#to self destruction. so what am i do to? cross my fingers and pray for a fluctuation in my general mood? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years ago

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HASO, “In the Ambience.”

Had a conversation on discord last night where I became aware that I left Sunny and Adam’s interactions at a place where it was sort of nervous and awkward. So thank you DZ for talking that through with me.

I am not really well versed in writing relationships, and I didn’t want it to overshadow the rest of my writing, so I pulled back from it, but I think I pulled back too hard. So if you care about the Sunny/Adam dynamic, I wrote a story this morning to acknowledge that. Hope you like it, and I hope you all have a great day.

She got up in the dark, with only the dim ambience of soft blue lighting to accompany her. She stretched all four arms, and rolled her neck. It struck her as mildly interesting in that moment, how something so small could connect them to humans, The thought was fleeting as she took another step forward to kneel down on the floor. There, in a little alcove in the wall, she had set a volcanic rock from Anin, dried moss, and other paraphernalia from her home world. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath resting her hands together.

Praise and respect to the spirits of Anin. Praise the fathers and mothers of war gone to their rest below the moss and the earth. Praise their spirits that watch from the sky and peer through the ether down upon us.

She continued the slow mantra in the style of Prayer learned from Naktan and pulled her concentration to her core ignoring anything and everything around her. A deep state of meditation overtook her. She would never have done this if she thought there were any chance that she was in danger, but below she knew Earth glowed like a sphere before their orbiting ship. There was no worry of invasion.

She thought she heard something at one point, but chose to ignore it as she continued her mantra.

Eventually, and after an unknown amount of minutes, she stood and turned slowly to find-

She stopped, and crossed her arms over her chest.

“What are you doing.”

Adam burrowed his way further down into her blankets nuzzling his head up against her pillow, “So warm, and comfy!”

She tried not to smile, “You dumbass.”

He pulled the blankets tighter around himself, “You know, I did come here to talk to you, but I actually really am comfortable, so come back in two hours.”

“I-”

He closed his eyes and pretended to snore loudly.

She rolled her eyes as she watched him theatrically pretend to sleep. She looked around mildly for a moment before picking up another pillow and glancing at the door. She casually walked over, dropped the pillow on his head and then held it down as if she intended to smother him.

That got him up and moving.

Before long the two of them were grappling for the upper hand, him trying to put her in a choke hold, and her using her lower arms to pinch him.

He yelped, “Ouch! Pinching is illegal.”

“SIssy.”

He clamped his legs around her lower arms pinning them in place. SHe struggled for a minute and then went limp.

SHe could feel his smug smile, “I win, I beat the saint of Anin. Everyone bow at my feet.”

“You say that, but if this were a real fight, you’re the one with a self destruct button.”

“Self-destruct button…?”

“Meaning if this were a real fight, I would have punched you in the balls.”

“Please don’t”

Finally he let her go, leaving the two of them to lay on her bed, sheets scattered on the floor around them, and her pillows in disarray. Adam put his hands behind his head and sighed.

She glanced over at him, “I don’t suppose you came to just hang out. Here on Admiral-ly business?”

He groaned pulling one of her pillows over his face, “Please smother me for real this time.”

SHe leaned up on one of her elbows, “Why?”

“I don’t wanna be an adult anymore,” She tilted her head to the side watching in amusement as he attempted to throw a childlike tantrum, but only really had the energy to kick his feet once, “It’s boring and lame and they wont let me wear heelies to important meetings…. Children don’t have to pay taxes.”

She laughed, pulling the pillow from his face, “Adam you are many things, but ‘adult’ is not one of them.”

He grinned slightly, “True enough.” He sighed again and rested his head back against the pillows, “I just want to get back to what we are supposed to be doing, exploring the universe and making cool alien friends.” He threw up his hands in frustration, “But Suddenly I find myself embroiled in stupid annoying politics that I don’[t understand, being used by people who are, lets face it, WAY smarter than me, constantly finding myself getting manipulated.”

She huffed, “They aren’t smarter than you Adam, they’re just manipulative, and you aren't.”

He sighed, “Fair enough.” Then he looked at her, bright green eyes reflecting the soft ambient blue light, “I just, I miss this, I miss us, I miss hanging out and doing stupid shit, and all of the things I could do when I wasn’t so important and this operation was smaller.”

She smiled rather sadly reaching one hand over for his, lacing the four of her fingers through the five of his, “Well someone has to do the hard things, who better than you.”

He glanced over at her raising an eyebrow, “Or you, miss saint”

She rolled her eyes again, “Can’t seem to get you off of that. I’m still the same person I used to be.”

“But with power.”

She elbowed him gently and he grinned, “But really, I am proud and impressed and…. Let's be honest super super smug that ‘I’ know you personally.”

“I know, I am pretty terrific.”

The two of them laughed for a minute before settling down again. He glanced over to her little shrine on the wall, “What were you doing just then?”

She looked up at the ceiling, following the lines of metal and rivets with her eyes, “Praying to the spirits of Anin.”

Embarrassed, he shifted, “I didn’t know you were….. Well I didn’t think you were all that religious?”

SHe shrugged, “Don’t feel bad, it’s sort of a new thing. Back before all this, it was sort of just stories to me. Like I believed it because that was what everyone believed, but I didn’t really accept it, or feel it the way I do now. After everything with my mother, it was hard to feel connected to something I felt I wasn’t a part of….. But then after visiting my mother, after becoming a saint for a religion I never really followed…. Well it started to make more sense. It feels real now in a way that it never did.” She turned to look at him, finding him watching her, the UV blue stripes in his skin glowing blue.

“I believe in the spirits of Anin more than I ever have.”

He smiled at her and squeezed her hand, “I’m glad to hear it.”

They lapsed into silence for a long moment staring up at the ceiling before, inevitably he broke it, “So this makes you like, space Moses.”

She frowned and turned to look at him, “What is a Moses?”

He grinned, “A guy from one of the Earth Religions. You know guy follows god’s directions to lead his people away from slavery, climbs a moutain, recieves the word of god, comes down to give it to the people, that sort of thing.”

Sunny tilted her head slightly to the side, “Are you religious?”

He paused, frowning, “I…. well I…. don’t really know. My family has been some flavor of Christian for a long time.”

“Christian?”

“Uh yeah, The general idea is that there is one all powerful deity who created everything. He has rules and laws that you are supposed to follow, The general tenants of this specific religion mostly boil down to, love everyone and don’t be a dick, which humans are notoriously bad at. You sin you go to hell, a very bad place after you die, and if you are a good person you go to heaven. Problem is everyone is a sinner and breaks the rules, so really no one was going to get into heaven.”

“That sounds bleak….”

“Well that's where the other stuff comes in. Basically this all powerful deity sent down his son in human form to live a perfect life, so when he was martyred he took on the sins of all of humanity and paid for them in the greatest act of mercy to open the gate for the rest of us into heaven.”

Sunny shifted as he tilted to the side to lay in the crook of her arms, “Of course that is just one religion among tons on earth, we aren’t really as cohesive in our beliefs as Drev are….. As for me…. I’m not really sure.”

She tilted her head to the side, cheek resting against his hair, “After seeing space, I become more and more convinced of some….. Thing that created everything, but beyond that it's sort of a tossup.”

She ran one hand through his hair, course but still soft somehow.

“You know my name comes from that religion.”

She turned her head to look at him, “Oh.”

“Adam was the first man.”

“WHat do you mean.:”

Adam shrugged, “He was supposedly the first man that god created, from the dust of the earth…. I think?”

She gave him a sidelong glance, “Look, and you get to be the first idiot in space.”

He snorted and poked her in the ribs.

“There were PLENTY of idiots in space before me, believe you me.”

“Mmm I don’t know, you are pretty dumb.”

He laughed, grabbing a pillow and hitting her with it. She rolled over so she was lying on top of him and then went limp.

He struggled, “Get your big ass off me.”

“Oh no, I have been attacked by a sudden acute case of the, my spine doesn't work anymore disease.”

“If you don’t move, you’ll suddenly find yourself with a case of fist in your face disease.”

She laughed and rolled off him, making su7re the hard parts of her carapace were sticking down for maximum discomfort.

He grunted.

They returned to lying down next to each other in the half darkness. Sunny reached over and turned on some quiet music in the background as the two of them sat and talked, and laughed.

“I can’t wait to get back to deep space.” He closed his eyes and hummed softly at the thought, “Just the crew and the darkness and nothing ahead of us but an endless frontier.”

Surprisingly, she found the thought to be more than a little comforting, and closed her eyes thinking about the vast reaches of blackness and the endless spinning galaxies.

“And while we are out we can drop Conn into a pulsar.”

He snorted,

“That billowy bastard would survive and you know it.”

She huffed, “Still though, if I have to hear one more smug lecture how he has a child with you, I’m gonna wring his scrawny neck.”

He grinned teeth flashing blue in the light, “Is someone;.... Jealous?”

Sunny laughed, almost tipping him off the bed and onto the floor with her mirth, “Yes Adam, I am totally jealous, really I am. I mean who wouldn’t want to have a child with YOU, big dumb, dork. Really the perfect place to put my superior genes.”

“Superior genes, says someone who can’t reach the top shelf.”

She kicked him foot clanging off his prosthetic, “I am a foot taller than you.”

He placed his hand next to his ear, “What was that, I can’t hear you over how short you are.”

Sunny shook her head, “At least I have binocular vision and both my knees.”

“And weird neck nostrils, don’t forget about those.”

“Oh yes so I can house them on my face like you and your bigass nose.”

“Low blow, low blow.”

“There are…. Lower things…. I could make fun of.”

He snorted, “Can’t make fun of it if you’ve never seen it. You on the other hand, walking around in the nude.”

“You’re welcome. Who wouldn’t love.” Sse gestured to herself, “This.”

“Mmm yes,.... chitin , very sexy.”

“I am a gift to the universe, and should be appreciated by everyone.” He brushed a hand through his hair, “Well I find that real gifts are gift wrapped, so jot that down.”

“Oh yeah, like a prank gift when you put something lame in a box for something cool.”

He frowned at her, “You wound me,. My feelings are so very very hurt. I might even cry.”

“I drink human tears.”

“That, that’s really gross.’

She laughed and then they lapsed into silence. She could hear him breathing quietly next to her in the darkness, his chest rising and falling under the ambient blue light. She looked across the room to where her saint armor was hanging in it’s climate controlled case illuminated to a pearly sheen.

“Adam.”

“Yeah.”

“You know I’m just kidding about calling you dumb riught.”

“Yeah I know.”

“I’m proud of what you’ve been doing.”

Adam turned to look at her rather incredulous, “Me, of what? I haven’t been doing shit.”

“So we are just going to ignore you overthrowing a maniacal politician while simultaneously piloting a 2,000 year old spacecraft?”

“That was more Conn and Eris than it was me,”

“It was your idea.”

“Lets not forget Admiral Kelly.”

Sunny pulled him closer, “I am sorry, I will not be accepting anything other than you acknowledging that you did a good job.”

“Screw you.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you.”

He sighed, “You’ve been talking to Ramirez WAY too much.”

She was only slightly smug as she rested her head back against the pillow, “I really should get up and train.”

“We should.”

Neither of them movies.

“Alternatively we could just…. Lay here…. All day and do… nothing .”

She looked up at the ceiling for a long moment and pretended to be in deep contemplation before “Well it’s official, you have convinced me. You and your silver tongue.”

“I am a master negotiator.”

He shifted position putting one arm behind his head, “Think about it, by this time tomorrow we will be back to space exploring and doing what we should have been doing all along. I can’t wait.”

“That makes two of us.”

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rataltouille · 4 years ago

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BONFIRE, BONFIRE!: A COLLECTION OF FLASH FICTION + POETRY

so i’ve decided to compile all twenty [these will be split into two so that the post isn’t super long] of the writing pieces i’ve done for my random celebration into one post so that it’s easier to read / access share!! you can also find it here, all put into one work, on wattpad, because i feel nostalgic about that website and decided to just post it!!

NOTE: i know that this shouldn't need to be said, but these 20 pieces belong to me so please don’t copy/repurpose it for your writing!! i plan on using these somewhere in my own writing and either way they’re stuff i’ve written so don’t use them!!

1. cooking + destructive + purple from @andiwriteunderthemoon [also i kind of cheated with this prompt and asked my sis @dreamscanbenightmarestoo for ideas and so the base idea’s from her!!]

I didn’t mean to set my house on fire, alright?

Let me set the scene: I’m sitting in my room, watching the infomercials that blur together, and suddenly there’s a bright purple flash on the glitching screen: /grapes/. They’re shiny, plump, and oh? A recipe for fine wine? Don’t mind if I do. So I pop into my kitchen and cut the grapes, dice them up, finally using the knife after years of not cooking— /mother, are you proud of me now?/— and stick the soft, luminescent fluid into a glass bottle. Following each step of the recipe.

The recipe didn’t mention an explosion.

Destruction rained around my house like a meteor shower. The bubbles from the fluid, frisking up at contact with metal, swam across my shoes and into the living room. It touched the TV, which still flashed the recipe, which I was still cursing at. And then, you know, it burnt up. The couch scorched first, I think. So that was fun. I later realised that I’d used my reserve of petroleum, which I’d put in my kitchen cabinet, instead of vinegar. I think I’ve got to move back in with my mother again.

2. running + quiet + sky blue from @kryskakikomi [i have no idea what this is i drafted this in a fever dream state]

Summer crawled up his skin like a worm. He was seated at his dining table, crosswording his way through the sticky morning, when it struck him that the humidity was new. He’d been caught in summer before, of course, but this year was different. His parents had whisked away to their hometown, and he still didn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to go. He loved their home— he could have been running on beach sand and waves could have cruised over his feet, and his face would reflect sky blue under palm trees. Instead he sat doodling and scratching at cement walls in a quiet that nagged at his ears, grappling his flesh like a fishing hook, reeling him in. Boredom, him sister told him, before she also left for someone’s home. What would you know? he whispered once the door latched from the outside. Maybe /she’d/ like to sit on the same wooden chair, all the pink paint worn out, and scratch out squares of empty text until the pen poked through the other hand. He scoffed. At least he knew the number of scars on the wood; he could hold that over her when his parents returned.

3. hallucinate + hazy + violet from @chloeswords [i wanted to write something dreamy and ethereal but everytime i look at your url i’m reminded of church mud and indirectly my religious trauma so here we are 🤡]

We hold the book in our arms and chant for God. We don’t know what he looks like. They say that he’s sharp, never pixelating or blurring or showing through, like a hazy image would. No, children, our family says, he will come clothed in gold and velvet— the colour a deep and rich crimson, or chartreuse. And of course, he weaves a violet into his hair. Because he is just that humble. Just that gentle. Loving.

We’ve almost understood now. Pray, clasp our palms together into a transient equinox, and pray. Maybe he will shine down on us. Maybe we will speak so loud and chant so long that our lips will chap. Maybe we’ll simply hallucinate him to salve our bones. Our family says, he will bless you. And so he will.

4. halcyon + pluviophile + beige from anon [i was yearning for cats i am a cat person i love cats]

I remember my life before I moved to London,

Those halcyon days that I spent scooping up cat litter and brushing warm fur,

Being a mother to beige and white and black little felines.

They keep better company than humans.

Now I’m a self-proclaimed businesswoman, artist, influencer, pluviophile,

Even when I’ve barely stepped foot outside during the rain,

[But it needs to be said that when it rains in London, it pours].

I think I’d like to open a cat cafe;

I’m rich enough to pull it off.

5. sing + vulnerable + olive green from @occiidens [this was actually super fun to write because it’s a break from the typically unhinged stories i gravitate towards]

You watch from the highest hill of your town, hand wrapped around the serrated wood of a red oak tree. The bark pokes into your flesh, drawing blood that shouldn’t have been taken from you. You scowl. Just another thing that lives to cause you pain.

Three storeys down is a young man, short and smiling and lovely. He has dark skin and darker hair, walking with the stride of a deer, and he’s smiling; the joy reflects onto your face, even though you can’t hear him. He wears a cotton shirt, the olive green stark against the fire-blue sky. You call out, sing his name, three times in a row.

When he finally looks up, squinting as you silhouette under the sun, the smile widens. A wave. You’re suddenly overcome with embarrassment. Your palm digs into the bark until the wound is freshly dug again, the skin supple and vulnerable. You want to wave, but your hands would look so awkward, and the blood wouldn't help. So you turn on your heel and run— why are you so awkward?— and the grass around you is brighter. This is now a tomorrow issue, you conclude. You’re still smiling.

6. dislocate + ostentatious + blood red from @oasis-of-you [this got really unhinged really fast. TW: body horror]

If you take a turn at Finn Avenue,

Rogue your way down a blood red river,

[It’s not actual blood, do not worry. The colour’s a pigment and it’s saturated enough to give you the texture, the touch, the taste of blood, but I repeat, it isn’t true blood. You might think that it’s ostentatious of us to make you cross a river like that, but you’ll understand why.]

And if can stick your fingers inside the fluid,

You’ll find a bone.

Don’t pull it out fully! Only observe.

[This is a real bone, most likely animal. We may be ominous, but we don’t hurt humans. Not yet.]

So what do you do now? You want passage into a better world.

You came here because you saw the brochure, the flyer,

Radiant Idyll, home for love, but you also saw the jutting anatomy that leads to the city. The pictures were rather clear.

Why do you look so surprised? We’ve put this on the brochure— don’t you ever read the fine print?— to avoid this exact situation. That you would cross a body, a skeleton, pooled over in a fluid that we don’t name, but it’s probably alive.

It’s watching you right now.

So what do you do now?

Hurry up, unhinge your arm, dislocate the elbow, drop it into the blood, forgive me, false blood, and pay for your passage.

Oh! Excellent; that’s record time. We do hope you enjoy your stay!

1. @noteaboy [i’ve interpreted your url as ”note, a boy”]

There’s an orange tree. It’s spring, and there’s an orange tree, and it brims with fruit and citrus perfume. Point your lens flare downwards, and note, a boy. A young man, perhaps, because he combs his hair, uptight and firm, and he wears a tie. A long suit. He doesn’t look up, because his hand holds a book. /He/ holds the book, not the hands— tenderness doesn’t translate through anatomy, I’ve taught you this before. He’s waiting for someone. There’s only the rustle of leaves. He drops the book onto the lap of the tree, crushing the apple that had fallen down. Orange, not apple. Take note better. You only have one chance to get this right.

2. @eatingjupiter [your url is so beautiful omg]

The goddess had said this before she died: you need to watch over him. He needs your sentry to survive. The goddess’ words weren’t heeded. Little baby Jupiter tottered on lava as him parents small-talked with their kingdom. Well, it must have been small talk, because nothing seemed to happen afterwards other than his mother’s face collapsing in agony, anger, annoyance. He knew not to touch them then. He’d fly off into the sun one day, but if his hands were but and charred, he wouldn’t survive even a third of the journey.

The prophecy was simple: the firstborn to the kingdom will metamorph into a celestial, purify themselves so that only stardust remains. Live in the sky forever. The astrologers were baffled; you don’t just become a star. They should have heeded the goddess.

Jupiter was sixteen when he expanded and collapsed all at once. He still lives, they say, and the astrologers /were/ right, in a way: people just don’t become stars. They become almost empty space. Nobody knows if his hands were burnt when they left earth’s orbit forever.

3. @laughtracksonata [your name gave me slight horror vibes idk why!!]

Hahaha. The Horror Movie (don’t ask me for a name, I’m not good with those), with its cymbal crashing and plastic sounds, it’s so loud and scary that it hurts, father. Please turn it off.

Father doesn't listen. I shiver on the couch. The screen flickers like radio static and reflects off our wide eyes. What kind of a home is this anyway? I don’t want to fucking listen to a laugh track or a horror VHS tape or watch the bass crescendo as the serial killer jumpscares the watcher. I don’t think that having hour pupils glued to the same blood-splattered movie, with the same recording looping in his eardrums will help him. He laughs along, sometimes. It’s scary. Father needs a new hobby.

PART TWO COMING SOON!!

anyway this got REALLY long so i’m posting the third prompt group, the one based on songs, as a second part in some time. i hope you enjoy this, and PLEASE do boost!! i spent a lot of time writing these pieces and am pretty proud of them :’)

general taglist: @lovingyou-is @guulabjamuns @andiwriteunderthemoon @coffeeandcalligraphy @melonmilk @silentlylostwriter @charles-joseph-writes @eklavvya @eowynandfaramir @bitterwitchwrites @laughtracksonata @whatwordsdidnttouch @indeliblewrites @thenataliawrites @summersguilt @illimani-gibberish @sarahkelsiwrites @writing-in-delirium @shaelinwrites @sienna-writes @chewingthescenery @jennawritesstories @chloeswords @aelenko @keira-is-writing @cherylinanika @infinitely-empty-pages @jmtwrites @august-iswriting @freedelusionbanana @beetleblue88 @mistercaleb @iwannawritepls @hanwatchingmovies @mortallynuttyqueen @idratherliveinnarnia @maisulli @thegreyboywrites @ahowlinwolf @ravens-and-rivers @oasis-of-you @yanittawrites @chazza-writes-sometimes @skyfirewrites @lovebenders @treybriggsthewriter @themidnxghtwriter @ash-karter @queen-devasena @a-procrastination-addict @gaymityblight @beyondthebracken @madmaxst26 @adielwrites @moonpixxel @hollow-knight-dnd @keep-looking-here @overlap @ashleygarciawrites @ryns-ramblings @wordsbynathan @novaemlynlewis @sophiewritingstuff @howdy-writes @occiidens @nsanelyawkward @viawrites-andacts

#writeblr #am writing #flash fiction #poetry #wtwcommunity #ofcolourtracking #crabappletracking #anyway part two probably in a couple days #i still have to start writing them 🤡✌️#bonfire bonfire

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madpanda75 · 4 years ago

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“Penance”

For @thatesqcrush’s kink bingo--I’ve been loving everyone’s contributions to the challenge so I thought I would try my hand at it!

Jonas Nightingale x Reader for the Gags square ( my first Jonas fic! Warning-- I’ve never seen “Leap of Faith so please be kind)

Double Warning: This is SUPER NSFW. There’s BDSM, ball gags, fisting, squirting, forced orgasms, and a pinch of priest kink (even though Jonas is a “reverend” not a priest)

Hold on to your butts and get your splash guards out!

Sam Nightingale sat cross-legged in front of the pulpit. A frigid blast slapped her in the face and she silently praised whoever invented air conditioning. Rather than pitching a tent and sweating her ass off in an abandoned field out in east Jesus nowhere, the local pastor had insisted that she and Jonas use his church for their revival.

With a glint in her eye, she gazed down at her lap overflowing with dollar bills. Ten. Twenties. Fifties. Even a few hundreds from the wealthier church patrons. Every dollar counted, she could hear a cash register cha-ching in her brain. Ah, the simple-minded naivety of the Midwest. It was like taking candy from a baby. “Damn, Jonas.” She shook her head in amazement. “We made bank today. Who knew Nebraskeners were so generous? I swear you wave around a Bible and the promise of redemption in front of folks and the money flows.”

Her comments were greeted with silence. “Jonas?” She glanced up to see her brother lying on the front pew, staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. “Hello? Earth to Jonas!” She grabbed her pack of menthols and chucked them at her brother, gaining his attention.

“Huh? Ya’ say something?”

“Uhhh, yeah.” Sam made a show of flipping through a large wad of cash. “Here I am drowning in Benjamins and you’re out in la la land. What’s with you today?”

Jonas shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? You sure about that?” She walked over and knocked his feet off the pew, plopping down right next to him. “Cause you were distracted during the church service. I had to basically feed you your lines through the microphone. Please tell me you haven’t found your moral compass or something.”

He snorted a laugh. “Hell would freeze over before that happens.” Coming back to his senses, he spotted the sea of green nestled in his sister’s lap and whistled. “All that came from today?”

“Yep.”

“We should add an afternoon service if we stick around here. We’ll make twice as much.”

A dramatic sigh of relief below past Sam’s lips. “There’s the swindler I know and love. You had me worried there for a moment.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Jonas grabbed the cash and began counting the bills when the door opened. “The Senior Bingo is being held around the corner in the rec room,” he said over his shoulder.

“Actually I’m looking for you,” a soft sultry voice called out. A voice that made Jonas whip his head around.

“It’s you,” he whispered and shot straight up out of the pew, the dollar bills in his lap now floating to the floor like confetti.

Sam immediately began to pick up the stray money while Jonas stood there, staring at you. You were wearing a demure, white cotton sundress that screamed virgin, but the ruby red shade of your lipstick purred vixen. His sister was right, he had been distracted and now that distraction was standing in the middle of the aisle. He could feel his pants begin to bulge at the mere sight of you biting your bottom lip.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” you said with an apologetic smile.

“Oh don’t worry about it.” Sam stood up and patted her brother on the back, noticing the way his demeanor changed the minute you walked through the door. “This guy has been out of it all day. Although I think I’m beginning to realize why.”

Jonas glared at his sister before turning back to you. “How can I help you?”

You fidgeted a bit, wringing the leather strap of your purse. “Actually, I was hoping we could speak in private, Reverend.”

“I’m gonna go check on that bingo. See if they have someone to call the numbers,” Sam said after an awkward pause. She gave Jonas a sly wink before walking out the door.

“Please have a seat.” Jonas ushered you to a pew. His heart was racing and sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead. There was something about you that made him nervous. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but whatever it was, you disarmed him completely.

He took a deep breath and tried to recover. After all he was the King of Sin. If he could con people out of money under the guise of salvation, he could certainly handle talking to a beautiful woman.

“I’m glad you came in today,” he said.

“You are?”

Jonas nodded his head and took a seat next to you. “I noticed you during the service. I could sense that something was weighing heavily on your soul.”

You looked down for a moment, hesitant to speak before finally confessing. “There is.”

“Don’t be bashful.” He reached out and patted your knee in reassurance, his thumb gliding across your skin. “You can trust me. I help all those who are lost and right now you look like a little lamb that has strayed from the flock.”

“I...I... struggle with the sin of lust,” you replied in a voice barely above a whisper. Your cheeks turned bright red, nearly matching the shade of lipstick you were wearing.

Jonas felt his interest peak. “Go on,” he encouraged.

“I have certain...proclivities. I’ve tried to quell these dark desires, but I need help. My need is constant.” You let out a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering shut.

Little did you know, you were an answer to Jonas’ prayers (if in fact he ever did pray). It had been ages since he had gotten laid and you were just his type. It was as if the heavens opened and a choir of angels were singing ‘Hallelujah.’ He cleared his throat. “I think I can be of service.”

“Thank you!” Relief washed over your face before you became serious. “But I have to warn you others have tried and failed.” You leaned forward, your knees now touching his. He could smell the seductive notes of your perfume: lotus blossom and black orchid. “Do you think you are up to the challenge?” you practically purred.

Jonas licked his lips and let his eyes drink you in from head to toe. He felt smugly satisfied noticing your heaving chest, the way your nipples hardened against the fabric of your dress. “Sure, I’ll guide you on my cock,” he thought.

But rather than make this blunt point and risk you running out of the church, disgusted. He gently cupped your face and stared into your eyes with a deep sincerity. “I can assure you, I won’t stop until we tame the fire that burns deep within you. I am relentless in my dedication to saving souls.”

What happened next sent shockwaves down the wily con artist’s spine. Parting your lips, you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking and gliding your tongue against the digit. Jonas gasped, feeling you bite down on the meaty flesh before pulling off with a pop.

You tucked your purse under your arm and stood up, smoothing down your dress. “Thank you, Reverend. I’ll be in touch.” You went to the door before pausing and looking over your shoulder. “By the way, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.” With an innocent smile, you left Jonas sitting there, completely stunned.

*****

The old secretary glanced up as soon as you walked into the church office. “The Reverend will be with you in a moment. Why don’t you take a seat.” She motioned towards a chair.

“Thank you.” You sat down and crossed your legs, admiring your new black Louboutin heels.

The sound of an old fire and brimstone preacher played from a radio on the secretary’s desk. “Fornication is not just a sin against another person. It is a sin against ourselves. It is self destructive and we must avoid it at all costs!”

You arched a brow at the secretary, who gave you a tight smile and turned down the volume. You couldn’t help but bite back a laugh. The irony of the sermon was not lost on you.

It had been three weeks since you met Jonas. You were in town for a few months visiting your grandmother and she insisted on dragging your butt out of bed to the sunrise Sunday service at her church. Luckily for you, instead of the regular reverend (who was as old as Methuselah), there was a handsome, charismatic guest preacher in his place. Having never been an avid church-goer before, you were quite taken with the eye candy professing salvation for all sinners from the pulpit.

After the service, you dropped off your grandmother at her bingo game and decided to have a little fun by giving into your more baser instincts. How else were you supposed to entertain yourself in a dusty dried up old town? You knew how to play the game. With your chaste couture and coquettish ways, you caught Jonas Nightingale--hook, line, and sinker.

Just then Jonas walked into the office, freezing in his tracks the second he laid eyes on you. “Ms. Y/L/N.” He took off his aviator shades and smirked. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“I know we had a session yesterday, but I think I need more spiritual guidance.” You ran a delicate hand down the slope of your neck and gave him a shy smile.

Jonas ran his tongue across his teeth, a low growl emanating from his chest. “Of course, please step into my office.” You stood up and followed him. Before shutting the door, Jonas turned towards the secretary. “Why don’t you get out of here and take a long lunch.”

“Are you sure?” the secretary asked, leaning over the desk to try and peek into his office.

“Absolutely. It’s been a slow day. Go out. Live a little.” Jonas sighed in relief, watching as she grabbed her purse and needlepoint. She was on loan to him from the church. The woman was your typical nosy, uptight old bat with a stick up her ass, but she made great coffee and would bring in freshly baked cookies every week.

As soon as the secretary left, he stepped into his office and locked the door. “I thought you were supposed to come by tonight. Just couldn’t wait, could ya?” he teased and removed his shirt, leaving him in a black tank top.

You bit your bottom lip, staring at his muscular arms. “I had to come here.”

“Oh you did?”

You blushed and fidgeted with your coat. “You see, I was very, very naughty. I was thinking about you all morning and I had to touch myself. I sinned, Reverend and you told me that those who disobey God’s laws must do penance.” You made a show of unbuttoning your coat and letting it fall to the floor, revealing that you were completely naked.

Jonas stalked up to you, looking like the big bad wolf. He walked in a slow circle around you, inspecting every inch of your flesh before stopping right behind you and grabbing your hips, pulling you flush to him. His lips brushed over your pulse point and all too soon he walked away.

With the crook of his finger, he beckoned you over to the chair in front of his desk. You obliged his silent request and sat down. Sinking to his knees before you, he planted a brutal, bruising kiss on your lips, thrusting his tongue into your mouth. He pulled away and went over to his desk. “You remember the safe word?” he asked, opening a drawer.

“Bakker,” you replied.

Jonas chuckled. When you two began these escapades, you picked “Bakker” for your safe word. The last name of the infamous Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker, two TV televangelists who were found guilty of fraud in the 80s. It was your subtle way of telling Jonas that you saw right through him and didn’t believe his act for a second. As long as your grandmother didn’t give him any money, his secret was safe with you. Besides, Jonas was just as much a freak as you were and he was the best sex you ever had.

Reaching into the drawer, he pulled out several items, one of them being a blindfold. “You know, I can’t promise that I’ll be gentle,” he purred as he covered your eyes.

A smile tugged at your lips. “You should know by now that I don’t want you to be gentle. Don’t hold back.”

“Challenge accepted,” Jonas thought as he grabbed some nylon ropes. He grabbed your arms and began to tie them behind the chair.

Your pulse quickened in anticipation. “Tighter,” you demanded in a breathy moan.

He yanked the ropes taut making you gasp. “Let me be the judge of that,” he growled, biting your earlobe. He spread your legs, tying each one to the leg of the chair. Your pussy glistened as you were already wet from masturbating all morning. The scent of your arousal filled his nostrils and made his cock twitch.

Tied and blindfolded, you thought Jonas would get down to business, but he had a few more surprises up his sleeves. He took out a white ball gag with a leather strap and some honey. After squirting some honey onto the ball gag, he cupped your chin and forced your mouth open. “Don’t you dare spit this out,” he threatened, fastening the leather strap behind your head.

You felt the ball wedge between your teeth. The sweet hit of the honey coating your tongue. Jonas has done his research. He knew that the combination of the honey and the ball gag would make you drool, giving you that hint of humiliation you craved.

He sat back on his haunches and admired his work: the knots of nylon binding you to the chair, the way your lips wrapped around the ball gag, the rise and fall of your flushed chest. You were a work of art. Michelangelo had the Sistine Chapel and Jonas had you.

He knelt down and kissed the top of your right foot before slowly dragging his tongue up your leg, nibbling on your inner thighs and then trailing down your left leg, planting a final kiss on your left foot.

He parted your swollen pussy lips and licked your pink, quivering flesh, reveling in the way you whimpered and squirmed. When he wrapped his mouth around your clit, you jerked forward only to remember that you were restrained. He alternated between fucking you with his tongue and lapping at your clit. Being blindfolded only heightened your senses and right now it felt like Jonas was eating you out as if you were an all you can eat pancake breakfast.

You threw your head back and moaned, trying to arch your hips to give him even more access to your core. He reached his hands up and began to massage your breasts, pinching your nipples until they swelled and ached in pleasure. Your thighs began to shake and Jonas knew you were close. One final tweak of your taut nipple and your orgasm rippled through you.

Jonas groaned and nodded his head vigorously, flicking against your nub as you rode out your ecstasy. “Jonas!” you wailed in a muffled tone, although the ball gag was preventing you from speaking much.

He hummed in contentment and smacked his lips together, tracing your entrance with a single digit. You squeaked in surprise.“Shhh,” he cooed. “Calm down, my angel. We’ve barely begun. How many fingers do you think you can take? One?”

You shook your head no.

“Two?”

You shook your head again. Jonas arched a brow, even though you couldn’t see him. He knew what you wanted. When he got up to five. You nodded.

“So fucking greedy.” He spread you even wider. “You think you can take it?”

You nodded once more and undulated your hips. He began to finger fuck you, starting with his index finger, thrusting into you hard and fast while pressing on your clit until you howled. The second finger, he scissored you, slowly stretching you out, stroking your walls, studying the way you whimpered and wailed. He slowly added a third digit, finding that secret spot within you that so few men ever find.

The buildup was unbearable as your hips stuttered forward, coming once more. Even though you were soaking wet, Jonas squirted lube onto his fourth finger firmly believing in the philosophy of, “the wetter, the better.” He slowly moved in and out of you, swiping against your clit.

With each digit he added, you came harder and harder. Tears slid down your face from underneath your blindfold. Your muscles began to spasm, your nerve endings tingled. Jonas cruelly laughed. “Look at you, creaming on my fingers like a little slut.”

You wailed out another orgasm in response. How long had you been sitting there? Hours? Your body experienced a rollercoaster of emotions. Every time you came, you loathed it. You craved it. You wanted him to stop. No, don’t stop! Don’t ever, ever, ever stop! You wanted more and more and more and that’s exactly what Jonas gave you.

After adding even more lube, he tucked his thumb into his palm, tapering his fingers and slowly penetrating you, pushing past the knuckles until his entire hand was deep inside you. Jonas had never fisted anyone before, but you had untapped desires within him that he had no idea even existed.

He began to rock his large hand back and forth. You sobbed in pleasure. You were stretched and filled to the brim, feeling tremendous pressure. You couldn’t catch your breath. Being tied, blindfolded, and gagged, all you could do was take it. While fisting you, Jonas leaned forward and began sucking on your clit.

Your muffled moans of “Oh fuck! Oh yes! Yes! Yes!” filled the room as he unleashed his torture on your slick, hot cunt. He crooked and wiggled his fingers, massaging your G-spot. You screamed in ecstasy. Your orgasm was earth shattering. You felt a gush of liquid and squirted all over Jonas’ face.

“That’s it, my sweet angel. Squirt for me,” he groaned, almost coming in his pants at the sensation of your sweet nectar all over his face, a puddle amassing beneath your chair.

Jonas slowly took his hand out, one finger at a time. He reached up and cupped your face, you could feel your arousal from his one hand, coating your cheek. “You’re not done yet. I want one more from you,” he commanded as he began to unbound you.

You meekly nodded your head. He gave you an open mouth kiss over your ball gag and gently lifted you up so he could sit down. You were still blindfolded. The sound of a zipper and rustling of his denim, alerted you that he had taken out his cock.

You rocked against his length, his crown rubbing against your overly sensitive clit. Moving at a snail’s pace, you sank down onto his cock. Jonas’ fingers may have been long and thick, but nothing could replace being filled by his cock. After your initial meeting, you quickly understand why the man exuded a prowess on the church stage, swinging his big dick energy at anyone with a pulse.

Jonas let out a strangled moan and grabbed your hips, encouraging you to fuck him.

You bounced up and down on his cock. He had given you so much pleasure and now you wanted to return the favor. You contracted your muscles, squeezing around him. Drool dribbled down your chin and onto your breasts from the combination of the honey and the ball gag. He lowered his head to lap it up and suck your nipples.

Smothered by your chest, he growled and gripped your hips, thrusting up into you. Your head lolled back. You loved this, being used as a sex toy. Your whole body screamed. Take me! Devour me! I’m yours!

The wooden chair creaked and was on the verge of breaking, but neither of you cared. “Fuck! Jesus! Jonas!” you mumbled, climaxing one final time, your vision fading to black while riding out your orgasm. Pain and pleasure melding together.

Jonas’ hips began to stutter. “Oh Y/N!” he moaned. “I’m coming! I’m coming!” He grunted like an animal, pulsing inside you, filling you with his cum. His body tensed, coming so much that it seeped out of you and pooled around the base of his cock, creating a mess. Not that either of you noticed, you were both already plastered in sticky sweat

You went limp and melted against him, snuggling into the crook of his neck, mewling like a kitten. Once Jonas caught his breath, he pulled you away to take off the gag and blindfold. Gazing up at you with the sunlight illuminating your face, that feeling of disarmament overpowered him once more. He was completely at your mercy, bared to you. There was no escaping your trance.

This was meant to be your penance. Your punishment. But instead, it was Jonas that choked out one final word, “Amen.”

Tag List:

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#jonas nightingale #leap of faith #raul esparza #Raúl Esparza #jonas nightingale fan fic #jonas nightingale x reader #thatesqcrush kink bingo #kinktober

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ezrasarm · 4 years ago

Text

take what’s broken, make it whole

[ day 4 | angstageddon masterlist ]

pairing: Marcus Pike x reader

summary: Love. It’s messy and confusing. It’s painful yet thrilling. It’s also absolutely terrifying. But maybe what you need is someone to brave your fears with you.

warnings: mild angst, hurt/comfort, fear of commitment/relationships

"a/n”: THIS WAS WRITTEN BY THE WICKEDLY TALENTED @chaotic-noceur!!! I am posting it here with permission from the original author. Please go check out her posts and give them some love!

Actual a/n: this piece hits very close to home for all 3 of us so we hope it could bring you the same sort of comfort that it did us 💕💕- @chaotic-noceur

credits: shout out to my loves @din-damn-djarin and @ezrasarm for beta reading and being absolute sweethearts about me being a disaster! very loose references to Come Home With Me from Hadestown. - @chaotic-noceur

Gif by @pedropascalito

The whispers of Special Agent Marcus Pike’s failed love affairs had spread like wildfire as soon as his transfer had been confirmed. Men and women alike were eager to meet the broken man who had fallen too hard, too fast. Instead, they were met with gentle smiles and a loving heart.

If the rumours were true, they did nothing to explain the hidden glimmer of hope in his eyes. If the office gossip held any weight, it did nothing to explain the deep-seated warmth in his aura. If the hearsay was anything more than it claimed to be, it did everything to explain the masked sadness that threatened his every move.

He wasn’t like any man you’ve met. You watched him with quiet curiosity.

Several weeks later, you had found yourself partnered with the office enigma. Within a month, the pair of you had fallen into a comfortable routine of early morning coffee trips and late-night takeout meals.

There was something about him that made you want to let down your guard, to unveil the parts of you that were fractured and broken. But he didn’t need to know of the pieces of you that weren’t quite whole.

So you lie.

You lie when he asks the difficult questions. You lie when he nudges at the splintered fragments. You lie as you have been trained to do all those years ago.

Your little traditions, if you could even call them that, had slowly wound their way into becoming an integral part of your day. You hadn’t even realised just how habitual they had become until he’d left for an undercover mission.

In the early days of his departure, you’d catch yourself flicking through delivery menus before remembering that your partner wasn’t there. You’d find yourself instinctively making the turn to his apartment on your way to work. You’d send him messages of things he’d find funny only to be met with a mocking grey tick.

You missed him. And you couldn’t explain why.

●●●●

This wasn’t his first undercover mission, but this one felt different… and he couldn’t explain why.

As the mission progressed, the desire to call you and talk to you about everything and nothing grew with every passing day. He’d catch himself longing for your occasional Starbucks trips where you’d conspire about the poorly spelt names on your cups. He’d find himself missing the way you’d laugh at all his jokes, no matter how bad. He saw your face in the crowd of strangers even though he knew you weren’t there.

He missed you. And he couldn’t explain why.

When he’s reunited with you once again, he thinks he’s figured it out. The more time the two of you spend together, the more he's convinced that there's something between the two of you. He’s hesitant to put a label on it, after everything he’s been through. Still, he knows it isn’t nothing. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before and he wants to pursue it. But he needs his instincts to be right this time. He’s not ready to face the alternative.

So, he pushes his feelings away. He shoves them into the darkest corners of his mind where its destructive claws can shred them like they had his dreams.

Months go by before thoughts of his feelings for you resurface. He catches you doodling on a napkin with the straw from your drink and he can’t help but fall. Deep down, he knows that it’s a bad idea, but there’s an affectionate lilt to your smile that makes his heart falter and he knows he’s in trouble.

You’re stowing pieces of evidence into their respective locations when he’s overcome with an overwhelming urge to tell you how he feels. He isn’t sure if it's the lack of sleep or the residual successful-arrest adrenaline that makes him throw caution to the wind, but he pops the question before his sudden spur of confidence leaves him. Your shoulders tense as you turn to look at him, eyebrows raised in shock.

“I-what?” you stammered, uncertain if you’d misheard him.

“I asked if you’d like to get dinner sometime?” He feels his heart hammering against his chest. “If you don’t want to, it’s cool, we’re cool.” He raises his arms in defence. “But what we have-” he takes a step closer as he gestures to the space between you, “this feels...different.” He lets his arms fall and he crosses his fingers behind his back.

He doesn’t consider himself a religious man. But in the here and now, he’s praying to anything out there listening that the answer he gets is a yes.

Your breath hitches at his sudden outburst. The wishful twinge in his voice and hopeful glimmer in his eyes makes your heart clench in your chest. It baffles you that a man with his experience was still so willing to wear his heart on his sleeve. You almost admire that about him. Almost.

“That’s- I-” you clear your throat awkwardly as you search for the right words. “I’m flattered Marcus, but I’m not really looking for anything right now.” Your voice grows quieter with each word, as though the strength of your voice would lessen the force of your words.

You watch in silent agony as the corners of his eyes dip downwards at the rejection. The way he forces a smile to hide the wave of disappointment that crashes into him makes your stomach churn. It takes all your self-control not to reach out for him, to take back your words and spare him the pain. But you can’t do that to him. You can’t give him false hope for a future you don’t want.

For as long as you’ve known him, he’s never shied away from questions about his past. He’d told you about his failed marriage, the broken engagement and everything in between. He’d told you about the life he had wanted and the future he’d pictured. It was the fairytale life that every child dreamt of having.

Every child except you.

You don’t know what exactly it is that you want, but you know one thing. Marriage? Starting a family? That's not you. It never has been and it never will be. The future that Marcus so desperately wants, the happily-ever-after that he’s risked so much for… it’s never going to be something you can give him.

So you push him away. You push him away even when every fibre of your body screams for you to pull him close, to take the pain away. You push him away because he deserves someone who can make all his dreams come true. Someone who isn’t broken like you...

“I’m sorry. You’re a great guy Marcus and I’m sure-” You take a hesitant step towards him but stop in your tracks when he withdraws from you.

“No, no. Don’t be. It’s fine. Like I said, we’re cool. I- I understand.” And he does. He understands perfectly well. He understands that sometimes he comes off a little too strong, but it’s only because he wants to believe in true love. He understands that it’s wishful to think that he deserves another chance at love, that there is such a thing as soulmates. He understands that no matter how hard he tries, he never seems to be good enough.

In the months that follow his initial confession, his affections for you only seem to grow despite his best efforts. He knows that continuing down this path would only lead to more hurt. But in the moments when he thinks no one is looking, he allows himself to fall a little harder.

Why? He does not know. But he knows the following are true: you’re the person he wants to go on aimless adventures with because it isn’t about the destination but the journey. You’re the person whom he wants to be held by when the days are long and the night is dark. You’re the person that he wants to be able to call home. You’re the only person that’s ever made him feel so alive.

Little did he know, you felt the same way too.

You’re both sharing a box of ‘case-closed pizza’ while he tells you about this young artist he’d discovered online. There’s a softness in your eyes that sparks a fire in his gut. Something nags at him to ask you just one more time. He pushes the thought away. He knows it’s a stupid idea. But then you’re laughing at something he says and the question leaves his mouth before his brain can stop it.

“Give me a chance,” he says. “Please? Just one date.” You blink at him a few times, dumbfounded. He’s preparing an apology when you speak up.

“Marcus-” he hates the way you say his name like it’s a melody, “listen, I- I don’t-” you huff in frustration. You contemplate your options in your mind. He deserves to know the truth. You want him to know the truth. You just didn’t think it’d be this hard to say out loud.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I asked…” The defeat in his voice makes your stomach turn.

“It’s not you. I just- Well, okay it’s kind of you but it's mostly me.” You falter. “It’s definitely me.” You force yourself to look into his eyes before declaring what you’ve been afraid to say.

“The life that you picture in your future? The one where you’re happily married, maybe a couple of kids who drive you insane but-” you exhale sharply, masking your scoff, “you wouldn’t have it any other way because the love of your life is there with you? That’s not something I-” He’s looking at you with so much love and you have no idea what to do with it. It takes everything in you to not look away.

“That’s not something I want, ever. I don’t see myself getting married, or having kids, or -” you purse your lips as the thought occurs to you, “or loving someone so much that even when they break my heart, I want to hold them close in my arms so they can never leave.” Tears prick at your eyes and your voice falls to a whisper when you say, “I don’t know how to love and be loved back and the thought of it, I-” you gaze falls onto the half-empty box on the table. You can’t look him in the eyes when you admit it out loud for the first time, can’t look him in the eyes as you admit it to yourself.

“I’m terrified, Marcus.”

A lone tear rolls down your cheek and he brings a shaky hand up to wipe it away gently. He almost laughs at the irony. The man who loved too much is in love with one who loved too little. There’s a pain in his chest that feels almost like someone had driven a knife through his heart and twisted.

“I’m scared too,” his voice is soft as he speaks, as if he’s afraid that you’ll shatter at the sound. “I’ve let my heart be beaten, bruised and broken more times than I care to admit.” He sighs as he takes his hand in yours. “That life you think I picture? Maybe that’s what I wanted once but that's not who I am anymore.” He shakes his head gently as he tugs at your hand, drawing your gaze up to meet his. “After Teresa, I swore I’d never let anyone in again. I didn’t think I would survive the pain, but then you walked into my life and,” he gives you a crooked smile as he whispers, “something about you made me want to love again. So, if you’ll have me,” he brings his other hand up to cup your cheek, “it’d be an honour to have my heart broken by you.”

Tears are streaming openly down your face at his declaration. It never occurred to you that he was afraid too. He’d seemed so.. carefree. Despite all the heartbreak, he’d found the courage to put himself out there one more time, to let himself love one more time. It occurs to you then that maybe what you admire about him most wasn’t his ability to make you laugh when you felt like crying. Or the way he always knew when you needed a hug. It was that he made you want to look fear in the eye and say ‘not anymore’.

Slowly, you let your head fall into a nod. “I promise to be gentle.” He chuckles softly and he pulls you into his chest. You melt into his embrace and relish in his warmth. You feel a hopeful smile tug at the corner of your lip and you bury further into him.

Maybe part of loving means being afraid, together.

[ angstageddon masterlist | chaotic-noceur’s masterlist ]

——angstageddon tag list

@din-damn-djarin @chaotic-noceur @chaoticspaceidiot @engineeredfiction @pedropascalito @dreamgirl-67 @hillarymurray4 @wille-zarr @oloreaa @this-cat-is-dea @marydjarin @roxypeanut @cryptkeepersoul @mrschiltoncat @agirllovespasta @wickedfrsgrl @dindisneydjarin @opheliaelysia @aeryntheofficial @adikaofmandalore @goldafterglow @yespolkadotkitty @chibi-liz05 @scarlettvonsass @rpcvliz @cinewhore @basura2319 @theravenreads @mxndoscyarika @jaime1110 @f0rever15elf @pancakepike @phoenixhalliwell @ahopelessromanticwritersworld

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #the mentalist #angstageddon #angst week

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thetorturerwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Lamb

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Summary: In the beginning, there was only Vader, the Sky Walker. He wandered the heavens, filling the void with the cosmos.

To combat his loneliness, Grandfather Sky Walker created two brothers, twins: one drawn to light and one drawn to dark.

Their bond created all life as we know it.

C/N: 18+ only; mythology AU; implied genocide; physical violence; self harm; bloody bloody blood

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Well, here I am again, and here we go again. Please take the content warnings seriously because I am not a nice girl; and herein, may lie not-nice-girl things.

This is my first foray into world building, and I welcome all feedback, critiques, and comments. :)

Special thanks to @kylorengarbagedump and @bexterbex for helping me develop this idea and get it ready for sharing.

***

In the beginning, there was only Vader, the Sky Walker. He wandered the heavens, filling the void with the cosmos.

To combat his loneliness, Grandfather Sky Walker created two brothers, twins: one drawn to light and one drawn to dark.

Their bond created all life as we know it.

You ran your fingers over the intricate gold leaf pattern on the book’s cover, remembering your lessons as a child. This Scripture, your grandmother’s most treasured possession, was the only part of your life you’d brought on this crusade. It was the only thing you couldn’t bear to abandon, even in the face of certain death.

You exhausted every avenue before taking on this last of your options. You demanded justice from the law only to be told you should keep your mouth shut. You went straight to the throne, but it shut to your caste, your people too low to deserve even an audience.

Selling every item of value, you had barely scraped up enough for the one-person craft, but it served its purpose. You were here. You landed the shuttle on one of Chandrila's famed rolling hills, overlooking The Demarcation. You exhaled, shallow and nervous, and looked out over the horizon. The pilgrimage to this place, this day, was long and harrowing, but the sacrament itself would be quick.

Your fingers quaked as you shucked everything identifiable about yourself: blue pants your mother bought for your birthday; green shirt that belonged to your brother, found in the rubble of what was your family home; jade hair clip handed down from mother to daughter for generations. None of it would serve you now, and it would only be in the way. Trading the vestiges of civilization for religion, you donned your grandmother’s ample amethyst robe, lacing the silk ties that held it together, and grabbed up the athame she’d bequeathed to you at your initiation.

She enveloped you, your grandmother, and you buried your nose into her sacred garment to inhale the lingering scent. They were your world, lovely and loving, ground to dust beneath the machine of a war none of you pledged to fight. The Resistance descended upon your planet like a plague, and they left a great nothing, a slate wiped forcefully clean in their wake.

It was for them you made this trek, that you abandoned all logic and reason for faith. They raised you to share their doctrine, but it never served a single purpose for you in life. Your grandmother and mother believed everything they’d ever taught you about the Twin Fathers. They wove the fabric of their lives, and yours, around it; and now, you clung to their prayers, your last hope in the face of something horrible and wholly dismissed by the universe.

There was no one to remember them, their faithfulness and devotion, but you.

Fathers, we pray. Bless this our food to the nourishment of our bodies that we may be strong in your service. Bless these our hands that we may share your great instruction with those in need. Bless our hearts that we may find the balance you have so righteously set for us.

Their prayers spilled over your dry lips, the only eulogy they would ever receive, and every holy word strengthened your resolve.

Clutching book and blade in one hand, you punched a series of numbers into the keypad nearest the bay door, extending the ramp. When it finished descending, you issued another command, the tiny keys lighting up with each pressed digit.

“Self-destruct sequence initiated.” The robotic voice vibrated the tiny craft’s walls. “Confirm.”

“Confirmation,” you cast one last look around the shuttle that had been your home for a month, “Bravo Echo 2-4.”

“Countdown 2 minutes.”

Sunlight, warm and inviting, welcomed you as you stepped off the ramp. Squinting into its brilliance, you recalled the way your brother would read to you on lazy afternoons and how your family would picnic on similar grassy knolls. The beeping over your shoulder grew faster with each passing second, and you lifted the cumbersome dress around your knees, wasting no further time jogging down the hill.

You were out on the flat land for just a second before the shuttle exploded into a fiery ball. You watched the blast shoot debris and columns of soot into the perfect sky. In another life, it would have scared you, shying you away from the destruction. Silent, stoic, you tracked plumes of grey smoke and the fall of ashes, comparing it to the devastation you found after the Resistance found your planet.

Days after the attack, you roamed fallen buildings and picked through still warm rubble. You had been too late, too far away. Knowing you could have done nothing to stop the strike was empty consolation.

You could have died with them. You would rather have died with them. Now, all you could do was die for them.

On bare feet, you crossed the flowery field, taking in the array of purples and yellows. You lingered on the blue-green grass, feeling the soft stick of it underfoot, and you basked in the wispy clouds overhead. This was life, teeming with vibrant colors, but it all felt hollow, dampened. You wondered if everyone who came here felt this way, grateful that this beauty would be one of their last memories but unable to fully appreciate what they saw.

Pressing your lips into a determined line, you steeled your will and turned to The Demarcation, The Great Divide.

Grandfather Sky Walker tasked the twins with creating and maintaining The Balance. One would usher life; one would usher death; both harbingers of fate.

It was striking, a sudden upheaval of vitality in deference to darkness. Tendrils of fog mingled with melancholy dusk, and you spent a long moment admiring the space between one and the other. This spot, this one impossible convergence, was balance. It was what every man strived to achieve, and no man could boast.

On the other side of the billowing veil, where you were coaching yourself to go, was The Ren’s territory. People far and wide spun countless tales about the land and its Master. It was a bottomless hole, they said, that would swallow you up steps past the boundary. It was an unending bog, and all who journeyed there were lost. All of its structures were built from the bones of the dead, and The Ren was the vicious king of an unforgiving wasteland.

Your grandmother, however, believed The Ren to be a merciful father, wise and misunderstood. He was the bringer of ends who did not differentiate between rich and poor. No creature was safe from his touch, and that made every creature equal in his eyes.

Whatever that land may be, whatever The Ren may be, there was nothing on the other side of that shroud that could compare to what you’d already endured. It was the way forward, your only way, and you bid yourself to go forth on deliberate steps.

Mirroring the track of your life, a balmy day gave way to a wintry gloom as you moved through the gauzy curtain, passing from one kingdom to another. The living world fell away, replaced by slender black trees that shot up to winking stars and stood adorned with wide, scarlet leaves. A ghostly breeze blew, shaking the leaves to delicately fall and blanket the spongy ground. You trod upon them carefully, uncertain what might lurk beneath the crimson carpet.

You took your time on the winding path, drinking in every otherworldly detail. Light pooled from a clandestine moon, and the very air shimmered under its grace. Midnight-colored blossoms dotted the road, mingling with swaying ferns. The stars shone so bright you could almost hear the twinkle, a delicate song tapped out to echo against the trees. Every inhale was laced with morning mist and rich earth.

The stories were wrong. This was no forlorn place. It was luminous, hallowed. Absent the touch of civilization, this land had bloomed unharmed, untainted.

This world felt more real to you, more easily understood. Colored with variations of shadow, it was peaceful in its ashen palette.

Reaching the altar, you stared, both reverent and curious. How many had come before you to lay their lives down for The Ren? How many had died as a sacrifice? Surely, its ruddy color came from generations of blood spilled in offering.

It was a chalice to which you would soon be adding.

The stone was cold and damp, raising gooseflesh on your nearly naked form. It curved down in the very center, a macabre cradle for all those laid here. A blending of emotion and chill cast your skin in shades of flush and set every digit to trembling. It was as though the thing waited for you impatiently, its very existence demanding an offering.

Your skepticism at your grandmother’s faith dwindled when confronted with an exact duplicate of the altar upon which you’d taken your initiation rites. It was larger, but the ridges were the same. The slab of your childhood did not bear such a florid hue, but the sacrifices it received had been sugar, water, bread.

This shrine’s very construction felt haunted, a cauldron of souls made solid.

Hoisting yourself up onto the behemoth, you arranged your tools in the very center. You set the athame at your right and spread the weighty purple velvet over the shrine, laying the fabric and yourself out as you would for a lover.

Your lips trembled. Your knees knocked together. The cloak barely covered your body, and the little satin bows lent an air of innocence you could hardly claim as truth. You hoped, swallowed a handful of prayers, that The Ren accepted sacrifices as the stories told. Today, confronted with the reality of this place, you believed it more.

Tenderly, longingly, you ran your fingers over the tome once more. You lifted it and pressed a gentle kiss to its cover. It would lie beneath your head during this last of your chores and for however long your body would remain here.

Closing your eyes, you conjured memories of your grandmother bearing witness to so many dead over the years and how you, filled with doubt and agony and hate, had failed to do the same for your family, your friends, your people. It had been too great of a thing, too much sorrow to compact into a single prayer.

The words came easily now, having been swirling and growing in your chest for weeks.

Into thy hands, Great Fathers, do we commend this soul, departed from the body, in payment for the souls still yet to come. We pray that you welcome her, keep her, and enter her into the great Balance so we may again feel the light of her love.

Swallowing your grief, you gripped the wicked blade tight. You had no more tears to cry. You brimmed with an awful energy, this ceaseless anguish bubbling up from your very marrow.

“Dark Father,” you brushed fabric away from your right leg and sliced a deep gash into the supple thigh before you could change your mind. “Hear my prayer.”

You hissed at the burn but smoothed your features into a stolid mask. You would do this for your family and people, who received no warning, no choice to convert or flee. You would make your entreaty to The Ren; or, you would die here and reunite with them. Whatever the outcome, this was your end.

“I commit my body to your hands. As your brother has given it to me, I give it now to you to use as you will. Grant me the grace of your ear that I may plead my case.”

Your breath stuttered, and you fought back the roaring in your ears so you could concentrate and carry on. Fixing your eyes upon the trickle of blood, you watched it turn to a pool and hurried to match it with another slash at your left forearm. Benumbed, you tracked the redness as it crested and spilled in every direction.

The callous cold seeped into your very bones, and you fell back against the altar with a gasp, fingers grasping for the book’s corner. You blinked, heavy lidded, as your face fell to one side, staring into the great forest beyond.

In your delirium, you thought you could see them, smiling and holding each other. Tears you thought you no longer had rushed forth, and you shook. Weakness or acceptance broke open the gate on your heartbreak, releasing a torrent of sobs and screams. There was no one to hear, to care, to chastise you for its futility.

You heard her voice, your grandmother’s tone the same that had been soothing your fears since you could remember, rubbing over you like a comforting balm.

More than yesterday, beloved. Less than tomorrow. Find me in the Balance.

“Nona, I’m coming.”

Your fit rode your wounds and bled away to faint sniffles and glassy eyes. You stared up at what you felt had to be an eternally night sky and pushed your fingers through the growing sticky puddles.

This was death, and you welcomed it. You would slip away into a dreamless sleep here in such a place as you never knew existed. Fatigued, breathing slow, your face fell to one side, eyes unfocused but still dancing from beauteous flower to leaf to timber.

He was a charcoal smudge, nothing more. His movement was so subtle your addled brain took him for a tree, black clad and too tall to be a man. He stepped through the maze, and what little tenacity you had left drained away.

He came to sit upon the side of the altar where you lay dying, tilting his head to look at you. You stared, bewildered and confronted with the most beautiful man you’d ever seen when you had been expecting The Ren, the great storied monster. He passed his hand over your face, and the sting of your wounds abated. The heaviness of your limbs lessened, and the burden of your body eased.

Feeling and consciousness and awareness flooded back into your senses, and you bolted upright. Understanding dawned, and you gaped at him, struck dumb by every mesmerizing feature. Ebony tresses crowned him brilliantly, and he looked back at you with deep, glittering eyes. His fair skin was sprinkled with twilight constellations, and his lips were full, lush, slightly pink.

This was The Ren.

Troubled by the absence of death, you surveyed your situation, shaking both tense hands into fists. The ritual robe clung to the altar more than it did to you, swirling lurid with your blood. Blood that still flowed, you realized. Wide-eyed and amazed, you studied this unnatural phenomenon. The wounds at your thigh and wrist still wept; they should have killed you, but there was now a sanguine loop wrapping each injury around to feed into itself.

“Why have you called me here?” His voice was gravelly, as though he hadn’t used it in millennia.

“Am I dead?” It was a staggeringly stupid question, but it was the only clear thought in your head as you stared at the vermilion ouroboros around your wrist.

“If you intend to answer every question with a question,” his enormous hand shot out to capture the flesh just above your forearm laceration, “you will be soon.”

He squeezed the wounded limb until you shrieked and tried to tug away. Deciding that he would not let you go until you appeased him, you licked dry lips and worked your mouth into a measure of moisture.

“Why did you come?” Your query shocked even you, and you snapped your mouth shut hard enough to hear the clap of your jaws.

True to his word, The Ren’s hand connected with your throat so fast you couldn’t say for sure he’d moved. In one moment, idiotic inquiries filled your muddled mind; and in the next, you were choking at the end of his arm.

“Your howling,” his fingers tightened at your throat, thumb rubbing into the pulse almost delicately. “The next question will be your last. Why are you here?”

Licking your suddenly too-dry lips, you studied him, wrapping both of your small hands around his wrist. This man, this deity, was walking death, and that he sat here with his hands upon you changed the very foundation of everything you believed to be true.

“I-I came to ask your favor, Dark Father.”

He shoved you away and stood from his perch. Death’s gravity pulled you down again, and you whimpered, reaching for him as though it would prolong the inevitable. Your mouth worked on a plea, but none came.

“You’ve wasted your time. And mine.” He turned away and spat the rest over his shoulder. “Sparing virgins their lives or the lives of their lovers lost its allure long ago.”

Glancing back, he must have seen something, perhaps the abject apology in your face and on your outstretched fingers, because he snatched you from oblivion in a blink. You broke into wretched sobs, each lung-full of air quaking and painful.

“I came here so you’d come for me.” You dug bloodstained fingertips into your eyes to staunch the tears. “And to ask for your help.”

He was ethereal, his presence just a step out of sync with the rest of the universe, and it was difficult to look upon. You turned your face to one side and tried to compose yourself. You were battling the significance of your loss against the staggering truth that The Ren was real and here.

“You come to ask favors but cannot even look upon the beast?” He closed the gap in a blur, and you shrieked, leaning away. “How do you plan to beg if you will not even open your eyes?”

Crowding in aggressively, he leaned over and braced himself with both sturdy hands on either side of your head, an effective cage. His gaze traced over every curve of your face, and you couldn’t move under the oppression of his scrutiny.

“You think you will make demands of me?” His voice changed, dropping to a malicious whisper as he brushed a lock of hair from your forehead, tracing it to its origin in your hairline.

He would eat you; you were sure of it. Razor-sharp teeth hid just behind those beautiful lips, and he would tear you to pieces. Bolstering yourself, you drew in a shuddering breath and looked up into the galaxy-filled eyes. You had to say the words. You had to tell him what brought you here, but you weren’t sure you could do it.

“The dying lamb has no value to the shepherd.” His suddenly gentle tone belied his impatience and interminable power. “Tell me why you are here; or, I will leave you to die.”

You stared at him for what felt like an eternity, losing yourself in his resplendent gaze. It was like staring straight into the sun, and every part of you felt branded by him.

Your reasons for coming here meant little to him, you were certain. You pictured your family again and the horror inflicted on them.

The tension in your body loosened as purpose flowed through your veins once more. Your trembling lips blew out a steadying breath, which seemed to please him. He traced your lower lip with the very end of his thumb, waiting for you to speak.

“Retribution.”

#kylo ren #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren smut #kylo x reader #lamb #here we go again

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what-if-i-imagine · 5 years ago

Text

“You’re so obsessed to find someone to love you because you can’t love yourself.”

Requested by my goddess: @a-single-drop-of-ink

Wally looked up from his home work the moment he heard the familiar feather light footfalls coming down the hall of his dormitory.

In barely a second he was at the door opening it up, smiling at his roommate whose hands were full of groceries. His roommate smiled back that perfect smile that could make any heart melt, and Wally remembered what he had told his Aunt over FaceTime the night before while he was out.

“He makes it feel like home.”

His Aunt had gone from her joking, bubbly happiness to a more subdued, love-struck but still happy state. She had given him that same smile she made any time they went through her photo albums of her and his uncle.

“Be careful,” she told him. Because she knew. Wally had told her all about his roommate, and she knew just as well as him where this would go.

“How was your date last night?” he asked with a mischievous smile, fighting back the thoughts in the back of his head.

“Well, I didn’t come back to the dorm, did I?” Dick, his roommate, replied easily. It was true, he hadn’t come back to the dorm at all the night before, shooting Wally a text around midnight saying this new girl he liked was letting him stay at her place. He pretended to rack his brain to remember her name, even though it was burned into his heart just like all the others.

“Kori, right? The foreign exchange student?” he asked.

“Yup,” Dick popped the P as a grin grew on his face. “She was great Wally, she was perfect. I think she’s the one.”

“You said that about Barbara G too. And Vic from sci. And Raya from the gym. And Roy from the coffee shop-”

“You’ve made your point!” Dick laughed, wacking him playfully with a box of plastic forks. “And for your information, all of them were the one, they just didn’t realize it.”

“You mean how Vic was too focused on school for commitment, Raya wasn’t looking for something serious, Barbara fell for one of her bandmates, and Roy was in love with your younger brother?” Wally asked.

“You know, you can be really mean sometimes,” Dick said with no heat.

“Just pointing out the obvious,” Wally shrugged. “What are we having for dinner?”

“Well you have the choice between the two greatest delicacies in the land,” Dick said with much flourish, unpacking the groceries into their mini fridge and food bin. “Either the Irish dish of Luck Charms cereal, or the Japanese dish of Ramen.”

“I think I’ll go for the Japanese option tonight. I had cereal this morning.”

“That shouldn’t stop you.”

Wally rolled his eyes and got out one of the disposable bowls they should probably not be using in a microwave and started on his food. As he and Dick watched the opening credits for the most recent cheesy romcom tv show Dick had gotten addicted to, Wally wondered if Kori was really going to be the one. The one was going to some eventually, obviously, but how soon was that going to be?

The actual one only showed up a month later, after Dick and Kori’s civil breakup. By Civil, Wally really meant explosive by anyone else's terms, but for Dick this was like a beautiful kiss goodbye.

Of course, Dick always ended up good friends with his exs and his exs’ new partner. There was even a joking group chat with them all, with one being added each time Dick made up with his most recent breakup.

But at the start, his breakups were always messy. And Dick, in turn, became messy for at least a week afterwards.

He stumbled into the apartment that night, obviously recovering from a hangover caused by morning drinking with Roy, a new set of hickies around his neck and a hand in his disheveled hair.

“It’s a Monday, Dick,” Wally pointed out, barely glancing up from his homework.

“I’m honestly over caring,” Dick snapped a bit, chugging down one of Wally’s protein shakes from the fridge. Wally didn’t react, either to the snipish behavior or the obvious disturbance of personal property. He was used to this. Trying to point out a mistake to Dick or tell him what was good for him automatically set off that same defensive part of his brain that came into play while fighting with his father.

“So who were they?” Wally asked, referring to the hickies.

Dick hummed in though, looking down at himself, “The older ones from last night are from Helena, Babs’s other bandmate. The newer ones were courtesy of Little Wing’s friend Artemis. I think she’s related to Donna somehow?”

“No follow up dates?”

“Shut up,” Dick snapped again. His expression softened after as he sighed, taking another sip of the protein shake and putting it back with the mercy of leaving at least half for Wally’s nighttime run. “Sorry. Just tired.”

“I can tell,” Wally said levelly.

As he watched Dick fall back onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow, he let a common thought when it came to Dick’s breakup cross his mind.

He always does this to himself. Subconsciously on purpose.

It wasn’t Dick’s fault. He had been like this as long as Wally could remember, and probably even longer than their friendship had been in place. The cycle was a vicious one that Dick had had on repeat since he was fifteen from what Wally knew.

Crush hardly, love wholly, hurt deeply.

Fall in love, get in a relationship, torture self when it ends.

Wally knew what a self destructive man looked like, and Dick was definitely one. It ran in his family based off of what he had seen of his father, Jason and Cassandra.

“I called in an order for pizza,” Wally informed him, looking back to his laptop. “It should be here in an hour. Got a new movie too while I was at the store that I think you’ll like.”

“Did you get ice cream?” Dick asked, muffled by his pillow.

“Three different kinds and a bottle of cheap wine.”

“You’re a saint.”

Once Wally finished the first draft of his thesis and the pizza arrived, the both crawled down to their little cozy spot in front of their tv that sat on the ground.

The movie was shitty. Most of the ones dick liked were, but Wally still loved watching them with Dick. This particular movie was a hallmark movie from the early 2010s, which should say enough about the plot alone, and it was Dick’s perfect brand of sappy that hit a little too close to home where the girl realizes her boyfriend was shitty and she belonged with the gymnast heart throb with a heart of gold.

“Hey Wally,” Dick whispered as the main character ran into the arms of her true love.

“Yeah?” Wally hummed, leaning back into Dick’s hand where it was gently scratching at his head.

“What’s wrong with me?” Wally wouldn’t have even heard him if he weren’t leaned back on his chest. He didn’t freeze, but his mind did stutter for a moment. He was shocked when he subtly checked the wine bottle to see it was completely untouched.

“What do you mean Dickie?” he asked, glancing up only for Dick to nudge his head back down to face the tv.

“You know what I mean,” Dick said. “What’s wrong with me? All these people in the movies, all of my exs and friends, it only takes them one or two tries before they find the one. Why can’t I?”

Something wet dripped onto Wally’s head as Dick pressed his nose into his hair. He was only slightly shaking, but Wally could still feel it at every point of contact.

Wally got up, gently fighting past Dick’s refusal to let him go too far and turned to face him. He leaned forward on his knees between Dick’s legs and cupped his face, stroking away the small streams of tears.

“Because you want someone who loves you,” Wally answered, staring into those deep, pain filled eyes. The pain he saw there he recognized, maybe not as his own, but still as familiar. A deeply rooted self depreciation that offered no room for growth.

“That doesn't explain why I go out every day when I’m alone looking for someone new,” Dick defended, more tears falling. “It doesn’t make sense, Wally. Wanting love doesn’t explain this mess.”

“It does, Dick. You’re so obsessed to find someone to love you because you can’t love yourself,” Wally knew he was crossing a few lines by saying this, but he couldn’t stop himself. IT was obvious in the way Dick found his identity in the people he loved. His family, his friends, and above all else his long list of past lovers for however long they lasted could testify to that. Dick looked like he didn’t want to believe what he was hearing and was more confused than ever. Wally took it as a sign to elaborate.

“You constantly go out looking for these boys and girls because you want them to love you enough that you forget how empty you feel. It’s not your fault, it’s just the way you and your family work. You don’t think you deserve love, but you can't stand yourself when you’re without it.”

“Wally,” Dick’s voice broke and hitched, his face flooding with the horror of how on point his words were. Tears spilled faster than before, and Wally leaned even further forward to wrap his arms around his friend. He tangled his fingers gently in his hair and rhythmically rubbed his back, letting him cry it out on his shoulder.

“You’re wrong,” Dick said, voice wet and heavy with his tears.

“How am I wrong?” Wally whispered, barely a breath against the nape of Dick’s neck.

“It’s not- the only- reason,” Dick’s voice broke up with soft sobs.

Wally held him a little tighter, rocking awkwardly back to sit on his legs as Dick moved to his knees too without breaking any contact. Dick was leaning more into him now, and Wally silently prayed he wouldn’t fall back with the weight into the that was now playing the ending credits,

“It’s because I love someone else,” Dick sobbed miserably. “I love someone else, but they don’t deserve the mess I am.”

“That’s not true. It’s just what your brain wants you to think,” Wally shook his head.

“It is true,” Dick was barely audible over his heart wrenching sobs. He clung to Wally tighter, his fingers digging almost harshly into the back of Wally’s shirt.

“It’s true because it’s you. You’re the one.”

Wally froze this time, his breath completely stopping.

How many times he had dreamt of Dick saying those words, and none of those dreams happened like this.

Wally regained his composure as quickly as he did everything else in his life and was back to comforting his roommate.

“It’s okay Dickie,” he said, pressing a ghost-like kiss to his hair. “You’re the one too. You always have been.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won't. But we are going to get you help, okay? You need help Dick, and that’s not a bad thing. It’s normal to need help.”

“Are you going to call my dad?” Dick asked pitifully, the sobs dying down to sniffles.

“Maybe. If that’s what you want. We will talk about it in the morning when you’ve had more rest.”

“Okay.”

Dick went quiet for a moment then spoke again, “Hey Wally?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s easier to love myself when I’m with you.”

Wally didn’t say anything in response. He just kissed his head again and rocked them back and forth until Dick fell asleep.

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eerythingisshaka · 5 years ago

Text

Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

Jason Momoa x Reader

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: Bad attitudes/smut

Vroom vrooooom!!

Your eyes squeezed tightly in annoyance before you started to buck your blankets off of your body, punching your bed in aggravation. Every weekend it’s the same thing: at 7 am your sleep is disrupted by the violent roar of a motorcycle engine. You just moved in to your new place a month ago and at first you assumed that the disturbance would be temporary. People work on their vehicles on the weekend, and testing things may require a few loud repetitious sounds. But EVERY weekend? The two days out of the week you get to be able to sleep without an alarm blaring and you still have to wake like its a work day.

Today was even worse because it sounded like it was right outside your window. The funk of fumes made you cough while you got up to look out your window. No one was outside but you put your shoes on anyway. No way were you taking this lying down.

No shame in your bonnet game, you walked out in your pajama shorts, tank and slippers to survey your surroundings in the parking lot. You see some guy hunched over a big old looking bike, his back turned to you.

You marched over to him without abandon, building up your month's worth of frustration to fire off at him.

"Hey man!"

The putter of the engine must've drowned out your words so you shouted again.

"Hey! You know what the hell time it is? Some people are tryna sleep!" you said to the back of his messy man bun.

He turned his face to you slowly with a raised eyebrow, looking amused as his eyes settled on your slippers.

You felt self-conscious, taking a step backward and crossing your arms. "I had to hear you tinkering at this garbage at ungodly hours for a month!"

He reached for the ignition and turns the motorcycle off.

"It’s not garbage. It’s vintage."

His voice boomed in the newfound silence, throwing you off your anger rhythm. He wipes his dirty hands against his well worn jeans as he comes to a standing, towering over you like a giant.

You felt a wave of vertigo just looking at him but remained on subject. "Looks old, like it should be thrown away."

He crossed his arms bouncing momentarily on his toes just making him grander. "Perhaps you have heard of a concept called recycling, refurbishing, or reusing. Just because something has lost its luster doesnt mean its a pile of junk."

“Well excuse me for liking the finer things in life. Couldn’t kill you to trade this in for something better and less noisy! So keep it down in the meantime.” You walked off in a huff, scraping the soft soles of your slippers across the pavement.

“Nice to meet you too neighbor, the name is Jason! I could show you how to sew that hole in your shorts too since you like the finer things!”

You stopped suddenly, sticking your butt out to look at the supposed hole.

“Don’t worry. Looks good.” His voice dipped into a tone that sounded predatory. You walked backwards glaring at him as you made your way back around the corner out of his line of sight.

You stopped for a second to feel your behind and come across the hole you got roasted on. You kiss your teeth, feeling yourself get warm with embarrassment. It didn’t matter to you because sleep clothes aren’t supposed to always be fancy schmancy. You peeked around the corner and spied on him as he worked. He had the nerve to talk about anyone with his dusty olive green Henley on with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his large forearms and that geometric tattoo. You couldn’t care less about his opinion, long as his motor keeps quiet. The next weekend, you stayed out hella late catching up with friends after work. Happy hour was popping and you are a sucker for discounted drinks, especially when they are as good as the ones at your favorite bar. Your Lyft dropped you off in front of your place at 3 AM and you trudged to your front door and catch a glimpse of something in your peripheral as you dug out your keys. On top of the trash bag there was a note scrawled on a piece of paper that says RECYCLE.

“What the fuck?” you say out loud and picked up the note, turning it over you see the signature -Neighbor J.

You balled up the paper. “Oh you think you run my life now? Where the hell he get the nerve even coming up to my front door. He don’t know me, but he will!” You cursed out the air, practicing what you plan to say to him next time you see him and plotting your next moves.

A few hours later, morning broke and so did your peace. A loud banging at your door makes your heart race from surprise. You prayed silently that it’s no police as you bounded toward your door and look through the peephole.

You jumped back just as fast when you recognize the face, snatching your bonnet off and fingering your curls loose to be more presentable. You scuttled over to a nearby mirror to check that your shirt had no stains, and shorts no holes. All looked clear but you didn’t want to open the door in loosely fitted mickey mouse pajama bottoms, changing fast into some boy shorts.

After a quick change, you finally answered the door, to be greeted by his broad back. He wore a tank top today, mauve pink of all colors, giving a full show to the power he packed in his arms. Plus his hair was out of its man bun, showing off its waves, looking so touchable. His jeans and boots looked like the same ones from the last time you saw him. You chuckle to yourself over his laziness.

He turned to you like a shampoo commercial with his hands on his hips. “You put your crap on my bike?”

You crossed your arms and leaned on your frame, shrugging. “No idea what you’re talking about.

He pulls a cardboard box from beside him with empty water bottles and old cereal boxes.

“You think it’s funny, playing crap Jenga on my property?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not crap, it’s reusable, remember? Look, I got your note about recycling. I just wanted to let you know I am way ahead of you. My contributions are better than that gas you spew in the air from your bike.”

“Single use plastics are one of the biggest contributors to the destruction of earth’s ecosystems. Why the hell would you waste money on them anyway? Get a filter and a steel bottle-”

“Please! Can you stop telling me what to do like I ain’t grown! I know how sustainability works, that’s why I’m re-cy-cling! Now if that’s suddenly a bad to do, I’ll Google that, but you ain’t God here.”

His stare read threatening to you, but you weren’t afraid of him trying you. He seemed to be the type to not be challenged often and you yourself loved a challenge. Multitasking the stare down, you memorize his facial features from his shaggy facial hair to the break in his eyebrow from an old scar.

You work your neck for emphasis. “Are we done here?”

He scoffs, kicking the box toward you before strolling off. “Stop using single use plastics.”

“Ok, George of the Jungle!” You taunt, sending him off with a wave. Closing your door, you laugh out loud, giving a fist pump to the air. You won this round whether he acknowledges it or not. Plus you never heard that engine all day afterwards, catching up on your rest.

A couple weekends passed and one hungry morning you realize you’re low on food to eat. You can’t chill on an empty stomach so you get your stuff to head out to your car.

The sky was cloudy that day, making you yawn involuntarily as you start your engine. It sputters, trying to turn over, but won’t kick off. You tried this four or five more times before you sit back, punching your steering wheel. Of all days for this to happen, today ain’t it.

Suddenly the roar of a motorbike distracted you in the distance and a horrible thought passes your brain. Jason knew his way around a motorbike, so a car shouldn’t be too different, right?

You get out the car and stomp towards the other end of the parking lot where you see you neighbor mounting his motorbike.

“Hey! Hey!” You yelled out, waving him down. He saw and you notice his shoulders jump a little as a smile crawls across his face. You weren’t expecting that reaction.

“I’m gonna be outta your hair, I got my girl fixed up and I’m taking her for a spin. Continue to catch your beauty sleep, doll,” he says sarcastically.

You look at his bike and gave the tire a kick. "I'm not worried about that. Glad you got it up and running."

Jason turned off the engine and scratched his beard, coming to a standing. "What’s going on?"

You shrug, making Jason laugh hard.

"Now I really know something is up. This is the first time you are speechless AND the last thing you said was nice? What did you do?"

You tried to fight your attitude because you still needed to ask if he could help you.

"I mean, I still think the bike looks rusty and dusty. Can’t tell it from some junkyard scrap but hey, there’s a pulse!"

Jason pointed at you, clicking his tongue. "And a good morning to you as well." He kicks on his motor again and begins to move.

"Wait wait!" You shouted.

He turns the bike off again. "Sweetheart, I got little patience."

You groan. "My car won't start. I was hoping you could give it a look."

“DO I look like a mechanic?” he asks, leaning forward on his bike.

You stared at him dumbfounded. “You literally work on this bike all the time! No one is doing that shit without some experience!”

“A motorcycle is not a car, ma’am,” he said. “Apples and oranges. Hell, their practically fishes and trees!”

“Do you really wanna insult my intelligence?”

Jason held his hands up in the air. “I don’t have to do anything when it comes to you. You come with drama and mess in tow, and I’m tired of hearing it, if we’re being honest.” He got up from his bike, heading in the opposite direction on you.

A raindrop on your face snapped you back to reality and by the time you looked up the clouds opened up their floodgates.

You covered your head. “Dammit! Jason!”

You ran after him as he continued to stomp on to his place. “There’s a thing called humility and being a good neighbor and something tells me you haven’t learned that before.” He stops in the middle of his yard whipping around to face you. His hair soaked in rain yet maintaining its wave intrigued you. Most people look like a sad dog in the rain, but the wetness amplified his stoic appeal.

“You’re spoiled,” he says, rain falling off his lips as he enunciated.

“I need help! That’s all I’m asking!”

“You don’t ask! You demand! You demand I be quiet and play childish games when people call you out.” His voice became more aggressive with demonstrative movement to emphasize his words.

You clasped your hands together. “Oh! Well it looks like you’re just used to doing shit YOUR way, and no one had the BALLS to step to you. Well I am, so what?”

You step right under his nose, rain from his body drops in your face. He looked down at you amused.

“You better run along before you do something you can’t take back,” he warns.

“I don’t have regrets, just learned lessons. So what you got?”

“What I got?”

“Yeah, what-”

His lips crashed into yours with momentum and strength. His hands gripped your arms a little too tightly, making your hands splay in a shocked manner, unable to move. His force mixed with the weather conditions made it hard to breathe and your will to do so causes you to push him back with as much strength as you can.

“What the FUCK WAS THAT?!” You scream, wiping your mouth to no avail.

He stands there frozen, breathing hard. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Like hell you don’t! This the shit I’m saying!” You gawk at him, seeing his shirt cling to his body as the rain weighs down the fabric. Jason whipped his hair back unapologetically.

“I told you. You’re spoiled. I don’t kiss your ass, so you’re mad.”

“I don’t remember asking you to kiss me at all, did I?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t ask you to get in my face and threaten me, yet here we are. Go dry off,” he says, taking himself back to his place and leaving you in the rain.

Later that night, you’re in the midst of finishing up twisting your hair for the night when you hear the familiar sound of an engine blaring.

You check the time, 12:35 AM. You’re instantly fuming, twirling a mad finger around your last twist end and putting on your robe.

Stomping outside, you see him clear as day, outlined by the parking lot lights. Jason sits on his bike revving it over and over as you walked closer and closer. You get about 30 feet away from him when he turns the bike off.

“You fucking get on my damn nerves. I’m sick of this!” You shout at him.

He got off his bike, standing with his hands in his pockets. Soon as you were within arms length, you raise your hand and bring it to the back of his neck, pulling him into you. You were ready this time, opening up to take hi essence in with your own. Your fingers clutch the roots of his hair, pulling yourself up to him as much as possible until he helped you. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he doesn’t miss a beat in your mouth as he lifts you to his level and you wrap your arms around his neck. You bit his lips, groaning into his mouth excitedly.

“I told you, I step up if you try me.” you say.

He licks his wounded lips, eyes heavy with anguish. “And I can take a hit, if necessary.”

You both stumble back to your place, fighting to feel each other’s skin quicker than you could get undressed. You let your robe fall off at the door.

Your scratch at the bottom of Jason’s shirt, pulling it up as he surrenders his arms to your tugs, shaking his hair loose once you’ve freed him.

He pulled your hair back roughly, exposing your neck to his tongue grazing the pulse point of your neck. Your nails dig into his hips as you fight the ticklish sensation, making him groan.

“Watch those claws, kitty,” he warns, taking liberties with your body. The palms of his hands feel rough against your stomach when he traces your curves up to your breasts. You breathe erratically, feeling the warm arousal build as your nipples greet his fingertips, but you pushed him back roughly. As he stumbles, he looks at you defensively.

“Am I moving too fast?” He asks as his chest rises and falls heavily. You take your shirt off, standing in just your underwear. He starts to unbutton his pants…

“Stop! Don’t.” You command.

He freezes in mid zipper pull, looking frustrated. “Look if this ain’t happening, just-”

“Did I say nothing is happening? I told you to stop. And it would be good if you just listened, for once,” you say, dropping your voice lower and quieter. You walked up to him, moving his hand aside, pushing him against the wall.

“You find me attractive, right?” You ask as your fingers find his zipper and pull it the rest of the way down.

He keeps his poker face as you stare him down. “I do. You’re very sexy.”

As he admits this, your palm slides down his stomach and under his waistband. Under your touch you feel him grow, making your heart skip.

“Not sexy enough. You still got some growing up to do I see,” you reply as you pull his bottoms down, letting his dick recoil from its boundaries.

Jason exhales sharply, bracing his back against the wall. “You don’t have to.”

You settle down to your knees, observing the specimen before you, gripping his shaft as you look up at him. “You don’t want me to?”

His hair framing his face, he pulls it back taking a deep breath. “You got my dick in your hands, and you think I’m backing down now?”

“Then tell me what you want me to do…” You say quietly, biting your lip as you watch him while stroking him, blowing slowly along his length, lips puckered and tempting.

He reached for the top of your head gently massaging your scalp. “I want that big mouth to show me what it can do.”

You smirk, letting your tongue flutter around his tip, warming him up. You feel his scalp massage slow as your lips softly kiss his member. His head falls backward as you open your mouth wider, swallowing his girth deeper. You look up at him, massaging his balls.

“Oh God, you’re amazing. Your mouth so soft,” he moans, looking down at you, jutting his hips towards your face minutely.

You allow your throat to open a bit more, taking hold of his thighs as he pushes himself into your mouth deeper.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful. Just look at you.” He pulls out of you, bending down to take you in for a kiss. He tastes himself within your mouth, fully devouring your mouth in a kiss. You hold his hands against your face as he embraces you, feeling overwhelmed with passion.

“Fuck me, now.” You growl into his face, getting up. He pushes you against the wall he once stood, pulling your underwear down to your ankles, you steady your hands on his wide shoulders.

He stands up looking you deep into your eyes as you reach for his dick, coaxing him to move on, but he grabs your wrists, setting them on his shoulders.

“You’re too impatient,” He says, running his finger across your cheek, nuzzling his nose against yours.

You exhale. “Damn right I am. The one thing we can get along about, you’re trying to postpone.”

He chuckles, feeling between your thighs. “You’re this wet for me? You like me more than I thought.”

You roll your eyes, closing them when his fingers fit so easily inside of you, digging your nails into his shoulders. “Maybe I just like the sex. Thought of that?”

He shrugs. “Let’s see what fits and talk later. Your pink looks real good.”

He grips his hands under you, lifting you and wrapping your legs around his waist in one movement.

As he holds you, you feel for his dick, helping to guide his tip to your entrance.

“Teamwork, right?” You gasp as he spreads you wider, pushing himself inside of you. You exclaim, gripping the back of his neck for dear life.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks.

You shake your head. “No, keep going. I want more.”

He obeys, pushing further inside your walls.

“That’s it baby, deeper.” You encourage him, you tighten up around him as your body relaxes to the new sensation.

Jason’s hands travel around your back, holding you close as works his length into you, working his hips like it’s his job.

“Ah, your pussy is so good baby.” Jason moans in your ears.

“This pussy is good to you cuz that dick. Give it to me, harder.”

Jason rams his length inside you, holding still as you writhe, repeating the action over and over.

“Yes, oh yes,” you cry out, feeling tears reach the corners of your eyes, feeling a wave of pleasure creep and spread throughout your body.

Jason pounds your deeper, harder as you cry out, digging into his back, he pulls your mouth to his, kissing you passionately.

“You take me so well. I knew you were tough. Keep cumming, I want all of you on me,” he says. You cover his mouth.

“Shut up, or I won’t stop,” you feel your body buckle under the pressure. It became too much.

Jason opens his mouth, sucking two of your fingers as his pace quickens.

“I’m close baby, hang on.” Jason cautions, gripping your breasts and he rests into the crook of your neck, giving all of himself into you.

His hand moves between your breasts, tracing your sweat with his lips. He grunts with a guttural tone, “Looks good.”

“Pull…” you say weakly between breaths, barely able to think straight. Your body feels like it’s floating away from you as you hit another orgasm before you feel yourself go empty. You look down to see Jason jacking against your stomach, strips of white paint your belly as he howls in euphoria.

You notice your heartbeat for the first time, pounding in your chest but you felt no stress. Your mind is hazy as Jason talks but you can’t fully register what he’s saying. He holds your face, looking concerned as he picks you up to take you to his bedroom lying you down.

You feel a towel on your stomach as you lay on your back, completely checked out of your surroundings.

“Sure, you can spend the night, no problem.” Jason says half-jokingly as he crawls to the other side of the bed, pulling a blanket over the both of you. You feel his hands in your hair, gentle massaging your curls as your eyes close.

The next morning, you wake with a fright, feeling this arm laid across your waist like a boa constrictor. A snore behind your head makes you nearly jump out of bed.

“Good morning, beautiful,” a gruff sounding Jason stretches, kissing your shoulder.

“Whoa, whoa. Don’t do that,” you say, sitting up and covering yourself in your section of the blanket.

Jason tousles his hair, moving closer to you. “Oh no? I can’t initiate this time?”

You push his face back. “You can’t initiate ever! This isn’t a back to back thing, so don’t think you got rights to me. Where are my clothes?”

You see your drawers, robe and shirt by the front door. “Can you close your eyes as I get my stuff?”

Jason lays back with his hands behind his head. “Take the blanket. I don’t mind my body being out.”

You make a face. “Ew, just close your eyes and turn your head.” Jason covers his face like he’s getting ready to play Tag.

You gather your panties, slipping them on.

“You don’t have to run off so fast, we were just getting to know each other better.” JAson says behind his hands.

You talk through your shirt. “Bullshit. Don’t make this bigger than it is.”

Jason drops his hands. “So there’s nothing to discuss?”

You shrug your robe on, running your fingers over your twists that are now sexed over and slept on as best you could. “I’ve already forgotten what we are talking about.”

He nods. “Well I am glad you got function back to your legs.” He smiles widely.

You groan. “Happens all the time, you aren’t special. And take your trash out, smells like shit in here.”

“That’s just sex in the air, sweetheart.” Jason waves you goodbye as you flip him off, walking out the door. When you reach your place, you take a deep breath, feeling the aftermath of last night coursing through your body still. You felt positively sore, like after a good workout. It replays in your head over and over; his hands on your body, his deep kisses, his taste. You shake your head, trying to free your mind. No way is he taking up any space in your memory. It’s over and done. You take the morning to shower off, somewhat thoughtfully.

The next day you got ready for work, feeling better than you had in a while. Dick was not the reason, so you thought. You felt all around more positive until your peace became disturbed.

“No, no, no, NO!” You yell out. “It’s not even the fucking weekend!”

You pick up your purse, looking for your keys. You curse yourself for keeping car keys and house keys separate until you remember you are without a working vehicle.

“FUCK!” You didn’t want to see, you wouldn’t. You’ll text your job and tell them what’s up and call a car. Problem solved.

You get out of your place, locking the door and notice the hood of your car up and Jason sitting in the front seat.

He turns off the engine, closing the hood, leaning on the car as he looked at you. “Turns out I know cars after all.”

“Am I supposed to say thank you? For stealing my keys?” you say with a sour disposition.

He tosses the keys in the air, catching them. “You left them at my place. I thought it was an invitation.”

“None of it was an invitation. Give them to me.” You walk up to him with your hand out like a three year old. When he drops them in your hand, he doesn’t let go.

“Say….”

You tighten your lips for what felt like an eternity until you say, “Thanks!”

He lets go with a smile and walks away. “I swear I was gonna do it regardless, but you had to initiate so…”

“You kissed me first!” you shout a little too loudly for a neighborhood.

He looks back winking at you. “And don’t throw something away that’s reusable.”

Masterlist

#shakafic #jason momoa fic #jason momoa x reader

310 notes · View notes

taetaesbaebaepsae · 5 years ago

Text

Monsta X After a Breakup

Warnings: BIG SAD BIG ANGST WOW, alcohol used as a coping mechanism, breakup sex, please someone request a part 2

Word Count: 3019

Hyunwoo (Shownu)

When you sit him down to talk to him about taking a break, he's all ears, leaned forward in his seat, watching your face, and it makes it so hard

He's just gone all the time, and you're lonely, and you're afraid he'll find someone on tour and for all you know he's not even that into you anyway

"I think we need some time apart," you say finally, and he says.... Nothing

He leans back against the chair, looking a little shell shocked at first, and he's quiet for an instant that seems like hours

"If that's what you think is best, Jagiya." He says finally, voice low and soft

And that's it, that's all he says, only nodding when you try to explain further

When he takes you to the door, he pulls you to him, gives you the softest kiss, and it leaves tears in your eyes

But then you don't hear from him, you don't hear about him, it's radio silence

Everyone is watching him, all his friends, and they're all hovering, and Hyunwoo hates it

He doesn't want to talk about it

He doesn't want to think about it

It is what it is, you are happier without him

He avoids your social media like the plague, stiffens everytime he hears your name

When you finally break and text him, just "hey," he stares at his phone for twenty minutes

He finally texts you back in kind, just "hi" and when you don't answer he feels like someone is standing on his chest

He doesn't know what to do with it, the way he feels, the void in him

He didn't choose a partner lightly, and when he'd confessed to you, red faced and quiet, and you'd kissed him, he'd been so happy, and stayed happy

But you didn't. You were lonely and restless and he does think about it, late at night, alone in his room

He thinks about why you'd decided to go now, if you needed something else.... someone else

That's not something he can let himself think about, that's not a train of thought he can continue, it makes him feel sick

He ends up barely sleeping, going to the gym instead

He's barely home

He's barely eating

Everyone keeps asking if he's okay and he feels like something is coiling inside of him, a spring ready to pop

Finally, at dinner, it does, and he roars out. "No! I'm not. I'm not okay," lowering his voice at the end when Minhyuk jumps and spills his drink

He excuses himself, quietly, but his hands are shaking when he looks down at them

Finally you send: I miss you, and it's like you've taken the air from his lungs

His thumbs don't work, suddenly, and he calls you instead

When you answer, the words come out in a rush, "Come home."

"Hyunwoo..."

He hears the hesitancy in your voice and his eyes are burning.

"Please," he says, voice cracking, but he can't hear your shaking breath anymore, you've hung up.

He doesn't sleep that night

Hoseok (Wonho)

"I feel like I'm holding you back," you say, when you tell him you think you should break up

He just looks at you with big, dark eyes for a moment, shellshocked

"But you.... you're everything to me, Jagi. You...you want to leave me?"

"I think....I think I have to." You can't look at him, just picking up the bag you'd packed

He goes quiet except for his heavy breathing and a hitched sob

You've got your hand on the door and he chokes out, "Please... don't go. We can talk about it. I'll do better. I'll be better, just...please, Y/n..."

You want to tell him it isn't him, that he's perfect but you're not strong enough to miss him all the time but tears are clogging your throat and you just leave

There's no air in the room suddenly, he's hyperventilating and sobbing and he can't do this, not again, not with you

You were different, you'd said, he'd been wary and he'd fallen for you so hard and fast half of him wanted to run but you'd been so earnest and open....

You were supposed to be different

You were supposed to be the one who stayed

But here he was, alone, watching the door through tears as if you'll come back, tell him you've changed your mind, that you want him after all

It takes no time at all before he spirals, starts thinking you were right, he'd left you alone too long, and even if he'd been home all along he wasn't enough

Doesn't get out of bed until his members drag him out

Barely functioning, such a big soft sad boy

Staring into space a lot, crying at the drop of the hat

He types out dozens of drafts in his texts but he doesn't send them

You don't want to hear from him

You don't want him

He wants to be angry, wants to pound out everything he's feeling buried in another woman but he can't do it

He can't be anything but miserable

Rereads every sweet text you've ever sent him, all your couple selfies, crying so hard he makes himself sick

He can't take pleasure in overexertion from the gym or piles of food anymore

Considers going back to old habits, the sting of liquor, nicotine staining his fingers but in the end he won't

In the end he wants to be a better man than that, someone you might come back to

That's what kills him, what burns in his chest is hope, hope that maybe if he just tries harder to mold himself into what you want...

He stares at his phone every night for hours, praying you'll text

Kihyun

It ends after a fight, after his cruel words cutting through you one two many times

He's cruel because everything about you hurts, because he loves you too much, loves you too hard he doesn't know what to do with it

You've had enough, pack a bag while he's watching, cold eyed, arms crossed across his chest

"Where do you think you're going?"

You don't answer, breathing hard, willing yourself not to cry, shoving clothes in a bag

"So you're leaving me?"

He shouldn't be surprised, after all he'd been picking fights, pushing you away

But now there's a rock in his stomach, his head pulsing

Don't go, he wants to say. Don't go because I love you. Don't go because I'm sorry, I'm sorry I was testing you but I just don't know how to feel this much. Stay and help me, yeah? Stay and help me learn how. You're the only one who can.

In the end, he stays cold, says something about how he'd always known you'd go and your angry, hurt eyes pierce right through him when you look back before slamming the door behind you.

He doesn't tell anyone for the longest time

Has extra wine at dinner and bags under his eyes from not sleeping but he won't say a word, at least not until there's a picture of you with someone else's arm around your waist

Everyone's treating him like glass, sidestepping around your name and he knows there's been something, searches your name and instantly his heart seizes up

You're wearing a mask, your head down, but he'd know your body anywhere, had spent days exploring it with his mouth and hands

It's after a bottle and a half of wine that his pride goes out the window, when he finally calls you and leaves slurred promises on your voicemail stained with red wine and regret

Tears trickles down your cheeks when you hear it, his voice low and husky with lack of sleep and wine

"Do you let him touch you like I do, Jagi?" A hitched breath. "It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, just come home. You left before I could tell you how much I love you. It makes my heart feel like it will burst, every time you smile at me and...I wanted to push you away because it felt like too much." A long sigh, just his shaky breathing for a moment. "Does he hold you, after? Ah, Jagiya...Y/n..."

His voice breaks and the message ends and you're a mess, wanting to call back but you talk yourself out of it, focus on how his voicemail was fueled my jealousy and alcohol

Kihyun turns off his phone volume, can't stand the way his heart stops when he gets a text, the bitter taste in his mouth when it isn't you

Minhyuk

It's an argument that goes too far, our sunshine boy can have a sharp tongue

He's just gotten home from tour and tensions are high

He doesn't mean it, he's just angry and frustrated by how much he has to be away from you and how much of your life he is missing

When you start packing a bag he's angry, all for it, helping you pack

"Fine! Go!"

He's mad you're considering leaving but you'll cool off, you always threaten to go after a fight but you never do

You make it all the way to the door before he panics, rushes to shut it with one hand, boxing you in with his body

"You're not really going, baby?" His voice softens and you're shaking with anger but it hurts your heart, the fear in his eyes

But when you push him away and open the door his dark eyes are flashing again, rejection stinging too much to beg you not to go

"If you want to go, fine. But don't try to come back." His voice is shaking, tears aching at the back of his throat

You go anyway, slamming the door behind you, and he's breathing hard, wants to yell and throw things

He ends up distracting himself, going out and hoping when he gets home you'll be there, but you aren't and you won't answer his calls or texts and he just gets angrier and angrier

He's the type to channel all those negative feelings into self destructing, lots of casual sex, fucking out his feelings and trying to forget your face

Stays busy, overworks himself so that he's exhausted and can't think too much

Happy go lucky in public, almost manic, acts like he doesn't care, tells himself he doesn't care but he cares so much

Smile doesn't quite reach his eyes anymore

Blows off questions about you from the members, shrugging, "She wanted to go, what am I gonna do?"

But alone, late at night when he's physically tired but his mind is racing, he scrolls through all the pictures in his camera roll, lets himself wallow for a couple hours

Lets himself remember how your skin felt beneath his hands, takes one of your sweaters out of the laundry to breathe in your scent

Types out texts begging you to come home but deletes them, ends up sleeping with your sweater, a small comfort

Hyungwon

It's your decision but it feels almost mutual, him agreeing with your concerns and that you needed a break

There are tears and hugs and soft kisses and you're glad it didn't end angry

The thing is, for Hyungwon, it didn't end at all

Needing space seems logical to him but he's just sitting at home, waiting for you to call, waiting for you to figure out he's where home is, patiently

"She'll be back," he says confidently when one of the members asks if he's okay. "She just needs time."

It's a month before he sees you, just walks past and you wave and smile just a little wistfully, hand in hand with someone else

He can't even pretend to smile back, he feels paralyzed, like he's been shot through the spine

It isn't the guy, it isn't that you're seeing someone else, although the idea makes his stomach roll, that hurts the most

It's that little smile, the wave

Like you were waving to an old friend, a near stranger

It hurts deep in his bones, makes his head feel full and fuzzy like he has the flu, limbs feeling heavy

He just tries to sleep through it but for once he can't, every time he closes his eyes he sees that little smile on your face

It's Hoseok who hears him sobbing through the wall and comes in his room, alarmed

"She's not coming back, is she, Hyung?" Hyungwon asks, voice choked with tears

Hoseok doesn't know what to say, hugs him as he sobs into his shirt

He stays in his room for days, has to cancel practices because he just can’t bring himself to move

Everyone tells him to call you but he can’t bring himself to dial, can’t bring himself to hear that it’s over from your lips

Jooheon

He's mad when you say you're leaving after a fight, throwing your clothes back in the drawer, stomping around, grabbing your bag off your shoulder and throwing it on the floor

"You don't get to leave. You aren't leaving." He says, fiercely, wiping away angry tears

"You can't stop me. It's over. I'm done." You snap back, wrestling your bag back, yanking the door open

He follows you into the hall, to your car, panic climbing up his throat

"Wait, wait, Y/n....baby, please. I'm sorry. It's just a fight, yeah? Come back inside so we can talk-"

You have to push him away, have to get in your car and speed off because he won't stop

He stands in the parking lot for a long time, chest heaving

An absolute mess

Drinking, partying too much, pretending to be happy when everyone around him is worried

Skipping practice, showing up to meetings half drunk or hungover, getting in trouble with the company, all those bad boy habits he kept at bay for you coming back

Everyone tries to talk to him and he just gets angry, throwing things around his room, breaking glasses on the regular

He’s mad and he’s sad and he doesn’t want to fucking talk about it unless it’s to you and unless it makes you come home

So many drunk texts and voicemails, sometimes angry, sometimes sexy, sometimes with his voice husky from crying, usually a combination of all three

"I miss how tight you used to grip me, baby. I miss the curve of your hip, where your waist dipped? I miss kissing you there." Deep breaths, as if he's been running, voice full of longing. "I miss your smile. Fuck, Y/n...please call me back. Please come home. I'll do anything you want, baby, just..."

It cuts off and he's just crying and eventually you start deleting them before listening because it hurts too much

You figure he'll stop but he doesn't, keeps calling hoping one night you'll pick up

Changkyun (I.M)

An argument that ends in him giving you the cold shoulder and you getting so mad you leave

Him shrugging, pretending not to care while a vice squeezed his heart

"You'll come crawling back," he says easily, only making you more upset

Half of him believes that, half of him really thinks you'll cool off and come back apologizing

The other half is in a full panic, wondering what happens if you don't, if you'll move on, and he can't think about it too much without wanting to scream

So he throws himself into work, making beats, writing lyrics that all end up being about you

It only takes 24 hours before he calls, and you answer

"When you coming home?" He asks, trying to keep his tone light and airy even though he hasn't slept a wink

"I'm not. It's over." You say flatly, and his throat works before he answers, voice suddenly hoarse

"Don't say that. Just...just come home and let's talk, honey. Just-"

You hang up on him, knowing he'll talk you into it, and he wants to break his phone, wants to destroy his room

That night he can't stop thinking, can't stop spiralling, thinking things like: What if she never loved me? What if she never comes back? What if there's someone else?

He can't handle it, the thoughts, the way he's thisclose to tears when he hears your name

He doesn't go out, doesn't talk to anyone, drinks alone listening to sad songs, and when his head is fuzzy and his heart aching he calls you over and over and over again

You don't answer, eventually block his number and it's like there's something living inside him, clawing at his insides and he can barely breathe when he takes an Uber to your house

Stands at your door smelling like a distillery, leaning against the doorjamb, eyes hazy but angry at first

"You can't tell me it's over. You can't decide that. Not without talking to me."

You try to shut the door and he blocks it with his foot

Turns on a dime, dignity lost, tears rolling down his cheeks, sobs catching in his chest

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry honey, please...please just let me in so we can talk. Please just....God, I miss you so fucking much."

You let him in, fighting tears, and he's swaying on his feet so you sit him down on the couch and he tugs your hand, pulls you into his lap, holding you so tight it hurts your ribs

"Tell me how we can fix it, honey. I...I need to fix it."

You try to shake your head, explain to him that you can't, that you need to think but he's kissing you, whimpering into your mouth

Breakup sex is a thing that happens more often than it should

It hurts so much when it's over but he only feels like he can breathe again when he's inside you, when he can feel your skin

When you leave he feels like you take all the oxygen with you

He gets desperate enough to talk to his hyungs, get advice and comfort, crying and talking into the wee hours of the morning

They all warn him against hooking up with you but he can't stop

You're the one that ends it and he feels like you've dropped him in ice water

Everything seems to freeze and days pass without talking to you, without touching you and he doesn't know how he'll survive it

Somehow he does, but he can't help how desperate he gets, buys burner phones to try and hear your voice, get you to talk to him

Barely sleeps, lying staring at the ceiling most nights

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woven-in-christ · 2 years ago

Text

A Prayer for the Gift of Humility

After my freshman year of college, I transferred schools, ditched my plans to become an English teacher, and switched my major to theatre performance instead. My love for theater and acting became my means of escaping the reality that I loathed who I had become, so as an actress, I could just be someone else. The spotlight made me feel so good! My pride caused me to become the center of my own universe. I would attempt to prove that I was worthy of love by my talents and good looks, trying to fill the emptiness inside even more, but it only made it worse. I reached a point where I stopped trying to “do better” and “be better.” Instead, I chose to live in my pit of sin and pride and made plans to run away to Los Angeles to become an actress to pursue my “calling and purpose” and prove to the world my worth, talent, beauty, and charm.

But even in my pit of sin, God was still pursuing me and calling my name. With arms wide open, He was waiting and ready for me to come to my senses, to the end of myself and come home. In God’s perfect providence and timing, the Holy Spirit raised this dead one to life. I was so extremely prideful and self-centered, but one day, my eyes were opened to my sinful rebelliousness, and I was granted the gift of humility to truly repent of my sins, take up my cross, and follow Christ. Humility brought His grace into my life- something I could never work to earn.

Humility is truly a gift from the Father. As humans, just like the fruit of the Spirit, it is difficult to walk continually in this godly trait. We need God’s help, His grace. To be granted His heavenly grace gifts, we must become humble before the throne of God.

James tells us in chapter 4:

“But [God] gives more grace. Therefore, it says, “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble” (James 4:6, ESV).

When we think we can control our life better than God, we will eventually fail. Pride comes before a fall, after all (Proverbs 16:18). We must acknowledge our prideful, self-reliant ways if we want to experience the sustaining and empowering grace of God. For me, in that providential moment almost 15 years ago that changed my life, I began to experience this deep conviction that I was living a reckless and sinful life that offended God, who is altogether holy, and that I had been running away from the Father. It truly was my prodigal son moment— I came to my senses and the end of myself (Luke 15) and no longer wanted to live in the filth of my sinful life. Immediately, I knew I needed to repent of my sin and start running toward the Father. Right there, with hands lifted in worship, and tears streaming down my face, I repented of my pride and rebellion; I told God that I didn’t want to live this life on my own anymore and that I wanted to surrender to His plan, stop living for myself, and live for Him instead. As I loosened my grip on the plans for my life (one finger at a time, of course), I began to discover my purpose and identity in Christ and His great love for me. I laid down my prideful desires to become an actress in LA, picked up my cross, and committed to truly following Jesus, no matter the cost, for the first time in my life. I am so incredibly grateful for that moment of humbling and destruction of my pride. Now, I am still a recipient of that grace- I am given the opportunity to come humbly and boldly to the throne of grace every single moment of every single day to receive His strength and mercy. What a gift!

Let’s pray:

Father God,

I repent for my self-reliance. I realize that I cannot walk through life without Your help. I ask for Your beautiful gift of humility to penetrate my heart. I lay down my pride and selfishness, and by Your grace, clothe myself in humility that comes from You. Jesus did not consider equality with You a thing to be grasped and emptied Himself of all privileges, He humbled Himself even to the point of dying on the cross for my sins. I want to reflect selflessness to the world, but for me to do that, I know that I need to walk in humility and put my trust in You alone. Thank You for the gift of Your grace to be humble and prefer others above myself.

May You be glorified in all that I say and do. In Jesus’ name, amen.

by Emily Rose Massey

#scriptures #prayers

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my-fanfic-library · 5 years ago

Text

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [28]

Masterlist

~^*^~

Something about lying in a bed made Dracula feel a little more human. After the last few hours, winding down like this was the best feeling ever. It was a shame that peace could never last, not even for a vampire.

The door began to receive a beating from the outside. He thought about getting up to answer it, but then he heard it open. Who the hell was storming in? He continued to lie there, hoping he wouldn’t be found. The sound of mumbling filled the apartment, along with the rhythmic slamming of footsteps. Every now and then, it would stop, and then a door would slam and the noise would pick up again.

Finally, as if saving his bedroom for last, the door burst open and you strode in. Dracula pulled the covers up his chest, lying still, watching as you stormed to the bedside. Standing with your feet apart, arms crossed, you glared at him. Boy, you were upset.

“Well?” You began.

“Well...” Dracula repeated.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Yes, I am naked right now-“

“No.” You cut him off sharply, “where have you been this evening?”

“Out...” crap. You knew.

“Dracula.” You warned. Your voice was cool and angry.

“I may have gone to visit a person...”

“Would that person have been Daniel?” You questioned. Dracula looked at you sheepishly.

“It’s hard to remember the specifics...”

“Perhaps this little fact will help jog your memory - the only thing they had to identify him was his decapitated head on the sofa with his nose and ears missing!” You bellowed, “how could you-?! How could you?!” Your arms flew in the air with your rage. Your face was purple and your eyes were so dark in anger.

“I-“

“Don’t even start with your excuses! I can’t believe you!” You ran your hands through your hair, making a groan of anger, “how could you do this to me?” Your hands flew out again, fingers curling into fists. You stepped backwards, making some distance between yourself and the vampire. You closed your eyes, and then opened them again, “seriously, Dracula, how could you?”

“After the way he treated you,” he defended, “did you really think I was going to let him get away with hurting you twice?” He raised his head to look at you better.

At his reply you made another noise, turning away from him and running your hands through your hair again. Then, you covered your face, sighing heavily into your hands. You were shaking. You couldn’t believe that Dracula had finally derailed. After a long moment, you turned back to him.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” You inquired, clear hurt in your voice, “every time someone hurts me, you’re going to fly into a frenzy of anger and jealousy and tear them to shreds?” He sat up, as if to get up and move towards you and you held up your index finger at him, “don’t.”

“[First]- he made you cry.” Dracula raised his own voice in a moment of anger. Why couldn’t you see the reasoning behind the anger that had lead to such a destructive act?

“You’ve made me cry!” You shrieked, “are you gonna top yourself bevause of it?! You can’t just- I don’t know how you can justify that! Like I haven’t got a vampire hunting me down, my mother is driving my crazy bevause Mark has gone missing and now this!” You smacked a hand to your forehead, the other resting on your hip. You groaned, “is there anyone else?”

“Sorry?”

“Is there any more of my friends or acquaintances that I should know that you’ve killed?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He sat up to look at you. His hair was disheveled and a little damp.

“Let’s see, you’ve already killed three people I know. Are there any more?”

“Wh-“

“Zoe, Lucy, Daniel,” you listed the names, counting on your fingers, “is that where the list ends?”

“Are you fucking serious? I go out of my way to do everything to protect you and your feelings and this is how you’re repaying me?” He raised his voice, glaring right back at you. How could you distrust him so much?

“Oh, you’re right, I’m so sorry, Drac,” your voice was dripping sarcasm, “I should just get on my knees and thank you for your noble act!” You were giving him such a dirty, nasty look that for a second, he really did believe you actually hated him.

“Don’t give me that-“

“Don’t give you what? Dracula, you killed Daniel! It doesn’t matter if he upset me, the fact of the matter is that you fucking killed him!” You took in a breath, trying to steady your pounding heart and shaking hands, “I can’t do this, Dracula.”

“[First], please, calm yourself down. You’re just in shock. We can talk about this tomorrow. It’s late.” He tried to reason, but the love your eyes had held for him was gone; replacing that look was a flaring heat.

It sent something rippling through his chest, the look of... no love for him on your face. He had so clearly remembered the way you looked at him. You looked at him like he was your whole world, your everything. Right now, it was like you didn’t even know him. It was like he was the person who had blown that world to smithereens. Since when had you had such a chilling angry look?

You brought your hands together, as if to pray and brought them to your face. Your thumbs rested under your chin, index fingers running up along the centre of your nose and parallel to your face. You inhaled deeply as your eyes shut. Your fingers were hot with your anger and heated the cool skin of your face.

“You need to decide if this is how it’s going to be.” You spoke, suddenly eerily calm.

“How what’s going to be?”

“If you are going to learn some self control. Because if you’re going to kill every single person that’s ever wronged me, then... then I’m going to have to leave. Don’t make me leave, Drac.” You lowered your hands to your sides, looking at him. Your face was beginning to lose all emotion.

Dracula sighed. He expected you to be upset. But not like this. Your emotions were all over the place. You didn’t know what you wanted right now and he needed you to realise that it was him that you needed and wanted. He knew it was what your heart craved.

“I don’t want you to leave.” He whispered.

That was the last thing that he wanted. You were the sun in his dark world. You were the beating heart in his still chest. You made up the rest of his being. Every moment he had spent with you, he had felt alive. If you left him, he would go back to feeling like the undead monster that he truly was. Losing his control like that proved that he would always be that monster; but with you around, he could truly feel human. Domestic moments like watching you wake up beside him, having small conversations about things you wanted to do, driving somewhere for your dates, they gave him meaning. He hadn’t had meaning in so long. You had gifted it to him, along with your love and your trust. How could he be so stupid as to deprive himself of that like this?

“Then why did you do it?” You were tearing up.

“[First], my darling, he needed to go. He was no good for you.” That was the truth. He hadn’t seen you fly off of the handle like that before.

“You’re not good for me.” You closed your eyes. Please, don’t cry, you begged yourself.

Slowly, he finally pushed himself up. The only sound for a moment was his slow padding of his feet on the carpet. He closed in on you. His body was inches away from your own and he interlocked your hands by your sides. You couldn’t hold back the small sigh of feeling him again. Being so close to him felt so good after so long. For just a moment, in the silence, you melted into his touch.

“You don’t mean that.” He whispered.

“Yes I do. You’ve killed three people. How can I go to Daniel’s funeral knowing what really happened to him?” You lowered your head, the first tear slipping down your cheek. Your heart was cracking. Your voice was soft and airy with your despair.

He could feel your pulse in your hands. Your warmth ignited him and he finally felt at home once more. Your heartbeat moved through him and it was like he was alive again. You were giving him the chance to feel the movement of his blood, one of the best feelings of being alive. He was so close to losing it.

Please, he thought, don’t take this away from me.

“You did for Lucy and for Zoe.” His voice’s softness matched your own.

“I can’t do it again, Drac. I just can’t.” You pulled away from his touch, “I can’t...” you whispered.

“You also can’t leave me. Renfield-...” he cut himself off. The thought of anything happening to you was too much for him to even begin to process.

The image of your mauled body flashed into his mind and he shut his eyes, lips pressing into a thin line. It made him feel sick. Something like that, something so awful happening to the purest, only good thing in the world - it couldn’t happen.

“I think that’s a risk I have to take now, Dracula.” You locked eyes with him, “you won’t change. Someone else will come along. I know you hold back with Jack for me. But I don’t know how long that will last. For his sake, for my own, for yours-“ tears were flowing down your cheeks, and you were struggling to keep yourself together.

He wouldn’t loose control again. He knew that. It had been the way he knew the pain Daniel had put you through for so long. It had haunted you for so long. Jack hadn’t ever hurt you - Dracula just didn’t like him. It was different. He wouldn’t snap again. But, he didn’t know how to say it. He didn’t know how to promise you without it feeling fake. Maybe he couldn’t promise. Maybe there was always going to be that risk...

You never wanted this day to come. Dracula had made you believe such thing as love again. It was stupid to think that you could love a vampire without consequence. He was looking at you like he was going to break down at any moment. Your mind was screaming at you to leave. He was too dangerous. He had killed in an act of revenge, in an act of jealousy. You couldn’t go through the death of another person close to you. You couldn’t allow Dracula to hurt someone else.

God, why did this hurt so badly?

“Please,” Dracula begged, taking a small step towards you, “don’t do this.” He softens his voice, trying to coax you back to him. His voice broke. Was he holding back his own tears?

“I think... I need to be away from you right now. Please don’t follow me out of this room.”

You turned and Dracula watched as you slipped out of the door. How could you do this to him? How could you so dramatically change your opinion on him? How could you change your heart...? Just like that...?

What was the feeling aching in his chest? Was it heartbreak?

There was a deafening crack as his fist went through the wall. The front door hissed shut and you pressed your back against it, shaking as a loud sob racked through your body. You couldn’t help sliding down the door.

This couldn’t be the end.

Dracula wasn’t about to let you go without a fair fight. You couldn’t just leave him like that. You couldn’t walk away from him and straight towards your doom. This couldn’t happen just because Dracula finally lost control.

How could he let himself loose control like that?

~^taglist^~

@vampiregirl1797 @avalanet @bunnyreese12 @nerdonpluto @teamceleries @grifffins @hitbythunder @winterseoul @mymagicsuitcase @angeli-fucking-cat @benedictethegoddess @bloodhon3yx @nifflersravenclaw @writteninthestars288 @labelladrama @frankcastlesgrunts @angelicdestieldemon @quakerlasss @aliisa-jones @wolverinexmenn @clairedragonessbaker @cryiner @mitsukatsu @piratewhore @your-pixels-are-showing @tardisnesss @ladydovahkiin180 @catwomom @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes @th3rah @viper-queen @mephdcosplay @greghouse7 @faeprinces @kokoro-no-yami @trishaferdream @therealmoni @crazytxgradstudent @sansthelonelypunster @crowley-needs-a-hug @girlonfireice @wasntpriscilla @ivanna6026 @savebensolo-ordie

#pls dont kill me #something different #dracula #bbc dracula #netflix dracula #dracula x reader #bbc dracula x reader #netflix dracula x reader #claes bang #claes bang x reader

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selftranszendence · 4 years ago

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Writing pompt: Drains well

Or: Perception of Beauty

Beauty and brutal both start with a B. If I think back, I recall several moments feeling ugly, unloved, undeserving and worthless and few moments where I felt beautiful. I remember what I call Ophelian Satisfaction: feeling frail and tiny, something worthy to protect and too ethereal to exist on its own. Those moments in which a tall, strong man wraps his arms around me and I feel like my waist will just disappear between his hands. I am tiny and I am nothing - in the best way. I found beauty in degrading myself to a puppet. Like Ophelia I floated down the river of my own despair and called it art. No wonder this satisfaction never held on long and left me either hollowed out or filled to the brim with icky water and mud from my journeys around the waters of restriction. Discipline became a perverted mirror image of what it is supposed to be.

Whenever I feel loss, I need to be less. To be less I need others to recognize me as beautiful. When I am bored or overwhelmed, read: lethargic, I call action back to arms by focusing in on the myriad of flaws that I begin to pick out on the landscape of my body. Instead of looking for the trigger, I wage war against myself and call the battlefield self-improvement. And the trigger? Well, he wanders off to do his thing to someone else. His is another story.

Yet, while I am writing this, I am tempted to edit my text while writing: cross out the simple present and switch it to simple past, to say: I used to wage war, I used to float down the river.

Some words have gone through their very own etymology in my mind. Dignity, decorum, discipline, loyalty, integrity and also beauty. I still catch myself dancing my fingers around protruding bones and pinching the layers of fat on other parts, wondering how it would feel if I reduced it a little more. But I see myself having these thoughts and change the current to another body of water:

I think back to a pitch-black lake under the stars of a foreign country. It is summer, the water is warm. A fire burns in the distance. I shed my clothes with more ease than a snake does, but it leaves a similar feeling of lightness. Step by step I wade into the waters and it feels like home. I don’t mind the peculiarities of my body, I just feel everything coming together in this cosmic experience and I suddenly know why humans have always prayed to the moon and stars, water and fire. This is it. Every breath. Beauty all-encompassing.

What broadens the waters to let myself wander freely is the same force that narrows it down to a coursing river that takes all control: my mind and spirit.

What I crave is deeply felt connection, simplicity, calmness and purpose. Whenever these elements are missing I try to carve them out of flesh and bone. Force connection by superficial means, create simplicity by reduction, calmness by robotic action and purpose by destruction. Death is the ultimative place of peace, isn’t it? Maybe. But so far this path has led me down to terror, not serenity.

So, what makes me feel ugly? Not having purpose, feeling chaotic because I don’t have a goal and then making my body one because it is the closest thing that I can hold on to. Also being overwhelmed by the need to impress. Again, the body is tangible.

Whenever someone comments on me negatively I slip into my mourning robes, pick a few white lilies and head down to my little riverbank where I sink down dramatically to try the same old trick again. Ophelian Satisfaction: wallow in self-pity and the orchestration of the own heroic downfall.

Looking at this now, I catch myself picking that woman up. I point upwards, where golden light bursts through the thicket of trees. I tell her to close her eyes and listen to the leaves, the whisper of the wind, the murmur of the water and finally the beating of her own heart. I ask her to just feel and let herself cry. It doesn’t matter how pathetic and childish she might appear to others. It doesn’t matter how often she failed up to this point. Dignity is not about the perception of others. It’s about picking yourself up again and again. Beauty isn’t in flawlessness but in the violence of transformation and resurrection. Don’t be a lamb, be snake. Let the river take its course. The sun will shine and it drains well.

#writing prompts #self reflection #beauty #tw restriction #ophelia #rest well my dear #writers of tumblr #I guess #diary

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gasp-iwrotesomething · 4 years ago

Note

Uhhh I read all your Cal writings and I am in love!! May I request something for Cal? Maybe with S3 and S40??

Aw, thanks so much, anon; I’m super glad that you really like them! I’d love to do your request as well (even if writing ‘Daddy’ makes me wither from shyness), so thank you for requesting and I hope you can add this to your list of Cal fics that you love!

And, p.s., this is a bit long so beware lol

S3: “I mean, I’ve never been called ‘Daddy’ before, but I can’t say I don’t like it when you call me that…”

S40: “You’re gonna make me–ah, fuck!”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

MC could hardly breathe in the air surrounding her, the crisp and refreshing nature overlapped by the abrupt burst of smoke and fire in the atmosphere. A gun smokes with the succession of one bullet, then two, then three, until the resonating bang is all MC’s ears ring to. She claps her hands over her eardrums as Cal fires a few more. She stays like that, a startled figure on the sidelines, until the lack of blasting gunfire finally reaches her. Cal was finished, the hand wielding the gun now at his side, the barrel pointed harmlessly at the floor. That made some--though not all--of MC’s trepidation recede. His gaze is rampant on her and that familiar sense of “he’s watching to see my reaction to his grand achievement” falls over her. Once his palpable smirk dawns, MC’s eyes swing away to the target a long distance away, bullet holes and tears made by an influx of bullet holes scarring the dummy ahead. Cal’s malevolent blue eyes glitter with satisfaction as he turns to MC and places the gun in her hands. Despite the cold weight of the pistol and the sickening feel of it in her palm, Cal’s touch is a soft remedy that consoles her and she struggles to stay focused when he squeezes her fingers. “Now you try,” he keens, tender and warm, too affectionate to be intentional, “aim for the next one over and see if you can do better than me.”

She was still new to the idea of using an actual gun on actual living things. Lessons had been rickety following the consistent demon attacks and the looming presence of Alejandro over their shoulders, but Cal had kept persisting. He kept coaxing MC into the shooting range for more practice despite her evident hesitation. “Just think of this as some sort of cheesy life lesson, okay? Like... be prepared for whatever happens, or, get ready to use a gun if a demon approaches you. Y’know, those sorts of lessons.” Cal had said when MC first voiced her misgivings. A weird coil of warmth twirls around in the base of ribs and she prays that it wasn’t the feeling that comes after a pleasant memory was reminisced. She took a breath and raised the weapon, ignoring the lingering warmth in her chest. Whatever it was, it wasn’t welcome. Cal’s gaze was a pressure on her shoulders that she tried to ignore as she hooked her finger around the trigger.

BANG!

A bullet flies through the air with a staggering clap and dives into the dummy’s left hip, just shy of passing into the wall behind it. Her eyes were squeezed shut so her temporary victory wasn’t something she knew until MC heard Cal applaud slowly. “Not too bad,” he says, signature smirk blatant on his lips, “for a rookie. Unfortunately, that shot wouldn’t kick a demon down so you’re about as good as dead.” The amusement and snark that he emits is poisoning as MC rolls her eyes, scowling at the ground. Did he have to be a smart-ass about it? She heaves a groan and aims the gun once again, grumbling under her breath, “yes sir.”

BANG!

The second shot sails past the dummy and just misses its shoulder. By just an inch or two. She sags in defeat. Why did she have to suck so bad in front of Cal? The scowl on her face deepens as she senses Cal’s smug smirk on her back, almost like he could pick apart her thoughts and understand them. “Don’t say a word,” MC snarls as she tries her best to avoid his eyes and scrutiny she was under. A moment passes, filled with deafening and suspenseful silence...

“...after this session, I’ll make sure to have your funeral costs covered. Just in case.”

She shoves her elbow in his ribs as he snickers. “And you’d be okay with me dying?!” MC gives him a scolding, almost condescending glower as he mindlessly massages his ribs--right where she elbowed him. “Last time I checked, you’re the one who insists on teaching me!” His expression dilates a few degrees and a quiet hint of worry and disdain flood his eyes. Hell, even a waft of offense breezes through, as if her just making that accusation was insulting. Like the notion that he didn’t care for her was something to make Cal defensive. MC had been thinking about those pure blue eyes for so long that she had a picture in her mind for whatever emotion filled them next. For this, MC imagined an ocean plagued with pollution...why was her heart suddenly beating so fast? “No, I wouldn’t be,” his soft voice and serious tone sway her a little and MC has to reinforce her stubbornness before she falters, “that’s why I’m teaching you, MC. To prevent that from happening.” The trick shooter holds her searching gaze for all of another second before tearing his eyes away. He fixates on the pretty-much-uninjured dummy and gestures with his chin, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re getting there,” he pats her shoulder and it feels like he was being condescending to her, “but I do believe in your ability to be better--no matter how scarce that ability might be.”

MC scoffs, “what are you, my daddy or something? Seriously, I don’t need your cute little words of encouragement to do better.” Her words rush out in a mindless quip and she moves on autopilot: lifting her arm, pointing the gun accordingly, checking to assure she’s gripping the damn thing right... What MC’s autopilot fails to detect is the furiously-blushing Cal to her side, his gaze to the side and his hand ruffling through his hair awkwardly. He was stunned at her word choice in more ways than one. Her “daddy”? His “cute little words of encouragement”? The silence is a time bomb ticking in his head, awkward and loud in duet with the blooding roaring in his ears. Did she not understand what she just said? MC finally, after a few more painstaking moments on Cal’s end, swivels her head to see what he’s gone so oddly quiet about and discovers the color in his face, on the tips of his ears... She blinks, completely baffled. “What’s up with you?” He doesn’t respond immediately, his mouth parting like there were words ready to be said but just couldn’t leave. It only furthered her confusion. “Spit it out already, Cal.” She demands, a stern frown following her words.

“...do you ever even hear half the things you say?” Cal asks, a genuine lilt to his tone, his eyes perpetually soft and rigid with bashfulness. He looked shy, which was a look she saw rarely embellishing his features. Cal seemed to always have a mask in place and a blush of steel, one that only danced out whenever something truly undeniable happen. She doesn’t respond right away, her frown creasing her cheeks and wrinkling her nose. What was he talking about? Her mind rewinds their entire conversation and then, in unison with her falling frown, her face burns with the words she said to him waltzing in circles in her mind. “I didn’t--it wasn’t-! I was-!” She feels her tongue tangle in her mouth as she tries to defend herself, the tint in her face deepening. “...you’re the worst.” MC relents. The shy barrier of his expression doesn’t wane or dilute seemingly at all. In fact, it seems to strengthen as he opens his mouth again.

“I mean, I’ve never been called ‘Daddy’ before, but I can’t say I don’t like it when you call me that...”

MC considers self-destructing as her face flames even more like she was already on a timer, just ticking down the seconds. She shoves his shoulder like her life depended on it--if she was about to combust, then her life did depend on it after all. “Shut up!” Her expression squeezes into a pout as she whines this, her heart pounding so fast that she could hear it in her ears, “you are so dirty that it’s not even funny!” MC’s abrupt reaction must coral his snark out again because the shy smile on his face flips into a smirk and he snickers, lightly driving his elbow into her arm. The carefree attitude he chauffeurs does little to tranquilize her shame and embarrassment. “Hey! Don’t blame me for taking things you say so literally,” Cal says this as he safely removes the pistol from MC’s possession--just for good measure, “there’s always so much blabber coming from that mouth anyway.” He punctuates his point by poking his finger into her cheek, to which she swats away.

“Can we just focus on the lesson?!”

“Of course, who ever said I wasn’t? You’re the one talking about ‘daddies’ over here, MC.” Cal barely pronounces her name before he gets a fist pushed into his bicep, followed by his own light laughter.

“Cal! You’re just as guilty as I am!”

“I doubt that. You are far more distracting than I could ever be.”

“Idiot,” MC roughly bumps into his side, face now scrunched in a scowl.

“Jerk,” Cal reciprocates, grinning.

Tiny little quips follow into their session as MC attempts to lampoon the dummy with bullets in areas Cal would consider a ‘take-out zone’. She attempts again and again, her results varying in rapid degrees, before she slings her last shot. The bullet zips through into the crook of the dummy’s supposed elbow which is in the outskirts of a take-out zone, according to Cal. The circus performer is a statue to her side, quiet when she’s aiming and annoying when she misses. This final shot draws a dull snort out of him and he gives her a slow clap, mocking her. She both thanks and curses the pistol for no longer having any ammunition.

“Wow, somehow you did even worse. You would be definitely be a goner if we were actually in danger.” He critiques, vapid and sly, before the pistol is suddenly wrenched from her hand and she’s yanked backwards--right into Cal’s chest. She squeals out of surprise, yelping when she notices how tight his arms were around her waist and how his breath billowed against her nape. His laughter, alluring and soothing, sounds just behind her ear and she tries hard to not shiver at the whisper of it. The warmth of his body and the corded expanse of his arms and chest surround her, blanketing her in a Cal-fitted sheet. MC finds her heart pounding as he play fights with her and pretends to overthrow her, drag her away like a demon would. “Get off! I get it!” MC shrieks as he heaves her off the ground, casually holding her high enough to avoid enough the tips of her shoes from touching the ground. “Get what? I’m a demon, not your instructor. The only thing you’ll get from me is an ass-kicking!”

MC smirks as she swings a faulty kick to his side. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line, demon?” She teases easily, her hair swinging into her face as she spins out of his grip. Cal’s grin is challenging and ripe with glee as he lunges for her again. “No, only the person who can actually kick asses can have that line, and I do believe that person-” the gunslinger wraps her in his arms and secures her to his chest, close and tight enough to render her squirming as useless “-is me.” Her eyes snap up to meet his and once they do, it’s like a puzzle piece clicking into place, the pigments of their eyes losing their humorous glint. Suddenly, Cal’s grin fades from his features and the previous elation of a challenge rots away as well, leaving nothing but an undecipherable expression. A book she couldn’t understand, a language she didn’t speak but she yearned to learn. Their heavy, synchronized breathing and faint flush in their faces only add to this, becoming the tool to etch all of this in his gaze. His blue eyes dart to her lips when she parts them and her heart stomps in her chest. She registers the cradle of his arms and the minor proximity between them, the calming touch of his skin and the brittle vulnerability set in his gaze. Surreal was the feeling thrumming in her bones, daunting and deep. Insides, there was an amusement park alive and kicking, the adrenaline-provoked screams dancing in her stomach when Cal’s face becomes red and the coasters swooning when her mind imagines closing the distance between them.

That thought, however, is stolen as fast as her breath when Cal suddenly whirls MC against the wall, his grin choking the sentiment that had been collecting in his expression. “Stalling me, eh?” His lips move harmoniously and it’s hard not to glance down as he speaks, MC discovers. “I admit, you had me for a second there.” The smug warble of his voice seemed miles apart from the softness that had engulfed his eyes just moments before; it was like MC was talking to a whole different person. She knows she should respond, say something smart back, but her entire body, mind, and spirit were hyper-focused on how she was cornered by Cal’s body. She tried to not blush harder at the faint puff of his breath to her lips. She attempts to calm her raging heart and stave the desire leaking into her bloodstream, fueling the rest of her alike with the same blood that colored her skin and pumped rapidly in her heart.

MC tries... and fails.

The last thing she sees, imprinted in her mind’s eye, was Cal’s figure alight with the glow of fluorescent lights as she kissed his smirking lips.

Then quite literally, her body was alight with Cal’s hands traveling all over her skin, shedding layers upon layers of clothes as he proceeds. She didn’t even know when everything escalated--she just knew the feel of his kiss and the languid discovery of his hands. A nexus of passion strengthened and renewed with each touch, each kiss, each breathless retort or mindless quip... This was what intimacy was with Cal, right? Being so deprived of his touch to fold when he does and to feel that desire flow between each other; a river of lust, a stream of passion. MC drowns herself in that river, letting it wash over her as Cal kisses her again and again, something bubbling between them... When she came to her senses, she was still pressed to the wall, her clothes an abandoned heap on the floor along with Cal’s, whose defined body was pinned to hers.

Everything else was silent, a wasteland of nothingness, except for the thrilled pants of Cal and MC as they hold each other in the dark. Fervent warmth was exchanged at their skin and friction was created with their limbs. An ocean’s worth of desire peers at her, searching and needing and wishing--could he hear her heart racing this fast against him? “You... you understand what I mean when I say ‘distracting’? This--you--are distracting, MC.” Cal’s raspy, low voice husks over the intense jump of his chest. Even in the shadows, she could faintly see the pink infecting his face. MC found it hard to breathe even though Cal’s body wasn’t crushed against her. Her lungs failed her when he mentioned how distracting she was, when she glanced at the brunette curls adhered to his forehead from the sweat gathered on his skin. Had he always been this beautiful? Words congregate and knot in her throat, a ribbon of unspoken feelings and libido all threaded into one, so instead of responding with anything verbal at all, she smashes her mouth to his and kisses him with those unsaid words.

Cal’s mouth was still fervent and silky as it embraced her own, again and again, the furnace of heat between them unyielding. She could feel the gentle swipe of his hands up her torso, the way he presses his palm gingerly to her flesh like she was a treasure worth salvaging, and the sensual pattern of his fingertips smoothing over her. All of it made the furnace in her lower belly seem to explode and catch fire, somehow much hotter than it should’ve been possible. His small groan chases that rush of sparks in MC and their kiss was deepening, the passion intensifying. His teeth rake against her bottom lip but she hardly minds the sting. One of her hands card through the mishap of curls on his head while one of his travels up her thigh sinuously. MC’s heart rate hiccuped when she felt his need for her against her skin and her legs, off of reflex, clutch him closer to her. It was all MC could do but burrow in his strong embrace and relish in the friction of his flesh, the sensation of his fingers touching her, the solitude she felt wedged to the wall. They don’t even part to join their bodies, connecting themselves together in more than just their lips.

They didn’t need to; their two-person orchestra required no conductor.

When they come together, it’s an indescribable feeling made inexpiable with the council of emotions churning in her chest--it feels so good to become one. She delights in the sharp inhale near her ear and the slight grunt that he elicits, the sound resonating inside her. Cal was making it harder and harder to not lose that little scrap of self-control that she was still clinging to. His kiss turns rough, his touch spreads fire all over her skin. They move in brittle harmony, more of it powered by the desperate jerks of their hips. She held onto his broad shoulders and let her noises of ecstasy melt on his tongue, allowing him to swallow the vibration and the dull hum in his throat.

“You’re gonna make me--ah, fuck!”

MC’s thoughts divorced from coherency and soon she was bubbled in this constant rhythm of pleasure to notice anything else. Nothing but Cal and his desire for her, the gentle embrace he soaked her in, the taunting sounds he made for her ears only. All of the heat he gave her and all of the kisses he placed on her parted lips. Seconds blur together and before she feels she can even properly breathe, they were toppling over an edge and they were falling together. When the blissful flog clears in her mind, MC finds herself still against the wall with Cal’s lithe form pressed to her skin. His mouth is against her pulse as he continues to press a chain of kisses up her neck, the soft curls on his head brushing her chin. She was captivated in the soft and nurturing way he touches her, worships her, that it wasn’t easy to just pull away. Neither of them speak and they don’t have to.

She smothered herself in his arms and returned the sincere kiss he plants on her mouth. MC allows him to hold her tight, even for just those few extra moments, wanting to relish in the feeling of having Cal North to herself.

Maybe she should’ve been more respectful of her feelings and the welfare of her heart, but she felt like this was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up.

Like a trip to see the Pyramids of Giza: she just didn’t get to do that very often at all.

Or in this context, Caleb North.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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#cal north

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halitophobia · 5 years ago

Text

Blind Eye - Two

Parings ⟶ OC x Hank’s Daughter! Reader (TEMPORARILY) , RK800! Connor x Hank’s Daughter! Reader (EVENTUALLY)

A/N ⟶ Thank you so, so much for the notes from the first chapter ! Btw, I’m really sorry this is a little late. I’m hoping for late weekly chapters? Every 10ish days or so...(I’ve gotten super busy, but I’m trying my best!)

Disclaimer ⟶ still don't own any characters from DBH

Warnings ⟶ swearing, violence, mentions of death, stubborn reader, stubborn Hank, spoilers...?, slow burn, sLoW bUrN, SLOW BURN, alcohol abuse (Hankster), angst, toxic relationship, eventual....fluff, happiness, cute stuff, flustered Connor, flustered Reader, all the gushy-ness, and ?????smut?????

Word Count ⟶ 3023

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

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NOV 6th, 2038

AM 12:41:04

"Why'd you kill him?"

"What happened before you took that knife?"

Pursing your lips and narrowing your eyes, you watch the HK400 through the one-way glass. Your arms are crossed, face still as marble except for the bouncing of your right leg.

"Anderson. Are you cold or having a muscle spasm."

You blink, glancing down at the one and only Gavin Reed's hands leant on the desk, but as quickly as you do, your eyes are glued back to the window.

"Let's make a bet. Like the good ol' days, yeah?" that same sandpaper voice sounds again, making you frown.

"I say," he pauses, "they had a bromance. Carlos and Andy over here." he gestures to the android. "Carlos brings home this smokin' hot 'robette' babe wanting a steamy, squeaky threesome. Attic boy gets mad and," his right arm comes up, and he stabs the air while pulsing to a beat of 'nn-s, nn-s, nn-s...', "...kills'em." So many things I didn't miss about working here...

That fowl scent of sweat, old leather, and cheese also known as Gavin wafts your way, and you do your best not to gag. I mean, does this hobo shower? Wash his hands after shitting? A loud bang draws your attention to Hank, who's clearly gotten frustrated.

"Fuck it. I'm outta here." he grumbles, entering the observation room seconds later.

You slowly clap watching him scowl at you.

"I'm impressed, Pops. You really stated your ground in there." you nod, earning a chuckle from Gavin. "My turn." you smile, and scurry out of the room. You hear Hank's voice yelling at you to come back, but you're already halfway through the door to the interrogation room.

The droid doesn't move an inch as you shut the door behind you. You grin, feeling a wave of déjà vu wash over you. You've done this plenty of times before. How hard can a life-sized moving Barbie doll be?

"Alright, you piece o' shit." you can physically sense your father slapping his face behind the glass.

"I'm gonna jump right into it, okay? Okay." you drop yourself into the chair across from it, leaning back and crossing your arms and legs. "I don't know how it works in your...command center up there, but you gotta tell us what happened."

You watch it avoid your gaze. A painful silence dances around you, only to make your skin crawl with frustration. You swing your leg back over and let it drop below you. Your arms come onto the table and you lean down, to get into its view.

"Pssst. I'm not leaving until you spill." you whisper, staring into its eyes even though it doesn't return the contact. You push back abruptly and revert to a normal volume, "So we can just skip all this," you motion between the both of you, "and you can obey, like a good little bot."

Immediately, you see the change of energy from the suspect. Your brows lift, amused at the reaction. "Oh? Not into the whole submissive thing? I can see you got mad there. If that's even possible."

It shifts again, seeming to get more worked up. This is perfect, you just need to push it around. No better way to let off some steam.

"You wrote 'I AM ALIVE' on the wall, like a jewelled crown atop Ortiz's lifeless head. That's what he said to make you upset, right? You were quoting him? Because, well...I mean, how on earth could you think of that? You aren't capable of...thinking for yourself." you wait, and decide to amp it up. "For all we know, that man was innocent. Just enjoying his life, wanting...a friend? And you come along? To do what? To stab him."

There's a warning knock from the other side of the glass. You brush it off and examine the android. Chest heaving, hands clenched and jaw rippling. The lips on its face quiver, words just waiting to break the dam. And without looking back, you chimmy-changa your way across the line.

"Twenty. Eight. Times."

You hear the tapping once again, more urgent, but still, you ignore it. Can you shut up? You're a millisecond away from confession and they choose to cut you know? Your old man probably wants to slip in and take credit.

You're brought back to your senses as you watch the scene in front of you. The battered automaton is now writhing under the chords which bolt is slowly lifting off the table. "Hey, hey, hey. No need to cause a scene. Suck it up, and tell me wh-" your vision goes black. Well fuck me...

The second your sight leaves, it's back but doubled. Your forehead throbs, as if a pump were behind your eyes. That motherfucking thing head-butted you. You can't help the weight sloshing around your brain, making your head pound harder. You move to stand, but stumble into the wall behind you. Get. Up.

You feel arms hook under yours, and start to get dragged towards the door. "Get off of me!" you snap.

Your view seeps back into HD and you ignore the sting in your head. "I'm fine! Let me finish this!" your voice is a harsh growl, and you lash around in the person's grasp.

Who is this anyway?

Then you smell it. Oh. Reed tightens his grip, practically lifting you from your waist, and before you know it, your dropped into a computer chair facing the interrogation room. Just as you start to collect yourself, another smack is planted on your skull.

Okay what the fuck.

"Ow."

An ice pack falls off your shoulder and into your lap. Wow, do I get a massage too?

"Nice going, Y/N." Hank spits.

You roll your eyes, pressing them into the ice pack. With your voice muffled, you reply with 'thank you'.

"No, I really mean it. You just jeopardized this whole cross-examination. You brought that thing near to self-destruction!"

Your brain is hoola-hooping within your skull and this ancient dick lecturing you is just hollering encouragement.

"Y/N, take this seriously. You really fucked up." Gavin chimes in.

Oh give me a break.

You groan loudly, hoping it'll make them stop. You really don't need this. You just need five quiet minutes, and you can go back in and get that confession. Easy-peasy.

"Earth to Y/N. You may have been bumped in there, but I know damn-well you can hear me." Hank aggressively taps your shoulder and the water in the pot just boils away.

"Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

You're fully turned around, eyes ablaze with fire. You're cooking both men alive from your eyes and the pain from your head disappears for a moment. A silent breath escapes your parted lips, and you almost whisper.

"Will you, shut up."

The air is thick as fog. Your sight clogged with angry-exhaustion, their's with vigilance, for they now tread on very thin ice.

"My name is Conner, what about you. What's your name?"

You're. KIDDING.

Spinning your chair right around, you're faced with an image of pure disaster. Sir Smiley-Bot is seated across from the HK400.

"You let the fucking android interrogate the fucking android!"

It hasn't even been twenty minutes and for the second time, you're blood is racing around your body like a jet. Running circuits in and out of your shrinking heart. Does no one have common sense in this fucking facility?

"What do we have to lose, Y/N. You've already ruined a proper examination, what's so different in sending in the thing?"

Hank's voice destroys every sense of calm in your veins. You're going fucking bonkers now. It's like they worship this brown-haired robot. Prancing around its steel feet, praying to the android gods above. You've come to a conclusion; you are officially the only sane human in this police division. Everyone's brains are being melted by the second and they'll all just become slaves for the androids. Yup, I’ve solved the case.

"Shh, shh, shut up. Listen." Gavin lays his hand on your right shoulder, which you quickly brush off.

"I was fucking breathing."

He replies with a grimy finger to his lips, staring forward. You sulk in the chair, intertwining your fingers atop the desk. The ice pack is balanced on your head and you stare forward. King-Droid seems to be calming the defendant down. Seriously?

"I could have easily calmed the thing down, this isn't all that fantastic." you scoff, adjusting the cooling pack.

Hank flicks your head in response. It sure shuts you up. I am getting favoured over a bottle cap. I leave for one year and all of Detroit's been fucked in the ass by Alexa, Google Home, and Cortana at the same time. This is absolute bullshit. Choosing these things? Over trusted humans? This is surely humanity's last stra-

"No!"

...come again?

"No, please don't do that!"

All three of you are now leant toward the glass, your nose virtually pressed on it. All that stupid popcan had to do was threaten to probe its memory ooooh spooky!

"What..."

A beautifully awkward sound of leather, wood, and the chair squeal in harmony as your trio incline forward again. If it weren't for the one-way glass, there would be three sources of breath in their own designated spots.

"What are they going to do to me?"

Baby bye, bye, bye, BYE BYE.

"They're going to destroy me, aren't they?" its voice is in a panicked hiss.

Ding ding ding! We have a winner!

"They're going to disassemble you to look for problems in your biocomponents. They have no choice if they want to understand what happened."

This goes on for a little while, the honoured golem teetering between comfort and warning. You just watch soundlessly, intrigued for the outcome. Cold droplets trickle down your neckline, for the pack on your head had started to melt. You can't resist the urge to shiver, swiftly wiping away the excess water.

Your attention is slowly dispersing and you're starting to lose interest. You notice your stomach grumble - right, you'd forgotten to eat before all of this. Come to think of it, you're starving. Your gut agrees and wails to you again.

"Shh!" Gavin jeers.

Oh please.

You start to lift onto your feet, wanting to grab a snack, but are interrupted by a voice that has been heard to the very minimal. Seriously though, vending machine cashews would kill right about now...

"He tortured me everyday..."

Your ass is stapled back into the chair, holding your tongue as its mouth finally starts to move. You listen intently, watching the emotions.

You're amazed at how...real these androids look. This...suspect. Its..his eyes were saying something. His face held...pain. The way he says he was scared makes your breath falter. For a moment, you could really believe they're humans...with their own lives...own problems.

But your eyes move to the annoying one and the funky lighted circle gives it away.

Connor no, that hurt to say... asks more questions. And that's when you feel shivers crawl up your spine, vertebrae by vertebrae. The dark-skinned bot falls into a trance, speaking of ra9. Claiming it will save them all...that they'll no longer be slaves. You swallow hard, feeling regretful...and alarmed. You blink. You never know what these two could be doing in there.

"What if they're secretly communicating to each other? Through their...biocompo-nents...? you ask under your breath.

"As if. They can't mind...speak." the brunette scoffs behind you.

"Yeah? And how would you know." you bark back.

You're interrupted by Hank, smacking both of you.

The RK800 turns its head toward the mirror; harsh and precise. "I'm done."

You jolt up. Goosebumps on your skin, hairs on your arms standing tall and attentive. That interrogation gave me the creeps...

All three of you flood out the main door, heading to the one just a foot away. Officer Chris Miller tags along who you literally hadn’t noticed until he cleared his throat, preparing to move the aberrant. No...that's just weird to say. Suddenly, the room feels a lot smaller. Six of you is six too many.

"Chris, lock it up." Gavin commands gruffly. You notice how he eyes the RK800, the model obviously ignoring his warning.

Officer Miller detatches it from the table, but it jerks from his grasp. Your eyes narrow and you lean against the door, feeling drowned from the new energy in the space. Like defusing a ticking bomb.

Gavin interjects aggressively, hassling Chris to move it. You watch awkwardly as they struggle, both of them pulling completely opposite ways. You push off from the wall, starting to get impatient.

"You're making this harder than it has to be." you state, trying to get its attention.

Gavin yells once again, only to get the same in return. Your childish ass chimes in, telling Reed to back down, and now it's just a trio of toddlers crying for their candy. You're telling the cheese-smelling douche to hold his temper, while he's bitching about being tired. Chris yells at both of you two shut up when you notice the thing across you grab the officer's gun.

Fuck.

In less than a second, blue...blood has coloured the ceiling. The HK400 is crumpled on the floor, gun laying loosely amoung its fingertips. Nothing stirs in all six of you. Your lungs have paused, muscles and eyes too. Your gaze is cemented on the one now pressed to the ground. The eyes still and wide like any other human lying dead. It stares off into another realm, mouth frozen in time, halfway through an inhale.

This is what you forgot about. This part of the job. This raw, ferocious beast that gnaws at your gut. Chewing, ripping, tearing your meat agonizingly slow. Always hungry, always eating away at you.

"Holy shit."

You whip your head at your father, revolted that the same words escaped his mouth...at the same time.

----

AM 1:34:48

Gulping down two pills of ibuprofen, you stare at Hank talking with his plastic buddy. You're leant against his desk, fiddling around with his pens and sticky notes. You sigh as you feel someone slide up next to you.

"How've you been, fucker. You looked like shit walking into the building cuffed. 'Thought you were the one being arrested."

The grey-eyed dickwad chuckles at his comment, anticipating your snarky retort.

"Reed, I'm not in the mood." you grumble, wiping your eyes with the underside of your fingers.

You can sense his frown and disappointment. There's a small pause, but sure enough, he doesn't leave you alone.

"Another fight with Ben?"

Your stomach inverts and you feel the need to throw up. "Excuse me?"

He raises his hands defensively. "Woah, woah. Just asking. You just always seem to be having problems with that guy."

"Where did you get this from, huh?" you threaten.

"Last time I saw you, you were whinging about him on the phone. You weren't being discrete."

Sure...you weren't, but that doesn't mean he had the right to listen. He's a nosy, intrusive, grumpy old prick and you have never felt so disgusted in his presence.

"Stay out of my life, Reed. You have no right to ask me that. You have no right to assume things about me, and you have no right to be a...fucking asshole!"

"That last one isn't even-"

You slapped him.

There's a sliver of regret, but your choler has clouded your mind. Do I have anger issues?

Next thing you know, Hank is lecturing you about having manners, controlling your actions, thinking before you do, blah blah blah. You've heard this all before, it's like you're thirteen again, getting pestered at for feeding the dog your lasagna. Or cutting off that stupid girl's ponytail. She was a wicked shrew...

Behind Hank, you catch Gavin start to snicker. Absolutely not. You push past the bearded man and start to pummel the brunette's chest. And I mean pummel. Beat. Punch. Slam. Not one giggle leaves his toxic mouth. Poppa tries to pry you off, but he gets an elbow to the nose. Respect your elders, am I right? All this anger...is barely even from Gavin's stupid words. This is the rage from the past two hours. Tonight has been hell. Trudging through disaster after disaster. It's all too much. Your gums start to ache due to the tightness of your jaw. Your hands begin to shake, each blow somehow impacting you. It's like you're just beating up yourself.

A pair of arms wrap around your sore body, ripping you from your poor...punching bag. Gavin's face is already swelling. Black and blue covering his skin. Blood as the cherry on top. He's dead quiet now, breathing heavily as he lays on the ground. But then...you notice Hank on the ground too, blood spilling from his nose. If Hank's on the ground...then that means...

You look down and see grey sleeves, detailed with black and silver. No, no, no, no...

"LET ME GO YOU CLUSTER OF RUSTY NAILS."

"I'm sorry, Detective Anderson, but you need to calm down before I can let you go."

I hate his voice, I hate his voice, I hate his voice...

"I'm calm." your voice like honey flowing over chocolate mousse.

You drop every emotion in your face. All of your tensed muscles fall and you seep into its chest. Its arms fall from your torso. You wait a beat, then completely turn around.

You punch it square in the face.

You watch in delight as its face snaps back. It stumbles, just once, which truly is enough for you. There's a burst of relieve and triumph, followed by a sting and numbness between your knuckles

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, fuck. Fucking fuck. Okay, so worth it, though...

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#connor x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh #detroit connor #dbh x reader #detroit become human #detroit connor x reader #connor #rk800 #dbh connor #hank anderson #hank x connor #hank's daughter #bryan dechart

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