my brain: there is literaly a 0 percent chance the fictional shit from creepy games will show up irl in your kitchen

me: but its dark and scary

Is there any good fic or meta out there involving Murasakibara on the autism spectrum? Just curious. I sat it on an IEP meeting for a student who is on the spectrum and it got me thinking.

Author: Coshledak
Rating: R
Pairing/Character(s): Imayoshi Shouichi, Hanamiya Makoto
Warnings: Voyeurism, pornography, implied dubious consent or non-consensual sex (depending on how you look at it), bondage, rough sex, third party
Word Count: 2,726

Sometimes Imayoshi and Hanamiya do live shows on their pornography website. And sometimes Hanamiya’s left to do them on his own.

Notes: In connection with this post, which I made the other day. Uh. If you’re heading into this expecting hardcore ImaHana sex or something, it doesn’t happen. There’s only really implied ImaHana, and a little bit of ImaHana at the end. Also, there’s sort of two endings because I wasn’t sure how I wanted to end it. So if you like the first ending then don’t scroll down for the second one.

On AO3.

His apartment is dark when he gets home, but that’s nothing to be surprised by. The cat perks up from where she’s laying against the back of the couch, stretching her paws out in front of her and catching them in the material as she pushes her way forward. Her back arches like a wave under the shift of his hand when he runs it from the top of her head back to her tail, giving a little scratch right at the base. She purrs happily and jumps down, following him into the kitchen, and he pauses just long enough to plug his cell phone into the charge cord draped over the coffee table. She bumps against his feet and he laughs, stepping carefully so he can avoid her.

“Careful,” he scolds. “I don’t want to accidentally punt you across the kitchen again.”

She meows when he picks up the bowl for her food and reaches for the container on top of the fridge, continuing to chirp happily all the way until he sets it on the paw-shaped mat that her water bowl sits on as well. From there, he’s not significant until she’s eaten her fill and is ready for cuddles, which suits him just fine because he’d like a little time alone. He normally doesn’t get home so late, but work has been killing him recently and he’s had to stay after hours to deal with paperwork from clients. This is the third night in a row that he’s gotten home after seven when his shift ends at five.

There are two small consolations to this, and one is that it’ll be over by the end of the week. All the hard work is leading up to his summer hours, which means that he’ll have every other Friday off to relax. The other is that work pays the bills. It’s old-fashioned, of course, but paid bills means keeping his apartment, his cat, his hot water, and his Internet. That’s all he really needs.

He stretches his arms over his head as he migrates towards his bedroom and flips on the desk light, opens his laptop, and lets it get started while he changes into something more comfortable. It’s routine from there. He gives his work e-mail one more check over—just in case—before officially putting work out of his mind. From there he checks his scant social media, replies to a few messages: one from his mom about how things are going and others from some friends about plans for the weekend. It’s been a while since he went out, and, when work wraps up on Friday, going out for some drinks on Saturday sounds great.

The highlight is replying to a message from a woman at work. They’ve been flirting casually on-and-off for a few weeks now, since she started working. He suggested coffee, and her recent reply says that she’s definitely interested, but she’s busy this weekend. He’s not phased, since he’s busy, too, so he suggests a relaxing outing at a local café he knows of for the following week. He jokes slightly about setting his cubical on fire at work if he has to in order to get out of there in time for the date. Those sorts of jokes are hard to get across in messages, but one of the best things about her is that she really seems to get his sense of humor.

Once that’s settled, he opens a private window—the sort that doesn’t keep track of his browsing history—and closes the other one. He’s as annoyed as he is comforted by the fact that he has to type out the full web address for the website he wants. On the one hand, browser cookies have gotten him used to frequently visited webpages being a down arrow and enter key sequence away. On the other, the fact that his browser can’t remember any of that means that it’s—hopefully—doing its job. He’ll take the comfort over the convenience in this case.

The webpage catches for a moment on an entirely black screen before the images carefully patterned spider webs forms over it, like invisible spiders are moving just beneath the screen to make it. It’s on a random generator, meaning the webs load differently every time for each different person. Some of them have taken screen caps and showed them in the forums, even though it’s not like they spell out a particular message. The bulk of the construction forms in the center, laid over it, appearing only as a silhouette, appears a spider with two boxes patterned on its abdomen: username and password. Above the username box is the usual: “Not a member? Register with us” sign and, below it, is the warning about adult content and meeting the age requirements. A link is provided about a pricing page, but he doesn’t need to see any of that. He’s been a member for months now.

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People like him make me sick.


I’d made it so long without reading one of those “I think Hanamiya’s a terrible person because he’s lonely and he doesn’t know how to get people to like him” posts.

So long.