#if blogging were a job this would be a career suicide

[televisionenjoyer]

This site's tolerance and acquiescence to incest is so fucking insane like "I don't support it but my mutual is cool so I'll allow it" "richard siken's artistic contributions to society absolve him" "ethel cain can ship whatever, she's earned it" I'm not going to lie to you it's kinda looking like you do support it...

[nine-of-words]

(Yokai + 5 of Cups)

NB (Genderfluid) Kitsune x Bisexual M Reader

Wordcount: 9502

Content Warnings: Drinking (Reader), Difficult Breakup, Depression, Brief Mention of Suicidal Ideation, Compensated Dating, Disguises, Minor Body Horror, Handjob (Reader Receives), Anal Sex (Reader Tops)

A kitsune feels almost like a cop-out choice for a yokai, but they’re one of my all time favorites, so here one is. I’m sure I’ll write about more varied types of yokai for this blog in the future, so starting with a kitsune probably isn’t such a bad thing. Specifically, the kitsune in this story is a nogitsune. And- oops, this turned into double the wordcount than I intended.

This year has been one of loss for you.

First, your apartment that you’ve lived in for years flooded so badly that there was no returning. You lost not just your home, but most of your belongings to the water damage.

Then, the marketing firm you worked at unexpectedly closed its doors due to some illegal activity involving the parent company, leaving you flailing in the wind without a job, your career in an utter freefall.

And to top things off with the biggest blow to your heart, your beloved girlfriend of several years, Mai; the girl you legitimately thought you’d marry someday, dumped you unceremoniously only weeks later. You’d known each other since you were children, and it was certainly the worst blow of the ones you’ve endured.

All of that, over such a short time span.

But even in your devastation, you managed to survive long enough that things began to turn around for you. Even on basic income, you managed to find a new apartment in a more central location. And it only took you a few months to network into a new job with a better salary at a different firm and recover your livelihood- you’re skilled at what you do, after all. 

But Mai didn’t return to you with your good fortune. After trying to contact her a few times, you got the hint and stopped trying. She had already moved on to a different partner with better prospects, from the look of her feed one of the lonesome nights you took a late-night pity trawl through her social media.

What you thought would return things back to the way they were didn’t seem to matter. Sure, you’d gotten back the same or a neatly improved version of everything you lost; you had a beautiful new apartment and an amazing new job, but you were so empty. What is the point of having a nice life with no one to share that joy with?

It all began to feel so pointless.

You started to lean perhaps a bit too hard on your drinking habit to cope with the loss of direction.

On one particular night drowning your sorrows in liquor and your thoughts with the droning noise of the murky, smoky bar, you came back from the restroom to find a folded strip of paper stuck to the damp underside of your highball glass.

Dumped? Lonely? Need a date? 

Your heart’s greatest desire granted!

X-xxx-xxx-xxxx

What clearly sounds like a dubious ad, followed by a non-descript business number. Your interest was momentarily piqued, but the sensation is fleeting.

You crumpled the slip of paper and shoved it into your pocket, writing it off, then promptly forgot about it.

When the bar closed, you ambled your way towards home, pausing halfway over the footbridge connecting the entertainment district to the residential districts to stare at the lights of the city.

Each and every time you had passed over the bridge lately, you could barely resist the urge to hoist yourself up over the guardrail and throw yourself in the canal below. That night was no different- you leaned against the railing, trying to talk yourself out of doing something hasty to end your despair.

You just needed to find a reason. Any little reason to convince yourself to make it home and try again tomorrow.

Idly searching your jacket pocket for your lighter, you feel the crinkle of the paper you shoved in there earlier. You pull it out a skim over the swimming letters.

My heart’s greatest desire, huh…?

Right… You’ll go home tonight, you reasoned, so that you can at least find out what this is all about. 

One more night.

You step back off the edge of the bridge, instead dragging yourself towards the train station. You’ve already missed the last train of the night, though, so you’ll be lounging about the station until morning.

You were so crushingly lonely and starved for any bit of contact at that point, it didn’t matter who was by your side, as long as you wouldn’t be alone- anything to keep the shadows from creeping in.

…Even if you needed to pay for it…

So, you let the alcohol content still lingering in your bloodstream make the choice for you. 

Sitting on the concrete curb with your device cradled to your ear, and you finally dialed the number on that sketchy slip of paper. You managed to read the digits, despite the water causing the ink to bleed.

Instead of a living person on the other line, your call connected to a phone tree, where you went through pre-recorded prompts to schedule a date with the person of your dreams, the generated voice promises- for a somewhat hefty service fee, as you expected.

You hardly feel any sense of shame as the transaction goes through. If it means you’ll not feel so alone for just a little while, it’s gold well spent.

You woke up to the early morning sun with a start, knocking over some of the copious number of water bottles, assumingly placed around you by well-meaning pedestrians where you nodded off.

But you were at least still alive to take the train home, enter your neglected apartment, and finally crawl into your disheveled, still laid-out futon to sleep off your hangover.

That’s how you find yourself days later in the present, sitting in your ex-girlfriend’s favorite cafe. 

You're waiting to either be stood up, or worse, set up to be blackmailed or robbed. In your sober mind, the clearly scammy set up must've surely been just that, right?

The minutes creep by, the hope beginning to dwindle with them.

After camping your table for nearly an hour and feeling progressively more like a fool and fielding increasingly pitying looks from the servers (one of which offered you a free ice cream that you turned down), you’re almost at the brink of standing up and leaving. You sit there, resigned to having lost the money and any immediate chance in relieving your loneliness.

You can hardly believe it when she, of all people, comes through the door of the cafe.

Mai.

…It's really her.

You fight the urge to jump out of your chair and embrace her.

You had assumed it was either a joke or some sort of scam or an ad for other questionable business. But seeing what the paper promised, here in the flesh …You can barely believe your eyes.

“Sorry! Sorry I’m late!” Your ex-girlfriend seemingly says to you as she hurriedly approaches the table.

This must be some sort of joke…? It has to be.

“...Hi?”

“Hi. Sorry.” She dips her upper body forward a few times in quick succession in apology.

The resemblance is uncanny. Every little detail your eyes take in matches something you’d expect from Mai’s appearance. All of it’s the same as you remember: Her soft eyes, permanent semi-pout and long dark waves; her gentle mannerisms, sweet voice and style of speech; even her stylish choice in fashion, right down to the pastel color of her nail polish being coordinated to her outfit.

“You fell asleep on the train again, huh?” You reflexively answer in a playfully scolding tone, playing along despite still being completely dumbstruck that she’s actually standing here. Her being late for various air-headed reasons was something that happened enough over the course of your relationship to become one of her adorable quirks- this wouldn’t be the first time she spaced out and took an unintentional nap on the train.

“A-Ah, um.” She gives you a sheepish look before staring at the ground, seemingly caught red-handed. She favors one of the locks of her loosely hanging hair. “That’s right. I'm happy you waited for me. I would've been devastated if I ruined our date.”

It’s like your desperate prayers have been answered, and she’s come back to you, just like that- out of nowhere. You could cry out of pure gratitude.

But a small part of you is deeply alarmed. The prompts never had you describe anything about Mai, or your ideal partner otherwise- yet here is quite literally, your heart’s greatest desire.

You decide that you don’t care if this is a joke or some sort of scam. You can be taken for a ride, for all you care- what you care about is that she’s back.

“That’s okay. You’re here now.” You motion to the chair across from you, and she takes the seat across from you.

She picks up the colorful menu with a gleeful smile. 

“Go ahead, Mai-chan. Get anything you want.”

“Anything?” She brings an open hand to her mouth to cover the gasp. “Hmm. Pudding… Waffle… Parfait…!”

You watch her mull over the menu with a strange sense of deja vu. 

Your food eventually comes, delivered by a waitress who seems equal parts relieved and surprised that someone actually showed up to join you. She sets down a small, extremely meticulously decorated parfait. It’s piled with thinly sliced, colorful fruits, some cut to look like animal faces. There’s a sweet message inscribed in chocolate syrup on the plate the clear glass sits on. Mai all but vibrates out of her chair in excitement as she scoops up her first bite. Then she pops into her mouth, only to bring a hand to her cheek in surprise a moment later.

“It’s so good!”

“Is it?” You chuckle as you take a sip from your cafe au lait.

“Here, see for yourself!” She laughs sweetly, picking one of the chocolate covered biscuit sticks lodged inside the body of the dessert and holding it out to you. “Say ‘ah’-”

Any concern you still harbor is obliterated by the adorable gesture, and you happily take the bite of the treat.

You take Mai on a stroll window shopping through the rest of the mall, ensuring her that she can get anything that catches her eye. She seems hesitant to pick anything out now, despite it never being much of a deterrent before. You mean it when you say she can have anything she’d like- you couldn’t care less if you blow your whole salary on frivolous things and have to subsist off of convenience store meals for the rest of the month. You’re so thankful to have her back, and you want to show it in the way you’re used to Mai appreciating. 

It takes until she lays her eyes on a soft and pathetically droopy looking stuffed fox, partially buried in a pile of other stuffed animals that her resistance finally breaks.

“Ah!! So cute!!! This!! I want this!” She gasps, picks up the pitiful looking stuffed creature you’ve ever laid eyes on. She holds it under the arms to show you, but its doe-y, wall-eyed stare does not quite reach your eyeline. Then she remembers to add; “Um- Please?”

After the shop, you find yourself pausing on the footbridge like normal, but this time with Mai at your side, her with a stuffed fox under her arm. You hold her around the waist, looking at the lights across the river and soaking in the romantic aura.

Things have gone on like that for several blissful months now. Whether it’s relaxing cafe dates and shopping, or dancing and drinks, or something else entirely; you see her as often as you can make it happen.

Every time you’re feeling down, you think of Mai being back in your life and it’s as if all the darkness has been cleansed from your soul. 

You have something to live for again. A glimpse of a happy future to hold onto again.

All you have to do is call and schedule a date, pay the frankly exorbitant fee, and you have her to yourself again for the entire evening.

…Although, you have noticed a few incongruent things over time. 

Small things, really, here and there. A sharpness in her eyes you sometimes catch when she wasn’t expecting you to look, before the corners soften again. A laugh that starts almost like a bark, before her normal, muted laugh plays out behind her dainty hand. A questioning, performative aura to her speech at times- as if she’s deducing the correct thing to say to comply with your pre-existing expectations.

You never see her leave in the morning- instead, she’s always gone by the time you wake up, no matter how early you rise.

Most worryingly, you wake feeling inexplicably exhausted every time afterwards- not just the usual and expected, happily spent feeling that’s normal from rolling around in the sheets, but a bone-deep fatigue, like part of your constitution itself has been sapped away.

Thinking about it too hard sends a cold shiver down your spine. You’re not a stupid man, even when being driven to make bad decisions by your desperation. Even knowing that something is amiss here, you can’t stop yourself from dialing the number again and again, your physical wellbeing be damned.

Because despite all the glaring warnings, some of the incongruencies are positive ones.

While this Mai is true to character in almost all ways, there are certainly some things you’d call an improvement.

This Mai is much more warm and loving, and seems more willing to communicate in general, rather than expecting you to guess. And when it comes to sex, this Mai is a lot more enthusiastic over all, and certainly more… skilled.

And overall, she's just more kind. Too kind, even. Too selfless to be your ex-girlfriend, who had an acute awareness of her own wants and needs, sometimes to the detriment of others’. This Mai seems to be very focused on yours. 

You never realized it before now, but obligation seems to have played a large part of your relationship with Mai. And while you’re absolutely sure some of that is your fault, you’ve never felt closer to her… or this version of her, you suppose. You can’t help but feel the irony in that it only seems to have happened with a copy of her, rather than the real thing. Somehow this copy’s performance feels more genuine to you than the real Mai’s had, without you even noticing.

One thing’s for sure; It can’t go on like this forever, even if you want it to. But you know it’ll bother you now that you’ve caught on, if you don’t at least try to confirm your suspicions.

While trying to plan out what to do, a brilliant idea dawns on you, and you dial up the number once again.

Within a few days, you meet ‘Mai’ once again, this time outside a highly recommended karaoke parlor near your usual stomping grounds in the entertainment district.

She bounces excitedly by your side as you make your way through the building and file into the small, private, soundproof room decked out with a large screen and extensive sound system.

You go first, and belt out a moody rock ballad with modest skill, no stranger to visiting karaoke parlors with colleagues and clients alike, when the circumstances call for it.

Your companion cheers you on as the final chords wind down.

“Aaah, Wow!!” ‘Mai’ claps her hands together in front of herself and exclaims your name. “You're so talented!! With a voice like that, you could've been a holo-idol!”

“Hahah- Thanks.” You laugh sheepishly, and your face breaks into a knowing smile. “You're going to take a turn now, aren't you, Mai-chan? You know I really like your singing voice.”

You hold the microphone out to her in expectation, slight feedback whirring through the speakers. You feel a little bit of remorse for what you’re doing, but it’s the only way you could think of.

There’s a incredibly short moment of recalibration where she simply stares at the microphone, but then her eyes light up.

“Oh, of course!” She says excitedly, flipping her hair over her shoulder before taking the microphone and getting to her feet. She pauses to smooth her skirt down, then her heels click as she approaches the podium. “Oooo, but what song should I choose?”

“You have no shortage of options here. Go with you heart.” You press a soft kiss to the crown of her head and then take a sip of the whiskey in your hand nonchalantly.

“Mmm… No, I can't decide! You pick for me.” She demands and holds the datapad to you over her shoulder, lips curling at the edges in a barely concealed grin. She looks downright eerie, backlit by the bright neon lights of the screen behind her, bright crescent shapes on the round of her cheekbones.

“Huh. How about this one?” Still feeling slightly guilty, you scroll down and select the most challenging song you can think of for a beginner. “You remember it’s my favorite, eh?”

“Of course I remember!” She says confidently as you go back to your seat. “Here I go!”

The upbeat, funky music picks up and she launches into the song enthusiastically. It doesn’t even take a full verse for you to know your hunch about her is undeniably correct.

This isn’t Mai at all. There’s simply no way.

She has a beautiful voice and a surprising range for such a petite woman. Neither the fast or slow parts give her any hint of trouble, nor the tricky lyrics. She handles every vocal run without faltering once.

Her slender fingers clutch the microphone, and she gets fully swept away. It's hard not to get absorbed in the music yourself and forget why you're here.

What really mesmerizes you is just how passionately she’s singing, her body swaying in time to the beat. She looks actually happy- something you’ve realized you didn’t see a lot from the real Mai- only placated, slightly bored contentment.

The song comes to an end all too quickly, and you applaud, genuinely a bit moved.

“Hehe- How did I do?” She squirms in glee, before rushing back to hand you the microphone. The neon light glints off the bracelet you gave her on one of your previous dates that she’s wearing tonight.

“Amazing.”

She beams at you, twisting the knife in your gut a little more.

You don’t want to spook her by ending the session before the time you’ve already paid for runs out, so you simply enjoy it while you can, taking a few turns passing the microphone back and forth.

Finally, the block of time runs out and you walk out of the karaoke parlor into the busy square with your hand in hers. You’re more sure than ever you have to say something, now, after that performance.

You find a gap in the throngs of people near the bridge to stop for a moment and discuss. It may not be the most polite place to make an accusation like this, but at least it’s public and relatively safe.

Twinkling lights of the businesses on either side provide an almost ethereal, twilight backdrop for such a strange conversation.

“Wait. I’d like to talk about something, if you don’t mind.”

“Ah- Is something the matter?” Her body language is suddenly closed, and she adjusts her bangs nervously.

“Sort of. …You don’t seem to be yourself, lately.” You say, trying to sound as least threatening as possible. 

“Oh! I’m feeling okay. But thank you for your concern.” ‘Mai’ forces a small smile.

You take a deep breath and bite the bullet. 

“What I mean is- I think that may be because you’re not yourself.”

“W-What? I don’t know what on Hearth you’re talking about.” She switches to feigning ignorance, tilting her head to the side in an attempt to distract with her cuteness, then deflection. “That’s nonsense. I am me. Are you feeling okay, honey?”

“I‘m fine. But is that really so? Then what about karaoke just now?”

“Eeeh? What are you saying?” The woman protests with a pout, looking absolutely deflated. “I thought we had fun. Did you dislike my singing that much? I tried my best…”

“No, I liked it a lot. Your singing was beautiful; You have a very nice voice.” You try to keep your tone from sounding too accusatory. “But Mai doesn’t. She loathes karaoke. Can’t carry a tune to save her life. Absolutely tone deaf- she always refused to even go with me.”

“...Yes and because you like it so much, I… I-Is it so out of the realm of possibility that I’ve been practicing…?” She quickly comes back with an excuse, but it doesn’t sound like she even believes her own words.

You simply cross your arms and wait for her to say something, holding your scrutinizing gaze on her. The silence drags on an almost unbearable length of time.

“...You tricked me.” She quietly fumes, restraining the strength of her reaction so as to not cause an upset in public. Her lips form a glossy, tautly drawn line, and her fingernails dig into the strap of her purse like sharp claws.

“I tricked you?” The irony of the statement is extremely rich, coming from the body double standing in front of you. 

“You called the number!” The imposter whines, and rubs at her eye, sounding on the verge of breaking into tears at any moment. Despite the attempt to not make a scene, the occasional person slows to spectate. “We were having fun and you tricked me. That’s not fair.”

Even this spat is so different. If it was Mai, she would’ve already started reeling off on you for upsetting her, glances from others be damned.

But this is more sad and pitiful than anything. It’s not really fury or scorn in her expression, though, rather than a deep wounded mournfulness. And the more you look, the more you see an expression you never really saw in the real Mai much; pure, raw fear. The signs are clear to you- her body language like she’s ready to flee at any moment, and the shifting eyes of a wild animal looking for an escape route.

“Listen-” You can't help yourself, how distraught she seems pulling at your heartstrings, and reach your hand out to comfort her. You have no bad intentions, even with this revelation, after all. If anything, you’re relieved that the distinction between this person and Mai has been drawn. Maybe now, you can get to know this person even better, without the facade…

Just as your hand connects with her wrist, a dog starts barking loudly nearby, somewhere across the plaza, and a stranger unknowingly bumps into her back while passing by. The chaos causes her to be majorly spooked, letting out a yelp and nearly jumping out of her skin.

It happens so fast- one second ‘Mai’ is standing in front of you as normal. And the next, there’s a clattering sound and something falls before wobbling against the concrete. The figure standing in front of you looks almost translucent, with a canine nature to the shadowy silhouette of their head and shoulders, complete with pointed ears poking up.

‘Mai’ drops to her hands and knees immediately, into a pool of fabric, scrambling frantically to scoop the object- a smooth, pearly white mask carved with blue lines- up and bring it back to her face. She manages to get her trembling fingers around the item and replace it.

But something’s… wrong.

Instead of Mai’s features returning to the stranger’s face, the parts of this person’s face seem to rapidly cycle through bits and pieces of multiple individual faces, combined in a grotesque mishmash- an eyebrow changing here, a new set of lips there- like flipping in a panic through broadcast channels fraught with static, desperately trying to match the right ones into a coherent set.

You reach out again- this time bending to try to help her up, but it seems your attempts at aid are only being perceived as a threat. Instead of taking your hand for support, she freezes in place.

Only for a moment, mismatched eyes turned up at you.

Then, she disappears completely into a sparkling puff of dark magenta and violet colored smoke.

The mask falls to the ground, clattering and spinning all over again.

You cough and cover your face with your sleeve- but manage to spot the form of a small, orange animal dashing off through the legs of the throng of people coming and going, despite your tearing eyes. They’re headed away from the bridge, back into the entertainment district. You keep your eyes on the bushy tail underfoot for a while, but there just isn’t enough room for you to push through as you hit a more congested area. You quickly lose track of the form in the crowd that has gathered.

You search and try to regain the trail, but eventually give up, walk back to where the mask dropped, and pick it up. Its surface seems to be made of some sort of nacre, the way that it shines as you turn it over in your hands. It feels cool and inexplicably wet to the touch, despite it not getting your hands wet. There’s a singular, shining blue jewel inlaid into the forehead.

You decide to take the mask home with you before someone calls the guard, or worse, a suit from the mana bureau shows up to investigate.

By the time you get through the door to your apartment, you’re devastated. You lean against your closed apartment door, running your hand through your hair. Does this mean you won’t see her any more? Perhaps you were too harsh, trapping her like that, but you only wanted to know the different person underneath the mask she was showing you.

There has to be something you can do. 

You set the mask down on your foyer table gently, then you pull up your device, planning to call the number for the phone tree. It’s the only number you have for ‘Mai’- but the contact has mysteriously disappeared from the frequently called list in your device. You briefly chide yourself for never actually saving the number.

But it’s no matter- you’ve certainly memorized the number by now, so you punch it manually- only for the sound of a disconnected line to come back on the other end.

Panicking, you go to find the slip of paper you kept for sentimental reasons to double check you had the right number, only to find a dry, crumpled leaf in your desk drawer in its place.

“Damn it!” You swear and toss the leaf aside, unsure what you can even do at this point.

You sit in silence, hoping she’ll show up on her own, at least to come get her mask back, and then you can apologize and plead your case. But, you wait for days and she never shows up.

You check Mai's social media, but that only confirms to you that she and the person you came to know are completely different people. You kick yourself for not checking that earlier.

It takes a week of alternately wallowing in your feelings and researching in your free time, but you finally manage to contact a private investigator that doesn’t write your request off as deranged. His fee is equally deranged, so you suppose you’re in good company.

Then, it takes months of emotional turmoil on your end just waiting for news.

Just when you’re sure that the investigator just ran off with your gold, he finally gets back to you with a new number and the name of the business associated with the previous number- Club DREAM, a host club in the entertainment district that you’ve somehow never heard of, even with your years of familiarity with the nightlife in this city.

With a shaking hand, you dial the number.

It’s the same phone tree. You heave a massive sigh of relief. You’re one step closer.

You spend at least an hour on hold, but you weed your way through the numerous pre-recorded menus, but eventually get redirected to the business’ actual, live phone line. 

…It’s ringing.

“Club DREAM.” A boisterous, high-pitched voice of an older man crackles on the other end, distinctly curt for business etiquette. “What the hell do you want? Phone tree not good enough for you, buddy???”

“I- Um.” You swallow. You work with people all day and think you’re quite skilled at social interactions, but you can’t help but feel cowed by the killing intent through the phone. “Well…”

“Spit it out, will you?! I’m trying to watch my proo-oograms!” They bellow dramatically.

“I think I’m looking for one of your… employees? I think I have something that belongs to them. But I’m not sure…”

The man simply spits out an address and summarily hangs up.

You follow the directions on your device screen to a less than reputable, slightly seedy part of the entertainment district. 

Despite knowing the entertainment district like the back of your hand at this point, you've never known this place was over here.

You finally arrive at a cramped, ominous-looking, slightly run down building. The only entrance is from the back alley, which you have to imagine does not have a good effect on business. You would be concerned you were in the wrong place, but the buzzing neon sign above the door clearly sears CLUB DREAM onto the night.

The rickety front door rattles behind you as you enter. You're immediately assaulted by the sound of droning dance/pop hits, and a hanging haze of smoke.

Despite that, the interior is much more impressive than the outside, with modern furniture and tasteful decoration. Though, there is still a personal, almost lived-in, cozy touch of worn paint edges and the occasional burnt out bulb- slight imperfections caused by frequency of use.

There doesn't seem to be a host podium, so you head to the bar that seems to function as one.

The bar is backlit by an assortment of ghostly flames, dancing in metal-caged lanterns. They cast a soft, eerie glow that mingles with the artificial flood of the neon lights.

Curious…

It’s hard to pay too much attention to the wall of spirit lanterns, however, since the person standing in front of it behind the bar is impossible to miss. They’re imposingly tall and quite a bit round for the average city elf, clad in a jarring mix of loud colors and wild patterns, complete with a bright pink faux-fur stole sitting on their shoulders, and spectacles with long strands of beads hanging down.

“Ohhh, it’s a shame I’m retired, honey. You’re a handsome one.” The flamboyantly-berobed man coos at you in welcome, pulling their eyes from the screen perched above the bar. “Someone specific in mind you’re here to see today? Or perhaps you’re a first-timer- I haven’t seen your face before, I’m sure of it. I’d remember such a cutie.”

This is definitely the same person you spoke to on the call. Their voice is recognizable despite having a completely different vibe now; more warm and welcoming geniality, less blatant desire to murder you.

“I have M-” You stop, then correct yourself, if a bit cryptically; “...I have the mask.”

You pull the shiny mask partially out of your bag to show them, before letting it slip back down onto the pocket.

“Oh, it’s YOU.” The towering man gives a deadly, icy look over the flapping of the fan they’re cooling themselves with, and you swear you can feel the room get a few degrees colder. The less-than-friendly inflection from before is bad in full force, much more intimidating in person. “The dirtbag that stole my baby’s mask.”

Dirtbag? Stole? …Baby? 

“Er…”

“Give me one good reason I shouldn't call our bouncer over to pound you flat, you thief!”

“Well… I brought it back. And it wasn’t exactly easy…”

“Hmmph.” They snap their fan closed and shove it into their obi before thrusting out a manicured hand, palm up. “Well? What are you waiting for? Hand it over, then, honey.”

“I'd rather give it back to… them… directly.” You're hesitant to give the mask back to anyone but the correct person. “I… want to talk to them. Make sure they're alright.”

“Cute!! How sweet!! But I’ll be taking it, thanks!”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give this away to just anyone. I need to make sure it gets back to them.” You stand your ground and the grip on your bag’s strap tightens, not letting the mask out of your grasp quite yet.

The club owner gives you a long, scrutinizing look over, as if they're having a heated internal debate and you aren't privy to the details.

“Hhmmph. Well aren't you chivalrous. Fine! Suit yourself- But you can’t see them without their mask. It's not allowed!!”

Before you can form a coherent response, they keep talking, steamrolling the conversation. 

“HOWEVER, you do seem to be the genuine sort. So. Here is how this is going to work, sweetie: I’m going to escort you to table 6. You’re going to hand me their mask back, I’m going to take it back to them.” They rhythmically tap their lacquered nails on the counter with each point they lay out. ”THEN, if they WANT to see you, I’ll send them out to you. But only if THEY want to. If not, I'm sure there’s someone on staff that will suit your fancy. You are still a precious customer, after all!”

You don’t want anyone else, is the first thought that nearly jumps out of your mouth, but you manage to hold it in, instead agreeing diplomatically. You worry momentarily that you’re about to be set up to be beaten to a pulp by ‘security’ and thrown into a dumpster out back, but if this is the only way to see the person of your dreams again, you’re just going to have to go with it.

“Okay.”

To your surprise, you are not put directly into a meat grinder, but instead actually led by the club owner to table 6. You take a seat, then pull the mask back out of your bag with a sigh. The club owner snaps it up immediately and rushes off, neon fabric fluttering in their wake.

“Aaah, thank youuuu~ I’ll be back soon, honey. Or maybe I won’t- we’ll have to see!”

The wait can’t be that long in reality, but it is absolutely excruciating from your perspective. You fiddle with the edges of the drink menu, not even really looking at it, shift in your seat- any small fidgeting to try to assuage your crushing dread.

You only have to stew in your own misery and self-doubt for a short while before the club owner stops back at the table.

“He said he'll see you. But you better make it right. If you hurt my baby again, I’ll hurt you.” He impatiently takes your drink order (bullying you into buying one of the more expensive bottles on the menu), then the loud, bright blur of a man disappears, just as quickly as he returned.

Not long after that, a different person arrives at your table. A tall, lithe and handsome elven man with flawlessly smooth skin and dyed-orange hair styled into a shaggy wolf cut stands there, with the overpriced bottle of liquor the club owner managed to persuade you to purchase in hand. He’s dressed in an obnoxiously ornate version of a standard dressed-down business look; button up, black vest, slacks, pointed ankle boots. The whole outfit is adorned with strategically placed, shiny details and jewelry.

“Hello,” He dips his long body forward in deference, and you catch a pleasant whiff of heady cologne. “Welcome to Club DREAM.”

You don't need to be told- you know exactly who this is. It doesn’t matter that they don’t look or sound a thing like Mai. You can feel it with every fiber of your being- like a hand reaching straight into your chest and seizing you by the heart.

“It's you.”

“Aah- it’s that easy to tell…?” He smiles bashfully, eyes squeezing closed into crescents. “Maybe I should work harder on my presentation.”

“No, I just…” You can’t even begin to explain why you were able to identify them on sight, even without the context clues. “It’s because it’s you- I think I could point you out anywhere, now.”

“Ah.” He fidgets slightly, looking unfittingly awkward with his flushed cheeks, in stark contrast of what seems to be an otherwise carefully composed image. You get the feeling he’s usually as effortlessly smooth as the cultivated image itself, when dealing with customers that aren’t you.

Muscle memory seems to kick in, finally, and they gesture to the table, then the bottle of liquor they’re holding. “Would you like me to join you?”

“Please.” You reply, probably a bit too eagerly.

He takes a seat and you sit in silence for a few moments. The only sound besides the onslaught of slightly-fried pop music playing over the speakers and low thrum of mixed conversations around you is the alcohol being poured into your glass by the obnoxiously handsome man in front of you. Your plan to pathetically grovel for forgiveness as soon as you had their ear has been eroded by just how happy you are to see them. You could sit here for hours, taking in every new small detail of their appearance and committing it to memory.

“Thank you for returning my mask.” He finally says, mercifully breaking the stalemate.

“You’re welcome. I apologize for putting you in the situation to lose it.” Then, thinking of what sort of boss he seems to have, add; “I hope I didn’t cause you too much trouble with, er, your work.”

“No, Mama has been quite understanding… Though, it must’ve been a pain to return it. it couldn't have been easy to find this place.”

“It was no problem at all, if it meant I could see you again.”

“You wanted to see me that badly…?” He almost seems bashful.

“Yes! I was so worried about you, M-” You catch yourself, not wanting to call him the incorrect name out of habit. “Wait, wait, first of all- What is your name? You must have one of your own…?”

“You can call me Kanae.”

In a bold move, you choose to forgo any honorific- but you truly feel that close to him, and wish to convey that.

“Kanae.” You repeat his name to him, and his already friendly, if a bit worried, expression brightens instantly. “I've missed you.”

“I missed you too. I've been so lonely without you.”

The words alone make your heart start racing. It wasn't just you lamenting being apart, then.

“If that's the case, may I sit beside you?”

“Yes, of course.”

He comes around and slides into the padded booth next to you. He’s barely settled in when he lays a hand on your thigh. You can feel the warmth of his body pressed against your side.

You’re so pleased, you’re pretty sure you could explode. Your soul is going to leave your body.

You nurse the drink in your glass, contemplating in silence trying to calm some of your nerves. And to try to push the sensation of his fingers resting on you out of your mind long enough to articulate a sentence.

“So, this is where you… work?”

“You could say that, yes. As you may have guessed, I am not a mortal. I am a kitsune.” 

“Do spirits usually work in host clubs?”

“They do when their pact holder is a host club owner, ehehe.”

It makes a lot of sense, you suppose. 

“...I suppose I’m wondering how any of this works… How did you know to look like Mai?”

You’re a simple numan, lacking in any tangible magic ability. While this sort of thing doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility, it’s hard for you to wrap your head around it, without the relevant experience with the arcane.

“When someone calls the number, Mama uses divination magic to determine who the person most wants to see. Then I, or one of his other familiars, assume the form of said person, and feed off of all the positive energy radiating from the client during the appointment. I can use that energy to assist Mama better in their other magic work.”

Ah, well. That certainly explains some things.“ You had your suspicions around how you felt so deeply fatigued after each date with ‘Mai’, and it’s a relief to have them confirmed. “But why do all of this? Couldn’t you just feed off on energy without going through so much trouble?”

“I could… but I think this way is better. Energy for me, gold for Mama’s business, and the customer is happy. I get what I want, Mama gets what he wants, the customers get what they want.” He elegantly fills your glass back up from the bottle with his free hand. “It’s a fair trade. And I always stop before there’s permanent damage- no one ever gets hurt.”

“What about the client’s feelings, though? Those must get hurt sometimes.”

“Oh?” Kanae tilts their head, seemingly confused by the prospect.

“Well, when they find out it’s not real. Doesn’t it hurt their feelings?”

“...Maybe…? I’ve never really thought about it. It's just fun, right? Either way, that doesn’t usually happen. Most people simply stop calling, for one reason or another… What you did was highly abnormal…”

You can still detect a bit of discomfort on his end with his last sentence, like you’re plucking on a raw nerve. His fingers tighten against the creases on your pants like claws, just slightly, before releasing the tension.

“I truly am sorry. I didn’t intend for it to turn out the way it did.” You let out a sigh. “I just wanted to see if you were… really her, I suppose.”

“It's true. I'm not her- I can never truly be her.” He says firmly, but with a bit of regret. “I'm sorry that I misled you.”

“There’s… no need to apologize, really.” You say, putting down the glass of liquor with a smile. “I'm actually quite glad.”

“Mmm?” Kanae tilts his head and reaches up tentatively, hand creeping up your shoulder, then the nape of your neck, before twining their slender fingers in your hair.

“I like you much better.”

“...Is that s-so?” He can’t keep his face from pulling into a smirk, his eyes blatantly on your mouth. “Hahah… I’m supposed to be the one doing the flattering here, you know…”

You've begun to lean in before you realize it, and the gentle hand touching the nape of your neck helps guide you into a soft kiss.

Spirits. His lips are just as soft as before, when you still thought you were kissing Mai.

You can’t even draw much of comparison to anyone you’ve kissed before, past that. He’s an exceptionally good kisser, with his affection for you clear in the way he savors your bottom lip. The desire is palpable in each graze of his teeth or swipe of his tongue.

The scent from before is much stronger now, with your face so close to him. It’s underneath the overlaying smoky, spiced smell of bar; there’s a more familiar scent, a musk almost like earth that’s just been rained on. You recognize it- it’s the same underlying note you sometimes detected under the strong floral of Mai’s favorite perfume, but had thought nothing of before.

You can’t stop.

You’re so enraptured, you barely even register that you’re kissing so deeply in plain view of anyone else in the establishment that happens to look this way. Not that anyone could probably even see what you’re doing, with the mood lighting in this place…

Kanae must not hate it, either; you can feel the sincerely desperate, hungry way his hands grope at your thigh. That’s certainly not the way someone that is just doing their job touches a client.

“I want to keep seeing you, Kanae.” You sneak the words out around trying not to gasp for air.  “Is that something that’s possible?”

“I’d like that too, hah-” You can hear the clear relief in his voice between the kisses he peppers onto your lips, your jaw, your neck. “I can’t bear the idea of never meeting again. Everyone else is so boring now. They’re not fun like you.”

You capture his lips in yours again, this time quickly losing track of time.

It’s several garbled music tracks later when Kanae pulls back with a laugh, the leather booth squeaking slightly with the sudden movement.

“Ah- I’m enjoying myself, but your time slot is almost up. And Mama hates when I go over time.” He smirks, pressing his fingertip to your bottom lip. “But… would you maybe like to come up to my room with me instead?”

You have never agreed to anything so readily in your entire life.

Kanae leads you to a narrow hallway, where behind a split curtain bearing the character for PRIVATE, there's a small set of creaky stairs. Despite the general shady look of the area he’s leading you through, when he opens a door at the end of the hall and shows you inside, you’re pleasantly surprised.

Despite the size and sparseness of the space, it’s very tidy and cozy; a strange mix of clinical and inviting. It looks almost as if someone had started to attempt to decorate a standard-issue hotel room, but didn’t quite know how to personalize it effectively. Clearly whomever decorated had an eye for design similar to that of a bird; most of the things are more here for their level of shine or sentiment, rather than objective monetary value.

Some things you certainly do recognize though. Every gift that you’ve given to Kanae while he was in Mai’s form is somewhere to be found in this room. The slightly out of place jewelry and perfume sitting on the small, faded wardrobe. Peaks of clothes that you recognize peeking out of the narrow, full-to-bursting closet. Even the pitiful little wall-eyed fox plush from your first ‘date’ is here, sitting propped against the oversized pillow atop the slightly unkempt bed. 

It warms your heart to see that he’s kept everything you’ve given him…

“This is your room, then? It’s quite cute.” You lose your shoes by the cramped entryway before entering the room proper.

“Thank you. Please make yourself comfortable. It’s not much, but Mama makes sure we all have our own space.”

You take a seat on the bed, as Kanae gestures for you to do. Then he climbs onto the bed after you, pushing you backwards by the shoulders with a laugh and a set of hungry, toothy kisses.

After making some minor positioning adjustments for both of your comfort, you’re fully sprawled out on top of his fluffy bedspread. Kanae is hovering over you, sitting on his tucked knees, flush to your side.

You grab the stuffed fox you’ve fallen back onto by the head like your hand’s a crane game claw- gently- and place it on the nearby nightstand, facing away. Or at least you think it is…

Kanae makes a noise of approval and his hands dexterously unbutton the front of your dress shirt, exposing your chest. He leans in to press his lips to the expanse of skin along the top of your pec, hands continuing to work down the buttons and wisps of styled orange hair tickling you.

“Ah-” 

After a bit of teasing, well-needed attention, he finally pulls up with a gasp, looking down at your flushed skin with a look of pride. 

“So, is this what you normally look like?” You ask, your curiosity starting to burn a hole in your tongue as badly as the heat suddenly burning up your face. Your hands are already running down his sides, getting dangerously close to the base of his spine. “I like it.”

“Yes and no. This is my favorite face, so to speak. Mama gave it to me when he retired, since he wasn’t using it anymore. His face is my face now.” He tilts his head, displaying his own beautiful features to you with a look of pride as he shrugs out of his vest and then starts to explore your chest with his hands. “Or at least the one that feels the most like my own. My true form looks much different than this.”

That’s the familiarly you’re seeing in his face, you realize. Your mind finally draws the connection between the features of the man in front of you and the bombastic club owner downstairs, though they’re much more youthful on Kanae.

You can't say you're not intrigued by the idea of what Kanae really looks like- something similar to that glimpse of shadow you saw when his mask fell off, you wager- but a more pressing question enters your mind first.

“Wouldn’t he mind you using his face for, uh… certain activities?”

“Oh- I don’t think he minds at all- He certainly doesn’t look like this now, after all, ehehe.” A faint, mischievous smile settles on his lips, and for a moment you swear you catch a glimpse of vulpine eye teeth. “I don’t mind. …Do you?”

His hands wanders to your waistband, waiting for a response.

“...N-No.” You can’t find it in you to feel shame about it- the difference in looks is wide enough for you to choose to simply delete that information from your mind forever.

He makes a noise of approval, then turns his attention to your still fastened slacks, making short work of your belt and zipper and making room to pull your dick out from your pants. His hand is squeezing you around the base testingly, soft but firm pressure, before he moves his fingers upwards in a few slow, drawn out strokes.

Then, abruptly and without any ceremony, he reaches over and thrusts his hand under the oversized pillow behind your head, hand re-emerging moments later with a small jar of viscous liquid.

You cock your head in surprise, though the sight isn’t something that surprises you for long. Of course Kanae keeps his lube underneath his pillow; that suits him perfectly.

Lukewarm slick dribbles onto your cock from the bottle, the continued loving movements of Kanae’s palm and fingers spreading it across the length of your shaft with soft, squelching noises.

Kanae watches the movements of his hand glide up and down your slippery cock with a diligent smile. His bright eyes flick up occasionally to monitor your expression.

“Nngh-” You wince, unable to keep the grunt of impatience from your chest. You’ve been waiting to feel his touch again for so long, and now that it’s happening, all you can think about is getting more.

Kanae laughs softly at your desperately eager state.

“Oh… Do you like this?” He asks in an innocent tone. You know he’s being coy, given the fact he’s already stroking you in your favorite way- clearly retaining the knowledge from the times he’s done this to you before as ‘Mai’.

“I think you know full well-” You huff, your whole body beginning to heat up.

You watch down your body, rapt as your eyes follow Kanae's hand enthusiastically servicing you. You've gone from excited and half-hard to rock solid and throbbing in his hand in no time.

“Mmm… Looks like someone is ready for more. This soon, even.” He sighs, thumb tip dragging the edge of your foreskin up and pressing into the well of accumulated precum on your slit. “It’s just so hard to be patient, isn't it…?”

“I've never been with a man like this,” You admit, slight hesitancy in your tone. While you've always found men attractive as well, you’ve been with Mai for most of your young adulthood, so you haven't had much opportunity to explore any of that. “So, please excuse my inexperience.”

“Mmh- Don’t worry, honey.” Kanae says in a reassuring, affectionate tone as he removes his pants and straddles you.“I’ll take care of everything.”

You can feel his hardness press against your thigh, and there’s a clear small patch of wetness on the front tail of the button-up he still wears. The sight makes you want to explode.

“Ah- Are you sure?” Despite how lovely the prospect sounds, you’re typically very invested in making sure you’re giving proper service to your partner, so the idea of just laying back and leaving all the work to Kanae makes you a bit uncomfortable.

“Yes,” Kanae says, eyes glinting mischievously. “I’ve already prepared myself.”

“That’s-” You’re only distracted by the way the thought makes your dick twitch by the seemingly impossible logistics. “Wait, when did you have time to do that?”

“Before I came to the table earlier.” Kanae says simply, smirking without a lick of guilt in their expression- instead oozing a perverse sort of pride. “I had the hope that since you showed up- you’d want to do this.”

The dumbstruck grin on your face turns into an open-mouthed groan as he lowers his prepped hole onto your cock. He grins your chest for balance and presses himself down eagerly, inching down your shaft faster than you'd expect; you expect he must know what he's doing.

Kanae lets out a long, dreamy sigh that changes into a faltering whimper as he reaches the root of your dick, flesh grinding against your pelvic bone.

“Aah- Amazing-” You choke out into the back of your hand, already slightly dazed by the tight, warm feeling of his body squeezing around you.

He starts out with a gentle rocking, but it doesn’t take long for him to lose his sense of restraint and build up to riding you with a forceful, reckless sense of urgency.

“Ah-h-” Kanae grimaces, his features flickering and threatening to change like they did before, when he had lost his mask. “S-Sorry- I don’t think I can k-keep this up- Nngh-”

“What’s wrong? Does it hurt?” You lift your torso slightly, ready to help if he needs it.

“No- the opposite-” They pant sheepishly, obviously struggling hard to keep their form cohesively looking like his host persona. “Too good! Can't- focus-”

“Should we stop?”

“Don’t want to- but-”

“It's okay- Hah- Y-You can show me what you look like-” Your fingers dig into his thighs for emphasis. “You can trust me, Kanae-”

Kanae lets out a vulpine whimper in the last lingering bit of protest he has left in him, but doesn’t need more convincing than that to let the illusion drop.

The elven features melt away in waves, starting at the crown of his head, sloughing off his shoulders and dripping down his nimble fingertips. His skin loses its flesh color, changing instead to an almost ghostly partially translucent black color, like a light wash of ink. His body is still solid despite looking like a silhouette, but softer and malleable. You can feel your fingertips dig in ever so slightly more into his thigh than before.

And of course, his face becomes completely smooth, changing into a recognizable, simple mask with fox-like features painted onto its pearlescent surface.

“Aah-” Even Kanae’s voice has a slightly echoing, ethereal aspect to it now, and his shiny claws struggle to not tear into where he holds you down by shoulders. “Nnh-”

Despite Kanae’s initial protests, you are largely unfazed by the change. If anything, you’re even more enamored by the change. You can’t help yourself, thrusting upwards into the new, slippier sensation of Kanae’s partially incorporeal body. His body feels as oddly damp and slick as the surface of his mask.

His claws prick your skin as he pointedly grinds backwards a few times, any self-consciousness forgotten in his single-minded pursuit.

“Ggrr-ngh-” A growl tapers off in Kanae’s throat as his body goes completely rigid, his insides clench around you in a vice-grip and he keens, shooting his pleasure across your stomach.

It’s too much. You don’t have any hope of containing yourself any longer, and hold him firmly to you by his sides as you roll your hips upwards through the feeling of your orgasm. Your muscles contracting so hard you momentarily forget to breathe, warmth spreading out over where you’re still lodged inside of him.

Kanae lets himself sink forward onto your chest, energy completely depleted, with his arms tucked up and hands curled on your chest. You can see the brush tip of his tail twitching from your view down his back.

“Kanae, will you be mine?” You say as you finally regain enough breath to speak coherently. “I want to be with you.”

“Ahah- I-” The expression on the mask doesn’t change, but you can hear his voice waver in muted, but elated excitement. His tail whips behind him even faster. “I’d like that.”

You press a soft, affectionate kiss to the smooth, solid surface of his mask, feeling the coolness on your lips.

You may have lost a lot in the past year, but what you’ve managed to keep means so much more to you.

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

[crybaby-bkg]

sᴄᴏʀɴᴇᴅ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғɪᴠᴇ

Bakugou x f!reader Warnings/Tags: male OC tries to assault reader, short scuffle between reader and OC, attempted sexual assault (but nothing actually happens), poor living conditions, slowly creeping into the hesitant friends arc!!, panic attacks, very brief suicidal ideations Word Count: 4.6k Minors/blank/ageless blogs DNI!

Main Masterlist AO3

A couple days have gone by since your meeting with the heroes and the Hero Commission’s worker. You still haven’t come to a clear decision yet, but granted, this is a big decision and its not just one that you can make over night. 

As you head home from your job, you try to weigh the pros and cons of rebranding as a hero. For one, you’d probably make more money and be able to afford your apartment. You wouldn’t have to sneak around so much, and you’d probably get a lot more respect and credit when walking amongst people, and not just in online spaces.

But…who’s to say the rest of society will accept you? In hero society, being a vigilante is illegal. You know that if you accept the conditions of rebranding, then your crimes will be forgiven, but for the rest of your career, you’ll be under strict watch. What’s the point of saving people if you have to be monitored the whole time?

A lot of those who have become victims themselves, or had been saved by you, respected what you did and how you went about it. But so, so many, including heroes and the government and police alike, hated you. Not because of what you stood for, that most didn’t know or didn’t care to know, but because you were targeting men. Its not like those men were innocent, but due diligence and the whole concept of “judge, jury, and executioner” really turned people off from you. 

If you did accept, how would other heroes see you? Would they find new respect for you, after hearing your story? Or would they only condemn you to being a vigilante, someone who should’ve never been forgiven? 

How would Miruko see you? Would she respect you, and what you’ve become? Would she still carry the same disdain she shows on the news? 

What would become of you, if you let the Red Medusa lay forever forgotten in the streets, and become someone new? Should you bring up your vigilante days, or do you let the news dig it all up and find out when you start flourishing as a hero? Do you keep the gap between victim and hero empty, or would you have to spill it all to everyone?

The thoughts overwhelm you, and you find yourself in front of your door before you know it. You drop your keys twice, and by the time you finally unlock your door, someone clearing their throat interrupts you. Your head whips around to find your landlord standing a few feet beside you with his hands tucked into his jeans. 

He’s a younger guy, which was a surprise when you first met him. You thought all landlords looked like sewer rats with greasy hair and a creepy aura. This landlord, Mr. Riku only exudes one of those things—creepiness. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your rent, sweetheart.” Mr. Riku nods his head to you, and you bristle at the name. 

“Don’t call me sweetheart.” You snap at him, keeping your hand locked on your doorknob, the other holding a pocket knife tight in the front of your hoodie. Mr. Riku rolls his eyes at you, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he laughs. 

“Ah, right. Trauma, and shit.” He says flippantly, making a face that you think is supposed to disarm you and make you laugh with him. You don’t. You stare at him for a minute, chewing the inside of your cheek as you take all of him in. 

“What do you want?” You bark when he stands there staring at you for too long. Every time you talk to him, you feel like you’re going to emerge out of the conversation covered in slime weighing you down. 

“You’re three months behind on rent. I should evict you.” He singsongs, twisting his mouth as he leans against the wall beside your door. 

“So why don’t you?” You sneer at him, all bite and sharp teeth that he ignores to instead clean invisible dirt from under his nails. 

“It would be a shame to lose such a pretty face in my building, you know? I’d miss it.” Mr. Riku looks up at you from under white haired bangs, grinning something evil that makes your stomach churn and your chest tighten. Before you can say anything, he’s slinking his way inside of your apartment through your open door, coming in before you can stop him. 

“The fuck are you doing?” You shout at him, hand tightening on the pocket knife as you flip it open inside your pocket. You really don’t wanna slice up your landlord and get into actual non-vigilante trouble for this, but you’re starting to fall into fight or flight mode. Right now, he’s one of the men who’s hurt you, and you refuse to be a victim again. 

“I own the building, sweetheart.” Mr. Riku says snootily, walking into your living room, violating it with his yuck. “I’m entitled to come into each and every unit when I damn so please.” He looks around the place, holding up a shirt you left on the couch and sniffing it blatantly in your face. 

You cringe at that, heart rate picking up as you take a step to him, frozen in your spot when he suddenly appears in front of you again. He reaches a hand out to your own that’s still in your pocket, and you finally find it in you to move, snatching away as you stumble into the still ajar door. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” You growl at him, though your voice shakes much more than you’d like. Usually, when facing off with creepy men like this, they don’t know who you are, can’t hang your living situation over your head, don’t know your connections to a high ranking hero who paid for you to live here.. 

“I have an offer for you, that I can’t let the other neighbors hear.” Mr. Riku whispers, inching closer to you until his nose damn near brushes yours. 

You jerk back, one hand still gripping the knife, the other curling up into a fist at your side. If he attacks, you can either cut him or punch him, but that might not be enough. You might have to get your gun strapped to your hip, even though you’re sure that it’ll be too loud and alert the neighbors. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or bad thing. 

“Which is?” You reply back, calculating his next move as much as you can, trying to keep your head leveled. 

“I’ll extend your stay here. But you have to treat me right in return.” Mr. Riku mutters, hands—creepy, disgusting, too bony, too long, too veiny hands—reaching out to cup your chest. Before he can, you swing your fist, nailing him directly in the jaw, sending him crashing into your bookshelf next to your front door. A few books fall on him, and you stand above him, heart racing at the thought of what he just tried to do to you. 

“Fuck you, you fucking pig.” You spit at him, voice cracking as he moans in pain. You pick up your bag, kicking him between the legs once as hard as you can before you finally dart out into the hallway. 

From there, you run and run and run until your legs take you to a safe place, heart in your throat all the while. You don’t think you can breathe; you don’t think you took a single breath the entire way there until you found your back against a familiar door, gasping in the musky air of the warehouse. 

Nobody seems to be here, as all the lights are off and its quieter than it usually is. You call out Vanity’s name, expecting for at least her to be there, but nobody answers you. You feel rooted to your place at the door, eyes welling with tears as your shaking hands hold tightly onto your bag. You can’t move—have your limbs always been weighed down so heavily by lead? Has your heartbeat always been so loud in your ears?

After what feels like hours, do you slowly start sinking down onto the hard, cold floor beneath you. Your fingers are warm and clammy when you finally let go of the bag, to instead wrap your arms around your figure. You take a breath, and then another, before the sobs start to wrack your body, heavy and loud and ugly, shaking and screeching, angry and full of—of, rage, fear, terrifying, body consuming fear. 

Your eyes burn with every blink, your chest getting too tight, you don’t think you can muster anymore breath inside of your lungs. You can’t move, you can’t move, you can’t move. 

A shadow emerges from the steps in the back corner, and you think that this might be the end for you. Maybe it should be—you won’t have to fight anymore, you won’t have to suffer. You won’t be such a pain in the ass for Dynamight anymore. 

But instead, you’re greeted with an emerald green eyepatch and a golden, glowing eye. Vanity. 

She says something to you, but your ears feel like they’re filled with cotton. She crouches in front of you, waving a hand in front of your face, but your eyes have been unseeing for a while now. So she holds you, close to her chest, gathers you up in her arms like a mother would, and she holds you. 

You don’t think you’ve ever cried harder. 

You two stay like that for what feels like days, before your tears have slowed to trickles down your cheeks, and your sobs have dissipated into quiet little hiccups. You don’t know when you started holding her back, but your hands grip her shirt, and you belatedly realize that she’s wearing her usual pajamas. 

“Sorry for waking you,” you croak out, throat dry and scratchy. Vanity leans back to fix you with a frown, and you notice that her own eye holds tears. 

“Don’t apologize. I heard my girl crying, and what kind of best friend would I be to not comfort her?” She reassures you, wiping away the few stray tears that still fall down your face. You smile wobbly at her, before planting your head in her chest again. She’s warm, and holds you close to her with her arms wrapped tight around your shoulders, stroking your hair. She lets you stay like that for a few more minutes, before she speaks,

“Can I ask what happened?” Her voice is tiny in the big, spacious room. “It’s okay if you don’t want to share.” You sit with her question hanging in the air, trying to gather the words in your mouth to spit out. 

“Creepy, shitty landlord.” Is all you can muster up. It’s enough though, as she only hums in acknowledgement, muttering, 

“It’s always creepy, shitty landlords, ain’t it?” You can hear her smile when you start to laugh against her skin, finally pulling back to look at her. Her cheeks are tear-stained, and you wonder if she can cry from an empty socket. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” She asks, helping you to your feet. 

The rest of the afternoon goes by in a blur, with Vanity helping you to the shower, lending you some clothes since you didn’t have anything clean in your bag, and fixing you up something quick and easy to eat. You two are quiet in the empty warehouse, and you fall asleep next to her on the cot in her room. It’s uncomfortable sharing such a small space, but at least you know you’re safe. 

…

Things went by uneventfully when you “broke” into your apartment to get some extra clothes and other necessities with Vanity. After that though, you’ve stayed in the warehouse full time. It’s not the most ideal living situation though, long term, since there’s no Wi-Fi and it interferes with your connection to the outside world and possible villain activity going on. Also, there’s no hot water, nor is there a fully functioning kitchen besides a microwave. 

This hideaway was only supposed to be for temporary usage—running away from the cops, needing to get stitched up, some extra ammo, a safe place to sleep for a few nights. 

Not for two weeks. Once your higher ups started asking questions about your performance after a few patients expressed their worry about your near constant zombie-like state, you realized that you had to find another solution. (You think its the consistent cold showers that really did you in. Miruko spoiled you with such a nice place.) 

You finally decide to swallow your pride, grumbling all the while as you stand behind the warehouse, holding your phone up high to the sky. 

[ You , sent at 8:49pm ]

hey asshole, its trm. got a minute to chat? 

[ Dynamight , sent at 8:52pm ]

yeah, only took you three years to text me

what?

[ You , sent at 8:55pm ]

you're even ruder over text

I need a favor, but don’t expect anything in return 

[ Dynamight , sent at 8:57pm ]

Never. 

[ You , sent at 8:58pm ]

got some housing issues going on rn. do you have any recs for low rent apartments in the area?

[ Dynamight , sent at 9:00pm ]

Ur shitting bricks if you think you can get something low in this neighborhood

[ You , sent at 9:05pm ]

thanks for the fucking help then

[ Dynamight , sent at 9:06pm ]

got a spare room at my place tho?

[ You , sent at 9:06pm ]

And what the fuck does that mean?

“What the fuck does that mean, Dynamight?” You immediately call him before the text can even send through, heart in your throat, your breathing heavy. Dynamight answers on the second ring, and grunts at your loud tone this late at night. 

“What else would it mean?” He asks, voice disinterested as he yawns on the other end of the line. “I gotta spare room at my place, if you wanna crash.” He offers up like its the most casual thing a person could ever do. You’re silent on the other line as you let his words sink in, eyebrows furrowing as your gaze unfocuses on the thicket of trees in front of you. 

Why would he offer up his place to you? Is he looking for something in return? Would he take advantage of you? What if the fucker had some kind of freaky room where he could tie you up and do whatever freaky shit repressed heroes do? You bite at your lip, mind reeling, as you form your mouth to reject his offer.  

“Look, not to be an intrusive dumbass but—” Dynamight speaks up after a long stretch of silence. 

“You are.” You cut him off, listening to him grunt on the other end of the line. 

“Shuddup.” You can practically hear the frown in his voice before he continues. “But I see Miruko hooked you up at a shelter near the apartment you were staying at, and its pretty close to where I’m at. If you don’t wanna take an hour commute to get there because you gotta stay in some shitty apartment, then you could come crash with me.” 

He’s too fucking nonchalant for you, to be offering up something so hugely important. You just don’t get it, you think, as you exhale, one hand gripping your phone tightly and the other gripping the roots of your hair. 

“And why would you do that?” You ask him in the tiniest whisper you can muster, brain struggling to figure out why someone like him would offer his space to someone like you. 

“The fuck? I just explained why.” Dynamight grunts confusedly on the other end, and you can damn near see his thick brows scrunching in confusion.  

“No, I mean why you?” You ask desperately, hands starting to tremor as you speak through your teeth. “Why are you offering up your place for me to live? We don’t even know each other, much less like each other.” Your voice, quiet, shaking under the weight of the words. Dynamight is silent for a few seconds before he retorts, 

“We’d have to know each other to dislike each other.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.” You snap at him, back straightening as if he could see you. He goes silent for a few beats, formulating the right words in his head before he talks quietly into the mic. 

“Call this a gesture of good faith.” He states, voice firm and unwavering. “I’ve intruded on your life a fuckton these past weeks, trying to rope you into hero life, ‘nd all that, so I wanna offer up something that means a lot to me. Even playing field, and shit.”

You fall silent, mulling over his words, everything that could go wrong if you were to put your trust into a hero, a man. He could hurt you. He could get away with it, easily. He could paint you out to be the crazy one, the problem. 

But…he could help you. You would never need a man’s help but—Dynamight, in all of your interactions, never seemed like the type of scummy guys you frequently punished. He felt genuine, in a sense, firm but not too pushy. And maybe—maybe you could trust him. Just a little bit. 

He hasn’t turned you into the police or to Hero Commission (yet?). You guess the guy couldn’t be all bad. 

“I’m not taking any fuckin’ handouts.” You snap at him after a minute of silence. You can hear him chuckle on the other end before fabric starts ruffling in the background. 

“Not a handout, dumbass. Just letting you borrow some shit for the time being.” He shrugs, and you swear you hear him yawn once. You frown, kicking up some branches that lay fallen at your feet. 

“I’ll pay rent.” You mutter to him. 

“No shit you’re paying rent.” Dynamight snorts, barely giving you a second to even offer. Shit head. 

“Okay. Text me your address.” You go to pull your phone away to hang up, interrupted by his voice calling out on the other end. 

“You’re coming now? I was about to go to bed.” He grumbles. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, pulling the phone away from your ear to check the time. 

“The fuck? It’s not even 9:30 yet, you old fart.” You poke at him, listening to his annoyed mumbling on the other side. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Dynamight says with no real malice. “Call me when you’re outside.” He hangs up before you can say another word, and sends his address through to you only seconds later. 

You look up at the sky before going back inside, gaze focused on the full moon and the cloudless skies, and wonder how the hell you’re gonna tell Vanity that you're moving in with a male pro hero. You decide that the best way to tell her, is by not telling her face to face at all. 

Before you leave, you write a note left on your cot for her to find. You know she’s not going to be happy about this, but you have to put yourself first every once in a while. 

…

“Well you look like shit.” Is the first thing you tell Dynamight when he opens the door to his apartment. He’s frowning at you, with half of his ash blond mane flattened on one side, his tank top twisted at the neck a little, his sweatpants low on his hips, and his feet bare. He looks like you’ve just woken him up. 

“Fuck off,” he mutters, yawning before he turns on his heel to walk back inside. You follow, albeit hesitantly, afraid that something or someone might be wanting for you around the corner, ready to attack. But you take off your shoes, and pad into the living room, and it looks like no boogeymen are plotting on snatching you before you can even scream. 

Dynamight stands behind the couch with his hands on his hips, a sleepy little frown on his face as he looks at you. He gestures to the open layout of his place, voice a deep grumble in his throat. 

“Living room. Tv remote there,” he points to the coffee table before hooking his thumb behind him. “Kitchen—don’t eat my fuckin’ protein bars.” He points at you next and you only sneer at him. He tries to match your look but he’s too sleepy to keep up, so he only turns on his heel again before guiding you down a long hallway. 

“Did you fall asleep already? We just hung up like, thirty minutes ago.” You ask him, frowning when it takes more effort than you’d like to keep up with his long legs. 

“Shut it. I thought I was gonna stay up, but ‘m fuckin’ exhausted.” Dynamight grunts at you, sidestepping at a door across from what looks like the bathroom. You peer inside, hiking your heavy book bag up higher on your shoulder. Dynamight goes to take it without warning, and you instinctively grab it back, head whipping up to stare at him in confusion. He scrunches his face up before shaking his head at you. 

“Sorry. Looks heavy, and I was gonna put it down for you.” His voice is small, and he folds his arms across his chest. You blink up at him for a few seconds, taking a few breaths to calm your suddenly racing heart before you drop the bag into his barely ready hands. He grunts at the weight of it, tired face surprised at how much you’ve stuffed inside. 

“This my room?” You ask him, ignoring his question of how many bodies you’ve packed in there, to walk inside the new space. 

It’s big. Entirely so, almost as big as your whole apartment from before. There’s a deep marooned carpet covering the floor, the walls a muted gray, with cream colored black out curtains covering the windows. The bed looks too big for just you to sleep in, decorated with more gray and cream sheets. Four pillows sit against a wooden headboard, and a small circular decorative one sits in the middle. There’s a purple throw blanket at the end of the bed that doesn’t match anything, but you see that its knitted, and you wonder why someone like Dynamight owns something so soft. 

There’s a TV in front of the bed, and a small couch at the end of it. A closet on one side of the room, open and empty, the other wall decorated with a wooden dresser pressed against it. The room is beautiful and so…un-Dynamight. 

“Why’s the bed so big?” Is the only thing you can muster up, shocked at how nice the room really is. Dynamight grunts at that, and you think it might’ve actually been a chuckle. He enters the room, setting your bag on the cream couch and letting you enter, before he stands back at the doorway again. 

“‘Cause I’m a big guy, with some big friends who like to invite themselves over and get too fuckin’ drunk to go home.” Dynamight leans against the doorsill with his arms crossed over his chest, yawning at the end of his sentence. His eyes are so low, and droopy, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think his quirk was actually being half lion. If you tilt your head enough, you’re sure you’d see some fluffy ears hidden in the mane of his hair. 

You look away, realizing you’ve been staring as you run your hand over the soft blanket. You look back to him, almost as if in question, but he only blinks at you. You’re quiet for a while, taking everything in. 

“Bathrooms across the hall, too. It’s all yours, since I have my own in my room.” Dynamight tells you, head jerking back to across the hall. Your eyes flicker behind him before landing on him again, feeling something warm starting to light up your chest. 

“Thank you, Dynamight.” You whisper to him, voice tiny, as you awkwardly fold your arms over your chest. You hate feeling so meek, so in debt, so needy. But he doesn’t seem to take advantage of it, rolling his eyes as he pushes off the wall. 

“We’re roommates now. Call me Bakugou.” He tells you, voice firm. You want to be an asshole and come up with some smart remark, but you can’t seem to find any. So you nod at him, once, and give him your last name, too. He smiles a tiny little smile at that before a yawn breaks his face again. He backs up from your door with a small wave, nodding to you. 

“We can discuss rent and shit in the morning. Get some sleep.” He tells you, going to turn his back before you speak up as you start unzipping your bag to pull out some pajamas. 

“I could say the same to you.” You call out to him, watching his eyebrow quirk in surprise. 

“So say it.” He nods his chin to you, slowly walking backwards to his own room. You bristle at that though, shoulders hiking up to your ears as you flip him the bird, something you’re really starting to like doing to him. 

“Fuck off.” You snap at him, no real malice in your tone. Dynamight—Bakugou, laughs at that, before turning on his heel to enter his room. He closes it without another look and you feel yourself release the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in. 

So what now? You think to yourself, your eyes falling to the pajamas you’re tightly holding before glancing up to the bathroom. 

Now—a hot shower. 

The bathroom is just as big as your room, with the same maroon-grey-cream color scheme going on. He’s even got some decorative towels in here, and it makes you wonder if someone did all of this for him, or if he did it himself. Either way, it doesn’t matter much when the hot water is all you really came for. 

You go on about your nightly routine without further preamble, stiffening every time you hear a bump in the loft. You keep your gun close to you, even seating it on the toilet as you shower and brush your teeth. But nothing happens, and you dart quickly into your room, locking it behind you the moment you’re safe. 

You check the closet, behind the door, and under your bed, and find nothing thankfully. You let yourself breathe for the first time in a long time, as you sit on the side of the bed in your pajamas. You won’t stay here long, you muse over with yourself. Just use his Wi-Fi and shower and oven until you can find a reasonable place to live, even if you have to start taking extra shifts at your job, even if it means having to do less vigilante work. 

This is only temporary, you tell yourself as you lay back in bed, pulling up the purple blanket until it reaches your chin. You don’t want to get under the bed covers—it’ll signify that you’ll overstay your welcome. You can’t stay long. You can’t. 

You don’t sleep much the first night, watching the door all night long, anticipating someone to try the doorknob. It’s left alone the entire time, and only when the sunlight rises, do you finally rest your eyes and let sleep take you. 

chapter six

please do not repost or rec on tik tok!

tag list: @endlessfreaky @iamaconfusedpan

[blkkizzat]

ꨄ︎『blkkizzat Rules & Info』ꨄ︎

Rules/BYF:

This is an 18+ blog. You know if your ass should be on here or not.  If you interact with me you are acknowledging you are legally old enough to be reading this content where ever you are. That said I ain't nobody mammy, babysitter or 12 so I'm not gonna hunt you down or check every blog for blank, ageless, etc. That said, if I find out for whatever reason you are underage, I will block you. 

I'm sorry if I am slow to update. I'm busy with full-time corporate job, grad school, friends and I also have ADHD.

I’m a black girl so I write from a black girl perspective but with no descriptors so all can enjoy unless it’s black reader specified. I will say n!gga, etc here so if that makes you uncomfortable this isn’t the blog for you.

Please do not steal my graphics/headers/dividers. I made them myself in photoshop (credit for code of layout is on the desktop layout). If you have a question please ask me and I will help you but I can only help if you have Photoshop or CapCut as those are the programs I use.

Please do not repost, copy, translate, or reupload any of my writing. If you are inspired and would like to write your own version feel free to do so just tag/credit me so I can read it too!

I don’t mind if you recco me on other platforms and post a summary/review but no reading off story content please.

Reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated!

BLOCKIANA if: rude, kink shaming, homophobic, transphobic, racists, fatphobic, post too much furry shit, you dont know the difference between fiction and reality etc or anti-Nicki Minaj which atp is anti-black, imo. You could also just in engage in too much discourse (complaining about notes, bad mouthing/shady to other writers, bad takes in general, etc) or tw commentary like suicide, depression, etc. which I also try to avoid (for my own mental health) so it’s really nothing personal if you were blocked. I truly have no fucks to give for weakass tumblr drama (im on stan twt so i get enough there) so not trying to start any over protecting my peace.

I don’t answer questions on why someone got blocked. I have before and it never ends well, people get offended and start subposting/crashing out, its all so juvenile just respect people's choice.

No Flex/Drama Zone. This blog is a IRL mental break for me. I am not neutral on politics. I DO have opinions however I don’t talk about politics (FUCK TR*MP!), world issues, discourse, etc. on THIS blog so please don’t send me asks about it. That said, mental health issues don't count im here if you are struggling but please send as a msg not ask! But it’s so unserious for me to talk about wanting to toot up and suck off [anime!character] from the back and then the next post is about starving kids or who America is deciding to fuck over today, this isn’t the place for that. I also spent my whole career thus far working in mass media surrounded by world issues daily (i work for a well known media company now). Not to mention my grandpa is a pastor and my family runs a non-profit rehab center focused on low-income/homeless. Plus actual volunteer work.(working through my grad school on a consulting project for a trade union helping women in India). I just say this to say you cannot guilt or bully me into posting about anything here. My IRL outreach and impact extends much further then a post or reblog.

This doesn’t not include discourse around stealing if someone else has been stealing others or my works please let me know.

I do block certain tags and people for my own peace of mind/to avoid discourse.

This blog is my outlet and I’m here ONLY to write unhinged smut about my thirsts for 2D men and be horny on the timeline, we will fr be besties if you are down for the same.  ✎ (❁���͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧ ♡*.✧

What’s a GO:

SMUT. Pretty much anything is a GO: unprotected, group sex, swinging, cheating, preg, bratty/sub/dom, omgeaverse, ovulation/menstrual, roughplay, age gap, age up, dubcon/noncon, recreational drugs, milfs/dilfs, kidnapping, incest, etc. let me know your kinks and I will try to do them justice.

Some fluff. I'm probably not going to write it unless its requested though lol.

Maybe a lil angst every now and again but me feeling emo just makes me want to write porn so... *kanye shrug*

What’s a DUB:

I only won't do overly gross or violent things so NO scat, STDs, mutilation, body horror, violent noncon, body/weight shaming (includes eating disorders), furry (hybrid is OK), etc. I reserve the full right to deny any request or modify it if it contains one of those things OR something I forgot to include but I find myself uncomfortable with. 

I tag my works #✎ᝰ𝓀𝒾𝓏𝓏𝒶𝓉¢σσкѕ  & #✎ᝰ𝓀𝒾𝓏𝓏𝒶𝓉¢σσкє∂тнαт

Masterlist: ♋︎

[raewritesfiction]

Cuddles [Jeremy Renner Imagine - fluff]

A/N: I think we all deserve some fluff, I’m not the best with fluff but we’ll see where this goes. I’m gonnabe drawing on some personal feelings I’ve had recently so please check the warnings. As always I’m sorry about the layout editing.

Plot: reader is in an established relationship with Jeremy Renner and has had a rough time, they just need some cuddles and reassurance.

Pairing: Female! Reader X Jeremy Renner

Warnings: talk of mental health issues (suicidal ideations, self harm, self destruction etc - it MAY get heavy but I’ll try and keep everything as simple and not too in depth as possible). Angsty at points but I promise there is good fluff!!!

[[ Lemme know if you wanna be added or removed from tags; no questions asked ♥️ likes are amazing however I really appreciate Reblogs to help spread my writing further! Thank you 🌈😘]]

Tag List: @jaseminedenise @nikkitasevoli @iraniq @snewsome756 @vikki-rogue @amelia-in-w0nderland @pandaliciouz @crispyimagines17 @marie-is-blogging @bonniebird @nutinanutshell @louise-buchan @differentcatcat @madsadgenius @dreamlesswonder86 @libellule2001 @purplerain85 @lipstickandtanqueray

—

The day had passed at a snail’s pace; just like every other day before it for the last two months. You’d taken whatever jobs you could get after being let go from your career position of six years. The jobs sucked and the people sucked more but you needed the cash.

When it had all started, your boyfriend had promised you’d never need or want for anything and that he’d take care of you. You’d ended up in a shouting match, sobbing that you needed your independence and your own income. He had agreed completely and said he never meant it as a long term comment; it was just so you didn’t have to rush into taking whatever. He’d held you as you cried about all the what ifs running through your head and had whispered sweet everythings to help you calm.

The first three weeks had been, admittedly, blissful. You’d had time to yourself to do all the little things you wanted; take up forgotten hobbies and meet up with friends for a catch up. It took that first week for you to realise that your career had stolen time from you and maybe this was a good thing.

By the second week you had been lonely and craved daily human contact. Your boyfriend had been between the music studio and press appointments for the second series of a programme he was starring in. You’d never had an issue with his work and could usually deal with it well. But that was when you were out daily and doing your job and taking your mind off of everything.

Jeremy would still call you daily and you’d see each other every weekend as planned but your mind was playing tricks on you and making you believe you were worthless because you weren’t working. You weren’t earning your money; it was just being given to you like your boyfriend was your sugar daddy. ‘You’re not doing anything to deserve this!’ Your mind told you over and over. ‘You’re worthless because nobody wants to employ you.’ ‘You’re dispensable.’

You spent a solid week applying for whatever job you were capable of doing and had then ended up hopping from job to job for three months until you had been placed in a warehouse by an agency. Your first two days had been all your training, the rest was on the job and you quickly learned that the moment you clocked in on day three, you were never “off the clock” and even your toilet breaks were timed.

Jeremy had sat and listened to all the things you were learning and was happy you were feeling more yourself, even if it did mean you were physically and emotionally exhausted after your fourteen hour shifts, six days a week.

Your sex life had dwindled but Jeremy had insisted it was absolutely fine and he wasn’t going anywhere; he was happy to cuddle up and hold you. Soon your six day weeks turned into seven and you hadn’t seen Jeremy now for over a month. Your mental health was taking a high dive and you were still falling. The calls and texts were everything you held on to just to keep you feeling a little more sane. You were still with the work agency and you pleaded to be placed anywhere else as long as it wasn’t in a warehouse you even told them you’d take a pay cut as long as it got you out; but there was nothing else available and if you left the job the agency would dismiss you from their services too.

You didn’t want to admit defeat. You were strong and capable and you wanted - no, you needed - to make your own money but you wanted at least a little life back to yourself. You debated on pulling a couple of sick days but reading up on your contract you were reminded that could end in dismissal unless you could get a doctors note.

It was Thursday and your alarm was beeping incessantly at you; it had been for the last half an hour. The frantic beeping was just another reminder that the only good thing in your life was a boyfriend you hadn’t seen in nearly six weeks, a boyfriend you were sure would find someone else soon. Why wouldn’t he? You never had time for him and when you did talk all you did was fall asleep on FaceTime. He said he didn’t mind but was it just words? You could say you were a heart surgeon but it didn’t make it true.

The alarm stepped up it’s beeping and your fist landed heavy on it; the room fell into silence and you lay staring at your ceiling wondering how much longer you could do this. How much longer could you go on with this monotonous bullshit? Was the money really worth it? It barely covered your bills and Jeremy was still buying most of your groceries for you. Fleeting thoughts crossed your mind about what would happen if you just stopped existing? Would you really be missed? Your job would just replace you with another desperate drone and Jeremy would be sad but he’d move on.

Your phone ringing brought you back to your current reality. The screen showed a picture of your boyfriend smiling back at you; a picture you had taken on your first date. It reminded you of the fairground you had wandered around together eating candy floss and playing stupid games at the stalls.

You answered just before it rang off and you couldn’t hide your exhaustion from your quiet “hello.” Jeremy spoke softly but with authority, telling you that you’re not going back to the warehouse under any circumstances and that he wanted his girlfriend back. He told you he would be over in an hour and to throw on whatever you were comfortable wearing. You couldn’t think of anything else to say except “thank you” as you held back tears.

Jeremy arrived an hour later to find you in his tee and a pair of your comfiest sweats. You hadn’t showered in three days and you knew full well you were a complete mess but you also couldn’t bring yourself to shower before he arrived.

You barely let him walk through the door before you were collapsing into his arms and sobbing against his shoulder. Jeremy wrapped his arms around you tight and held you close, it was the kind of hug that made all your broken parts squish back together while his soft whispers of loving words were the superglue that held them back in place for good. Weeks of anger, depression and frustrations leaked from your eyes and onto his t-shirt. He just stroked your greasy hair back and kissed your temple softly before wiping your cheeks of the tears.

“Let’s get you feeling better, okay baby girl?” He keeps his voice soft and presses a kiss to your lips before helping you stand.

As Jeremy went about his plans you realised he really was the man of your dreams. He ran you a warm bubble bath and added a special blend of salts and oils into the water. As you soaked in the steamy room he fixed back your hair and gently washed your face; a light exfoliation, face mask, eye patches, cleanser and moisturiser. While your face was fixing itself under the mask and eye patches Jeremy had moved to massaging your hands and arms.

A giggle escaped you when he reached your upper inner arm and you could practically hear the smile as he spoke “I’ve missed that sound..”

Placing your arms back down into the water he sits on one edge of the bath and lifts your leg out the water.

“Oh I uh…” you go to sit up in a panic. You’d never let him see you unshaven.

“Sshh, sit back. Sit back baby, it’s okay.”

“But, I’m hairy!” You lift an eye patch to see him.

“So? It’s just hair! I don’t care.”

“But…”

“Would it make you more comfortable if your legs were shaved and hair free?”

You thought for a moment and shrugged “I… do it for you…”

Jeremy tilts his head and looks to you “lay back, I don’t care about hairy legs or anything else.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Now lay back and relax.” As you do so, Jeremy exfoliates your legs and moves on to massage them with some of the oil he added to the water, moving down to your feet and enjoying the giggles he inadvertently pulls from you when he presses just a little too lightly.

After your bath you sit wrapped in your towel on a chair Jeremy had brought from his home, he gently leaned you back so your head rested over the bath and used the showerhead to wash your hair. The man doesn’t miss a step and gives you a head massage that felt so good you were moaning quietly.

“Good job you’re already sat in a towel..” he smiles and rinses out your locks, gently combing them to detangle before wrapping your head in a warm dry towel. Helping you sit up, Jeremy wheels you a small way across to your counter where he had set up a make shift beauty station.

“What’s all this?” You frown.

“Gonna finish that facial I started in the bath..” he smiles and stands behind you, leaning your head back against him before proceeding to slowly and gently massage over your face, painlessly pluck a few stray hairs and moisturise you again. Once your neck was also massaged his hands moved down to your shoulders and the back of your neck. His fingers were the embodiment of magic and you hadn’t realised just how much you needed this. He made no comments about tension, stress or muscle knots. You knew full well there was much of all the above before he touched you. He hummed and sang quietly to you while his hands relieved your shoulders of all your carried burdens.

Jeremy tidied the bathroom while you pulled on some fresh clothes, including the hoodie he had worn when he arrived. It was oversized on you and smelt of his cologne; a smell that you had missed and brought tears to your eyes when it wrapped you up.

The rest of the day was spent saying little, eating whatever food and snacks you had available and watching the worst horror movies you could find. Jeremy never let you go the entire time and when you did start talking be listened quietly and squeezed your hand to let you know it was okay, light kisses were fluttered on to your forehead and he waited for you to be silent before asking you if you wanted any help with any part of your worries. He didn’t want to overstep or make an assumption again.

“I just… tell me everything will be okay? Please? We’ll figure stuff out tomorrow but for now, please just tell me I’ll be okay.”

Jeremy folded his arms tight around you and held you close, tilting your face so his eyes could meet yours. “You will be okay. You will get through this.”

You lean your head back down and bury your face against the crook of his neck. “Thank you. That’s all I need right now.”

[onmonotonyandotherailments]

How do you deal with the voice in your head? (justified guilt and the like)

This is a question to the dear reader, and for personal research only, also happy pride to those who celebrate it

I don't really know what to do about life anymore, And it sounds so lame to start my first ever post like this, but i've seen all the "It girls" having a diary of some sorts to keep up with their thoughts and to reflect ont hteir daily life. I am not some It girl myself, If there's some list of requirements one must follow, i don't think i quite qualify, and using an aesthetic as a role to follow is probably not the best course of actin when you realize you are struggling.

That's also a big step for me, what's "struggling"? I've used it pretty liberally throughout my life but i don't know what it really encompasses, can i even call it a struggle? When bits just the consequence of my own actions? All struggles are consequences after all, but if the only way to find a faulty party is to look at my reflection i would rather not do it at all.

That's also something i've found about me recently, i don't like blaming people, or i say i do, because i hope they wont point fingers later, when they find out the fault was mine all along.

I keep on going on tangents latey, Back to the point, my life. Ironic sentence i think, Life being the point of discussion when i find life pointless. Not in a suicidal way, but in an avoidment of responsibilities and consequences kinda way. And its not like i havent thought about it, but when youre still living with your parents and your sibling, killing yourself is so much of a hassle for others, more than a big step for myself. So like so many of my attitudes i chose to put it on the list to do in about twenty to ten years or when im living alone.

Its a hopeful list honestly, aside from the /killing myself maybe/. Because as far as im made aware most of these feelings may just leave when i find my own freedom to actually do what i want.

The bad part is, and this is why i needed to do this blog too i think, that i could do most of these things if i just grab hold of the reign of my life and just "Got IT together" as many self motivation posts have pointed out already. The IT its aludding to may be related to these It girls ive written about previously.

Just joking of course, i just need to start studying more, and actually studying and get some part time job, something online even. Its not even that my degree is uninteresting to me, but when its your third time taking a class (and take the third as liberal as you can) and you still have no idea where anything is coming from, you kind of exhaust all other "faults". Its not my teachers as ive had many, its not my current environment, ive done both virtual and on campus classes, the basis ive had were enough for my peers who have already advanced into their actual careers so its me, its my fault.

And fault is so slimy and easy to ignore when its yours, and thats whats sweet about escapism, is that its soo easy and sweet, it fills the brain with that quick and easy dopamine. Love it! But working on your goals and marks on your life? ughhhhhhhhh such a lame-o way on life. Soooo

ive started this blog, mostly to hold myself "accountable" (blegh) and to aestheticize and romanticize life. But im sooo a total shut in, so i have to, in return, start to take care of myself for that outward appeal that they loove to share online. The basis of aesthetics, if you will.

Hopefully this and the deleting all other social media kinda works on favor of this. Hope i didnt come off as a total snob and more like a girl failure. we set the low very low so our highs(returning my overdue books to the library) look like actual progress.

Adding a pretty picture from when we visited our family on the province just to prove im not a Total shut in.

Lots of love, Celine

[board-local]

A Conversation on the Chairlift:

Last year, I was chatting with one of my good friends on the chairlift at who asked me, “if you could do anything you wanted for a job, what would it be?” After thinking about it, I told him I’d love to go snowboarding at a bunch of different resorts and showcase them to the snowboarding community. Then I thought to myself, what am I waiting for? I don’t have to be doing it as my full-time job to start doing it as a hobby. Ever since 2nd grade when I received my first snowboard, I’ve been hooked. It's always been a passion of mine, and I want to share this snowboarding journey with anyone and everyone who wants to tune in.

My goal with this project is to snowboard every resort in Utah, Idaho, Wyoming, and Montana. I also have resorts in other states I’d like to sprinkle in occasionally, but the Mountain West is my main focus. This will definitely be a multi-year project, but I’m excited to get started! I hope to show the snowboarding community that there are tons of fun alternatives to shelling out $250 for a day pass at Park City (but hey, if that’s what you’re after, it’s an amazing resort).

I plan to create a short video and an accompanying blog for each resort I visit. The blog will focus on my favorite runs, details of the mountain, and provide some personal recommendations of things I would want to know about each resort if I were a reader. The video will provide an insider look at the resort, facilities, and various types of terrain and give the viewer an idea of how the mountain rides. Although the video will almost exclusively be self-filmed by me, my goal is to showcase the mountain, not myself.

I intend these resources to be kind of like a cheat-sheet for people to know what resorts they should give a shot, plus what to do once they get there. I also want to focus on the ROI (Return on Investment). In other words - how much you get out of the resort compared to the amount you spend on a lift ticket. I want to highlight the best deals in the Mountain West.

Who am I? Are you sure you want to know? My story is not for the faint of heart… 🕷️ My name is Matt Holyoak. I’m a husband and father in my late 20s. My career has primarily been focused on supply chain management, government affairs, economic development, and non-profit work. I currently help run the Corporate Affairs department for a privately-owned consumer goods company. My wife and I also founded a non-profit called ‘Sunrise After Suicide’ where we help families in the aftermath of a suicide. I’ve got too many hobbies to list, but paramount to them all is my love for being outdoors where I love nothing more than snowboarding.

I’ve been snowboarding for over two decades now, and it’s been a passion of mine throughout my whole life. Some of the best moments of my young life were on the mountain with my childhood friends. In high school, we successfully petitioned our school administrators to bring back the ski club after it was cut. We helped plan and organize multiple snowboard trips with some amazing adult volunteers. I worked my way through college as a snowboard instructor at a small resort where I taught hundreds of people the basics of snowboarding. I was also the student T.A. for my college ski club which is where I started dating my wife. I’m going on 3 years of being a mentor for the Chill Foundation which is an amazing youth development program Burton put together in the form of a non-profit foundation. In my teenage years and early 20s my friends and I enjoyed competing in local snowboard competitions. Although I’m a little more of a snowboard nut than most people, I’m mostly just a guy who loves to snowboard and wants to find the best places to go!

I felt like it was necessary for my readers to understand who I am as a person, but that’s more than enough about me! The last thing I’d like to say in this introductory article is that I’d love to hear from my readers! If you have a strong opinion about a resort, please share it with me.

[jborra]

First Blog to myself

I write this to the air space since no one else is listening

Facing another tough day by myself it becomes hard to keep going after over 7 years of debilitating issues, misunderstood by medical community thus untreated, … living with cognitive confusion and executive dys functioning that hindered logic or reasoning to navigate out of the situation on my own. Physical pain that immobilized. Mental insecurity and dark sadness. Then the nightmare of anxiety on how to even carry on this way.

I feel left alone to rot away because of a society that does not understand my illnesses. Yep multiple issues, though I was mostly initially plagued by depression for most of my earlier life.

I lost a successful high paying 30 year career, even sadder that my coworkers were unaware or not interested in my absence. I spent much of my energies on my ex husband and raising a family with full time working while father of my children took a pass on any helpful responsibility. After 15 years of that day in and out is when the physical illness overtook what little strength I had left. Coming home to a stressful household was too much to bear, and I had to go through with divorce. I wanted separation from a toxic husband however I was shocked to realize my teen children did not want to see me for the next several years, with no known explanation.

I’m now Estranged from all of my siblings and both parents after they could not stop criticising me during my chronic health issues during the separation of my nuclear family . All I asked for and needed was Love and Caring… the kind of Support that would elevate me from the lowest depths of my life. They know I’m at my lowest, they know I lack social connection and my kids, lost job due to disability… they simply criticize me for most of it. They tell me they do not want to support me for the things I did/do to hurt myself, but here’s my glitch…I don’t know what I did wrong. I just tried doing what I thought was best, and sure I make mistakes. But I didn’t deliberately make decisions knowing my entire life energy was at risk.

Lonely depression, crippling anxiety, physical incapacitation, food that was harming me more than nourishing me… I became suicidal , on a recurring basis. It was torture and a living nightmare. But nothing would kill me… the illnesses only create unending suffering.

I had already been through therapists and rehabs unsuccessfully in previous decades for depression. More recently I even tried crisis hotline…but the conversation got stuck on assuring i wasn’t suicidal , instead of helping me process my current thoughts which are creating sadness and immobility. It was the loneliness going through it for 10 years that was the most hurtful…. My heart was broken … by everyone i knew that left me forsaken knowing I was suffering.

After finding miracle progress on physical pain and fatigue, and even some improvement with cognitive and memory, in the last couple months I am having more better days than I ve had in years. But it’s not stable. And diet issues are an ongoing obstacle to my physical energy, and potentially to my mental energy.

today I can’t get out of bed. Hello darkness my old friend. This hasn’t happened in weeks so It’s tough to be stuck here again. My thoughts go right into my isolation and lack of support and no way to get through this down period on my own. And I’m afraid my thoughts will continue to devolve without intervention. An ‘innocent’ check in by my mother the other day turned critical quickly, and so while previously handling an annoying listlessness I devolved into old pattern of suicidal thoughts , that no one cares about me and I have no way to survive this on my own. I cried so hard, I do it openly in my car now.

So I know I have to cut off my toxic family. But who’s left?

I ask a question Ive pondered many times before … where do I go to get through this? What do I do to get through this? I cannot even move my arms much to even type this post. Walking to see nature, crafting something to see possibilities, or any activity to distract is like moving a boulder off my chest to breath. I’m unable to manage it with my own wits. I feel broken to a shell.

[plutonicmirror]

Sigh...it is almost 3 am for the third day in a row and I'm still unable to sleep. So I felt like rambling on a blogging platform.

I gave myself a one-week task and I keep running away from it by immersing myself way too deep into reading fanfiction of the (seemingly) first franchise I ever obsessed about.

And when I say immersed, I'm afraid it's borderline escapist. I've been slowly rereading the source material, taking notes on a .txt file so I can pinpoint scenes of my favorite characters and my favorite ship, and then I knowingly read more fictional versions of already fictional characters - and every single time I try to finally fall asleep I keep ruminating about the stories I just read. I don't know, it feels like I'm possessed. Almost treating those events and characterizations as if they were somewhat sort of real? Like I add more depth to them and think shit like "well yeah this is the darkest [character name] I've seen so far, and it makes sense, he was already kinda suicidal in canon" and so on. And I'd rather think about how clever this and that other author were for catching my entire attention with either a grim canon divergence retelling or a telenovela tier plot than think about my actual life. There is a good side, though, as I can proudly say I more or less quickly withdraw from my usual habits of looking up whatever the fuck that one guy is doing or sharing online whenever the thought arises.... but for how long will I keep that? I've fallen for that habit on and off more times than I can count with my hands. For how long will I run away from real life anyway? The one-week task is tied to a real life woman whom I may not have any attachment to, but I would certainly feel ashamed if I just neglect to do what she is paying me for. I guess I also don't want to dwell too much on how directionless I've been for the past 3 years (even when I had that stupid remote call center job), or how any time I think of a possible solution (that I actually dislike) I just get hit with constant reminders that I pretty much fucked up when I was 17, career wise.

Maybe as directionless as this post, because honestly just imagine all this bullshit rambling just to say that I'd rather read about my annie mays and mangos than about the sleep-inducing liberal and foucaultian definitions of the State...oh, and that I'm still pretty much scared of the future. But that one was happening way before I got obsessed about reading fanfics again.

[hymnsofheresy]

hi, i was wondering if you could pray for me, i know this is random but i guess i just really admire your philosophy, you were the first blog that introduced me to the world of christianity outside my small bubble. to be honest, i'm not quite sure if i believe in god or not. maybe this is just a last effort, but it couldn't hurt. my mental health has worsened severely since my 18th birthday a few days ago, i guess i just no longer have teenagehood as a crutch to explain my flaws and mental health problems, now i'm just a pathetic adult living with her parents who are starting to not be able to hide how much of a disappointment i am to them. my only real hope is getting a very good grade on my country's rough equivalent of the SATs next year to get into a good college, but i know what i'll do if i fail. i've been succeding more and more in self-harm, slowly working up to more dangerous methods, losing my instinct of self preservation as i lose touch with reality. i'm not scared of death too much myself, i'm just afraid of what my parents will do when i leave them forever. they do say they love me, i don't think it's a complete lie. not sure what else to say, thanks in advance

Firstly, I want to say is that it is a very modern and western idea that we as people are fully "grown" at age 18 and we must be financially independent from our parents. Take it as someone who is still living with her parents at age 23 in-between university and my upcoming job (I have been living unemployed with my folks for over 10 months at this point!). I know of many accomplished friends with careers (both college educated and not) living with their parents well into their twenties and early thirties. Some of them are staying with their parents to build up their own assets. Some of them are with their parents to help the family maintain economic stability. I think that it is very natural to have a slow breaking off from your parents, otherwise you can go into financial (and emotional) devastation pretty quickly. And truth be told, a lot of people come back to their parents for support even after they have obtained "independence." We are human beings, we must rely on social structures.

However, I am sympathetic to your suffering. I remember going through a very dark time right after my graduation; I was nearing suicidal. I felt like I was a burden to my parents, that my life held no purpose. I never could imagine a life for me after school because my education was my life. However, those feelings passed when I began job searching and after I landed a job.

There is no point in your life where you are worthless. It is okay to be in those "in-between" spaces where you aren't necessarily being productive; everyone has those times. Your usefulness and productivity is not what makes you deserving of life and love. Your parents do love you, and the world would have an empty hole without you in it. I will be praying for you Anon.

[vithyahairandmakeup]

MOTHERHOOD

For years I have been receiving the question “when will you have a baby?”

When I first received it over a decade ago, I cried myself to sleep. Today, I just answer back with sarcasm.

I have a scarred Uterus, also known as Asherman’s syndrome, over a horrific incident that happened to me in my late teens. I was told then that I would struggle to conceive, but due to my trauma I never looked into it and kept thinking I had time.

On my third date with my ex-husband, he told me he didn’t want children. He gave me a few days to think about it, but I didn’t need to think, I thought it was a great escape. Usually everyone blames the woman for not bearing children, but in this case I didn’t have to explain to him that I couldn’t conceive anyway. I said yes, we got married, and divorced four months later. Not because of this, but good thing it didn’t work out anyway.

I got married again three years later, and in the first ever conversation with my husband I told him if he would be ok with no biological children, as I couldn’t conceive. He fully accepted it and it was much easier for me starting a marriage where I felt accepted and understood.

My husband understood, and to this day my Mother-in-law never pressured me either, but my own mother asks me and demands that I give her grandchildren, when she knows that 5 different doctors from different parts of the world told me that I couldn’t conceive due to my scarred uterus.

I argue with my mother over this on a weekly basis. It is exhausting and upsetting, but I refuse to let it ruin my mood or allow it to get to me.

What is a scarred uterus? Or Asherman’s syndrome? What does it mean?

When a woman becomes pregnant, the embryo implants in the endometrium (uterus wall). The damaged endometrium can obliterate the normal cavity and interfere with conception. There is an increased risk of miscarriage or complications later in the pregnancy. In my case, I have not been able to conceive at all. My embryo doesn’t even get to attach itself onto the endometrium.

Yes, the uterus can be fixed with surgery. Or I could resort to surrogacy (someone else carrying our biological child), or even adopt, if having children was that important to me, but I have learned to live with it and accepted my body a very long time ago, and I simply refuse to put my body or my mind through more trauma.

This blog is by no means to have you feel sorry for me, or pity me. I also don’t want to start getting messages about other treatments or options of getting pregnant.

This blog is for all the women out there who cannot conceive like me, and the women who can conceive but choose not to have children. I absolutely understand both and respect and stand with both.

Why is it that being a mother should define us as women?

I respect and admire alot of my friends who are mothers and do a fantastic job at raising them. Some are housewives and some have a full blown career, and they are both happy and content and deserve a trophy for multi-tasking.

I also respect the women who choose not to have children and focus on their career or travelling or whatever it is that makes them happy and content. They also deserve a trophy, simply because they have to deal with society and our community discrediting them as women for not having children.

Then there are mothers who don’t particularly take good care of their children, who were maybe pressured into having children or are struggling to cope with motherhood. There are so many women in different situations.

As a woman ourselves, why do we judge another woman? Why do we ask them the sensitive question? Why do we pressure them? I deal with it on a daily basis. I personally deal with it pretty well now, but imagine the women who cannot deal with these type of questions? I know of a woman who died by suicide during lockdown because she couldn’t bear the thought of not having kids, as she tried for over a decade. It broke my heart when I heard the news. More so for her husband who adored his wife and was totally accepting of not having children.

We never know what another woman is going through. And asking her the questions “Do you have children?”, “Why don’t you have children yet?” can potentially trigger them and push them over the egde. That question is not out of concern but curiosity, and it’s none of our business what a woman or a couple decide to do.

So let’s make a conscious decision to be more thoughtful, mindful, respectful, and understanding when we meet another woman face-to-face or virtually, and treat them the way we want to be treated.

Sending you all love ❤️

[ratdoeswriting]

juno steel and how to pretend you're fine

Summary: Juno hasn’t had a bad day in a long time. Okay, maybe he has, but not a bad-bad day, not a self-sacrifice-and-gun-fights bad day, not a what-if-I-crash-my-car bad day. He especially hadn’t had an I-need-to-hurt-myself-and-I-don’t-care-who-I-take-with-me kind of bad day.Except today. Today felt like all of those wrapped into one and multiplied by a thousand.

Prompt: “What if I just crash this car and make it all stop?” from prompt-dealer (i think)

Pairings: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel 

Warnings: canon typical suicidal thoughts/ suicidal tendancies, mentions of car crashes, intrusive thoughts, previous minor character death

Word count: 1.6K

A/N: this is cross posted on ao3 and my main blog - please lmk if i need to add any tags 

~~~

Juno hasn’t had a bad day in a long time. Okay, maybe he has, but not a bad-bad day, not a self-sacrifice-and-gun-fights bad day, not a what-if-I-crash-my-car bad day. He especially hadn’t had an I-need-to-hurt-myself-and-I-don’t-care-who-I-take-with-me kind of bad day. 

Except today. Today felt like all of those wrapped into one and multiplied by a thousand. 

The old Juno would have given in. He would have entertained the idea for all of no time at all and then dived in head first with his eyes wide open. Juno-now (he wasn’t a new Juno, he was just… now, here) still entertained the idea, hell, he might even wonder why he wanted to do whatever it was. But he wouldn’t do it. Probably. 

He definitely wouldn't hurt someone else, no matter what he did. 

~~~

It had started after the last job, which had gone quite spectacularly wrong. 

Juno and Peter hadn’t gone in expecting an easy job - stealing a painting off the wall of a crowded ballroom was obviously going to be difficult - but that had gone off without a hitch, had gone off easier than the last time they did such a heist. No, the real issue came when a different thief had tried to steal a vase and gotten caught. It wasn’t even a nice vase, definitely not nice enough to die over. 

It had turned into a messy hostage situation, Juno’s HCPD training and his own career as professional hostage kicking in as he tried desperately to find a way to get everyone out. 

You can’t save everyone, Juno.

Three civilians and the thief had wound up dead, and more injured than Juno’s guilt ridden brain could count, and by the time he and Peter were back on the Carte Blanche, Juno could barely speak for the shock of what had happened. Neither Buddy nor Peter said anything when Peter debriefed with no input from Juno. 

Buddy did, however, decide to put off selling the painting for a little while, giving everyone some time to relax. This is where Juno’s bad day had started. 

~~~

In the timeless limbo between jobs, it was easy to lose yourself: Rita in her streams with Jet; Buddy and Vespa in their wedding plans, and Peter and Juno in each other. Juno couldn’t help the feeling he was losing himself alone. 

He knows he should have said something to Peter, or Rita, or even Vespa if he was desperate, but he was too busy trying to convince himself had it under control. 

His mind had been racing in loose circles, chasing empty thoughts and half-memories of every time Juno had fucked up, every time he had let someone die, every time he had almost let someone die. 

Benten. Yasmin. Alessandra. 

His head felt heavy with it, weighing him down into a feeling he thought he had long forgotten, numbing him so he couldn’t feel his way out. All he could find in the mess was the handy how-to he had written himself. 

How to pretend your fine when you absolutely, totally are - by Juno Steel

~~~

He had been doing a good job, if he did say so himself. Even if he and the rest of the ship knew that was a lie. 

Rita had been hovering more, not smothering him, just letting him know she was there; Jet never mentioned when Juno came and sat silently with him for a few hours, handing him tools when he asked. Buddy had outright told him that if he wanted to talk then she would always have time, ‘always, darling, just say the word’. Even Vespa had been a little nicer - their typically aggressive banter becoming more like a strangely aggressive therapy. 

And Peter. Peter was Juno’s anchor. He always was. 

But he could only pretend for so long.

~~~

Tonight, Juno wanted to drive - being inside was not helping, and so, from one moment to the next, Juno found himself behind the wheel, Peter in the passenger seat. It was late and Juno couldn't remember what planet they were on anymore. 

The car’s single head light shone dimly on the road in front of them and Juno stared blankly through the windshield, muscle memory alone stopping him from crashing. 

He used to do this, he used to drive for hours, let his numbness fill the car till he forgot he was driving and drifted mentally, drifted physically… 

He wanted to drift today. He wanted to feel weightless. 

The repetitive splashing rounds of the wheels sent Juno spiralling again, an endless list of people he had failed circling through his mind over and over and over again and goddammit he couldn't think, couldn't breathe, he needed it to stop, even if just for a second.

“What if I just crash this car and make it all stop?”

~~~

Peter had noticed the shift in Juno immediately after the job. He had seen his smiles become more strained, his eyes were hazy and unfocussed, movements slowed - as if he was drifting away, moving through a time Peter wasn’t quite in. 

He stayed close to Juno, and when Juno suggested a drive, Peter thought maybe this could be a good time to talk to him. But Juno had said nothing. They had been driving for hours. The suns had set and Juno didn’t seem to be heading home anytime soon, so Peter was about to speak, about to ask Juno what he could do. 

“What if I just crash this car and make it all stop?”

Peter was silent for a second, not quite sure he had heard Juno properly. Juno didn’t even seem aware that he had spoken aloud, nor did he seem to remember Peter was even there. He’s almost certain that the car was speeding up. 

“Juno, can you pull over please, love?”

The car swerved slightly, Juno startled at Peter’s voice, and Peter reached out and grabbed the wheel, pulling them back onto the road, “Juno, you need to pull over.”

The car slowed and, after what felt like a lifetime, came to a stop, a small cloud of dust flying up from under the wheels. 

“I- I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I should be fine.” Juno’s hands were gripped tightly on the wheel in a way that could have only been painful.

“Why don’t we get some fresh air, and then we can talk?”

Slowly, even slower than in the past week, Juno climbed out of the car and sat with Peter on the bonnet, staring up at the sky. 

“I should be fine,” he said again, “I’ve been fine and now… and now I'm not fine!” Juno choked on a sob. God, he hated being vulnerable. 

Peter considered this for a moment, “I know this is going to sound cliche, dear, but you don’t have to be okay. You’re allowed to be sad and angry, and-”

“But I am always angry, Nureyev. Always. I am angry at myself because I keep letting people get hurt and get dead. I’m angry at my mom and I’m angry at every goddamn person I meet and I don’t even know why half the time. There’s just- there’s just rage, and I can control it, better than I could before, but I dont- I dont know if I want to anymore. I just want to let go.”

“Why can’t you let it out, Juno?”

“I’ve done that before. Blind rage is how you get got,” Juno very carefully didn’t look at Peter when he said, “Letting go is how… letting go is how I nearly got myself. I’ve come so close to leaving this place, finally getting some damned rest. I don’t know what kept me here.”

Peter tried not to be too shocked at the almost wistful tone Juno used - they could talk about that another day, for now Peter just prompted, “You’re still here?”

Juno laughed humourlessly, “Yeah, that’s because I always got stupid lucky, and one day that’s gonna bite me in the ass. It was always other people getting got, never me,” He laid back against the windscreen, legs kicking softly at the bumper, “God, I’ve killed so many people.”

“Did you, though? Did you kill them all or did you blame yourself for not being able to do the impossible? Did you blame yourself for not being able to save every single person you met - a task which, I might add, is quite impossible, love.”

He shook his head and kept staring at the stars, looking for answers in the constellations. Peter laid next to him. 

It was a few minutes before Juno broke the silence, “Can we stay here a little while, before we go back?”

Peter would’ve stayed there all night if that’s what Juno needed. 

“Would you tell me a story, Juno? Maybe about someone you saved?” 

Reluctantly, Juno began to tell Peter about an eccentric real estate lawyer and her exploding, tuna-brick-loving cat, absently tracing patterns on the back of Peter’s hand. 

They laid there for almost an hour, but the cool night was interrupted by Peter’s comms beeping twice, signifying a message. 

Is everything okay darling? You’ve been gone a while.

As good as it can be right now. We’ll be back soon. 

“Who’s that?” Juno mumbled sleepily, his gaze shifting to Peter. 

“It was Buddy. Perhaps we should head back to the Carte Blanche.”

Juno nodded, sliding off the car but stopping short halfway to the driverside. 

“Would you like me to drive, dear?.”

Juno looked like he wanted to protest, like he wanted to tell Peter that he wouldn’t actually crash, but instead he just nodded and tossed the keys over the car. 

~~~

Peter knew that they would have to talk properly, they had to talk about Juno trusting him and the rest of their family; they would definitely have to talk about Juno’s allusions to his… more self destructive tendencies. For now, though, Juno dozing on his shoulder, the night road leading them home, would be enough to put both of their minds at rest for the night.

[sirikenobi12]

How the Jedi Order saved my life

Thanks partially to the ambiguity of the internet it inherently breeds negativity - whether it be for post clicks or actual interpretations of content it doesn’t matter, it’s there and it can be very overwhelming and toxic at the best of times. 

One of the victims of so much venomous negativity has been the Jedi Order (specifically the Prequel era Order), a fictional band of warrior space monks who are the heroes of the Star Wars saga who’s teachings were mostly inspired by Buddhist philosophy. They were the undisputed “good guys” of that universe for multiple decades and then something shifted in fandom and suddenly people are online advocating that their actual in story genocide was warranted because they “failed”. 

I am not here to debate the merits of the Jedi, please don’t make this blog post a platform for THAT argument, what I want to get across in this post is that for me (and this is just my experience) the Jedi are a source of light and in all complete honesty they saved my life. 

This is going to be rather personal…

Due to many, many factors including hormonal/health imbalances and personal trauma (including being the one that had to make the decision/call to take my father off life support) I fell into a severe depression for almost 5 years. I pulled away from everything and everyone I loved, I lost multiple jobs, I physically couldn’t get out of bed most of the time. And then came the day I decided to end it all...end the suffering. 

I had made a plan, I had made arrangements and set things up for my loved ones after I was gone. I had one day of life left, so I decided to watch the Star Wars saga one last time because it had at one point been such a big part of my life and I wanted one to enjoy it all one final time. 

And on this viewing something struck me. The Jedi had literally lost everything, their friends and the galaxy as a whole turned their backs on them which led to the slaughter of their entire organization. The scene where Yoda and Obi-Wan were walking through the Temple just hit me so hard, both of them watching everything they knew crumble all while feeling the weight of grief and loss on a level none of us can even comprehend. 

But while their pain was obvious, especially thanks to the tremendous acting talent of Ewan McGregor neither Obi-Wan or Yoda gave up - they had every reason for them to tell the galaxy to go f*ck themselves, but they didn’t. That wasn’t even an option in either of their minds.

It was their teachings that saved them in the end, the concept of learning to let go of their fears and insecurities, of acknowledging their feelings in order to release them and not dwell on them. To realize that failure is the ultimate teacher and learn from their mistakes (real or perceived). That death is a natural part of life and that true love is about being able to let someone go when the time comes. They also showed that it’s important to do the most good that you can with the hand you are dealt with, that life isn’t easy and the temptation to “fall” to the darkside can be very seductive, but ultimately makes you miserable. 

The Jedi - the Prequel Jedi (and their code) saved my life that day. 

I remember pausing Revenge of the Sith at the moment Obi-Wan held Luke (or Leia) as Padme died, the lost look on his face, and knowing the resolve that character finds within himself forced me to pick up the phone and call the suicide hotline. 

What followed has been a year dedicated to nothing but my mental wellbeing. This included finding a creative outlet that had nothing to do with my career (I am a professional FX makeup artist by trade) and so, I returned to my love of writing Star Wars fanfiction. Having a way to explore the teachings of the Jedi and the strength of these characters have helped me in ways I can’t even explain, it was so noticeable that my therapist asked me what I was doing to be able to make such progress. 

I’ll say this again for those in the cheap seats - the Jedi saved my life that day...and their teachings have allowed me to love in ways I never thought possible.

Now, I’m not saying I’m converting to the Jedi religion (though I have a friend who has and that is a valid path for those who have chosen it), but the teachings of the Jedi are inherently good - they teach us to get out of our own heads, listen to our feelings and focus on the beauty around us, that we’re all connected and ALL life (including ours) has value. 

So, say what you will about the “failures” of the Jedi, but for me I would not be here if it weren’t for them, their code and their strength. And I have George Lucas specifically to thank for that. 

From the bottom of my heart I thank you Obi-Wan, Yoda and George.

[eagles-translated]

"Eagles 2022 – Everything about the final season"

This is a translation of a Swedish blog post which you can find here. I don't know if this is an SVT-approved article, but it basically recaps the plot points from last season and gives a run-down of what will be explored in season 4.

Most of it aligns with the season 4 episode descriptions but also confirms additional details, so if you'd rather go in blind when the season premieres I would ignore this post!

At the end of the article I've written a short paragraph of my personal thoughts.

Friday the 28th of January is the premiere of the fourth and final season of Eagles on SVT Play. The final season will touch on how to take command of your own life, orthorexia, and what to do when the life you've gotten used to is shaken up and a new chapter begins. Who gets their dreams fulfilled? Who was shot on New Year's Eve? And will Ludde and Felicia have a happy ending?

The synopsis for Eagles season 4

The last semester of high school has begun and everything should be fantastic. However, the characters are instead faced with transformative events and life choices. Felicia (Alva Bratt) is in rehab after her suicide attempt and she just wants to focus on her well-being and graduate. But the person she needs the most to be able to move on is not there. For Ludvig (Adrian Öjvindsson), the weight of the shooting between Jack (Filip Wolfe Sjunnesson) and his brother Andreas (Oskar Laring) weighs heavy on his shoulders.

Amie (Yandeh Sallah) tries to find the balance between her music career and just being herself. But her record label has completely different plans in mind. Amie and Elias (Edvard Olsson) are also at the beginning of their relationship, but Elias has a completely different focus. He trains manically, keeps a strict diet, and is completely engrossed in achieving his hockey dreams. Whatever it may cost.

Klara (Sarah Gustafsson) feels like she carries the whole of Oskarshamn on her shoulders. The GECED company will be closed down and a large portion of the jobs in town will disappear. Now it's up to Klara to prevent that.

Eagles has been, and will also end, as a drama series about the life choices and emotions teenagers experience. Among these things are first love, friendships, betrayal, and dreams about the future.

SVT Play Friday 28 January at 02.00. The episodes are published in pairs every Friday.

For those who missed the three previous seasons, or want to catch up before the premiere, the episodes can be watched on SVT Play.

The cast in Eagles 2022

Felicia – Alva Bratt Ludvig – Adrian Öjvindsson Amie – Yandeh Sallah Elias – Edvard Olsson Klara – Sarah Gustafsson Naima – Tina Pour Davoy Andreas – Oskar Laring Jack – Filip Wolfe Sjunnesson Mats – Per Lasson Petra – Anna Sise Leila – Charlotta Jonsson Irene – Maria Alm Norell

Source: (x) Posted on January 19th, 2022 by admin

—

There's a lot to unpack here, so I'll just go in chronological order and try to keep my thoughts brief.

First off, if the information in this article is accurate, that means the writers are actually going for an eating disorder storyline with Elias. We knew they were doing something with Elias as we had one scene of him overworking himself in the gym and another scene with Mats commenting on the fact that Elias mostly consumes powdered nutrients instead of real food.

I think a storyline like this has potential to really educate the audience. First off, orthorexia nervosa isn't something that's seen that often on TV. On top of that it's even more rare to show a male character with an eating disorder. I'm really interested to see how this will play out, maybe with the focus shifting a little from Felicia's mental health to instead focus on Elias's which has mostly been a question mark throughout the first three seasons.

Speaking of Felicia, the article mentions that she's out of rehab and that the person she needs the most isn't there. This could be either Ludde or Elias, but I'm leaning more towards Elias since he's her brother. Based on the episode descriptions we also know that when Felicia gets home from rehab, Elias is supposedly out partying.

They're keeping the details on the Andreas and Jack situation pretty hush-hush, but that's understandable.

As I've speculated before, Amie and Elias are probably heading for a rough patch now that we know Elias's focus lies more with his training.

This article also confirms that the GECED company is shutting down, but we'll see Klara try to prevent that.

The last thing I'd like to comment on is the cast list. Pretty standard, right? I'm not so sure. After listing the five main characters, there's an additional name wedged between Klara and Andreas (both pretty major characters). That name is Naima, played by an actress called Tina Pour Davoy. It seems that she'll have a significant role to play if she's included in the cast list. Just what that might be remains to be seen.

If you guys have any theories on what this might bring to the table in season 4, I'm very eager to hear them!

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey Steph!

Any chance you've got any fics where John and Sherlock come out publicly (an AU or just canon)? For some reason I just adORe the tension

Anyway, thanks for everything you do on your blog, it's hugely appreciated!

Hey Lovely!!

Ahhhh Hmm I thought I had a list for this but apparently not, oof. 

Here’s what I can offer you with my tags in my bookmarks and MFL’s! Feel free to add some, y’all if you have any I missed!

COMING OUT

See also: 

Homophobia / Sexuality / Pride || [John’s Sexuality]

John’s Friends Find Out About Sherlock

John’s Internalized Homophobia

Ex by Itsallfine (T, 1,248 w., 1 Ch. || Angsty Fluff, Love Confessions, Coming Out, Exes, First Kiss, Fake Relationship, Getting Outed) – One night, in the midst of their post-case high and on the cusp of something more, John and Sherlock run into John’s ex. His ex-boyfriend.

Down with this Ship by FrostedFlame (PinkOrchid) (M, 10,862 w., 10 Ch. || For a Case, Gay Bar, Pining, Coming Out, Slow Burn) – Sherlock drags John undercover to a gay bar - for a case, of course - looking forward to seeing John flustered by their surroundings (since you know, he's NOT GAY). John decides that he has hidden both his orientation and his feelings for his daft flatmate for far too long. He is done hiding, time to be honest with his bloody best friend in the world. He just hopes it won't change anything between them. And then it does.

The Pieces That Fall to Earth by Itsallfine (M, 49,513 w., 84 Ch. || S4 Fix-It, Epistolary, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Parentlock, Past Abuse, Coming Out, Internalized Homophobia, Questioning Sexuality, Mental Health Issues / Therapy, Angst, Happy Ending) – John and Sherlock have hit rock bottom, but with all their armor stripped away, they can finally speak honestly, seek healing, and find the truths that matter most. An epistolary post-s4 fix-it fic. Now complete. (This fic is rated T except for one very clearly marked and easily skippable chapter, which is rated M.) Part 1 of The Pieces that Fall to Earth

Performance In a Leading Role by Mad_Lori (E, 156,714 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Hollywood / Actor AU, Secret Relationship, Falling in Love, Slow Burn, Romance, Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, Pining) – Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world? Part 1 of Performance in a Leading Role

MARKED FOR LATER

About Being Gay by A_Candle_For_Sherlock (G, 1,088 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, First Kiss, Romantic Fluff, Older Rosie) – Rosie looks up from Sherlock’s picture book about poisonous plants, gives Sherlock a look and asks, 'Are you gay, Sherlock?' and Sherlock, without missing a beat, just says 'Yes,' and continues drinking his tea, and Rosie says 'Ah,' and goes back to her plant book, and John nearly doubles over in the corner.

A Regular not at all Terrifying-for-unknown-reasons Conversation by Dodoa (T, 5,506 w., 1 Ch. || Asexual Sherlock, Unilock, Best Friends, Coming Out, Self-Discovery, Dialogue Heavy, Self Acceptance) – Sherlock is trying to work something out and goes to John for help. John might not have all the answers, but he's determined to help.

Still alive by LoLecter (M, 8,375 w., 1 Ch. || Teenlock AU || Trans!Sherlock, Suicide Attempt, Overdose, Friends to Lovers, Coming Out, Bisexual Character, Fluff, Transphobia, Asshole Parents, Big Brother Mycroft) – Sherlock has known he was transgender for a while now and he decides to come out to his parents, but they react badly and Sherlock end up trying to kill himself only to be saved by his best friend John who doesn't know anything about Sherlock being trans.

Isolated by CarmillaCarmine (G, 8,549, 6/7 Ch. || WiP || Quarantine From Virus, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Bi-Panic, Cuddling & Snuggling, Coming Out, Bathing/Washing, Bubble Bath, Kissing) – Due to an ongoing pandemic, John and Sherlock find themselves isolated at 221B.

Who I Really Am by agirlsname (T, 13,067 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE [1] or [2] || Post S4, Bisexuality, Coming Out, Grief/Mourning, POV John, Pining, Sexuality Crisis, Alcoholism, Internalized Homophobia, Angst With Happy Ending) – You don't tend to give up your heterosexual privilege without a fight.

Coming Out by LiviKate (M, 13,439 w., 5 Ch. || Teenlock, Homophobia, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, Pining John, Oral Sex, Drunk John, Bisexual John, Teen Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Reconciliation, Arguing) – John has had feelings for his best friend for a very long time. Feelings he knows will never be returned. When John goes out to drown his sorrows in booze and girls, he finds himself falling into bed with a man for the first time instead. John doesn't expect Sherlock to think much of it, as he had never cared either way about people's sexualities. But when Sherlock finds out, things go downhill quickly, leaving John confused and alone. Can the two friends come back together after such an explosive coming out? If they do, will it be like before? Or might it be so very, very different?

Straight Boy Pain by Glenmore (NR, 18,257 w., 10 Ch. || Coming Out, Pain, Romance, Birds, Sexuality) – Sherlock is in pain. Billy Kinkaid, the Camden garroter and best man Sherlock knows, diagnoses it. Ademar Silver, a male prostitute in south London, attempts to treat it. Lestrade, kindly Detective Inspector of New Scotland Yard, doesn’t notice it. Eventually, John Watson, healer and registered medical doctor, cures it. And a beautician called Penny paints Sherlock’s toenails.

The Lying Doctor by pagimag (E, 44,285 w., 20 Ch.  || S4 Fix It, Hurt/Comfort, Past Alcohol/Drug Abuse, Anger Issues, Depressed John, Watson Siblings, Coming Out, Bi John, First Time, Dom/Sub Undertones, Parentlock, Internalized Homophobia, Past Child Abuse, Angst With Happy Ending) – Sherlock and John's relationship is fragile after the events at Culverton Smith’s hospital. John struggles with guilt and anger issues. During a case he decides to visit his aunt, which leads to an unexpected development. He’s forced to reevaluate ingrained behaviours, confront long lasting issues and question how he leads his life.

In Bed by Ellipsical (E, 46,922 w., 12 Ch. || Autofellatio, Vibrators, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Liminal Identities, Christmas, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Fingering, Jealous John, Therapy, Flirting, Texting, Fluff, Sherlock’s Violin, Anal, Est. Rel., Semi-Public Sex, Harry Watson, Communication, Coming in Pants, Spitroasting, Double Penetration, Dirty Talk, Internalized Homophobia, Self-Acceptance, Happy Ending, PTSD John, Coping Mechanisms, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – It’s almost Christmas, John thinks, and this, this is bullshit. The epilogue to Guilty Secrets. Part 2 of Guilty Secrets

NO! by Tildathings (M, 50,043 w., 36 Ch. || Homophobia, Bed Sharing, Military Uniforms, Past Abuse, Jealous John, Stalking, Violence, First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Pillow Talk, Coming Out, Sherlock’s Past, Shower, Cuddling, Grief and Sorrow, Hugs, Character Death) – Sherlock has been in a coma in over 8 months after he overdosed on the plane at TAB, during which time Mary and Rosie were killed by Vivian Norbury.  This story starts 3 weeks after Sherlock has woken up. John is asking to move back to Baker Street.

What have you done? by Tildathings (M, 63,940+ w., 17/? Ch. || WiP || Interenalized Homophobia, John’s Family, Coming Out, Sherock/OMC, Hugging, Suicide, John Deduce’s, Nightmares, Love Confession, First Date, Bed Sharing, Psychiatry) – John have been invited by Sherlock on a pub night?! Sherlock said to him at Monday that Greg and Mike wanted him to come with them on a pub night. Sherlock is afraid that he would do something wrong socially left alone, so could John come with him? When John arrives at the pub Two Broken Hearts he sees Sherlock talking to a man.

A Change of Heart by SosoHolmesWatson (E, 65,436 w., 20 Ch. || Post-S4 / Canon Compliant, Jealous Sherlock, Past Abuse, Parentlock, Dev. Rel., Idiots in Love, Suicidal Sherlock, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Mollstrade, Coming Out, Love Confessions, Big Brother Mycroft, John’s Childhood, POV Alternating, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Hand Jobs) – After all they have been through, after all the heartbreak and desolation, John and Sherlock want to make their way back to each other, still convinced that friendship is all that can exist between them. Will there be a change of heart? Part 1 of the The Pains of Growing series

Worst Kept Secrets by Sherlock1110 and sherlockian4evr (M, 61,515+w., 8/? Ch. || WiP || Engagement, Coming Out, Angst and Feels, Homophobia, Idiots in Love, Big Brother Mycroft, Fluff, Scars, Weddings, Honeymoon, Playing Pirates, Parasailing, Archaeology, Paintball, Swimming, Golf) – For the prompt: What if the thing Mycroft did to upset Mummy... was to come out? What if, as a teenager, Mycroft decided to tell his family that he is gay, and his parents disowned him for it? It's okay now, he runs the British Government, he IS the British Government, but there's still that tiny part of him that wants his parent's acceptance, especially now he's found the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. Part 4 of the Sherlock and Mycroft Fluff series

Sacré Coeur by Mamaorion (M, 95,235 w., 27 Ch. || S4 Fix It Rewrite, First Kiss, UST / RST, Eventual Happy Ending, Coming Out, Holmes Family, Marriage Proposal, Husbands, Healing, Evil Mary, Beekeeping, Caretaker Sherlock, Mind Palace, Alzheimer’s Disease, Protective / Big Brother Mycroft, TD-12) – In this s4 fixit, John must piece together the gaps in his altered memory if he and Sherlock are to face the terror that has plagued Sherlock since childhood. As they untangle the web, seven years of hidden love ignite.

Full Court Press by MissDavis (E, 126,123 w. || College Basketball AU || Unilock, Masturbation, Homophobia, First Kiss / Time, Oral/Anal, Coming Out, Switchlock, Blowjobs) – Sherlock Holmes has accepted a scholarship to play basketball at the College of St. Bartholomew's. He expects to be their star player and turn the team's losing record around. He does not expect to fall in love with the team's captain, a certain scrappy point guard named John Watson. Or: Sherlock is the team's best shooter. John is the team's best ball-handler.

Nine and a Half Weeks by CumberCurlyGirl and Kameo (E, 175,094+ w., 35/? Ch. || WiP || American AU || Different First Meeting, Daddy Kink, Bottomlock, Anal Plug, Riding Crops, Spanking, Light Bondage, Anal/Oral, Aftercare, Posh John, Virgin Sherlock, Homophobia, Sugar Daddy John, Rimming, Coming in Pants, Light Dom/Sub, Past Sherlock / Victor, Light BDSM, Public Sex, John in a Kilt, Vibrators, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is about to graduate from high school in midwestern America. Despite his intelligence, his prospects are bleak due to poverty, an indifferent, alcoholic father and poor choices. One day, at work, he sells a riding crop to a handsome blonde Brit and his life is changed. He doesn't know what hit him - until he does. This is a story of a journey to love and self-acceptance and explores many themes along the way: drug abuse, grief, coming out, age difference, consent. Lots of sex but so much more.

Of Ice and Men by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (E, 176,906 w., 20 Ch. || Olympics AU || Paralympics, Prosthesis, Disability, Established Relationship, Threesome - Johnlockstrade, Angst with Happy Ending, Coming Out, Secret Relationship, Asexuall Sherlock, Pilot John) – Greg wants Sherlock to win his first Olympic Gold medal. Sherlock wants John to win his first Olympic Gold medal. John wants Greg to come to bed wearing all four of his Olympic Gold medals, and you didn't really think this would be that terribly serious after reading that title, did you? Bundle up, it's a Winter Olympics OT3!

Radioactive Trees In A Red Forest by Maribor_Petrichor (E, 280,251 w., 73 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-S4, Suicidal Ideations, Alcohol / Rx Drug Abuse, Coming Out / Bisexual John, Seizures, Past/Referenced/Implied Child Abuse, Hallucinations, Rehab, Celibacy, Sobriety / Relapse, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Psychological Trauma, Nice /Not Anti-Mary, John’s POV, Parentlock, First Time, Angst, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending) – John Watson is what happens when a man can no longer see a reason to go on. John Watson is what happens when a man starts to let go. "It is what it is." John Watson is what happens when what "it is" becomes too much to bear. This is a story of the life, death, and resurrection of John Hamish Watson.

[flowesona]

picture perfect - yandere! kihyun x f! reader

a/n: i know i don’t normally post monsta x content on this blog, but i enjoyed writing this fic and wanted to share it here without the feeling of guilt that comes with posting a non-request on the joint blog! please let me know if you like it :>

warning: stalking, abuse and suicidal allusions

The strap of his camera bag weighed on his shoulder, but not nearly as heavily as it did on his conscience. Yet he had no choice but to comply - with the threat of losing his scholarship on the line, he was putty in the hands of his psychotic professor, who’d sent him on the ‘mission’ to stalk his ex-wife. 

His musings on the morality of what he was doing were cut short as he heard the front door of the house he was observing open and close. There she was. 

Kihyun raised the camera and snapped a few pictures, capturing the flush faced woman as she walked out onto the drive. A young girl was in her arms, swaddled in a warm coat as her mother opened the car and tucked her into a car seat. 

She had a child. As if she was dead-set on making Kihyun feel awful. Still, he persisted in taking the photograph from his hiding spot, hoping the camera wasn’t too loud. Luckily, the woman was too occupied with taking care of her daughter to pay attention and soon enough she was climbing into the driver’s side of the car and leaving. 

He gazed after her, still rooted to the spot even though his job was done. When he snapped out of his daze he pulled out his phone and texted his boss of sorts, who immediately asked to meet him in the red room for a ‘friendly chat’. 

“There wasn’t anyone else there, right?” Junho asked, having snatched the camera out of Kihyun’s hands the second he arrived.

“No sir, just the woman and her child.” Kihyun confirmed, shifting on his feet uncomfortably.

“I’d prefer a clearer angle next time. This feels a bit distant.” His professor commented. “I’ll give your camera back once I have these printed.”

“Wait, n-next time?” 

“Yes. You need to do this until we’re back together, understood?” Junho snapped.

“Sir, I can’t do that!” Kihyun protested, only for Junho to approach him in such an intimidating manner that he found himself backing up.

“I guess this scholarship really doesn’t matter to you, then. A shame.” The professor tutted. “And how disappointed your parents will be when they find out the reason you were kicked out of photography school was stalking a poor innocent woman.”

Kihyun felt his heart drop to his stomach as Junho gave him a seemingly friendly pat on the shoulder. 

“I’ll see you this afternoon for my lecture, correct?”

The student just nodded numbly. 

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

The neighbourhood was quiet at night, only the occasional hooting of owls breaking the silence. The blackened streets only lit by a few street lamps provided a cover for Kihyun, dressed in all black with a key clutched between his fingers.

‘She’ll be asleep by 10PM, she has to work late on a thursday so she can never stay up late.’ The words of Junho lingered in his mind as he slipped the key into the keyhole and the front door creaked open. ‘Besides, she never remembers to lock the door. That’s always my responsibility.’ 

The first thing he noticed was that the house clearly needed an extra pair of hands. There were cobwebs in the corners, and the floor was littered with unorganised toys and shoes.

But that wasn’t his purpose. He was there with a mission: a sick, illegal one at that, but something he had to do nonetheless to preserve his chances of success in the future. He found his target quickly and quietly, pushing open the bedroom door cautiously to see the sleeping woman.

Kihyun could almost understand how Junho was so obsessed with her. She looked simply ethereal splayed out, fast asleep. 

He raised his camera up and snapped a picture of her from the doorway, before advancing into the room. Every step closer only made his heart race more, from dread of what could happen if he was caught but also the minor crush he was developing on the older woman.

It was just as he was getting a close up that there was a small knock at the door, just barely audible. Then, before Kihyun could even think to hide, it was pushed open to reveal a small figure silhouetted by the light from the hallway that had inexplicably turned on.

“Mommy?”

The woman in question groaned, creeping open her eyes. The figure dressed in all black standing over her was unmissable. She let out a shrill shriek, falling out of the bed and scrambling to the doorway to grab her daughter.

“Who the hell are you?” She screamed. “Get out of my house!”

“I-I-I…” Kihyun struggled to come up with an answer, his brain clouded. He’d planned an answer beforehand in case this happened - he’d simply gaslight her into thinking it was a dream - but at that moment his mind was fuzzy.

“Get out, before I call the police!” The woman screamed again.

“Please… you have to understand…” He stuttered. “Can I just explain?”

“What could you possibly have to explain?” She snarled back, holding her daughter closer to her chest.

“I’m not here of my own accord. Please, don’t call the police and I’ll explain everything. I swear on my life I would never hurt either of you.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Get talking.”

Kihyun gulped, before taking a breath in and explaining it all.

“Your ex-husband is my photography professor. He’s blackmailing me to essentially stalk you, to take photos of you for his “collection”. If I don’t do it, he says I’m going to lose my scholarship, and I can’t just let that happen. I’m really sorry for all the distress I’ve caused, but please don’t ruin my life because of it.” 

The woman sighed, but visibly relaxed. 

“Almost sounds believable.”

She put her daughter down. 

“Go to your room honey. Go back to sleep, okay?”

The young girl nodded and plodded off. 

“We should talk.”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

A half empty glass of sherry was nursed between (Y/N)’s fingers, but Kihyun’s remained untouched. 

“I’m really sorry. You shouldn’t have to suffer because of my relationship.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s all because of that power-abusing bastard.” Kihyun attempted to comfort her. They’d spent the last half hour giving a brief recounting of their lives, a mellowing experience for the both of them.

“I mean, clearly you’ve got talent, and I would hate to see that go to waste because of me.” (Y/N) sighed, taking another sip of the alcohol to soothe her woes. “I guess you can just continue doing this. He’s just way too smart to break his restraining order and get arrested.”

“Are you sure? I hate invading your privacy, especially now that I know you.” It made Kihyun’s heart ache to even think of being such a creep to the kind-hearted woman.

(Y/N) out and took one of his hands into her own. 

“You’re such a sweet guy, Kihyun. Do you have a girlfriend?”

He felt his face heat up, not quite wanting to admit how the only woman who he was remotely interested in was her.

She chuckled seeing his expression.

“Well, you’re always free to get a drink with me. Or we can have something more, if you’re interested.”

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Minji loved Kihyun. Whenever he visited after his work for the day was done, she would be waiting by the door with a puzzle she’d picked out for them to do together. (Y/N) would always make them tea as Kihyun entertained her daughter by helping her sort out the puzzle pieces so that they could do the edges. Then they would sit together, the perfect picture of domesticity as Minji talked excitedly about nothing in particular and (Y/N) rested her head on his shoulder and slowly drifted to sleep. He’d leave the dozing (Y/N) and energetic Minji alone as he cooked them supper, often with Minji by his side asking questions about everything he was doing.

There hadn’t been one moment when he’d asked (Y/N) out, or vice versa. Things just fell into place, and there was such a warm feeling Kihyun got as a new part of the family that he almost forgot about his responsibilities. Having to take photos of (Y/N) as if she was a stranger jarred him, when he’d taken to capturing more intimate photos on his phone, saved for the mornings where he didn’t want to get out of bed. 

Kihyun knew he was falling for (Y/N), deeply. It was dangerous knowing his scholarship was on the line and one fuck up could ruin his career permenantly. 

One day, as Kihyun was helping Minji with her homework as (Y/N) was doing the laundry, the phone rang. 

“I’ll get it.” (Y/N) sighed, letting the iron rest as she reached for the landline. “Hello?”

There was a pause as Kihyun paid no mind to it, quietly pointing out where Minji had made a mistake.

“Junho?” Kihyun froze. Surely he wasn’t going to make a move, surely he wasn’t going to win over (Y/N).

“I’m busy actually, so if you could leave me be-”

Minji smacked the arm of the out-of-focus Kihyun.

“Kihyun, what does this word mean?” She whined loudly, giving him her biggest puppy dog eyes to try and draw him back.

It stayed silent as Junho spoke to (Y/N) down the phone.

“No, you must be hearing things. She’s just reading to herself.” (Y/N) stuttered, and it was like someone had poured a bucket of ice down Kihyun’s back.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” She finally snapped back. “Go to hell, and stay away from my family.” 

(Y/N) slammed the phone down and let out a huge sigh, her breathing having quickened. Kihyun quickly abandoned the english homework and took the shaking mother into his arms, letting her sob into his chest. 

“He knows, he knows. This is a nightmare, he’s going to ruin your career, he’s going to-” 

“Shhhh.” Kihyun held her just a bit tighter, feeling the same fear dwelling in his stomach but quashing it so that he could be strong for her.

“I’m so sorry, I should have never initiated anything between us.” (Y/N) continued to cry, but Kihyun shook his head.

“I wouldn’t exchange you for anything, not even my career.” He smiled. “I’ll sort this all out, don’t you worry.”

The young man saw over (Y/N)’s shoulder the crestfallen face of Minji staring at the couple, and he removed one of his hands from his partner’s back to beckon the young girl, who squealed in delight as she attached herself to his legs.

“No one will take this away from us. I swear”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Processing photos was a relaxing process. Whilst his professor preferred to use digital cameras, Kihyun liked watching the developing film, the quiet that enveloped the room save for the buzz of the LED lights. 

His peace was interrupted with the arrival of Junho, who dropped his bag rather loudly on the floor.

“Yoo Kihyun. I trust you’ve been keeping up with your work?” His voice possessed such animosity it made the student shiver.

“I’m sorry sir, I was busy yesterday. I wasn’t able to take any pictures of your wife for you.” 

“But you visited her, no?”

 Silence spread throughout the darkroom.

“I didn’t. I’m very sorry, I hope you can forgive me.” 

Junho let out a deep, irritated sigh.

“That’s a shame. But also, I know you’re lying to me Kihyun, and I want the truth.” He snarled, grabbing the student’s wrist in his iron grip. “Why did I hear my daughter say your name yesterday?”

“You must have misheard her.” Kihyun replied smoothly, his heart racing nonetheless.

“I wasn’t born yesterday.” His superior snapped back, twisting the young man’s wrist until he cried out in pain. “You think you’re so smart, you think you’ve got the world in your hands. But just you wait. First, I’m making sure you lose your scholarship for severe misconduct. Then, I’ll phone all the contacts I have and make sure you can never get into another school like this, no matter where you go, Finally, I’m going to make sure (Y/N) doesn’t even remember your name, so that you have nothing left after your useless escapade.” 

“Fuck you.” The student hissed, tears brimming in his eyes. He couldn’t let this happen, let himself lose everything he worked for and (Y/N). He finally snatched his wrist away. “I’ll kill you before anything of that happens, you rotten bastard.”

“What will that achieve? You’ll still lose your career, your life, and (Y/N) and Minji will hate you for the rest of their lives.”

No, that wasn’t true. Kihyun had been woken up too many times by (Y/N) crying out in her sleep, wrecked with the emotional damage Junho had done to her. He’d always go and make her a cup of camomile tea, and rub her back when she cried to him about how she wished that she’d never met Junho. She’d be much better off if he was dead.

His swiss army knife was in his pocket. Maybe he could end all their troubles here.

“Now get out of my site, rat. No point doing any more work when you’re going to be kicked out by the end of the day, right?” Junho’s triumphant smirk only served to piss off Kihyun even more.

He found the knife in his pocket, flicking the blade out and letting it rest in his hand.

It was when Junho gave him a shove towards the door that he snapped and pulled it out, brandishing it in front of his face.

“Nice tool you have there, little rat. What are you going to do with it? You haven’t got the guts.” It was to Junho's surprise that he found himself pinned down to the floor, Kihyun’s weight on his chest keeping him from moving as the blade was dragged up his wrists. One of the student’s hands was clasped over the professor’s mouth to keep him from screaming out as he finished his work. The light was leaving the villain’s eyes, and it was sickeningly satisfying to see as Kihyun cleaned off the knife before leaving it in the dying man’s hands. Even if his victim tossed the blade away, it would still have the prints and Kihyun would be cleared nonetheless. He cleaned off his hands, shrugged on his jacket and left the bastard in a pool of his own blood.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

It was just after three o’clock, with Kihyun having spent the afternoon in the library studying his theory textbooks, that he got a text from (Y/N).

‘Can you pick up Minji from school as soon as possible please? I can’t leave the house right, I’ll explain it later.’

His heart thudded. He was more than ready to do it for (Y/N), to be the rock of stability in her life. If she ever needed him, he would be there.

Minji was chipper as always, not questioning why she’d been asked to leave classes early although Kihyun did have some difficulty proving to the receptionist that he had permission to pick her up despite not being her father.

She chattered to Kihyun all throughout the journey home, practically bouncing in the seat even after he gently scolded her for distracting him. He could never be mad at her, she was too cute. 

Minji was ready to jump into her mother’s arms the second the front door opened, but the sight of (Y/N)’s reddened eyes as she pulled the two inside before quickly shutting it behind them was enough to concern her. 

And as soon as the three were hidden from the eyes of the public, (Y/N) broke down into tears. 

“M-m-minji… your daddy…” She choked out. “He’s…”

Kihyun rushed to comfort her, letting her sob into his chest.

“We’ll explain to you later, Minji. Do you want to go to your room and play with your dolls?”

The little girl bit her lip, trusting Kihyun but also concerned about the state of her mother. He gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder with his spare hand, and it was enough to sway her and run off. 

“Honey, we need to sit down.” Kihyun muttered, gently leading her over to the armchair. The mother sniffed and detached herself from him, wiping at her eyes.

“It’s Junho. I got a call from the police. They found him dead, and they think he killed himself.” Kihyun couldn’t care less, but seeing the state (Y/N) was in he knew it was best to fake sympathy and coo apologies.

“It’s all my fault, I told him to go to hell, I told him I hate him. It’s all my fault, I killed him!” She wasn’t exactly wrong, she had been the cause of his death, but Kihyun didn’t want that weight on her shoulders.

“No, it’s not. You’re not to blame for whatever he did.” He whispered. 

“I shouldn't have ever fought him. If I’d been a bit more tolerant, he w-w-wouldn’t be dead!” A new wave of tears dripped down (Y/N)’s cheeks.

“Don’t blame yourself, you did the right thing.” Kihyun repeated, like a mantra. (Y/N) just shook her head at the response. 

“Please, Kihyun. I love you, but this should have never happened.” There was a pit in Kihyun’s stomach as the love of his life spoke. “I think… I think we need some time apart. This doesn’t feel right.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. 

Surely Junho hadn’t been right. Surely (Y/N) didn’t hate him?

“We’re meant to be together, (Y/N). I’m here for you, no matter what. I’d do anything for your love.” He clasped her hands in his. 

“I know. I just can’t do this, the guilt would eat me alive.” She continued, her eyes still watery. “What would I look like, Minji’s father dying and me staying with my new man without a care in the world?!” 

“He was a rotten bastard!” Kihyun raised his voice, standing up. “Why should you care if he’s dead? He hurt you, he deserved everything he got!”

(Y/N) was stunned.

“How could you be so heartless? I never wanted him dead!” She snapped.

“And what if I did?” Kihyun replied heatedly. “He had it coming!”

There was silence, although Kihyun’s blood was boiling so hot he was surprised there wasn’t steam coming out of his ears.

“Dear lord, Kihyun. What did you do?” (Y/N)’s voice was barely a whisper, but he heard her loud and clear.

“Nothing he didn’t deserve.” Kihyun said simply.

“Get out of my house right now.” 

He didn’t move.

“I’m calling the police.”

Her empty threats meant nothing to the lovesick man.

“I’d do anything for you.” He affirmed. “Don’t test that.”

(Y/N) was shaking. She was out of the grasp of one obsessed man, only to fall into the arms of one much worse.

He sat down next to her again, taking her hands into his own.

“No one could ever take me away from you. I swear.”