Thank you for your commission! Here’s what was supposed to be a 1000 word fic of Reaper submitting to reader. It’s turned into a bit of a monster but I’m too attached to it to cut. Enjoy!
Gabriel is used to being the biggest man in the room, both physically and in rank. He’s used to looming over his subordinates and his partners and watching them lower their head before him. It’s not quite a boost to his ego, but he doesn’t lie when he says that he feels comfortable being looked up to. When he says that he’s so used to being in control that it fits like a well-fitted glove.
Perhaps it’s because of his skin, his beard, the almost permanent bitch face he sports, but he’s used to being looked at in fear, in apprehension. He doesn’t like it. But he’s used to it. Used to the way they’d quiver before him in submission, waiting for the other shoe to drop whenever he wills it. To an extent, he likes the rush of power; the feeling of having them at his mercy, whatever it may be. He’d lie if he says a rush of warmth wouldn’t fill him when he’d see their skin bruised and reddened from his impassioned grips and slaps. He’d lie if he says he didn’t grow hard when they’d whimper and beg. Beg for him to fuck them harder. Beg for him to take away the last vestiges of power from them and render them weak-kneed from how hard he uses them. He’d lie if he said it wasn’t how he loved for the longest time.
But death does a lot of things to a person. Not in the least change them fundamentally, mentally, physically. He feels angry now, unable to control his emotions and his body as he wreaks destruction upon those he used to call comrades. Friends. Family. So now, years on from the last time he drew breath, Reaper yearns for something different than he knew in life. Now what he wants is so foreign to him that he hasn’t the slightest clue how to go about finding it. What he wants isn’t what he’s used to. Isn’t something he thought he’d ever find.
Quietly to himself in his loneliness, Reaper wonders what it’d be like to be held so tenderly that he might melt in an embrace. What it’d be like to feel so safe that he can close his eyes and rest for the first time in what feels like forever. What it’d be like to be tamed with a single hand to his chest and a soft pair of lips to his bristly cheek. He would curl in a corner around a lumpy pillow, hood drawn over his head and over his eyes, thin blankets cocooning him, and imagine that instead of scratchy wool it was a warm body holding him securely. That instead of a pillow that smells of musty mothballs, he’d be clutching at the clothes of someone who would protect him from the world that seems to be out to ruin him in every way. It feels like a pipe dream to have someone who he would allow that much power over him. He’s not one to let go of control, of his strength. But in his undeath Reaper has had much time to think and he wonders if that is what he needs. For someone to know how to protect him and to hold the reins for a little while as he lets go and just exists. Instead of his bare existence now, living from day to day and praying that it might end. He doesn’t know what he wants anymore. Maybe…maybe someone who makes that decision for him would finally lead him off his path of self-destruction and sorrow.
Ahhhhhh, very nice. Very nice, indeed. Are you getting better at writing?? Lately, I’m not a huge fan of mixing emotion with Reaper, but this got me. Maybe because it’s sub!Reaper this time, and that’s different. 👌 Perfect!
demialwrites 