[private] I want you to know... that I'm all yours [Offy]

[Offspring]

You're looking at an absolute zero;
I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.

 ”I know that you are strong,” he says, with the ridge of his brow furrowed just so as the tear caresses the curve of her cheek, disappearing into the shadow of her jawline. ”stronger than most – but I have hurt you before, and inevitably, I will again.”

   Time and again, he had been at the core of misery for so many, and for what?

  He had pressed a thousand kisses into the flesh of many – always taking what was given to him, gripping skin with teeth and sowing his seed when the ache inside of his heart became too much; when he desired a distraction rooted in pheromones and raw, physical gratification. In another lifetime, he had a harem of his own – and though his heart always yearned for one, he could never resist temptation alone. It was never an issue of sexual necessity. It was created from a vast, untouchable void that had begun from his first breath and would only die with his last.

  He would never be enough; he would never feel enough – for anyone.
  He would never be content to simply be, because he – least of all!- deserved it.

  His heart lurches inside of his chest, and he cannot suppress the angry knot stirring uncomfortable in the pit of his belly. She is pleading for him to give her some part of him, any part of him but she cannot see the devastation he could bring to her. She cannot see the emptiness inside of his gaze; the endless loneliness festering inside of a heart that cannot heal and will not heal. He cannot give her his heart – there is nothing to give. He could only draw her close, press heated kisses into the supple curves of her delicate skin and entice her to unravel beneath him, around him with each deep, sweeping thrust, but it would be empty, it would be meaningless.

  The ache in his heart cannot meet with the longing in his groin; one drawing him closer to her and one pulling him away. He could covet her and take her for his own (she is practically begging him to, and he can sense it, and he is already intoxicated by it – lustful, pathetic creature that he is, he cannot deny the testosterone surging within his veins, despite his age).

  He could, but he will not. It would not be filled with the soft, languishing kisses she deserved to have rained across the rounded curve of her hip. There would be no sweet words whispered; not even her name would cross his tongue – it would remain caught in his throat, unbidden, and she would be filled by him and yet emptier all the same.

  ”You cannot see what I can,” he utters finally, with finality. ”I deserve exactly that, and only that. I want you to find love, Reagan – find love,” he murmurs then, crimson meeting with startling emerald, with an intensity unmatched by any other. ”find a love that will nurture you and care for you and give you all that you deserve .. and let me go.”

OFFSPRING

another zealot with the weight of the fucking world.

@[Reagan]