#good intention but miserable failure | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

literaila · 11 months

Text

still here

tasm!peter x reader

summary: there’s an ache in me, put there by the ache in you

(for @elysian-chaos)

warnings: angst, fluff, feeling unworthy, feeling useless, you know, seperation

a/n: ‘tis the damn season is the best song ever. dont argue

there's this little thing called stress baking.

typically, stress baking is referred to as coping by making something delicious to scavenge on, instead of dwelling on the feelings scavenging you. and typically, it's done with a certain type of elegance--one that is made up of chaos. completely insane, yet completely in control. it's a messy dance, but perfectly choreographed.

stress baking is a very reviving task. filling up the house with muffins and pies is not only good for distracting yourself, but also for making friends when you run out of room. or smiling at the cashier every time you have to go to the store for ingredients.

it's something you've practiced for years. something you've become somewhat addicted to.

but then there's baking while stressed. which, you swear, hadn't been your intention.

brownies from a box were supposed to be easy. they were notoriously easy. a couple of eggs, some oil, and some water. the hardest part of your job was mixing, but you'd done it so many times that you zoned out while doing all of it.

box brownies were supposed to be non-stress and quick. but when you burn the brownies and batter rises over the top of your glass pan, and the oven is dirty, and the apartment smells like burnt batter and oven cleaner--well, you have to reread the directions.

you're a good baker. you've been making cookies and cakes for parties for years. you pride yourself on not needing measuring cups because you can eye a recipe by the gram.

not that these brownies would agree.

and it's already five-forty-five. peter is going to be home in the next fifteen minutes and this was supposed to be a treat. something good.

"surprise! i ruined our oven, and now we're going to have to spend the next few nights at your aunt's house in your twin-sized bed until the smell of death goes away!" doesn't typically bring out any smiles.

and peter's been stressed lately, and you've been stressed about him.

and now you're making brownies from scratch without butter--because you used it all on the last batch, oops--and the number of candles you've lit is a sure fire hazard.

but if peter would just smile at you, pull you in by your waist and laugh while he kissed you with a chocolate mouth, it would all be fine.

if there wasn't so much riding on this one (two) pan(s) of brownies. like being able to sleep comfortably tonight.

you turned the oven down, found a new pan--threw the other one out because it was nothing but a source of disappointment--and cleaned the oven just enough to not draw any suspicions. but you could still feel the failure lurking.

peter was going to come home to a chaotic house, and it was your fault.

so you scrubbed at the counters. fixed the stack of bills on the table so that you couldn't see any of the stamps, folded the blankets, and even swept the kitchen floor.

still, you knew peter would know. because he always knows. and maybe that was why he was acting so weird lately--maybe that's why you were acting so weird.

the door opened when the timer on the oven went off.

you'd wanted to watch peter walk through the door--so you could gauge how tired he was, how miserable--but maybe it was better not to know. to let him put on a mask while your back was still turned.

"hey, baby," he said, as you were pulling the brownies out of the oven, setting his house keys on the counter and sighing. "i'm home."

you peeked over your shoulder, giving him a hint of a smile--the same type he was giving you. "hey, honey," you said back, "you're home."

peter walked around the island to stand right behind you, kissing the back of your head and stealing a look over to the stovetop. he clears his throat. "brownies?"

you shrug. "thought you might like something sweet when you got home."

you take off the oven mitt, not really wanting to look at him--maybe because you're scared of what you'll see, or maybe just because you can already feel his eyes tearing down your skin.

but you can feel his breath on your neck as he chuckles. his exhaustion as he leans into your back.

"i've already got you, though," he whispers one peck at the edge of your jaw, another by your ear.

you snort and pull away, turning so you can look at him. and then you pretend to throw up.

he laughs and pokes your forehead.

you're not looking at him and he's not looking at you.

you turn back to the brownies.

"did you drop something in the oven?" peter asks, leaning his chin on your shoulder.

"no," you answer, a bit too defensive.

"sure?"

"am i sure that i didn't burn something in the oven, peter? yes."

there's a beat. "...cause it smells like it."

you headbutt him. "you smell like it. go shower. you can't eat these yet."

"yes, ma'am," peter takes a step back, and you look at him again. you can see the question in his eyes, and see your own reflecting the same question.

what are you hiding?

"we have some ice cream, too."

peter moans, his head back. you roll your eyes at him.

and you start cutting the brownies, worries, and chocolate chips sticking to the knife, listening to peter's footsteps, feeling his presence sticking to you like sugar, sticky and rich, his eyes keeping you on edge.

you know you shouldn't feel stupid--peter doesn't actually know what happened, or care--but you do. because he knows, and because even from the split second you looked at him, you could see the strain on his skin, the pressure weighing him down, dragging his feet across the floor.

you feel stupid just because you don't know what to do. so before he can close the door, you turn around. choosing reaction instead of pretending.

"peter?"

he pauses, his head whipping towards you. his eyes are as soft and loving as they always are--his attention remains the same, even when his energy doesn't. like he's wasting himself away just to take care of you.

he swallows. "yeah?"

"are you--" you blink, look away, try not to taste burnt brownies. "are you okay? you seem tired. was work… alright?

peter smiles, shaking his head. "just the usual, bub. work and... work. i think i'll go to bed early tonight?"

you raise a brow.

peter clears his throat. "i mean, i think i'll take a nap tonight before i go out."

you nod. "okay."

you both stare at each other for a moment. he's far enough away that it's easier. you don't have to feel his emotions as he processes them. don't have to see them from up close.

you hate yourself for being afraid of him. for being afraid for him.

“d’ya want to join me?” peter asks, whisper slipping from his mouth, smile taunting from his lips. “we can cuddle and eat brownies.”

you lick your lips, shaky smile enough. “you sure? i’ve heard i can be a bit distracting…”

peter’s laugh makes his shoulders shake. “you heard correctly,” he says eyes crinkled, “but i don’t mind.”

you nod. you’re grateful for his ease. the careful reveal of his true face, the peeling of a mask. the admittance that not everything is perfect, no matter how small.

“go shower. i’ll get the sugar.”

peter kisses you on the cheek before he goes.

and at least you got a couple of smiles out of him. at least you can feel his kiss lingering on your skin.

it's not that serious. honestly.

you hardly even think about it. you're not thinking about it.

you're not dwelling on the smell of soft skin and the feeling of calloused hands running up and down your back, the tickle of a breath against your neck.

you're not thinking about it at all.

and if it's been a week--or a week and a half, or two, or three--since you last spoke, or shared the same space with peter, then it's fine.

this is something you've grown used to. something you're supposed to be used to.

peter has obligations.

he has things he needs to fulfill--not just for himself, but for others, for the guilt that you can see rocking his bones all of the time, the shame in his eyes when he comes home a bit too early. he has places that he needs to be, if only because he won't be able to live with himself if he's not there.

but then again, you're not sure how to live when he's not here. especially when the sink breaks.

still, as long as you can feel him pull you into his chest every night, imagine him kissing your forehead before falling asleep, then it's fine.

you're not thinking about any of it because it's fine.

but you miss him. if only momentarily.

he'll come back--you repeat this like a promise, like it's his voice whispering it to you--because he always does.

space is good for the heart, some part of you swears. though you don't think you could think of peter any fonder than you already do.

he comes in too late at night and is already gone when you wake up. he texts you updates--because you've talked about communication before--and tells you that he loves you through sweet little notes he sends during the day.

if the thing he wishes to share about his life is the worm he found in his apple, then you're perfectly happy to listen (read).

it's normal to miss the person you love most in the world.

and it's normal for your boyfriend to disappear for fourteen hours each day, just barely cuddling with you for three hours before he's gone again.

it's normal for you, at least

he’ll come back.

and so, instead of thinking about peter, and wondering when he might notice the frayed edges of your relationship, you make sure that he doesn't have to worry about anything.

you clean up after the two of you, running the dishwasher and cleaning the bathroom, and packing him lunch on days you know he'll be gone for the office. making sure there's always something he can eat in the fridge when he gets home late at night, and texting him to know what he wants from the store.

you make the bed and wash his clothes and hope that maybe it'll keep him from burning out.

you hope that maybe it will keep you distracted enough to not ask him for anything. like love or support or a five-minute conversation.

if taking care of him is the only way to keep him going--the only way to keep yourself going--then you'll do it. peter takes care of you enough.

but even if you're not thinking about it, it's there.

because you've just fallen asleep--which is extremely rare recently, mostly because you like to wait until you hear the window and then slow your breathing until you feel peter crawl into bed with you--and just woke up.

woke up with sweaty skin and a headache. it's night ten and you're getting nightmares again.

it's ridiculous that you can't even last two weeks without peter there. without him kissing you to sleep.

and when you burst out of bed, you almost fall into him--almost scream because you're sharing the bed with someone else.

tears are running down your face. your heart feels split open--like your dreams have revealed something inside it.

but you look over to peter and he's there; he's still here.

so you take a deep breath--chest caving in, body following--and you rest your head in your hands.

if there's anything you want right now, it's for peter to wake up.

it's for him to know all of this.

you want him to appear next to you, leaning over your back like he's going to shelter from the world if that's what you need. rubbing your back and whispering in your ear. you want him in your house and laughing when you break the shower rod again.

you want him to cuddle with you before he leaves, and cross his heart when you scold him while he crawls out the window.

you want him in more than just your memory.

but peter is snoring next to you, and so you sit there in silence until the tears begin to ease.

peter's not supposed to be home.

he works until five, and then takes the subway home--and you're not expecting to see him anyway. he's been shoving his suit into the bottom of his backpack right as you pull it out of the hamper.

so it's not that unusual for you to be laying in bed, shoes and socks kicked across the floor, hands gripping for some stability, and eyes puffy and red.

and it's not that unusual for you to squeak when the window opens, and spider-man's head peeks into your room.

you can feel peter's wide eyes behind the mask.

you're quick to wipe your face, throw on a clumsy smile. "peter," you say, exhaling. "what're you doing here?"

a body crawls into the window, dirt and grime on clothes finger-tips reaching out to you. "what's wrong?" he asks, voice only slightly muffled.

but you take a step back, moving away from him when he lands on the floor, leaving spots for you to vacuum up later.

"what're you doing here?" you repeat, voice a bit harsher, a bit faded.

"i need--" he reaches his hand out toward you again, retreating when you do. "i needed some more web fluid. i don't--" he shakes his head. "what happened?"

"i, um," you wipe traitorous tears away again. "i think there's some more in the closet. i keep moving it when i'm cleaning, sorry."

"you're crying," peter scolds. like you're being ridiculous. like you're not trying to save him the effort it's going to take to fix this irrational piece of you, these lonely broken bits.

you bite your lip and look away.

because although you can't even see his eyes--they are still scolding. they are quick and cruel reminders that you haven't talked to peter in two weeks.

you turn towards your bedside table, pretending to organize the contents on top.

you can hear peter moving.

"what's going on, bub?" he says, soft enough for the words to crawl under your skin. he's taken the mask off. his voice is clear.

"oh, nothing, you know," you pause, shrugging. "just the usual sad movie type of cry..." peter's hand reaches your back and you flip around, almost knocking over your lamp.

"c'mon," he whispers to you, far closer than you'd been expecting.

you try and take a step back, only meeting a dead-end. he's cornered you. "you should go, peter. you were just--"

"this is more important."

you laugh. "some silly tears are more important than a collapsing building?"

"you're more important," peter swears, his eyes so focused on yours, "to me."

you blink and shake your head. gesture back towards the window. "go and save some people. you don't have to help me too."

peter swallows, brows furrowed. "will you tell me what's wrong?"

"i can take care of myself, peter. you don't need to worry about it."

"well, i'm going to."

you roll your eyes. and then you break free of his hold, moving away from the table, from the cage he's built around you. "move along, spider-man."

peter doesn't move any closer, but his limbs are tense. his face is concerned and hurt--you try and shield that out.

"i'm not leaving you when you're crying."

"i'm not crying anymore."

peter scowls. "stop deflecting."

you take a deep breath, throat dry and aching. "i'm not--" you clear your throat, shaking your head and looking away from him. "i'm fine, peter. but some people actually need you. go and save the day," you tell him. "i'll still be here when you come back."

and you are.

you're sitting on the couch, staring at photos peter took on the wall, wondering how to explain any of it.

how to explain yourself without digging the two of you any further in this hole.

you've been trying to prove just how little you need peter--just how useful you could be--and by doing so, you've put yourself in this situation.

because you do need him. you just hadn't wanted peter to know that.

so you're sitting on the couch, trying not to flinch every time the air conditioning comes on, or there's a footstep from the apartment above you. you're waiting for peter to climb in through the window, waiting to see how exhausted he is before he has to deal with you.

and you've bitten your lip raw. completely eliminated any evidence of fingernails you once had.

your heart stutters with every minute that comes by.

and when you finally hear peter hop in from the fire escape, your heart stops completely.

you wonder if he's going to change before he comes and finds you. before the inevitable happens, and you give him another reason to work so late.

your restlessness must be audible because it only takes peter forty seconds before walking into the living room. he's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt.

he's wearing a frown like a well-tailored suit. known and made for him.

you're trying not to frown back.

"hey," you say, putting on a smile, voice flighty and an octave too high. "everything okay?"

"no one got hurt," peter says, the antonym to your tone.

"good."

apparently, your tight-lipped smile isn't enough to ease the tension in the room.

"are you ready to talk?" peter asks, slowly stepping toward you, just barely meeting your eyes.

you'd scrubbed your face after he left. sobbed in the shower as you washed away any of the shame you hadn't meant for him to see. you'd made sure that your eyes weren't puffy, and your eyelashes were dry before he'd got home.

so when peter scans your face--as he's doing now--he shouldn't notice anything unusual.

besides the facade you're putting on.

you clear your throat, eyebrows lifted like you're unconcerned. "there's not much to talk about."

peter's sullen face doesn't move an inch. "why were you crying?"

"i already told you. i watched a sad movie," you wave a hand, "you just came in at the wrong time."

peter sighs. he sits down on the couch next to you, keeping his distance. "don't lie."

you frown. "i'm not lying."

"you've got some pretty obvious tells, you know," peter whispers, giving you a hint of a bittersweet smile. "you don't have to talk to me. but i'd like it if you did. i just want to make sure that you're... okay."

"i'm fine, peter."

he looks away. "and if you're not then we'll figure it out. i just want to know."

"well, you do."

peter opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head.

he's sitting three feet away from you, but his hands are clasped together, his legs are opposite of yours, and he can't even look at you.

you can feel it, as you push him away. as you try so desperately to hold him close without touching him.

"okay," peter says, eyes meeting yours again. "i don't want to push you."

no, but he should pull you off of this ledge. should keep you from falling any further than you already have.

you shake your head, laughing. it's not funny.

"what?"

you close your eyes. count to ten. forget how to breathe, or how to speak to the person you love most in this world.

"what?" peter repeats, but softer.

you open your eyes.

and then it all crumbles.

you scoff. "can you stop looking at me like that?" you plead, breaking away, physically distancing yourself from him.

"like what?"

it's his fault, really, for coming home so early in the day.

"like you can't deal with this. like this is exhausting."

the tears sneak up on you, knocking you out before you even notice that they're there.

peter's eyes are wide as he stares at you. "you're not--" he swallows, frantically reaching towards you. "this isn't exhausting--i'm not--" a moment, tears beginning to fall. "what do you--"

you sigh, shaking your head. "you're always gone, and you come home exhausted every night after you think i've fallen asleep, and you only talk to me through text, and even now you just--" you stop, voice breaking. "if you can't do this," you say, softly, "then you should just tell me."

peter is closer than he was a moment ago. "what?"

"i know this is a lot of work, okay? and i know that you're already pushing yourself, so it's fine if i'm too much. if--if loving me is too much."

there's a moment of silence, and you're almost sure that peter has already left.

but then there's a thumb wiping a tear from your cheek. you can't open your eyes, can't face the reality you've been desperately holding off.

"you're not too much."

peter moves closer to you, his leg touching yours, his hands moving so that he can hold you closer.

you couldn't push him away if you tried.

"you're not too much," he repeats, the words sinking into your skin, his breath meeting yours. "i can't believe you would think that."

you half laugh, half sob. peter wipes away those tears too.

"you're the only thing keeping me going," he tells you, kissing your forehead. "i'm sorry i haven't been there. i didn't realize..." he shakes his head.

"you shouldn't have to take care of me as much as you do," you whisper.

peter nudges his head against yours. "hey. you take care of me way more than i take care of you. you clean up after me and stay up with me when i can't sleep. you help fix my suits, and do all of the laundry. and you never complain. you're practically my guardian angel."

"that's all easy."

"not for me," peter says, voice lighter than before.

you shrug.

"but you do all of that cause you love me," he adds, kissing your forehead again. "or, i hope that's why."

"it's the sex."

peter laughs, nuzzling his head into you. "well, at least you're honest. but, it's the same reason that i take care of you. you shouldn't feel... guilty because of that. you're no burden on me."

"no?"

"absolutely not."

you bite your lip. try and believe peter. but honestly, you're most lovesick from how close he's holding you. how you can feel his skin and listen to him speak somewhere that isn't your bed. you're not quite sure that this isn't a dream.

"hey," peter moves his head so you're looking at him. "we suck."

you laugh, leaning your forehead against his.

"i'm sorry it's been so long since we've... anything. it's been a rough couple of weeks."

"for me too. it's not your fault."

"you have to tell me if it's not enough, okay? i don't want you to suffer through it by yourself. if you need to talk to me--even for ten minutes--then you have to let me know."

"okay."

"do you promise?"

you nod against him, nose brushing his cheek. "i promise, peter."

peter smiles, satisfied. he groans, pulling you even closer to him. "i love you, bug. so much."

you can barely hear him because of how tight he's hugging you. it sort of hurts, but mostly heals.

"i know," you say back. but peter probably can't hear you, because you say it right into his shirt.

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom @spideysimpossiblegirl invisibletrolleyson-jeremy @sharkswaters @rowniebow @anaislfbv @take-my-hand-time-boy @mileyc111 @starsval @ratsys

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yawarakaizai · 7 months

Note

pm!dazai taking reader on a date after school, but it’s somehow awkward! tried to get you a stuffie from a claw machine but failed miserably, so he shot the glass out of frustration.. something like that hehe ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

ⵌ HANGIN' OUT THE PASSENGER SIDE OF HIS BEST FRIEND'S RIDE

SENDER Reader (Fem) RECIPITENT PM Dazai Osamu (BSD) CONTENTS You were a horrible pair. You two were unlikely and the path ahead of you could have never predicted such thing to happen. You aren't sure why or how, but you found yourself the centre of Osamu Dazai's attraction. NOTE fluff, reader and dazai are 16/17, brief chuuya, jealousy, young love COMPANY No Scrubs

A/N wrote th is thro ughou t th e sch ool d ay ;3; forgi ve any mist a kes or rush ed writ ing !!! eeeeeeE EEEE i lov requ ests ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶

It was embarrassing at this point.

You disliked bringing any sort of unwanted attention to yourself more than anything else. And yet, you owe it to the brunette by your side who attracted stares like a magnet.

" Owwh, fuck! " His drawn out swear accompanied by the stomping of his shoe against the carpeted floor. It's biometric, vibrant patterns splattered across a dark black background sickened you to stare for too long.

" I told you, these are a scam ", you attempted to protest against his insistence that he was sure to win this time, no take-backs. " Why not buy a ticket to the bowling alley instead of wasting it on these? " You remained temperate in opposition to his rowdy and indecent behaviour. You adopted the traits of an older sister, or a mother.

" No way! I spent too much to give up now. " Your head ached. " Look, if I keep inching it closer to the drop, I'll be sure to get it. "

And so, the poor joystick would continue to be abused, 200 yen being inserted into the comparator with every miss, Dazai's agitation growing with each failure.

It had been a sultry evening after school. Gathering your belongings and preparing to take the daily commute home, the pitter-patter of heavy footsteps ran behind you to reveal none other than Dazai Osamu.

He was somewhat of an enigma to everyone who knew him, even those that never exchanged a word with him knew of his name.

Dazai had a horrible track-record and even worse attendance. With a mysterious bandage over his right eye.

Despite his lack of punctuality and participation in classes, he not once has ever failed an exam. Many rumours circulated that he'd cheat - though no evidence of such was ever received. Others thought he must've slept his way to good grades.

Or, he was just inhumanely intelligent.

" Y/N! Y/N! " His ecstatic voice beckoned you to stop walking as he had finally caught up to you, bending over to catch his breath. " Let's visit the arcade together! "

You didn't know what possessed you to accept.

" Oy! Leave 'er alone, moron. Some people actually have work to get to after school. "

And there was his companion, Chuuya. Underestimating him is like a death wish. He was short. Horribly, unfortunately short. Sometimes, you'd feel bashful for the fact he'd have to look up at you sometimes.

Unlike Dazai, Chuuya's absence from school wasn't intentional.

No, not at all. Chuuya never missed a day of school on his own accord. His record full of missed days were from suspensions.

Often getting into fights with anyone, he has never lost a fight.

The duo had a dynamic you couldn't quite grasp.

And then there was you in the middle of it all.

Dazai had lured you into the friend-group about two years ago, when you were all put in the same base class and Dazai, in his extroverted glory, made attempts to suck up to all in class.

You listened to how the girls would swoon and whisper amongst themselves about the legend that was Dazai Osamu, and once he reached you, you couldn't be less impressed than what he had to offer.

" Oh, c'mon Y/N! It won't take too long, we never hang out anymore! "

His sad attempt at desperate puppy eyes lightened your day a little, so you thought you should humour him, just this once.

You didn't know much about Dazai and Chuuya's private life and you didn't pry into the territory either.

All you knew was that they were filthy rich and had a connection to the principal, Ogai Mori. Otherwise, they would've been expelled a long time ago.

" Let it go, Dazai. It's not worth it. " You put your hand on his shoulder as he leaned forward, nose barely touching the glass of the claw machine as he tried to focus on getting just what he wanted.

" But you looked at it! " He whined, digging into his pockets as the machine played a sound of defeat. " And? "

" And that means I need to get it for you! "

He insisted profusely that it'll be worth it, and you continued to doubt him. You've been standing by his side for thirty minutes at this point and not once has he won a prize.

You remarked to him that the game was purposely rigged, pointing out how weak the claw was and estimating the plushies within were weighing a little over the maximum capacity something so weak would be able to grasp for more than two seconds. That, and also how the claw would never close properly, inching in barely and dropping what toy it had luckily managed to hold onto.

And that degrading sound of humiliation. A squeaky, robotic coquettish voice repeating itself 'Better luck next time!' over and over.

Dazai was not losing to a machine.

Your stomach grumbled with hunger, and it was becoming clear that you both were growing with unrest at this machine.

" You kids still going at that? "

An arm propped itself on top of the roof of the claw machine, you looked up to see a worker had made his way over to you both. Dazai, did not look up from the game.

" I tried to get him to stop ", you mumbled, looking away from him. You'd always get shy at people older than you. You weren't exactly timid, but you were raised to be respectful. " He wants to win it for me. " It sounded oddly romantic when you put it that way.

" Yeah? You sure he can do it? " The man laughed at the truth. " So you two are on a date? " He overstayed his welcome and you began to wonder if it was usual for employees to wedge themselves into customers business.

" Yeah. We are. " Dazai answered for you, slotting in more coins for yet another try.

" Here, move li'l man, I got this. " Shoving Dazai away by the hip, the white-haired man. Begrudgingly, Dazai said nothing.

And almost with no effort at all, the man easily got the claw to clasp around the exact seal plush you wanted.

He must have been watching you both for a while to know what you wanted.

Although you kept assuring Dazai you didn't need it, you couldn't help the way your eyes sparkled as the man handed it to you with a smug smile.

" Oh! Thank you, sir! Thank you! " You took it from his hand with joy, looking at the fat cushion with adoration. It was simply adorable! You bowed your head repeatedly in gratitude, though felt it was simply not enough.

You almost forgot about Dazai until your ears deafened with the sound of a loud bang and the crashing of glass.

On impulse, you dropped to your knees with your hands over your ears protectively, unsure as to what just happened. Peeking through your tightly shut eyes, you saw that you were the only one to have dropped down and everyone else was as normal as ever.

Before you were even able to question, you uncovered your ear to hear Dazai converse with the man.

" How sad, I guess when you're making minimum wage you figure out how to make your job interesting. " Dazai cocked his pistol like second nature, and behind the legs of the employee you were crouched behind, you peered between his legs up at Dazai with wide, lost eyes.

Looking down at you, Dazai looked pissed.

" Didn't mean to scare you. Get up, we're leaving. "

The employee and Dazai seemed to know each other. You figured by the way the older man was cool about the whole ordeal, almost like he'd done everything intentionally.

You shakily rose to your feet, at a loss for words, and stared with astonishment as Dazai began to gather multiple stuffed toys from the now-broken claw machine and hold them in his arms after tucking his pistol away.

" But- you- the- "

You tripped over your words and found yourself unable to comprehend what had just happened.

" Not gonna run way with your Clyde, Bonnie? " The employee joked, stepping out of your way.

You felt this to be illegal. Maybe because it was. You did not want to aid in a robbery even if the employee was not actively stopping you. Before you could even act, Dazai grabbed you by the arm and ran ahead of you, dragging you behind him as he laughed, your other arm held tightly around the seal plush, afraid to let it go.

" Holy shit, I was so cool! " He shrilled, your shorter legs barely able to keep up with his strides.

" Dah-zai! " You panted out as he kept on running.

Your adrenaline rang in your ears and the heart in your chest beat rapidly as the two of you ran, jumped, hopped over valleys, onto the stepping stones of the river and through the bushes of the dark forest.

" Y/N! "

Dazai yelled out to you. At this point, many plushies in his arms had fallen, yet your intertwined hands never once budged open.

" Whah! Wh-What! " You tried to match his energy, but you were far too exhausted.

Finally, you both collapsed into the cold grass surrounding by large oak trees.

The night sky looking down on wild star-crossed students.

" I think I.. think I love you, Y/N " He said between deep breaths, both your limbs spread out as you tuned to the sound of crickets, the birds and the rapid breathing of one another.

You didn't know what you were thinking, or if you were even thinking coherently, though..

" I think I love you too, 'samu. "

©yawarakaizai 2023 ﹒﹒ reblogs appreciated! requests open :3

#dazai x reader #pmzai #pm dazai x reader #port mafia dazai x reader #bsd x reader

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colourstreakgryffin · 8 months

Note

Yo sup! I love your blog soooooo much!!! Your writing style is great in my opinion ^^. I'd like a yandere! Rui (platonic) with sister reader. She actually puts effort into making "family bonds" and while she is nice to the other "family" members, she never questions Rui's methods and actions and genuinely loves him despite the behaviours he displays. He is really overprotective over her and he likes her attention. I'd love a scenario like that

Hmmm! Okaaay! I have never written for Rui yet so let’s try it out, I’m optimistic! Been getting a lot of Platonic Yanderes lately tbh!

Yandere! Platonic! KNY Lower Moon Scenarios: Ayaki Rui

Rui, on the inside, is a lonely miserable child that is so desperate to feel nearest and dearest love for once in his new life that he does truly cruel and twisted means to get what carves so badly

Rui finds weak, pathetic demons and transfers his strength to them so they become infused by blood, cementing them as his family for good. He has done this too many to count… but most go against him and end up fried

Rui figured you’d be the same. Another sister who dares to try run away from him and will become his next toasted spider but no. You’re nothing like the ones who came before you and he is very shocked at first

Rui, needing to know if this behaviour is genuine, begins to keep a close eye on you and is very pleased everytime with the answers. You’re sweet and considerate to the other family members he brings home, you never argue with his methods nor measures and you even ask him how he is

Rui suspected you’d be angry at him for his drastic punishments to your siblings and parents, but no. You never once go against him, you just smile and proclaim you understand if he must hurt you. But in that moment, he won’t lay a single thread on you, he gently pats your head and orders you return to your room

Rui becomes favouritistic towards you, to the point it becomes obvious to everybody in the house. You’re a real sister and he needs to keep you as his, at all causes. No demon slayer can take you away from him and no demon can try trick you into abandoning him, he grows a intense sense of overprotectiveness over you, his one true sibling

Rui never really gets the love he wants with this makeshift family he has forcibly created. You’re the rare diamond of the pebble pile, you give him love and affection with no fear nor opposing intent. He is very tense and tries to push back but once he realises you’re just kissing away the blood on his cheek, he lets you. His obsession over you growing in the process

His obsession over keeping you as his sister at all means. Must he kill all those other failures? None of them please him at all and none has true worth to him, Rui is tempted to just kill them all and keep you. Sure, two siblings aren’t necessarily a family but the risk of losing you, who actually loves him, over a family who doesn’t love him. He is going to pick you everytime

Rui eventually moves you out of the attic you were in with your surrogate siblings. You don’t deserve to be around those pieces of filth and he ends up giving you the room, right next to his. So he can come to you very easily and demand your affection without needing anybody else around

He wants you nearby 24/7, his one and only beloved. He wants you close so he knows you’re still here and you haven’t been twisted by anything else that can twist your views

Rui is very desperate for attention so he wants it from you all the time. He’ll just sit down before you as you read/other and wait for you to acknowledge him. He doesn’t get hissy nor attack like he usually would if you take a little while, since he knows you’ll apologise and give him hugs or kisses as extra sorries

Rui will never let you out of the house nor out of the forest. You can go outside when he is with you, just to make sure no slayer can hurt you nor a demon can intervene. It’s all from his anxiety that makes him step in and take those extra precautions to keep you with him

At all causes, he doesn’t care how big the bill is he must pay to have you

Rui holds your hand as often as he possibly can, loving the feel of your warmth. He summons you to stand besides him as he deals out punishment, he sends you to the safety of the household when he finds threats he must dispose off. He is loving, he is favouritistic, he is possessive, he is overprotective; he is all of the above and so much more

“My dear sister. Come here, I am exhausted from taking care of such useless humans, may I get some affection to ease all my tense nerves? I don’t suspect you’d refuse, here now. You know I don’t bite you”

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starcurtain · 26 days

Text

Interpreting Aventurine's Situation

(HSR 2.1 spoilers, watch out!) I think one of my favorite things to come out of Penacony is that the plot has left us with two completely opposite but equally valid interpretations of Aventurine's character. Is he a chosen child or just a "lucky" dog? The story leaves the door wide open for both possibilities.

Under a read more for space:

One Interpretation: Unfortunately for Him, Aventurine is Actually Blessed by an Aeon

If you work from the assumption that the Avgin mythology is correct, and Gaiathra Triclops is actually real (possibly a minor aeon of an unknown path or Ena, if you're on that train), then it's entirely possible, in game, that Aventurine has been blessed by a goddess to the point that he functionally cannot lose any gamble he makes. The odds are, literally, ever in his favor. In this interpretation, it doesn't matter how many gambles he takes with his life as the chip because he will always succeed. Despite how risky his behavior looks to everyone else, he's actually been perfectly safe all along.

But this is especially tragic because it means that, despite his mother's and sister's belief that his blessing will help everyone in their tribe, Aventurine's blessing has only ever extended to himself. He's not an omen of good fortune for his people. His luck was never going to protect his parents, sister, or friends. The goddess of the Avgin chose just one person and left the rest of her people to die.

This is where Aventurine's doubts stem from. He asks repeatedly: If the goddess can bless people, then why is life so miserable for the Avgin? Why do they have to live in pain, suffering, fear, and abject poverty if she could make them lucky enough to thrive? Why do people live if it's just going to be horrible?

(To be honest, I don't think this is out of line for the behavior we've seen of aeons so far. Even with aeons like Yaoshi, described as gentle and benevolent, with no intention to cause harm, their gifts often create horror in the human world.)

Aventurine's hands still tremble when he bets. He doesn't really believe he's blessed and still expects his own downfall at every turn--but it's never going to come because he is one of the few human beings in the entire universe with the direct favor of an aeon. Even Ratio, a skeptical, evidence-based genius, seems to think this might be the case.

(Choosing the Chinese because the text is a little clearer than the English, but basically: "This guy always has a way of dragging himself up out of the abyss, which can't be explained by just 'good luck.' Everyone is waiting to see him fail... Maybe even he's waiting too. But as time passed, I couldn't help but wonder: Will that day really come?")

This means Aventurine has lived a life of fear and uncertainty for nothing. He's spent his entire life awaiting a failure and painful death that will never come. He can't recognize the love of his own goddess nor trust in the faith of his own family.

The central question of this interpretation becomes "What does it mean for a single human to be favored by an aeon?" Can Aventurine really be called lucky after losing every single thing that has meaning in his life--all because an aeon chose him and only him? Should that be called a blessing or a curse?

The Opposite Interpretation: Aventurine Isn't Lucky At All, He's Just Skilled

On the other hand, the story leaves the door open to interpret Aventurine's situation in the complete opposite manner too. If, as the IPC seems to think, Gaiathra Triclops isn't real and Aventurine isn't blessed at all, then that means every single risk Aventurine has taken has actually been life-threatening--and that every single achievement he's reached has been by his own merits alone.

If Gaiathra's blessing isn't real, then Aventurine's life becomes one long self-run psyop: Everyone tells him he's blessed, he's lucky, he's favored--so young Kakavasha starts gambling early. Banking on this idea that he's favored, that he's chosen, he starts paying attention, he learns the tricks of the trade, figures out how to slip cards up his sleeves, how to word things just right so people will take his bait--he practices, practices, practices, until he can spot winning odds a mile away, until he can predict every possible outcome, until he's seen it all before.

In this situation, every single gamble he's ever made or will make carries a very, very real risk of failure--but Aventurine continues to succeed because he's just that quick-witted, just that aware, just that good at reading people. (He's been doing it for so much longer than everyone else he meets, after all.) He is the gambler extraordinaire, the archetypal charming rogue who can squirm his way out of any tight spot he gets into, time and time again.

He fears every gamble he makes because he has good reason to--there's literally never any guarantee that he will succeed, and he's constantly just flipping a coin to see what outcome he'll get. His personal skill and quick wit continue to turn things in his favor, but it's inevitable that one day he'll meet a situation that outwits him, a gamble where only a supernatural force could have saved him. And if you take this second interpretation, Gaiathra isn't real, so there won't be one.

This story choice would be interesting because it implies a greater degree of responsibility for everything that happens. If it's Aventurine's own quick wit and skill that continually save him, shouldn't he be able to help others with that skill? Shouldn't he have been able to help himself? How was he able to save himself from death but not from slavery? If it was skill, not luck, all along, then who do you blame for all the misery he still experienced?

This interpretation leads to greater questions of self-doubt and anxiety: Is it actual skill or just sheer dumb luck? Does Aventurine have what it takes mentally, psychologically, emotionally, and even physically to always come out on top by his own merits, or is he just the benefit of the wheel of fortune--statistically speaking, a one in a million chance still has to come through for that one, right? And when it all comes crumbling down eventually, will he have only himself to blame?

A Life of Uncertainty

The story doesn't actually give us any firm indication whether Gaiathra is real or not, or--even if she is real--if Aventurine is actually genuinely blessed. We just don't know, as players.

And Aventurine doesn't know either.

His faith in the goddess of the Avgin is shaky. He seems to want to believe and hold on to his people's mythology, but he has valid doubts that a goddess would choose to bless one person while leaving everyone else to suffer.

Is he the chosen of an aeon? And if he isn't chosen, then what meaning does any of it have? Is he just unbelievably skilled? Has he merely been lucky up to now? When will this blessing or luck or skill finally fail him?

Aventurine's most defining character trait is the extreme uncertainty that has plagued his whole life. What is true? What should he believe? Is he blessed or cursed? Does he have the talent to back up his massive boasts? Should others put any faith in him--should he put any faith in himself? Should he cling to his people's beliefs or reject the goddess that left him the sole survivor of a cultural extinction?

He can't trust anything. He can't trust his family's faith; he can't trust that he's actually a "chosen one" (because how could he chosen and his family be left to die?). He can't even trust that he's lucky because maybe it was just the years of suffering practice he put in. Then again, he can't trust in his own skill because maybe he's just blessed?

Which is it? Which is it? Which is it?

Nothing is certain. Nothing can be taken for granted. Nothing can be proven empirically true or false. There are no guarantees for Aventurine.

Every single thing in his life is a gamble, and none of that is his fault.

What an amazing character. What a great story. Thank you for the treat, Hoyo!

#aventurine #honkai star rail #hsr meta #aventurine meta #alternate character interpretations #gaiathra #damned if you do #damned if you don't #2.1 spoilers #penacony spoilers

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rivalry-trope-enjoyer · 9 months

Text

An Unexpected Confession (Leviathan x Reader)

Summary: Leviathan has confided in you for as long as you could remember. It's been an equivalent exchange for the most part, until the topic of relationships come up...

Tags: Romantic confession, mutual nerdy pining, fluff, a dating sim get's a little too real

"Ugh, this lead doesn't like any of the gifts I give her!" Leviathan complains, begrudgingly handing the controller to you.

"The Childhood Friend doesn't like sweets anymore, Levi. You'd know this if you actually paid attention during the dialogue," you chuckle teasingly, giving the character a gift that made the video game character swoon.

"Urghhh I'm a failure of a pro-gamer..." Leviathan groans in annoyance, folding his arms as he watch you continue to play the game.

You and Leviathan started playing a dating sim that he failed miserably going in blind the first time. He hated to admit it, but considering the experience you've had with dating sims was a little bit more than him, he reluctantly asked you for your assistance.

All of this struggle towards trying to woo the video game character made a part of Leviathan feel a little bit somber. As you silently cheer after successfully raising the character's love meter, you could see the demon's mood progressively sour.

"Levi, what's wrong?" you ask reluctantly. "We don't have to keep playing if you want."

Leviathan look away from you, trying his best to mask the rock you feel sinking through your chest. It was inexplainable, but you were the last person he would want to bring up such a problem to.

"N-Nothing! We can keep playing, it's okay, we're almost at the first good ending," he denies, looking at the monitor of the paused game.

You frown at his response, clearly not buying his sad attempt at covering up his emotions. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" you put the controller down and shift to your side to face him. "So what's on your mind, Levi?"

Leviathan takes a long pause, his eyes shifting around the room, anywhere but meeting yours. He was having an internal dilemma as he opened his mouth to speak, but words continued to fail. He wanted to run out of his room then and there, but where would he go? Outside?! He'd rather die...

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he takes a deep breath and decides to let out what has been bothering him little by little. "You might think I'm a loser, o-or maybe you already think I'm a loser... but I don't have any experience at all when it comes to romance," he sighs out, his hands shaking slightly as he spoke.

You listen to him intently, but your gaze makes Leviathan much more nervous than he started out.

"I-I just wonder when I'm gonna be able to have an experience like this outside of 2D, y'know?" he continues, his head feeling light, like he could pass out at any second.

You took a pause before you could say anything to Leviathan, just beginning his messy ramble that stemmed from a bad ending of a video game...

"Ah, forget it... Y/N I don't know when it'll ever be my turn. Maybe I'm just unlovable. Like the no-good loser I've always been meant to be," Leviathan was slowly slipping from a stable state of mind and started to spiral into madness.

"Levi don't say that," you quickly prompt before his thoughts would get any worse, your own nerves settling in watching him talk down to himself like this.

"B-But what if it's true?" he panics.

"It's not," you respond quickly.

He senses a sudden urgency in your voice and quickly tries to stop himself from talking. "I'm so sorry, Y/N... I didn't mean to start acting like this," Leviathan quickly doubles down.

"It's okay," you reassure. "Sometimes I wonder the same for myself," you speak while letting out a soft chuckle.

Leviathan looks up at you in curiosity. "Y-You? A normie like you has to worry about that?" he asks in a state of bewilderment.

"Well, yeah I guess everyone does at some point in their lives." As you spoke, Leviathan's panic tones down slightly. "But it's what you decide to do about that. If you really think you're doomed to be alone, then I guess there's no harm in trying, right?"

"H-Huh?! Like a confession? I don't think I can do that...," Leviathan's constant stammers descends into an incoherent language.

You encourage him with a sweet smile on your face, scooting to him closer on the couch, making him nearly melt from the action.

"Would it help to lead by example then?" you ask in an innocent voice.

"I-I guess..." Leviathan closes his eyes and nods rapidly.

"Well," you begin, putting on a brave smile for the anxious demon in front of you, despite you feeling embarrassed from what you were about to say.

"Leviathan, I like you! How about a date to the arcade sometime?" you follow up with a wink, watching the demon's face turn into one of perpetual shock.

"Woah Y/N that almost sounded real... I-If I didn't know any better I'd say you were actually confessing to me! Haha...," he blurts out in a fit of anxiety, the palms of his hands sweating as he spoke. He wonders how it came out of your mouth so easily, was it so impossible to think of dating someone like him?!

"Oh that was an actual confession," you smile mischievously. "I really do like you Levi!"

*Leviathan.exe has stopped working.*

You watch him freeze in his spot, his entire body shutting down as you spoke, wondering if he was so consumed in digital media that he confused the art of dating sims for reality.

"Now your turn," you tease, anticipating for Leviathan's response.

You would not be able to get a response from Leviathan for at least minutes as he continues to recover. He has an internal battle of whether or not to say something, his words possibly being utter crap, or to sit there and look even more like an idiot in your eyes.

"C-Can I have some time...?" Leviathan pleads, hiding his face in his hands, close to tears over this reciprocation.

You nod in agreement. "Sure, but in the dating sim there would be a time limit~"

"This isn't that!" he retorts quickly, his voice muffled behind his hands.

Each word comes out of the shy demon's mouth slowly, but surely, a coherent sentence of "I like you, too" came to fruition. Despite being broken up by complaints of frustration and nerves rising to his throat, the message came across to you clean and simple.

#leviathan x reader #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me leviathan #om! leviathan

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royalsweetteaa · 10 months

Text

Good Intent

Pairing: Dark!Ransom Drysdale x Homeless!Reader

Chapter 2

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

WARNING - This story contains the following: dark themes such as kidnapping, non-con/rape, obsessive behavior/possessive behavior/delusional behavior on Ransom’s part, Ransom being a creep in general, toxic relationship dynamic, Stockholm syndrome on reader’s part, abuse of power, classism, size kink, manipulation, angst, a bit of sad!Ransom, eventual fluff.

Ch. | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

Summary: Ransom is going through a life crisis where he’s miserable and he wants to change things up to make his daily life more interesting. The change involves taking the freedom of someone who he deems is beneath societal suitability.

Narrator’s POV

Y/N’s vision was blurry when she first blinked her eyes open. Being in a room she has never been in before didn’t phase her until she stood up from the bed, her eyes slowly adjusting. She rubbed her eyes before scanning her surroundings, seeing an open door leading to what looked like a bathroom and another one closed, she assumed the door leading outside to, - whatever’s out there.

She felt her heart sink when an eerie memory of the man who came by yesterday had his hand shoved against the lower part of her face, hushing her before it went dark. Have I been abducted? She wondered, while placing her hand to her chest to calm her rapidly beating heart. This was not how she imagined being abducted at all. She had thought of it a few times before after she started sleeping outside on the streets. Anything could happen when you weren’t in the safety of your own home, but she didn’t think it was like this - in a nice bedroom with lots of essential supplies. She assumed those were for her anyway.

She noticed her jacket was hanging on a chair by the corner, which led her to also notice her bra was missing. She knew for certain she didn’t do anything herself to remove it. Did he….

Y/N’s sweat turned cold. She was drugged and unconscious for several hours. What more could he have done to her that she wasn’t aware of?

She stopped thinking of anything else, instinctively grabbing her jacket and sprung to the closed door. To her surprise - it was open. She was now in a hallway, where the end seemed to reach what looked like a living room and a staircase going downwards beside it. Okay, so there are two floors… With quiet steps and her head low, she reached for the door leading outside from the second floor. She cursed when she wiggled the doorknob only for it to be locked. Y/N headed down the stairs instead, scanning the open space, and saw the main house entrance. When no one came into her view, she sprinted towards the door, yet again met with no luck. Not accepting failure - she wriggled the door handle aggressively, hoping somehow it would magically open.

“Someone’s up and early.” A tired voice came from the staircase. Y/N turned her head immediately, her eyes locking with Ransom’s - her abductor. She let out a squeal and proceeded to try and break the glass door with her elbow, only to be met by immense pain. The glass didn’t even get a scratch.

“Now, now, there’s no need for that.” He said annoyed. “The glass around this house is very resistant against minimal impact. You can throw a chair and the glass will most likely be able to take it. You better not test that theory though.” His last sentence hinted a threat.

Y/N looked up from her now wounded elbow and frighteningly stared at him. “What do you want from me? Why did you take me?”

Her eyes followed him to the kitchen which was only feet away from the main entrance. He opened the freezer and looked around through the containments.

“It’s simple really. You rejected me so I took you by force because you obviously didn’t know what my offer implied. You know - my offer to stay at my place? Remember that?” He chuckled as if he had just told her a joke. “How dense can a person be to reject someone like me? You’re homeless for fuck ‘sake! Didn’t know a person like you - the lowest member of society - could deny me. It’s insulting.”

Y/N’s POV

I didn’t know why his cruel words hurt me. He’s the one who’s crazy and took me against my will, yet guilt made its way through my mind.

“I-I’m sorry if I seemed ungrateful but I genuinely couldn’t take upon that offer. I reached out to the youth shelter a couple of days ago and was accepted a place to stay there. They offer programs for an education and I knew it was the right thing for me. But you had to take me away and it’s past 06:00 AM, isn’t it?…” looking out at the weather, I didn’t need an answer to my question. The bus must have driven away a long time ago.

My eyes were threatening to spill tears at this point. “W-Why did you kidnap me?…surely there must be a reason other than having your own ego stroked…are you planning on hurting me?”

I froze when he closed the fridge behind him and walked towards my way, with an item in his hand. His tall figure scared me. He could kill me with his bare hands if he wanted to. I was sure of it. When he stood close enough, he frowned. He must have noticed the way I flinched when he reached his hand out to me. He sighed as if he was growing tired of my paranoia. Could he really blame me?

“Your arm, - give it to me.” He ordered. I did as he wanted, still trying to make out what he had in his hand. He revealed a bag of ice. He turned my arm so that my elbow became accessible to him. I hissed in pain when he pressed it against the sore spot, and he hushed me gently. “Shhh, it’s okay. Luckily for you, you didn’t break anything - from the way I see it. The ice should help easing the pain.” He said, gesturing for you to hold the ice on your own. I did so and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Still, the way he would hush at me triggered something within me. He hushed me when he drugged me, and now he did it again. It was a reminder of a much darker side to him, no matter how nice he may act at times.

He stared into my eyes, his hand reaching out to my cheek and rubbed it with his thumb ever so softly. His eyes darted down to my lips. I was embarrassed by the silence and didn’t know where to look, but Ransom’s staring contest ended when he turned around and walked away. I was left confused as to why he caressed my face like that. What is going through that man’s mind?

He turned his head one last time to look at me and said, “You could really use some time to refresh yourself. You’ll find everything you need in the bathroom beside your bedroom.” He then headed to the other room beside the kitchen.

“But you didn’t answer any of my questions….” I mumbled.

2nd person POV

You were back in what you suppose you could call your new room, and you decided a shower would be nice to keep your mind off of everything.

Last time you took a shower was in one of those public showers by the beach near town. That was 6 days ago. You can’t remember the last time you used a bathroom like this though. It was modern and looked brand new, - it had probably never even been used. The shelves were stocked with shampoos, body cream, hairbrushes and much more.

For a moment you were impressed, but dread took over you as you realized this would be the bathroom you use until you somehow manage to get out of here. You had no idea when that would be or if that time would ever come.

Shaking your head, you decided to peel off your clothes and put them on the bed before grabbing a towel and putting it on one of those hangers close by the shower. When you pulled on the shower crane, you thought you heard rustling noises coming from outside but you shrugged it off, assuming it was the water system making them.

It didn’t take long before your whole body was being rinsed by the water coming from the shower head. You let the water soak your face as you closed your eyes, appreciating the peace it was currently giving you. You picked a random soap bar and rubbed it around your skin, the fragrance of coconut soon apparent to your smell. This was nice, you thought to yourself.

This peace would however soon be interrupted in the worst way possible.

The shower cabinet opened. You quickly turned and shrieked when you saw your abductor at full display, naked before you. You were about to duck down in an attempt to cover yourself, but Ransom grabbed you by the shoulder and held you still while closing the shower cabinet behind him.

“Mind if I join you, kitten?” He said with a voice that would have gotten you on your knees if the circumstance was different. He was no doubt very attractive with his face of a Disney prince, his body of a Greek god with his chiseled chest and - Oh. Oh no.

Looking down you saw the most enormous cock you had ever seen face to face, hard and leaking with pre-cum, twitching against his stomach. He was aroused. You were filled with terror as you realized his real intent of being here in the shower with you.

“N-No, get out, Hugh! You can’t be here right now!” You cried out, trying to push him away but he didn’t budge. His hands roamed around your curves, teasing your inner thighs as he was getting closer and closer to your most sensitive parts. His nose nuzzled against your neck, inhaling your scent.

“You smell so good, Y/N…such a good girl. Washing yourself and getting all cleaned up just for me.” He purred, his voice causing my whole body to shiver in delight. “Have you washed your lady parts yet?”

You frantically nodded, hoping to dear life that he wouldn’t go anything further than touching you sensually. “I-I have, I promise! Please don’t touch me! I don’t want this, Hugh, I really don’t!“ tears were spilling down cheeks as you clawed his arms away.

His whole body hunched over you, cornering you in the shower. “Aw, don’t cry, darling. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to put it in today. I just need to feel you, and help you become clean.” He soothed, wiping away your tears. “Fuck, your skin is so smooth. I bet your pussy lips will feel so good against my dick.”

He put some vanilla soap lotion onto his hand and used it to lube his cock. A deep exhale left his mouth as he briefly closed his eyes at the sensation. You looked to the side, still attempting to cover your breasts but you knew there was no point. He has already seen them before.

His other hand reached up to your clit and rubbed it. He had a mission of his own, which was to make this equally as pleasurable for you as to him. He wanted you to give in. Your hands held onto his shoulders at the sudden stimulation.

“Turn around.” He ordered. You looked up at him with pleading eyes.

“No, please..you said you weren’t gonna-,” “And I’m not going to put it in. Didn’t say I wouldn’t do anything at all now, did I?”

He grabbed you by the waist. “Now turn around and ass up - spread your legs, but not too wide.” Your trembling form listened to his command. You were naked and vulnerable. All spirit and hope had left you at this moment. Your fate was sealed ever since he pressed that handkerchief up your face, and it made you regret not leaving the area when you could have.

Now you were here, cornered like prey, about to be devoured by the predator. You were no match to the huge man with broad shoulders and muscles more visible now with his sweater off. Being drugged instead of conscious sounded like a better option to you now.

“Hugh, please…I don’t want to do whatever you’re planning to-!” “You either quit fucking whining or I’ll have to put a gag on you.”

Your mouth shut at his threat. His swollen tip nudged at your butt before seeping between your inner thighs. His cock glided upwards, giving your weeping pussy some friction and making your thighs squeeze together instinctively.

“Ahh fuck, there we go. Didn’t even have to tell you twice. You’re giving my cock the perfect fit between those delicious thighs.” He said amused. “I can feel your pussy throbbing, darling. M’gonna clean her nice with my dick, okay? You’re gonna love it.”

Ransom’s hips started to buck into you, repeating the same motion of dragging his cock out then slamming back in through your thighs. Those moments where he was fully slotted himself in would cause the mushroom tip of his cock to nudge at your clit, making you feel the stimulation that was building up to a potential orgasm. The pleasurable sensation made your knees weak, but thanks to Ransom’s hands, he was able to hold you up.

“That feel good, kitten? Does my cock feel good against your pussy?” You were letting out restrained moans, but you couldn’t hold it any longer as he snaked his hand to your clit again, rubbing the sensitive nub. “Oh, the way you’re moaning, - I just know I’m touching the right spots. Poor pussy hasn’t gotten off in a while, has it? Makes me so fucking hard knowing I’m the first to touch you for a long time…bet you’re fucking tight.”

He stopped pulling all the way out and kept a repeating pace of having his cock constantly dragging through your pussy lips. It made it even more difficult for you to prevent from reaching your climax, which was Ransom’s full intent.

“C’mon, I know you’re close…let go, kitten. Cum for me.”

“I-I don’t wanna, please don’t make me…” you whined to no avail.

“Then I guess I’ll just cum without you….but I doubt you have any resistance left to deny yourself like that.”

He quickened the pace, this time moving one hand to your stomach and closing the gap between your bodies. It was as though he didn’t want to risk you moving away from him when you were both chasing your highs.

“Fuck, ‘m,gonna cum…feels too fuckin’ good.” He moaned, his hot breath tickling your neck. “I’m gonna smear my cum all over your wet cunt. Claim you as mine…”

He was caught off guard when he felt you grinding your hips against his cock, chasing your orgasm with him. It made him grin wickedly. He has you where he wants you.

“o-oh god,” you moaned. “ I’m-,”

“Aaah ffuckk, I’m cumming!” Ransom rasped, shooting his first spurts of his seed onto the shower wall before aiming his cock upwards to smear what was left onto your pussy. His seed blended well with your creamy wetness.

The both of you held still onto each other as you came down from your highs, waiting till your breaths became regulated.

“That was fucking amazing..” Ransom finally said, and gave your shoulder a kiss before removing his softening cock away from you.

He took the shower head and properly rinsed the soap from his cock before turning to you. With his arms wrapped around you, he held the shower head between your thighs. “Spread your legs for me, kitten.” You did as he said, letting out sharp breaths from the way the water steamed on your overly stimulated nub. He hummed, pleased at what he had done to you. “You’re sensitive now, hm? Fucking adorable the way you squirm.” He then turned the crane off and let you go carefully. You remained still with your hands on the shower wall, catching your breath.

He left the shower cabinet before you, handing you your towel which you reluctantly grabbed. You were still experiencing aftershocks from your orgasm, not being able to control the way you trembled. Not only that, but you were in utter shock. A part of you still thought this was a a nightmare, but you knew it wasn’t as much as you wanted to pretend it was.

After standing still for a while, you took a step out of the shower and walked towards the bedroom where Ransom had gone off to. All you wanted to do was to gather your clothes and get the hell away from him.

“W-where are my clothes?” You asked, looking around the bedroom. Your sight was blurred by new tears welling up in your eyelids, making it harder to see.

“Oh, I threw them out in the trash before joining you in the shower. They looked overused and had holes anyway, so I ordered a new set of clothes for you online but its estimated arrival isn’t until tomorrow morning. You can wear my sweater in the meantime.” He said, and pointed to his blue sweater he had placed on the bed.

He must have prepared all of this before entering the bathroom and molesting you.

You held your towel tightly around your body and sat down on the bed. There was only a sweater. No trousers, no underwear, no undergarments at all. Tears were once again spilling down your already wet cheeks. You suspect you’ll be crying a lot for a long time.

“Tsk, tsk, why are you still crying? I know it’s not much but it’s not like I have any spare women’s underwear in my wardrobe.” He said, and put on his trousers.

“You are horrible, Hugh…y-you touched me even when I said no several times. You…..sexually assaulted me. How can I not be crying?” You said and sniffled. Your cheeks were soaked with tears, feeling terrible from what went down only minutes earlier. It made you even more furious that the guy showed no remorse for assaulting you.

Ransom shook his head, putting on the last remaining item of clothes being his socks. “You need to get it together, Y/N. That….that wasn’t what it was. I know you enjoyed it just as much, - why else would you get wet? You were grinding on my dick too, - don’t try to deny it.”

Shame washed over you like a wave. Your body might have enjoyed it, but your mind didn’t in the slightest. You knew he was twisting it but it made you question yourself. Was your body that detached from your mind? Why was it craving to be touched by him when you didn’t want to? You didn’t understand.

“You should get used to it, you know. I’m keeping you for a long time and you’re gonna learn to like it. I can give everything to you, you just need to ask. No more sleeping on the streets, no more relying on shitty shelters. All you need is to depend on me.” He said, caressing her shoulder.

“So, this is it? You just keep me here, give me nice things and force yourself on me? Like some twisted sugar daddy and sugar baby relationship?”

Ransom chuckled at that. “That’s a fun way of simplifying it. But let’s make one thing straight, - it’s not rape if you enjoy it, kitten. Your pretty little head is confused and you don’t know what you want yet but your body makes it clear.”

You were going to protest but he continued as he closed the gap between the two of you. “Our bodies always gives out signals when it wants something, no? Your stomach rumbles when it wants food, the body goes tired and numb when it needs rest, and lastly…” he leaned into your ear, “- your pussy gets wet and creamy when it needs a cock to stuff you full of cum, and I’m more than happy to provide you with that any time.” He whispered against your skin and pulled away after to take a good look at you. “You should listen to what your body wants, or else you might go crazy.”

Your face became flushed, a sense of dizziness overtaking you. “That’s not true, you’re just making things up! Y-You’re trying to justify a crime, Hugh-!”

Ransom captured your lips so suddenly, making your eyes go wide. He pressed the back of your head with his hand so he could deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue in your mouth. He smiled through the kiss as the sound of a moan managed to slip out of you.

“Call me Ransom. It’s my middle name, and I much more prefer you calling me that.” His eyes softened but maintained his signature smirk.

“Get yourself dressed. You’ll find me in the living room. I expect you to be there in less than 15 minutes.”

Wearing the sweater that reached down to over your knees, you made your way to the living room with quiet steps. You had dried your hair with the hairdryer, your hair smelling like lavender. You used a strawberry body lotion after drying your skin.

You liked the smell, and you much more preferred to get rid of that strong firewood mixed with cinnamon scent that supposedly came from Ransom’s cologne. You didn’t want to have any traces of him on your body. His lingering smell, his bruising touches - it made you sick.

From where you stood you could hear a TV was on, and you hoped for dear life Ransom wasn’t planning a movie night. You would not play into his games of pretending like any of this was normal. You still had a lot of questions left unanswered too.

Ransom came into view, already settled comfortably on the couch. He was munching on some cookies while looking at his phone, not paying any attention to the TV right in front of him. You cursed under your breath when your halting step made a creaking sound. Of course it had to do that. Ransom’s head turned to the sound, face going smug when he saw you. He didn’t take his eyes off you while you made your way towards him.

Ransom’s POV

Y/N’s appearance alone brightened my mood instantly. I had minutes earlier gotten a message from one of my latest hook ups, asking if I could come over for ‘a night of a lifetime’. I rolled my eyes at that, remembering how the bitch would moan exaggeratedly whenever I barely even touched her. It annoyed me, but she made up for her fake tits and ass. Despite that, I had no interest in ever hooking up with her again, and proceeded to block her number. I had firmly set up a rule for myself that my hook up days were over.

After all, my new source of entertainment was in my house and wearing my sweater. She was mine to explore this new life style with, and to claim as mine. I knew she was ‘hesitant’ and shy at the moment, but I knew I would make her worship me with my entire being eventually. As she should. She would soon realize the honor of being a Drysdale’s charity case. -

I couldn’t help but frown when I saw her sitting on the other side of the couch, the furthest one could sit from where I was sitting. She could tell by my face expression that I found an issue with her placement.

“Why are you sitting all over there? Still scared of me?” I asked tauntingly.

She seemed to ponder over her response, unsure of what to say. “I guess you could say I am, yeah. I mean, I still don’t know why I’m here and you won’t tell me…- you don’t tell me anything.” She concluded. Her voice was raspy, probably from all the crying earlier.

I looked over at the TV to have a brief distraction. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell her everything as it was. It could effect her adapting process if she knew my real intentions. I had told her that all I wanted was her to rely on me, but I didn’t feel it was necessary to admit she was here to fulfill my thirst of having a little plaything to fill the void of loneliness I had succumbed to.

“Want one?” I took out a cookie from the bag and reached it out to her. She shook her head and pulled a pillow to her chest, perhaps out of trying to find comfort. My face turned bitter. Not only was she denying me again, but she was stubborn. I was again irritated that she had the audacity to act like this when I pulled her away from a hell of a life.

“I don’t want anything from you, Ransom. I don’t understand why you picked me for this forced arrangement…you hardly even know me and I don’t know anything about you either. All I want is to be free.”

Ah yes, freedom. As if her freedom provided her anything like I have. What a foolish woman.

I decided then that it would be better to go a little harsh on her, by crushing the little confidence she may have in her. I was always good at that.

“There’s really not much to it other than the fact that I knew no one would be looking for you. I have looked for someone like you to do whatever I please with and you’re perfect. You’re homeless, your family doesn’t love nor care about you, no one fucking cares if you disappear the next day. Worst case is that the shelter you reached out to sends a missing person report because you never turned up, but that’s all hope you’ve got, Y/N. And no one will suspect you’re here of all places. I know for a fact there are no cameras in that street you stayed at and even if someone managed to catch a fucking glimpse of me taking you, you wouldn’t stand a chance against me and my lawyers.”

Y/N was in awe through most of my talk. I stood up from the couch and made my way over to her. “But think of it this way - I actually care about you, Y/N. Like I said earlier, you can get just about anything from me, because unlike you, I have wealth. I am a someone in this unfair world. You on the other hand are at the bottom - in other words, nothing. But I can change that. You need me. Don’t you understand?” I knelt in front of her, staring into her eyes with a stern look. “You have nothing compared to the kind of power I have, so you might as well give up any hope you have left in you. -“ and give into me.

Her lips wobbled, seemingly out of words. There was a long and torturing silence between us, - the two of us were practically holding our breaths until one of us would speak. I longed after a response, for her to tell me I was right and that she was mine. That she is nothing without me. God, if not now I would do everything in my power to break her down until she begged me to fuck her while she praised me at the bottom of my feet. I wanted to caress her in my lap while she begged me to take good care of her - to never let her go. Because without me, she’s fucking done for. It’s nothing but the truth.

But of course, her ungrateful ass would not allow herself to admit it yet. Instead, she looked up with sadness all over face. “I’m going back to my room.” She said quietly.

Y/N rose up, but I grabbed her wrist and pushed her back on the sofa. “No, you fucking won’t. You’re gonna learn to fucking like it here and stop being so stubborn.” I grabbed her jaw and licked a long stripe around her neck before climbing onto the sofa with her beneath me. I kissed her roughly, my hand reaching under the sweater where I found her bare pussy. She was dripping.

She was crying again, and I whispered sweet nothings into her ear to comfort her.

“Darling Y/N, it’s okay, I’m only trying to care for you.”

“What I said was nothing but the harsh reality, can’t you see I have good intent?”

“I’ll give you what you need, don’t worry your pretty little head.”

I unzipped my trousers and let them slide down, my cock was already rock hard from the sight before me. She looked so vulnerable in my sweater, depending on it to cover herself but she knew it was useless to hide from me. She leaned to the side as means of moving away from me but I wouldn’t let her.

“It’s okay, darling, c’mere and present yourself to me. If you’d let me I could make you feel so good. Don’t you want that?”

I stroked her leg before leaning my body against hers. My cock smeared precum on her tummy, the contact making her yelp in surprise. God, she was such a sweet little thing.

We made out for a while as I grinded my body against hers, her legs in the air as I nestled myself between them. We were a perfect fit, our bodies complimented each other so well. She seemed to submit to me soon enough, imitating the same motion of rubbing her pussy against me. I had promised not to fuck her tight little hole yet, and I could live with that. There were so many things I could do instead to rile her up into wanting more. Still, it didn’t hurt to ask. Maybe I had blinded her enough with lust to make her want me inside.

“Do you want me to fuck you, kitten? Hm? Want me to split you open and make a mess for me?” I stopped my movements and waited for her to answer.

She shook her head and whispered a ‘please no’. I could tell she was aroused. The stained couch of her juice beneath us confirmed as much, but I digress. I sighed and removed myself from her. She looked surprised, almost distraught but I ignored it. Instead, I moved myself further away till my face met upon her pussy.

“Alright, kitten. What I’m gonna do instead is to eat your pussy out. Need to taste your creamy juices or it’ll go to waste.” I said before diving in. I explored her, lapping my tongue to her leaking hole before nearing her clit. Her whole body jolted and she let out a breathless moan while her hands gripped onto my head, tangling her fingers into my hair. She wasn’t pushing me away but rather the opposite - she was pulling me in to go further. Good.

My tongue flickered around her folds, salvaging her sweet taste. A familiar scent made its way to my noise and I grinned smugly. “My cock did a good job cleaning you. Smells like vanilla down here.” I snickered.

Y/N mewled, letting out unfiltered noises that went straight down to my dick. My hand reached out to her tit and I squeezed it. I loved how soft they were and how they fit into my hands perfectly. She was exceptional in every aspect.

I was never letting her go from my grasp.

Hearts & Reblogs are very appreciated! <3

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x female reader #dark ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale x reader #chris evans fanfiction #ransom drysdale x y/n

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writing-whump · 2 months

Note

Um, hello. ^^ Anonymous Matthew's fangirl here 😅 Could we know something more about his past, and Marcella maybe? Flashback or not. With some dose of whump, of course. 🐺

Pretty please. ^^

Thank you for the request, nonny! I'm honoured that Matthew has a fan 🥰 love the wolf emoji there 🐺😊💙.

Hopeless

Matthew was lying on the sidewalk, dirt and small stones digging into his right cheek. His vision went dark for second and it was still hazy. Where did all the other wolves go? There was a group of them just a minute ago...

"Oi. You aren't dead, are you? Wake up."

The voice was unfamiliar, rough, annoyed. Matthew didn't feel inspired to give it an answer.

"They are gone. You are safe. Hey. Get up."

Someone must have helped chase the others away, when he fell to the ground and blacked out. But shouldn't a savior sound more friendly? Who was this guy?

When Matthew scrunched his eyes, he could see a mop of curly unruly blond hair and weirdly light brown eyes that almost looked yellow in the blinding sunlight.

"Mhhhhgr?" Matthew blinked, trying to lift himself on his arms, but shooting lighting pain at the lower part of his back left him breathless and nosediving back to the ground. Christ, that hurt. Who hit him in the back like that? Good sportsmanship indeed.

"Where's your shadow, eh? Heal yourself up. Seriously." Hector sounded even more annoyed now, like he had to deal with a problem he really didn't like.

Matthew tried very very feebly to call his shadow, but it jolted away from his grasp. He wasn't sure if it was humiliated, scared to be caught in such a state or just disobeying when he least needed it. But his back was hurting too much and his ears were ringing enough that he really didn't have the energy to fight for control and get more nauseous and discerned than he was.

"What a pathetic thing you are. And you are my brother's second? Tsch."

Matthew closed his eyes, feeling Hector moving away. Maybe he would finally leave him alone to black out and feel miserable in peace.

Then he felt his hands on his shoulders, going under him and hoisting him up.

Matthew groaned at the movement and the accompanying pain. "You want to kill me?"

"Tsk. If I wanted that, I wouldn't have bothered helping."

Hector helped him? That was entirely impossible. Matthew didn't even bother checking. Isaiah's mean accusatory and barky little brother that had nothing nice to say about him? Matthew didn't know what exactly the issue was, but someone who wasn't willing to give Isaiah even a chance, who could believe he could do anything with bad intentions...

Like okay, Isaiah was mysterious and a martyr and annoyingly guilty and insecure about every little thing. But that only made Matthew think the ones who got the chance to know him, really know him, should defend him all the more. Even from himself.

In that regard, Hector was a complete failure Matthew didn't want to bother with. And he suspected the feelings were mutual.

But here they were, Hector throwing Matthew's arms around his neck and dragging him to the nearest bench.

"Hey. Dead-head. Should I call a taxi? Can you get back on your own?" Still sounding way too disgusted for Matthew's tastes. Though it was actually kinda helpful of him? Kinda.

Matthew slumped against the bench, teeth gritted from pain. His back was seriously messed up. His eyes were watering just from the effort to sit, not to mention move and his shadow wasn't listening, when he needed it and...

And he really just wanted Isaiah.

"Can you...could you call Isaiah?" Matthew said between wheezing breaths. He tried leaning over his knees, but it made him more light-headed. Nausea was climbing up his spine, cold sweat washing over him in waves.

"Please." Yeah. Matthew felt utterly too pathetic to care today.

Hector's head went back a little at the word. He grumbled something, scrolling up and down through his contacts. "I...don't have his number. You got a phone on you."

Matthew shook his head, pressing his lips together. Cold heaviness was pooling in his stomach and he knew that would be trying to climb out soon. He didn't carry his phone on his runs.

The wolves attacked him out of nowhere. Three against one. Isaiah would understand. He wasn't so sure Hector would.

The blond in question clicked his tongue. "Ugh. Fine. I'll call a taxi and take you home, how about that."

Matthew didn't comment at what it showed, that Hector knew Isaiah's address, been invited there in need, but didn't bother to save his phone number. Utterly insufferable, this guy.

Hector all but insulted the taxi driver into coming, then sat down next to Matthew, his leg jumping nervously.

Matthew closed his eyes, taking slow careful breaths through his nose. His back was burning steadily, and he was too warm and his hands were shaking. Damn it all.

The car parked sharply on the sidewalk. Hector opened the door, said something to the driver, then returned for Matthew.

"Young man, you aren't going to be sick are you?" The taxi driver asked from inside as Hector circled his arms around Matthew's upper back again, helping him hobble to the car.

"What if I do?" Matthew wanted to sound resentful and rebellious, but the sentence came out more like a whisper.

"Well, the taxi will survive," Hector snarled at the driver who was eying them both in the rear view mirror. He winced and looked away quickly at the scary look on Hector's face.

Matthew slumped against the window, but the more he was sitting the more his back muscles trembled. The pain was getting worse by the moving, and the nausea was spiking. He couldn't imagine how he was supposed to survive when the car started to move.

And as he expected, the car moved and Matthew couldn't suppress a quiet groan. His hands balled into fists, his nails digging into his skin, but it wasn't helping, he was still seeing stars in front of his eyes.

There was something warm and solid, suddenly pressing against his side. Hector's muscular arm around his neck again, pushing Matthew to lean against him, trying to fix him in the spot against the jostling of the car.

Matthew moaned quietly, but it did actually help - he wasn't moving so much, pressed against Hector, face against the crook of his neck. The red wolf squeezed his eyes shut, not having the capacity to think about it.

The car ride was a blur. Matthew stayed like that, eyes squeezed shut, waves of warmth coursing through him, fighting the nausea as it climbed and sank. Hector said nothing, all solid like a statue under Matthew. He must have held himself very tense and strong to fight against the rocking off the car.

Matthew's mind circled and wondered, the darkness enveloping him. The last time he fought three wolves...Matthew was no stranger to being outnumbered. As a teenager, the wolves in his pack had to gang up on him, to suppress his shadow. It was too big, too wild, too out of control. Add that to Matthew's volatile puberty hormones and temper, he had to be beaten and taken control of quite often.

Usually making a giant scene in the process. A scene his mother would angrily scoff over, turning her back. Matthew wasn't worth her time.

Scene enough that his sisters and younger siblings were too wary and horrified to approach him.

Since going to the boarding school, he could only spend his summers at home. And with the scenes he made, he spend most of the time behind their house at the back of the backyard. Outside. Alone.

"Why are you so sad?"

Matthew lifted his head from his crossed hands, hugging his knees. The little girl with strawberry red hair and big blue eyes stared back at him. A little witch. The youngest of his sisters, whole 10 years younger than him. The only witch, the long awaited one by his mother.

Marcella.

Matthew looked at her steadily. "I'm not sad," he grumbled.

"You look sad though." She crouched down, mimicking his pose by hugging her knees. She was only six years old. "Is it because you are alone?"

"I don't mind being alone," he said, baring his teeth. His mother would surely not be pleased that he talked to the witchling. They were very protective of her.

Marcella tilted her head to the side. "You don't look like you don't mind."

Matthew lowered his gaze. "They are all scared of me. Cowards." He said sulkingly, voice breaking a little at the end.

Marcella watched him curiously. "I'm not scared. Can I stay with you?"

Matthew let out a sigh, wiggling closer against the warmth and solidness of a human body beside him...when the car stopped. The sheer lack of the motion he almost got used to jolted him awake, his stomach doing somersaults immediately.

Matthew gagged, pressing his hand against his mouth as his body lurched forward. The movement had spikes of burning needles digging into his back and he moaned.

Hector reached over him, opening the door. The gust of fresh air helped a little, Matthew following the scent as he fought against the next gag. He succeeded in suppressing the wave of slimy coldness, gulping it down resolutely. His chest hitched and his stomach rolled in protest, but he managed.

"Okay. We are here, we are here. You made it." Hector got out through the other side, circling around to crouch next to Matthew, planting a hand on his biceps. "You gonna be okay?"

"Y-...grrr...you are asking me that?" Matthew grumbled, slightly amused. Hector made for a good distraction. Matthew automatically reached for his arm to help himself up and Hector had enough brain and observation skills to take Matthew's weight himself.

"You owe me for the ride," Hector complained with no heat in his tone. Matthew murmed something in return, letting Hector support him. Everything was coming in and out of focus. Maybe for the best he kept his eyes closed.

Matthew didn't even realized when they reached their floor on the elevator, incredibly proud of himself for not throwing up the whole time. He kept his eyes shut. Hector, fortunately, didn't complain.

Hector rang the bell, the familiar sound vibrating through the air on the next side.

Isaiah opened the door. "Matt-"

Matthew all but threw himself at Isaiah, utter relief giving him enough energy to propell himself forward. The black haired wolf caught him despite the surprise, and Matthew gratefully slumped against him. "Oh, dear God, I'm home."

Isaiah splattered for air under the weight. "Matt, what happened?"

"Geez, he is acting like I was no help," Hector grunted, frozen in the doorway at the sight.

"And you were?" Isaiah said sceptically.

Hector scoffed. "Seriously. Found him getting his ass kicked by a bunch of wolves. Chased them away but he ain't healing, so-"

"That's alright," Isaiah jumped in. "Thank you for bringing him." Isaiah didn't close the door, but Matthew still felt like Hector just got dismissed as the oldest wolf retreated back from the hall into the living roon, Matthew still in his arms. "Where are you hurt?"

Matthew groaned against the back of his throat. "Mmy back. Feels like someone stabbed me there."

He could feel Isaiah's hands running over his back as if to check for bleeding cuts, but the skin was intact. It was something deeper, like a pulled muscle. But why did it hurt like that?

Isaiah helped Matthew to lie down on his stomach, helping him out of his sweat-soaked shirt. "Okay. You are going to be alright, bud. Deep breaths. Is your shadow hurt?"

Matthew hid his face between his arms, finally relaxing at the stable surface. When the tension left, the nausea trickled right back in and he hissed in pain.

"I-Isaiah? I'm...ugh-" Matthew gulped, loudly, feeling his stomach spasming. He tried lifting himself up and moaned, his back feeling like he got a slash with a sword at the movement. "Ifeelsick."

Isaiah jumped into action, fetching a mixing bowl from the kitchen and and springing back to Matthew's side. "Okay, I got you. Shhhh. Don't move."

Matthew shifted to the edge of the sofa, moaning as his cheeks bulged out. How was he supposed to not move? His stomach didn't care his back was hurting like a bitch, it was spasming and making him lurch. The movement was absolutely involuntary at this point.

Isaiah put the large mixing bowl down on the floor, then took Matthew's face gently in his hands. His palm against Matthew's forehead and the other on his cheek felt heavenly cold as Isaiah supported the weight of Matthew's head.

Matthew was leaning over the edge just enough to let out a trick of thick spit into the bowl. He moaned again, his stomach cramping as it send the next wave of chunky sick up his throat with a load burp.

Isaiah diligently held his face in his hands as the puke spilled from Matthew's open mouth. "Shhhhh. You are alright. Just breathe. It will be over in a minute."

Matthew's eyes were watering from the strain and pressure at his neck, connected to the burning nerve endings of his back. But it was thousand times better as to strain there without Isaiah's support.

Matthew burped up a second gush of puke, whole body jerking in the process. He groaned, tears running down his cheeks and into Isaiah's fingers.

The spasms of vomit died down slowly, with Matthew twitching and groaning pitifully for another good minute. Isaiah held his cheek, stroking his hair with the hand, trying to shush him.

Matthew completely gave up on any emberassment or pretense, raw and tired from the pain, afraid of more of it coming. He was so glad Isaiah was there he would have cried if he wasn't already.

Matthew was left breathing harshly against the sofa's leather, now shivering from the cold that also jolted his back and hurt. Everything hurt, everything was too much and his shadow wasn't listening...

"Hey. Shhhhh. You are okay. You are home, you are safe. You will get through this. I'm right here. Everything will be fine."

Isaiah's confidence broke Matthew's spiral. Matthew strained to look up at him, turning his head to the side.

Isaiah got rid of the bowl, bringing it back cleaned out, then sat down beside him. Matthew didn't protest against being pulled into Isaiah's lap like a child.

Isaiah said nothing about the tears, only stroking his sweaty hair and his scalp gently. His utter calm was making Matthew believe everything was indeed going to be fine. He relaxed, starting to feel sleepy. Just the occasional shiver jolted him awake.

Isaiah pressed his lips together and pulled a blanket neatly folded at the foot of the sofa over Matthew's naked back. "Just sleep. Everything will go back to normal once you wake up."

Isaiah was sure once Matthew calmed down, he would be able to call upon his shadow and heal himself. Isaiah never had any doubts Matthew could do it. He never doubted Matthew could do anything.

Matthew let his eyes fall closed with the gravity, wondering at what point Hector's presence disappeared from the apartment.

He must have been in a hurry, leaving the door open.

#sickfic #emeto #whump writing #my writing #werewolf wip #there you go!#Matt

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artsycervidae · 7 months

Text

Day 3: Path

Gyutaro Shabana from Demon Slayer

Misogyny and violence abound. I appreciate a slimy Gyu

The night air was noxious to him. Gyutaro's nails raked over his collarbone with an absent-minded repetition as he seethed and simmered. It was Daki's fault that he was miserable, as usual. He loved his sister to pieces, but she'd fucked him over to an unforgivable degree.

There was only one way to get rid of this feeling, and he didn't want to be around Daki. So he took for the path, outside the lights and noise of the entertainment district. Let her deal with things at home herself, if she thought she was so competent. And despite the intention to hunt, he found himself too far in the silence, too pissed NOT to mope and feel sorry for himself.

He was the one who dealt the killing blow on the hashira that had infiltrated their cover. He had cut the human down to mincemeat before it could even process that Daki's beheading did nothing. Gyutaro had enacted his revenge with vicious speed, and Daki had been so grateful. The blubbering, sobbing girl clung at his legs like a child as she wailed her failures at him, insisting she had tried her HARDEST and even her BEST wasn't enough. As usual, he cooed and petted her hair, reminding her that she could only do so much after all. He would never raise a hand against her, because it wasn't her fault that she was so stupid and weak sometimes.

The thanks he received was to be erased from his own accomplishment. Muzan himself had arrived. He wasn't pleased, but he was certainly interested in the siblings whose only saving grace in death was having been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Until then, they had been brats benefiting from the sympathy of a more competent demon. Daki could have woken Gyutaro, let him bask in the bloodcurdling fear and awe that Muzan's venomous stare deigned to offer. She could have even just told Muzan the truth.

But she didn't. The reminder of her treachery made his sharp teeth sheath into his lips. She was swept away by her own emotions, eager as a bitch to wag her stupid ass and make herself look good. She said it worked.

No shit it worked, Gyutaro had snarled at her: she groveled like a whore, and so there was no doubt in his mind that Muzan only viewed them as such. Entertaining. Wasn't she supposed to be classy? Wasn't she one of the most talented girls in this rotting district?

She cried. She called him a hypocrite. And called him ugly. Among various other things.

Gyutaro had to remove himself from the premises, lest he lose his nerve and fuck up everything, like Daki might have in his position. He had to be better than her, as the older brother. She couldn't help being stupid, easy, trusting, and of so low-self value that she had to lie and cheat for any substitute for respect. All she had was her beauty, and though that alone unlocked potential in this line of work, it wasn't enough for her. She was squandering a learning opportunity and getting high and mighty, as though she were any better than him. As though she would be anything but a feeble, dead human without him.

He hated this. He hated being angry at her, he hated feeling pathetic, but he hated even more that she made him feel angry and pathetic. Probably because she was so unhappy being as stupid as she was that she just couldn't help lashing out sometimes.

"It's not fair!"

Gyutaro had been still, but his ear pricked at the far-off raised voice. A second person was trying to shush them. Too late.

Gyutaro moved quicker than the human eye could possibly track him; he may as well have been a trick of shadow or a breeze. He had been upwind of them, but now that he knew the direction of his targets, he could smell two thundering hearts and the reak of fear already. The idea that not one but two humans could have simply walked into his territory irritated him. His nails ripped the skin from the side of his throat. Scratch, scratch scratch.

Even from within the dense trees on a cloudy night, he could still see them, clear as glass. A man and a woman, standing in the middle of the path. So stupid. They were making a scene out in the open, at night, no less! Hadn't they ever traveled before? Had they never heeded the bedtime stories of demons pouring out from the mountains and forests at night to feast on the weak?

"Let's just go," the woman, kneeling on the ground, beseeched. To say she was kneeling wasn't quite accurate, and it took Gyutaro a moment to realize the garments draped over her shoulders were sizes too big. She was tiny-- not like a child, but like someone who was shrinking away into nothing, an optical illusion of something whirling around the drain.

The man was glaring at the ground with tears clenched as hard as his jaw. Opposite to her, he stood tall and broad as a wall, facing Gyutaro's direction as though to block this path from the district. His fists sank by his sides and trembled. Both of them were angry, but the man's body temperature spiked with a particular, familiar tang. "You mean run away?"

The shrinking woman shrank more. Now she was kneeling. "Why not?" she cried softly, and Gyutaro also realized the wheezing was her typical volume. The holler from earlier must have been a result of all the rage she could muster. "You don't deserve this. I don't deserve this!" With every retort, she deflated, as if losing her power. And she was. Gyutaro could smell their sweat, breaths, organs, and saliva. The girl was poisoned-- maybe she would survive it, but maybe not, especially if she went untreated for a day more. A current thrilled his nerves alive and he shot a grin to the scythes in his fists. Poison, he thought, would be something Daki hadn't considered.

He imagined briefly the next time Daki tried to take credit for his kill. How all Gyutaro would have to do is ask the dose she used for that hashira corpse there, and smile as she floundered. Then he would pat her head, like the good sport he was. She couldn't lie her way out of that one.

"That's how you would repay them," the man sounded hollow. "When they took us in, they gave us what little they had. And you refuse to do even this, for us, to help earn money."

"No, that's not what this is," she argued, and the sharp breath she drew was rattling. "He's hurt you too... if I'm here, you still have to go back to them. She won't stop him from--"

"If you're here," he interrupted, changing tactics abruptly, "then you can make money. And maybe... maybe someone good will find you."

The familiar taste of his panic struck home, and Gyutaro was aloft with pleasure. It was guilt, the kind that any decent swordsman would feel upon stumbling across Gyutaro midmeal. The helplessness of knowing someone's life lay on the line, and you couldn't do shit about it.

"I don't want--"

"And they'll take care of you!" the man urged, talking over her now. His palms were sweating. "You're such a beautiful woman--"

"Brother--" her lower lip wobbled as he continued, as if he hadn't heard her.

"You have a kind heart, Ayame. I know the girls will take care of you," his voice hitched and his mouth trembled. "And you'll get better. Someone will--"

Gyutaro had taken advantage of the spat to move in a wobbly pattern, mimicking the wind through the leaves and the shivering of branches. It would have been more efficient to circle behind the man, cutting off their escape and slicing them both into pieces. His need for relief had outweighed his sense-- his raw skin stung against the rush of wind as he surged forward and sank both his blades into her torso.

Killing had become something of an art to him. Daki had her own hobbies-- theater, dancing, music-making, tea-steeping-- girly things. It had a place in her work. His interests were more refined and necessary in the real world, where humans were just meat.

He had lofted the body above the ground with ease, as if pushing her out to her companion. He allowed the briefest pause: enough for their eyes to widen and their mouths to drop open in horror. And before the high note of her ghostly yelp, Gyutaro ripped her apart, her two halves divorcing like brute-forcing through a sliding door. Her blood splattered and her insides smeared across the path. The scream wafted out through shredded lung matter.

The man screamed-- he had fast reflexes for a human. Most would have still been standing there in shock over what happened. He had ran to the side of the road and hauled up a fallen bough-- a sword?-- that had served as a walking stick. Gyutaro didn't hesitate: despite the intrusive worrying, he knew that Corps warriors weren't so sluggish. The bough shattered on Gyutaro's shoulder, which tickled, and Gyutaro barreled the human down and pinned him to the ground with a scythe through each shoulder.

"Hey now," Gyutaro 'cheerily' spoke, and when the human wouldn't stop hollering, he simply put his hand over the man's mouth. Bite as a desperate animal may, Gyutaro's skin was like leather and wouldn't break. "What's going on here?"

The man shouted, muffled and incoherent, and Gyutaro rolled his eyes. "Oh," he commiserated, "yeah. About that. I know I should mind my own business. But, really, what would a silly girl like her know? Then again," he feigned confliction with a furrow of his brow, "Maybe she had a point... you were kind of throwing her to the wolves, huh? Leaving her all alone, as if that was the right thing to do."

The man howled into the offending palm again, bucking and thrashing and kicking Gyutaro in the legs. Annoyed, Gyutaro reached back with his free hand. With each snap of the bone and crush of muscle, the man screamed and seized in silent agony.

Gyutaro continued chatting. "Siblings are always supposed to look out for each other. You should know better, being oldest and all. And imagine: the last words she heard from you were your shitty excuses to shrug her off."

Somewhere in his animal brain, the man seemed to comprehend. Or maybe he was crying from the pain of having broken legs now. At this point, Gyutaro didn't care. The reactions he was getting were satisfying regardless. "Maybe you really didn't care. She wasn't your real sister anyway... what? You didn't know?!" Gyutaro's face split from ear to ear as the brother's eyes glazed over. "Hahah! Idiot! What kind of guy doesn't even know who his family is? No wonder you were so bad at taking care of her. You just didn't have it in you. I guess you have potential, though. I could give you pointers. Oh, we would have to find you a new sister though. You don't have an issue with replacing family members, clearly, so--"

Gyutaro stopped when he realized that he was talking to himself. The man's heart had jerked and stammered and stopped. Gyutaro sneered and grabbed the man's face more forcibly. "Hey," he drawled, rotten loathing dripping from his maw. "Hey, I was TALKING to you."

No reply. Gyutaro leaned forward and crushed the man's head in. It gave like a thumb through an egg shell.

It brought him no relief. Suddenly, Gyutaro didn't have an appetite.

#gyutaro shabana #gyutaro #demon slayer #fanfiction #demon slayer fanfiction #throws this to fellow gyu fans. come get yalls toxic sludge juice

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