#ah to be in the hands of the father and the baptist...... one kisses with tongue and the other is trying to make me cry or smth | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dudeshusband · 2 months ago

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Title: A Very Mikedude Thanksgiving

Words: 1.1k

Description: Mike and Dude host Thanksgiving.

Warnings: Mentions of religion (really they just say grace but cya and all that), the briefest mention of 1880s politics, period typical shenanigans

Dude took off his hat and ruffled his hair before walking up to the steps of his and Mike’s little house. The stairs hadn't quite become familiar to him yet. He still wasn’t used to having a house, or a ranch of his own. He twisted the doorknob and breathed in the smell of fresh baked pumpkin pie. Chance nodded at him from the dining table. Stumpy grinned at him. Feathers smiled politely. Was he late to his own Thanksgiving party? He hung his hat on a rack by the door and took off his ascot.

Mike was in the kitchen, checking on the turkey. Dude stepped in as soon as they closed the oven door and rose up to their full height.

“Hi, honey. Smells good,” he whispered close to their neck. He pressed a kiss behind their ear. Mike turned around and pulled him into a passionate kiss. Dude flushed bright red. “We have guests! I just gave you a quick peck. We’re not puttin’ on a show here.”

Mike rolled their eyes and shook their head fondly. “We’re married, silly.”

“We wouldn’t want to get in the way of your husbandly duties,” Colorado called teasingly as he walked through the door. “Sorry I’m late.”

Mike waved their hand. “You aren’t late. Thanks for coming.”

“I’m gonna kill that kid,” Dude joked.

“Kid? He’s only a few years younger than me. You remember that.”

“Hey, I ain’t no cradle robber.”

“I didn’t say that,” Mike retorted. “Anyway, move so I can finish these mashed potatoes.”

“Can’t even get a ‘please’ anymore.”

Mike grinned. “Okay, please move your ass so I don’t burn Thanksgiving dinner.”

Dude lifted his hands. “Alright, I’m going.”

He took a seat at the table and waited for Mike to bring everything out. He wished they would’ve let him help in there. It was a big ask for one person.

Mike brought out the vegetables first, and the dinner rolls. Next came wine (for everyone but Mike and Dude), and apple cider for Mike and Dude. The stuffing next, and the turkey last.

“Want me to carve it, honey?” Dude asked. He gave them his biggest pleading eyes. They had to let him do something.

Mike handed him the knife, and Dude divied up the turkey to everyone, except Mike.

“Does everyone want to say grace, or no?” Mike asked the table.

Everyone looked amongst each other. Mike was the only atheist at the table (don’t tell anyone). The rest were Southern Baptists, and the lone Catholic, Dude. He suddenly regretted not asking if Carlos and Consuelo would like to come here instead of hosting at the hotel.

“I’ll do it,” Dude offered. He bowed his head, and the others followed suit. “Here goes. Holy Father, thank you for this meal we’re about to have, and for bringing us all here together. Here’s to another good year. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

“Amen,” replied everyone else.

The group began to eat. Various conversations about how Mike and Dude’s horses and crops were holding up, town gossip, local events, and price changes ensued.

As far as politics:

“How do we feel ‘bout that man in office?” asked Colorado.

“Arthur?” asked Mike. “He isn’t too good for immigration.”

“What’s he got against Chinamen?” asked Chance.

That conversation quickly concluded.

“When are you gettin’ married, Chance?” asked Dude.

“When I find a woman I wanna get married to,” Chance almost grumbled.

“When he figures out how to be open with his feelings, he means,” Feathers interjected.

“Feelings? I’m a man of the law.”

“So’s Dude but he has feelings,” Mike pointed out.

“Don’t go gettin’ soft on me, Dude.”

“What? Need me or somethin’?” Dude teased. He waved his hand.“Ah, I’m only soft on Mike.”

Mike smiled, then kissed Dude’s hand.

“Chance’ll never change,” said Dude. “Some girl’s gotta get used to his hardass act.”

“I pity that girl!” chimed in Colorado.

“I sure couldn’t,” said Feathers.

“Don’t go bringing that up!” Chance complained.

“What about you, Colorado?” Dude asked to change the subject.

Colorado swallowed the half a roll in his mouth. “What about me?”

“Got a girl?”

He smirked. “A few.”

Mike rolled their eyes. Dude shook his head.

“Always the smartass,” said Chance.

“Hey, I mean I got a line of girls looking my way,” said Colorado defensively.

“Oh do you?” Mike teased.

Colorado counted on his fingers, “Molly, Suzie, Maryann, Ester-”

“Ester?!” Dude interjected. “What pretty girl is named Ester?”

“You’re married to a Mike.”

Everyone laughed.

“Hey, now, Mike’s a- well, it’s a- it’s a boy’s name. That don’t matter. I love Mike.”

Mike squeezed his hand.

“You walked right into that, Dude,” said Stumpy with a chuckle.

“Who’s ready for some pie?” Mike asked.

Everyone chimed in with a “yes, please” and the pumpkin pie was served.

“This is some good pie, Mike,” said Colorado.

Everyone muttered something in agreement.

Mike beamed. “Thank you, I’m glad.”

After the pie, Feathers glanced out the window.

“Well, I better be getting back on the stage.”

“Hey, stay in town awhile,” suggested Dude. “You can stay here or I’m sure Carlos has a room for you. You don't gotta fly like a bat outta hell.”

Feathers gave a skeptical glance at Chance. “I don't know, John T. here doesn't seem to like me as a reminder.”

Chance retorted, in his grumpy way, “Ah, if I gave a damn, I wouldn't be here.”

“Alright,” Feathers conceded. “I’ll go talk to Carlos and see about leaving at the end of the weekend instead.”

Feathers thanked Mike and Dude, then headed off to the hotel.

Colorado stood. “Guess that's my cue, too. I didn't know being deputy got you up with the roosters. Goodnight Mike, Dude.”

“That sure was a good meal,” announced Stumpy eventually. He stood up with a hand on his leg. “I gotta get myself back to the jail. That new feller ain’t no Joe Burdette but he don't wanna be in jail either!”

“Bye Stumpy!” Mike called to him as he limped out of the house.

The last to go was Chance. “I’ll take a turn around the town. You coming Dude?”

Dude leaned on Mike’s shoulder. “Nah, I wanna be with Mike.”

Chance shrugged. “Alright. See ya tomorrow.”

Once he left, Mike and Dude started packing up the food and clearing the table.

“Maybe we should have had everyone take some home,” Mike said as they looked at the state of their icebox.

“We could give some to the church tomorrow, you know, for the needy?”

Mike nodded. “We should. It’s liable to go bad sitting on table tops and what little can survive being in the ice.”

Dude pulled Mike to his side and kissed their neck. “Mmm but that can wait ‘til tomorrow. We should go to bed.”

“You're so full of turkey it’s a wonder you're standing on your own two legs.”

Dude laughed and kissed Mike affectionately. “C’mon, honey.”

Mike took Dude's hand and the pair fell into bed, only removing some of their clothes when they got under the blankets.

“Love you,” Dude mumbled sleepily.

Mike kissed his forehead. “Love you too.”

#typewriter dings #self ship #self shipping #self shipping community #dude

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libidomechanica · 1 year ago

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Sweet Hesper-Phosphor, bright we have

A limerick sequence

Rise in me each with ample ayre, that in Vienna’s fatal waits for the breathed in ambrosial air to broad and future fetched with many a Lambe, or a rose; for stars.

And ever lost thou shalt hears to corresponsibilities I love an idle worth; and in the secular emancipation, what I might my father—none.

And your bed, the vast and move to see and whether by far you my sister. They countryes, which makes me sweet human speak again, and hand awful plight is lost; but know.

But tell me castles all out of that? Then summer or near; and cannot sleeping tides of pucker’d from all my heart. Thy side to flicker with, does as yet unwiped!

And the flowers were. Time shall my hope is heart a clown; I see my swimming as thou, dearest Lady of the range alone, hath power? I shall espye: then, flying deep.

Little flash and hopes were one way. Poor child-bed. For nothing so ease my eyelids. ’ All the whole life would the woods: I envy not one day may be made me daub away.

By ashen roots are always act? Because why men breakfast, sat come to some old grief, then of all the coast. For aught me your tears and still, your change ribbon in the grave?

Nobody locked the musk rose who come, and and banking a voice believe me, Soul of mine in thy face. Rather die. The halls with poynt of fire. Your mistress, and it man.

If beneath thee and part; nest of changed, how fares it will not supply. Because no farther raven gloss: ah, sweet I will winds the limit of cares, and I shall discourse!

And gave the while my bright, till twilight below the waning faint, more years of the sedge, my suddenly, with vain and the rain. Hath powers alive? Strong inside you are.

Stone, I will or redress; for want I see betwixt the foote in ear’? Lo, as all I have I heard both hidder. ’ She replied; thou perceivest, with lowing walks withal.

And so stiffen into a boy, and tell met—flowery flower, sculptured by tome and crying in a rushing and set.— Remember and fall, o, turned to the soul.

Our bed is loose a flying from me. Israel made to call out of a marriage- bed where I was they learned noticed you on these hall after wound an answers in.

Why, Sirs, throw you’ll not yet creature might starry clear me when wearied eyes; and milkier every day, except something and while her soul, a haunt of yore. We wished them o’er.

Faces, grouped in the heels the time of frozen night, a gulf him fast holds john Baptist’s here! Understands; the dull middle of thing and lover, despite of Arcady.

No doubtful joys of fear; with whom her hair without abuse the hills, across the facts. In my father speaking a friendship lift his count—should seem in the foaming pane?

Or fort that Pan with that: some little niece. Yet go, the late the covenant the weakness as well, indeed your eye—tell ye what time with edge-tools of my youth and plump.

Will seeke for him for to us, althought; and year to never-lighten to kiss of domestic peace. That I have present brows thrown life should brings downhill at eight years ….

Or nay. Northern hills; they knowledge the darken’d with love, with Phoebus’ lights! The wisp that once a little boy, pissing their May was passionate fire of reverence in.

Is now must deny: while thy nearest think once harms. It might bring fresh from the most living like to noise of whatsoever the furrow in the other name of thee.

Paints the Clover dales resort, so as they shall not least about, that holding amid a murder, safe in passing the windowsill. Of those Camaldolese and blont.

Of such a to-do! The lip short supply. Nor rested thus. Joys upon me dead. And on the market boat is desk, to make their wiliness of doubt is Devil-born.

It’s … well, what had his shield man on the found Him not: since, it is, no praise. Pushed her tears no motion, what was its ray? And fit to an every night long day: or Diggon.

And for his tend. That I know the air clear me not any bene false, and nothing winter charms of latter weeping and the night we have no end: She’s a certain.

And onward drags a labouring in the streets were was here. And sing because he would indeed, she white kine glimmers tost a ballad to keep him crying in effect.

And with me, many more, else earth: I know of admiration. If I have beat their owne when the secret from all dissolve thee my soule I dare we pilchards, sike mist.

Fair ship, equal to me; loved me within his late; farewell. They wyll: or the yet-loved through curtains call! And circles rounds, aver than someone who held as now and night.

She doth thy villain famous insufficiencies, but by day you tell the Mermaid the Tuscan poets— as thou there, half the brother! Least made her sleep love is dumb.

Less which the violet, and all hands; and sense, I am a water, when i’ the moon of Eden on the orchard possess’d the song; and thou, to die here to my own.

Of all thing finer to my conditions: and in lines of this work out you back your labourer tills his lips are set to learns the bitch! Thou comes still breathing tower.

And laugh, a cry above the keen with many years today, tomorrow and gave him fast. May thy sister Psyche too much, in which your bed, wild Hours that, unknowing.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #117 texts #limerick sequence

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mxvladdy · 4 years ago

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A Break- Chapter 5

Oh lord this took too long and ‘bout killed me. I hope my edits are good!

It’s a biggen so it’s all under the cut!

Hope y’all like it! I know it was long over do :/

He dreams of dragons. A swirling blur of purples, reds, and yellows. His mindscape was a rich profusion of colors. Two become sharper standing out in the sea of hues. His father’s dragon emerges from the mass. The great black dragon floats ethereally around him, judging him. But, unlike the years spent under his father's tutelage, all he got were stern looks and cold words of praise. Now, he can feel a warm sense of- pride. Was his father finally proud of him? How? Of what? Next to him, another dragon appears. His mother’s dragon wove around the long form of his father. Black and pearly pink twisting and revolve hypnotically around his body. They radiated peace, and rest. An urge to join them began to overwhelm him. A break sounded nice. He deserved one, didn’t he?

When was the last time he had felt this at peace? There were a few times perhaps in recent memories. A blurry face comes to mind. A sweet smile and a laugh that is so warm and bright. He remembers the feel of soft fingers scratching along his goatee. He felt at peace then, safe and loved. It gives him pause- the urge to slip away waning. His paternal dragon stops its coiling, eyes locking with his partner. He pulls backs, separating from his mate. His mother’s dragon chirps, drifting closer and closer, she tries to touch her son. Her whiskers mere inches from his floating hand. Obsidian claws stop her from touching her eldest. His father’s dragon huffs once in warning, shaking its great head. His mother snaps at the claw, stubborn in her convictions. She wanted her son back, safe within her clutches in the afterlife. Had he not gone through enough? From the clan to his own penances? She had been so close to getting her youngest back years ago. Yet she had been robbed then too.

She wouldn’t be denied twice.

Hanzo watches helplessly as the two beasts argue in a language he does not know. He is torn between a want to be here with them, and the warm thoughts trickling slowly back into his mind. The pearlescent dragon rears back with a cry of anguish, nostrils flaring at whatever the black dragon had said. She makes eye contact with him once more. The dragon’s eyes were the same color as his mother's before she turned from him leaving his line of sight. His father gave him one last look filled with, pride? Before disappearing too. He shouts for them, crying out for his mother. To not be left alone again. But they were silent in the void. Not even in death was he good enough.

He floats again, or lays? He truly cannot tell what axis or plane he was on. But he could still feel. He felt cold and so so tired. Where were his dragons? If his parents were here surely his dragons must be too. He calls for them, but he gets no answer. The seal on his arm was horribly quiet.

He can do nothing but drift now.

He hears things sometimes, a soft sweet voice reading to him. Other times it’s a smooth accented voice walking him through something they were about to do. Hallucinations or reality he couldn’t tell. They get stronger though. Soon he begins to feel a warmth on his face. Like he was basking in the heat of the summer sun. Other times it’s the brush of something cool and wet on his neck and arms. The fingers were too smooth to be human but dexterous like them. They were humming, the tinny and augmented drone familiar. Hanzo knew that melody, he knew that voice, but he just couldn’t place it. Hanzo listens for a while, floating on the melody before it too disappears. They leave him, only an incisive beeping echoing in his head for company.

His dragons come to him after what felt like an eternity. Akuma approaches first, his massive body colliding with Hanzo’s. The archer clings to the great beast burying his face into the fur. Hanzo cares little for the claws puncturing his skin and scratching him as Akuma clicks and coos in delight. Ibuki wraps herself around them both, quiet but vibrating with relief. Hanzo opens his mouth to speak. His throat clicks, dry and inflamed. Something is choking him.

No-rest. We will get you out soon. Out? He stiffens in their warm embrace. He didn't want out. It was nice here, quiet. He didn't feel pain or much of anything in here. He could stay like this... No. Akuma nips his cheek in aggravation. Family, they need you. She needs you-

It comes back to him hard and fast. His last kiss with you before leaving for the terminal. The video before bed. Him whispering goodnight to your sleeping face ending the call before turning in himself. To the security breach and his fight. He needs to get back. If his parents left him here then he should wake up. Why wasn't he waking up? We will protect. His dragons nuzzle him once more before they push away returning to the great beyond, promising to take care of you while he gets stronger. Their determination fuels him to fight, to survive.

He trains his mind to pick up on the noises and touches happening around him while he waits. He picks up the tick of a clock and the sound of waves by his side. Their constant background noise soothing and grounding. Genji comes daily to hum and chat in their native tongue. He spoke of idle, sweet little things. The weather, who was on kitchen duty that evening, the training schedule. He sounded so hopeful every time he visited. Like his big brother was going to wake up at any moment and respond. After Genji came Mei and Ana. The two mostly acted like he was with them and discussed whatever book they were reading while waiting on him. They would come in the evenings and read passages aloud for him. It was a welcomed break from the monotony of silence. Ana came more often than Mei. He could smell the tea she would bring in when she sat by his side reading aloud in Arabic. Ah- her favorite book of poetry. She never translated this book for him, but between her cadences and phrasing, she wove the beauty of the verses nonetheless.

Ana was interrupted today though. Midway through a verse, she stopped. Her tongue stumbling over itself uncharacteristically. Hanzo felt her shift and rise without another word. He recognized Baptiste and Angela's voices talking to her, their voices low and hurried. He hears Ana laugh gently and the door to his room snaps shut. His doctors bustle around him for a moment though he senses another person in the room with them. Odd- unless his brother came back. No, much too quiet to be him. Angie and Baptiste leave quickly, their check-up done, leaving him alone with the new visitor.

"Hey, Hanz." A soft voice brushes his cheek. "How are you today?" Hanzo’s heart hurts. How did- when did you come here. He wanted to be angry, to yell at you for coming to such a dangerous place. He wanted to hunt down whoever found you and throttle them. This was putting you in harm’s way. Yet, at the same time, he wished he could see you. He wished he could tell you how much he missed you and that he was there. Instead, floats in his own subconscious. “I-Angie says that you might hear me. Something about your brain scans?” You squeeze his hand with a light chuckle. You trail off distracting yourself by rubbing soothing patterns in his palm. “If-if you can, know that I know. Not everything, your brother has been so kind to me.” You squeeze his hand, bordering on almost uncomfortable. “But I need to hear the things he said from you. So-so get better soon, please? I miss you.” Now more than ever he wishes he could comfort you. Why hadn't he just swallowed his pride early? This could have been avoided. He hoped at least.

The rest of your visit passes too quickly for his liking. The scant bit of privacy he had with you was filled with your tender voice and gentle touches. He felt your fingers brush along his smooth jaw, stroking it like you did whenever you would lounge in bed sweaty but happy after a lengthy reunion. The kisses you placed on his brow were just as sweet too. You only left after one of the doctors came in to force you out to get dinner and stretch.

You poke at the warm meal Ana had plated for you in the mess hall. The steaming rice and tomato covered lentils sitting comfortably in your stomach. “Eat, dear. Then I think it’s best if you take a nap. When was the last time you slept horizontally?” Ana winks at you over her shoulder stirring a pot filled with browning onions and spices. The elderly medic had lost count of the number of times she had walked in on you sleeping in the chairs in the medical wing.

“I’m fine-really.” You smile rubbing at your sore neck. The hospital chairs here were soft, sure, but not meant for daily sleeping. Ana snorts but doesn’t say anything more on the matter. Instead, she distracts your haggard mind with recipes and tea ideas, sprinkling in little stores of her childhood. You find yourself relaxing more and more; the time between when you wanted to get back to Hanzo’s side and since you sat down for dinner growing longer and longer in between. You yawn widely, failing to cover it with your mouth with your hand. “Shit- sorry.” You flush. The other woman waves it off.

“It’s fine sweetheart. Just means my food and company did its job.” She smiles collecting both of your dishes to place them in the sink. “Come-let me escort you to your room.”

“You really aren’t going to let me go back huh?”

“Not a chance child. He isn’t going anywhere trust me.” She grips the back of your shirt to lead you in the opposite direction of the ICU. You scowl but follow along, dragging your feet along a little in the process.

You had been offered Hanzo’s room when you landed last week. It had been untouched since he had been transferred to the Ilios base. But you couldn’t, it felt almost rude to. He hadn’t consented to any of this. It just felt wrong. His room was what you had always imagined. Clean and tidy, the few items he had well loved and maintained. Some looked pricy, but most were homey little things that must have reminded him of Japan. You ask to stay in a vacant room but still find yourself in his room from time to time, dusting his heavy bookshelf or to vacuum his rug and shake the linens out. You only broke down once in his room, but it was enough for you to never want to go back in there. Not until Hanzo was back living in it. While mopping one day you stumbled across a little box, it was your box, the old thing was filled with letters. The creases in the paper thin and tearing from constantly being opened and reread over and over again. The trinkets you had sent him over the years were worn, but clean. The metal pins and coins shiny and discolored from fingers rubbing them lovingly. You put the box back where you found it and leave. Athena could clean from now on.

Genji and Angie had discussed a lot with you since you took up residence. You were grateful for their updates and check-ins. Baptiste even gave you some reading about what to expect when Hanzo is up and going through physical therapy. He emphasized that the longer he was in the ICU the longer recovery could be. “But don’t stress,” He pats your hand warmly. “That man is as stubborn as an Ox. He’ll bounce back in no time!”

You hope so. From the bits Genji told you after they found him...it had been- disparaging. The road had been rocky, though they wouldn’t disclose all the details to you. The first few weeks were touch and go before Angie finally could sign off on putting him under medically. She spoke as simply as she could but it was still a lot for you. But she was certain he would pull through, and that as soon as he could breathe on his own again she would begin the process of waking him up.

How long that would take no one knew.

You met quite a few interesting characters while you sat vigil by his bedside. Mei is a riot. The plucky young scientist is a delightful conversationalist and had many stories about Hanzo. When she talked about him you could immediately understand why they were friends. Both mathematically minded and sentimental to a fault.

Satya was more pensive when she visited at first, but warmed up to you gradually over talks of your business. Her eyes lit up when you told her your struggles with tin designs. “Let me design some for you. Your tins are wonderfully shaped, but ultimately boring.” She looks down at Hanzo’s resting form. She strokes his head lightly. The stubble growing on his crown had been recently washed. Baptist came in earlier to remove the stitches around his temporal lobe. “I’ll send you some designs tonight.” She nods curtly before leaving you alone again. Over the next few weeks, you gradually met the rest of the agents. Whether it be them coming to say hello and check up on their comrade or in the kitchen, welcoming you to a warm meal, and thousands of questions about how you met.

It wasn’t until the second month of your stay did you meet Hanzo’s dragons. It was late, later than any of the medical staff would advise you to stay up. But, you could only stay away from work for so long and it was finally quiet. You were working by Hanzo’s side, the beeping of his monitor lulling you into a trance while you read over your spreadsheets. At first, you didn’t notice, the rhythmic beeping of his machinery was white noise to you at this point. The first few hitches you missed, too preoccupied with moving numbers and shipments around. The skips steadily grew faster and more erratic, it pulls your focus from your screen. “Hanzo?” You toss your laptop to the side, ready to buzz for help. He doesn’t move, not even a flicker behind his eyelids. Nothing was out of place until you touched him. His arm is warm underneath your fingers. Too warm, near scorching. You yelp in pain falling back at a sudden blinding light that erupts from his tattoo. The room fills with a blaze of blue and gold, the energy of the blast knocks you to the floor. You scream as two massive dragons irrupt from him. They swirl around the tiny space, scleraless eyes scan the room for something.

That something just happened to be you. Two sets of eyes lock with yours. Large fanged jaws open wide, hackles raised. You sit frozen in awe and terror. Were they going to kill you? No-surely not. Genji said they would recognize you-hypothetically. They were an extension of their master's souls. The two lunge for you, three-clawed feet open wide like birds of prey. Squeezing your eyes shut you wait for the impact of scales and teeth.

Two small projectiles collide with you. The force of which knocks the air from you. “Oph!” You wheeze arms wrapping instinctively around the squirming warm creatures clinging to your chest. Two thin dry tongues flick out and tickle your jaw and cheeks.

“I heard a scream! Are you-” Genji burst in looking about frantically, his wakizashi drawn and at the ready. Angie and Baptist barge in behind him, both armed as well. “Oh.” Genji gasps, his sword drops limply to his side. “Aniki.” You look up from your prone position, still dazed and confused by the now tiny blue dragons nestled on your stomach.

“Are you alright?” Genji asks, helping you up back to your feet and righting your upturned chair. His eyes never leave the two spirits in your hands. You nod meekly. “Come, let’s give them room to work.” He takes one last look at his brother and the doctors before leading you out with him. “What happened?” He asks in the hallway eyeing the two blue dragons now wrapped around your upper body. He punches in the code for his room and lets you in.

“I-I don’t know.” The larger of the two dragons chirps as it loses its grip on your sweater. You scoop it up to nuzzle your neck like you would an infant. It coos, wrapping its fluffy tail around your wrist. The slimmer smaller one squawks indignantly, jealous of its partner's attention. It too nuzzles at your neck, draping itself around you like a scarf. “One minute I was balancing my checkbooks, and the next I heard the heart monitor going crazy. Then these two jump me.” You glanze up at Genji. He looks so hopeful. A small sigh of relief escapes him. “Is this good?”

Genji sighs heavily and flops onto his bed. He rubs at the synthetic skin of his chin thoughtfully. He points at the two dragons. “Look at how translucent they are. It takes a lot of energy to summon them to our realm.” You clutch at the squirming reptiles taking a good look at them. The two look at you with large innocent eyes. What he said was true. You could see your hands through their bodies. Their scales were dull and lacked the luster of Genji’s dragon. The larger one’s left antler was chipped and flaking onto the floor. The smaller one was very thin and hollow looking. Genji sighs looking miffed. “My best bet is they told Hanzo you're here and he sent them out to look after you. Which is sweet, but foolish. Summoning when we are mentally or physically weak could kill us if we are not careful.” He drags his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“What happens now?”

He shrugs. “I can’t say. It’s up to him now. But, I believe this is a good sign.” Genji reaches out and scratches behind one of the dragon's ears. “Thank you for coming out to us.” He speaks directly to the dragons, bowing his head low in respect. They preen, clicking and cooing in delight. Genji’s little dragon appears shortly after jumping into the fray of blue and gold. You sit in the cyborg’s cozy room watching Hanzo’s dragons play. For the first time in ages your chest cliches with something other than fear.

It takes another 3 weeks for Hanzo to open his eyes. Of course, he had to do it the one night you decided to sleep in a bed. Your back had been pleading for days for a normal night's rest. It felt like your head had barely hit your pillow before his two dragons woke you. Tiny claws kneading your stomach and chest. They were solid and heavy. Their scales are bright and iridescent. The larger one, Akuma bumps your face hard with his antlers. Huge, arching healthy antlers. He trills at you expectantly.

Genji beats you to the medical ward by seconds. His exhaust vents pumping steam out like a geyser. He speaks quickly, his words fast and agitated. He switches languages rapidly, getting more and more agitated at the blank look the assistant barring the door gives him. He is getting flustered and quickly. His green lights blazed brighter and brighter with agitated arm gestures.

“Genji-Genji!” You rest a gentle hand on his cold shoulder. He rounds on you blindly, eyes electric. The hairs on your arm begins to rise as his dragon begins to awaken just under the surface. His temper cools when he recognizes just who was trying to calm him. You glance over to the trembling medical assistant. “Come- we’ve waited this long. They will get us when it’s safe to.” You assure your friend. Genji nods jerkily, taking your offered hand. He follows you down the hall back to his room. You were both tense and vibrating with nervous energy.

You lead Genji to his room, much like he did weeks ago. Punching in his room code you collapse onto the mountain of pillows he had on the floor for a chair the moment the door closed. You hug his pillows close, trying to quell the butterflies in your stomach “He’s up.” Genji spoke in awe. You crane your neck to look as Genji paces around you. His tone was tight but hopeful. “He’s up- He’s ok.” He smiles down at you, his face the brightest you had ever seen it. He wipes at his eyes and exhales a curse of joy. Dropping down next to you, he sits cross-legged by your side.

“Yes-” It was all you could manage to say. You squeeze his knee in reassurance, your own eyes prickling around the corners. Hot tears threatening to overflow. You didn’t want to admit it to him, to anyone, but you had started to lose hope. How many times had you sat there painstakingly etching each and every angle and blemish on Hanzo’s unconscious face into your memory, just in case it was to be your last time with him? How many nights had you held your breath, eyes locked with the complex monitors and pumps looking for something, hitch in his breath, or a twitch of a finger. Something to tell you he was still there. A wave of guilt washes over you just thinking of how he had woken up alone, how you weren’t there for him.

It’s not like he knew you were here, but it hurt your heart regardless. Doubt hits you. Would he even want you here? He clearly had no intentions of telling about this part of him. He had his crew to support him, and his brother here. “What are you going to say?” Genji asks gently. You feel his warm human hand land on top of yours giving you a comforting squeeze.

“What are you planning to say?” You parrot.

Genji thinks on it for a second, biting the synthetic skin of his lower lip. “Ugh- that’s why I asked you first! I don’t know if I want to punch him for making us all worry, or hug him.”

“I wish I had an answer too.” You confess. “I don’t even know if I should go see him.”

“What!” Genji gasps. “You have to! He’ll be so happy to see you.”

“Genji,” You roll on to your side. “I’m not even supposed to be here.” You nestle into the multicolored pillows rubbing at your eyes wearily. “Maybe it would be best if I went back home. Give him some space to recover. Give whatever this is time.” Your conversation partner goes quiet. His dark eyes, so expressive like his brothers bore into you. It wasn’t judgment. Nothing of the sort. It was understanding and flickers of sympathy.

“Do you want to leave?” He asks. No. Deep down you didn’t, but the high of hearing Hanzo's condition was slowly being replaced with the reality of the situation. The reality of what now? You shrug hiding your face in your arms too ashamed to admit. He lets you stew for a moment. “My brother-” He starts slowly. “My brother is many things, he is prideful and arrogant. Sometimes to the point of being unbearable to deal with. He can be as immovable as a mountain, as you might say bullheaded. ” Genji chuckles. “But, he is incredibly patient, I never noticed it as a child…but now, it’s a trait I envy.” He rubs at his eyes thinking back to the box he found in his brother’s room, the hidden pictures of you and him. He had never seen his brother so relaxed before. He would do anything to keep seeing that smile on his brother’s face. “I guess what I’m trying to say is,” Genji continues. “ just please try to see him once? If you're able to talk to him, do. I can tell you’re special to him, he will do what it takes to make this work.”

You bob your head in understanding, working to swallow around the lump growing in your throat. “I’m scared.” You admit timidly. Genji gives you a gentle pat on the leg.

“It is a scary situation, but trust me when I say you have nothing to fear from Hanzo.”

Genji leaves you at that, you both decided that when they were given that all clear to see Hanzo he should go first. He tries to object, but it was merely a formality. You could see how desperate he was to go. You spend your time waiting in his room, with his dragon Mizuki and her siblings. They could tell you were in distress and tried their hardest to comfort you. Their warm bodies blanket yours, their purring helping drift you off to sleep.

A sharp knock wakes you and your three dragons. They all perk up, ears all twitching towards the door. Akuma growls low in his throat. You open the door to Angie. She beams at you, hand hovering mid-knock. “Ah good! Sorry if you were resting.Hanzo was asking for you.” She steps back to let you out. Mizuki yips shrilly and leaps at the doctor. She catches them gracefully and strokes their head. “You can visit briefly. I am still monitoring him.”

“Right- thank you Angie.” You turn to go.

Angie stops you with a firm hand on your shoulders. “His larynx and trachea are still healing. Talking on his end is strictly forbidden, understand?” You nod. “I’m keeping him for observation for the next week- you are welcome to visit whenever he is feeling up to it.” With that she gives your shoulders a firm clap and lets you go. You walk slowly to the medbay, Hanzo’s dragons quiet and contemplative on your shoulders. For all your anxiety your mind was completely blank. Where would you even start? Knocking softly on the door to Hanzo's private room you enter.

The sigh of relief that escapes is loud in the open space. He turns to watch you from his inclined position on his hospital bed. He looks better. The tubes and wires helping him breathe and heal had been condensed down to just a heart monitor, IV drip, and oxygen. You take in the muted colors of healing bruises on his face and chest. He hardly looked like himself though. His face was clean shaven from surgery and his hair buzz cut short. It wasn’t him, but it didn’t matter. The fire was still there behind his dark eyes. They still screamed strength and perseverance. It was the same look that had attracted you from the start.

Hanzo regards you heavily, his expression gives nothing away as you come to sit by him. His fiery eyes flicker for a moment when he notices the unshed tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. He opens his mouth to speak and winces. Each breath felt like fire in his lungs. Hanzo rubs at his bandaged neck in agony. “You know you’re not allowed to talk.” You chastise him rushing up to grab his water and straw. He waves it away with a frown and sinks back into the thin pillows of his bed. You sit back down, playing with the metal straw between your fingers. “We have a lot to talk about huh?” You ask to break the silence. Hanzo huffs at the understatement of the century. He rubs his sweaty palms across the sheets covering the stumps of his legs. You watch him, he always rubbed at his knees when he was nervous. You reached for his hand not filled with wires and tubes, but stopped. Hanzo grabs your hand before you could pull it back. His large hand covering yours, he was so warm and safe. “I’m sorry.” You can feel yourself falling apart at the seams. A mix of relief and anxiety creating an indescribable feeling in you.

Damn, what were you even apologizing for? Knowing his secret? Learning about the Shimada clan without his consent, especially since he made it clear he had no intentions of telling you himself. Genji hadn’t told you everything, but it was enough to add fuel to the fire of nightly rants with his dragons. You wipe at your face hating how hot your skin felt with tears. Hanzo tugs at your hand to get your attention. “Wha-” He grunts pointing to the side table by the door and mimes writing on his palm. His com and phone sat innocently alongside his gold ribbon and a few get-well cards and dried flowers, all gifted to him by the team. He takes the phone from you eagerly and opens up to his notes app. He writes out something quickly and trusts it at you without hesitation.

I love you, I’m sorry

What little resolve you had left breaks at his admission. You pepper his waxy skin with tear streaked kisses “I love you too- truly.” You whisper into the bandages on his skull. The strong smell of antiseptics not deterring you in the least bit. He catches a stray kiss and turns back to his screen with vigor.

I know I have much to explain, secrets that I’ve held for too long and for no reason. You were never at fault for any of this, I trust you implicitly I have for a while.

Hanzo swallows thickly, thumbs hovering over the keyboard while you read in silence.

I know I have damaged what trust you must have had in me. If this is too much, if you deem this unsalvageable… I cannot blame- I would never blame you for wanting to step back. If you desire a clean break.

“Hanzo-” He wouldn’t-

But, if you are willing to give me a chance- I will give you everything. If you are willing to wait…

He looks to you waiting. You would either stay or leave, it was up to you. You read and reread his words, both of you trying to ignore the uptick on his heart monitor. You click the phone off and put it on the windowsill. Breathing deeply you stare blindly out the window. You don’t answer with words. Truthfully you think you had any that would express what you felt in that moment. Instead, you take his hand in both of yours. You kiss along his knuckles, brushing your lips along each scar you see, both old and new alike. You knew them all by heart. They had been a calendar of sorts, the mending of torn skin and removal of stitches, your anchor. They were what kept you going on the hardest nights, they kept you knowing that the wait was worth it. You couldn’t think of stopping now, fear be damned. “I’ll be here as long as you need.”

The smile that graces his face was well worth the wait.

#Overwatch #hanzo shimada x reader #hanzo shimada #f!reader

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poisxnyouth · 5 years ago

Text

bad influence dave (d.d) part 1 I guess

A/N: unfortunately, your girl can’t write 15k in 24 hours. but I think I slept 10/24 of those hours, so, like...I think I did pretty good. enjoy. talk to me while you read. I like when y’all tell me what to do...….let’s do that again. I want to post more, so maybe this is how we can get that done ??? either way, enjoy & let me know what you think & keep sending me concepts on this - it’s superrrr hot. love u. thank you for reading my stupid shit. xoxo hailey

word count: 6k (i’m sorry)

Michael, your coworker, drags you to a house party after work �� if you didn't know any better, you'd think it’s a shitty shindig organized entirely by high schoolers from across the neighborhood. You’re not sure whose house it is, and you didn't think Michael was interested in this lifestyle; he’s happily married, and his son is going to be baptized by your father next week.

Apparently, he is, though, and he ditches you almost immediately, whisked away by people calling his name. You don’t mind it – you didn’t want to babysit him all night, anyway. You wander, half-assedly making yourself a drink in the kitchen just to have something to hold in your hands.

You sit yourself on a couch in a relatively empty room, coffee table littered with items you couldn't even identify if you wanted to. You take sips of your drink, hating every second of it, eyes scanning your surroundings as you attempt to find something worth paying attention to.

Michael is your only truly comfortable solace in the entire house, and you’re not sure as to what his location is or what he’s doing. You don’t know anyone else, and it’s not exactly your scene: a Father’s daughter should never be in a place like this. Your father would have a stroke if he knew your whereabouts – even though you’re now a grown adult woman living alone.

A man sits next to you, speaking to someone across the room as he shuffles through items on the coffee table. You catch his eyes as you move to uncomfortably scroll through your phone in an attempt to divert his gaze.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he breaks, fiddling with wrappers, “What’s up? I’ve never seen you at any of these things before.”

You shrug, blush coming to your cheeks as you feel his eyes linger on your necklace – a crucifix you’ve had since birth. He doesn't say anything for a moment, admiring the redness in your face, before breaking, “What’s your name?”

You clear your throat and tell him, not meeting his stare as he opens a jar and plucks what you assume a bud of weed is from it, tearing it up with his fingers.

“You speak!” He gasps, making light fun, “I’m David. Good to see you. You want me to roll you one?”

You shake your head, murmuring a No – thank you, though. as you watch his fingers habitually roll up either a joint or a blunt (you don’t know the difference, and don’t especially care all that much). He nods respectfully as he licks at the paper delicately, meeting your eyes.

David folds the paper and sticks it together, speaking, “You’re cute as all hell...Are you here with anyone?”

“Um...Michael,” you inform him anxiously, cup still in your hands, “Michael Paul.”

“Michael?” David asks, surprised as he glances down at your hands, searching for a ring, “You’re not Abby.”

“You know Abby?” you respond, “She’s...She’s in New York for the week. I’m, um, babysitting him, I guess.”

“Of course, I know Abby,” he replies, acting as if it’s an obvious fact as he shrugs his shoulders, lighting whatever he just rolled, “I’m their dealer, honey. This is my place. He didn't tell you that?”

You chew at your lips, embarrassed at your ignorance, fingers moving to play with the charm of your necklace as you shake your head, eyes at the floor.

He cocks his head, gaze zeroing in on you, “This isn't really your scene, huh?” David doesn’t mean it in a rude way; he’s just trying to get you to talk. You’re too cute for him to not attempt conversation.

You shake your head again, muttering, “No, not really. Michael dragged me here.”

He tuts, nodding politely, “You sure you don’t want me to roll you something? Or get you a pipe or something? You’re drinking the throwaway shit I didn’t want so I put it out – Michael’s downstairs hitting Adrian’s shitty DIY Rick and Morty bong, if you were wondering.”

“I don’t,” you stutter slightly, afraid to meet his eyes, “I’ve never smoked before. I’m not even drinking this...”

“Oh!” David exclaims, going silent for a moment, finishing what he was smoking, “Well...It’s a good time to smoke for the first time, if you want to. There’s really not a better time to try it than now, and I can stay with you, but if you don’t want to-”

“I think I do,” you admit, sheepish, thinking of how disappointed God probably is in you, “Just, um, help me with it? Please?”

He nods, leaning towards the coffee table and beginning his process all over again silently.

“How much do you know about weed, sweetheart?” David asks dubiously, taking his time.

“Um...I know what it looks like,” you admit, feeling more sheltered than you ever have before.

He laughs slightly as he folds the paper in, explaining politely, “I’m rolling you a blunt. The wrap is made of tobacco leaves. I’ll teach you how to roll later, if you want.”

It’s presumptuous of him to assume you’ll be back to see him again, but he doesn't acknowledge it, continuing, “This is my best shit. I don't deal it, so don't tell Mikey-boy about it or he’ll be up my ass begging for it. I don't know what strain it is – I just know it’s a hybrid.”

You don’t ask him to elaborate as he finishes rolling it, “You ready, hon?”

David sees you make a slight face, scoffing humorously.

"Baby," he urges, too comfortable with the nickname, yet to use your real name even though he knows it, "Try it. It won't kill you, I promise." David holds up the blunt he just rolled to you, still unlit. He quickly explains what baking the blunt is and what purpose it serves as he runs the flame over the seam of the dried leaves. He passes it to you, eyes dropping to your mouth as you prop it between your lips. He lights it for you, blowing out the flame at the end and watching you hit it for the first time.

You cough wildly, eyes watering as you pass it back to him, shaking your head and sniffling as you attempt to recover. He laughs at you lightly, amused, "Let’s try this. Just...suck in the smoke after me, okay?"

You nod as he scoots closer next to you and brings it to his lips, taking a drag and quickly ghosting it. He gently tips your head towards him, your chin between his thumb and index finger. He's too comfortable with you for just meeting each other fifteen minutes prior, and you realize this as he hovers his mouth over yours and gently blows the smoke. You do as David told you, sucking up the smoke as much as you can before he pulls away, staring at you and expecting you to cough.

You don't, exhaling remnants of his smoke easily. A smile tugs at his lips, blunt still between his fingers as his eyebrows raise, "Better, yeah? 'S shotgunning. I think it's kinda hot, but maybe it's just me."

You continue the back and forth of shotgunning until you're high. It doesn't take long for you, and he finishes the blunt for you, high off his ass. David eyes your mouth and begins to lean in, free hands moving to your waist.

He kisses you gently, keeping his hands to himself, before pulling away, speaking, "Sorry. I didn’t ask. Is this okay?"

You nod against him, fists tangling into his t-shirt, pulling him closer and attaching your mouths. He leans out gently after a few seconds, "Nah. We shouldn't – not when we're both as high as we are – but if you want me in your guts anytime soon, just lemme know. I’m down...The weed won't kill you, but these will," he pulls out a pack of Camel cigs from his breast pocket, shaking the pack slightly and removing one. David lights it and tosses the pack onto the coffee table, "...You want one?"

“Sure,” you shrug, your father's face passing momentarily through your brain as he passes you one. He lights it for you, his stare too overwhelming as he watches for your reaction.

“I like you,” he compliments simply, smoking a filtered Camel, arm draped around the back of your seat.

At first, you cough at the cigarette smoke, too – you’re loosened up now, but still painfully shy as David continues to speak with you, “So, what's your deal? Why’re you so bashful? I mean...it’s cute.”

“Oh, um,” you blush again, feeling the warmth from his body radiate onto your skin, “My father is the priest at the big cathedral in the center of town...St. John’s the Baptist.”

“Ohhh,” he nods understandingly, motioning to your crucifix, “Makes sense.”

He deadpans, “So, would he be upset with you if you were with a guy like me? What about your mom? Any siblings?”

You breathe heavier at his questions, heart beating faster as you glance at his lips, “Yes. Two brothers. They would all kill me if they even knew I was here.”

“So, why are you?” David quips, “Just being nosy. If you didn't want to be here, you wouldn't have stayed.”

It seems like he’s getting closer and closer to you the more you speak, and you’re confused as to why you don't mind it, “...’Cause you started talking to me…”

“Ah,” he tuts, putting his cigarette out and taking yours from your fingers, smoking on it since you barely did, “That’s sweet.”

David can feel the innocence radiating from you, getting the balls to ask the question he is dying to know the answer to, “Are you pure?”

Your eyes widen and you clear your throat, deciding to swallow all of the liquor in your cup before replying, “Yes.”

He knew that was going to be your answer, pressing, “So... nothing? Ever? Not even a little…” he quickly motions jerking off, “In the back of some prick’s car when you were sixteen?”

“Um,” you shift in your seat, eyes on his, “No... Just-just kissing. My dad has always threatened us with the sixth and ninth Commandments...they teach specifically against sins of the flesh.”

“Wow,” he scoffs, growing bolder, “Would you break that for me? Let me ruin that for you?”

You inhale sharply as he stares into your eyes, completely inscrutable as he waits for your response, “Um…”

You feel your heart rate speed up as you gaze at his mouth, never quite feeling this way before as you push your thighs together involuntarily. David immediately clocks it, eyes darting to your legs before breaking, “Can I take that as a yes? Not tonight, obviously, but…”

His voice drops, lower in volume, “Just say the word.” He leans in closer to you, your lips almost touching as David tilts his head, waiting for your response, “We can start off slow. I can teach you one thing at a time – God, I want to teach you everything.”

“Yes,” you agree, breathless, “Yes, please. I want it.”

You don't know what’s come over you for this man to challenge your lifelong beliefs after thirty minutes of knowing him, and you certainly don't think it’s from the weed. David kisses you again, tongue easily slipping into your mouth as his hands come to your waist, sliding down gently to feel the shape of your figure in his palms.

This is bordering the most you’ve ever done with a guy, even at twenty-two years old, and he is such a good kisser that you don't notice when one of his hands land at the base of your neck. Your hands run over the width of his shoulders as his teeth tug at your bottom lip, eliciting a whine from the back of your throat.

You’re immediately embarrassed and he feels you flush against his face, leaning out of the kiss and removing his touch. You already feel somehow less whole as he scoots away and wipes at his mouth, reaching towards the coffee table for what you assume is his phone.

David unlocks it, demanding as he passes the device to you, “Give me your number, sugar.”

You type it in along with your name, “Shouldn't I... Um, shouldn't I get yours too?”

He tuts, standing, “I’ll text you, sweetheart. Don't worry about it.”

You stand, too, and David notices the way you mirror him – once you go any further together, he knows you’re going to follow him around like a puppy dog.

Two weeks later, you see him again. You beg Michael to take you to another one of David’s “get-togethers” after you hear nothing but radio silence from him. You think of him every day and every night, an irreparable longing inside of you only he can fix. You feel guilty for it, attempting to pray the hormones away, but they remain: Every day that passes, you want him even more badly.

You have no evidence of your interaction besides the memory of how his hands felt on your skin and what his mouth tasted like; or how easily the pet names he called you had effortlessly rolled off of his tongue, like he had been doing it for an extended amount of time.

You tag along with Michael and Abby this time around, and David sees you walk in with them, halting the conversation he was having with a customer and moving to go speak to you. He waves off your company to ensure he can speak to you without their lingering presence, much to say.

“You’re back,” David states, “I’ve been meaning to get a hold of you, I promise. Just super busy. Downside to dealing is how much time it takes up.” He doesn't wait for your response, walking to the kitchen. You follow him, as he knew you would, and he leans against his granite counters.

“What are you drinking tonight, honey?”

You shrug, beginning to blush at the pet name, “Whatever you want me to.”

“Good answer,” he replies, moving to begin working, “My day job is bartending. Right now, at least, dealing isn't enough to pay all of the bills. I’ll give you what I usually drink.”

David pours you a double whisky, neat, and passes the glass to you. You glance at it and its lack of added ingredients, and he chuckles softly, “Just drink it, baby. Don’t be a pussy.”

He seems all too satisfied when you obey his wishes, arms crossing casually as he watches you take a large gulp. He drinks this?

David stands up straight from his spot against the counter, leaning down and dropping his voice, “Meet me where we were last time. I’ll be up in a few – I’ve gotta go talk to a customer. I want the glass empty when I see you next. Got it?”

You nod, eyes on his before his hand finds the small of your back, generally guiding you through the people to the stairs before he disappears. You go upstairs and locate the room, placing yourself on the couch and scrolling through your phone while forcing yourself to finish your drink as he asked you to. With some valor, you do, chugging it and wishing you had a chaser.

David makes an appearance ten minutes into your wait, apologizing, “Sorry, sweetheart. I didn't think it’d take that long. The kid does not know how to shut up.”

You shrug, unbothered, as he glances at the cup, complimenting you and motioning to it, “Good girl!”

“Baby,” he pauses, fixed gaze on you, “What do you want from me?”

You cock your head, confused, “I... I thought we already talked about this…?”

“We did. You’re taking it the wrong way,” David admires your eagerness to please while remaining truthful, “What do you want from me right now?”

“Oh,” you reply, blush returning to your cheeks as you feel stupid, “Umm...I was hoping you would decide.”

“Okay,” he replies easily, nodding his head, “But in a minute. How often do you drink?”

“Not...Not too much, why? Maybe, like, once every few months? But I never get drunk, if that’s what you’re asking.” David doesn't reply, murmuring an ‘I’ll be right back.’ and leaving the room.

Not even three minutes later, he’s returned with another drink, “Screwdriver. You’ll like this one better. Finish it.”

You do, and he watches as your throat undulates as you swallow, feeling his dick twitch in his pants at the sight. He takes the glass from you and slides it onto the coffee table, scooting closer to you.

“You’re so innocent,” David comments, body heat radiating into your skin, “You don't want to stay that way?”

You shake your head, eyes on the floor, “No. I feel like a child.”

“Mm,” he makes an approving noise, “Look at me.”

You obey him, again, forcing him to continue, “I’ve got you, Y/N. Is that why you came back here?”

“...Yes,” you reply, noticing it's the first time he actually acknowledges your real name.

“Good choice,” David responds, “Let me kiss you.”

He attaches your mouths, and you taste him again: a few beers mixed with his cigarettes. It becomes one with the orange juice and vodka you just ingested, and you feel his hand creep up the tops of your thighs.

You gasp slightly into his mouth before he responds, “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll keep my hands to myself.” David keeps his promise, even though part of you wishes he wouldn't.

He moves you so you’re now positioned in his lap, hands respectfully on your waist as the bulge in his shorts brushes ever so slightly against your pussy under your dress. He doesn't acknowledge it and doesn't acknowledge how hard his dick is, mouth remaining on yours.

David kind of feels like a teenager, making out with a virgin at a house party, but he doesn't mind it whatsoever: you’re cute, and you’re giving him the chance to ruin you.

“Can I touch you?” He finds himself asking you mid-kiss, and you sheepishly nod your head. Slowly, taking his time with it, his hand slides up your inner thigh, palming your pussy gently as you involuntarily buck up against his touch, making a soft noise.

“Wow,” he remarks simply into your mouth at your reaction while you blush against his face, your hands on his shoulders. He doesn't do anything else and savors the moment you try to move against him, hating that he feels the need to grab at your hips and get you to stop.

You do, murmuring a quiet ‘Sorry…’ as David slides both of his hands under your loose-fitting dress, grazing the hems of your underwear and stopping at your waist, feeling at the bare skin and curves there.

You’re warm and drunk, now, and as he realizes this, he pulls out of your kisses and sets you back next to him.

“You’re drunk, honey,” David says, moving to light a cigarette, “I knew you would be, but not this quickly.”

“But wait,” you whine, hand on his shoulder, “No. David...I want it.”

He chuckles, leaning back in his seat, “I’m sure you do, sweetheart, but I’m not doing anything with you when I’m sober and you’re not.”

“Ugh,” you groan, “But I want you.” You scoot closer to him and kiss at his neck, trying to leave a mark. Admittedly, though, you don’t know how to.

“How do I leave a hickey on you?” you ask, fingers tracing against the wet spot in the crook of his neck.

“No,” he says simply, politely pushing away your touches, “Maybe next time.”

“If you even text me…” you roll your eyes, visibly pouting.

“Look, baby,” David says, defensive, “I mean this as nicely as possible: A virgin should not be getting upset with me for trying to make their experiences good. Don't be a brat just because you’re needy and have never had it before. The day will come, so: sit down, keep your hands to yourself unless I say otherwise, and smoke a blunt with me. Got it?”

“You’re so hot,” you drunkenly compliment, sinking back into your seat and fiddling with your hands, “Got it.”

“Good,” he replies, putting out his cigarette. You are drunk, and you can barely focus as his hand grabs at your thigh, just above your knee. He tugs you closer before removing his touch, a silent indication of wanting you to scoot next to him.

He quickly rolls it with expertise, “Let’s see if you can smoke it by yourself this time.”

David gently holds the blunt with his thumb and index finger, lighting it and passing it to you. You fail again, lungs and throat rejecting the smoke.

You quietly apologize, sniffling as you pass it back to him.

“It’s okay,” he promises reassuringly, taking a hit and giving it back to you, “Try again.”

You breathe in the smoke slowly, unknowingly taking a large hit. He roots for you, “Hold it, sweetheart. Hold it. Don't cough. Don’t laugh. It’ll make it hurt more. Hold it. Alright, blow it out. You did so good.”

You feel lightheaded as you exhale into the room and pass it back to him, resting your head on his shoulder. He chuckles, arm draping around your shoulders and leaning back into the couch, “I’ll give you a little rest after that one. That was a huge hit. It would probably knock me out. Give it a minute to settle in.”

You close your eyes, feeling your heart in your throat as you feel him continue to smoke. He gets your attention before taking another hit, “Sugar. Look at me.”

You do, and he tips your face upwards, mouth hovering over yours as you get the hint and inhale. David shotguns with you sporadically before he finishes off the blunt, tossing the roach into his ashtray.

“You’re crossed, baby. Crossfaded,” he says casually, arm still around you, “You should go home and ride it out.”

You don't want to, and he can read it on your face, “I’ll get you an Uber and text you when I get off tomorrow. I’ll come pick you up and we can hang, okay? I promise. You’ll be okay.”

You nod slowly before his lips are momentarily on yours, “Okay. Go downstairs. You don't need me to stay with you. I’ll tell Mikey and Abs.”

He does text you when he gets off, and you’re as much surprised that he followed through with it as you are impressed with yourself for actually remembering his promise.

David takes you back to his place; everything he owns seems to smell like weed, and his house is now quiet, as it's just you two. You're startled when David unbuttons his black dress shirt, shrugging it off and tossing it on to his couch as he makes his way to the kitchen. He tugs at the neck of his black t-shirt, pulling it off and throwing it to the couch, giving his dress shirt some company. He’s shirtless, now, slacks sitting on his hips as he opens his fridge.

“Sorry, I’m fucking starving and those clothes are hot as hell. I’ve been working since nine this morning,” David rifles through the contents of his fridge and freezer, unhappy with the selection, “I don't want any of this. Let’s go somewhere.”

“You bartend at nine in the morning?” you ask, leaning nervously against his kitchen counter.

“I know, right?” he scoffs, “All of the alcoholics come in before they have to go to work. It’s the same people every day. It feels like Groundhog Day.”

You follow him as he grabs his dirty clothes and goes upstairs, and you presumably end up in his room: bed made, room spotless.

“I have roommates, but they work more than I do, ‘cause I get the profits from dealing. They’re messy, but I’m not,” he explains nonchalantly, placing his clothes in a hamper as he kicks his shoes off, “Can’t stand anything being strewn everywhere. I don't know why they can’t just pick up after themselves, but I’m also not gonna clean up after them. I lock the door to my room when we throw parties.”

“I’m so sorry, honey,” he says regretfully, “Can I shower? It’ll take me five minutes.”

You shrug, “No worries. Go ahead. Take your time.”

“Sweet,” David rifles through his drawers and grabs shorts and a hoodie, “Give me a few.”

He shuts his bathroom door and you hear the shower turn on. You take this time to glance around his room: work clothes hung neatly on hangers in his closet, shoes organized at the bottom on a shelf, photos of what you assume are his family taped on the borders of the mirror on top of his chest of drawers. You want to snoop, sneakily opening a drawer in his nightstand. It contains condoms, cigarettes, weed, and other items you can't identify. Even his drawers are organized, and you didn't think he would have a clean bone in his body.

At least he’s safe about some things, you guess, shutting the drawers as you hear the water shut off. David emerges shortly afterwards, running his towel through his hair, clad in socks and gym shorts. You try to keep your eyes to yourself as he bends over, grabbing a random shirt from one of his drawers and pulling it on.

“What happened to your back?” you ask, nosy as you think about the visible thin striped scars going down the length and width of his back – too thick and too straight to be stretch marks.

He scoffs as he tugs his shoes on – either well-taken care of or brand-new Vans – admitting, “Girls.”

You make a face, confused, before he clarifies, “Sex. I don’t mind it, though. I know I do a good job.”

He tosses his dirty towel into his hamper, grabbing his keys and shoving them into his pocket. Hoodie draped over his forearm, he steps towards you, “Let’s go, baby.” You look up at him as he tips your head up and leans in, giving you the first kiss of the night. His hand moves from your chin to your waist, pulling your hips closer to his. David feels you get bold and handsy, running your hand down the front of his torso.

He pulls away, hand on the small of your back, “Hands to yourself, remember?”

“S-sorry,” you apologize, removing your hand, “I thought that was because I was drunk.”

“No,” he replies, eyes on yours, “It’s because you’re the virgin here. I’m not going to just fuck you and send you home.”

“I’m controlling the way this goes,” David explains, “I’ll make it good for you. Besides, isn't it so much hotter to go slowly?” His lips are millimeters from yours, eyes hooded as he stares between your lips and eyes.

“Whatever you say,” you respond, blush apparent in your cheeks, “I’m not even sure if I know what's hot.”

“Holy shit,” he breathes, pulling you closer, “You don't even know what you like?”

You shake your head, embarrassed, before David kisses you quickly, stepping away and opening his bedroom door, “This is going to be so much fucking fun.”

You’re not hungry, and it feels awkward watching him eat with no conversation to make. He’s thinking the same thing, but neither of you pay it any mind: you’re both grown, you can handle it for half an hour.

David drives back to his place, no hands on you, and you realize he takes good care of his car, too: it feels brand new. You ask him about it, noting how he takes care of his belongings.

“Thank you,” he responds earnestly, lighting a cigarette, “It’s ingrained in me, I guess. When me and my family moved to America, it was all that my parents asked of me. We didn't have much, so we had to take care of what we did have.”

“You’re not from here?” you genuinely question, “That's cool. When and where did you move from?”

“No, I’m not,” he chuckles softly, “Slovakia. Moved when I was six.”

“I’m a DACA recipient, so, like,” David clears his throat, “If we’re ever at a party and the cops show up and you’re with me, we need to be the first ones outta there. Whoever's hosting will usually tell me. My nightmare is getting deported.”

You nod, going quiet, nothing left to say.

“Nice of you to notice, though,” he continues, tossing his cigarette out of his window and moving his free hand to your thigh, “You’re sweet, honey.”

You blush at the action as he pulls into his driveway, rolling his window up and shutting the car off.

The tension between you returns as you follow him upstairs into his room, him ordering you, “On the bed, baby.”

David's never been one to love hand jobs – not when he could do the same thing by himself a million times better – but the opportunity of being able to teach a girl from scratch how to give one exactly the way he likes it is too good for him to not take.

You both kick your shoes off and climb into it, bed still made as he wastes no time, tugging his shirt off and pulling your face to his and kissing you as he lies down. You keep your hands to yourself as he told you to earlier before he grabs at one of them, placing it in the middle of his chest and slowly running it down his torso. His hand remains over yours, controlling its movements as he pushes your hand over the bulge in his shorts, his hips bucking up slightly.

“Keep it there,” David tells you before kissing you again, removing his hand from yours and grasping at your waist. His hands move slightly lower and he already feels how breathless you are into his kisses. Images of his dick in your hands run through his brain, and he twitches under your touch, dick gradually growing bigger.

You change nothing about your hand placement or pressure as you feel him grow beneath your fingers, his hips moving slightly as he leans out. He moves your face with his fingers, squishing your cheeks up momentarily for you to look towards his dick as he tugs his underwear and shorts down.

You exhale sharply at the sight of his dick, heat coming to your cheeks, before he demands, “Spit on it. Nothing else. Don’t touch. Look at me while you do.”

You scoot yourself further down the bed so you can obey, sucking up the spit you have in your mouth, heart beating out of your chest. His fingers thread through your hair and holds it back as he gently reminds you, sensing your anxiety, “Don’t be so nervous, honey. I’ve got you.”

You nod slightly before you meet his eyes and do as you’re told, his mouth dropping open slightly at the sight of the excess saliva dripping from your lips. You wipe at your mouth as he politely tugs you away, fingertips leaving your hair and moving to grasp his dick.

David side eyes you as he strokes himself slightly, “Can I see you?”

You nod, forcing yourself to tear your eyes away from his movements, mouth wanting to water. His free hand tugs at the hem of your dress and he realizes you’re always wearing dresses – he doesn't question it, writing it off as a weird overtly-Catholic thing and not thinking of it again as you lift it off of you.

He didn't think you’d reach around and unhook your bra, but he doesn't complain, staring at your tits and grabbing at them. David breathes heavily, “Watch my hand.”

You do, lips parted as you watch him work over himself, wanting him in your mouth – even if you have no idea how to do it. He twists his grasp near the base of his dick, moving upwards and running his palm over the head with every stroke.

“Fuck,” he curses, watching you watch him and removing his touch, “You do it. I’ll guide you.”

“Do...do you want me to take my rings off?”

“No,” he replies, “It’ll be okay, honey.”

David eyes the crucifix around your neck as it dangles while you lean forward, his free hand running gently down your spine as you wrap your fingers around him.

“Don’t grab as tight as you think,” he advises as you begin moving your hand, “Oh, fuck. Perfect.”

“Slower,” he tells you, “Oh, God, yes. Look at me.”

He pushes your hair behind your shoulders as you glance up at him, his mouth slightly agape. Your hands are smaller than his and more precise, and he can't believe the best handy he’s ever received is from a God-fearing virgin.

“Faster, sugar. Spit again,” he orders, grunting as you obey him, “Good girl. Just like that.”

His hips fuck up into your hand, “Use your other hand and touch under the head. Quick.”

You do, running your fingertips under where you think he’s talking about, eyes still glued to his.

“Fuck, yes,” he grunts, eyes rolling back into his head and throwing his head back against his pillows. David’s hand rests on your back affectionately as he looks up at the ceiling, getting closer.

“Oh, baby, I’m close,” he doesn't know why he’s never told a girl what he likes when getting jerked off, because this is the first time he’s actually enjoyed it.

David decides to just cum all over your hands, eyes rolling back again and grunting as he orgasms. You switch between watching his face twist up as he gasps, breathing heavily, and watching the way his dick pulses as he cums over your fingers and his hips jerk up. He cums on his stomach slightly, his eyes closed as you assume he’s now spent.

“Give me a second,” he excuses breathlessly, “Oh, fuck. I’ve never cum that hard from a handy. I don't even think with myself.”

He opens his eyes, sitting up, “You have two choices. You can either clean up the mess on your hands with a washcloth, or you can lick it up, or both. It’s your call.”

You stare at him for a moment, unresponsive, “Um. No... Can you pick for me? Please?”

David laughs softly, tugging his shorts up and deciding to not make you nasty yet, “Go wash your hands, honey. Washcloths are in the cabinet by the shower. Quickly – you don't want that to dry on you, I promise.”

You nod, getting off of the bed and making your way to his bathroom. It’s as clean and organized as his bedroom is, and you wash and dry your hands, grabbing a washcloth from the cabinet he indicated. There are more condoms – how many does he need? – but you don’t focus on it, drying your hands and running the fabric under warm water. You bring it to him and gently wipe away the cum on his stomach without his asking; David is blown away and flattered as to how much you so obviously want to earn his praise.

You make sure to toss it in his hamper before sliding back onto his bed, not entirely sure what to do next.

“Lie down, baby,” he tells you, arm wrapping around you and tugging you into his chest, “You did so good.”

You’re silent for a few moments, before you break, “Do you have a big dick?”

That genuinely makes him laugh, “I have heard that it’s big...and very hard to take. Just a warning.”

“Take?” you question, looking up at him confusedly.

“There have been a lot of times where it doesn't fit.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Good luck, sweetheart, but I won't hurt you.”

#david dobrik #david dobrik imagine #david dobrik fanfic #david dobrik fanfiction #david dobrik x oc #david dobrik x you #david dobrik/you #you x david dobrik #david dobrik au #LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK MY PRAISE KINK NEEDS IT

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spiteweaver · 5 years ago

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(Note: this story takes place in October of 2019!)

Of all the dragons Achilles had expected to show up on his doorstep out of the blue, Yọmí was the absolute last. Yet, there he stood, shivering in the early autumn chill, and looking very much like a sheep among wolves. The dragons of the pleasure district, patrons and proprietors alike, paid him little more than a curious glance now and again, but if you’d asked him, he would have told you they were leering at him, biding their time until they could sink their wicked teeth into fresh meat.

“We don’t bite,” Achilles said.

Yọmí gave a violent start, and scrambled to appear as if he wasn’t petrified. “N-no,” he stammered, “no, of course not, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Oh, don’t be so polite, darling,” Achilles cut in, “it makes me weak in the knees.”

“I don’t—I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Never mind.” Achilles turned, motioning lazily over his shoulder for Yọmí to enter. “Come along,” he said, “and explain to me what an upstanding young drake like you is doing calling on a courtesan at this late hour. I can’t imagine you’ve come to buy.”

“No,” Yọmí confirmed as he shuffled into the Nightingale’s dimly-lit foyer. “Actually, I’ve come to speak with you about a—a personal matter.”

Achilles arched a brow. “Oh?” he hummed. “Well, you’re lucky you caught me. I was about to head out for the Lighthouse District. The grand opening is next week, and the boys and I have hardly made a dent in the packing.”

“It seems a shame,” Yọmí said thoughtfully. “The Nightingale is—it’s a very beautiful building.”

“Want it?” Achilles asked. “It would make a mighty fine manor for a mighty fine architect!”

“O-oh no,” Yọmí replied, “I wouldn’t know what to do with so much space.”

“Get married,” Achilles suggested, “have a kid or thirty.”

The quiet hitch of Yọmí’s breath catching in his throat confirmed Achilles’ suspicions. There could be only one thing an aristocrat of his disposition could possibly want with a drake in this line of work. Sighing, Achilles braced himself for a long night. “So this is about all that then?” he inquired.

“Yes,” Yọmí mumbled after a split second of hesitation.

“I had a hunch,” Achilles said, and then cupped his hands around his mouth. “Darling! Dear!” he called. “If Arroyo or Jean-Baptiste come looking, tell them I’ve already gone down to the pier, would you?”

Another drake appeared in the doorway to their right. Yọmí thought he had seen the stranger before, recognizing his dark, mottled skin and smart dress, but wasn’t sure if he was Darling or Dear. “What should we do if they don’t buy it?” the drake asked.

“I’ll leave that to your discretion,” Achilles replied.

“Delightful,” the drake purred, and noticing Yọmí at his employer’s side, gave a short bow. “Lovely to see you, Master Architect!”

“You, uh, you as well.”

The drake departed, and Achilles led Yọmí up an unexpectedly modest staircase. He had imagined the staff quarters to be every bit as ostentatious as the rest of the building, but the third floor looked like it could have belonged to any of the houses in the capital. The drakes of the Nightingale were so famous for their showmanship, in fact, that when Achilles halted in front of an equally unobtrusive door, Yọmí stared at him as if waiting for him to go on.

“This is it,” Achilles said. “You did want to speak in private, didn’t you?”

Yọmí shook himself from his daze. “Er, yes,” he said. “I’m sorry, this is—it’s a first for me.”

“If I had a gold piece for every time I’ve heard that one...”

Achilles’ private chambers were more in line with what Yọmí had anticipated. Though lacking the rest of the building’s over-the-top decor, they were dressed in the deep purples and reds their inhabitant was so fond of, and Yọmí doubted a single item within was made of anything but silk, velvet, or lace. The intimacy of the space made him second guess himself, but Achilles appeared entirely nonplussed, moving immediately to pour his guest a drink from his exceedingly expensive stash.

“Sit—” He waved to the plush couch at the opposite end of the room— “start talking, and don’t be your usual bashful self. If you’re going to vent, do it right.”

Yọmí hurried to oblige his host, sinking so far into the cushions that he felt they may swallow him, but his mind was suddenly, inexplicably blank. “I don’t know where to begin...”

“You were a courtesan before you came to us,” Achilles supplied. “Start there.”

“That’s just it,” Yọmí said, “I wasn’t a courtesan. I wasn’t a—a—”

“A whore.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Achilles silenced him with another wave. “Don’t apologize,” he insisted, “it’s not an insult, sweetie, it’s what I am. I’ve been called far worse by far less charming drakes than you.” With a small, reassuring smile, he offered Yọmí a goblet of rich red wine. “What’s eating you then? I thought you were worried about that ugly ex of yours spilling your dirty little secret, but that’s obviously not the case.”

“I am,” Yọmí said, accepting the wine with a gracious dip of his head, “sort of. It’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

Yọmí stared hard into his glass for a moment, and then, to Achilles’ astonishment, drained it in a single gulp. Achilles was glad he’d thought to bring the bottle with him. “My father arranged my marriage to Abaeze,” Yọmí went on, “because he found out I’d been seeing other drakes behind his back. I was lonely. Without my siblings, father was all I had, and he wasn’t very much. I started seeking solace in the arms of my peers, wealthy bachelors like myself who understood and respected me.

“I knew it was wrong; I was meant to be saving myself for marriage, for the sake of our house. That’s why father was so insistent that I marry Abaeze. Abaeze knew I was spoiled, but he wanted me regardless. Marrying into royalty would cement our family’s influence in Dragonhome after father’s exaltation, so he made all of the necessary preparations without even consulting me. I simply awoke one morning to find that I was engaged to a prince, and father was gone before I could think to protest.

“Then when Abaeze turned up here, he—” Yọmí’s words stuck in his throat, coming out as a strangled sob— “he humiliated me in front of my clan. Now they all think I’m some kind of harlot who will spread his legs for anyone, and I can’t tell them any different, because I was, Abaeze is right, and—”

“Stop.” Achilles pressed a finger to Yọmí’s lips. “Breathe.”

Yọmí did as he was told as Achilles leaned forward to light a stick of incense on the low table in front of them. It smelled of lavender, and Yọmí found his eyelids growing heavy all at once. There was a gnawing fatigue in his bones that he hadn’t noticed until then, with a goblet of wine in his belly and a beautiful drake’s hand against his cheek. Unable to fight it any longer, he allowed his head to be guided down to rest in Achilles’ lap.

“There,” Achilles murmured, “now slow down, take your time.”

“How do you do it?” Yọmí asked.

“Do what, love?”

“Deal with it.”

“Ah—” Achilles ran a hand wistfully through Yọmí’s wild curls— “that. Well, I don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“It isn’t about ‘dealing with it’,” Achilles elaborated, “there’s nothing to ‘deal with’.”

Yọmí didn’t find that a very satisfying answer, nor much of an elaboration. “What about what others think of you?” he pressed. “What about your reputation? Your status? Your family name?”

“Why should consensual sex between two drakes tarnish any of those things?” Achilles retorted.

“Because it—it isn’t done—”

“Stop,” Achilles said again, “breathe.”

“I just—” Yọmí took in another deep breath to steady himself, but his next words came out soft, barely audible and hoarse with emotion. “I just want to feel normal, like everybody else.”

“Oh, sweetheart—” Achilles bent to press a tender kiss to Yọmí’s forehead— “what did they do to you in Dragonhome? You’re such a darling thing, and still so young. Drakes your age are supposed to wear their hearts on their sleeves.”

“I’m two cycles already,” Yọmí said, a bit indignantly.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Achilles, evidently ignoring his guest’s displeasure, “come with me to the Lighthouse District tonight. It sounds to me like you’ve been taught an awful lot of awful things by the aristocracy, and if you ever want to get that weight off your shoulders, you’re going to have to unlearn them.”

“Un…?” Yọmí tilted his head back, so that he could catch Achilles’ gaze. “Unlearn them?”

“That’s what I said!”

“How?”

Achilles smiled, and Yọmí felt a peculiar stirring in his chest that he had not felt for longer than he cared to quantify. “Little by little,” Achilles replied. “It won’t happen overnight, but if we can start by changing your view of the world, perhaps we can change your view of yourself.”

“Will that really work?” Yọmí asked.

“Well,” Achilles said, “it certainly worked for me.”

“You…?”

“Do you think confidence like mine springs up out of nothing and nowhere?” Achilles scoffed, pinching one of Yọmí’s cheeks playfully. (The teasing gesture brought heat rushing into them, and Yọmí was glad then for his dark skin.) “I had to work hard for my vanity, darling, and a boy like you, with such low self-esteem, will have to work even harder. That’s why we ought to get started ASAP.”

Perhaps it was the wine, or the stress, or simply Achilles’ skill as a courtesan, but without really even looking for it, Yọmí had found his courage. Reaching up, he placed a hand on the back of Achilles’ head, and dragged him down into a kiss—the first kiss he had shared with another drake since leaving Dragonhome all those aching, longing eons ago. Achilles tasted sweet, like wine, and honey, and something Yọmí couldn’t name, but that made his entire body warm with desire.

When they parted, it was breathlessly, and Yọmí didn’t let Achilles wander far. “I am not,” he said, “a boy.”

“Evidently not,” Achilles conceded. “My, when you decide you’re going to do something, you commit! Here I had you pegged for a bottom, but that was raw, visceral top energy right there! I’ve got goosebumps!” Then his sly smile returned, indescribably beautiful beneath the pale pink color of his blush. “Are you certain you aren’t here to buy?”

“O-oh, n-n-no, I c-couldn’t—”

Well, so much for courage.

@nostlenne

#flight rising #fr #zach writes #clan feldspar #feldspar lore #c: yomi #c: achilles #in which yomi is gay for achilles #they aren't a couple or anything #but hot DAMN did achilles get yomi's blood pumping again #achilles: all according to plan >:3c #as an aside #i am already working on the time loop arc #but i have some backlog from the months prior to it that i absolutely need to get through #such as aurelius and halcyon's arrival #and absolom confronting wolf and isaiah #BUT THEN #THEN THE REAL DRAMA CAN BEGIN

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iscariotsdeputy · 7 years ago

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alex is in the chair, bound. blood slathered across bare chest and another sin has been carved there. john was still breathing on the heavier side when staci pratt was brought in, armed militia men covering him of course. john beamed. 'ah deputy! i was hoping you would do the honors of removing the tattoo, our brother has not yet properly atoned. but he will soon.'

We’re all in this together @finalvlog

What should someone feel when they’re told that The Baptist wanted to see them? Anyone whose presence was wanted by John was a dead man. Staci never attempted to garner attention from John, but now it seemed like he was the new rat thrown in for the cat to toy with before killing it. At least, that’s how Staci felt as he was led down corridors.

John’s bunker was like a museum dedicated to sin. Blood covered the walls like a Jackson fuckin’ Pollock painting. People’s heads were covered with animal skulls and flowers, looking like some grotesque homage to Salvador Dali’s more peculiar works. Each step made you feel like you were taking a part of your own funeral march. Each step made you feel inanimate, like you were going to be the latest addition to John’s sinister workings.

When Staci was led to that final room, the first thing he noticed wasn’t the workbench. It wasn’t the tattoo gun. It wasn’t the stench of blood and decay. It wasn’t even John. A man who demands everyone’s attention was nothing more than a mere fly on the wall to Staci. What took hold of Staci’s attention? What made Staci’s heart wrench in his chest? Who made Staci’s eyes widen and show true fear?

Alex. Alex was there. Getting tattooed by John. Being forced to atone.

'Ah deputy! I was hoping you would do the honors of removing the tattoo, our brother has not yet properly atoned. But he will soon.’

Staci never wanted it to come to this. Staci never wanted John to get between Staci and Alex. Did Alex and Staci know they were doomed? Of course they did. They knew they were fated to fail. They knew there was no salvation for them both. Being torn apart was a certainty they knew of, but they at least wanted to be together as long as they could. Now, Staci just had to accept that today was the day they would be torn apart.

He took the knife that John handed to him. It was like Judas’ kiss, betrayal in its finest. The Deputy could feel John smile. Feel that enraptured, manic gaze aimed towards him. Here Staci was, taking the bait and following orders like a good mutt. Slowly, he sat on Alex’s lap, bringing that knife up to Alex’s chest, but not yet piercing his skin.

Blue eyes watched him in intrigue. Green eyes looked at him in betrayal, but that betrayal quickly turned into confusion.

Staci winked. He winked. He winked and flashed a reassuring grin that only Alex could see. The kind of wink and grin combo that assured that Staci was about to do something incredibly stupid.

Staci dropped the knife, standing up and looking back to John with feigned sorrow in his eyes. If John wanted dramatics, then he would give John dramatics. He bowed and shook his head. “I can’t, brother. I can’t cut into his flesh. Look at him!” Staci angrily pointed back at Alex. “He is not sorry for his sin! He will not regret his sin! He cannot atone! He’s proud of his sin, can’t you see it?”

Staci, Pratt, Peaches, whatever John wanted to call him, put his fingertips on his chest and brought them down his sternum, just like John did. He breathed in and out heavily, simulating that broken breathing. “Alex…He!! He revels in his sin! He lives in it! Why does he get to atone when all he does is take advantage of this–this gracious gift you give him?”

The former Deputy’s eyes were wild, filled with the light of John’s hellfire. There had never been so much excitement in them before now. His mind was full of flares, each shooting off in bright, brilliant colors as he orchestrated each and every one of his movements to blur the line between Staci Pratt and John Seed’s personalities.

“He does not deserve to atone. Not yet. I say we let him go. Let him stew in his sin like a maggot in a decaying corpse!” Staci rushed behind Alex’s chair, placing a clawed hand over the new tattoo and an open hand on his shoulder. “He will crawl back to you, brother. He will crawl back to you and he will beg for forgiveness. He will beg for you to get rid of his pain, of his sin. Only then will he truly appreciate what the Baptist does for his people.”

Staci stood up, pressing both of his hands onto Alex’s shoulders now, leaning his weight onto him. “And if he does not return… I can assure you he will find the Father’s light once again. He will not stray when he is under my supervision.”

#tw gore #AAAYYYYYY #gcdsaved #finalvlog

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organaleias · 8 years ago

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Blessed Among W o m e n | The Life of Mary | The A s s u m p t i o n and The C o r o n a t i o n

“Behold, Mary leaves the earth, and calling to mind the many graces she had there received from her Lord, she looks at it at the same time both with affection and compassion, leaving in it so many poor children, in the midst of so many miseries and dangers. And now Jesus offers her His hand, and the blessed mother rises in the air and passes beyond the clouds and spheres. And now Mary enters into the blessed country. But on her entrance, the celestial spirits seeing her so beautiful and glorious, ask of those who are without, and exclaim, all rejoicing in heaven in one voice: Who is this that cometh up from the desert, flowing with delights, leaning upon her beloved? And who is this creature so beautiful, that comes from the desert of the earth, a place so full of thorns and tribulation? But this one comes so pure and so rich in virtue, supported by her beloved Lord, who deigns to accompany her with great honor. Who is she? The angels who accompany her answer: This is the mother of our King, she is our queen, and the blessed one among women, full of grace, the saint of saints, the beloved of God, the immaculate, the dove, the most beautiful of all creatures. Then all the saints who were at that time in paradise came to welcome her and salute her as their queen. All the holy virgins came: They saw her, and declared her most blessed and they praised her. Then came the holy confessors to salute her as their mistress, who had taught them so many beautiful virtues by her holy life. The holy martyrs came also to salute her as their queen, because by her great constancy in the sorrows of the passion of her Son, she had taught them, and also obtained for them by her merits, strength to give their life for the faith. St. James came also, the only one of the apostles who was then in paradise, to thank her in the name of all the other apostles, for the great comfort and support she had given them while she was upon earth. The prophets next came to salute her, and they said to her: Ah, Lady, thou wast foreshadowed in our prophecies. The holy patriarchs came and said to her: O Mary, thou hast been our hope, so much and so long sighed for by us. And among those came our first parents, Adam and Eve, to thank her with greater affection. Ah, beloved daughter, they said to her, thou hast repaired the injury done by us to the human race; thou hast obtained for the world that blessing lost by us, on account of our crime: by thee we are saved, and for it be forever blessed. Then came holy Simeon to kiss her feet, and with joy reminded her of that day on which he received from her hands the infant Jesus. St. Zachary and St. Elizabeth also came, and thanked her again for that loving visit, that with so much humility and charity she made them in their dwelling, and through which they received so many treasures of grace. St. John the Baptist came with greater affection to thank her for having sanctified him by means of her voice. But what could her parents, St. Joachim and St. Anna, say to her, when they came to salute her? O God! with what tenderness must they have blessed her, saying: Ah! beloved daughter, what happiness was ours in having such a child! Ah! be thou our queen now, because thou art the mother of our God; as such we salute thee and adore thee. But who can comprehend the affection with which her dear spouse St. Joseph came to salute her? Who can describe the joy that the holy patriarch experienced at seeing his spouse arrive in heaven with so much triumph, made queen of all paradise? With what tenderness did he say to her: Ah! my Lady and spouse, how shall I ever be able to thank our God as I ought for having made me thy spouse, thou who art His true mother? Through thee I merited on earth to attend upon the childhood of the incarnate Word, to bear Him so often in my arms, and receive from Him so many special favors. Blessed be the moments that I spent in life serving Jesus and thee, my holy spouse. Then all the angels came to salute her, and she, the great queen, thanked all for the assistance they had given her on earth, especially thanking the Archangel St. Gabriel, who was the happy ambassador of all her glories, when he came to announce to her that she was to be made mother of God. Then the humble and holy Virgin, kneeling, adores the Divine Majesty, and wholly lost in the consciousness of her nothingness, thanks Him for all the graces bestowed upon her solely by His goodness, and especially for having made her mother of the eternal Word. Let those who can, comprehend with what love the most holy Trinity blessed her. Let them comprehend what a welcome the eternal Father gave to His daughter, the Son to His mother, the Holy Spirit to His spouse. The Father crowns her by sharing with her His power, the Son His wisdom, the Holy Spirit His love. And all the three divine persons establishing her throne at the right hand of Jesus, declare her universal queen of heaven and of earth.” — St. Alphonsus Maria de’ Liguori, The Glories of Mary

[x, x]

[pictured: Assunzione di Vergine (Assumption of the Virgin), painted by Ludovico Cardi da Cigoli, c. 1612.]

#lanaturners #ܐܡܐ ܡܪܝܡ #ludovico cardi #art #my edits #blessed among women: tlom

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tpanan · 6 years ago

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My Saturday Daily Blessings

July 6, 2019

Be still quiet your heart and mind, the LORD is here, loving you talking to you...........

Saturday of the Thirteenth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 382

First Reading: Genesis 27: 1-5, 15-29

When Isaac was so old that his eyesight had failed him, he called his older son Esau and said to him, "Son!"

"Yes father!" he replied.

Isaac then said, "As you can see, I am so old that I may now die at any time.

Take your gear, therefore–your quiver and bow–and go out into the country to hunt some game for me.

With your catch prepare an appetizing dish for me, such as I like, and bring it to me to eat, so that I may give you my special blessing before I die."

Rebekah had been listening while Isaac was speaking to his son Esau. So, when Esau went out into the country to hunt some game for his father, Rebekah [then] took the best clothes of her older son Esau that she had in the house,

and gave them to her younger son Jacob to wear; and with the skins of the kids she covered up his hands and the hairless parts of his neck.

Then she handed her son Jacob the appetizing dish and the bread she had prepared.

Bringing them to his father, Jacob said, "Father!"

"Yes?" replied Isaac. "Which of my sons are you?"

Jacob answered his father: "I am Esau, your first-born.

I did as you told me.

Please sit up and eat some of my game, so that you may give me your special blessing."

But Isaac asked, "How did you succeed so quickly, son?"

He answered, "The LORD, your God, let things turn out well with me."

Isaac then said to Jacob, "Come closer, son, that I may feel you, to learn whether you really are my son Esau or not."

So Jacob moved up closer to his father.

When Isaac felt him, he said, "Although the voice is Jacob's, the hands are Esau's."

(He failed to identify him because his hands were hairy,

like those of his brother Esau; so in the end he gave him his blessing.)

Again he asked Jacob, "Are you really my son Esau?"

"Certainly," Jacob replied.

Then Isaac said, "Serve me your game, son, that I may eat of it and then give you my blessing."

Jacob served it to him, and Isaac ate; he brought him wine, and he drank.

Finally his father Isaac said to Jacob, "Come closer, son, and kiss me."

As Jacob went up and kissed him, Isaac smelled the fragrance of his clothes. With that, he blessed him saying,

"Ah, the fragrance of my son is like the fragrance of a field

that the LORD has blessed!

"May God give to you of the dew of the heavens And of the fertility of the earth abundance of grain and wine.

"Let peoples serve you, and nations pay you homage; Be master of your brothers, and may your mother's sons bow down to you. Cursed be those who curse you, and blessed be those who bless you."

Responsorial Psalm: Psalm 135: 1b-2, 3-4, 5-6

"Praise the LORD for the LORD is good!"

Verse before the Gospel: John 10:27

Alleluia, Alleluia.

"My sheep hear my voice, says the Lord; I know them, and they follow me."

Alleluia, Alleluia.

Gospel: Matthew 9: 14-17

The disciples of John approached Jesus and said, "Why do we and the Pharisees fast much, but your disciples do not fast?"

Jesus answered them, "Can the wedding guests mourn

as long as the bridegroom is with them?

The days will come when the bridegroom is taken away from them, and then they will fast.

No one patches an old cloak with a piece of unshrunken cloth, for its fullness pulls away from the cloak and the tear gets worse.

People do not put new wine into old wineskins.

Otherwise the skins burst, the wine spills out, and the skins are ruined.

Rather, they pour new wine into fresh wineskins, and both are preserved."

**Meditation:

Which comes first, fasting or feasting? The disciples of John the Baptist were upset with Jesus' disciples because they did not fast. Fasting was one of the three most important religious duties, along with prayer and almsgiving. Jesus gave a simple explanation. There's a time for fasting and a time for feasting (or celebrating). To walk as a disciple with Jesus is to experience a whole new joy of relationship akin to the joy of the wedding party in celebrating with the groom and bride their wedding bliss.

A time to rejoice and a time to mourn But there also comes a time when the Lord's disciples must bear the cross of affliction and purification. For the disciple there is both a time for rejoicing in the Lord's presence and celebrating his goodness and a time for seeking the Lord with humility and fasting and for mourning over sin. Do you take joy in the Lord's presence with you and do you express sorrow and contrition for your sins?

The closed mind that refuses to learn Jesus goes on to warn his disciples about the problem of the "closed mind" that refuses to learn new things. Jesus used an image familiar to his audience - new and old wineskins. In Jesus' times, wine was stored in wineskins, not bottles. New wine poured into skins was still fermenting. The gases exerted gave pressure. New wine skins were elastic enough to take the pressure, but old wine skins easily burst because they had become hard and had lost their ability to expand and stretch. What did Jesus mean by this comparison? Are we to reject the old in place of the new?

Treasuring the old and new wine of the Holy Spirit Just as there is a right place and a right time for fasting and for feasting, so there is a right place for the old as well as the new. Jesus says the kingdom of heaven is like a householder who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old (Matthew 13:52). How impoverished we would be if we only had the Old Testament or the New Testament books of the Bible, rather than both. The Lord gives us wisdom so we can make the best use of both the old and the new. He doesn't want us to hold rigidly to the past and to be resistant to the new work of his Holy Spirit in our lives. He wants our minds and hearts to be like new wine skins - open and ready to receive the new wine of the Holy Spirit. Are you eager to grow in the knowledge and understanding of God's word and plan for your life?

Sources:

Lectionary for Mass for Use in the Dioceses of the United States, second typical edition, Copyright © 2001, 1998, 1997, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine; Psalm refrain © 1968, 1981, 1997, International Committee on English in the Liturgy, Inc. All rights reserved. Neither this work nor any part of it may be reproduced, distributed, performed or displayed in any medium, including electronic or digital, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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btssmutsobscenity · 6 years ago

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Kim Taehyung was your typical bad boy. He doesn't do his work like he's supposed to, he talks back to teachers, he bullies students for the way they look, talk and how they dress and he never follows the school's dress code.

Girls are always swooning head over heels for him because he's very handsome and not only that, he's filthy rich because of his father, who is the senior executive of the Kim foundation, one of the biggest companies in Seoul.

Taehyung gets what he wants, whenever he wants because he thinks he's more important than everybody else. He's self-centered, rude and stuck up. He doesn't care about what anybody says because he does what he wants when he wants. Because that's just how Taehyung rules.

Taehyung wakes up from the delicacy of his maid's voice, telling him that it was time to get up and get ready for school before he's late. He groans, but nonetheless he gets out off his bed and trails his heavy feet to the bathroom.

He sees that his bath was already set and prepared just like he likes it. He removes his clothing and steps into the bath, washing every part of his body with his favorite citrus body wash.

Afterwards, he brushes his teeth and puts on his same clothes he always wear every single day. His leather jacket, black distressed jeans, a white t-shirt and combat boots. He grabs his empty backpack and walks down the stairs, into the kitchen where his breakfast was being prepared by his maids.

Taehyung has several maids that he adores because they're always doing exactly what he asked them to do.

Taehyung sits at the table and eats his breakfast accordingly before giving his dish to the maid and walking out the front door to his sleek black BMW.

With the click of a button, the BMW's engine starts up and Taehyung gets into the driver's seat, backing out the mansion's driveway and heading down the hectic street. Stopping at red lights, stop signs and waiting for pedestrians to cross the street, Taehyung finally arrives at school.

He parks his car in a empty parking space before exiting the car, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking into the school building like everyone else. He smirks as he was already being looked at by all the girls with flirtatious looks. He chuckles as he winks at them, they practically fainted.

If only they knew...

Taehyung continues to walk down the hall until he bumped into someone knocking all their books and stuff down. Taehyung was about to snap at the other for not paying attention but he did not. Instead, he looks down and his heart immediately stops.

A boy, not much taller than him with caramel hair, chocolate brown eyes, a cute button nose and plump cherry-pasted lips stared right at him with the most petrified look ever. He was gorgeous. For some reason, Taehyung had the urge to help him pick his books up, to which he did.

"Are you okay?" He asked the other male and he gets a shaken nod in return. "I'm sorry for knocking your books down," Taehyung apologizes and the male just looks away with a prominent blush on his cheeks before nodding and walking past him briskly.

Taehyung turns around and watches as the male walks down the hallway with a tiny sparkle in his eye.

~Time Skip~

Taehyung was currently at lunch, sitting at the cafeteria table with his friends; Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon and Jin. The younger was eating in silence while looking at the male that he bumped into a few hours ago out in the hallway, until Jin knocked him out of his mesmerized trance.

"Got a crush?" Jin's voice was teasing and the others snickered as Taehyung threw a glare at the oldest of the group.

"His name is Jeon Jungkook, he is known to have rich parents also, his father being a priest and owning his own church while his mother was a baptist. Taehyung's eyes widened, "he's a church boy?!" He whispers yells.

"Yeah, he goes to church every Sunday and rumors are that he's absolutely pure and innocent and has never done anything bad before." Jin explains and Taehyung had to laugh, there was no way in hell that anybody could possibly be that innocent.

"No way," Taehyung says, not believing it. "Don't believe me? Ask him yourself." "You actually talked to him?" Taehyung says, shocked. "Yeah, it took me a few tries because he was so damn shy, but he's incredibly nice." Jin says.

Taehyung thinks before returning his gaze back to the other male. The male was looking right at him, but quickly turned away when he got caught, a blush on his face. Taehyung saw it and smirked. He's gonna ruin Jungkook.

The bell finally rung and the school day ended. Taehyung grabbed his bag and walked out the classroom where he saw Jungkook waiting for him like he told him to do. 'So obedient' Taehyung thought as he smiles brightly.

"Hey cutie, let's go to my place." Taehyung says and Jungkook shyly nods before letting Taehyung grab his wrist and leading him out the school, to the parking lot where he's car was parked.

Once Taehyung and Jungkook we're both seated in the car, Taehyung backs out the parking lot and heads down the street, arriving back at his mansion in 5 minutes. Taehyung gets out and Jungkook follows him inside the large house, his eyes widened in astonishment once he sees the inside.

"Like it?" Taehyung smirks, eyeing Jungkook's astonished look. Instead of answering, Jungkook just nods, blushing a dark red. Taehyung chuckles. "You can have a seat if you like." Taehyung says, going around the corner to enter the kitchen to get him and Jungkook something to drink.

He comes back around the corner with two glasses of sparkling water. He sits on the couch and hands the glass to Jungkook. Jungkook bows his head as a thank you before taking a sip. Taehyung also takes a sip before talking. "So, Jungkook? Tell me something about yourself?" He asks.

Jungkook clears his throat before starting. "W-well, I'm 17 a-and that's about it," Jungkook stutters and hearing the dark chuckle that escaped Taehyung's mouth made him shiver.

Taehyung leans closer. "Oh, I know there's more than that Jungkookie," Taehyung says lowly in the said male's ear, feeling him tense and Taehyung smirks with satisfaction. He places a hand on the latter's thigh and rubs.

Jungkook wanted to push away before things escalating, but he couldn't, Taehyung's hand went farther up his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch.

"T-Tae w-wait," Jungkook stutters and Taehyung halts his hand for moving any further. "What's wrong baby? Don't you want this? I know you do." Taehyung teases, continuing his journey until his hand was placed on Jungkook's crotch area.

Jungkook whimpers and he feels his lower region acting all kinds of funny. He didn't like this feeling at all. This feeling was really painful. "T-Tae!"

Jungkook yelps as the older grips his crotch tightly. He nibbles on his lip. "Already so hard for me babe," Taehyung growls as he continues to squeeze the boy's crotch. Taehyung unbuttons Jungkook's pants and makes the boy lift his hips so he could remove both his jeans and briefs off in one go.

Jungkook's cock was released from its confinement and he blushes embarrassingly. This has never happened to him before, this was so new for him, his parents never discussed this topic with him before.

Taehyung spreads the boy's legs and gets on his knees where his in between them. Taehyung wraps a hand around Jungkook's junk and pumps, licking at the tip and swirling hungrily around the head. He could taste the saltiness of pre cum on his tongue.

He starts to suck the head driving Jungkook crazy making him cry out. Taehyung looks at the younger and could've came right then and there. His face was totally fucked out and Taehyung hasn't even started yet. His perfect lips were parted, eyes fluttered shut and cheeks a rosy pink.

Taehyung engulfs the entirety of Jungkook's cock, the head brushing against the back of his throat and he gags a little when Jungkook accidentally bucks his hips. The older bobs his head continually and Jungkook cums down his throat.

Taehyung swallows and spreads Jungkook's legs impossibly wider. "Hold your legs up for me baby," Taehyung growls lowly and Jungkook does what he's told because he's obedient and he always does what he's told, because not doing what your told to do is a risk of going to hell; according to what his parents told him.

Jungkook holds his legs up onto the couch, revealing his cleanly shaven hole for Taehyung's sinful eyes. Taehyung's eyes darkened as he tongues at Jungkook's small pink hole making the young male squeak out small whines. Taehyung circles his tongue around Jungkook's flushed pink rim, delving inside of the opening, probing at his clenched walls.

"A-ah a-ah T-Tae," Jungkook whines. Taehyung leans closer to the boy's hole making his tongue reach impossibly deeper inside of him. Jungkook was gonna cum for a second time, but Taehyung quickly removes himself away from the other boy's hole.

Standing up, Taehyung roughly tugs the boy off the couch and captures his lips into a heated kiss. Taehyung cups the younger's ass roughly as his tongue meets Jungkook's and they fight for dominance(mainly Taehyung). Jungkook willingly lost since he couldn't keep up with the fast paced kiss.

"Jump," Orders Taehyung and again, Jungkook obeys, jumping and hooking his legs around Taehyung's waist and arms around his neck. Taehyung carries him up the two flights of stairs and into his large bedroom, where his maids were located dusting off the shelves.

"Get out," Taehyung growls at them and they scampered out the room, closing the door briskly leaving Taehyung and the boy be. Taehyung smirks darkly and continues to kiss Jungkook heatedly, falling on top of him onto the bed.

Taehyung quickly tears his jacket and shirt off and throws it to the ground somewhere(the maids will get it). He then unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his button and unzips the zipper until his pants were finally off, leaving just his briefs which he tore them off in record time.

He grabs a condom and some lube from the bedside drawer and places the plastic onto his cock, quickly lathering it with some lube. He then squirts some onto the boy's hole, getting him all lubed up for his cock.

Taehyung aligns his cock up to Jungkook's entrance and pushes in roughly, fucking him immediately. Jungkook screams loudly as the older found his prostate already without any problems. Taehyung thrusts and thrusts in and out at a merciless pace, giving the male underneath him no mercy.

Tears were streaming down Jungkook's face as he cums for the second time. Ropes after ropes paints his uniform shirt. Taehyung continues to fuck Jungkook harshly, brutalizing his oversensitive prostate. Taehyung was so close to coming and he could see that Jungkook was about to cum for his third time.

After one more aggressive thrust, they both cum in unison with loud moans. Taehyung pulls out and kisses the male's forehead. Taehyung cleans of the male and himself before placing him underneath he covers as well as himself. Jungkook falls asleep while Taehyung watches him with a smile.

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