konigsblog · 9 months ago
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headlocks 'nd könig
; getting fucked in a headlock
tw: headlock, power difference (?) female reader.
simon riley ver...
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with one burly arm tightening around your nape, holding your body close to his, the smell of your perfume still lingering on your bare neck. you pant, heavy and lightheaded as könig grinds his muscular, broad hips upwards and against your pretty, tight ass.
“mein herz, don’t you hear yourself? panting like a filthy dog, aren’t you, ja?”
könig adores having complete control and power over you. with your body atop of his, his strong arm holding you close as he fucks and thrusts skywards into you, your thighs supple and spread apart, allowing him to fuck you with ease. the roughness of his hoarse austrian accent has you gasping through tears, two smaller hands grasping at his biceps, attempting to catch your breath as he slams his thick, hot cock into your wet, slick heat, the texture of your gummy walls addictive.
“what is it, little mouse. can’t handle a little’ roughening up, nein?”
könig taunts you for not being able to catch up with him, having more stamina and endurance, while you rest upon his large, brute body, panting and breathless as he knocks the wind from your lungs once again. the impact and force of his broad hips and muscular thighs against yours has you sobbing pathetically, feeling stupid under his harsh gaze, with your lips puffy from weeping and your cheeks sore from being slapped
“take me deeper, little bunny, let me show you how a real man fucks... can’t keep up? then you’ll just have to try, my dear.”
you grip his upper arm, muscles tensing underneath your fingers as he fucks you mercilessly, with his heavy, musky balls pressed against your ass, pounding into you like a mutt in heat.
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batterygarden · 4 months ago
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a pet for a monster
cw: monster fucking w afab! gn reader, dead dove do not eat, extremely dubcon (tagging noncon) to con, breeding, pregnancy, lactation kink, 1k drabble but i managed to make it need every tw ever
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He doesn’t understand your language—nor humans as a species, for that matter. So when you come into his possession he investigates your body quite thoroughly. He feels every curve and bump and hole and observes your reactions—wordless as always. 
He loves how you twitch and yelp when he touches between your legs, then when he smells you there he can’t help but want to taste—digging his long tongue inside of you. 
He’s unsure at first what to make of your reaction. How you tense and squeal—at first he wonders if it means he’s causing you pain. Your taste is addictive though, and his instincts tell him he’s doing what he’s supposed to be doing. So he doesn’t stop, quickly decoding your body language and sounds to mean pleasure. He’s been gripping your small frame by the shoulder to keep you steady, and at some point he feels your soft hands hold and rub at his wrist in what seems to be appreciation. He’s delighted that the two of you seem to be bonding.
Shortly after, you do the funniest thing. You twitch and pulse around his tongue, making all kinds of noise. Your grip on his wrist turns tight—a display of more strength than he’s ever seen from you. He likes the way you flood his taste buds at the same time, he can’t stop himself from lapping against your walls to swallow every last drop you have to give. 
Licking like that quickly becomes a common occurrence; it’s a dependable way for him to befriend his new pet, he’s certain. He likes you so much. 
One day, though you seem to be behaving like normal, the creature can smell that you’re in heat. A week or so after you had that mysterious bleeding, you become extremely fertile—smelling ripe and mouth watering as your organs literally prepare to be bred. It’s curious that you aren’t humping or whining or showing any signs of trying to sait what must surely be an ache; if the creature uses any other species as a guide you must be feeling incredibly needy. Still, you suffer in silence. 
Luckily for you, your new owner is kind and considerate—he’ll take care of it. It’s finally time he breeds you.
First he touches you in the way he knows makes your insides wet, tonguing the little crest in the folds between your legs till you do your twitchy thing that makes you gush. Then, careful to keep his claws at bay, he tries widening your hole, massaging your insides with a few digits in an attempt to prepare your body for his intrusion. Your kind is smaller and more fragile than his, so he’s often unsure which limits he can push with your body—especially the sensitive parts he gathers are your reproductive organs.
The breeding is successful, he believes. It goes well, though fitting himself inside makes him a bit nervous with how loud you get—he’s sure it is uncomfortable just based on the size difference. He knows it’s what’s best for you though, and he tries to be gentle and not force himself too quickly. 
In the end you’re squeaking and breathing so fast, having gone through cycle after cycle of gushing and twitching around him. It’s adorable. And the feeling—the squeeze your small body gives his cock is addicting. You feel so good, he can’t help but want to breed you constantly from then on. Especially when you seem down, perhaps some variation of anxious— paying attention to the area between your legs is always a sure way to calm and quiet you. 
It’s many months later that he finds another way to calm you down—cradling you in his arms while he drinks the sweet milk from your breasts. You seemed a bit sad after he took your baby, helping you with the birth before whisking the thing off to be raised with his kind. 
But, what, like he expected you to raise it? He’ll swallow the sweet liquid from your breasts himself—though from the timing of it he can deduce it was something your body made for it’s offspring. He loves the taste, cradling you in one arm while he carefully so carefully squeezes your breast in one clawed hand, sucking each of your tits while you pet his head and face. This seems to soothe you like it does him—maybe even satisfy some mysterious need of yours.
After years passed, you birthing more and more of his young in the mean time, you truly grow accustomed to your new life. You grow to love and trust your master, even trying to care for him the way he constantly cares for you. 
One time you even go so far as to try to please him with your mouth, licking and sucking at the monstrous length of his cock till he gives up his self-restraint and fucks you. He found the act sweet and endearing, but he certainly prefers your pussy—he’s molded you to fit him whole inside you now, your mouth can’t stretch around his entire length the same. 
He takes you out with him often nowadays, so much that others of his kind have grown used to your presence—finding it to be somewhat of a novelty. Your master is unusual. Most creatures like him don’t impregnate their pets—parading them around with swollen bellies—let alone let them wear clothes (he conceded in letting you once he gathered your species usually hid reproductive organs from those they didn’t wish to mate with… a possessive part of him was pleased).
But they accept you and your eccentric owner all the same—supposing that such a cute pet like you might drive anyone to act a bit odd.
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pienhime · 4 months ago
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my ten manga/game/anime/etc recs for jirai
hiii long time no long ass recs post! i wanna recommend media that is popular w landmine types for newbies to the subculture, and recommendations for those who might have been here long enough to know the most popular media within jirai subculture and want some recommendations beyond that!
so without further ado...
1. Tomorrow, I Will Become Someone's Girlfriend
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TW: unsafe sex work, abusive relationships, body dysmorphia, self harm, substance use, misogyny, and parental death
Okay you knew this was coming. It's probably the most popular manga amongst jirai girls as it literally is about Kabukicho, sex work, trauma, and jirai culture. Everyone's seen Yua at this point, and she is a jiraicon, but the other characters are interesting and may be relatable to jirai girls too!
2. Mahou Shoujo Site
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TW: sexual assault, r@pe, abusive family dynamics, transphobia, self-harm, suicide, murder, gore, bullying, human sacrifice
This is probably also familiar to people in the jirai community and yandereblr. Super mega fucked-up parody of magical girl animes with a cast of memorable but mentally unhinged and often morally gray-to-terrible characters with a hopeful message at the end. The most unfortunate girls around Japan get given magical girl items to improve their lives, but using them drains their life force- and someone's on the hunt for magical girls, all while the countdown to the apocalypse ticks down on the mysterious magical girl site. DO NOT BOTHER WITH THE ANIME, JUST READ THE MANGA!!
3. Needy Girl Overdose/Needy Streamer Overload
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TW: substance abuse, self-harm, murder (potentially), suicide, non-graphic sexual content, abuse (player is being abused by the main character), unreality, internet addiction
Duh. I can't not have this game on here! Created by a renowned menhera subculture artist and featuring Jirai icons Ame-chan and KAngel, this game has blown up unexpectedly since its release, getting art exhibits and collabs with brands like DearMyLove. You play as P-chan, Ame/KAngel's boyfriend and producer, while you try to help her achieve her goals of becoming an influencer and prevent her from killing herself or going insane along the way. If you've been in a relationship like this as the P-chan, I'm sorry we relate but this game was super therapeutic to me so maybe it'll help you process too!! Also the soundtrack fucks. Hard.
4. Neeko wa Tsurai Yo!
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TW: agoraphobia, existentialism, substance use (kind of), ecchi (of both adult and high schooler characters), suicidal ideation, internet addiction
This is a super underrated personal favorite I've posted about a few times before. It follows hikki-NEET gacha gamer Niiko, as she faces jealousy of her little sister for being farther in life than her as a high-schooler, the trauma of a particularly horrific job rejection keeping her from going outside or trying for another job, and being totally fed up with her life. It's a pretty depressing read for the first half, but becomes a realistic story about recovery by the end.
5. Wristcut Warriors: Menherachan
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TW: suicide attempts, self-harm (duh), parental abuse, parental death, parental neglect, attempted sexual assault, mild gore, societal ableism/sanism
Much more popular in the menhera subculture than anywhere else, but still popular enough with landmine types to be included, and a personal comfort series of mine. This is a satire manga about three teenage magical girls who have to self-harm to transform, meant as an allegory for how suffering and self-sacrifice for the sake of upholding societal norms is seen as more noble in Japan than speaking out etc. It's pretty short with only 20 chapters and some supplemental material, and tons of merch collabs but due to Ezaki being the actual fucking worst i encourage you to only but fanmerch and second-hand.
6. Danganronpa
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TW: murder, suicide, ableist depiction of DID, misgendering (kind of, im not getting into ******* discourse so ill put it jic), SA, addiction,and general violence and blood
I'm biased as a Danganronpa multi-kin and selfshipper but I personally think every jirai should play Danganronpa, read the supplemental materials and watch DR3 if they can. Quirky teens with mental issues locked in a school and forced to kill each other or themselves? Prime insanity and mindbreaking ensues, with some really cool characters coming out of the franchise. Despite the premise, theres a pretty hopeful message.
7. Oshi no Ko
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TW: stalking, teen pregnancy, exploitation of minors, suicide attempts, murder, terminal illness, age gap relationships, bullying, abortion, parasocial relationships, and... sigh... pseudo-incest is apparently in the manga as well
If you are into idol anime and expect your standard cinderella story about passionate girls and guys hitting it big... Oshi no Ko isn't the idol anime you're used to. This doesn't even follow the hit idol herself- rather, her two children who are reincarnated fans. They have to find their way in the exploitative and often dark showbiz world while trying to solve their mother's murder.
8. Bocchi the Rock!
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TW: agoraphobia, alcohol abuse
I only watched this one recently, but it's already an all-time fav. It follows agoraphobic and severly socially anxious Hitori (aka Bocchi), and her newfound friends as they do their best to become a successful local band! They make odd friends along the way and Bocchi starts to try to recover and better herself, with often comedic failures along the way.
9. TUYU's interconnected songs
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TW: abuse, substance abuse, unsafe SW, dysmorphia, suicide, self harm, parasocialism
Okay so... ik the timing is bad but I meant to make this list ages ago and this was on it so... a lot of the TUYU songs and MVs are interconnected! Some specifically cover jirai kei and ryousangata otaku topics! My favorite songs and MVs are the ones involving my favorite characters, Anhiro and Anzu, who are heavily featured in the Under Mentality album.
10. School-Live!
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MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!!! I RECOMMEND GOING IN BLIND FOR THIS ANIME SPECIFICALLY!!
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TW: unreality, major character death, parental death, self-harm, animal death, graphic depictions of delusions and hallucinations
I loved the anime, so I picked up the manga recently. I'm only a little ways in, but I want to complete it since the anime didn't cover it all! You don't even know the plot until the final seconds of the first episode, where it's revealed that Yuki is the only member of the squad who doesn't realize what's going on- she's not in school for class, she's living there for shelter in a zombie apocalypse. Oh, and she sees dead people. She has moments of clarity, and the story often follows other characters' memories and POVs, so you still get to have a clear look into what happened and what's going on for real.
That was my list of my current top ten media recommendations for jirai kei! Please lmk if you decide to give any of these a try! Remember that I also regularly post music recs under #music too! Bye-bye!!
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vagabond-umlaut · 5 months ago
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for love is flesh, it is a flower flooded with blood
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you're ravishing while gojo is ravenous— rabidly so.
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gojo x fem!reader; everyone is 18+ here; somewhat one-sided enemies to lovers; the summary explains more than any no. of tags can ever; tw: cannibalistic tendencies & blood & violence [nothing of the like happens tho!!]; tw: mentions of throwing up and being sick; SATORU IS PINING HERE, AND IT AIN'T A PRETTY SIGHT TO GAZE ON; he seriously needs to go to therapy; unestablished relationship; there's fluff too, dw; 2.5k wc
belongs to the series 'fictitious force' but can be read as a stand-alone if you wanna
fic title from 'poem of the end' by marina tsvetaeva // header from pinterest // divider by @/adornedwithlight // jjk isn't mine
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gojo wants to eat you whole.
too ridiculous, even for him— is it not?
maybe... maybe not... the man does not know. he decidedly does not care— not when you're there beside him. seeming this delectable. an alluring treat for his palate— he's surer of this than of the ridges in his palms.
you stir in your sleep.
something gnaws at his heart. shifts in the hollow of his stomach.
strengthening when your features relax. worsening when your mouth twitches, its shape pleased. settling down when your mien flattens in its wonted neutrality.
gojo bites back a groan. only to sigh noisily when you shuffle closer.
years ago, were anyone to tell him that one day he would be seconds away from dying from pangs of an indescribable hunger— agonising, antagonising— for someone catnapping in the seat next to his. in an overcrowded train, sickeningly so, at 10 on a monday morning—
he would have punched the informer. perhaps sent them into a coma if the day wasn't treating him very well... but then again.
you're not just someone, are you?
a bite of candy: so crunchy. refreshing. sweet. when his brain is a bit too tired. a bit too sluggish. a bite of mango: its addicting sweetness dancing on his taste buds. trickling down the corner of his lips. more than welcome after a year of wait. a sip of hot chocolate: the warmth of the drink, homely and sweet. lulling him into a dreamless sleep as he nestles in his childhood blanket. a sip of water: supposed to taste bland, but tastes so sweet. sweeter than nectar, after training—
it's confusing, even for gojo.
but the man believes you'll taste akin a mix of all these he has listed—
he stops. and wonders. will this hunger of his be satiated if he steals away only a small taste of yours? it won't be anything much!! maybe not even a taste, now that he thinks about it... just a touch.
yeah.
yeah, yeah, yeah. it'll be one and only one touch. and nothing more—
can he reach out and caress your cheek once?
he can... obviously, he can. there is nothing he, the strongest, cannot! but... what if his need manifests claws.
what if his need tears at the delicate skin. gouges the soft flesh there — deriving an animalistic, depraved pleasure from the rivers of blood which would be flowing—
no sooner does the image flutter into gojo's mind, than he screws his eyes shut and resolutely burns it. brain already whirring with the next possible course of action. something better. something cleaner—
can he intertwine his fingers with you then?
they look so small. they look so pretty. just so perfect. as if they have always been meant to slip into the gaps between his fingers. erasing the emptiness from there. and from within the fissures formed in his self, for once and for all time— ah.
but what if he squeezes your hand too hard.
what if he bruises you and breaks your bones, in his attempts to allay his craving for you. to mitigate his madness for you. the violet colour blooming on your unblemished skin. the following crack! and crunch! of your frail bones beneath his unyielding grasp. beneath the teeth of his hunger—
no, no, never, never, never!
a wave of something bitter, something bilious rolls through the man.
he draws in a deep breath— and pauses.
gojo can't touch you without hurting you, but he definitely can lean in a little closer... and get a whiff of your perfume, right?
not anything much, it'll be nothing at all. and it isn't like, the moment he tilts himself towards you, he's going to grow fangs— fangs, all too ready to sink into the column of your neck. thirsty for the feel of your blood. the tiny beads of it on his tongue, sweet. yes, addictively so— and maybe, since he's already there... he can leave a loving sign from his side on your skin. dark red. enticing, but defintely not as much as the taste of you. certain to linger in his mouth. persist in his thoughts— conscious and everything not. even after it's been eons—
the train lurches to a sudden stop.
and with it, does gojo's vivid daydream as well— but he doesn't care.
not when the resulting clamour in the compartment has awoken you. not when your face is gaining a shade of upset. pretty cute, he thinks. but the man also believes such a sight isn't meant for these unworthy souls in this place, so...
how bad then, is it not? that he can do nothing about it. he can't blind these people. nor can he ask you to not make such a face. you simply won't take kindly to either of those—
thus leaving him helplessly watching. shamelessly staring.
the way your eyebrows scrunch closer. lips dip into a small pout, then break apart in a yawn. finally followed by your eyes blinking open. too bleary for such a bright morning, but to gojo, they appear to outshine the sun itself.
it takes you a beat to find your bearings. he waits patiently, keen eyes watching your every movement. every minuscule expression. another yawn spills past your lips, noisier than the previous. making the man's cheeks twinge from the growing stretch of his grin. ribs ache from his swelling heart.
you take another moment to focus your foggy mind on him. frowning as you do. gaze flitting from him to your loud fellow passengers, then back to him.
your frown worsens. gathers a pinch of concern.
"is... everything okay, senpai? you don't look too alright out there."
he doesn't!?!?
no. of-fucking-course, no.
he's the strongest sorcerer in the world, yes. there's no doubt about it— but even he is a little too weak to not grow weary when fighting his irrepressible urges to gorge himself on you...
realising he has been silent for a tad too long, gojo struggles to drag back his fading grin. before deciding to just let go of it. dropping his mouth into the most pitiful shape he can, he grumbles. sounding so aggrieved and in such a terrible pain.
"you seeing this compartment, darling? it's so cramped, so noisy, so very under-ventilated— it's making me wanna puke, babyyy!"
features crumpling up— he chooses not to probe why— you exhale a rather heavy sigh. and retort, "i never asked you to accompany me to work, senpai. you were the one who insisted. who invited himself— 's not my problem if you bite off more than you c— wait a second," you cut yourself off abruptly, eyes becoming rounder and tone turning an awful lot panicked, "you aren't really feeling nauseous, are you? i have few candies and a packet of crackers— you wanna munch on those??— or wait a sec, you can drink some water from my bottle— or... wait. i'll just get up and tell these people to move away. you need some air to breathe freely—"
"will you let me eat you?"
lights flickering, the train shudders into a sudden start.
but gojo's heart stumbles into a stop. when he realises he has spoken something he must have never let see the light of day. something the man must have never let reach you— you might always be wearing an awful tough exterior, but you're rather sensitive beneath it... innocent and sweet, the lamb to his wolf.
the man probably shouldn't, yeah. yet he allows his insides to twist in glee at the face you make— bathed in warm hues as you gape at him.
those brilliant eyes, wide and unblinking. lips parted, not-too-slightly. the rest of your body, so perturbed not one whole minute back, but a little too still now in that uncomfortable seat— gojo wants to... but he decides not to jerk you away from a state as this. it isn't everyday you let him drink the sight of you in a state as this.
it takes you much longer than he expected you to borrow to recover. thirteen seconds versus your usual three.
the train picks up speed in the backdrop.
your face slips behind its mask of placidity. but the concern wrinkling your forehead and furrowing your brows is clear as day for him to see. loud as bells for him to hear when you speak, tone quiet and adorably soft.
"i think you need some rest, senpai. we'll get down at the next station and i'll call ijichi-san to pick you up then drop you home, okay?— i will also ask ieiri-san to check you once— think you've caught some virus, or maybe it's just fatigue. that's why you're looking and feeling so sick— definitely why you're asking me such a question."
gojo doesn't need any foresight to know he will regret his next course of action. very much, if not more than that ask which slipped past the cracks in his defenses— but now? in this specific instant? he reckons he'll regret even more if he doesn't do what he wants to do.
what that hunger within him wants him to do— fuelled by your worry for him. care for him. disbelief for him. the impending doom wherein you'll leave him behind, leave him suffering—
a voice floats through the air, announcing the train to be approaching the next station.
slipping the bag onto your shoulder, you move to stand up. a precious urgency highlighting your actions as you do— only for him to encircle your wrist in his fingers. yanking you back into the seat, before you've even left it entirely. a noise akin a gasp, a stifled gasp, spills past your lips. pinching him, helped by the startled look offered alongside. gojo wills himself to ignore the pain, however.
every sense zeroing in on you. only you. as he tugs you even closer to himself. and murmurs, words uttered, slowly and carefully. meant for you and him only, and not for anyone else outside this bubble he has been building around you both.
"but what if i say you are why i'm so ill, and eating you is the only way i can get cured— will you let me eat you then, darling?"
"i..." you start. but then stop. you look a little breathless, gojo thinks. a little too weak perhaps. your placid mask, a little too close to cracking open, falling to the floor in pieces...
the signs are all gone albeit, before the man can etch any of them to his brain. before he can even know if he was just seeing things.
"senpai," you reply evenly, calmly, "we are deboarding the train at the next station for sure. i'll book a cab there and personally drop you off at the school, yeah? ieiri-san needs to—"
gojo whispers your name.
its syllables, too piercing. too pleading. too foreign on a tongue which has only ever called you by terms of endearment. utterly uncaring for how much you complain. uncaring for the rumors, you've always said his antics will give rise to, when there's actually no fire to give birth to the smoke.
hah, if you only saw the fire melting him from within.
he makes a move to call you by your name yet again. but you cut him off before he can. the pieces of your mask crumble into dust, turning into nothing before he can even register what is happening.
your lower lip trembles. just once. barely noticeably so. "you're crazy. stupidly, unbelievably, insanely crazy— you need to get help, senpai."
you're insulting him. lowkey, highkey, it doesn't matter. nothing does, except the fact you're insulting him.
he doesn't even think before he decides it too doesn't matter.
tightening his grasp on your wrist, he leans towards you. shaping his lips in a grin. maybe a bit too predatory, but eh. if you have read him well enough to suggest needing help, he trusts you to know the kind of reaction he will return.
grin wavering for a beat, when your blood gives a frantic push against his thumb pressing onto your artery, he retorts, "what if i say i'm in no need of any help? what if u say i need you— just you— will you permit me then, huh?"
you probably won't, few voices in his head state. studying the utterly stricken look you're offering him in answer. the man doesn't hesitate to choke them into an eternal silence.
you ask, "will i be okay if i say 'no', senpai?"
"i'm hurt you think you won't be," gojo snaps back with a frown. soft but biting, a pretty intentional action of his. you wince a little. words not even taking one whole second to from before bubbling out.
"okay, yeah— 'm sorry. i know you'll never force me— i'm really sorry," you repeat, features more distressed than he would ever like them to be— he lets his frown smoothen out.
face lightening, he notes your shoulders slump a little— before seeing the way your eyebrows huddle together. he acutely registers you shift closer to him. voice ringing in his ears when you state rather than ask, "but you won't be okay if i say 'no', will you?"
"no," the word escapes him, as quiet as a breath the moment the last syllable leaves you—
sucking in a staggering breath, he shakes his head. and repeats, "no. i won't be. i really need you to live at this point, baby. i know you will be thinking how i'm love-bombing you right now, but trust me— i cannot survive without you. i need—"
"— me. yeah, i get it," you interrupt him. as rudely as always, but gojo doesn't find himself offended. too lost in the breathless chuckles tied into your tone. you lean back away from him, an amused glint in your eyes, in your tenor as you hum, "i don't know if this was you flattering me enough to make me cave into your demands... but it's okay. yeah. fine— i'll let you eat me. devour me. or whatever poetic shit you're on about— just don't forget to slice my carotids before you do that, yes?— don't really wanna go through the pain or the mess of being eaten while alive, you see."
[agreeing to be eaten by him is not the same as agreeing to date him.
gojo knows this. tough to believe, but he does. he really, really does—
but who the hell cares.
definitely not him, as he scribbles both of your initials on his mission reports later in the day. a big plus sign linking the two pairs of letters, an even bigger heart encompassing them—
pen stilling over the paper, gojo pauses. and grins.
sure. agreeing to be eaten by him is not the same as agreeing to date him— the former's far more intimate. entails much firmer trust, much greater love—
after marriage, will he take your surname, or will you take his?]
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hope this was an enjoyable read! pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this ❤️❤️
masterlist
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lotus-slumbers · 4 months ago
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Yandere batfamily x addict reader?
Would they exploit and manipulate the reader, making em solely dependent on the family for their fix — either to originally trap them at the manor or continuing to supply em forever, because it makes the reader dependant on them, acting all cuddly and desperate. or would they reform and sober up the reader? Have em go through a whole rehabilitation process style.
Gotham’s not safe for the poor reader, imagine all the villains who’d kill em for the drugs they’re so dependent on? But it’s okay! Because the Wayne’s will protect em. Whether the reader wants them to or not isn’t up for debate.
If you’re uncomfortable with this topic I totally understand. Just send me a message to say pls??
Yandere! Batfam x Addict! Reader Headcannons
Tw: addiction, substance abuse, etc.
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— If there was anything that could accelerate the Batfam abducting adopting their darling sooner, this would be it.
— In their eyes, this is a type of abuse. Abuse from all of those around you and nobody is safe from the pointing of their accusatory finger. Not even those people who truly are innocent and have tried to help.
— You may notice people around you drawing away, avoiding you. Maybe some friends who you used to talk with who shared the same addiction, others a dealer who supplied you.
— Though, you may not notice this at all because they'll work quick.
— The term "self-harm" is thrown around once while discussing your habitual substance abuse and that's it. That's all it takes to make them snap and agree unanimously that, yes, this is for the best. Today is the day, if they have everything completely set up for you or not.
— Within twenty-four hours, you'll be in the manor with your family. Right where you belong.
— Rich people get same-day delivery!! Woohoo!! 🙌 🚚
— Of course, that isn't the only motivator for the Wayne's to take you. As much as it pains them to see you suffering at your own hands, they understand just how well the scum of Gotham can and will hurt you.
— They'll take care of the vermin that supplied and enabled you all the same. They have a duty to Gotham, it was going to happen eventually, just now there might be a little bit more passion to it... They won't tell you about it, though.
— The Batfam would most definitely attempt to nip the problem in the bud, forcing you to go cold turkey immediately.
— Bruce will have everything thought out. He's spent countless hours since learning about your issues researching in depth everything he could possibly need to know.
— They have patches at the ready for you when you start to feel the effects of withdrawal. They have stress balls and plenty of activities to try and keep your mind elsewhere and on other things.
— And eyes on you, always.
— And a bracelet, pressed snuggly against your skin and seemingly impossible to get off, to monitor your health. Reports directly at their fingertips, whenever they want it.
— They want you in the best condition they can have you. Not just physically, but mentally too. Bruce would most likely like to have one-on-one conversations with you, about life before, your transitioning here, and, of course, how you are doing with withdrawal.
— If he thinks you're not doing a good enough job with him, he can always pay for the best help available. With his amount of money, nobody has to know either... So don't think of asking them to help you. You won't be believed or they simply won't do it.
— Bruce, Dick, and Jason would probably be the worse about lecturing you on it. Mention withdrawal to them or any desire to return to what you once had... Oh boy, good luck.
— Bruce would go on and on about your health. How he loves you. Wants what is best for you, even if you cannot see it. A deep look of disappointment and concern behind his eyes. He won't school it, he wants to to see it. Feel it and stop. Grow into the person he knows you can be, with their help. Let him protect you.
— Dick is fairly similar to Bruce in this regard, although he is a little more relaxed, trying to be on your level while also acting as your "older brother," something he takes much pride in. He'll probably baby you more than the others, offering to help find alternatives and promise rewards for your efforts (not that you have much of a choice in the matter).
— Jason, though? Jason Todd, the little boy who grew up on the streets? Watch the lives of those he loved so much be ruined and so cruelly snatched away by these exact things? No way. It hits way too close to home, especially since it's you.
— He's understanding towards you so long as you don't push too far. One mention of wanting it and he's on your ass, telling you off about it. He'll help with withdrawal. He'll help you get over it, be a shoulder to lean on and a friend to laugh with, but, God, don't you dare threaten him like that ever again.
— Tim helps with Bruce and his plans most of all, going through all the little details to help plan out the smoothest way to go about this.
— Damian is pissed that you would even ever do any of this in the first place, beating you in his weakest, more frustrated moments but this reaffirms to him that you need him.
— Really, this reaffirms all of them that, despite any guilt, they may feel for the "crimes" they committed for you, it was the right choice. That their darling needed them, desperately.
— They'll never give up on you, not in your darkest moments or theirs. They love you, through and through, and would give the world to you if only you asked.
— But they'd never, ever let you do that to yourself. Your last high was the last time you would ever, ever be.
— They know they could supply you, that it could be an easy way to control you and gain your love. Love that they are so desperately longing for, wanting to be returned, but they won't do it. They can't do that. Not to you of all people.
— It goes against their very nature, as it would harm you.
— You'll learn to love them eventually. It isn't like there is a real rush. You're not going anywhere at all. They'll take the long, high road.
— Batfam will protect you to their last breath and love you through and through. You don't need to do a thing.
— The only reason they would ever supply you is if they truly had no other options. If you were super-powered in a way they could not find a way to contain or around people they couldn't take you away from. Which is a highly unlikely possibility.
💜 A/n: Sorry that this took me so long to get to. Hopefully, it's not too typo-ridden and you enjoy it!
This is not meant to glorify any type of substance abuse or any type of addiction. This was my first time writing for such so please, if I made a mistake in my handling of the subject, reach out and let me know!
For substance abuse treatment and mental health referrals, contact the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration's (SAMHSA) National Helpline at 1-800-662-HELP (4357).
You are loved beyond measure.
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bloop-bl00p · 3 months ago
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“Fîls de joie” What Poison could have been.
TW: Mention of Sexual Assault, Sexual Abuse, Rape, Drugs, Addiction, Manipulation, Mention of Fetish and sex in general, mention of Sex works, Raphielle II don’t go harras him and respect his pronouns
I’m trying to be a writer and I understand writing about taboos and controversial things is difficult. I only write about what I know which is the effect of emotional and physical abuse and religious traumas. Notheless if I’m trying to do something out of my domain of expertise I’ll research it to respect the concerned part of the audience.
Vivienne Medrano said that people who’ve been sexually abused helped write episode 4. Part of me wants to believe it, it’s most likely true, it’s the best thing a writer can do, let knowledgeable people help and not just rely on sites about psychology. But, with how rape and assault are presented sometimes it really feels like she’s lying.
Angel Dust is the only character whose abuse is presented as serious.
Stolas kept belittling Bliztø and kept talking dirty even when the Man was in danger
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You cannot tell me that he couldn't hear the gunshot through the phone, in this scene, he keeps making his disgusting speech. Blitzø was practically forced to make the deal as he wasn't in a situation where he could process his thoughts clearly since he was trying to survive
And it was a joke.
Angels Dusk kept harassing Husk throughout the series but he never once apologized. Yes, it stopped after Looser Baby but he should have a mindful conversation with Husk and genuinely say sorry about his behavior.
“It starts with sowwy🥺” What’s the point of having this song if the characters don’t follow through with the lesson?
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Those scenes were mostly jokes.
And I haven’t mentioned Sir Pentious getting dragged while being drunk in a sex room, or Moxie being kissed by Succubus despite mentioning he didn't want any of that.
AAaaAaaaAh look at these men, being uncomfortable because they are touched and talked down despite verbally addressing their discomfort! That hilarious!
I want to believe she cares, I’m a fan of these shows, I know it doesn't look like it but I’ve been hooked since the Pilots. Not only was I disappointed at the final result but I was also shocked to learn Medrano is simply just an asshole with too much money in her bag.
Poison failed where Fîls de Joie succeeded:
Before reading any of what I wrote you should listen to it, there are English subtitles. And honestly, it's a good song on its own.
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What’s the context of Fîls de Joie?
A sex worker died and her son is holding funerals for her. You can guess it with the wordplay in the title, Fille de Joie (Girl of Joy) is one of the many ways to say prostitute in French. Fîls (son) de Joie is a way to say that he’s the son of a sex worker.
While sung by the same man, you can notice that Stromae gives us four POVs in the song, the son in the chorus, a client, the pimp, and a policeman.
Everyone besides the son is a hypocrite and relatively an asshole. But even if those verses are self-centered and a pathetic attempt from these men to bring sympathy to themselves, despite never hearing the story directly from the Woman, you can guess exactly how her life was and you sympathize with her. It tells us a story, her story.
This woman was a good mother, and it shows how much the son insisted on leaving her alone, speaking proudly of her despite acknowledging her flaws, and even repeatedly calling her a hero.
But HEY! (But HEY!) Leave my mom alone Yes I know, she’s not perfect, it’s true She’s a hero (She’s a hero) And I will always speak of her with pride
The client is trying to be excused from his actions by stating he’s lonely and addicted to it.
Being alone is not easy And it’s been years since my last time
The hardest part, well, it’s the first time And now what’s hard is to decide when the last time will be
But he’s also verbally violent even stating that as long as he got the money he could pretty much do everything to her.
Maybe this time around we can do it with me insulting her. Yeah everything is negotiablе in life, if you got the money And after all, I’m probably her best customer
With that alone, you can probably guess that it’s not the only violent client she had but she has to endure it because she needs money. Considering that she has a son it’s probably to support his education or something related to her well-being and his.
Then comes the pimp, he brushed off all of his misdeeds by saying he gives them shelter and food and should be grateful for it.
Why does everyone hate me? I’m the one feeding them Their lives would be way more mediocre. Without me, their lives would be shitty
Not only that but his good actions are not for the sake of it, he should have his part of the deals. He doesn't want them to feel like princesses eventually calling them hookers in a very dehumanizing way.
That has a price, Missy. Well duh, in this life, everything comes at a price. Nobody ever told you? They say I’m guilty of human trafficking But 50, 40, 30 or 20% is not nothing
They better not delude themselves and think they’re models Ladies—or should I say: hookers!
Not only does this woman have to endure constant violent behavior from her clients she barely gets enough money despite being the one at work, receiving either 50% or even 20% of what she actually gained. The rest goes to an egocentric pimp that only sees her as merchandise.
While we can technically understand where the policeman is coming from, he’s just doing his job, he’s making a mistake apparent in the other’s verse but much more evident in his.
He doesn't see her as a human.
I know that it’s your job But I gotta do mine, don’t I?
Take back your ID and what’s left of your dignity You’re pathetic, pfft Find yourself a real job!
This song doesn't tell us the story of a prostitute but the story of a financially struggling Mother who juggles between abusing clients and a society that only focuses on the top of the iceberg, the fact that she’s selling her body.
Stromae tries to appeal to our compassion and teach us that it’s important to understand why someone will go their way to sell sex for a few pennies. And rather than rejecting them, we should help them.
Another thing I like about the clip as a whole is the Military. They don’t have a Belgian or French uniform but they wear multiple of them to show that this dehumanization isn’t linked to one country but it’s global, every countries and cultures take part in it, and it needs to be fixed.
What does Poison tell us?
Angel got stuck in an abusive situation and was forced to do sex work for his pimps, it focuses more on the sexual assault rather than his life.
He obliviously regrets his choice resulting in him blaming himself for getting into such a messy situation. A situation he’s seemingly addicted to despite himself, he knows it’s bad but he can’t help it.
What's the worst part of this hell? I can only blame myself
You're feedin' me poison Addicted to this feelin', I can't help but swallow. Up your poison
The poison can also be a metaphor for the drugs he seems to take directly from Valentino’s brand. A drug he either takes himself or is forced to inhale.
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He uses the same substance to forget his situation and numbs the pain while also putting on a false Sex-addicted mask to convey that he’s fine and stay on Valentino’s good side. A direct consequence of his abuse is his addiction and his hypersexuality.
I got so good at bein' untrue I got so good at tellin' you what you wanna hear I disassociate, disappear
At the end of the song he’s waisted, traumatized, and finally breaks down as he finally has a short time to process everything that happened. Because here’s the thing, Poison is a fantasy, it’s a mask he puts in to forget the emotional and physical weight that was put on him, hence why it’s so flashy and pretty. The few glimpses of Angel being visibly distraught show that all the parts where he isn't are him disassociating.
See I can analyze stuff and I totally understand what they were trying to do with it but the difference with Fîls de Joie is, that we didn't know the life or personality of The Mother and we learn it through the song.
Angel Dust and Valentino’s relationship is highlighted throughout the shows and Poison doesn't add anything new to the table. The song is POINTLESS. Husk already looked at us and told us that Angel Dust being sexual was a whole persona he puts in.
You can say that the song humanized him since he was basically the “AaahaAH SEX” character but the locker scene already did and… I don’t like the story behind the making of it, why you ask?
Because Vivienne let Raphielle’s work affect her writing.
Visually speaking I believe you can present a disturbing concept with equally disturbing imagery, I understand that the point was to make you uncomfortable and the Dance sequence was Angel Dust disassociating while what was happening was displayed on the screen.
But… can someone explain why they let the work of someone blatantly fetishizing Angel and Valentino's relationship leak into the final product? I don’t even care that Raphielle or Vivienne have a nonconsensual fetish but we can all agree that his content depicting the two men will be inrentently for gooning purposes right? Or am I crazy for saying that?!
Okay, I wanna be clear, Raphielle can do everything he wants what I care about is that his fetishistic content was referenced in the shows.
→ Here’s one of his works. Go at 2:45 if you wanna skip the sexual stuff
→ Click here for more proof
The idea of Angels Dust being “sexy” while his image is projected on screens is from Raphielle II, his work is for sexual gratification but Medrano still referenced it despite Raph being pretty vocal about it.
And that’s not all.
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Yes, Vivienne, it’s great marketing to make a cum joke about visuals displaying rape. Because in case y’all forgot all of the sex scenes in the clip are non-consensual from Angel Dust's perspective.
Am I supposed to believe that this woman cares when not only she has a double standard only showing rape and sexual assault as a whole in a bad way when it comes to her favorite character?
Am I supposed to believe that she cares when she associates herself with a fetishizer and references his work in her show?
Why did Stromae managed to make me care about an unnamed fictional dead woman in the spam of 3:57 when she just irked me in 20 minutes with her so-called “well done” representation of sex workers?
Is that really what people call a realistic presentation? How does someone manage to fumble so hard on every aspect of the series, I’m starting to believe that Hazbin Hotel is just rage-bait with the lack of respect she puts into it.
That’s all for me if anyone wants to add anything, the comments are there.
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peachdues · 1 year ago
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Phantasmagoria (Part II)
Tell Me to Stop (Sanemi’s Version)
Sanemi x F!Reader • Modern AU • NSFW
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A/N: read the fucking warnings before you report.
Massive TW: grief • loss of a parent • canon character death • drug and alcohol abuse • panic attacks • implied attempted sexual assault (not described, happens off-page • non-consensual photos being texted around (very briefly described, and then it’s just a mention of a bite mark) • violence between characters • brief description of Douma getting his face pounded in (deserved)
CW: 14k words. MDNI. explicit sexual content ahead (opens mid-fuck) • creampies • oral (f! and m!receiving) • rough oral • throat fucking • cum eating • ass-smacking • hate(?)fucking • toxic ass FWB • swearing • angst
I promise Part III will have angst BUT also lots of fluff/intimacy/care.
Without further ado!
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Three weeks had passed since Sanemi first brought her home with him when Y/N realized she was utterly fucked.
Sure, at that moment, the platinum-haired man had her bent over his kitchen table, arms pinned behind her back as he pounded mercilessly into her, but she realized that she was also fucked because nothing had ever or would ever compare to the way Sanemi made her feel.
It had started only as an occurrence whenever they were out at night, with Y/N tugging Sanemi into Kizuki’s seedy bathroom to bounce against his lap. Sanemi had been forced to muffle his groans by sucking harshly on her breast as he fucked her against the bathroom wall, only for her to succinctly pull off him the moment he finished to return to her friends, Shinobu discretely handing her a napkin to wipe the remnants of his pleasure as it dripped down her thighs.
Then, she started letting him bring her back to his apartment from the various clubs and bars their groups visited. She grew content to let him lay her over the side of his bed to swirl that sinful tongue around her needy, demanding clit as his thick fingers steadily pumped in and out of her aching cunt while he fucked her mouth, his seed spilling down her throat with a force that threatened to obliterate any dwindling part of her that had not been utterly consumed by him.
But that still had not been enough for Y/N — or for Sanemi, apparently.
Because their late-night trysts had quickly evolved into near-daily rendezvouses, both stone-cold sober and texting each other in the middle of the day, in desperate need to feel the other’s body pressed flush against their own. And as wrong as it was, Y/N loved it; she craved it more than any pretty Wisteria pill or sticky fruity drink.
Because all it took was one taste for Y/N to end up right back in the scarred palm of Sanemi Shinazugawa’s hand, begging him to fuck her back to life.
And fuck her he did. The top of her sundress had been pulled down to her waist, and the wooden grain of his kitchen table bit into her bare breasts as Sanemi’s hips slapped roughly against her ass. Y/N was close to sobbing because god, it felt fucking good when he got rough with her like that, when he made her feel anything other than the crippling numbness that seemed to spread through her with each passing day.
He released her arms to lean forward and ghost his lips up her spine, all the way to the back of her neck, and Y/N came hard, just like she did every time they came together because Sanemi knew how to set every nerve in her body on fire with his addicting touch and addicting kiss.
One rough hand made its way under her jaw to twist her head back so he could claim her lips with his, coming as he did so, his groan of pleasure muffled by Y/N sliding her tongue into his mouth.
She hated how much she loved him.
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They’d been sleeping together for nearly a month when Sanemi decided to test her patience.
“So, are we gonna talk about it?” Y/N cringed, because no, she most certainly did not want to talk about it; not then, not ever, and especially not with him.
“Why would we?” She responded flippantly, twirling the straw in the dregs of her drink. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Bullshit,” Sanemi snapped at her. “You’ve spent the last two years running away from us, and you think there’s nothing to talk about?”
Y/N met his stare hard, her own returning glare cold. “Running implies effort.”
“D’you really think I didn’t try to find you?” Sanemi grabbed her wrist, keeping her from getting up and leaving the bar. “But god forbid you be vulnerable, huh?”
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“Oh, God forbid you be vulnerable, ‘Nemi,” Y/N gave him an exaggerated eye roll as she leaned her head against Kyojuro’s shoulder.
“You’re sayin’ you would let yourself get that…close with someone?” Sanemi argued, and with a sigh, Kyojuro paused the movie.
They weren’t supposed to be watching a movie with such steamy scenes, but Y/N’s mother had stepped out to cover a shift for a friend, and the trio of teenagers had been left without supervision.
Really, the movie hadn’t been that bad; but the film’s shining sex scene had been several minutes long, each of the teenagers shifting uncomfortably on the couch as the sound of moans filled the basement where they’d gathered to watch.
The scene had passed, but Y/N’s and Sanemi’s argument over a particular detail had not.
“If you’re already having sex, why does it matter what position it’s in?” Y/N half shrieked with laughter as both boys turned scarlet. “Isn’t intimacy the whole point?”
Sanemi turned his face away, embarrassed. “All I’m sayin’ is I don’t think I’d ever let a woman have that much power over me.” Sanemi was referring to the way the female character had climbed atop the love interest and began riding him, her head tipped back as loud, lascivious moans fell from her lips.
It was Kyo’s turn to laugh. “You’d have to get a woman in that position, to begin with, Shinazugawa.”
Sanemi made a disgruntled sound. “Bro code says you’re supposed to be on my side, Rengoku,”
Beneath where her cheek lay, Kyojuro vibrated as he laughed heartily. “I’m not saying I’m not! Just that you’ve got a few steps to take before you have to worry about it.”
“Worry about being too vulnerable,” Y/N screwed her eyes up and stuck her tongue out on the last word as she teased him, settling back in against the couch as she grabbed the remote from Kyo’s hand and re-started the movie.
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“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Y/N said frostily, stomping away from the bar and from him.
She didn’t know why she tried to run away from him, not when it was so pointless. Because an hour later, Y/N found herself on the edge of Sanemi’s bed, as he hooked her legs over his muscled shoulders. Face buried deep in her cunt, he lifted her off the mattress, suspending her mid-air and upside down as he ravished her while she sobbed for him to do more, to give her more until she could not possibly take anything else from him.
Perhaps he was punishing her; maybe she deserved it. All Y/N knew, as Sanemi finally tore his mouth away from her weeping core and flipped her onto her knees before slamming her back on his steely length, was that if this was her punishment for loving Sanemi Shinazugawa, she would gladly take it.   
The last thing she thought, as Sanemi spilled into her for the second time that evening, thumb swirling her clit and his teeth buried in her neck, was that she was grateful to be on birth control.
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“Do you like doing that?” Kyojuro’s voice was hesitant over the vibration of the music and laughter of drunken revelers gathered to let loose on the Kizuki dancefloor, and Y/N had to lean closer to hear him at all.
Y/N frowned slightly as she pushed her dissolving Wisteria to her cheek. “It’s just a recreational thing, while we’re out, y’know?”
She didn’t know why she was explaining herself to him, or why she felt like she had to, but Kyojuro had always been one of the few people who could pull the truth out of her with little effort, and in the back of her mind, she knew that made him dangerous. After all, he might get her to confess that she’d missed his smile or missed the blazing heat of Sanemi’s stare whenever she spoke.
Kyojuro reached out and brushed a lock of her hair that had fallen loose from one of her space buns behind her ear. “You were always so straight-edge. I guess I’m just surprised.”
Y/N wanted to smack his hand away but found herself leaning into the steadying warmth of his touch. “Things change, I suppose.”
Kyojuro winced, and his eyes filled with a sadness that was too out of place here in this den of debauchery. “Where did it all go wrong, Y/N? What happened?”
It all went wrong when Sanemi and Genya’s parents were killed in that car crash, making the boys wards of the state who were then bounced around from foster home to foster home. It all went wrong when Genya defended another boy in a fight that wasn’t his to begin with and ended up dead on a sidewalk. It all went wrong when Sanemi lashed out at her and condemned her with a few choice words that seemed grossly disproportionate to what she’d actually said. It all went wrong when Kyojuro decided that being there for Sanemi meant he had to abandon her, too, and then they’d both forgotten about her while she’d lost everything.
But Y/N couldn’t unload all of that right then. “Things change, Kyojuro.” She repeated, though her voice was slightly weaker than it had been, wobbling slightly in a way that Y/N knew meant she would cry if given long enough.
“But you’re our friend, Y/N-” Kyojuro pled, but it was the wrong thing to say, and he cringed as he watched her clam up almost instantly.
—————————————————————————
“She’s our friend!” Kyojuro said hotly, though, with his missing front tooth, it was hard to see him as anything but adorable, even as he glowered at the sneering girl, as he helped Y/N stand up from where she’d been knocked over.
“What a weirdo!” Ume, the small, white-haired girl who always looked like she smelled something unpleasant, reached to yank one of Y/N’s pigtails harshly, causing her to cry out in pain. “And you’re ugly, too!”
Y/N had only been trying to join in on Ume’s tea party that she held with the other girls in their class. But when she’d boldly tried to sit down amongst them, the cruel little girl had shoved her harshly out of the circle they’d formed on the blacktop,
Kyojuro smacked the beastly little girl’s hand away. “Hit her again, and I’ll make you sorry!” He threatened, and for once, the girl had the wits to look slightly intimidated at the blonde who towered over her.
“If you hit me, I’ll tell my brother on you!” The troll hissed, but it did little to cow Kyojuro, who shouldered past her as he steered the softly crying Y/N away from the horrid little group of girls.
“Y/N, are you okay?” The blonde asked worriedly after they were out of sight of Ume, turning her around to look her over.
“I-I just w-wanted to be t-their friend!” Y/N hiccupped, her tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “But they were s-so mean!”
Kyojuro pat her head, just like he did with his baby brother. “You don’t want to be their friend, Y/N,” he said kindly. “Not when they’re so mean. Stick with me and Sanemi! We’ll always look after you!”
Y/N wiped her eyes and tugged at her loose pigtail, all messed from Ume’s harsh grip. “Do you promise?”
Kyojuro smiled as brightly as the sun. “I promise! I will always be here to watch after you – whenever you need me! I’ll be there!”
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Y/N patted the warm brawn of Kyojuro’s shoulder sympathetically. “I was, Kyo,” her use of his nickname somehow made him hurt more, his mouth wobbling somewhat as his eyes mirrored the resignation in hers. “But it’s just as I said,”
Y/N reached for Mitsuri’s discarded drink on the counter and tipped it back, draining the last dregs of alcohol. “Things change.”
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Y/N was leaning against the counter of the bar, nursing her beer as she watched her pink friend giggle and murmur sweetly to the black-haired boy dancing with her, the latter’s hands hesitantly gripping her friend’s waist.
“You don’t approve?” A familiar voice rose over the pounding bass of the club music from her side. Y/N didn’t have to turn her head to know who’d sidled up next to her – she would know his blistering heat anywhere.
She tapped her fingers against the sweaty side of her glass. “I just don’t know why he won’t make a move,” Y/N said after a long moment, a frown pulling at the corners of her red-painted lips.
Sanemi followed her line of sight and his mouth pressed into a hard line. “Maybe he wants to, but he thinks it’ll just make things worse.” He said after a moment, voice quiet.
Y/N hummed in disagreement. “He’s making it worse by not doing anything at all – he’s made her think it’s her fault things aren’t working out between them.”
“He doesn’t mean to,” Sanemi offered. “He does care about her. More than she realizes.” He watched as Obanai delicately brushed a strand of Mitsuri’s pink hair from her eyes.
Y/N finally rolled her head to the side to look at him, and idly she wondered if her eyes looked as numb as she felt. “If he did, he wouldn’t keep hurting her; wouldn’t have hurt her to begin with.”
Sanemi stared back at her, and it made her heart squeeze to see the faintest trace of pain in his gaze, even in spite of his small smile. “’S not that simple, though.”
She looked away. “It could’ve been,” Y/N took a long sip of her drink, part of her hoping that he couldn’t catch the jaded edge that crept into her voice. “And now all they know how to do is use one another.”
Sanemi’s gaze upon her was uncomfortable, and not just because it felt like he was stripping down every carefully crafted wall she’d erected around herself during their estrangement. The genuine flash of hurt in his eyes made her feel slick, oily, and so very wrong.
The pair watched as the mismatched couple on the dancefloor swayed together, Obanai’s eyes wide the whole time, as though he could not believe he had the good fortune of holding the beautiful, colorful girl in his arms. Y/N tried to feel happy for her friend, but it was difficult, especially when he knew that the night would inevitably end with Mitsuri in tears, lamenting that her dark-haired lover had yet again insisted he was not good enough for her, and he would leave Y/N to pick up the pieces of her friend’s broken heart.
“They should let themselves try,” Sanemi murmured, bringing Y/N’s attention back to him.
In one smooth gulp, Y/N polished off the rest of her drink, the warm buzz of alcohol loosening her tongue. “Trying is for those who haven’t lost hope.” Y/N squared her shoulders and steeled herself to return to the dancefloor once more. “And Mitsuri is about to learn that lesson.”
Later, just as Y/N predicted, Obanai left but Mitsuri did not go with him. As she wrapped an arm around her crying best friend to steer her out of the club, Y/N looked back to Sanemi, still at the bar, and hoped he could see the I told you so in her eyes.
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It was July, and Sanemi was getting on her last nerves.
“Y/N, you need to stop,” Sanemi’s voice was gruff as his hand closed over her wrist, restraining her from raising the little violet pill to her lips — her second of the night.
Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “I didn’t realize you were my father,” she tried to turn away from him, but he caught her shoulder, wrenching her back around and swatting at the hand clutching her key to euphoria.
���Cut the shit, Y/N.” He ignored the way she glared at him, as she watched her pill bounced to the floor and disappeared. “You’re destroying yourself; you know that?”
Y/N’s blood turned to ice in her veins. “It’s none of your business, Shinazugawa,” and he flinched at her use of his surname. “Why do you even care?”
Sanemi almost looked menacing as he stares at her under the flashing strobes of the Kizuki. “You’re my friend.”
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“Because Sanemi,” Y/N sniffed, “You’re my friend.”
Though Sanemi’s bandages covered most of his face, he could just make out the teary sincerity in the young girl’s eyes as she squeezed his good hand where it lay against his hospital bed.
At that moment, Sanemi had felt guilty for snapping at his long-time best friend. He’d known that she hadn’t meant any harm when she asked him if the multitude of lacerations that now covered the right side of his body were permanent. But Sanemi had woken up to the news that he and Genya were now all alone in the world, and he couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself; he couldn’t help his need to wallow in the sadness and misery that threatened to suffocate him.
And so, he’d lashed out.
“Tch, who’d wanna be friends with a scarred freak like me?” He snapped back, though the sourness in his gut intensified as the tears slipped faster down Y/N’s cheeks.
“I do,” she insisted. “We’ve been best friends since we were babies.” Amidst the sniffling desperation in her eyes, the first inklings of anger began to shine through. “You can’t just decide to quit being friends! That’s not fair!”
“I don’t care if you have scars!” Y/N’s voice grew more shrill over the slow, steady beeps of the various machines to which Sanemi found himself attached. “I’ve always thought you were…were… pretty!” She sputtered.
For once, Sanemi had been stumped into silence. The young boy found himself suddenly grateful that most of his face was indeed covered by several layers of thick medical gauze, given the way he felt his cheeks heat at Y/N’s furious declaration.
“And I will always want to be your friend!” Y/N finished dramatically, crossing her arms, and flinging herself back in the plastic chair she’d dragged over by his hospital bed.
“All right,” Sanemi murmured, grateful that he could blame the crack in his voice on his impending puberty. “All right. We’re friends.”
“Best friends,” Y/N corrected, though the sparkle had returned to her eyes.
—————————————————————————
Y/N laughed without humor. “You think, because we fuck when we’re high or drunk, that makes us friends?”
Y/N laughed again, and Sanemi’s grip around her wrist tightened. “As I recall, Shinazugawa, it was you who ended our friendship, well before we ever started—” Y/N grimaced. “Whatever this is that we’re doing.”
“We hook up when we’re under the influence. Nothing more.” She finished, coldly.
A flash of hurt flit across his features, almost obscured by the pulsing lights of the club. “I’ve been sober for the last month, Y/N.”
Sanemi’s answer landed harder than she’d anticipated, in no short part because she hadn’t noticed he’d stopped taking Shinobu’s Wisteria, much less stopped drinking while they were all out together. As he said it, however, Y/N recalled the way it had been more than a month since they’d last hooked up at night, with Sanemi responding to her texts only in the morning or early enough in the evening before she’d had the chance to fall under the Wisteria’s magic spell.
In the back of her mind, Y/N knew she should be concerned with the way the Wisteria was beginning to dull her perception and her memory, but she couldn’t find it within her to care at that moment. She only wanted to make the man before her hurt, hurt the way he’d made her hurt for all these months.
But she couldn’t. There were a million insults on her tongue, waiting to be used, and she knew that he could take whatever it was she threw at him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“The sentiment is the same, drunk or sober,” Y/N said, half-heartedly. “We’re not friends. We haven’t been for a long time.”
The pain in Sanemi’s eyes was overshadowed by his own anger, a sure match to her own. “No? So, I’m just a stranger to you, hm?” He took a step closer to her and reached out his hand, gliding it teasingly up her bare arm. “A stranger whom you call and text every day to come and fuck you the way you like it, huh?”
He pulled her close to him, and Y/N let him because he was right, damn him. She craved his touch, his body, more than any tiny purple pill or acidic drink she could spend her money on. She craved him just as surely as she craved air.
But she could not admit that to him, not then, not there. So, Y/N merely breathed, “Yes,” as Sanemi’s hand wrapped under her jaw, his other one tangling in her hair to pull her head back and meet his eyes directly.
Sanemi kissed her, softly, before pulling away to smile ruefully at her. “Then have your pills, Y/N. But you can’t have me, too.”
He released her, and Y/N stepped back, thankful for the dim lighting of the club that concealed her blush. “I don’t need you,” she whispered, though she knew it was a lie. From the look that Sanemi gave her in response, as he retreated towards the bar, she could see he knew it, too.
Y/N sought out Shinobu for another one of her magic pills, but even before she’d allowed it to dissolve on her tongue, Y/N knew something was off. No longer was her world a vibrant array of colors beckoning her to the kaleidoscopic paradise she’d come to love. Instead, the Wisteria crumbled bitterly in her mouth, and no amount of stinging alcohol could chase away its acerbic aftertaste.
She tried to lose herself on the dance floor as she so often did, but it only worsened the sludge that pulsed through her veins.
Beneath the throb of multicolored lights, Y/N felt as though she was suffocating.
Y/N pushed and elbowed her way dizzily through the crush of people on the dance floor, lungs constricting to the point of pain as she struggled to take a breath, her limbs trembling. Her eyes landed on a pair of lilac irises studying her from across the club, and distantly, Y/N noticed how he straightened, his focus lasering in on her as she stumbled towards him.
She couldn’t deny the irony that she was so used to fleeing from him into the sparkling, sweaty array of club-goers, only to find herself desperate to run to him, for safety and comfort, away from the revelers who were suddenly too loud and too close.
He met her halfway, having moved from his place against the bar counter after noticing her distress. With more relief than Y/N knew she should feel, she collapsed against him, grateful for the steely warmth of his arms as they closed protectively around her. In his embrace, she found that she didn’t even mind the way his lips pressed against her damp forehead as he asked whether she was okay.
She wasn’t, and that was his fault to begin with, but he was there, holding her as if she mattered, and Y/N let herself melt.
—————————————————————————
An hour later, she was back in Sanemi’s apartment, crouched over his toilet while the cold tile of his bathroom floor bit into her knees as she heaved up her guts. Sanemi was there, too, seated behind her on the ground while he held her hair in his gentle grip, his free hand rubbing soothing circles into her back.
Between the spasms in her stomach, Y/N wondered if he could see the black sludge of her love for him mixed in with the bile courtesy of Shinobu’s bad Wisteria pill.
————————————————————————-
The next morning, he was yelling at her.
Y/N was confused as to why, exactly, his voice was raised at her, given how gentle he’d been with her the night before; it wasn’t as if she’d been trying to do anything different when he awoke.
She’d just been gathering her things to leave, as she always did. She never stayed after they’d finished, and he knew that — so it wasn’t her fault that he’d woken up and caught her trying to sneak out of his apartment.
“This has gotten out of hand, Y/N. You’re out of control,” Sanemi was blocking his front door, his face hard. If Y/N hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought she saw a hint of concern intermingled with the anger that filled his eyes.
“You were lucky last night that you only had a bad trip — but what if it had been mixed with something? What if Kocho’d made a bad batch?”
Y/N’s head was pounding, and the aftereffects from her the previous night were still echoing through her, twisting her world into something dark.
Sanemi’s raised voice wasn’t helping; not in the slightest.
Y/N felt her hands drift to her head as she covered her ears, her breath quickening as her lungs squeezed and spasmed in her chest.
“Stop,” Y/N pled, but her voice was weak and distant, and utterly drowned out by him.
“You’re killing yourself, don’t you see that?” Sanemi continued hotly. “D’you know how gaunt you look? How frail? This shit is killing you, Y/N.”
“For someone who constantly needs to be in control, you’ve completely lost it.”
“Stop, please, stop,”
“What would your mother think?”
“Stop.” Y/N repeated, and she said it again and again until she was half-screaming it, sobbing as she fell back against the hallway wall of Sanemi’s apartment. Distantly, Y/N recognized she was having a panic attack, and she knew it wasn’t really his fault, but his words had stung nonetheless.
Warm, gentle hands closed around her wrists as Sanemi lowered her hands from her ears and pulled her against his chest.
“Breathe,” he said, hoarsely. “Breathe, Y/N.”
It was too difficult to get a breath down as she gasped against him, his chest bare under the shirt he’d thrown on and failed to button in his haste to stop her before she could run. Beneath the warm skin under her cheek, Sanemi’s heart beat strong and sturdy, a lullaby that soothed the roar in her ears.
“Breathe with me,” Sanemi coaxed, peeling back from her, his hands coming to rest on either side of her head as he pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. He inhaled, deep, for three counts before exhaling, and Y/N found herself falling into sync with him as her erratic heart slowed.
But as the jittery panic beneath her skin eased, a fire ignited in her blood, and suddenly, Y/N found herself boiling with anger.
“How dare you?” She shoved him away harshly, her eyes wild. “Who the fuck gave you the right to bring my mother into this? Don’t act like you suddenly give a shit about her memory.”
Sanemi stumbled back under her push, and he looked remorseful, more guilty than Y/N had ever known him to seem. “Y/N, I –“
“No, shut the fuck up,” She snapped. “I don’t believe you for a second, Sanemi. Not for one fucking second do I believe you care about me or about her at all.”
Y/N paced in front of Sanemi, still situated in front of the only entrance to and exit from his apartment. Fine, if he wanted to keep her in there with him, then he could deal with her rage.
“Not one fucking call,” Y/N began. “Not once did you or Kyojuro bother to check-in. ‘Hey, sorry we haven’t spoken in nine months, but we heard your mom got cancer, and she used to feed us when our parents wouldn’t, so we thought we’d check in and see how she was doing.’” She mimicked, cruelly. “Do you see how fucking simple that could have been?”
Sanemi only stared at her, his eyes an unfathomable mixture of sadness, remorse, and pain.
“But you didn’t,” Y/N said coldly. “You two fucked off and continued your merry little friendship together, so spare me the bullshit.”
“Y/N – Kyojuro cares. I care –“ Sanemi tried, but Y/N cut him off once more.
“Shut the fuck up!” She exploded, her hands flailing in front of her as she tried to push him away from her once more. “You don’t care, you never did! I’m just a warm body for you to fuck and that’s it.”
Y/N finally shoved past him, hand reaching for the door. “Don’t you dare pretend like I mean any more to you than that,” She spat.
She flung his door open, but Sanemi’s hand shot past her, slamming it shut once more. Y/N stood there, facing the door, chest heaving as she struggled to control her anger. “Let me go, Sanemi.” She said stiffly, refusing to turn around, to face him.
Sanemi’s hand found her shoulder and turned her around instead, and before she could blink, his mouth slammed down angrily over hers, his hands gripping her waist tight as his teeth nipped her bottom lip, demanding entry that Y/N couldn’t help but give him.
He was her weakness; always had been, always would be.
Sanemi pressed her against his doorway, a strangled groan tearing from his throat as Y/N palmed him through the sweatpants he’d haphazardly thrown on.
“Y/N,” he groaned as she increased the pressure of her hand slightly, her lips moving to his neck as she licked one of the small scars that lay near his jaw.
“I need you, Sanemi,” She murmured, and Sanemi’s eyes blew wide as he growled, arms locking around her middle as he heaved her up against his door.
Their lips met in a fiery exchange of tongue and teeth, biting, and sucking at the other possessively as they tore each other’s clothes from their body. Y/N ground down against Sanemi’s thick, bare length as it bounced against the underside of her thigh, the slick wet of her heat grazing him and causing him to moan in her ear.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Sanemi growled as he spun them away from the door, guiding them towards his kitchen as he laid her out over his counter, an arm only leaving its position at her waist to clear the assorted mail and spare keys he’d had organized there, letting it all fall to the linoleum floor.
Sanemi’s fingers worked their way between her legs as his lips wrapped around the peak of her breast and sucked, causing Y/N’s back to arch gracefully off the surface of his counter. His thumb stroked her aching bundle of nerves as his index finger swirled around her entrance, teasingly gathering her wetness around the calloused digit, before he sunk it into her, curling it so that he brushed against that sensitive spot on her front wall.
“Sanemi – ah,” she panted as he added yet another finger, her eyes nearly crossing at the sensation of his hand scissoring in and out of her, while his thumb continued to play with her clit. “I can’t wait – please,”
He hesitated for a moment, no doubt fighting every urge to sheathe himself within her heat in a single stroke, but he withdrew his fingers, nodding. With a surprising softness, Sanemi flipped Y/N over, pressing her down against the cool top of his kitchen counter, and used his knee to knock her thighs apart. One hand braced on her hip, the other gripped him at his base as he nudged her opening from behind, Y/N nearly drooled as she felt the hot, flared tip of his cock pressing flush against her entrance, and she rapaciously ground against him, eager to feel him inside of her.
Sanemi gradually eased himself into her wet, aching heat, no doubt taking his time because she’d demanded he take her before properly preparing her. Y/N whimpered at the stretch of her walls around him, as Sanemi groaned, loud and unrestrained, as he sank into her warmth, his chest heaving behind her.
One broad hand slid down the side of her leg, lifting it up to rest on the counter. With one long draw of his hips backwards, nearly withdrawing from her waiting cunt, Sanemi slammed back into her with a force that had her choking for her breath.
Sanemi began to fuck her, and she swore she saw the gates of Heaven.
With every sharp push and pull of his steely length, Y/N felt her eyes roll further back into her skull, as a stream of cries and whimpers poured from her mouth. She was helpless to do anything but push herself back against him as he pounded into her, slamming her back onto his cock over and over, as he moaned and cursed under his breath.  
“Fuck,” Sanemi panted in her ear. “Y/N – just stay. With me. Please.”
But Y/N did not answer him; could not, due to the incessant roll of his hips into hers, as Sanemi increased the force with which he thrust into her with every passing second, threatening to snatch every sane thought from her head.
Sanemi pushed her leg further up on his kitchen counter, a hand coming to rest against a cupboard to steady himself as he thrust deeper into her velvet heat.
His lips danced down the back of her neck, biting and sucking. The drive of his hips forced hers to bounce against the counter, the cheap plywood and plaster biting into her hipbones with every impassioned thrust of Sanemi’s cock as he withdrew from her glistening core, only to slam himself back into her.
“Ngh, Sanemi,” Y/N moaned, pushing herself back against him, needing him to go faster, harder, to make her forget all the ways he’d made her feel lonely and unwanted.
He bit down on her shoulder blade as his thrusts grew sloppy. “God, you feel so fuckin’ good for me, baby.”
Y/N was too enthralled by the hurried drag of Sanemi’s length in and out of her desperate cunt to care that he’d referred to her as “baby.” He could call her anything, anything at all, as long as he kept fucking her the way he was, against his kitchen counter.
Sanemi angled his hips and began hammering at the spot deep inside her that had her vision nearly whitening out.
“Fuck, S-Sanemi,” She whined. “I’m gonna cum—.” The ache in her belly flared the way it always did whenever Sanemi brought her close to her end.
“Not yet,” Sanemi groaned, though he found it difficult to keep holding himself back. “Stay with me a little longer, sweetheart.” One hand left its bruising grip on her hip in favor of reaching around her to squeeze at her breasts, as he rolled one of her nipples between his expert fingers.
“I can’t,” Y/N cried, begging. “Sanemi, please, oh please-,”
Sanemi removed his arms from her and brought them to the front of her knees, straightening her legs so they stuck out behind her, one braced on either side of his hips as he increased his rhythm, the loud clap of Y/N’s skin against the counter as he pounded harder into her threatening to drown out her moans.
Once he was sure she would not lower her legs, Sanemi’s hand came down against her backside, smacking her as he bounced her against him.
Y/N cried out in pleasure, beseeching Sanemi to do it again, and he obliged, bringing his hand down against her other cheek as she sobbed. Sanemi hissed as he felt the eager walls of her cunt squeeze him to the point of pain, keeping his bruising length locked within her as he chased his release.
The slight sting of his hand against the sensitive skin of her ass was too much for her to bear; with a keening howl, Y/N shattered around him, Sanemi following suit as his cum shot into her with a force that made him see white, her name the only mantra on his lips.
She was still in the thick of her orgasm when Sanemi abruptly pulled out, his cum dripping from her spasming core and onto the floor beneath them. She didn’t have time to protest, however, as Sanemi dropped to his knees behind her, where she was still spread wide for him, and began to feast upon her, his teeth and lips wrapping around her clit and sucking so hard, she nearly levitated off the counter, her thighs clamping tight around his head.
Y/N could not find it within herself to feel sorry for his neighbors as she screamed his name, her throat burning with the effort as Sanemi hauled her back to her peak and sent her tumbling over it once more, this time stronger than she’d ever felt.
He did not stop; he continued to suck at her through the prolonged waves of her climax, his warm fingers coming to slide into her opening and massage his cum into her quivering walls, making her see stars as his fingertips brushed the spongy part of her innermost wall, her legs spasming around him.
A gush of fluid sprang forth from her, thoroughly coating Sanemi’s face and he groaned with satisfaction, pressing his mouth even harder against her, as though the mixture of his cum with hers was the most intoxicating elixir ever to pass his lips.
Y/N’s pleasure-delirious sobs were muffled against the counter as the aftershock of her successive orgasms wracked through her, her body quivering from the exertion. As the spasms in her cunt subsided, Sanemi finally stepped away, pressing featherlight kisses against her spine, so gentle in contrast with the delightfully brutal way he’d just reminded her that she’d never be able to run away from this – from him.
Sanemi rocked back on his heels, hands braced against the counter as he caught his breath. “Let me clean you up,” he said after a moment, his voice hoarse.
Y/N’s limbs had been reduced to liquid, so she did not complain as he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to his bathroom.
He sat her gently on the edge of his tub and moved behind her to turn the water on, holding his fingers under the steady stream until it was hot – just the way he knew she liked it.
“I don’t want to take a fucking bath here,” Y/N snapped, turning to glare at him. “Just give me a towel and be done with it.”
Sanemi recoiled slightly, and it made her chest hurt. “Was – was that okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
Only in every way a person could be hurt, but not through his actions in the kitchen. She wanted nothing more than to take his face in her hands and kiss him, to assure him that, at the very least, she’d loved every second of the way he’d spread her across his counter. But the love in Y/N’s heart had turned it into a black, decaying lump, and so, her response only matched her rotten core.
“It was fine – we’re not a fucking couple,” She snatched a washcloth from his hand and shoved it under the faucet, dampening it and then moving to wipe it between her legs. “So, stop trying to act like we are.”
Sanemi stood back, his arms folding across his chest and his expression unreadable. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled after a moment. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
It was the gentleness with which he spoke to her that enraged her even more, even though she knew she was being irrational. “It’s whatever,” she muttered, folding the used washcloth back up and laying it neatly over the edge of the bathtub. “I’ve gotta go.”
Sanemi nodded and left the bathroom, still naked himself, and returned with her discarded clothes and underwear. Once he’d passed them to her, he retreated back to his room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Y/N tried to ignore the guilt in her stomach when he did not emerge to say goodbye, as she opened his front door and disappeared into the mid-day sun.
—————————————————————————
All of her friends were traitors.
Not one of them was in the mood to venture out with her, not even Mitsuri, who was newly in a relationship with Obanai, the moody, awkward boy having finally plucked up the courage to confess his feelings for the bubbly pinkette.
Thus, Mitsuri no longer needed Wisteria or sticky drinks to feel high; she had love.
Y/N was happy for her – really; but she wasn’t happy to lose her reliable going-out friend.
So Y/N was on her own at the Kizuki lounge, though she didn’t really mind all that much. She’d become such a regular in that dark den of iniquity that a few other lost souls recognized her as their own and were only happy to dance with her. Unfortunately, however, Shinobu was nowhere in sight, and thus, Y/N was left utterly without the comforting lull of her friend’s Wisteria.  
As Y/N pounded back another round of shots, wincing at the burn of the green apple liquor which slid down her throat, a sultry voice spoke.
“Well, it’s rare to see such a beautiful thing like you alone in a place like this,” Y/N turned and saw a familiar yet unnerving pair of eyes – the same she’d seen a few weeks earlier at the club, the first night she’d danced with Sanemi – blinking at her.
He was familiar – she’d seen him around on campus and knew him to be relatively involved with student life. Y/N scoured her brain, trying to place a name on the white-haired man smiling at her like she was something to be devoured.  
“Douma, right?” Y/N recalled, and the man nodded, his smile widening revealing a set of too-sharp canines.
“I’m flattered you know my name,” his voice was almost flirty, if not for the sickeningly sweet edge in it that set the hair on her arms standing. “Though, I only know you as Shinobu’s friend,” he pouted.
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You know Shinobu?”
The man with the jewel-colored eyes nodded, smiling dreamily. “Shinobu and I are old friends – business partners, even. And me and her sister go way back.” Douma reached out and toyed with a loose strand of Y/N’s hair, and she fought the urge to shudder. “Tell me your name, gorgeous? I’ve seen you around, though Shinobu always barks before I ever have the chance to talk to you.”
Y/N laughed, softly. “Shinobu’s bark is always worse than her bite, I wouldn’t worry too much.”
Douma leaned in close, and his cologne was strong and sensual in a way that made Y/N’s head feel fogged. “And what about your bite? Surely, someone who hangs around with Shinobu is bound to pack a bit of a punch.”
He knew how to flatter, she’d give him that. “I’m afraid I’m all bark, Douma.” And, because she felt lonely, and because she felt a little desperate, she added, “Though I might be inclined to bite if given the right incentive.”
Douma tipped his head back and laughed, deeply, and it made Y/N’s heart flutter. “You are something, aren’t you, Y/N? I can’t believe your friends would let you wander out by yourself.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, and helped herself to the smiling man’s drink, his grin only widening as she polished off its contents. “I need no babysitter, unfortunately for them.”
“No you do not,” Douma purred. “Well, since you’re a free agent tonight, how about you come by my place? My roommate and I are throwing a huge party – I’d bet nearly half the campus is there already.”
Y/N didn’t doubt it; Douma’s parties were something of a campus legend.
“And, I believe I have something that might make it worth your while,” Douma smirked, pulling a small plastic baggie from his pocket. Within it, sat three of those coveted lilac pills, and Y/N’s mouth watered.
“I think that’s exactly the kind of incentive a girl looks for,” Y/N teased, standing with Douma to leave the Kizuki, the latter’s hand coming to rest on the small of her back. Y/N and Douma chatted animatedly as he led her to his car, and Y/N could almost ignore the unease tugging incessantly in her stomach.
She shook off the feeling. After all, if she squinted hard enough, Douma could almost pass as Sanemi.
—————————————————————————
Kyojuro answered his phone with a noncommittal grunt.
“Akaza?” He said, surprise coloring his features. Sanemi perked up at the name of the boy from their hometown but was filled with unease at the way Kyojuro’s face darkened.
“We’re on our way.” Kyojuro clicked his phone off and met Sanemi’s questioning look.
“You know that party on 52nd? We need to go — now.” Kyojuro was already rising, his wallet and keys in hand.
Sanemi didn’t question his best friend, but his phone dinged in time with Kyojuro’s, and both paled at the text image they’d received from an unknown number, sent to each person in their friend group.
It was an image of Y/N, though only half her face was visible — but it was clear she was crying and she looked fucking terrified. Mascara streaked down her cheeks as she held her arms up protectively in front of her. But those too-thin arms could not obscure the blooded, crescent-shaped bite mark just above her breast.
Shinobuuuu your friend is lovely! The message below the image read.
A second, follow-up message dinged. Next time, fucking pay me, hm?
Kyojuro looked back in horror at his best friend but broke into a cold sweat as he beheld the murderous rage that caused his friend to tremble.
“Let’s go.” It was all the white-haired man said as the pair slammed Kyojuro’s apartment door behind them and head for his car.
—————————————————————————
“There you go, Y/N – you should be safe here until we can get you out, yeah?” The pink-haired man opened a door to a hidden closet behind the stairwell in his private room, one he knew with certainty that Douma knew nothing about. “I called you a ride already.”
Y/N sniffled, wiping at her cheeks as she brushed by the man to sit on a trunk sitting in the closet. “Thank you, Hakuji. I owe you one.”
Akaza smiled and shook his head. He’d always liked Y/N – she was always kind to him growing up, and she was one of the few people to call him by his actual name, rather than that abhorrent nickname that he couldn’t seem to shake.
“Nah, I can’t stand that fucker,” Akaza grimaced, checking behind him to ensure no one had snuck in and found them hiding. “Douma always takes things too far. I try to help when I can, but I don’t have eyes everywhere.” He frowned as he considered her. “I’m just glad I saw him bring you in.”
Y/N didn’t say anything, instead only nodding. Akaza sighed. “I’d better get back to the party. Douma’ll go snooping if he can’t find me and I really don’t want to risk him finding you again.” He began to push the door shut. “This locks from the inside. Don’t open it for anyone else – I’ll come get you when your ride is here.”
Y/N nodded. “Thanks again, Hakuji. Say hi to Koyuki for me the next time you see her.”
Akaza smiled warmly and closed the closet door, sealing Y/N safely within.
————————————————————————-
For Y/N, sitting alone in that cramped, dark closet, it felt like hours had passed since Hakuji had locked her away, out of sight from Douma’s unnerving eyes. Y/N was getting antsy, until the sound of gasps and screams from below set her stomach twisting with panic. She began to hyperventilate when she heard footsteps – two pairs, one heavier than the other – rapidly approaching the closet door as the knob began to twist.
Tears were leaking down her face, hot and fast, as a knock sounded against the door.
“Y/N!” Someone hissed. “It’s me – open the door.” It was not Akaza on the other side, but a much warmer, much more familiar voice that had her nearly sobbing with relief.
With a shaking hand, Y/N flipped the lock and the door swung open, revealing the most comforting presence she’d ever known.
Kyojuro stared at her, a mess on the floor of Hakuji’s closet, his expression unreadable. Leaning towards her, he closed a warm hand gently around her wrist and hauled her to her feet, his eyes running over her as those scanning for injury. His nostrils flared at the small dab of blood that had dried on her shirt, concealing the bruising bite mark below.
Kyojuro’s burning grip remained on her as he led her out of Hakuji’s room – the pink-haired man nodding reassuringly at her as she passed him by. Kyojuro halted at the top of the small staircase to the main floor, an eerie silence interrupted only by an occasional gasp below.
He turned back to Y/N, his face stony. “Don’t look,” he warned. “Keep your eyes forward until we get out of here, no matter what.”
A lump formed in Y/N’s throat as the pair descended the stairs, slowly. They almost made it to the front door, where Y/N could see Kyojuro’s car pulled half-onto the lawn outside, still running, when a strange wet thump snapped Y/N’s attention to the adjacent room where party attendees had been dancing only moments before.
Y/N froze as she took in the crowd, gathered, and parted around two men, hunched on the floor, as they all looked on in stunned horror.
It was Sanemi, with Douma pinned beneath his knees, as he mercilessly pounded his fist into her would-be assailant’s face.
Douma was covered in scarlet, and the swollen features of his face were nearly unrecognizable as Sanemi slammed his knuckles into him, over and over. Douma only wheezed out a laugh, apparently egging Sanemi on.
Y/N parted her mouth in horror, ready to call out for Sanemi to stop, but Kyojuro tugged her sharply through the front door and away from the grisly scene.
“Don’t,” he said, softly. “Let him get it out.”
Kyojuro hauled her to his car, pausing only to open his passenger door before gently pushing her to sit down in the worn seat. Y/N didn’t challenge him as he reached over her and buckled her seatbelt, noting the fire raging in his eyes.
Her friend rejoined her on the driver’s side and pulled roughly out of the yard of Douma’s party house, speeding off down the street. Y/N opened her mouth to speak – to say anything, when Kyojuro held up his hand as his other pulled his phone free from his pocket. He read something on the screen, before clicking it off, returning his eyes to the road.
“It’s Tengen – cops have been called.” He explained, his voice low and face hard.
Y/N swallowed thickly. “Sanemi’s going to get arrested.”
Kyojuro snorted. “If Tengen shows up first, Sanemi will be fine. The cops have been looking to bust Douma for months.” Kyojuro slowed at a stoplight and cut his eyes over to where Y/N sat, curled on his seat, looking so small and so vulnerable.
“Y/N,” his voice possessed a gentleness she didn’t deserve, and it only made her mash her lips together in an effort to keep the tears in her eyes. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
She flinched, folding her arms tight across her chest, the spot where Douma bit her aching. Slowly, the memory of a phone camera flashing in her face, mere seconds before Hakuji had exploded into the room, cursing up a storm at Douma as he’d covered her with a blanket, blitzed out of her mind.
“The photos,” she whispered, hands covering her mouth in horror. “Oh, god –,”
Kyojuro’s hands tightened on his steering wheel, his knuckles white. “Y/N,” his voice cracked, just like her heart. “If you’d rather me call one of the girls, I will --,”
Y/N shook her head, urgently. “No, no, Kyo, he didn’t – he only bit me.”
Kyojuro’s grip on the steering wheel relaxed, though only marginally so. “Only bit you,” he repeated, shaking his head in disgust, that cold rage still pulling at his face, contorting the face she loved into something brutal, violent, and unforgiving.
He looked back at her as she trembled in his passenger seat. “What do you need, Y/N?”
Y/N fought to keep her voice steady. “Can – can you just drive, Kyo? Please?”
He nodded, and the two drove in silence for an hour, her friend randomly getting off and on the interstate as the sights of the city passed them aimlessly by.
Kyojuro abruptly pulled his car over to the side of the road, coming to a stop and slamming it into park, before turning to look at her.
“Y/N,” the sound of his voice was so strangled, so pained, that Y/N couldn’t stop the tears from falling down her face, and into her lap. “What the fuck?”
“I don’t know,” Y/N sobbed quietly into her hands. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, Kyo.” Her vision was completely obscured by the saltwater that would not stop, her breath becoming panicked.
“I don’t even remember fucking it all up. All I know is I was so fucking angry with you two, and now -,” Y/N cut herself off with a hiccup.
“It’s all so fucked,” her breath was choppy as her tears increased, her hands rising to clutch at her chest. “You – you and Sanemi --,”
Kyojuro got out of his car and walked around to her side, opening the door to tug her out of the passenger seat and into his arms, crushing her against his chest.
“Y-you left me,” Y/N sobbed into the thin fabric of his tee shirt. “I needed my friend, and you left me,”
“I know,” Kyojuro’s tears dampened her hair. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“H-how could you do that, to your best friend?” She cried, clutching his shirt in her hands until her knuckles turned white. “You were my brother, Kyojuro.”
“You promised things would be okay, and then they weren’t. And you didn’t even try.” Y/N pushed away from him then, anger burning through the tears in her eyes. “Friends don’t do that; family doesn’t do that.”
Kyojuro looked as broken as she felt. “I broke every promise I made to you, I know,” he said hoarsely. “I swore I wouldn’t let you get too far away --,”
Y/N exploded.
“Get too far away?” She swore at him, hands angrily wiping the salt from her cheeks. “You abandoned me, you left me hung out to dry!”
Y/N’s hands balled to fists at her side, as she shook. “Sanemi at least arguably had an excuse. You had none. Nothing about what I did — what I said — meant I deserved that,” her eyes, angry and broken, met his own teary gaze once more. “I didn’t deserve that.”
“Y/N,” Kyojuro started, but the furious girl cut him off.
“Shut up, Kyojuro,” she snapped, and for once, the flame-haired man looked lost for words. “Do you have any idea what it was like? To watch you and him carry on as though nothing happened – as though I didn’t fucking exist?”
“And when my mom got sick? She used to feed you and your brother, you – you – selfish asshole,” Y/N was nearly hyperventilating in her ire, as twenty-two months of heartache, pain, and rage boiled out of her all at once. “And you couldn’t even check in?”
“I tried,” Kyojuro cut her off, somewhat forcefully, at her last accusation. “I tried to check in, Y/N. During the summer – I saw the ambulance leaving your house, but I couldn’t leave Senjuro by himself.”
“I came by the first thing the next morning, but no one answered. You --,” Kyojuro hesitated. “You must’ve still been at the hospital. I should’ve checked.”
Y/N laughed without humor. “Visiting doesn’t matter. You had a phone. You know how to use it, and you couldn’t send a fucking text.”
The blonde exhaled, and the tiredness on his face softened some part inside of her, made her want to hug him because deep down, she hated that Kyojuro could ever look so worn down.
“Nothing I say is going to make up for it. I know that.” He whispered. “If I could turn back time, I would, Y/N. Please believe me when I say I would.”
Kyojuro dragged a tired hand down his face, smearing the tears across his cheeks as he did so, and he looked toward his old friend, brokenly. “But I’m here now,” He said, pleadingly. “I’m sorry if that’s still not enough; I understand if it isn’t. But please, let me be here for you, now. Even if that means you hate me.”
Y/N did not expect to break so suddenly, but the sight of Kyojuro openly weeping before her, combined with the bruising sincerity of his words, whittled away all of the hardness she’d built up and struck her right in her heart.
“Oh Kyo,” Y/N shuddered a sob, her shoulders shaking under the weight of her tears as Kyojuro stepped forward once more and enveloped her in his arms. “I could never hate you,”
For the first time in nearly two years, Y/N returned Kyojuro’s hug with the same ferocity she once had, and part of her hoped, oh so timidly, that the force with which he embraced her would slowly work to put her back together again – to make her whole.
The two almost siblings melted into one another, each one muttering a litany of I’m sorrys, and I love you‘s. For a long while, the pair stood there, on the side of the road, swaddled in the other’s embrace as they sobbed together, for both the children they once were, and the adults the world had forced them to become.
Eventually, the pair found themselves back in Kyojuro’s car, still driving with no real destination in mind; only this time, the two blasted music from their high school days and loudly sang off-key together, laughing carefree as their broken hearts mended, song by song. They drove until Y/N yawned, and Kyojuro sternly, but teasingly, noted it was well past her bedtime.
“You scare the shit out of him, you know,” Kyojuro said after a long while, eyes still fixed resolutely on the road leading to Y/N’s apartment.
Y/N, who’d been watching the blur of stars in the night sky as they sped down the highway, rolled her head toward him to look at him, her face skeptical. “Sanemi? Sanemi Shinazugawa, scared of me?” She scoffed, turning her attention back to the night sky as it whizzed past her window.
Kyojuro reached for her hand, and Y/N could have cried at how warm and comforting it felt. “He thinks he’s lost you for good. He does regret how things went down, you know; he did from the get-go.”
“I think he’s afraid he’s going to wake up one day and find you’ll just be gone entirely. Completely unreachable.”
Y/N stretched her fingers to play with the series of necklaces Kyojuro had dangling from his rearview mirror, admiring the way they twinkled under the passing streetlights. “He would have to care to be afraid, Kyo, and you and I both know that he doesn’t care about me.” She chewed on her lip. “Not in that way.”
Kyojuro finally pulled to a stop in front of her apartment. He took his time putting his car in park and shutting it off, before turning back to her, his face solemn. “If you can’t see how crazy he is about you, then I don’t know what else I can say.”
The fire in his stare was scorching, and Y/N fidgeted under the intensity of both his gaze and his words. “He barely knows me, Kyo. He doesn’t know what he wants.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Kyojuro said, though not too harshly. “You might want to believe you’re a different person now, but you’re still you. I promise you, you’re still the Y/N we both know – and love.”
Y/N’s tear fell down her cheeks anew, as she’d not realized how badly she needed to hear that she was still herself – that she wasn’t just a shell of the person she once was, never fully present and never fully worth giving a damn about.
“I think you want to believe he doesn’t care because it makes it easier on you to pretend like you’re just using him.” Kyojuro’s words cut through her like a knife.
Y/N winced and opened her mouth to respond, but Kyojuro raised a hand, silencing her.
“I’m not saying you mean to,” Kyojuro’s words stung, but they were earnest. “And I don’t necessarily think you are – but I think you’re running from him, because you are frightened.”
“What would you have me do, Kyo?” Y/N asked, slightly exasperated as her head thudded back against the worn fabric of his car seat.
“Are you still in love with him?” Kyojuro asked, and it took great effort for Y/N not to roll her eyes at him. “Then you must let him in, Y/N. He wants your love – very much so – of that, I’m certain.”
“He has always wanted my love,” Y/N snorted. “He’s like a jealous, possessive dragon that way. The problem is with him returning it.”
Kyojuro sighed, before getting out of his car and rounding to her side, opening her door for her. “As I said before,” he reached a warm hand to muss her hair as she stood, stretching her stiff limbs from the hours they’d spent driving around the city. “If you can’t see how crazy Sanemi is about you, then I can’t help you.”
Kyojuro’s lips pressed against her forehead, warm and steady, and it felt like home. “Give him a chance, Y/N. Let him into your heart, and he will gladly give you his.”
—————————————————————————
After ensuring Y/N was safely inside her apartment, Kyojuro continued to drive for another hour.
The emotions of the night weighed too heavily on his shoulders, and Kyojuro knew going back to his apartment would end in nothing but him tossing for hours in bed, replaying the last conversation with Y/N in his head, over and over.
—————————————————————————
 One year earlier
“Where’s your date, Shinazugawa?” Kyojuro chuckled, reaching for a beer. He was disheartened to see that only one was left, Sanemi having finished at least three since arriving at his place.
“Called off,” Sanemi said thickly, his words slightly garbled as he tried to fake his own sobriety – the surest sign he was already drunk off his ass.
Kyojuro clapped his shoulder sympathetically. “You or her?”
Sanemi took another swig of his drink. “Me.” He looked up at his best friend and Kyojuro was shocked to see how forlorn and sad the hothead looked. “None of ‘em are her.”
It was rare that Sanemi brought her up, especially in the wake of everything that had happened after Genya’s death. But Kyojuro hadn’t been foolish enough to think that a substantial part of the chip on Sanemi’s shoulder hadn’t stemmed from his complicated feelings about her – Y/N.
Their best friend, at least, once upon a time.
Though as Kyojuro supposed, it wasn’t as if Sanemi’s feelings about their friend were really all that complicated. He’d known the abrasive loudmouth had longed for the trio’s only girl since any of them had understood what it meant to long for someone.
Kyojuro had seen his friend’s feelings on display countless times since they were teenagers. He saw it in the way Sanemi’s eyes softened every time she smiled at him, or the way Sanemi seemed to always lean into her touch whenever she brushed something from his hair.
Then, there had been that time after Y/N had her braces put in – they’d been around thirteen or so – and she’d refused to smile with her teeth, until Sanemi had snapped at her and said she’d looked constipated.
Y/N’s eyes had filled with tears, and her cheeks had burned with her embarrassment until he’d squatted down in front of her.
“Why’d’ya wanna hide your smile anyways – it’s too pretty.” He’d said, very matter-of-factly, leaning in close to her face as he always did when he teased her. “C’mon, show me! I wanna see your smile!”
Shyly, Y/N had smiled at him, braces and all, and Sanemi had grinned back, nodding in satisfaction. “See? What’d I tell ya? Pretty as a picture.”
Then, there had been their senior prom, when Sanemi had gotten wind of another boy’s plan to ask her to be his date. Though the big dance had still more than six months away, Sanemi had stormed into the cafeteria, plopped down from her as she ate with the Koyuki girl, and demanded she attend with him.
When the night of their prom arrived, Kyojuro thought Sanemi was going to pass out the moment he saw Y/N descend the stars at her mother’s house, dressed in that floor-length emerald dress. Throughout the whole night, Sanemi had treated their best friend as though she were made of glass, his hands for once hesitant and uncertain as he’d found her waist during a slow dance. Kyojuro had truly thought his friends would finally, finally kiss and admit their poorly concealed feelings for one another. But Sanemi had returned Y/N to her mother, the latter only parting with a soft kiss against the flustered boy’s cheek before disappearing inside.
How could they have known that night, just how far they’d all fall? How could they know how Genya’s death would shatter more than his brother, but indelibly fracture their life-long bond and transform them into total strangers?
————————————————————————
 Ten months earlier
Kyojuro didn’t mind working for the enrollment center at Ubaya-U.
Sure, the work was a little tedious, if not monotonous, especially at the start of a new semester, but at least that meant his shift passed him by quickly.
That particular day, Kyojuro had been tasked with finalizing the class registers for his year – the juniors – as the add/drop period had finally passed, and thus, schedules were to be finalized for the semester.
He’d spent hours tabbing through page after page of student schedules, entering data and clicking the small arrow at the bottom of his screen to move onto the next student ID number, over and over, until the figures on his computer blurred together. But Kyojuro had finally entered the schedule for the last student, and he was eager to hit “ENTER,” and get the fuck home.
His back aching and wrist cramping, Kyojuro hit the command key that promised release.
ERROR. The screen read. ONE OR MORE ENTRIES MISSING.
“Fuck,” Kyojuro muttered, and he hit the “ENTER” key once more, in hopes that the system had merely hiccupped after having been in use for so long.
The same ERROR message flashed across his screen once more.
Kyojuro exhaled, pinching his nose as his eyes screwed shut in frustration, the beginnings of a headache creeping in around his temples. Shoving himself away from his desk, Kyojuro stood and stalked over to his supervisor, who was just as numbly tabbing through a spreadsheet.
“Murata,” Kyojuro said, trying to keep his growing anger in check. It was a Friday night and he just wanted to go home and do stupid college things, dammit.
The tired shift supervisor grunted in answer, turning in his swivel seat towards the fuming college junior.
“I entered all of the student schedules, but the system is flagging some sort of error.” Kyojuro produced a printed-out spreadsheet of every student ID number and handed it to his manager, who took note of the neat, precise little checkmarks next to every line that signaled Kyojuro had finalized the correlating schedule. “Can you take a look?”
“Sure thing,” even though Kyojuro often thought Murata was, at times, a little inept at his own job, he couldn’t deny the college senior was helpful. Murata pulled up the school’s informatics system and entered his log-in, clicking through various prompts until his screen resembled Kyo’s.
Murata tried to submit the same data that Kyojuro had tried, and the same error message dinged on his screen.
“Huh, that’s odd,” the manager said, unhelpfully. “Let me see if I can use my admin key and find out if there’s anyone you missed.”
Kyojuro resisted the urge to point at his spreadsheet once more; Kyojuro, simply put, never missed an entry when it came to plugging in numbers and codes for work. The same could not be said for Murata.
“Ah, there it is,” to Kyojuro’s surprise, a student profile popped up on Murata’s screen in red, though his supervisor’s head blocked the name. “Number ending in 0851. Let me just –” Murata clicked around the screen and quickly tabbed in a couple of course codes, and hit enter, but the screen erred once more.
“What the – ohhh, I know this number,” Murata said, sitting back in his seat. “Yeah. Okay. You need my code to bypass this one. She got special permission from the university to not finalize her schedule until next week.”
Kyojuro sighed. At least the error hadn’t been on his end.
“Got a pen? You’ll need her name to enter it once the screen prompts you. In the explanation box, just type “special permission/family emergency.”
Kyojuro shook his head. “I’ll remember it. What’s the name?”
“Y/L/N. Y/N.” Murata answered flippantly, though Kyojuro’s stomach lurched. “Yeah, I got an email about her a few weeks ago because she hadn’t returned to campus. The Dean said her mom was in the hospital, and she was the sole caretaker, so her professors all agreed to let her attend online until things mellowed out.”
“Never seen that happen before, she must be one helluva student,” Murata commented as he turned back to Kyojuro. “Hey, in the entry box, put her date of return – I think I remember the email saying it was sometime next month, but let me check.” The supervisor turned back to his screen, blissfully unaware of Kyojuro’s wide eyes or his pounding heart.
“There it is – hm, there’s an update,” Murata remarked, though more to himself than to the pale Junior standing behind him. “Oh my, that’s a shame. Looks like her mom passed away last week, so she’s returning after the funeral, which was --,” Murata squinted. “Yesterday.”
“Yup, seems like she’s due back next week instead. Just put down Monday’s date.” Murata turned back to Kyojuro with a kind smile, but it quickly slipped when he saw the sweat that had broken out across the burly blonde’s forehead and noted the way he shook.
“Rengoku, you good, man?” Murata asked worriedly, though Kyojuro barely heard him over the roaring in his head and the sound of his heart-shattering.
“Y-yeah,” Kyojuro’s voice cracked. “Murata, would you mind entering that information for me? I feel like I’m going to be sick.” Kyojuro did not wait for his supervisor’s answer as he grabbed his backpack and stumbled out of the Student Affairs office, as he fought to keep down the bile that rose in his throat.
Kyojuro did not remember the walk back to his apartment; he remembered only the rush of grief, and crushing sadness, as he recalled the kind woman who’d shown him such love and affection after his own mother died, that he’d thought of her as a second mother.
He thought of Y/N – oh god, Y/N, who now lived in a world in which she had no family left. No home to go back to.
Alone.
He hadn’t known; Sanemi hadn’t known.
Kyojuro stumbled through the front door of his apartment, vaguely noting that Sanemi had already let himself in, and helped himself to whatever was in Kyojuro’s well-stocked refrigerator.
“Man, I’ve had a fuckin day,” Sanemi’s gravelly voice rang over the muted sounds of his television as he chowed down on a helping of sweet potatoes Kyojuro had meal prepped a few days earlier.
“Sanemi,” Kyojuro tried weakly, though Sanemi seemed not to hear him over his own, loud complaining.
“-and four papers, and we’re barely a month into school. I can’t wait to fuckin’ graduate and get the hell out of this place --,”
“Sanemi,” Kyojuro said again, more forcefully that time, cutting his friend’s impassioned rambling off. At the serious, monotonous tone in his best friend’s voice, Sanemi fell silent. “It’s Y/N, she – h-her…”
Kyojuro’s voice wobbled. Sanemi dropped his fork into the plastic container that contained Kyojuro’s food and stared at him, eyes wide, as he sucked his breath through his teeth. Whatever news his friend had to deliver, it would not be good.
“Is – is Y/N okay?” Sanemi asked tentatively, his voice shaking slightly. He felt the color drain from his cheeks as Kyojuro slowly shook his head. As childish as it seemed, Kyojuro wanted to run, because if he did not speak those awful words, then perhaps they would not be real.
“It’s Mrs. Y/L/N – she…she died. Last week. The funeral was yesterday.”
————————————————————————-
Nine months earlier
Sanemi barged into his apartment without knocking, nearly toppling over the coatrack Kyojuro kept in the entryway.
“Shinazugawa,” he’d started to chastise, but fell silent at the look on his best friend’s face, a strange mixture of nausea and despair etched into his features.
“I saw her, Kyo,” Sanemi croaked, pale and shaking as he ripped open Kyojuro’s fridge and grabbed a beer, not bothering to ask as he wrenched the bottle cap off and took a healthy swig.
“Y/N?” Kyojuro’s eyebrows furrowed, as he followed his friend into his sparsely decorated living room, Sanemi shakily sitting on the small sofa, head braced between his hands.
“Did you talk to her? How was she?” Kyojuro pressed, but Sanemi refused to lift his head to meet his eyes.
“I saw her,” Sanemi repeated, his voice trembling almost as badly as his hands. “And I didn’t know it was her.”
Kyojuro shook his head in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean -,”
“I didn’t recognize her, Kyojuro. Not at first,” Sanemi finally looked up and Kyojuro’s stomach twisted at the tears pooling in his friend’s eyes. “How could I not recognize our best friend?”
Kyojuro threw an arm around Sanemi’s shoulders. “It’s been a while,” he said, gruffly, “It’s just been a while since we saw her –.”
“You don’t get it,” Sanemi said, wide-eyed and haunted. “Y/N looks different – she’s so fucking thin, Kyojuro, that I couldn’t recognize her.”
————————————————————————
One month earlier
“So you – you and Y/N,” Kyojuro began, and Sanemi nodded, dragging a hand over his face.
“I am never touching that Wisteria shit again,” the lavender-eyed man vowed, darkly. “I fucking lost control.”
Kyojuro frowned, his stomach shifting uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”
Sanemi flung himself back against the cushion of his sofa, arm draped over his eyes in an attempt to stifle the tears that gathered there. “I fuckin’ hurt her, man.”
The blonde sighed, settling back against the sofa with his friend, thumbs twiddling with a loose string on his shirt. “You didn’t mean to, you know. Sometimes that just – it just happens.”
Trust Sanemi to be this dramatic being Y/N’s first – the man had practically screamed into the phone at him when he’d discovered the small speckle of blood on his sheets and realized that Y/N was nowhere to be found.
Though, Kyojuro never imagined Sanemi would be this frantic about the ordeal.  
Sanemi lowered his arm to stare at his best friend, bewildered. “It doesn’t fucking matter,” he ran an anxious hand through his hair. “I can’t fucking trust myself on that shit, and I’ll be damned if I hurt her again.”
“I’m done with it all, Kyojuro,” Sanemi swore once more. “For her, I’m fuckin’ done with it.”
————————————————————————-
Two weeks earlier
Kyojuro jogged to where his friend stood, smoking a cigarette as his eyes scanned over the various food trucks that had gathered on the street near his apartment, considering the wide variety of choices.
“You’re the only person I know who could make that look somewhat appealing,” Kyojuro grumbled as Sanemi took another drag, grinning. Sanemi had quit both alcohol and Wisteria cold turkey but had become such an irritable bitch as he went through withdrawal that Kyojuro had practically begged him to find something to help him take the edge off.
So, Sanemi had traded one vice for another and had taken to smoking, though he could tell his friend hated it. Sanemi hoped that his shakes would soon subside, and he could kick the nasty habit before it became another problem for him to deal with.
“What are you in the mood for?” Sanemi asked as the pair began to leisurely stroll around the crowded plaza. “And don’t say sweet potatoes – we’ve been eating healthy all goddamn week; I need something greasy.”
Kyojuro chuckled. “I’m quite in the mood for a burger if you’re up for it.” He offered and Sanemi nodded in agreement. The pair joined the relatively lengthy queue outside a food truck grill, the scent of charcoal and meat promising to feed their empty bellies.
The pair made small talk as they waited, Sanemi nearly finishing his cigarette in the time it took them to reach the front of the line. Just before they were set to order, Sanemi’s phone dinged in his pocket, and the white-haired man pulled it free, puffing on the last of his cigarette as he did so.
“Ah, shit,” Sanemi sighed, though he did not look particularly crestfallen as he glanced back to his friend. “Sorry, man – duty calls.”
Kyojuro scoffed at his choice of words. “Duty,” he shook his head. “You mean Y/N?”
“You’d feel that way too if you slept around –”
“Yeah, but it’s not just ‘sleeping around’ to you, is it?” Kyojuro asked pointedly, and Sanemi fell silent. “You don’t sleep with anyone else. Does she?”
His friend shook his head. “Nah, we made an agreement – we’re – well, we don’t use condoms,” at the horrified look on Kyojuro’s face, Sanemi blushed. “She’s on birth control! ‘Sides,” Sanemi swallowed, awkwardly. “With all the weight she’s lost, and all the shit she’s been taking, I don’t think it’s likely she could – well, get pregnant.”
Kyojuro pinched his brow between his fingers. “Pregnancy isn’t the only reason to use condoms, you dolt,”
Sanemi harrumphed at him. “Look, I used protection with the other two girls, and I got tested not long after,” Sanemi quickly drew his cigarette back to his mouth, a sure sign of his growing discomfort with the conversation. “And, as Mitsuri so tactfully pointed out, I was her first, so I know she’s clean.”
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Sanemi snapped at the reproachful look in his friend’s owlish gaze. “It feels better, y’know.”
Kyojuro only shook his head. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Sanemi?”
Sanemi looked away from him, shifting awkwardly back and forth on his feet. “You know why, man,” he said quietly, and Kyojuro’s heart clenched.
“Look, I love and worry after Y/N too, but she’s using you --,”
“So what if she is?” Sanemi croaked, taking a harsh drag of his cigarette. “She can use me as much as she wants. I don’t mind.”
Kyojuro’s eyes softened. “Sanemi –”
“At least it means I can keep an eye on her.” Sanemi flicked the dying butt to the ground, crushing it beneath the toe of his boot as he sauntered away, holding his hand up over his shoulder in farewell as he set off back across the lively street.
—————————————————————————
(Y/N’s POV)
Y/N dragged herself up the stairs of the apartment she shared with Mitsuri and Shinobu, a tiredness she’d not felt in a long while settling into her weary bones. Her head ached from the strain of the evening, and she knew her eyes were likely red and puffy from the hours of her crying.
Shakily, she slid her key through the lock and opened her front door, quietly relieved at the darkened silence of her apartment, which meant both of her roommates were out.
Closing the door behind her, Y/N slid to the floor in the entryway, and did not move; for a long while, she stared blankly at the dark kitchen before her, her mind replaying her conversation with Kyojuro on a loop, though the mark on her breast, with its pulsing ache, demanded her attention.
With a sigh, Y/N heaved herself up off the kitchen floor and shuffled her way to her room, silently thanking her luck that she’d managed to pull the bedroom with the in-suite bathroom, which meant she could curl up on the floor of her shower for as long as she wanted, without the fear of either of her friends needing the toilet.
Once she’d stripped herself of the evening’s outfit, Y/N inspected the wound on her chest.
It felt worse than it looked. There was a small bit of dried blood around where Douma’s teeth had broken her skin, and the mouth-shaped mark was angry, red, and already a little purple, but from her cursory examination of it, it seemed like the wound was likely to only bruise, and not scar.
It was the unseen wound that concerned her more; the scar that was assuredly left on her heart.
She’d fucked up – badly.
Granted, she knew it wasn’t her fault that Douma had decided to try and do whatever it was he wanted to do with her – she wasn’t going to blame herself for that.
What was her fault was how badly she’d let things spiral out of control; how badly her use of the Wisteria had become. She wasn’t a medical student by any means, but she knew the tell-tale signs of an abuse problem. Y/N would not venture to say she was addicted, but she feared she was well on her way to that path – unless she did something about it right then.
She braced her hands against the cool porcelain of her sink and looked at her reflection, jolting slightly at the face that stared back at her.
She still looked like herself, granted, but there was an unfamiliar hollowness in her cheeks, a vacancy in her slightly over-large eyes that made her uncomfortable. She stretched and winced at the ease with which she could just make out the number of ribs laying beneath her skin.  
Sanemi had been right – she’d let things go too far.
As she yanked on the shower nozzle to summon the water to chase away Douma’s sickening touch from her skin, Y/N resolved, right there, that she was done with Wisteria. She thought she should be done with alcohol as well, but she feared the symptoms of withdrawal – especially with how great her dependency on the two substances had grown over the last few months.
So, Y/N decided that she would never again allow those toxic little purple pills pass her lips, and slowly – but surely – wean herself off alcohol. She would not go back to the Kizuki, would not let herself give in to the temptations which flashed underneath the colorful strobe lights of the dance floor.
Her life, it appeared, depended upon it.
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rubra-wav · 8 months ago
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Hi! I’m autistic and a lesbian and my current hyper fixation/ comfort show is Hazbin Hotel and my favorite/comfort character is Angel Dust. I was wondering if you could write a platonic Angel x gn/fem reader that is angsty and involves the reader comforting and taking care of Angel after a really bad night with Valentino. With cuddling, and handholding and Angel dealing with addiction/ self harm and the reader just being there and supporting him or something. I totally understand if not I just thought I would ask. Also I’m a huge fan of your work!!
Safe and Sound If Only For Now (Angel Dust x Reader fic)
A/N Absolutely can, and 100% understand the vision. THE BOY NEEDS TO BE TAKEN CARE OF. 🗣
Also, thank you sm im glad my writing is being enjoyed 🙏
CW: marking it as NSFW due to the themes within but theres not any actual smut, hurt/comfort, angst, gn!reader, written as platonic but could be seen as romantic as well, Angel throws up at one point(dk if I need to tw that), themes of s/h and addiction, reference to trauma responses and mentions of physical and sexual abuse
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When you were called downstairs by a very concerned Charlie at the wee hours of the morning, you knew that the night Angel Dust had was hell without having to even see him.
He'd apparently stumbled loudly through the door about 10 minutes ago, clearly not sober but still demanding a drink looking absolutely trashed. Husk had attempted to touch his shoulder, and the bartender was promptly smacked away with a yell to 'not touch him!'
Your footsteps had pattered loudly on the creaky floorboards down the hall of your hotel room as you quickly made your way to the bar where you knew he was.
And there you found him.
The hunched over, trembling figure of your friend with two of his arms folded around his head, a glass of alcohol you know tasted like utter shit clutched in another shaky hand.
Husk looked at you tiredly from behind the bar with clear relief on his features as he gestured to Angel with a look that asked you to take care of him - do what he couldn't in this moment.
It had taken a lot of verbal coaxing to get Angel to put down the drink and come with you to your room, but he eventually allowed you to gently grip his hand and tug him up the stairs and back down the hall to your room.
The second the door had shut behind the two of you, he'd completely fallen apart as you told him he was safe now.
That's how you were in this situation now, slumped on the floor next to the bed with Angel's face buried into the front of your shirt, your arms pulling his face closer and running your fingers through his messed up fur, carefully avoiding touching his neck and shoulders as you whispered to him softly to let it out.
Seconds ticked into minutes as his previously loud crying had slowly turned into broken, shaking sobs that were barely audible as you sat there with him slumped against you.
It was rather uncomfortable, your knees digging into the coarse rug on the floor of your room, but at the moment, that didn't much matter.
"'ank you. 'Ank you 'o much." He slurred out finally, voice cracking with emotion.
You hummed in response, relieved to hear his voice finally.
You removed your hands from where they were combing through his fur and instead cupped his cheeks, pulling his face away from your chest carefully.
Sympathy and anger stabbed through you painfully as you observed the darkening bruise on his puffy under-eye that had now been exposed with his tears. That asshole.
You brushed a thumb over the bruise with a furrowed brow, your frown deepening at the way he winced despite you barely even grazing it. You quickly moved your thumb away.
Angel's unfocused, bloodshot eyes watched you react to it with clear guilt. He swallowed thickly as he forced a grin onto his face. "'T's nothin' I'm not used to, toots." He mumbled. He could tell you didn't believe it for a second, and his heart sank despite all the alcohol knocking through him. Shit, he didn't want to sober up.
He could feel the pain he was trying to numb already creeping back into his body, though, and he 'tsk'd' with a hissing breath.
You shook your head slowly and got a better look at him as his eyes shut with a wince.
His jacket was a mess, a bite mark that was still bleeding soaking into his collar peaked out at you, and you grit your teeth as you looked down to see more droplets soaking into other places as well on his sides and hips.
Christ.
"I'm going to go get some things to help fix you up. Are you okay with taking a shower on your own?" You murmured softly but very seriously.
Angel forced his eyes open and nodded despite moving being the last thing he wanted to do right now, having you leave being even lower on that list.
"Yeah.. 'ut get me a change of clothes while you're out. That is unless you wanna see me in nothing more than a towel." He joked with a humour that was obviously not present, voice still very much hoarse.
You smiled at the comment half-heartedly and nodded. "I'll be right back, I swear." You gently patted his cheek before gripping his hands to help him stand up. With the tremendous height difference, it didn't do too much, but you could see he was appreciative of it nonetheless.
-
After a couple of minutes, you came back into the room with a change of clothes, a first aid kit, and a water bottle in one hand, a cup of hot chocolate in the other made just how liked it.
Angel was sitting on your bed awkwardly with a white towel draped over his lap. As he stood up and turned the other way to slip on the pair of shorts you'd bought him, you could fully see some of the multiple bite marks that were seeping into Angel's fur, matting it.
Your fists clenched and unclenched but you still didn't voice the silent fury coursing through you at what had clearly happened to him.
You placed the hot chocolate in Angel's hands as he sat back down, receiving a barely audible thanks, and then set into disinfecting the various marks and patching them up.
Each time he tensed up and hissed due to the disinfectant, you apologised profusely but didn't stop as you wanted to get it over as soon as possible for his sake.
Angel dug his teeth into the mug in his hands to avoid biting his tongue or cheek as he winced in pain, the hot drink on your part both a crutch and a grounding tool so he didn't dissociate away from everything completely.
If that happened, he knew he'd most likely pass out and that was the last thing he needed to do right now while you were making sure he didn't get some horrific infection from the wounds he'd sustained.
He was so incredibly tired of so much.
He didn't want to keep seeing the blurred images of the afternoon and night that made him want to start sobbing again.
He couldn't even remember properly, it was all a blur; hungry hands on him, faces and bodies he couldn't quite remember, and Valentino's red eyes looking down on him as his fist closed around his neck. All his memories were out of place, like a ripped up photograph rearranged wrongly.
Angel didn't even know what he'd done to get punished by him today.
He'd come to realise there was no real reason though due to you telling him as much, and that searching for it would just make spiral. It wasn't his fault that that moth-winged cunt had decided to break him today.
Or at least, that was the logical answer.
He still remembered the words that plagued him through the mess of memories and painful sensations staring at back at him like a hall of mirrors, though. 'You brought this upon yourself, Angelcakes.' Said through a cruel, patronising grin right before those same teeth dug into him again, and again, and again.
Angel grit his teeth as the memory made his head hurt before gagging as horrific nausea suddenly hit him all at once.
You cursed, having just finished up patching his wounds and pulled him towards the bathroom sink in your ensuite.
You took the hot chocolate from his hands before using the other to sweep his fur out of the way just in time as he started wretching loudly into the sink.
You patted his back awkwardly as he threw up all of what he'd been binging for the night in rapid succession, looking at a crack near the door frame of your bathroom to try give him some semblance of privacy.
After a couple of seconds, Angel panted with a horrified expression on his face at the taste in his mouth, shuddering.
"That was fuckin nasty, 'm sorry." Angel cringed, trembling with exertion as he washed out the sink and his mouth.
"If you're sick, you're sick, Angie." You continued rubbing his back gently as Angel straightened up, sighing in relief as he felt more steady now that everything had all been purged from his system.
One part of himself wanted to go bother Husk for more to drink, but he pushed it away, instead opting for the now lukewarm cup of hot chocolate that was sitting neglected on the edge of the bathroom sink.
He gripped the mug and threw it back, chugging it in the hope of washing out the horrific taste that still stuck around.
"Wait a second, I'll give you the painkillers with that." You called over you shoulder as you went to rummage through the first aid kit.
Angel slowly walked out of the bathroom after you, hunched over to be about your height as he waited for the pills. He tiredly spaced out as he looked at your hands going through the pile of stuff you'd brought.
You pressed the meds into his palm, and watched as he quickly downed it. "Do you wanna stay in my room tonight?" You asked as you cleared the stuff off of your bed.
You didn't really need the verbal confirmation as Angel flopped down onto your bed with a loud groan as he finally relaxed, exhaustion passing over every part of him.
You chuckled softly, and crawled up next to him, gently wrapping your arms loosely around his lower back as you pulled his face into your chest again.
He wrapped his arms around you in turn, another one of his hands creeping towards yours in silent request. You understood, lacing your fingers with his and gently nuzzled affectionately into the top of his head.
You could feel him start shaking softly again, once again tearing up despite everything. You tightened your embrace as you felt wet tears sink into your shirt again.
"It's okay, honey. It's okay. You're safe here with me." You repeated.
"Thank you 'o much." Angel whispered, tightening his grip on you in an attempt to bring you and your warmth to the bottomless pit of despair he constantly tried to forget.
"No problem. I love you, Angie. I really hope you know that." You gently kissed the top of his head, squeezing your hand laced with his reassuringly. "Now come on, try to get some sleep, you must be exhausted."
Angel's crying slowly stopped as the feeling of the security you provided swept over him like a warm blanket, creeping into every last crack in himself and filling it. The rhythmic beat of your heart under his cheek lulled him to complete calmness.
He didn't want it to end, but he still slipped into the warm embrace of sleep.
If only for a small while, the lock on his prison cell wasn't as cold, and the bars were not visible through your arms.
All that shit could wait until tomorrow.
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I've read over it multiple times, but if there are errors y'all can see reading this one pls lmk - my brains been on wrong a bit today.
Bruh I just want Angel to be happy and cared for istg, he deserves it. 😭
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violetrainbow412-blog · 1 year ago
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Day 22: apology fic
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Based directly on S2E17
Masterlist flufftober 🎀
tw: Reid's addiction, withdrawal symptoms, it's more like hurt/comfort but I think that was the point of this prompt, haha
You hugged your pillow tighter as you looked out the jet window, feeling too sad to try to fall asleep, but tired enough to do anything else.
You felt hurt by the argument you had had with your friend, with whom you had previously sat in an armchair to sleep together, but who was now sleeping alone on one of the longest seats.
Spencer had been weird, and with good reason, since Tobias Hankel had deprived him of his freedom and you honestly didn't know how to help him anymore. You had tried approaching him to chat and constantly asking him if he was okay, always getting the same fake response from him. During cases you would offer to accompany him wherever Gideon sent him in an attempt to monitor his mood, but he always looked just as sad, quiet and tired.
However, things changed drastically when you heard the presentation of the case the day before and you saw Spencer arriving late, staggering and with a look that no longer seemed sad at all, but angry. There was something about the way he slurred his words that worried you and his dark stained eyes around him didn't help much.
It made you feel a little better that he offered to visit certain places when you were discussing responsibilities on the jet and you thought that if you accompanied him you could find time to talk to him, but you were taken by surprise by the cruel rejection he showed to your idea. Hotch noticed it too and forced your friend to accept your help, which he didn't seem too pleased with.
What you didn't expect was to see his ruthless and unconscious attitude when you visited the homeless shelter, hinting to the manager that literally anyone who entered could be a murderer and then just walking out of there.
“Okay, what the hell is happening?”
“What's happening with what?”
“With you,” you murmured, frowning at your friend “You've been so strange lately and now you're upset and… what's going on?”
"What's going on?" he asked, sounding almost offended “I don't know Y/N, what do you think? Did you want me to be happy and smiling like a little child after everything that happened?”
“Spencer, I know, but…”
“No, you don't” he interrupted you, with a reprimanding tone that took you by surprise. Since you had started in the unit, he had never spoken to you that way, as if you were incapable of understanding things and that irritated him “You don't know anything and I ask you please not to get involved in things that don't concern you.”
“Things that don't concern me? You... I'm worried about you. We are friends, of course I am going to care about your well-being”
“Do you care about me or do you care that I don't screw up the case?” he spat. No matter how much you tried to make him see reason, he was still locked around that black cloud that had been following him for weeks “Don't be a hypocrite.”
“I am not a hypocrite, it isn’t my fault that you believe that you only deserve good treatment when there is an interest involved”
Things had started to escalate, because if you weren't angry before, now you had started to feel that way.
“It's my damn problem whatever’s happening, not yours. You just mind your business and leave me alone, will you?”
He walked away and you stood there, contemplating for a moment what had just happened and feeling hurt. For the rest of the case you didn't speak and on the trip back you made sure to sit far enough away from him so you wouldn't have to face him. Only you and Hotch were awake that night and the man's voice asking if you were okay brought you out of your thoughts.
“I talked to Reid to find out what's going on and he told me to go to hell,” you responded, shrugging your shoulder and with a tone that denoted that you didn't want to talk more about the matter. Aaron just nodded and offered you a polite sorry, concentrating on the paperwork he had to fill out.
A week passed before the silence became unbearable. He wanted to get closer to you, but he didn't know how to do it and he didn't know if you would agree to talk to him after the way he had treated you. It was a Friday when he gathered his courage, so when he observed that you were about to go home he decided to cut you off by standing in front of you.
You didn't talk about the incident with anyone else, but as the days passed the whole team noticed the barrier that had been installed between the two of you and that you were not willing to repair, after all you had been the one who had offended after trying to show to your friend your concern. At the same time, while you felt the resentment brewing in your belly, Spencer was freeing himself from the suffocating effect of the drugs and with each moment of clarity that came to his mind he became more aware of the mistake he had made.
"Can I talk to you?"
“You're doing it,” you responded, looking at him from your seat seriously. Spencer noticed Morgan and JJ whispering in the distance, probably about the two of you, so he turned his eyes to you.
“Can we talk in private?” he rephrased, with a cautious tone that bordered on pleading. You didn't respond verbally, just nodded and he followed you towards the elevator. You went down in silence and once you were at the reception you continued walking to the parking lot, stopping next to your car.
Spencer didn't want to be the first to say something, almost like he was afraid of you.
"And then? What do you need?"
“I want to apologize to you,” he said quickly “For what happened the other day in Houston. I shouldn't have told you what I told you, I'm very sorry."
You were a little surprised because, although you assumed it was about it, you didn't expect him to tell you so directly, but rather you thought that he would try to justify his actions in some way. Still, you seemed a little reluctant to answer and Reid noticed that.
“It's okay, it doesn't matter.”
“It does,” he insisted and the parallel with your argument added a certain sensitivity to the moment “I was very rude to you and you didn't deserve it.”
“Reid, I think I should have respected that you don't want to talk about it.”
“Don't apologize, I'm the one apologizing here,” he murmured, not sounding annoyed, but desperate. He ran both hands through his hair and then thought that if he wanted his apology to be worth it, he would have to be honest with you “Listen, I haven't been having a good time since… that day” He swallowed, refusing to call the event a kidnapping “And when Tobias… when he…”
“Don't tell me,” you said softly, breaking the physical and emotional distance between you by taking a step forward “If you don't want to talk about it, I'm not going to make you.”
“I want to do it, but I don't know how. I’ve never known how to ask for help,” he sobbed. Suddenly his grumpiness in Texas seemed like nothing compared to seeing him this sore, which made your chest hurt “I feel like I'm falling into a bottomless pit and the only way to keep those I love safe is to keep them out of my own misery and thus free them of my burden.”
“You're not a burden,” you murmured, your voice shaking slightly at the thought of him feeling so worthless. “You were kidnapped, Spencer. You said it yourself, how can we expect you to be as if nothing had happened? I didn't want you to think I was pressuring you to be okay, I just… I wanted to know if there was anything he could do to help you. Because I want to do it, but only if you want me to do it”
“I'm sorry for telling you to leave me alone, I don't want that,” he cried and nothing more was needed for you to wrap him in a hug that he gladly accepted.
You could feel his silent tears on your shoulder and with every drop he let fall he felt more and more guilty, because he never intended for things to end like this. He was supposed to apologize to you and now you were comforting him.
He felt so selfish.
“Please don't be angry with me anymore.”
"No, no. I'm not angry," you reassured him, raising your hand to the back of his neck to caress his hair "Why don't I take you home instead? And I'm staying with you today, what do you say?
"Would you do it?"
“Of course,” you replied gently.
He accepted your offer and you drove the entire way without exchanging a word. Only once you were in the safety of his home he dared to tell you everything that needed to be said, still with a hint of guilt. But when you listened to him, forgave him, and hugged him he knew that he had chosen the right person to trust. And he also knew that he would treasure your friendship for all that remained of his life.
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taglist: @navs-bhat@reidwritings@tricia-shifting14@spencerslove@vivian-555 @r-3dlips @rhiannonhippiegirl @taygrls @simp4f1 @sdddoobydoobydoo @taintedstranger @missabsey
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zootopiathingz · 3 months ago
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My issue with Vaggie and her character
(TW: Opinion‼️)
I’ve been wanting to make a rant about this for a while and I’m sure other people have already done it, but I figured I might as well share my thoughts because I like to think my opinion matters to some people lmao. Anyway, I wouldn’t read this if you’re like a die-hard Vaggie/chaggie fan, but that’s up to you!
So I’m sure some of you by now heard the news that Charlie and Vaggie are getting another duet in S2 which apparently will be about their sex life. Which like, ok sure. In a show like this I expected a sexual-themed song to happen eventually. Here’s my issue with this though;
If you need to make an entire musical number about how much your main couple fucks, because of the severe lack of any hints of a sex life between them in the first season, then it’s not a good pairing, and this feels like a desperate attempt to give them chemistry that they just don’t have.
I saw someone say something similar on Twitter and I really couldn’t agree more. Some of you are going to say “you only say that because you don’t ship Chaggie!!” You’re right. I don’t ship them. Because there’s nothing there for me to root for. Like, at all.
Let’s start off with the fact that Vaggie has no personality outside of being Charlie’s girlfriend. I tried to like her character, I really did, but she’s honestly the most forgettable to me in the entire show. Some of you might disagree with me, but be honest and answer me this; can you name one interesting thing about her character that doesn’t involve her relationship with Charlie? And what she adds to the plot besides being Charlie’s “voice of reason”? (Which she’s not, she basically just gentle-parents Charlie into not doing things that Charlie wants to do)
Let’s take a look at some of the other characters in our main cast: Charlie, princess of Hell, desperately tries to help other people even when nobody believes in her cause. Alastor is a powerful overlord who’s supposedly helping out with the hotel, but clearly has ulterior motives that have yet to be revealed. Angel Dust is a famous porn star in an abusive relationship with his employer and is on a path to redemption himself. Husk is a former overlord who lost all his power to his gambling addiction and is now being forced to play bartender. Lucifer, the king of all Hell, a fallen angel who lost his will to dream, a shell of his former self. For fuck’s sake, even Lilith—whom we have yet to even hear speak—has a more compelling plot; she’s been gone for seven years, she’s in Heaven having made a deal with Adam and we have no idea why.
And what does Vaggie do exactly? She gives Charlie advice, she helps run the hotel, she.. occasionally threatens to hurt people with an angelic weapon (you know, the thing that kills souls for good?)
Ok so she’s also a fallen angel—a former exorcist in Adam’s army that leads to exterminations. Now that could have been an interesting plot point. It does explain a little why she’s so aggressive and skilled in combat. The scene with her practice-fighting Carmilla for answers was probably the most interesting scene that prominently features her. And even then, Carmilla kinda steals the spotlight for me, as I’m actually way more invested in her character and her background (seriously, why is she so knowledgeable about angelic weapons and Vaggie—the literal former angel herself—isn’t?)
This was honestly a twist I didn’t see coming, and it had so much potential to add more to Vaggie’s personality and character as a whole. Seriously, losing her wings and her fucking eyeball must’ve been severely traumatic. She might hold some grudge against Adam and Lute for abandoning her and tossing her aside like she was nothing, even after all that work she put in to be one of the top exorcists. She could maybe miss Heaven and even if she’s content living in Hell, a part of her will still always long to go back to what was once her home.
…But no, the entire reason she’s a fallen angel is just to create conflict between her and Charlie. And that barely lasted a whole episode.
Again, everything about her and her ‘personality’ all narrows down to Charlie. Not only is this a terrible foundation for the main couple of the series, it’s also just extremely unhealthy realistically speaking. Even episode 3 alludes to the toxicity of Vaggie thinking she has no purpose outside of helping and protecting Charlie. And I find it funny that Charlie is so taken aback, but she doesn’t actually say anything to correct Vaggie, because…it’s true.
It’s very frustrating for me to say this. Vaggie had so much potential to be at least a somewhat interesting character, but instead she’s always resorted to being Charlie’s partner/sidekick. Ik this has a lot to do with Vivziepop being terrible at writing female characters but imma be real, even Loona interests me more and they almost have the exact same traits (grumpy, aggressive, insecure, etc.)
I’m gonna try and wrap this up the best I can. Honestly guys, ship whatever you want but for me, Chaggie just has no appeal at all. For the first four episodes, I didn’t even know they were a couple. I assumed Vaggie had some sort of unrequited, unhealthy crush on Charlie. Hazbin Hotel’s writing is already kinda bad to begin with, but if I can’t tell that your main female leads are in a romantic relationship within the first few minutes of their screen-time, that’s really saying something. And I understand wanting more wlw relationships in media, but having two female characters together just for the sake of having a wlw relationship in your show is not good representation. You need to actually have chemistry between them, you need to make them compelling characters as individuals, and sadly Vaggie is too one-dimensional that, on her own, she has nothing going on, and I’m not rooting for her and Charlie.
And I’m sorry but I can already tell I’m going to cringe so hard at this ‘sexy’ duet between them next season💀
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konigsblog · 6 months ago
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older-boyfriend simon riley with a voice kink.
tw/cw; age difference/age gap, voice kink, afab!f!reader, handjob, sub!simon, alcohol consumption, simon is aged in his 40-50s. MDNI 18+
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“god, baby— don’t be a tease, little one.”
simon didn't think he'd ever be in this position. he never thought he'd be pinned down on the couch with a pretty young thing like yourself sitting on his lap, your soft fingers wrapped around his shaft, jerking him off while whispering in his ear.
your voice is seductive; each word goes straight to his hung cock, held firmly by you. you drag and rub his boner gently, forcing simon to maintain eye contact with you despite his loving eyes being half-lidded and full of lust and euphoria—the smell of alcohol reeking from simon. simon attempted to make out with you countless times, only for you to push your finger against his lip and hush him, telling him to listen carefully to every word that flows through your lips while you get him off.
god, he's so pent-up. it feels as if you're dragging his orgasm out purposefully; the playful grin on your face is noticeable and perhaps a sign that you're taunting him. your strokes are slow and calm; simon's twitching dick is leaking all over your fingers when his tip begins drooling. he can't help himself; the pleasure and sensation are addictive, and he can't get enough of the harmony and sweet, sultry sound of your voice against his ear, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine.
“can’t go much longer, sweetheart—fuck, hurts so fuckin’ bad ‘nd feels so good...”
simon heaved and growled, his meaty cock throbbing and twitching uncontrollably, pulsing at your comforting and relaxing touch. you went from praising him for being so obedient and for listening to your orders to shaming him for being in a relationship with someone half his age. he can't help himself, cumming all over your hand, your giggles leaving simon's cheeks pink and flushed, humiliated at the mess he's created.
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nightywolfy1429 · 6 months ago
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Jason Todd Canon Lore Stuff:
@jashjdh Ask and you shall receive! :D this is sort of part 2 to this post of mine, where I did the same thing for Dick Grayson. Here, since there are so many comics and so much conflicting lore, I read the fandom . com entry for the character and then type out the most important bits of what I learned, both to help myself remember it, and to teach others ^w^
!TW for Batman-like things, such as spoilers, mentions of injury and death, a brief mentions of drug use, a brief mention of sewerslide and r(😬)e, etc)!
•To begin with, a lot of people argue "Jason is the angry Robin!" Or, "Jason ISN'T the angry Robin!" I think for the most part, this misunderstanding happens because originally, Jason was a very calm kid. In his original appearances he had a similar backstory to Dick Grayson(Being an acrobat in the circus) and was much more chill, however in the post-crisis revamp, he became more violent and troubled. In the words of the wiki, "the post-Crisis Jason is impulsive, reckless, and full of rage."
•Jason lived a troubled childhood, with his father being a petty crook. His dad at one point served a jail sentence for his crimes, but even once he got out of jail, he never came back to the family. This left Jason alone, taking care of his drug-addicted mother. He would rip and remove the parts from cars around the city, selling them for cash to make sure they were fed and clothed. His mother eventually died from an overdose so he took to the streets, continuing to take apart cars for cash.
•One night he came upon the Batmobile parked in an alleyway. Batman had just replaced the tires, but had not yet put on his new custom hubcaps. Jason took this opportunity to snag the tires, and managed to get one and out of there before he came back for a second tire. This is when Batman caught him, hence the iconic interaction of him throwing his tire iron at Bruce and calling him a 'big boob' as he ran away.
•Batman tried putting Jason in a boarding school for troubled kids, however this didn't work out either because the owner of the school was actually running a program to train young criminals. When Batman busted the criminal operation, he decided that perhaps Jason's anger could be used for crime fighting, so he took him in because he was worried that if he didn't, Jason would become a criminal. While Jason wasn't an acrobat like Dick, he was strong, and had lots of skills from his time on the streets.
•On their first official mission together, though, it was revealed that Two-Face had killed Jason's father. Despite the fact that Jason's father had abandoned him, he was still enraged by this and he went on a rampage. However, he showed restraint when he allowed Two-Face to be arrested instead of killing him, which made Bruce very proud.
•As much as Jason was a good, enthusiastic student, he was also a very troubled one. His time on the streets had raised him with a tilted sense of morals, and with the tendency to lash out and get violent when threatened because of his street survival instincts. Because of this, Jason often had the opposite ideals and morals to his mentor. He tended to use excessive force when trying to stop criminals, such as how in one adventure he was asked to 'hold off' some villains, and he immediately shot at them despite Bruce's dislike of using guns.
•The most notable of these times was on the case of Felipe Garzonasa, a man who had r(😬)ed a woman, an event that led to her sewerslide. Jason tracked this guy down, and moments after Jason arrived, Felipe fell to his death off of his apartment balcony. While it was never confirmed nor denied, it's fairly possible that Jason pushed Garzonasa off, breaking Batman's no kill rule. (We love a man who respects women ✊)
•Bruce was so afraid that Jason was going to possibly kill someone, either intentionally or with his reckless actions, that he called Barbara Gordon and asked her to work a case with Jason, in an attempt to figure him out. They did work together, however Barbara could come up with no real way to help him, and simply warned Bruce that there was 'a darkness in Jason'.
•Jason eventually discovers that his mother was not actually his biological mother, so he runs away from home on a mission to find his real mom. He follows lots of leads, but eventually ends up in Ethiopia, finding his bio mother Sheila, working as an aid worker. He's incredibly happy to be reunited with his real mom, but he soon discovers that Sheila is being blackmailed by the Joker, being forced to supply him with medical treatment. Sheila herself has been embezzling funds from the agency, and to keep from getting caught, she directly hands Jason over to the Joker who brutally beats him with a crowbar and leaves him and Sheila in a warehouse with a bomb. Batman is unable to save them on time, and both of them perish in the explosion. Bruce is obviously devastated (and starts going crazy because of this a bit later on), and the bodies are both buried in Gotham City with the cause of death on Jason's death certificate being labeled 'smoke inhalation'.
•Jason is dead for at least a decade, his memory constantly haunting Bruce as his 'greatest failure', keeping Jason's Robin suit on display in the Batcave. Bruce begins to spiral over the thoughts that he himself had failed to train Jason properly, and that he had also failed to save Jason from the Joker. (Personal opinion, I don't know if I actually blame Bruce for 'Not saving Jason in time'? Because the way the wiki framed it, it made it seem like Jason ran away and didn't tell anyone that he was going to do this, plus I don't know how Bruce would've known that the Joker was blackmailing Sheila to begin with? Idk, maybe I'm missing some context here)
•Many years later, while Bruce is fighting with Hush, Tim gets kidnapped. When he confront the kidnapped it ends up being 'Jason', but it turns out that this version of Jason isn't Jason at all, and is just Clayface pretending to be Jason.
•Superboy-Prime, trapped in the Paradise Dimension, alters reality. This shift results in Jason's revival, as he's once again given life. He breaks his way out of his own coffin with his bare hands, and drags himself 12 miles before eventually collapsing (since he still has many lasting injuries from the Joker's beating). He's found at some point and hospitalized, where he stays in a coma for a full year, and even when he awakens he has amnesia. At some point he's recognized by a petty criminal, who informs Talia. Talia brings him to the Lazarus Pit, where she immerses him in the water where her father Ra's is also bathing. This restores Jason's memories and his physical health, however it's implied that the Pit's energy + Ah-Gul's energy messed with his mind and personality (Though it's always possible that these changes really just came from his trauma)
•Jason Todd takes up the mantle of Red Hood, and returns to Gotham City.
•Jason goes to find the Joker (who had been run out of town by Hush), and gives him a beating with a crowbar just as the Joker did to him, though he keeps the Joker alive to use him against Batman later on. He also assumes the control of several gangs, and starts a mini war against the Black Mask criminal empire. His general plan is to clean up the cities violence and drug dealings(probably because he doesn't want anyone to end up like his non-bio mother), as well as kill the Joker for revenge. Because of his intense and violent methods, he has many brushes with Batman. It's around this time that Bruce finds a Robin mask in the Batmobile, one that never belonged to Dick or Tim, but looked like a mask in the style of Jason's old Robin costume. He also realized at this time that Jason's coffin is empty, and that's when he starts to believe that Jason may have genuinely come back from the dead.
•Jason, hearing that Tim had replaced him and was supposedly a 'better Robin' then him, he got angry and broke into the Titan tower to confront him. Wearing a newer version of his own Robin costume, Jason makes quick work of immobilizing the other Titans. He was absolutely furious that there was no memorial for him in the Hall of Fallen Titans (Despite the fact that he was only a Titan for a very short time), Jason demands Tim tell him if he was really as good of a Robin as Jason himself was, and Tim stubbornly says 'Yes' before he passes out. As Jason is leaving the tower, he rips the 'R' logo from Tim's costume. However, it's revealed in the epilogue of that comic that Jason actually holds some respect for Tim now, begrudgingly saying an "I'll admit. He's good." As he ponders how he could've been a better Robin had he acted more like Tim.
•At some point Jason kidnaps the Joker and uses him to lure Bruce to Crime Alley, where they had first met all those years ago. Jason is of course angry that Bruce never 'properly avenged' him by killing the Joker, since Jason believed that Bruce would because the Joker had "Taken me away from you". Bruce explains that it would've been easy for him to kill the Joker, that he continuously fantasized about taking the Joker away, torturing him and eventually killing him, but that he wasn't willing to cross that line (Partially because he wasn't willing to stain the memories he had of Jason [that he clung so tightly to while losing his sanity] with blood). Jason decides on a deal. Either Bruce kills him, or he will kill the Joker. So he holds one gun to the Joker's head and gives the other to Bruce, counting to three. However Bruce, obviously not wanting to kill Jason but also not wanting Jason to commit this crime, uses a Batarang to cut down an object that ends up slicing Jason's throat. The Joker uses this time to detonate some explosives and plunge both of them into the waters. (I don't even know what to say about this part, I have a lot of opinions here. I will say though, I think that if Tim hadn't become Robin, Bruce might've legitimately killed the Joker.)
•Jason shows up again after about a year, now as an evil version of Nightwing. Jason uses this costume to taunt Dick, suggesting the two become a crime fighting team, but Dick refuses because he doesn't want to be associated with Jason's violent methods. Not long after, Jason is kidnapped by unknown mobsters. Dick, albeit hesitantly, saves him, and they team up to defeat the Pierce brothers. After the fight Jason leaves New York and drops the Nightwing mantle, leaving Dick a telegraph that says he has returned to normal, and that he still considers Dick family.
•Jason's kidnaps a girl named Mia, wanting to convert her to his side since they both had somewhat similar pasts and he feels they're kindred spirits. She refuses, so he blows up her high school. (WTF JASON???? 😭)
•I dunno how to explain this one too much, but basically he went on a mission with a Monitor that he called Bob? And he met an alternate reality version of Batman, who had started killing after Jason's death.. And then the Darkseid thing happens and Batman 'dies', which makes Jason absolutely furious (Because he cares about Bruce despite not agreeing with the way that he handled things back when he died).
•Jason, back as Red Hood, tries to take control of some gang wars to calm things down, but it actually makes things worse. Since Batman is supposed to be dead, and Nightwing is unavailable, Tim is the one who has to help clean up the mess. Jason asks to team up, but Tim refuses because of Jason's questionable methods. Due to a combination of some things, Jason gets shot in the leg and arrested. When the gang war is resolved, Tim stops by the prison Jason was in, using a disguise and a fake name to deliver Jason the code that will let him out of his cell because he believes Jason deserves a chance at redemption.
•After his escape Jason is summoned to the Batcave, where he is brought in to hear his part of Bruce's Last Will and Testament for him(Y'know, since Bruce is supposedly dead lmao). He listens to Bruce's final piece as he talks about out of all his failures, Jason was his biggest, and how he regretted not getting Jason actual help or showing much empathy over him hardships, instead dressing him up and having him fight. Unfortunately this heartfelt message is what makes Jason fully snap.
•Jason began dressing up in a Batman-like outfit, leaving slips of paper saying 'I AM BATMAN' where he worked, however he used much more aggressive and lethal forms of punishment on the criminals he fought. Due to the violent nature of his vigilantism, Nightwing and Damian are after the fake Batman. Dick figures put pretty quickly that the imposter Batman is Jason, and after an argument, Jason shoots Damian. Tim is also searching for the fake Batman at this time, dressing up as Batman as well to demonstrate how Bruce would've really acted. Tim finds Jason's fake Batcave, but has to be saved from a boobytrap by Catwoman. Jason returns to his 'cave' and finds them there, impaling Tim with a Batarang. Dick and Jason fight, with Jason thinking and claiming that Tim is dead, while Damian and the Squire are actually busy saving Tim. Dick kicks Jason off a moving train, but when he tries to pull Jason back up to safety(Because he still considers him family, just as Jason does him), Jason refuses his help and falls to his 'death', while claiming they'll meet again soon. This is when Dick becomes Batman.
•When Jason returned, having survived the fall, he decided to become direct competition to Batman and Robin, making it his mission to get to all of the criminals before them and become the new Gotham Hero. He even got his own sidekick, a girl named Scarlet. Jason was very public about this, posting things on social media, talking about how killing the villains was the best way to do it, and a lot of people actually agreed. At one point Jason kidnapped Dick and Damian, locked them up and stripped them both naked(😰), claiming online that if the post got enough attention, he'd reveal Batman and Robin's secret identities. However his plan was interrupted by an assassin names Flamingo, that he and Scarlet weren't strong enough to beat. Dick and Damian escaped and saved them from death, though Damian got pretty seriously injured.. Jason just ran Flamingo over with a truck- Jason was taken into police custody and as they took him away, he claimed that if the Lazarus Pit could revive him, why couldn't it revive Bruce too?
•After Bruce's revival, Jason files an appeal to Arkham Asylum, wanting to be released because the tests show that he's perfectly sane, just willing to kill. He ends up being transferred to a Gotham prison, where as soon as he arrives, the sewerslide rates spike and there are several homicides(Though these mainly occurred in self defense from Red Hood killing people in the prison who attempt to kill him first). On top of this, Jason poisons the food and kills 82 inmates, making 100 more sick. He's immediately taken back to Arkham Asylum, but is quickly broken out by some mercenaries. Jason breaks free from the mercenaries and fights them off as Batman and Robin arrive. At the end of this mission, Red Hood and Scarlet escape in a helicopter, warning Bruce and Damian not to chase them because he planted bombs all over the city months ago, and he's willing to detonate them. Dick doesn't do anything about, deciding that Jason was lying about the bombs, and that even if Jason decides to do better he'll only rejoin the family when he's ready to.
•Jason, trying to reform, forms his own hero team called the Outlaws. He changes the red symbol on his chest to a bat, a sign of his somewhat awkward but slowly-beginning-to get-back-on even-ground relationship with the Batfamily. The costume he now wears also used to belong to Dick. His relationship with Tim is now at least neutral, if not a little friendly, as the two can be seen eating together and making some jokes. However his relationship with Bruce is still strained, and a bit hostile. While he keeps his aggressive and lethal style of fighting, he now only uses it when he believes necessary, and doesn't always shoot the second he sees a problem.
•At some point his team disappears, and he goes back to being a solo hero.
Extra Fun Fact! Because of the Lazarus Pit, Jason no longer ages and he heals much much faster then a normal human!
TAADAA! I might do more if I get the motivation ^w^
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kabie-whump · 1 month ago
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Magic Whump Week Day 5 - Drugs
tw: drug addiction + withdrawls, hallucinations, some (hallucinated) bug horror, child abuse mentions, past suicide attempt mention
This goes right after yesterday's post. Ventis has discovered that the drug he was taking is actually nightspill, which is both highly addictive and and known magic-killer. Now it's time for him to stop taking it, and it's not going well.
He didn't take his medicine this morning, since it had been stolen, and he's been experiencing some pains and minor hallucinations all day. It starts to get really bad in the middle of the night and the pain wakes him up.
There's also a character in this scene who hasn't been mentioned on my blog yet! Ophelia is a healing student at a local university, and she works in the inn at night to support herself. She's become a friend of the party.
~
Ventis stifled a groan, rolling to his side and curling into himself, clutching at his aching stomach. There was no way he would be able to sleep like this. All he could do was lay there, panting and praying that Onthyes stayed asleep next to him.
"Ventis?"
Shit.
He wanted to tell Onthyes that he was okay - that he could go back to sleep and he didn't have to worry, but all that escaped his mouth was a pathetic whimper.
"Ventis, hey. What's going on?"
"Hurts." Ventis's hands made tight fists in the sheets as he felt tears springing to his eyes.
Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
"I know. I know. I'm sorry. Try to keep breathing."
Ventis couldn't breathe. Every attempt at an inhale got caught in his throat and forced into rough gasps and coughs. His whole body was on fire. The tears finally fell.
"Onthyes..."
Onthyes's hands hovered over Ventis's body for a moment before he finally began to stroke his hair and wipe tears from his temples as they fell. "Shh. I'm here," he said softly.
Ventis groaned, twisting under the blankets. It was too hot under them. Too cold without them. The pain grew more urgent by the second. "It hurts!"
"I'm going to go get Ophelia."
No no no no. Every time Ventis managed to open his eyes against the waves of blinding pain all he could see were shadows reaching for him from the corners of the room and the ceiling above him swimming and dancing as glossy black beetles swarmed its surface. In all the chaos, the only thing he could be sure of was Onthyes sitting solid at his side, unaffected by the shadows and the bugs. He was the only thing keeping them from getting to Ventis, and if he left he would be at their mercy and he wasn't sure that he could survive that.
"No! Please don't go."
Onthyes's hand was warm on Ventis's cheek. "She could help you."
"Don't leave me. Please."
"Okay, okay. I'm not going anywhere."
That was all the assurance Ventis needed, so he allowed his body to lull him into a state of semi-consciousness where he knew at least the pain would be more bearable. Onthyes raised his voice, but the words got lost somewhere on the journey from Ventis's ears to his brain.
His skin crawled.
It must be the beetles again.
"-tis. Ventis! Stop it. You're hurting yourself."
Is that Shayah? Why isn't she helping me?
Rough hands grabbed Ventis's wrists and pinned them firmly to the bed, stopping any attempts to swat the bugs away. They continued to swarm, coating his skin, and he cried out.
"Shit, breezy. Quit zapping me. I'm trying to help."
"Ventis. Look at me."
He managed to force his eyes open. Immediately the shadows swarmed him and the room twisted, inverting itself in a way that made him feel sick.
Where's Onthyes? He's supposed to be shielding me.
"Onthyes!" Ventis choked out.
Hands landed on his face and he flinched hard, desperately pushing against whatever was holding him down.
"I'm here. I'm right here."
But I can't see him. Where is he? Where's Onthyes?
The crawling sensation turned to unbearable itching, then burning as the beetles found places to sink their pincers, and no amount of crying or begging convinced the hands to let go of him so he could get them off.
"Maybe we should just give him Nightspill."
"No! We can't-"
"He can't take this! Look at him, Onthyes. If this doesn't kill him it'll drive him mad!"
"You're weak."
Ventis knew that voice.
"Father?"
His father was there at the edge of the bed, and just for a second Ventis let himself hope that someone had finally come to save him from this hell. But Father's hands were the ones pinning him down and disdain morphed his face into something not quite human. The bugs crawled up the man's arms and he didn't seem to mind.
"No, Ventis. Your father isn't here. It's just me and Shy. You're safe."
"Listen, Onthyes. His magic's only getting stronger and he can't control it. I don't want to drug him against either but-"
"Ophelia can help him. We're waiting this out until she gets here."
"You're hurting your friends," Father mused. "After everything they've done for you, all you can do is make things difficult for them."
"I'm sorry!" Ventis sobbed. "I-I didn't mean to!"
"It's okay. We know. You're okay."
"I get why you'd wanted to jump off the roof all those years ago." Theodore appeared on Ventis's other side, his face partially obscured by shadow. "Look at yourself. Even when you manage to make a few friends you drive them away with all your melodrama. What do you have to offer them, huh? Your magic's out of control, you're cut off from the family fortune, and now you're going to die and leave them to deal with your mess. Pathetic."
Ventis shook his head, tears streaming down his face. It wasn't even true! He hadn't jumped and Theodore damn well knew that, the fucking liar.
"What's-"
"Help him, Ophelia!"
"I just can't believe you actually thought I'd ever accept you back home again," Father said with a dark laugh. The beetles crawled up his neck, slipping out from under his shirt collar. "You're an embarrassment to me, to the family."
"No, please! Help me, Father!"
"You were always beyond help," Syllyn said softly as she faded into Ventis's vision, lightly brushing her hand against his face. "You're just too much. We thought keeping you sedated would make you more bearable to be around, but it seems you were the problem no matter how hard we tried to make you behave. You had to be sent away for the good of the kingdom."
"I'm sorry," Ventis repeated, squeezing his eyes closed. His voice was cracked and raw. "Please. I'm sorry."
Then, warmth flooded his body. The burning sensation dissipated. The pain faded to a dull ache. When he opened his eyes the room was still and the bugs were gone and Father, Theodore, and Syllyn, were all nowhere in sight.
Ophelia lifted her hands from Ventis's chest, a residual glow fading from her palms. He questioned silently when she got there. Deep purple sat heavy under her eyes and sweat beaded her forehead. Shayah loosened her grip on Ventis's wrists, then, when he made no effort to move, let go entirely.
It wasn't real. None of that was real.
Ventis's next inhale hitched on a sob and he curled into himself, squishing his face into his pillow as he cried openly. Onthyes's hand ran up and down his back gently.
"It's okay, sparky," Shayah's voice soothed from next to him. "Whatever you were seeing... It wasn't real."
I fucking know that.
"Try to breathe, Ventis. Slowly."
That was Onthyes's voice. He hadn't left after all. Ventis tried to do as he'd said, too exhausted to question him, and little by little his sobs tapered off until he was only trembling silently on the bed, his face still hidden in the damp pillowcase.
"Can I see your arms?" Ophelia asked.
It took only a quick glance for Ventis to realize that his arms were striped with swelling red lines. Ophelia placed her hands over them and started muttering a healing prayer, and Ventis shivered as he remembered the sensation of thousands of beetles crawling over his skin. He must have scratched himself trying to get them off.
When Ophelia pulled her hands away the scratches were faded, nearly healed. "I numbed the pain for a while," she said gently, "but you're not cured. Withdrawals can't be healed with magic alone. It will take time, and it will get worse than that before it gets better. Try to rest while you can."
"Thank you," Ventis whispered, but he felt more dread than anything else. He couldn't imagine it getting worse than it already had. How would he survive this?
~
Ventis tags:
@scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-whumpstuff @morning-star-whump @yeetmyskeet
@sleepyiswhumping @bitchaknso @unicornbeck @wounds-seen-and-unseen @3-2-whump
@looptheloup @lindsay00000008 @rainydaywhump @scoundrelwithboba
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aftgficrec · 3 months ago
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Do you have any recs for alternate endings to the championship games?? This will scratch such a major itch!
Thank you in advance! You guys are amazing!!
Hi there, @caffeinated-croissant Unlike Baltimore, or Neil’s visit to Evermore, there’s surprisingly little canon divergence regarding the Foxes’ championship win, and a lot of it is pretty dark.  We did our best, and this is what we found.  If anybody knows any more, please let us know! - S
Also see...
canon-divergent angst post-TKM here 
'eat their young - Fox!Riko au' series here
Hearts In Halves by heybabyricecake [Rated M, 247291 words, complete, 2024, locked]
Instead of killing Riko and sending Neil back to the Foxes, Ichirou banishes Riko and takes Neil back to the Edgar Allen Ravens to be their starting striker. This is basically post canon, if the very last scene in The Kings Men happened differently. Neil has to adjust to life in the Ravens Nest, and the Foxes have to deal with losing Neil right after championships. The Nest is a nightmare, and Andrew is reeling from the separation from Neil. Andrew and Neil have to burn it all to the ground to find their way back to each other.
tw: violence, tw: rape/noncon, tw: torture, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: emotional manipulation,  tw: drug addiction, tw: withdrawal, tw: drug overdose, tw: kidnapping, tw: major character injury, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: homophobic language, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced eating disorders
too late. by carmellian [Rated T, 1199 words, complete, 2024]
Andrew is running before he can see anything else. Somebody shouts. It might've been Dan. Neil turns, and looks up, on his knees as the racquet comes crashing down onto his skull. His body drops like a stone. Riko raises the racquet again. Andrew is faster. basically, i rewrote that scene from the very end of king's men but what if andrew didn't make it to neil in time
tw: major character death, tw: graphic depictions of violence
Am I Screaming to An Empty Sky? by phan_taloon [Rated M, 32016 words, complete, 2022, locked]
His stomach sank, a heavy weight settled, twisting his insides even more. His breathing had been labored before, but his lungs seemed frozen now. He didn’t understand. This couldn’t be happening. The Foxes were staring at the scoreboard expecting it to change. A chill settled around Neil, and he really couldn’t breathe. Basically, what if the Foxes lost the finals? This is so self indulgent, I just love putting myself through pain via these characters. Title taken from Anathema by twenty one pilots Upped the rating, added warnings, so buckle up, the updates will hurt
tw: violence, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: suicide attempt, tw: self harm, tw: major character injuries, tw: rape/noncon, tw: dissociation, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced depression, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: drug addiction
White by heart0fdarkness [Rated G (we say T), 862 words, complete, 2019]
Hallucinations. He says they will pass, like everything else. Like the inability to line up words and walk straight without tripping up and getting hurt. Like the memory lapses and the blackouts. Like the emptiness.
tw: traumatic brain injury, tw: gun violence, tw: blood, tw: assumed suicide attempt, tw: attempted murder, tw: psychiatric drugs administered without knowledge
Shadows and Monsters by starlonging [Not Rated, 4433 words, incomplete, last updated Dec 2018, locked]
Neil didn’t know they’d reached the last minute of the game until the buzzer blared overhead but his body understood and finally gave out on him. He fell to his knees on the court, stomach twisting and entire body feeling like a big bruise. His gasped breaths did nothing for him but he forced his head up to look at the scoreboard when the buzzer blared again. Nine-Ten, Ravens’ favor. They’d lost.  They’d lost.
tw: dark, tw: violence, tw: torture, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced child abuse
King Without a Court by FatesOfConquest [Rated T (we say M), 8264 words, incomplete, last updated Nov 2018]
Ichirou had spared Riko's life after the championships, leaving his younger brother adrift and directionless. But Riko is nothing without Exy, not even alive, and plans his revenge against those who had taken everything from him; the Palmetto Foxes and their new vice-captain.
tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: torture, tw: violence, tw: kidnapping, tw: panic attacks, tw: major character injury, tw: blood
Remembered. by LunnVic [Rated T, we say M, 10756 words, complete 2017]
Ichirou Moriyama lets Neil Josten go. But not so easily. He lets him go back to the last game with a clear deal: if the Ravens wins, Neil will be executed. But if the Foxes win, Neil will have to execute Riko and clean up his mess. He will be the person who cut losses everywhere, he will have to make dissappear people from Carolina to South Carolina. Cops, doctors, moles. Proust. And when Nathaniel Wesninski has done with this, then he will be free to be Neil Josten. Not a minute before.
tw: dissociation, tw: violence, tw: murder, tw: canonical character death, tw: blood, tw: cannibalistic thoughts, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: knives, tw: nonconsensual drug use
Two Kevin-centric post canon fics where Riko survives TKM:
Funeral Pyre by KweenDay [Rated M, 9581 words, incomplete, last updated Aug 2024, locked]
Kevin did everything to prevent ending up on a team with Riko Moriyama: he waited until he was sure Riko signed with another team, and then picked one only two hours away from Jean and Jeremy, and half-a-country away from Riko. He'd planned everything just right. And it still wasn't enough in the end. Now, he's stuck in the same city, team, and damn apartment, with Riko, and this time, he doesn't have Neil and Andrew and the Foxes to back him up. Kevin is all alone against him. Or at least that's what he thinks—Jean and Jeremy have other plans.  AKA Riko doesn't die in TKM and Kevin ends up on the same team with him after graduation. Jean and Jeremy plot Riko's murder (probably😂)
tw: violence, tw: panic attacks, tw: emotional manipulation, tw: psychological torture, tw: drug abuse
Things you can tell just by looking at him by RJSawyer [Rated T, 36768 words, complete, 2020]
Going on Kevin's third year with the Foxes, he wanted a smooth year. He wanted to be over the crippling anxiety of his time at the Ravens nest. He wanted to win championships for the third year in a row. He wanted to hear Riko's name and not flinch. He wanted to get though the week without a nightmare. Kevin wanted a lot. For Kevin, want and need were interchangeable since he was never really able to want anything. After the Foxes first championship, Riko's broken arm, the Master stepping down and Kevin being back on top of his game, the Breckenridge Jackals had climbed tooth and nail up the standings. They knocked out Penn State and Kevin knew they were going to be the new power house. So why did they not recruit one of the best Strikers Kevin had seen when they already had him in their circle?
tw: panic attacks, tw: drug overdose, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced suicide
Riko becomes a Fox:
Quarter House by Noomynoom [Rated M, 2316 words, incomplete, last updated June 2023]
Riko knew the cast on his arm is not a guarantee of him living long enough to take it off, and so he ran. Foxes save a stray from becoming a roadkill.
tw: injuries
Redeeming Riko by Rachello344 [Rated M, 3792 words, incomplete, last updated July 2022]
Riko has lost everything: Kevin, his chance with his father, the big game, his brother's respect, and now his pride and what little freedom he had. He can either let the Foxes take him in and show him a life outside of the Nest or he can die. Riko would rather die, but Kevin has other ideas for him.
tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: injuries
fandom fun post
 Why am I gasping? I already knew that by @bvrtysbvtches [tumblr, 2024]
pov: me reading the final game between the ravens and the foxes from jean's pov
Art
kandreil WINNING🗣️ by @deklo
Neil playing as backliner against Riko by @s-hanna-h
The Epilogue cartoon by @unkingly for @giveyourbacktome-zine (tw: gun violence, tw: graphic murder)
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superconductivebean · 6 months ago
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#986: aesop sharp headcanons - 1
Imelda Reyes: >>>1 || >>>2 (nsfw) || >>>3 || >>>4 || >>>5 || >>>6 Poppy Sweeting: >>>1 || >>>2 || >>>3 Mirabel Garlick: >>>1 Victor Rookwood: >>>1
Once again raising my head from the Brainrot fog to share some character headcanons with the world. Brainrot is a fic I’m working on.
Writing Aesop into this silly little series would be no easy task, he is one of the main characters in the Brainrot. Linking other characters' posts because posts about them have some bits about him.
A light cw/tw for alcohol abuse, perhaps, depression.
Tags: @thriftstorebabayaga @endeavour12345 @mrs-sharp
He is deviously clever, painstakingly stoic, but wistful;
Brainrot: When he joined the ranks, the Office and the Law Enforcement Department were already in its conjoined heyday, slowly encompassing itself with every shade of the law sun. Injury only brought forth the thought to eventually call it quits, however, the resignation didn't go as planned, but unlike many other Aurors going to the early retirement, Aesop decided to keep the badge;
The badge is the symbol and the reminder of who he once was. He went through hell and high water to be able to come and try to save lives; that being said, an idealist he is, he can get upset, sharp or portending. He doesn't tolerate ill-mouthed, petty verbal fights;
Albeit he isn't the one to cheer himself on being a remotely good teacher, he takes pride in what little he can do: observing patterns, discerning causations of ill-suited behaviour, stopping someone's meander from spreading into a disaster. Suffice it to say, he prefers teaching troublemakers to drawing O's and E's, as in his mind, kids with a penchant for mischief aren't hiding their utter dishonesty;
You could say, he fully acknowledges the role of being the bane of someone's otherwise peaceful existence. If that was what fate truly wants him to do, he wouldn't debate it;
Brainrot: Injury made him considerate of superstitions and other Signs From The Beyond. A way of coping after being ruthlessly severed from what he once had in his previous life, yes, to add to his addiction to heavy beverages and mind-numbing potions;
Aesop is always visible, as he is around 6'2. His gait has a tune to it; you've heard it once, you'd always know it's him nearby. To many students, he is the second most talked about staff member, first being Mirabel Garlick. Yet, barely anyone knows him as a person, him as a potioneer, him as an Auror, Him in any capacity. Aesop is a lone wolf, and to a pack animal, it's an onerous existence. Unable to confide in anyone, constantly questioning himself, afraid to stop and look back at his progress -- and at his age, -- he tries to follow paths he can barely recognise, navigate and make sense of. The Ministry doesn't teach its most prised and powerful force to adapt beyond sharking through the criminal underworld;
Brainrot: Drinking isn't for the leg, although Aesop enjoys the soothening warmth of the firewhiskey, tiding the pain away for a while. Drinking is for silencing the inner demons and their ghastly suggestions;
Aesop is prone to make a cautionary tale out of himself, his life and choices; he can easily turn his success into an espying for potential mistakes and his shortcomings into a valuable lessons of how not to shortcut -- and if the one has to, how to do them right;
Terribly low self-esteem and shy attempts at self-reflection through taking someone's ear off are noticed by some but never read as such. Some students and the majority of the staff think highly of him, a demand he always meets, but some also notice Aesop is never quite alright, yet aren't sure how to help -- nor how to approach and to ask; and some just think to let sleeping dog lie.
Aesop doesn't know if how he usually feels is normal. He can only describe it as emptiness, awkward darkness where it used to be him being a derpy smartass, beaming with life. It never lets go of him nor he tries to fight it back, but strands of hope -- for a cure, for getting back into the ranks, for a life better and fruitful -- matter a lot to him.
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whumpshaped · 1 year ago
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WOULD YOU EVER MAKE A PT II ABT THE CARETAKER BETRAYING WHUMPEE WHOSE RECOVERING FROM BEING DRUGGED
Cause like, what’s whumpee gonna even do? Caretaker can just drug them into submission
prev
tw bad caretaker, noncon drugging (syringe), addiction whump, gaslighting, manipulation, forced treatment, conditioning
“Whumpee?”
Whumpee shook their head frantically. “N-no, get away from me. I’m not– I’m not gonna sit still for you while you– inject me with whatever that is.”
Caretaker frowned. “It’s the medicine–”
“No! No, it’s not! Or if it is, then you keep making it worse! Are you giving me more? More than what we started with? Are you purposely doing this to me?”
“Let’s just calm down,” they said soothingly, but Whumpee was way too jittery to listen. There was no way they were already having symptoms of withdrawal within a day. No way. What the fuck was Caretaker giving them?
“Show me the box! Show me the fucking box of the meds! Show me!”
“I’ve told you–”
“I don’t fucking believe you!” They backed up further, feeling around for the door handle with shaky hands without looking away from Caretaker. “I d-don’t– I don’t believe you, you’re lying–”
“Whumpee, please, sit down. You’re not thinking straight.” Caretaker put their hands in the air in an attempt to appear harmless, but Whumpee knew better. There was something lurking beneath the benevolent surface. Something sinister. Something that was either trying to or had already trapped them.
“Stop acting nice,” they hissed. “Stop it. I know you’re anything but. You’re keeping me addicted.”
“Whumpee, we can have all the discussions you want about your paranoia and your delusions later, but you’re already shaking–”
“Don’t fucking handwave this away! Don’t you fucking dare tell me I’m imagining it!” they snapped, and Caretaker flinched. No, why were they flinchy? How deep did the acting go?
Was it really not an act?
No, it was, it had to be.
“Please, let me administer the medicine,” Caretaker asked again, pleading, sounding like they were on the verge of tears.
It had to be an act.
It didn’t matter. They needed the drug, and it was becoming harder and harder to resist.
“I don’t want this,” they whispered.
“I know. I know, and I'm sorry, but this is the only way I know how to help you. I’m not a doctor. I can only listen to them.”
“No, no, you’re not… you’re not helping…” They slowly sank to the floor, burying their face in their hands. “You’re not helping… you're not…”
They heard Caretaker walk over to them, and their treacherous body was already tingling with excitement at the prospect of another dose. “We’ll talk when you’re feeling better, okay? I promise.”
“I’m never feeling better. I’m either drugged or– or like this, I’m never any better.”
Caretaker didn’t answer. They gently took their hand and made them hold their arm out, and they complied, defeated and lacking any sort of willpower to resist. There was no way they could ever get away from Caretaker like this. Not when they held the key to their drug of choice.
“You’re lying to me,” Whumpee tried again, but Caretaker had already pushed the needle inside, hitting them where it felt best.
“What does it matter?” they murmured. “Doesn’t it feel nice?”
They hummed in agreement, their eyes closing against their will. It did feel fucking nice. They couldn’t think about anything other than how nice it felt.
“I’ll take care of you, dear. Even if sometimes that means doing things you don’t want me to do.”
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