This is weird. Like really weird.
And I kind of adore writing in this style, but it's hard to get more than a few hundred words out of it, so maybe I'll experiment a bit more.
He is never gentle when you wear that look on your face, when your mind is stuck between shattered reality and want; you say he is never gentle with certain conditions, but the reality is he is not a gentle man at all. He may smile, he may run you a bath when he is done with your body, done with the endless thrusting and denying you the release you crave until you have done exactly as he wishes, until you've been so thoroughly fucked you can barely breath and all you can taste is him, musky, sweat on your tongue. He tastes like no other, and no other tastes like him, and for all the times as he makes you beg, you taste another. Sometimes this is with his approval, sometimes it is not; either way, he will hurt you beyond recognition, and you'll stay by his side forever.
He may smile, and here you chide yourself for your digressions, but he is not a kind man. Kind men do not do what he does to your mind, body and soul, they do not seduce with the patience of a saint and then destroy you completely with the smile of the devil.
Shivering, you'll curl up on your side as he get up, stretches out, calls you a worthless whore who deserved every second of what you got. He'll keep that secretive smile on his face as you crawl to him, body in unimaginable pain, and beg for forgiveness. As he grips your aching jaw, opens your mouth and guides it down onto himself, swollen once more, proud with his handiwork, and as you taste that unique flavour again, you curse your entire being for enjoying it.
The bruises are easily hidden, but then again, you are a professional at this by now. Your sister will look at you a little longer than usual, hidden emotions within her singular violet eye as she pretends to not notice the swollen cheeks and the painful limp you have acquired over night. She will pretend not to notice as you sob like a child, smothered in her embrace, and you will never forgive yourself for dropping this into her lap.
"Why don't you just stay away?" She asked, all hidden fury and bright red cheeks, wanting nothing more to end this by any means necessary, but he couldn't answer her. He kept his eyes downcast, and merely shrugged. He didn't feel like explaining in detail the complexity of the situation, even if it was the simplest thing to do, to merely tell her that he thought he was in love with him.
You won't see him for a few days, pretend like you both know you won't come crawling back the second your bruises begin to fade for a touch up of purples, blacks and blues. He has become a god-like presence in your life, and you must worship him, bend your body into near torturous shapes and positions, swallow when he tells you to, put up with the toys he decides to play with. When he tells you to keep it inside, you keep it inside. When he instructs you to pick up a stranger and blow them in front of him, you pick up a raven haired boy with a cruel smirk and blow him as you're fucked violently. You always play your part perfectly; you cower just a little, but keep your eyes confident, lick your lips and beg for more, cry, whine, moan, cum.
It ends with his death.
And you cry tears of joy.
...Slightly scare to ask what people think but I always enjoy reviews so~