ok ill give y'all the first 285 words. only because you asked so nicely...
We sat in silence for a while. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. I was trying to wrap my head around what she was saying, but I couldn’t. Her eyes burned as they scanned my face. I could tell that she was gauging my reaction before continuing. A small part of me hoped that she would tell me that she felt for me what I felt for her, but everything indicated the exact opposite. She was never this nervous around me. Her words held a sympathetic tone that told me all I needed to know. She was ending things. It wasn’t exactly a surprise. We’d barely seen each other in the past few weeks. I avoided her like the plague. I was just too hard to see her after that night. I spent a lot of time with Azzi. Since she was the only person who knew what was really going on. She dragged me out to see the team anytime she knew Paige wouldn’t be there. Things were mostly normal with them, but it didn't take long for rumors started to circulate among the girls about her growing relationship with the girl from the bar. I still couldn’t believe that they were true.
“Oh?” I said softly. I tried to maintain a seemingly genuine smile. I’m sure I was failing desperately. The last thing I wanted her to realize in this moment was for her to realize how I felt about her as she was confessing her love for someone else.
“Yeah, it was kind of unexpected, but it hit me the other day. Do you remember that girl from the bar a couple of weeks ago?” Fuck. This was actually unbelievable.
The Angels are Watching chapter 2: I want to taste dirty
Song: the lovers by nine inch nails, new dawn fades by joy division, and the voice inside your head that tells you youre a piece of shit. Both are moods for this chapter tbh.
warnings: mild gore, creepy thoughts, non explicit sex, New York accent
I sit at the peeling wood table with a pencil in my hand. I crouch above the white sheet, my hand equipped with a pencil as I run it along the smooth paper. The charcoal feels attached to my hand as I watch the paper like a tv addict watches the screen. There’s a digital picture of her on my phone. It’s not the best quality, but it captures her perfectly. The crooked nose, the slanted eyes, the fair skin. She looks so serene on the screen, but I know that if she had woken up her perfect face would be full of fear and confusion and betrayal. I’ve been in her position, photographs are only fun when you’re awake and fully clothed.
I draw like a madman, reducing her face to mere curves and lines. My hands move in a fervor as I draw the lines over her deep sunken eyes, her heavy lips.
I have a Polaroid camera to capture all of her moments. Every Emotion on her face, each way her body can twist of its own volition. I put the pencil down and grab them. I’ve got thirteen of them here, each beautiful. Each one of them.
She stands in one, leaning over her dresser. She has no shirt on, leaving her breasts open and free. The image captures the side of one, lamp casting shadows on the lumps of flesh. The underside is shaded by virtue of freedom from the light, which illuminates my vision. The oppressive lamp spreads its army of light onto her flesh, and all the light touches is my domain to look at as I see fit. I wrote with uneasy handwriting I want to be behind her hours ago, one hand with the pen and the other down my pants.
Here, in the dim light of my shitty apartment, I can think whatever I want, the world is free to my imagination.
I put one hand over my mouth and leaned back in the chair. The wood supporting my body from falling to the ground creaked in protest. I moaned softly to myself, eyes fluttering closed.
She comes to me with tired eyes. She looks at me through her eyelashes, intense and burning. She covers herself with a silk nightgown that hides her beautiful body from my view. But the light lets me see her, skin tinged pink from the cheap red lighting in the honeymoon suit. She doesn’t pretend to be nervous when she drops the nightgown. It falls to her feet and she is covered with a light pink teddy. She straddles me with two long legs, short in comparison to mine but when she’s on top of me they’ll feel ten feet long. Her breasts push up against my chest, lips close to mine, teasing me. She breathes erratically, burning with desire for my hands all over her smooth body.
My face is blushing, I can feel the blood rushing close to my skin. My hand strokes my cock as I try to stay quiet. It’s difficult, I bite my lip behind my hand.
She kisses me finally, and her lips tastes like cherry lip gloss and all things forbidden. She is the lather of expensive shampoo, the cloth of designer clothes. She is the ambassador to god and I am prepared to fully defile her. I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and guide her face up. I kiss the underside of her jaw as her lips part like a femme fatale. She holds my other hand with hers, entwining our fingers together. I kiss her once more, before switching our positions. She lays underneath me now, and I cover her tiny frame with mine. I take a knife from the bedside table and cut off her clothes, enough for me to gain access. I line myself up with her, and slowly press myself-
The pictures fall to the floor. Fuck, there goes my daydream. I pick them up and sit back down, perusing them. Perusing her body, all bound up like a present for me.
She could be a courtesan. I can easily picture her behind an alley bargaining her rate for an hour. She’d know I was there, watching her. And she’d give me a smirk as she takes her customer by the hand, leading him to a motel. She’d keep the window open, to let me watch as he pushes her down onto the bed, covering her breasts with his lips and blocking my view of her; his disgusting body on top of my angel. And I’d decide I’ve had enough, and kick open the door to save her from her own decisions. I’d pull him off her and beat him to a pulp. I’d push my fists through his skin and make him bleed all over me. I’d slit his throat and feel the warm heat of his neck over my hands.
And I’d take my knife still wet from his blood and press it up against her throat. But I won’t kill her, I won’t dare make the life drain from her eyes. I wouldn’t dare to make her body unfit for her beautiful soul. Because something gave her to me, she’s here to make up for my pain and suffering. I won’t hurt her, because she’ll love me if I keep her safe. And I’ll give her a twenty and kiss her lips and press the knife down on her stomach, and her breath will hitch and she’ll let me fuck her there on that crappy motel bed meant for her and someone else. And she’ll come home with me and I’ll own her and her beautiful breasts. She won’t mind the dried blood on us and she won’t mind the scars all over my body and she won’t mind my old soul that’s been recycled so many times with newborn bodies.
I shudder, hands gripping my dick so firmly I’d cut off circulation if death would finally give me peace.
My pencil hasn’t touched the paper for fifteen minutes. I’m still watching the Polaroid in my hand, waiting for it to move, waiting for her to turn her head and look at me with her long hair swishing and blue water under her skin to manipulate her limbs. I want her wire frame to cling to me as if I were a magnet. But she won’t move to me, she’s frozen forever, because this isn't her. This version of her has no soul, it has nothing to talk with. She can’t talk to me without a soul. I pick up another picture, one of her in bed. She’s cuddling a pillow I want to be that pillow. Another, she’s in her bathroom, which I barely got from outside her window. Her nude form is taking off makeup I wish she were taking off my cum. She’s taking off her shirt in another and I get a view of her plain nude colored bra love love love. She’s completely naked in another and I want to cum on her violin hips.
My lips are parted, all bloody from my teeth. A drop of blood drips to my chin. My hand keep moving as I fixate my eyes on her flesh. I love it, I love it.
Oh, fuck. She’s so fucking hot. It was a hassle to get these pics, I had to balance on top of the fire escape near an almost dead tree so nobody can see me. My Polaroid camera isn’t easy to climb with, either. At least she’s only on the third floor. I’d risk a death any day for her, but my camera was expensive and it’s got a near and dear place in my heart. It was worth it, though. She was so hot, and to top this whole thing off, she sleeps in the nude. Perfect, so do I. At least she won’t judge me when we’re married, that checks off a list, let me tell you.
I watched, nearly salivating for a full hour. She took off her clothes and went about naked. I watched her brush her teeth and take off her makeup. She put herself to bed and laid outstretched above the covers. She’s like an angel. A photographed angel.
When we’re married, I’m going to take tons of photos of her. I’ll create scrap books of her, the most mundane things will be forever captured. I’ll get a video camera and take videos of us making love, and she’ll look into the camera and mouth I love you for future me to enjoy when she’s sleeping and I’m horny. I’m always horny. And her moans will join mine and we’ll fuck forever all over the place. We’ll buy an old church and commit sacrament all over it. I’ll bend her over the place where the preacher used to stand and force her panties in her mouth. We can fuck among the old gravestones of people we’ve never known. We’ll create lives for all the dead names on the stones and defile eachother on top of their bodies… it’ll be necromantik...
“KNOCK IT OFF!” A loud male voice yells from next door. “If I have to come over there, I swear I will!” I move my fist from my mouth and slam the wall.
“Shut up yourself!” I yell at the neighbors. But his loud Bronx accent comes over the walls like fascists in Berlin.
“If I hear ya’ with another one of those floozies I’mma come over there and cut your dick off! We can’t get no sleep with you over there with your date moanin’ like a pornstar!”
“Just cuz’ your not getting any doesn’t mean we all have to suffer!” I yell back. My neighbor grumbles to himself, but doesn’t reply.
It’s a lie that I’m getting some, I haven’t gotten laid since my birthday six months ago. I was a cum and go for some asshole that dated me for a few weeks before dumping me the day after my birthday. However, the fact that he thinks I sound like a girl during sex is… disturbing. It’s not like I didn’t know that before. My friends used to rip on me for sounding so girly, but most girls think I sound hot. That, or they’re lying. It’s my naturally high voice, I sound like everyone else, but a few octaves up. Well, my voice is higher than a crack addict on payday, but I can still do that low chuckle all the girls fall for. Their panties drop like they’re at the top of the Golden Gate Bridge. I do need to get my moaning in check though, because what if Alice and I are fucking and she decides I’m no different than being with a chick? If Alice won’t date me because of my moaning I swear I’ll cut out my vocal chords and let her fuck the hole in my throat with a strap on. Not that letting her fuck my throat will put me as the pinnacle of masculinity, of course.
Fuck, now I’m soft.
(I’m such a loser, chin covered in blood and surrounded by porn)
I think the rb20 is fueled by spite, like it (not a boy car or girl car, a secret third thing (fucked)) hears max talk shit and then decides to show up
I keep seeing my old art bc that’s all I posted on this account and I’m forced to accept the reality that I actually have improved and I’m not entirely undeserving of love.
i made a new caard 🥺 i’ll add the link to this post later but it’s 5:30am and i have work ISDNSKNW. but u can click the ‘247’ in my desc if u wanna see it hehe
