wouldn't actually drink them. He didn't want to be guzzled into his belly.

Pedro got back home, which was only a few houses down from Carlos's place. He sat the six beer cans on the table. He forgot the order he had picked them up in. He didn't know which can was which guy. He could end up drinking his cousin first or just one of his friends.

TO BE CONTINUED..........

[cheralith]

— always in your orbit.

character ; itoshi rin || wc ; 1.0k contains/cw ; gn!reader, they/them pronouns, she/her pronouns used not for reader synopsis ; you and rin run into a stray kitten when you walk home together one evening after school.

when you and rin were schoolmates, there was a large land-locked lake that you and him had to pass on your way home since you and him were neighbors on the same black. a large, vast mirror, it often reflected the setting sun and it was a sight for you to savor and engrain into your memory. there was indeed a shortcut to get to the block faster, but you insisted on walking there to take in the view.

in your third year, just before you left for college, you and him ran into a stray kitten, abandoned and left to die in a shallow cardboard box at the bottom of the hill leading into the lake. probably the runt of litter, it was small enough to curl into the palm of rin's hand, the noir of its fur spreading like ink, mimicking rin's own locks. its mewl was just barely there, clearly malnourished and weak.

you had burst out into tears at the sight, your heart clenching so tightly at the sad scene unfolding before you. given how close it was to the water, it might’ve accidentally tossed itself in and drowned. fate was on its side today at least. you wanted to take the poor thing home so badly, but your mother detested cats and your sibling had a severe cat allergy. rin, in a panic at the sight of your overflowing tears, had babbled that he'll take it home and nurse it to take it to the shelter. that shut you up good to his relief.

"can i visit it?" you had asked, wiping your face on your sleeve.

rin nodded shyly as he picked up the box with the kitten in it, making sure it rested properly in the safety of the scrappy box as he wondered what he had gotten himself into just because he wanted to make you stop crying.

because you and rin had found him just before you and him left for university, you only got to visit the kitten a spare number of times before you left the suburbs and into the big city. but in the times you were able to, rin couldn't help but let his affection for you grow as you played with the small kitten, happily laughing whenever it did any tricks to your pleasure. he supposes the addition of the kitten mewling for you to pay attention to it whenever your eyes weren't on it didn't help either, both parties clearly having an affection for each other.

"are you gonna name her?" you had asked on what would be your last visit for awhile, "i thought you guys were gonna take her to the shelter once she was nursed back to health."

rin shrugged, watching intently from his desk as you wiggled your fingers and tickled the kitten's small, now much more plump belly thanks to rin and his parents' care. "dunno. we just call her kitty for now."

you deadpanned. "you named a kitten 'kitty?' you can't be serious."

"i'm not the best creative," he muttered as he returned back to his homework. "it's not like we're gonna keep her anyway, i don't want to get too attached to her."

years later, unbeknownst to you, the cat, now four times bigger and a little chubbier than most, still resides within the walls of the itoshi residence. because you only got to visit home a spare number of times, you hardly had any times to visit your neighbors on the block to check up on how they were doing, how rin was doing. a small ditch formed itself between you and rin's friendship, as he went to study abroad in paris so he could play for pxg while you stayed in the country to attend the local city school, meaning that communication was often scarce. but you still tried, though it often ended up with emptiness from his end.

eventually it was clear that your energy for him was going nowhere, so you stop trying to text him to see how he's doing. so you're a little surprised when one weekend that you come home, your parents tell you to get ready for a surprise dinner with the itoshis, and that though you only think it'd just be rin's parents, their youngest son sitting in the living room.

it was the first time you had seen him in three years. he was taller, more handsome, more mature. you don't see it, but when rin looks back at you, something glimmers in his eyes when he spots you looking prettier, more elegant, more sophisticated. both of you are clearly in the awkward pool, trying to gather up the right words as you're reunited for the first time in years.

he swallows thickly after two anxious "hello"'s have been exchanged. he coughs.

"you look—" rin's voice cracks.

at twenty-one years old, the ghost of puberty still seems to haunt him and he can't think of a more embarrassing moment for his voice to enact in such a manner.

both of you abruptly pause. a flush of pink scatters across his face in the moment of silence.

"... good. you look good," he mutters, his voice tight in embarrassment.

you giggle, that same giggle that rin would often replay in his mind when he was abroad in paris and feeling homesick, the sound of your bubbly laugh reminding him of home.

"not too bad yourself," you murmur softly, grinning as you give him a light, teasing punch. a quiet forgiveness blessed upon him at your gentle eyes looking at him, ones he's missed looking deeply into.

rin would never tell you, but there was something about your touch that'd always send his nerves rushing a certain warmth through his veins, always feeling a little lighter for some reason, less tense.

when you and him settle down at the table, his father perks up as he plates the pickled vegetables.

"oh, rin," he says and turns to his son, "before we eat, make sure to give (y/n) her tuna with her food."

at the sound of your name, you lift your head, confused. next to you, rin's eyes widen and a panic bubbles inside of them at his dad's reminder.

"oh, um," you begin to start, blinking. "thank you, but i'm actually allergic to fish."

suddenly, a loud meow is heard from behind you and the sound of a cat perks your ears. before rin has a chance to reply, you turn and see a familiar black cat strutting into the kitchen, tail swishing in the air.

"i thought—!" you turn back to rin, who has another fluster of rouge running across his face and the tip of his ears.

"ohoho, oops," rin's father laughs heartily to his son's disdain. "forgot about that. you see..."

rin shoots daggers at his father. "dad, don't."

his father only smiles at him before he turns to you, tittering a bit with his wife who seems to know where he's headed.

"... our cat's name is also named (y/n)."

a/n ; not the best thing i've written but i still wanted to write it since i was inspired by this one page from ao haru ride and thought that kou and rin would def be one in the same if rin were ever a shojo protag. esp since both characters have conflicts with their older brothers lol

[mzannthropy]

Anne of the Island Book Club Chapter 25

Good to be back at Redmond again.

Anne contemplates going out vs staying in, but from the way they're described, both sound good.

Shall I spend it here where there is a cosy fire, a plateful of delicious russets, three purring and harmonious cats, and two impeccable china dogs with green noses? Or shall I go to the park, where there is the lure of gray woods and of gray water lapping on the harbor rocks?

LMM once again summarises life at Patty's Place in several paragraphs when I wish she gave us at least one scene of this. Slice of life was something she excelled at. I said what I thought of Jonas already, but it's good that he's a regular visitor at PP--and he clearly makes an effort in seeing Phil if he needs to get on a train. 'If he wanted to, he would' and clearly Jonas does. The geography here has always confused me, though. Where is this St Columbia, where is Bolingbroke and Prospect Point in relation to Kingsport? It's not that important for the book, but I like knowing where a story takes place (When I read something set in a real place, I always look it up on a map. I know many of these are fictional, but I'd like to have an idea.) I wonder, though, if there were many people who agreed with Aunt Jamesina about ministers laughing, and I wonder if this will have implications for his future employment.

Gilbert's conduct towards Anne has drastically changed, but it had to be that way. He shot his shot and it didn't go as he wanted, so he wants to move on--can't blame him. Funny that Anne is the one who believes that Phil is not just flirting with Jonas, but at the same time, hearing Phil and Gilbert chat and joke with each other makes her think she only imagined that look of pain in Gilbert eyes when she refused him. She knows Phil cares for Jonas only. (Actually--and this is purely theoretical, mind you--you could make an argument in favour of Phil x Gilbert. Sure, he is poor, but it's not like he doesn't have prospects, and with her connections she would be able to get him a good position once he qualifies as a medical doctor. They could be good for each other. But that would be a different story, not this one.)

If the real Prince Charming was never to come she would have none of a substitute.

This is actually valid. Don't settle, ladies. (I mean this as in your version of Prince Charming, whatever the characteristics may be. (I'm speaking to straight women here bc that's what I am, but it should go for everyone, I think.))

Okay but. I swear on the life of my cat I don't want to be heretical on purpose, I can't help being what I am, but that meet cute at the park is. Well. Cute.

I like parks. I go to one almost every day (I wfh and take a walk there on my lunch break). One of my favourite places in the whole world is a giant park (see my photography, in fact I went there just last Saturday and posted some pics here too). I also like pavilions (in fact I wrote an original story set in such a structure, where two characters get engaged). And he has a good entrance, though for us modern readers the meeting may seem a bit stereotypical. But he knows her name already from her reading a paper on Tennyson, and this is something that matters to her (I mean, she almost drowned RP-ing his poem). And then he sends her roses and a nice quote? I know he's not the one but I can't really see fault with anything here. And from what Phil says, Roy Gardner seems quite the catch. Maybe in a different story, not this one.

Poor Rusty got snubbed, though. Cats look at us like we're committing crimes against them when we don't pay attention to them for 5 minutes, so I imagine his "why you no love me no more?" must have been devastating.

Note, in Slovak translation he was always called 'Roy', I didn't know he was actually 'Royal' in the original. I will continue calling him Roy.

[rei-ismyname]

That is a really good point. I'd love to see that too, though I think it could go either way. At that point in time Logan is so high on his own farts and pretty much everyone enables him. He's never been especially shy about trying to kill Scott himself. It may not be explicit but are there many ways to slash or stab a moving target non-lethally with science fiction sharp metal claws?

I guess that's Logan though, right? Violent and hypocritical. I'm sure he'd have complicated feelings privately, likely filtered through his Jean obsession with a hint of 'a warrior deserves a better death than that.' That's just speculation though, the point is that we didn't get it, reflecting or otherwise.

I absolutely agree that Logan behaved worse, however he wants as usual. I've been re-reading bits of the Utopia era and for all that people complain about Scott and blame him for whatever - without him every single mutant would have died several times over. I think he's held to an impossible standard during the most difficult time for mutants and then cast aside once the crisis was over. He wasn't just a military leader either - he dealt with political crises and an ongoing extinction event while being attacked by governments, paramilitary groups, robots from the future, demons, etc etc times a million. We should always criticise our leaders and what they do in our name but nobody else put their hand up. I believe whoever was in that position would have received similar treatment while doing a worse job. We'll never know, but it's interesting that the Jean Grey school didn't really face any serious threats.

Yeah, fuck Old Man Logan though I appreciate that Jean herself got to emphatically reject his bullshit. It's hypocrisy either way, but especially coming from that fool.

Yeah, I mean dude has his chance to and he threatened, terrified and traumatised them. I know you mean that Doylistically, but I was pretty satisfied with the kids' reaction to that clown as any kind of moral authority. The Jean Grey school was built from glass and Logan threw a lot of stones. Him internalising young Jean's disgust would break the pedestal Marvel built for Logan. Creepy MF.

Yeah Rosenberg's run was peak Logan Behavior. Everyone was getting in on it so Scott did the sensible thing and abdicated/decentralised leadership. Still got blamed for everything. Logan's emotional immaturity is never more apparent than the Rahne situation (which was a terrible choice btw. Spot on trans coding with nothing new to say, just fodder for Logan's violence.) It's there on the page for once - what was anyone supposed to do to prevent that? She walked away to live her life how she wanted. Short of locking her up, that's life. Agreed re the funeral.

I have a grudge too.

Yeah, I mean I'm always going to be glad they did something new. Broke the cycle of misery that had been going on for at least a decade. I feel like a lot of grudges were put away to make it work, though they were never truly buried. The problem with Logan is that he's too damn popular and it's frozen his personality at where it was in the nineties. People change around him and just accept how he behaves. We could be generous and say that the apologies and growth happened off page. Not only is that unlikely (his behaviour hasn't changed a bit) but it's a waste of character growth. I'm not the average Wolverine enthusiast (I assume) but that would be great to see.

I'm adding that to my wishlist too, though I doubt it'll ever happen. I think Wolverine fans can handle some honest emotional growth and consequences for his actions, but Marvel is conservative with their cash cow.

Cyclops mourns Logan

Pretty sure he's dated more psychics than that

They really called it Cyclops in YOU. Hell yeah. Anyway, Logan is dead. Scott, unaware that he's in a comic book, is treating this event as if it's forever. Lucky for us, because their messed up relationship is like crack for me. He considers how Logan was his most complicated relationship, and that's a lot coming from him.

There's definitely resentment there, because Logan was and is a selfish jerk. It's refreshing honesty, and very Scott Summers. He's remembering all the different ways in which Logan made his life harder, acted like a creep, or spited him needlessly, yet Logan's death is keeping Scott up at night.

I love this flashback to after the Dark Phoenix Saga (I think) and it makes pretty clear that Logan transferred his idealisation from Jean to Scott. Scott is standing at his wife's grave and somehow Logan manages to make literally everything about him. At least he acknowledges his grief and says 'sorry for your loss.' Wait, no that doesn't happen actually. The bastard just tells him he's not allowed to quit because of his psychosexual obsession. I wonder what Scott is thinking as he walks off. An optic blast in the back would be somewhat justified (and funny) but Scott usually has better self control than that.

He considers the aftermath of Fatal Attractions, when Magneto performed field surgery on his bones. Logan definitely wasn't used to not being immortal and the apex murderer. His recovery was long and his whining intense.

Is Scott biting Magneto there?

Scott approaches Logan as he's punishing himself in the Danger Room and echoes his words back to him, offering him a hand up. He remembers the heartwarming threats and the good times shared together fighting for their lives. Brothers in grief and violence, rivals who are simultaneously paternal figures to each other.

Scott is very prone to blaming himself for things going wrong, and Logan was always there to remind him. I don't think he's being fair on himself but he never really is. Blaming Scott for things is an X-Men sport. He repeats Logan's insane words for a third time - 'we don't get to quit.' Scott cries in the snow on all fours outside the base where Logan was repeatedly tortured and dehumanised, but he doesn't quit.

Scott imagines what Logan's funeral would be like, and he's not far off. He thinks hard about an appropriate way to honour his memory. The answer is obvious - alcohol and violence. I have no doubt Scott knows exactly where every mutant hater watering hole is, but it's funnier to imagine him wandering around until he finds one.

Proving he knows him pretty damn well, Scott sends Logan off by beating the shit out of some bigots and drinking over their unconscious bodies. 'Here's to you, bub. See you in a year or so.' Cyclops is pretty famous at this point, so these dudes probably know exactly who he is. They'll be telling that story for a while, of the time they were drinking and hating on mutants then Scott Summers came out of nowhere to fuck them up. Logan wouldn't be proud exactly, but he'd probably grunt and call him bub. That's practically 'I love you' from Logan, and Scott loves his dumb ass too.

[cockroachesunite]

i have no explanation for this

[runningracingdancingchasing]

Rapunzel was eager to get her mother out of the tower and Aladdin out of the wardrobe, but she hid her enthusiasm well this time, packing the basket at a leisurely pace. All the more reason to, since Gothel kept grumbling about the weather and how her best cloak was still soaked through, even after sitting by the fire for several minutes.

But Rapunzel reminded her that she had another cloak by the window, and that it was in good condition since she'd mended it. "And look!" she pointed out brightly. "The rain's stopped!"

It was true. The heavier clouds were drifting away, leaving a lovely break and a bright stream of light that made the freshly-washed world glitter.

Gothel donned her alternate cloak with a gentle sigh and took Rapunzel softly by the shoulders.

"You're sure you'll be alright without me?" she pressed.

"I know nothing can happen to me, so long as I stay in here," Rapunzel agreed. And it was the truth! But what Gothel didn't know was that Rapunzel didn't want to go on with nothing happening to her. There was a whole world waiting for her, and tomorrow was her eighteenth birthday, and she was determined to see the lights up close!

"I'll return in three days' time," was the gentle assurance, and her mother hugged her and kissed the top of her head sweetly. "I love you."

"I love you more," Rapunzel responded with a little smile to their frequent call and response game.

"I love you most." Gothel always got to say, 'I love you most,' as though it were a contest she would always win. With another kiss to the top of Rapunzel's head, Gothel was out the window, Rapunzel bracing to lower her down at a steady, even rate. She waited by the window, watching her go just like she always did, and waved once her mother reached the mouth of the little tunnel that served as entrance to and exit from the valley.

But as soon as she was out of sight, Rapunzel bolted from the window and back to her wardrobe, pulling it open in haste to let Aladdin and Abu out.

"That was close!" she grinned at him. "You guys were so quiet, good job! How did I do getting rid of her? Slick, wasn't I?"

She crossed her arms smugly, hoping for praise from her new friend. Honestly, she was pretty proud of herself! That had gone off without a hitch!

"Rapunzel! Let down your hair!"

Time was up at this point, with no suggestions for where to go nor a place to hide. With no ceremony or precaution, Aladdin felt the tiny hands of the young woman he had been bonding with grab his vest and drag him to a nearby wardrobe before shoving him in equally as unceremoniously. She shushed him and Abu both, with a pointed glare at Abu to show that she meant business. Utmost quiet was needed, and Rapunzel was going to have it. He couldn't help but to stare at the tiny woman in bewilderment as she began to shut the door. From the distance, as the door was shut on him, he heard her mother once more.

"I'm not getting any younger down here, Rapunzel! Or dryer!"

The very insinuation that the girl was taking much too long to... whatever it was she usually did to help her mother get up into the tower made Aladdin seethe. It was such a.... he didn't even really have the words to describe it. But it made him just as mad as any time he had ever been called a 'lowly street rat' back when he had lived in Agrabah. Aladdin leaned down as best as he could and began to peek out of the keyhole in the wardrobe to see if he could see anything. Thankfully, the wardrobe was placed just well enough that Aladdin could barely see Rapunzel as she tossed her hair over a well-placed hook above the outside of the window he had crawled in through. He watched her wait a few beats before she began to painstakingly haul her mother up to the window using her hair. Hand over hand, for at least several minutes! That kind of labor wasn't easy... and he realized belatedly after Mother Gothel stepped into the tower through the window that it must be even harder on Rapunzel than he had originally thought! Gothel was at least several inches taller than Rapunzel and broader, by a small margin, than the much thinner and more delicate-looking young woman. Rapunzel had to be really strong to be able to pull off getting that woman up here without much sign of struggle! She was barely even sweating!

'I'll have to remember not to make her too mad,' Aladdin thought jokingly to himself even as Rapunzel and Gothel began to interact with each other about why Rapunzel was undressed. After Rapunzel made the half-true excuse about having tripped and fallen into the wash basin, the woman called Rapunzel clumsy, so clumsy. Then had the gall to say that she hated having an argument when she had done nothing wrong. He didn't know the full context of the situation, but usually arguments only happened between two people when both of the people lost their tempers. At least... in his experience. He wasn't sure if arguments could even be arguments if one person was calm throughout the conversation.

Still.

Rapunzel made her concession of admitting that the stars were a lot to ask for, and instead asked for the white paint that she had loved so much that Gothel had gotten her so long ago. And even that was made out to sound like such a huge chore for the woman to embark on. Aladdin honestly couldn't stand the way she spoke to Rapunzel, his brows furrowing somewhat dangerously as they continued to talk to each other.

The conversation ended amicably, with Gothel practically ordering Rapunzel to pack a basket of supplies so that Gothel could set out on her new journey to get Rapunzel her coveted white paint made of shells. And Aladdin sat through all of this, quietly seething for the young woman that he was slowly becoming rather fond of.

[gingersnapwolves]

So today I want to talk about puberty blockers for transgender kids, because despite being cisgender, this is a subject I’m actually well-versed in. Specifically, I want to talk about how far backwards things have gone.

This story starts almost 20 years ago, and it’s kind of long, but I think it’s important to give you the full history. At the time, I was working as an administrative assistant for a pediatric endocrinologist in a red state. Not a deep deep red state like Alabama, we had a little bit of a purple trend, but still very much red. (I don’t want to say the state at the risk of doxxing myself.) And I took a phone call from a woman who said, “My son is transgender. Does your doctor do hormone therapy?”

I said, “Good question! Let me find out.”

I went into the back and found the doctor playing Solitaire on his computer and said, “Do you do hormone therapy for transgender kids?” It had literally never come up before. He had opened his practice there in the early 2000s. This was roughly 2006, and the first time someone asked. Without looking up from his game of Solitaire, the doctor said, “I’ve never done it before, but I know how it works, so sure.”

I got back on the phone and told the mom, who was overjoyed, and scheduled an appointment for her son. He was the first transgender child we treated with puberty blockers. But not, by far, the first child we treated with puberty blockers, period. Because puberty blockers are used very commonly for children with precocious puberty (early-onset puberty). I would say about twenty percent of the kids our doctor treated were for precocious puberty and were on puberty blockers. They have been well studied and are widely used, safe, and effective.

Well. It turned out, the doctor I worked for was the only doctor in the state who was willing to do this. And word spread pretty fast in the tight-knit community of ‘parents of transgender children in a red state’. We started seeing more kids. A better drug came out. We saw some kids who were at the age where they were past puberty, and prescribed them estrogen or testosterone. Our doctor became, I’m fairly sure, a small folk hero to this community. 

Insurance coverage was a struggle. I remember copying articles and pages out of the Endocrine Society Manual to submit with prior authorization requests for the medications. Insurance coverage was a struggle for a lot of what we did, though. Growth hormone for kids with severe idiopathic short stature. Insulin pumps, which weren’t as common at the time, and then continuous glucose monitoring, when that came out. Insurance struggles were just part and parcel of the job.

I remember vividly when CVS Caremark, a pharmaceutical management company, changed their criteria and included gender dysphoria as a covered diagnosis for puberty blockers. I thought they had put the option on the questionnaire to trigger an automatic denial. But no - it triggered an approval. Medicaid started to cover it. I got so good at getting approvals with my by then tidy packet of articles and documentation that I actually had people in other states calling me to see what I was submitting (the pharmaceutical rep gave them my number because they wanted more people on their drug, which, shady, but sure. He did ask me if it was okay first).

And here’s the key point of this story:

At no point, during any of this, did it ever even occur to any of us that we might have to worry about whether or not what we were doing was legal.

It just never even came up. It was the medically recommended treatment so we did it. And seeing what’s happening in the UK and certain states in America is both terrifying and genuinely shocking to me, as someone who did this for almost fifteen years, without ever even wondering about the legality of it.

The doctor retired some years ago, at which point there were two other doctors in the state who were willing to prescribe the medications for transgender kids. I truly think that he would still be working if nobody else had been willing to take those kids on as patients. He was, by the way, a white cisgender heterosexual Boomer. I remember when he was introduced to the concept of ‘genderfluid’ because one of our patients on HRT wanted to go off. He said ‘that’s so interesting!’ and immediately went to Google to learn more about it. 

I watched these kids transform. I saw them come into the office the first time, sometimes anxious and uncertain, sometimes sullen and angry. I saw them come in the subsequent times, once they were on hormone therapy, how they gradually became happy and confident in themselves. I saw the smiles on their faces when I gave them a gender marker letter for the DMV. I heard them cheer when I called to tell them I’d gotten HRT approved by insurance and we were calling in a prescription. It was honestly amazing and I will always consider the work I did in that red state with those kids to be something I am incredibly proud of. I was honored to be a part of it.

When I see all this transgender backlash, it’s horrifying, because it was well on the way to become standard and accepted treatment. Insurances started to cover it. Other doctors were learning to prescribe it. And now … it’s fucking illegal? Like what the actual fuck. We have gone so far backwards that it makes me want to cry. I don’t know how to stop this slide. But I wrote this so people would understand exactly how steep the slide is.

[inbabylontheywept]

bad dating stories time: the shoe incident

so in highschool, my best friend wasnt allowed to go on dates unless there was another couple there to keep an eye on him. part of this was his parents being insane, but also, part of it was him being insane. in a problem with no reasonable parties, there are no reasonable solutions.

at some point in my junior year, my sorta-gf broke up with me, and i just wasnt feeling dating, which was bad for my friend, because he had a good thing going with a girl he met in court.

he kind of hounded me about it. kept pushing me to just put me feet back in the dating pool and i wasnt real thrilled about it, because i knew he was pushing me for his own benefit, not mine, so i kept telling him to fuck off, and after a few weeks of being told that i would date when i was damn well ready, he eventually said: okay. what if i paid for the date AND found you a blind date AND all you had to do was show up?

and i shouldve said no, i know, but i let him wear me down, and i will own my fault in that. a date starting on such a stupid premise could never have gone well.

but he still managed to find a way to make it worse.

i dont know how long he tried to set a blind date up. it couldve been multiple attempts. he couldve stooped to this immediately. but what happened in the end was that he called a girl from the ward he attended - a girl that he knew had a giant, mushy crush on him - and he said: hey! how would you feel about going on a date this weekend?

(you know, implying it was with him, but never actually saying it.)

and she said YES WOW I WOULD LOVE TO and he said great! and then he called me up and said he found me a date.

i did not learn about his crimes until several weeks later. i will die swearing before god almighty that i would never have allowed this travesty to happen if i had known.

that was on a monday. the date of the date rolled around that friday evening, and im sorry to confess, i really phoned the whole thing in. i showed up in my favorite comfy outfit, which was also a fashion crime: basketball shorts and flipflops and a baja hoodie. it was super comfy but it made me look kind of crazy. i picked him up first, and then i picked up his date next, and then we went to pick up my date, and thats where you're gonna get the play by play.

i arrived, walked across the yard, and knocked on the front door. she opened it almost immediately, like shed been waiting right by it, and i could see her expression go from OMG IM SO EXCITED to super disappointed, then disgusted and finally pissed. and because i didn't know about my friends sins, i thought it was from my outfit. which seemed... harsh. like, hey, im allowed to be quirky, fuck you. also its a blind date, i thought the deal was that we were both going to be sad broken sacks of mortality.

anyway, we looked at each other for several seconds before she slammed the door in my face.

i looked back at my friend. he was sweating bullets. i dont know what he expected from this, but there was this big long pause where we both tried to figure out what to do, and then the door opened up, and her dad invited me in, and he said she was gonna need a few minutes to finish getting ready, and that in the meantime we could sit and talk.

we did not talk. we did sit. i sat down on the couch, and he sat down in a chair across the couch, and then instead of talking he cleaned his pistol on the coffee table. i wasnt actually sure if it was a threat, or if it was just a fidget thing for 40+ year old republican men, but when i tried to help he got snappy so i just watched him put a pistol back together.

he was okay at it.

eventually my date came downstairs, still mad as hell for reasons beyond my ken, and i felt pretty guilty for being such a mess because i thought that was why she was so angry. i tried to make up for by walking her to the car and getting the door for her, just generally trying to be extra polite, but before i could make it back to the drivers side, her dad called me back to the door. so i flipped around, went to the door, and immediately regreted my decision.

soon as i was within range, her dad got waaaay too close to me, leaned in, and said "whatever you do to her, i will do to you," and my brain went into overdrive making three consecutive realizations.

realization one was, damn, the pistol thing was a threat. that sucks. what an asshole. realization two was, wait, im autistic and even i know theres a 0% chance me and my date even hold hands, least of all boink. does this guy actually think there's even a 1% chance of anyone in that car getting laid tonight? is he an idiot? and then realization three went through, which was wait, is this guy threatening to fuck me? and unfortunately, with my brain doing so much processing, my mouth was left to run amok, so somewhere between realization 2 and 3, i said:

"i can't get pregnant"

which, i swear, wasn't actually me trying to be a smartass, it was just me pointing out that he couldn't actually follow up on that threat. it just wasn't possible. we do not live in the omegaverse and im not scared of you.

still, it was an insanely catastrophic thing to say, and the moment we both heard it, we bluescreened. that single sentence obliterated both of our momentary streams of consciousness like a saltine in front of a sand blaster. problem was, he'd probably gone his whole life not even realizing someone could say something that stupid, and making that realization was going to cost him a lot of thinking time. me though? i had been saying shit like that for 17 years, i didnt have to rewrite my expectations of human nature, i just had to plan an exit and start striding. so i was already halfway back to the car before i heard "hey. hey come back. Hey. Hey. HEY. HEY WAIT. HEY GET BACK HERE. HEY-"

and then i was in my car, and i drove away.

if this happened today, he'd have called her, and the whole thing wouldve imploded then and there, but back then, there were still a decent number of teenagers without cell phones. especially the teenagers of insane, gun toting parents. so she just said: whoa what was that all about? and i said: dont worry about it, he'll tell you about it when you get home.

and she said: ok and went back to staring daggers at me and my friend.

WHICH SURPRISINGLY isnt even how the story ends.

we went to an improv comedy show, and it was a disaster. it shouldve been like, 7/10 tops, but between my date being mad, and my friend having a good time, and me having the existential terror of knowing that a guy with a pistol was probably waiting outside his house for me to come back, it was easily 11/10. i laughed way too hard at everything. especially the jokes that flopped. id sit there in this mostly silent room and laugh until i dry heaved a little, and my date was absolutely disgusted, and even my friend was a little embarrassed, which would just make me laugh harder. i laughed so hard that night i could barely talk the next day. and then the show ended, and my friend said, you know, that was a good time, but i think we should maybe do something a little chiller? who wants to walk around the park? and his date said yeah, and my date said no, and i finally had mercy on the poor woman so i said, look, im gonna drop you off. and i am so, so sorry about this, but im dropping you off like a block away. super duper sorry.

do talk to your dad about the pistols thing if you dont want this happening more in the future tho.

and she said: okay. so i dropped her off, and she walked a block down, and that was that.

then i drove my friend and his date to a park that was good for wandering. i figured they wanted something more private, so instead of following them around point blank, i chose a park with this 30 foot rope tower, and i climbed to the top and i said: hey i can see you anywhere from up here, you are officially chaperoned from a distance. get panopticoned idiot. except my friend really is an idiot, and he didnt really get the whole 'now i dont have to third wheel so insanely hard with you guys' thing so he climbed up the tower too, and then his date followed behind him, so there are three people basically sitting together on top of a telephone pole.

and then they started making out.

i was close enough to hear it.

i didnt really know what to do so i was just kind of sitting there, dissociating, when some college kids came around and started shaking the tower. my friend's date went aaaaaaaaaa im afraid of heights :( and my friend went oh, dont worry, ill hold you tight ;) and i went hey, im gonna climb down and ask them to stop.

so i did climb down, and i did ask them to stop, and they flipped me off, which i wasnt even mad about. at that point i was i was like yeah, it would be weirder if this wasnt a mess. gods plan has been to fly this day like a 747 into my metaphorical twin towers and brother he is close enough for me to see him grinning through the cockpit window. still, eventually the college students got bored, so they climbed up the tower, which gave my friend and his date a window to climb down, and together we walked back to my car.

now, i cant explain why this is, but sitting back in the drivers seat was my carriage-back-into-a-pumpkin moment. i'd been chill about all the chaos, just rolling with the punches, but sitting down made me realize how much of a shitshow the day had been, and while i couldnt go back and fix all of it, i could go back and fix one thing.

so i told my friend and his date, hey, you two, stay here and don't do anything weird. don't. then i walked back to the rope tower, and i started picking up the shoes the college students had left at the base in order to climb.

about halfway through this, i realized that if i took all their shoes, they might think i was in it for the money, and i actually wanted them to know i was in it specifically to spite them. fuck those guys. so i put all the right shoes back, gave myself a 100 foot headstart, yelled "nice shoes, assholes", did a little jig, and started running.

my advice to everyone is that college students are faster than you think. even with the headstart, and the whole climb down the tower thing, i was still only fivish seconds ahead of them by the time i got to my car. i flung the door open, looked in the backseat, didnt see anyone, flung the stolen shoes in the backseat, heard two "ow"s, took that as proof of presence, jumped in and pealed out of the lot.

my friend and his date popped up a few seconds later. they were, uh, doing something weird in the back seat. my one request - obliterated.

they climbed up to ask where the hell all the shoes had come from, and i was like yeah i stole them from the college students, and they were like oh. cool. hope you had fun. and i was like, i did. i did. but speaking of fun, what were you doing back there?

and for the first time in my buddies life, i think he was actually embarassed.

[mayakern]

Things are bad right now.

As many of you know, way back in 2020 we weren’t sure if our business was gonna make it. Our factory was already on break for Lunar New Year–a month-long holiday for many businesses in the area–and with the announcement of COVID19, everything shut down indefinitely. We knew immediately we were in for a bad time. Despite our fears, our sales grew so far beyond anything we ever expected, to the point where we had to hire two employees just to keep up with demand! 

Unfortunately, even after our factory reopened, our problems were not over. Their quality drastically declined almost immediately, to the point that a significant amount of our  fabric would literally fall apart in transit between the factory and our office. Because of this, we discovered that our sales rep had no idea what she was doing and knew nothing about the factory she was representing, so when we told her the fabric was garbage her response was “👍 factory said it’s good!” At the beginning, only roughly 10% of our new product was defective and we were able to sell the affected items with a reasonable discount. By the end of our relationship with that factory, 40% of our midi skirts and 70% of our miniskirts were defective, some affected so severely that they practically fell apart when touched. And still, our rep said everything was fine and there were no problems and the fabric composition had not changed.

So in 2022 we changed factories. We hired Ash to handle this since I was way too busy managing fulfillment to do the amount of research and communication necessary to find us a factory that met our criteria. Finding clothing factories that can make clothing over a size 2-3X is significantly more difficult than one that can’t because it often requires larger and more expensive machinery. But Ash did it: she got us set up with a new factory that has excellent certifications for both their labor practices and their methods for textile production, that delivers consistent, high quality sewing on well made fabric that can be printed without suffering loss in detail–and she was armored with the knowledge for what makes a quality garment so she could check them if they tried to screw us on quality. Their minimum orders were way higher than our previous factory’s, so we decided to focus on ordering more units of fewer designs. We ordered way too much our first round–some of those designs were in stock until the 2024 blowout sale! But it worked out, and slowly we had a warehouse full of stuff to sell.

Fast forward to 2024, business is slowing down between the economy being bad and what seemed to be a general skirt fatigue amongst our customers. We tried expanding into shirts, which would’ve been successful if our minimums were lower. In the late spring we realized we were in trouble if we didn’t make drastic changes and we ultimately decided to end in-house fulfillment and transfer to a third party fulfillment center that would support domestic shipping in Canada and eventually the UK, EU, and Australia. In order to make that transition affordable we drastically discounted everything and that sale was super successful! We were able to begin shipping from the fulfillment center with an almost clean slate, even if it did mean having to close the store for almost two months and thereby missing out on two very important months of sales.

Unfortunately, we were stupid. We continued to order new designs on an every other month schedule instead of switching to an every month schedule, forgetting that having a backstock in a variety of designs is what previously helped us float between orders and now we quite literally didn’t have enough inventory to match the sales we made for last year’s holiday sale.

That brings us to now.

We’re a little stuck. We have a round of skirts in production (yay!) but they won’t get here until February (boo!). To get back on that monthly cycle we would need to order the next round of skirts right now, but we can’t pay for production until that next round of skirts gets here; if the current sale goes well, it’s paying payroll, not production. We are currently in the very difficult, horrible situation of not having enough money for next month’s payroll unless we are somehow able to make significant sales with our very sparse inventory.

We’re scrappy and we do our best to adapt to disasters and I’m sure we’ll find a way to adapt to this one as well, it’ll just take us some time to get there. Basically we’re going to be okay eventually–hopefully later this year–but in the meantime if we seem frantic, now you know why. 

If you’re been considering trying out our viscose shirts but haven’t been able to justify paying full price, they’re on clearance PLUS half off right now! That’s $9-$15 for the viscose tops, and other tops on clearance are $20-$45. Some of the shirts we’re having a LOT of trouble selling are now priced below cost to help us recoup some of the money we spent making them.

Any amount of support helps right now. Sharing posts, telling your friends, buying a $9 shirt–all of it helps. If our clothing isn’t your thing, we also have a Patreon you can support for as little as $1 a month. https://www.patreon.com/mayakern

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you have a great rest of your day and that 2025 is a brighter, kinder year for us all.

[purinfelix]

you're no good for me, but baby i want you - n. riki ✶⋆.˚

summary: after growing tired of his constant teasing you made up your mind not to give Niki anymore of your attention, but you should've known that he wouldn't let you go that easily - and is willing to go to desperate measures to get you just to look at him ──── delinquent Niki x class president reader || sfw but a little suggestive, kissing/making out, so much tension like so much, enemies to lovers sorta? || w/c: 2.7k

a/n: okay i'm trying to get better at writing longer fics/ones that actually have closure bc looking back i realise i kinda always leave u guys on cliffhangers LOLL - also i rlly tried to avoid making this too cliche given the trope i hope it worked !!! actually really like this one so i hope it doesn't flop rip

‘Bad boy’ felt too cliche - at least for your liking. You preferred to refer to Niki as what he was, a delinquent, a troublemaker, someone who skipped most of his classes and spent the rest dosing off or arguing with the teacher. But no matter what you called him you were sure of one thing, he pissed you off.

To be honest, you had absolutely no interest in the sorts of things a student like him got up to in his own time, but it was the fact that he insisted on dragging you into his business that irritated you the most. You weren’t sure why exactly he kept targeting you, maybe it was because he just wanted to mess with the class president or because you seemed like an easy target to him - whatever reason he had didn’t make it any less tiring though.

Skipping classes was one thing, but his constant breaches of uniform code meant that you were running out of warning slips - and patience. It didn’t help that whenever you did, he would only look you up and down with an amused smirk, brows raised as if daring you to continue telling him off - which only worked to make you stumble over your words.

That’s why you had made the decision to stop giving him anymore of your attention, and the most recent time you had seen him sporting his signature look - no blazer, dress shirt half unbuttoned and several silver earrings, you chose to ignore him. You simply walked past him in the hallway without so much as a passing glance, hoping it would tell him to stop wasting your time and causing trouble.

Little did you know, he would misinterpret your signs to mean the exact opposite.

The next morning when you were waiting at your desk you heard a wave of hushed murmurs coming from down the hall, and couldn’t help but feel partly responsible. A loud thud sent the classroom door flying open and a couple of his friends filed in with amused grins - and it was only when Niki followed them in did you see why. Not only had he gone and messily bleached parts of his jet black hair, but he now donned a piercing straight through his right eyebrow which, judging from the pink tinge surrounding it, was both brand new and self-made.

You were unable to stop your neck from craning as your eyes followed his figure, watching as he sauntered over to his desk in the back corner of the classroom, threw his books onto it and sat down. The expression on his face showed that he couldn’t care less about being there, but his eyes trained on you as if waiting for you to make a move.

You hated that he knew you so well, because before you knew it you were out of your seat and at the head of his desk, arms folded with a stern expression on your face. You can’t remember exactly what you said but it must’ve been harsh, and loud enough to summon the attention of almost the entire class, and your teacher who stormed into the classroom shortly after to tell the two of you off. It must’ve also been harsh enough to earn the two of you an after-school detention, which was your very first - though it clearly wasn’t Niki’s.

So that’s how the two of you had ended up alone, in an empty, hot classroom - waiting as the minutes of your detention ticked by agonisingly slowly. Irritated was an understatement. It was taking every ounce of self-control you had not to turn around and punch Niki right there and then. You kept your fuming to yourself, at least for now though, while you worked silently on an assignment, determined to at least make good use of being stuck here for the next hour or so - even if it meant spending it in a tense silence.

Niki didn’t seem to share the same sentiment, having sat himself in the chair right beside yours and kicked his feet up on the desk, twirling a pen in one hand as he hummed softly to himself. You were trying your best to ignore him, and he was trying his best to make that very difficult.

“What are you working on?” he asked curiously as he leaned in over your shoulder.

“Just an assignment,” you shot back curtly.

“Ah of course, what a goody-two shoes,” he scoffed as he sat back.

“Rather a goody-two shoes than a good-for-nothing delinquent,” you mumbled under your breath, though not quiet enough to escape his ears.

“A delinquent? Is that really what you think of me?” he asked in faux-offence, “I’m hurt.” You turned slightly, just enough to see the dramatic pout he had formed across his lips, his brows curving upwards and his piercing going with it.

“Whatever,” you huff, feeling both irritation and exhaustion rise in you, “it’s your fault we’re here in the first place anyways.”

“Oh yeah, my fault that you started a petty argument.”

“Your fault for dyeing your hair that stupid colour and getting that piece of metal jammed in your face!” You cry out, fully facing him now as you felt your face burning hot, “I mean seriously, all I did was ignore you once, and you go ahead and did something ridiculous like that?” Gesturing to his piercing and new hair, you can’t help but feel even more infuriated at the sight of his smirk which only grew as he watched you from half-lidded eyes.

“What makes you think I did it for you?” He asks teasingly, and you suddenly feel your bravado begin to crumble - he’s right, who are you to assume that?

“Well, I-” you stutter, but he interrupts you.

“Well maybe I did,” he laughs softly, “that depends on whether you like it or not.”

“That is so besides the point, Niki,” you whine, “it’s against uniform policy.”

“Oh c’mon, you think it’s a little cool,” he taunts, and you turn back around in your seat, chewing your bottom lip as you’re determined not to give him a response which you’re sure will only fuel his ego.

You sit in silence for a bit, and you can tell he’s watching you carefully in the way he leans in, keen eyes trained on your expression - almost as if he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking. But that’s a challenge even you’re struggling with right now.

He’s the one to break the silence again. “I am sorry about getting you a detention though, that wasn’t what I meant to do.” You blink in disbelief because for the very first time, he sounds almost as if he really means what he’s saying.

“Is that an apology?” you say, gasping to show your surprise, though this quickly dissolved into a soft laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it get to your head,” he sighs, “I just couldn’t sit here and watch you sulk for the next hour.”

You can’t help but smile to yourself, feeling the tension between the two of you melt away at his apology, just enough for you to want to keep talking to him - even if it means neglecting your homework, for now. Your eyes move over his face, his sharp jaw, his eyebrow piercing glinting under the warm classroom light.

“Did it hurt?”

It’s a stupid question, you know, but it’s the only thing you can think to ask as you fiddle nervously in your seat. If you’re being completely honest, you do think it’s cool, you’ve always thought his piercing were cool - and right now you want nothing more than to reach out and feel them for yourself. But your common sense stops you.

“Well, duh,” he scoffs, sitting back in his seat as his eyes fix on yours, “figured a smart-ass like you would’ve been able to guess that.”

“Just asking,” you grumble defensively, though your curiosity urges you to keep talking. “If it hurt, why’d you do it?”

“Well, you like it, don’t you?” He asks, “that’s all the reason I need.”

You’re tempted to tell him off again, but something about his tone catches you off guard - it’s oddly earnest, and he says it with such a simplicity that makes you really believe that maybe he’s telling the truth and you’re unable to find the resolve to spoil this moment

“Can I feel it?”

He’s almost as shocked by your request as you are, and even as it leaves your mouth you’re unsure entirely why you’re asking it. His eyes widen in a way that you can’t help but find a little cute, even as you’re struggling to process your own thoughts.

“Sure,” he replies, a little too quickly, almost as if he had been waiting for you to ask him that, but can’t believe you actually did. You turn in your chair to face him, your arms coming up awkwardly to bridge the distance between you both but it’s clear you’re still too far.

You’re about to lean forward more in your seat to reach him, until you notice his hand coming down to grip the leg of your chair and it isn’t until you feel yourself moving and hear the faint screech of the legs against the floor that you realise that he’s pulling it - pulling you closer to him.

Once you’re close enough he stops, though his hand doesn’t leave the back of your chair, instead resting there as if trapping you in with him as he leans down as that his face is level with yours. You try not to overthink the way your knees are touching, or how this is your first time seeing him this close and how he’s even better looking up close. Carefully, you bring your hand and pray that he doesn’t notice the way it trembles, as your thumb grazes his thick brow gently. Even though you wish he didn’t, he keeps his eyes open and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you as your fingers close around the small metal ball.

“It’s cold,” you mumble, not sure what else to say to fill the air between you two.

“It’s metal,” he says matter-of-factly, letting out a small laugh at your fascination with it.

“You didn’t need to to do this just to get my attention, you know,” your eyes focus on the piercing as you speak, unable to look him in the eyes when admitting something that feels like a confession.

“I had to get you to look at me somehow.” You’re again amazed at how he can say such earnest things with such a serious face, and even as you look away you know his eyes are on you.

“Most people would’ve just said hi or something, not put a brand new hole in their face,” you sigh, fingers moving to tuck a stray strand of bleached hair behind his ear.

“Well most people wouldn’t be here now with you touching their face, so by my standards my plan worked better.”

“Did that plan have to include getting me my first-ever detention?” You ask in annoyance, though you can’t help but laugh softly at his simplicity.

“Well, not at first,” he admits, “but at least we’re alone, hm?”

“Because you need me alone to talk to me?”

“No, because I need you alone to do this.”

You’re pretty sure if you weren’t already leaning towards him you would’ve fallen backwards from the forceful way his lips crash into yours - and if not from that then the sheer shock of just that. Luckily for you though, he already has an arm snaked around your waist, keeping a hold of you and pulling you closer.

It shocks you though that, despite the initial force, Niki’s kiss is gentle, almost as if he’s easing you into something he knows you’re struggling to accept. He’s experienced, that’s for sure, but you can tell in his movements that he’s holding back from pushing you any further.

You don’t even realise it but your hands are cupping his face, caressing his strong jawline and pulling him closer to you. You open your mouth to talk but the only noise that comes out is a breathy gasp and if you weren’t so caught up in the feeling of his hands in your hair you might’ve stopped to feel embarrassed about how desperate you sound for him right now.

“Niki,” you mumble against his lips, unsure of what to do as you feel your mind struggle to comprehend what’s happening.

“Want me to stop?” he says in between heavy breaths, and even though it sounds like a taunt you know him well enough to know he’s being serious.

You shake your head in response, but decide to have a little fun of your own while you can. “When have you ever cared what I want?”

“Oh, you have no clue,” he hums in a low whisper as he leans back in.

“And when have you ever listened to what I’ve told you to do?”

“You’re right about that,” he smirks, pressing his lips to yours again, this time with the reckless abandon you’ve come to expect from him - almost as if he was waiting for your permission to let go. You thought you would’ve felt a little predictable, pathetic even, for having fallen so easily into his trap and giving him much more than just your attention at this point. But from the way his hands roam your body, grasping for more of you as he whines against your lips you smile to yourself at the realisation that really, he’s the one who’s fallen into your trap.

This sense of control is what finally calms your mind, even if it still struggles with just how ‘wrong’ all of this sounds against how right his lips on yours feel. The sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway however forces you to tear yourself away from him, though his hands don’t leave your body as you strain to figure out who it might be.

“Shit, it’s the teacher,” you say under your breath, pulling away from him to smooth down your skirt. Niki clearly doesn’t care, but still lets out a soft sigh as he hangs his head, leaning back in his chair.

“Tomorrow,” you continue suddenly, “I want the eyebrow piercing and the bleached hair gone.” You know you’re being harsh, but you also know that, given what just happened, you can’t afford to be nice.

“Wh-” he says suddenly, looking at you in disbelief, “I thought you liked them though.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say firmly, “they’re still breaking like ten different uniform rules.”

“Just when I thought I’d finally broken your guard down,” he groans.

“Well, they’ve served their purpose already, haven’t they?” you taunt lightly, bringing a hand up to swipe at your bottom lip which you can feel is a little plump from him biting it. His eyes watch attentively as you do, and he lets out a soft laugh followed by a nod in agreement.

“You’re right,” he exhales, “but now I’m thinking if I keep them in I might keep getting lucky.”

“Niki,” you sigh.

“I mean, maybe if I had a reward for following rules I might feel more motivated,” he hums, looking away as he feigns innocence.

You pause, thinking to yourself for just long enough. “I’ll be studying in the library after school, maybe if you do as I say I’ll let you join me.”

“Studying? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll be there,” he laughs, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile - one that you can’t help but share even as the same teacher who gave you both this detention comes in to tell you you’re free to go.

You watch as he swings his bag over one shoulder coolly, tossing you his signature smirk - only this time, it doesn’t just annoy you, it lingers, sticking to your thoughts in a way you don’t want to admit. Because you know you should be mad, you should roll your eyes and remind yourself that he’s still the same infuriating troublemaker. But as he walks away the only thing you find yourself wondering is if he’ll actually show up tomorrow, and worse, if a part of you wants him to.