Seven Minutes In Hell {Breakup! Eustass Kid X Reader}

Seven Minutes in Hell {Breakup! Eustass Kid X Reader}

You have been treated badly one too many times. It's time to leave your Boyfriend behind

Shit hasn't been well, this song slaps and let's get this shit show started!

Ofc kinda angsty(not really though?, but on god Reader deserves freedom (Dw, my pookie will get another actual One shot soon lmao, hopefully as tasteful as the song but lbfr i'll probabky flump it again)

Anywho, let's get it started

Admittedly, your relationship with Kid was everything but healthy. He was loud and didn't really care about if you had to stand up in the morning, police called to your place more than once for loud screaming and arguments. There were his guy friends, his crew, that were obviously higher on his priority list than you — far higher. The amount of times he nearly went to jail for them, you'd thought Kid would have learned his lesson, but alas he never did. And you? Well, you seemed to only be there for one thing — stress relief. If that meant fucking you and screaming at you, something even throwing random stuff at you he found in the house, well, that was for him to decide on the whim.

If at least the sex was good, but even that was all about him. It was like the world revolved around him and only him and everyone had to do what he wanted. Well, too bad for him, you had enough. Years of misery finally snapping to a close, you decided he wasn't worth your time anymore. You were done with being treated like an old-timey housewife of the Middle Ages. You had packed your things while he was out with his friends again, ready to leave. There was no way in hell however you would want to miss his face when you confronted him, oh how you imagined he'd look. Would he be upset, would he scream at you again, only proving your point?

You put your last bag in your best friend's trunk, she had been kind enough to lend you a hand in her endeavor. If it went how she wanted to, you probably wouldn't even have started this relationship, but now she just sat ready to drive, the box of glitter she brought still sitting on the back seat as she gave you a last encouraging nod to take it. You didn't and went back inside, letting her know it could get late — she waited, of course. And you went back inside.

Kid was expecting food on the stove when he came back home, he didn't even notice your shoes missing on the shoe rack out front when he unlocked the apartment, but he did notice one thing — all that decor he had absolutely despised missing. He even smiled triumphantly before he realised the missing smell of fresh food. Kicking off his boots haphazardly, he stopped into the kitchen and saw you on your phone, sitting on a chair at the table. "Yo, what's with food?" "I won't make you food anymore."

There was a silence, a calm before the storm. You put your phone in your back pocket before he could fly off the handle, just in time. "What the fuck?! You're not even gonna make me food now, what are you even worth?!" You let him have his little temper tantrum, before you sighed. "We're done, Kid. I'm worth far more than you, and by all means... I really hope you never get another partner in your life, my god" He seethed, his face contorting in anger, but he didn't say anything, couldn't say anything, words missing on his tongue and voice dying in his throat. "Oh, and uh, I'm moving out. Like today." You shrugged.

All the tension in him seemed to snap at once, as he lunged forwards, grabbing you by your throat and pushing you against the wall. His metal fingers pressing down hard, actually restricting your airway. "You fucking bitch have the audacity to come in here, live here for years, be absolutely useless to me, then up and leave? No, no, you don't get to do that!" "Well, I was good enough to make you food. And to get you off, apparently. Also, you hurt me in any way, I won't hesitate to call the police, I only need to press one button right now." He huffed, he really seemed like a bull trapped in a ring with gladiators, just that this was no real fight. "Don't fucking pretend like you didn't like this shit, wasn't that part of the reason you even came here in the first place?"

"It was, at the start" You smiled. "You just kind of… Put me through hell, not gonna lie. Like, you've gotten so bad in bed, it's actively hell. Like I'm just there, and honestly, no. Not even a thank you, no — just no." His hands clenched into fists, and for a second you thought you had crossed the line, as he raised his hand, before he turned, smashing the table with his prosthetic. "Get out you fucking whore! Get out, or I swear I'll rip your fucking throat out!" You didn't need to get asked twice, running to your friends' car, who looked at you worriedly, but you smiled as you hoped into the passenger seat. "Drive, Drive!" And without a word, she started the car as you began laughing. Finally, you were free again.

Okay I was absent for a really long fucking time. I've been working on the Spotify wrapped OneShots and a FanFiction again for my alt account (will it see the light of day? Hm, maybe)

I also have been busy with being sick, university assignments for the first semester (I despise group projects), and also a visit from online friends so I wasn't writing a whole lot, I also have some things to figure out with the Spotify Wrapped OneShots (the last one was a slay apparently, thanks for all the love, i actually squealed like a fox when I saw the reblogs <3)

And yeah, BUT, I got a proofreader app to fix my mistakes! And the next one will be up some time soon, I gave it to a friend to read over because I wanted to make sure the things I tried for it actually work (i hope they do, I tried something new!) and I'll see y'all with the new OneShot!

Also: would you prefer SoundCloud or Spotify links for the songs?

Two Sinners Can't Atone From A Lone Prayer {Reiner Braun}

Reiner Braun was a warrior, a proud man of Marley. But maybe he wasn't so proud, maybe he didn't like Marley at all. Maybe he despised his home, his family, himself. Maybe he just wanted to die, to avoid all this guilt and shame.

Content wraning: Suicidal thoughts, AoT typical violence and Trauma, Reiner Braun being Reiner Braun

He had spent his life living for anyone but himself. Reiner Braun, the son loving his mother so much he would die for her. Reiner Braun, the son who became a warrior for his mother. Reiner Braun, the child sent to war to protect his mother. It was no surprise that by the end of his 13 years he wanted to die. It was no surprise he wanted to choose how to go out, and yet, he had been denied that sweet release every single time.

He had seen wars and blood and death, had killed more people than most in the world when he was still a child. He had been tasked with genocide of an entire civilization when he was 12. Most other children would fawn over cars and races and get into fights with the neighbours kids about some girl they liked and get home to an angry mother and fresh food, and he was strategically plotting how to doom an entire nation, in the name of peace.

Of course, he didn't know then, that it wasn't peace. It was fear, it was war. He was a slave, a slave to anyone who gave him orders. It wasn't his fault, of course, it was the fault of the world, the people around him. It was the fault of Eldia, Marley, his mother, the soldiers… When Marcel died they should have returned, but he pressed on. They weren't about to throw away their chance at 'peace' just because of one death. It was his fault of course, the horror, the dread he felt when he had seen the overgrown titan leap out of the ground, seen Marcel get caught by the titan, seeing him get stuffed between his teeth, the sound of bones as they were crushed, heard his screams upon the pain Marcel felt. He was frozen. What could he have done? Marcel was the leader, he was suited far better for this entire job than him. Maybe Porco had been right, he didn't deserve the Armoured Titan. Then they broke the first wall, a team effort just for a chance to mix under the people — no — the monsters who caused all this suffering. The monsters who followed their leader, the founding Titan, who worshipped him, who praised him…

And they screamed. Ran. They behaved like… Like people. Getting eaten, crushed, trampled. They tried to save their dogs, cats, horses, their children, their wives. They didn't look so different. He enrolled in the Survey Corps with only one intention but at that point. Everything had already started to shift. He had dreams of being a warrior, dreams of being a soldier, and everything seemed to muddle up. Until, eventually, he wasn't Reiner Braun, the son living for anyone but himself anymore. He had become Reiner Braun, the friend and soldier finally making his own decisions. But it was fleeting, like a beaten dog always returning to its owner for food, he always found his way back. Escaping. Into this false reality where Eren wasn't a threat, a reality where he could just be what he was — a teenager, even if he was very mature and enrolling in yet another military. It was an escape, a dream, a wish.

And then they stood on that roof, discussing their plans, before they realized their fatal mistake: Marco. Reiner didn't think. At that moment, he was a warrior. Anything for his success. Everything was only for his success. No matter what or who he had to sacrifice. Marco was a sweet boy, nice and forthcoming, the exact opposite of these “monsters” he had been taught about. He felt with Annie when she hesitated, as he held him down. And then, he stood there, watching Marco getting gobbled down like a small snack. And he fled. How? How could he do this? Marco was his friend, no, his enemy, but what enemy that forgave him? It hurt, in his chest and in his brain, so he shut everything down. And then-

Wait, why was Marco getting eaten?

The second breaking of the wall was a plan. A return to the trauma he experienced. He knew how much damage he'd done. He'd seen the way they screamed, ran. Escaped for naught as they got caught and eaten and trampled and thrown. It was so similar. It was calculated and carefully crafted, but yet, there was a panic inside of him. He did his job, but by god, if there was one, how he just wanted to run. To die. They were just humans, just like him, his family, his mother, like all those who looked down on eldians, there was no difference. Not when they ran and screamed, terrified of the giants invading their home, their sanctuary. What was he doing, torturing, killing innocents? Children, people the farthest away from responsible for the crimes of their ancestors? People oblivious to their criminal past? Who was he, who were they to play judge?

And then, there he was — Eren, a Titan, no, not just any Titan. The Attack Titan, their goal, their mission. This was their objective, yet still his heart seemingly stopped beating. Eren was their mission. But the boy was reasonable, was he not? He was a Titan shifter, they definitely could talk to him, he hated Titans as much as they did, they could argue, he could convince him, he certainly could. So the next plan was set in motion. And from then on, everything seemed to fail miserably. The kidnapping backfired, Annie got captured, they nearly died, so then, Reiner made a decision.

Maybe his next decision already was one of tragedy, the stupid idea he had to tell Eren, tell him in front of basically everyone. The few feet of distance, what would they do? He didn't want to risk Bertholds life, yet he did, and his as well. A risk he took, a risk he nearly had to pay the price for. Precious seconds the difference between his death and survival, yet he survived. Maybe, he would ask himself later, maybe that already was the point where he wanted to die. The first attempt at a suicide, possibly. In the end, it all clumped together in his memory, a haze over his intentions and experiences, yet they still stung as clear as day. What was he doing?

Berthold died alone. And it was his fault. He couldn't protect him, he wasn't even there for him. No. He had to be saved, he had to be carried away, after loosing three titans, of which they only got back one, loosing a fourth was not an option. Reiner had failed. As a leader, a friend, a fighter, a warrior. He had failed Marley, failed to save his family, he was cursed with failure, and he was destined to forever be the symbol of incompetence. So they returned to Marley, while he grieved his only real friend. He was miserable. Reiner had failed at the easiest of tasks, he was supposed to be one of the best warriors of Marley, of the world, yet maybe they had been right. He wasn't prepared. He wasn't fit for this role. If only Marcel would have been alive. If only he would have died instead.

Marley was miserable, just like on Paradis, they lived in a cage, unlike on Paradis, he was a caged dog on a leash, a slave for war. He was home, yet he didn't feel farther away from home than he felt on Paradis. The fights, the senseless rage that Marley instilled into the next generation of warriors, it was nonsensical, complete lies fabricated in order to boost this way of thinking in black and white, their worldview. It was brainwashing at its finest. And now, as he was older, with what he saw himself, it seemed so clear, how could he have fallen for these blatant lies? The blatant propaganda? Marley was loud in such a different way to Paradis. The amount of times he wished he could just die, it was ridiculous. Yet somehow, he survived. He had been so close so often, rifle propped against the floor, the icy muzzle pressed into the wet cavern of his mouth, leftover gunpowder mixing with his saliva. Adrenaline pumped, his finger on the trigger. In less than a second, it all could be over. It would be over.

And he didn't shoot.

If only he had been strong enough to pull that trigger, he wouldn't have had to face Eren. Of all people, that boy a little bit too much like him, he may not have been a boy anymore, yes, but yet again, Reiner found himself begging for death, and again, he was not to be granted the release he so desperately sought. Again he was denied, and again he saw screaming, crying, running. Death. Another battlefield. Another detestation. Another Nightmare to add to his list.

The last mission. For one last time, an attack on Paradis. Return the Titans, stop them. That familiar haven, the familiar city and walls, years spent, wasted here, the place of his failure, the place of his sorrows. And finally, he was on the floor, he was ready to sacrifice himself, save one of the children, die at least in a meaningful way, he had surrendered. He was prepared. He had said his goodbyes, as there were none left to say. And then. Of course, even with his armour undone, his flesh nearly bitten through, there was something bound to get in his way. Another friend, another teammate lost.

Why was he surviving? Why was he the one everyone chose to safe? Why, why, why?

God, how he hated himself. How he wished he had pulled the trigger before meeting Eren again. If only he had accepted his fate. If only his mother wouldn't have pushed him. If only he wasn't born an eldian. If only he wasn't born at all.

And in the end, 80% of humanity had died. And he was still standing. So many of his friends were dead, his family was dead. Annie survived. God, how he had hated her at the start, how he had despised her way of icy rebellion. And now, they stood side by side and there was nothing he wanted to complain about. Reiner wondered if it had all played out differently, if he wouldn't hate himself so much if only he had been born on Paradis, together with his… was he allowed to calm them friends? He has betrayed them, attempted to kill them, was he really in the right to call himself a friend? The others didn't seem to mind, yet even after they decided to return to Paradis, he still couldn't shake, couldn't comprehend.

Why was he the one to survive?

Return to me {Alexander Anderson x AMAB Reader}

You know Alexander from the Library you worked at - when he one day stands in front of your day at the end of the year 1999, you can not deny him shelter. And now, you definitely didn't regret it

NSFW below

NSFW cut: ᕙ⁠[⁠･⁠۝･⁠]⁠ᕗ

Not Beta read we die like {redacted}

You never thought you'd see him again, but there he was, standing right in front of you was the tall, blonde priest with green eyes that had a way to obvious scar on his cheek, asking you if you had a place for him to stay for some time. Your heart was still somewhat broken by being rejected by said man, that fateful day where you had decided to accept he would reject you and went and got it for yourself, thinking you might be able to get over it, your love for that man.

Needless to say, you didn't. You never did and didn't think you ever would. But everytime he came into the library, asking you for a book you couldn't help but falling for him. And fall you did, landing hard in the reality that he was a priest, the he was to not mingle in relationships with others, his only devotion being god and the preachings of the bible. You had started to read the books that he did, finding most to be about the occult, werewolves, vampires, witches, wendigos... And how to kill them. Books that were written like research, obviously being a piece of someone's fantasy.

But then he would come in and get children's books, about the holy Mary, about birds and trains and flowers, about the way the sun would rise and laugh, but how the clouds would always cry. When you found out he was living in an orphanage, you wanted to go so badly, it wasn't far, but it wouldn't be fair. So the next time he had come by, you had asked him out for a stroll - not a date, just to get to know him, to become friends. His positive response had surprised you.

So why, after all that time of him caring, in the end rejecting and going seperate ways, was he standing in front of you, on this winter afternoon in 1999? And where was his priest robe? He had his usual coat on, but only a thin shirt and jeans, so you didn't waste time, letting him into your house. "Alexander? What are you doing here?" "I quit. And I- You said you'd always be there when I need something, and right now, I don't have a home. Can I stay? Only until I find something for myself, of course." You turned the thought over in your head. The Basement was free, you'd only have to clean it up, maybe stash everything in your garage. "God, sit down first. Coffee, Tea or Hot Chocolate?"

Sitting down with him, each sipping on their own tea, you finally spoke up. "I really should question how you figured out where I live, but the reason you quit interests me more." He sipped on his tea. "There have been... Some mindest differences recently. Between me and the church. While I am incredibly sad to leave behind the children, I couldn't accept staying there. Not with the recent happenings in London." "London? What does the Church have anything to do with the destruction of London?" He just smiled. You never got an answer. But you guessed it was more involvement then what the newspapers told you.

Sometimes, the ex-priest talked to you about an old friend, one, who vanished back in London. You didn't know if he was dead or just disappeared in the rubble, or if it was... A different kind of friend. You looked after him a lot of the time, driving him back and forth from monestary to your home so you could get all his belongings. You even had to drive to the Vatican - Who had an own room in the Vatican?! It had taken months for him to settle comfortably in the basement, old bookshelves and boxes and dressers functioning as his only storage. You bought him a new bed, so he could at least afford a good rest - he promised to repay you, but you shook it off. It was a cheap one anyways.

You helped him find work in the city, helped him with a driver's licence and, in the end, you both scrapped your money together to get him a car. It was second-hand, fairly cheap compared to the other cars on the market, small and old-school. But he was happy with it, and so were you. After a good 3 months you finally convinced him to buy new clothes, instead of just opting for your old father's ones, it was exciting finally seeing the fashion taste of a man previously running around only in his religious tell-tale robe with the crosses.

He picked out a few checkered ones, others had random prints on it. You got him to buy a muscle shirt (mainly for your own entertainment, but also because it got really hot during summertime) and some pullovers for winter - one Pullover was relatively thin and black, covering his neck from the cold winds that would come in 6 more months. A lot of people had stared at you - maybe it was the fact you were just average size and he was - well - over 2 meters tall, maybe they held you for a couple or found him handsome. But maybe, it was because of his scar. You never knew for certain how he got it.

You saw him enter the library on a fairly quiet day, he hadn't visited for weeks, probably on one of his trips to foreign countries. He didn't take long to get to the Check-out and you were snooker to see his face. His left cheek had a big white patch on it - a compress. There was a thin line in the middle with red specks of blood. When you asked him what had happened, he had dismissed you, saying it had been an accident he didn't want to talk about. The next time, you saw the wound. It was three scratches all neatly lined up, like claw marks. It was then you had your first suspicion, the middle one deeper then the other two, the skin around it a deep purple.

After that visit, he came in again, this time, the upper and lower scratch were healed completely, the middle one still deep and purple, as if it couldn't heal. That's when you knew. You knew what he had been doing, why he had been away, why he had been injured. You had asked him to come to the staff bathroom, getting an idea. You had confronted him, he had brushed it off, yet still he let you cut around the edges, widening the wound and, effectively, overwriting the original one. The wound had healed in a few weeks, only leaving behind the nasty scar on his cheek.

In month 6 of him staying with you, he was finally able to afford his own Appartment so he started scouting. You helped him, of course, You taught him how to use the library computers, so he could scout more effectively, he actually understood it really fast. A smart man, he was. The landline phone, he had figured out within a few weeks of you introducing it to him and he called the monestary every weekend. You liked to listen. He would be a good father, you decided, when you heard him talk with the kids, reassuring them he didn't forget them and that he would stop by from time to time.

He held his word, always arriving to any of their birthdays with a personalized gift. You were happy to be able to accompany him. Some of the nuns were a bit suspicious first, thinking you might have taken advantage of Alexander, but they were quick to trust you and your words - you did love him, but you'd never try to take advantage of him - even though that wasn't something that they needed to know.

Alexander had found the Appartment he wanted to live in during month 8. He was happy, you were not. You offered him to stay for longer, so that he could pay the bills as well - which was something he had totally forgotten about. He lost the Appartment and you felt guilty.

But when winter rolled around again, seeing him in that long-sleeve neck Pullover, paired with thick, dark grey jeans with a fashionable belt and a silver cross necklace, you nearly forgot to breathe, or that you had been feeling guilty. After the incident with the Appartment, things had started to change. You noticed he looked at you fondly, for longer than normal, he smiled whenever you did something - if it was a greeting, rambling, making food - you had noticed he was a way better cook and picked up habits of you - humming along to your music or just watching a show. It seemed weird. Whenever asked, he would just say that he was happy you had been the one to take him in.

On his birthday, you had taken him out to a more expensive restaurant, treating him to something you called "culture cruise". You introduced him to proper Italian traditions that he had missed out on in the orphanage, traditional food that wasn't served there, you showed him a cinema and he was blown away by the movie, not being able to believe it. He had missed out on so much, leading such a humble, yet dangerous, life, that you were more than adamant about giving him a life he deserves. A life full of care, gratefulness, and, if possible, love.

He had liked his birthday, even though, in the end, he admitted, that it would have been enough to spent it with you - but that he was thankful you wanted to show him your world. You asked him to show you his, and, even though he dismissed it now, he would show you later on. After getting home, there was something weird. Between you two, of course, not in your house. You both wanted to retiree for the night, but again, both of you lingered in the living room near the stairs up to your room and down to his. "I'm glad you liked today, I was a bit worried", you admitted out of the blue. He scratched his neck, his muscles showing under the thin pullover. You questioned how he wasn't cold.

He was quiet a bit, before speaking up. "I... I loved this glimpse into your world. It was educating and it meant a lot to you, so I.. You mean a lot to me and so does your world. So I thank you dearly for taking me along, sunshine." You smiled again, wider this time, liking the nickname maybe a little too much. After that it took a few more moments of silence, for both of you to say your goodbyes and go to sleep. You, however, were unable to, thinking about the way he was treating you, how much he cared about you and your world. He really was a gentleman, if you were sure about him feeling similarly about you, the way you felt about him, then you would be glad to, maybe, someday, call him your husband.

Your first kiss came the next day. It wasn't your first overall, but it was the first with him. Maybe it had been the music and jokefully romantically made dinner - you genuinely just wanted to recreate the ambiance of the restaurant, there was never an intention to make it feel so appealing. But joking around with him, about some of the older, black and white movies and the more recent coloured ones, him joking with you there was a moment of you playfully leaning into his side, lamenting over something random, like the candles, while he calmly, in an equal joking matter grabbed your arm softly. You shot up to kiss him on the cheek, something he, apparently, also felt like doing.

It had taken not even a second, before you pulled back, apologizing profusely, you face flushed - as was his. He smiled, saying it was no matter. You sat down to eat, face fixed in the food. He stood there for a moment longer, before he asked, bashfully: "Would you like to do it again?" You looked up, his gaze locked onto you, as if he felt no shame. Why would he, you thought. It was a mistake, nothing more. But why did he offer? Did he.. were your suspicions really correct? He didn't move, standing there. The offer he had just given you hang heavy in the air, debating whether to act on it or not.

You chair creaked when you pushed it back a bit. "Would you like to do it again?" Alexander's face turned a deeper red than before. He was quiet, before admitting a small "yes". It was then that you stood up and closed in on him.

"then, I would like one as well"

The second kiss was really worth it. It was long, gentle and loving. It felt warm, comforting - it felt good. On a completely unrelated note, the food was delicious as well. You just loved eating this dish - especially with Alexander in front of you, the kiss and it's implications - even though it was less of an implication and more of a flashy Broadway Sign, after all, a kiss - no, technically two - seemed like a very exclusive thing that two people wouldn't do if they just were friends, unprompted by any dare.

Long story short, after dinner, there was a deep talk and you both decided to try. And try you did. It worked out fine, the only thing that really changed was the few kisses, the cuddle-sessions and the trips - now dates - to town. It wasn't really a secret, but it also wasn't really public. It's that weird in between-thing, where you knew, but you just weren't quite ready to tell everyone - but showing wasn't really a problem. Alexander had the habit to keep you close - it was a habit he had picked up one or two months after being at your home, but now, he just seemed to be more open about it, actively seeking you out. This day, it had been particularly bad and after getting home, you had asked him about it. He seemed taken aback.

"I'm Sorry if I overstepped. I didn't mean to, I'll keep it in mind next time"

You sighed. "No, no, Alex, that's not- that's not what I meant. I was simply curious on why you did it, I apologize if it came over wrong"

Alexander looked at you for a few seconds, contemplating if he should tell you. Then: "I am scared"

You could tell he wasa bit uncomfortable, but you couldn't just leave it here. You took him by the hand, setting him down on the couch and sitting next to him, your own hand in his. "If you want to, you can tell me. I'm here for you." Alexander seemed torn, it was the first time you had seen him this conflicted, this... This pained.

"London was last year.", He started and stopped right after. It clicked into place for you, but you wanted him to go on. You squeezed his hand reassuringly, lightly stroking your thumb over his hand in yours, a smile on your lips, as you silently told him to take his time. "It was... I mean you read about it, of course, but... I was there. It was horrible and I- I lost more friends than just one." Oh, that was something you actually hadn't thought about, but it made sense. "One was my student. Her name was Yumiko and she was great. Heinkel nearly lost their life as well - a lot of the division died, nearly all, even though I told them to stay back. I lost so many friends, when I tried to save them all"

He took his hand away then, covering his eyes with his hands and bending forward, hiding his face. Your smile dropped. He didn't loose one person, he didn't loose a few. He lost everyone. You got down on your knees, sliding between his legs and taking his hands away gently. He wasn't crying, not yet anyways - but his eyes were shining bright with the promise of salty water spilling over any second. "Were you scared to loose me too?" He nooded then. You got up from this position, pulling him into a hug. " You won't, Alexander. That life is beyond you now, it's behind us both. We are here together, we are here, Alex. We are alive." You pressed his hand to you heart. "We are both alive."

That day was one you never forgot. Alexander Anderson, previously a priest and in charge of an orphanage, as well as something with the occult, member of a division you had never heard of, was traumatized. He had been vulnerable with you, around you. He had shared his pain and you had accepted it, accepted him and all the implications and complications that came with it. How could he ever hope to find someone better? He didn't, and he never would, because you, he was convinced, were the best choice he could ever make.

When one year had run by, you realized he had never slept in the same bed as you. Not even when one of you fell asleep on the couch, he would always be gone and in bed instead. So today, you tried to get him to sleep with you - not in a sexual sense, by God, only sleeping next to each other, maybe (hopefully) cuddling. That was the day you realized no one had cover taught this man anything about relationships or explained That, when the bible quoted "thou shall not lie with a woman, if thy art not married", or whatever the actual quote said, it didn't mean sleeping in the same bed, but sleeping together.

So that was a conversation you needed to have, and, in retrospect, it was fairly funny, but back then, it was undeniably weird to be the one to give a grown man, which you were together with, sex education. That didn't seem like your job, but now you stood here, and he stood there, and that was the situation you were in. "So uh, the Bible doesn't really mean sleep, Alexander. It means sex." He had heard that word uttered in disgust and disdain by the nuns that had raised him, heard more about this being an act of either love or lust between a man and a woman. He never knew that was what the line meant, nor did he know what sex actually was.

So he disclosed it all to you. You shook your head, in denial that any institute for raising and educating children would stop at sex and don't even mention it to them. What if they would have gone and discovered it on their own, maybe way too young or having to deal with the consequences alone? "Well, traditionally speaking, in most cultures and religions sex is between a man and a woman, but not exclusive. Men can do it with men and women with women. In a traditional sense it's something very intimate, something you do with one you trust fully. Someone you love, if we keep it extremely Christian."

Alexander nodded, seemingly soaking up everything you were saying. "So uhm, do you know the difference between make and female anatomy" "I raised children" point taken, stupid question. "Okay so, Sex is when you put your uh-" god this was more embarrassing than showing and recommending someone erotica and explaining in detail how exactly it was interesting. "So you put your penis into the vagina of the woman and just... Go." "Just go?" "Just... Just go, yes." "How does it work between the others?" Oh lord, have mercy. "So between a man and a man, it just goes in the ass, or they get themselves off with hands or mouths, which is similar in that case with women. There are also specific toys that help."

Alexander seemed a bit puzzled, but the red taint on his cheeks made you realize, he was also embarrassed about this, even though you were sure you were way more red - your head was steaming and cooking your brain. At least that's what it felt like. "But what do you mean with just go?" You just wanted for a portal to hell to open up. At this point, burning you skin off in an eternal hellfire seemed more acceptable than this. "Just go. Like... In and out" "Like when you need to fill a tire of a bike with air?" "Yes. Absolutely. Like a piston, in some ways. Obviously that's not all there is to it, but that is essentially how it works. Have you never tried to uhm- do it yourself?"

You had never seen him so flustered. "No! That was forbidden, seen as a sin!" "Hey, there's genuinely nothing wrong with it. It's actually quite healthy. You're not part of the Church anymore, you don't need to abide to their beliefs." He seemed to stop. Like he was a computer that just shut down because you opened three tabs on the browser and caused a Microsoft error. He had never thought about that before, you realized. It's just been a year away from the church, the place that raised him, homed him, gave him an occupation - of course everything was still indoctrinated in him. How could you expect something else?

You went to bed seperately.

The next day was still a bit awkward, but by the second day everything returned to normal. He even decided to actually do sleep in your bed with you - only after about a month of consideration. You were happy, however. If he was comfortable, then you were too. Alexander had become the thing you thought your life revolved around. When you went out to go shopping, you immediately looked if you could bring him something from your trip. When you were cooking, you thought about how he would cook it, or how he would like it. And when you were cuddling, you thought about the way he was warm, that he was alive, alive with you. Days passed like this, weeks, months even.

"Sunshine?" You hummed positively, looking up from your book. He had been reading one of his own, a recommendation from you. "I was curious." You hummed again, putting your mark in you book and closing it. "I don't know if it's an approprita question." "Shoot your shot, dear." He seemed to think for a second. "I have been thinking about something you said." You grew a bit impatient. "When?" "I don't know, a few months ago. You said I wasn't part of the church anymore and thus do not need to abide their rules" "Dear, whatever you want to ask, just ask. I won't crucify you. And the church won't either."

He closed his book as well, scratching his beard stubble. "Maybe we could try it out?" Before you could ask what he meant, he elaborated, realizing he hadn't said what. "Sex, I mean. Apologies if I'm overstepping-" You nearly choked on your own spit. What. The. Hell. What had you done to this man? He had been so shy, so embarrassed about it, and now, he sat there in front of you, asking you such a question. You mean, damn. If that isn't some quick character development. If you were serious though, you had thought about it as well. Of course, you didn't want to bring it up, as not to pressure him. So this, was perfect.

"Sure, let's go." He was taken aback slightly by the way you stood up, starting to walk to the stairs. "Why go?" "To the bedroom, dear. Yours or mine?" He stood up as well, stopping next to you. "Yours." You sat him down on the bed. "I suppose you don't know more than I told you?" He shook his head. "Don't worry, I will take the lead." "You did this before?" "Yeah, but never like this." "In charge?" "That. And with someone I love."

ᕙ⁠[⁠･⁠۝･⁠]⁠ᕗ

You took his hands and let them rest on your waist, as you settled on his lap, going for a kiss. You pushed yourself close, shamelessly resting on his crotch. You pulled away, taking one of his big, calloused hands and sliding it up, to rest next to your chest. "You can touch me, you know." He seemed hesitant, but you went in for another kiss, keeping his mouth open this time, your tongue brushing his, animating him to participation. He was eager to follow your lead. His hand slipped to your back instead, holding you close. You pushed back again, leaving him some room.

Your thumb pressed on his scar, the slightly elevated, jagged surface soft and yet hard beneath your fingers. You pushed your hand under his jaw, pushing his head back and starting to kiss along his neck, his throat releasing a loud, shuddering breath, as the hand that had pushed his head back slowly trailed down his throat, cold fingers ghosting over the warm skin, fingers barely touching him. You other hand guided his hand to your neck, squishing it in his large hand. His other hand, still on your waist, gripped you harshly, it brought a slightly hurtful feeling up in you, but it made you feel secure.

You pulled back, Alexander finally finding the courage to explore your body, his head snapping back almost immediately, eyes fixating on yours. His gorgeous green eyes glowing behind his glasses. You slowly reached up, but he stopped you before you could take them off. "No. I don't-" "Okay" and just like that he was back to roaming your body, enjoying as your hands slid over his. A few moments later you sat up on your knees, pulling off your shirt. Alexander seemed a bit flustered at first, but got over it fairly quickly.

You kissed him again, your body shifting a bit, pressing close again, his hand trapped between you bodies, as he leaned back, other hand supporting his weight. You stood up, pulling him with you as well. You discarded all of your clothes, watching him do the same. It was mesmerizing how a small bit of his torso showed when he lifted his arms up, pulling his own shirt over his head. The muscles in his arms flexed slightly, his shirt falling to the ground next to him. Scars were all over his body, the cross of the silver nacklace resting where his collarbone was, a cross tattooed onto his skin with the words "yes jesus" in it. You recalled seeing said design on his gloves when he was still a priest. His trousers were the next to go it was the first time Alexander's head was actually lower than yours.

He sat down on the bed again, back resting against the headboard. You did the same you did before - sitting in his lap. Just, this time, you could feel whenever the muscles in his leg twitched when you bit down or kissed or sucked in a particular way, felt how he tensed and relaxed when you shifted your body. It was captivating, the expression he made. His eyes were on you, the entire time he was focused on you, nothing else. His hands never left you, pulling you close. He was breathing loud, not quite panting, but close enough. And then, when you actually felt him, you realized a grave mistake. You couldn't show him, because you didn't expect this and had no condoms, and no lube, and he definitely had neither either.

"Alex, dear" he hummed. "We can't do it quite the way you want it yet, but we can do it differently." Before he could ask why, you continued. "We don't have protection. I'll go out and buy some, but not right now. I can show you other ways." The Catholic was silent, before a breathless "yes" left his lips. You kissed him again, sucking on his lower lip, before pulling back and spitting in your hand. "It's not the best, sorry" he wanted to reply, but when your hand ghosted over the head of his cock, before you slick hand closed around it pushed him into a whole new sensation. It was weird, to be touched there by someone else. But not unwelcome.

He grasped at your hips, pushing you down and towards him a bit, your own erection brushing his slightly elevated thigh. He pulled you into another kiss, breaths mixing with each other as both of you tried to breathe through your noses, Oxygen soon running out despite your best efforts. You pushed back a bit, getting into a more comfortable position. Your hand gabbed him a bit harder, a loud moan being your response. You slowly started pumping up and down in a slow pace with no constant rythm. Sometimes it was all the way to the head, sometimes only a short, cut off up and down shifting.

You twisted your hand, lifting a few fingers and adding them again from time to time. Alexander's Head rested against the wall, his mouth opened, sounds leaving his vocal chords in low hums or gasps, vulnerable sound that he trusted you with. You hummed as well, seeing one of his hands grabbing the sheet, crumbling them. You wouldn't be surprised if he ripped them. The other was still bruising your hip, a thrum of slight pain shoot up, a thrum of the love he shared for you. You hummed, your hips pushing themselves forwards on his thigh to gain some friction, a movement immediately stopped by you.

This wasn't about you. This was about him. A moan escaped your lips. "Alexander-" You felt him twitch when you changed the pressure, tighenting and loosening your grip in random intervals. He moaned, trying to hold your stare, while his hand wanted to fall back. His mouth was slightly open, his breathing loud, chopped and fast. You never knew what a sight you missed out on and he never on what kind of pleasure. This Sight, you were sure, was one you'd never be able to forget, if he would leave you know... You're done for. But the way , he looked into your eyes, torso jolting forwards whenever electric signals went through his muscles, he was in just the same situation.

"Sunshine-" You knew he was close, when you felt the sticky liquid leaking onto your fingers and when he involuntarily started thrusting his hips up in a jerking motion, as if his body told him what to do and he had no choice but to comply. When he did tip over the edge, you had the feeling as if he was about to crush your hip and hand, but if this is how you lost them, it'd be worth it. The way he calmed down, his chest rising and falling abruptly, noticeably slowing down as you removed your hand, watching as the white-ish colour leaked out, gathering and spilling over the edge, cascading down as if it was a water fountain without pressure.

You smiled patiently, warmly, even though you yourself were extremely desperate. You waited until he came back to you, finally leaving this state of pure bliss. His head was flushed red, the red spreading down his neck and disappearing into his shoulders, but he slowly regained his colour. "Dear lord in heaven...", he breathed, gaping air in as much as he could, "what have you done to me?" You chuckled and smiled, "Just falling in love, my dear. Just falling in love." Alexander laughed at that, his hand on your hip grabbing your waist an coupling you back in, lips meeting again. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're a witch that out a spell on me" You grinned, raising your hand before his eyes and wriggling your fingers. With a darker, goofy voice you ominously proclaimed: "I put a spell on you~~"

He kissed you again, his smile clear as day. You pulled back and whispered: "and now you're mine" Again, he smiled and you noticed his glasses were slightly tilted, so you took them off, driving your fingers through his hair, which was now a bit longer then when he came to you, and you put them back on. "How did you feel, Alexander, dear?" "Really good... Does it... Feel the same for you?" You hummed positively, his eyes flickering down to his thigh between your legs, he noticed your legs were a tad bit closer than before, the way your height shifted backwards, as if trying to get more and yet less touch at the same time.

"Can I help you? Can you guide me?" "You really don't need to, Alexander. We can take it slow." "What if I want to?" You breathed in. Okay. So you were doing this. You smiled again, and took his hand in yours, guiding it towards yourself. "Take it slow, Alexander, there is no need to rush, okay?" He nodded, following your lead. You leaned back a bit, your hand letting go of his and switching to his wrist, his hand bumpino against your erection. "This is the same I did to you" you took the hand you had just left and pulled him towards you, as he started to lean forwards to meet you halfway, guiding his hand to wrap around yourself

You hummed. "Now just-" "go?", He smiled at you and you let out a laugh through your nose at the throwback. "Just go." And go he did. He was careful at first, his hand staying straight as he only pumping his hand up and down, pressure nearly unnoticeable. There wasn't anything building just yet, your desire for something being satisfied. "You can experiment, Alex, I'm not gonna break", you smiled, your hand resting on the one he held himself up with. That was when his hand started moving with experimental paces, faster, slower. He applied pressure however he saw fit, a delicious thrum starting to build.

His hand alone made you feel really good, despite the basic way he used it and, oh did you wonder what he would be able to do if he was more experienced. You hummed and he applied harsh pressure suddenly, your hips thrusting up a bit. You looked at Alexander, his green eyes glimmering, as you found them still looking at you - your face. You moaned at that, your hand reaching over and pulling him even closer. His movements slowed, before he stopped completely, before his fingers feathered out a bit and he set a different pace, a different pressure. You let his shoulder go, focusing again on keeping yourself sitting.

He had an irregular pace, the harshness and actual pace of his pumps being vastly different from each other - he learned. From nothing but the things you did to him. His hand was huge compared to yours, fingers wide and calloused. So when he pushed back to your head, his spread fingers brushed the thin line at the top and you jolted like you had just experienced an electric shock, a loud gasp escaping you as well - you hadn't expected this. He stopped dead in his ministrations, studying you for a minute. Your face was flushed, you were leaned back onto your hands, eyes nearly closed, but not quite, focusing on his own.

He looked down, pushed his hand down and did the same as before, with the slide of his finger over the slit - as he got not even a similar reaction he pressed his finger ghosted over it slowly again, and another jolt ran through your body. Alexander smiled and you knew you were in for it now. He took your shoulder and gently pushed you down on the bed, kneeling between your legs. His hand lowered from the sensitive spot and his other hand sneaked there instead, finger pressing and exploring exactly where it was, eyes never leaving yours. And when he found it, oh dear lord in heaven, you prayed he'd have some mercy left for you.

With the combined experimenting pumps and moving of his fingers you were quick to grasp his shoulders, squeezing and pulling, your high approaching. You body shivered, as you called his name, fluids spilling onto his hand, as you hands gripped harder and your head fell back, breath quick but steadily slowing down. Alexander didn't look away. He sat there, a bit confused on what to do with his hand, so he just... Held it over his lap. Your cum dropping onto his bare legs. You shifted into a sitting position and gave him a smile, before noticing how lost he looked. You didn't waste time to hurry and get some tissues to wipe himself - and your hand clean with.

ᕙ⁠[⁠･⁠۝･⁠]⁠ᕗ

After you pushed him to the shower, both of you opting to just do so together, because, why would you care now about nakedness of all times? You both got dressed, before you changed the sheets and, even though he offered to help, you ordered him to just wait a few minutes. He did. Then you gestured for him to sit on the bed with you. "So, That's what it feels like." "Everytime?" You shook your head. "Not everytime without exception. It might be more or less intense or satisfying." He seemed to hesitate to ask you the next question, but you just answered it before he could ask: "I am very satisfied, Alexander"

He smiled and took your hand, standing up and pulling you to your feet. "Let's get some snacks", he offered, giving you a kiss. You smiled as well, giving him a peck on his cheek. "Yep, let's go!"

Egoist {Moira X Reader}

You knew who she was, what she was. Even in the black suit with the purple tie and under those gloves, the long nails of her hand were always visible, the way her right hand was thinner, veiny while her other one looked healthy, her face plate always adorning her left eye, even when not working. When she left to work, you knew where she was going, what she was doing. But when she looked at you, the way she held you, you just couldn't let her go. You loved her. But maybe, she did not.

It was unusual for her to have enough time to accompany you to one of your outings with co-workers, like on holidays, bit you were glad that today, this random Friday evening she did have time. Usually she worked from early to evening, always looking to find the key to life. And yet, she would always come home to you, she would lay down in your bed and talk with you if you were awake or tucking herself into your side when you weren't. You were lucky if you saw her everyday in a week, but you didn't mind too much, what she was doing was important, no matter how you disliked her cruel ways of researching.

It was a fromal event in a restaurant, a celebration of one of your co-workers birthday. Moira hadn't stalled around much to get read, she simply opened the closet and pulled out her neatly stored black suit and a purple tie. You watched as she got dressed, her nails digging into the expensive, sensitive fabric, somewhow avoiding it getting ripped. She looked stunning, like an absolute professional - as if she was a chef of a very high ranking firm. She wasn't, she was a researcher, a fighter, a member of Blackwatch, but no one else needed to know. Today, Moira was simply a scientist - and your wife. She had tried to cover her damaged hand with gloves, even tried cutting her nails, but they didn't want to be cut, so she ended up with broken gloves, nails raking out. Hopefully no one would mind her weird appearances.

They did.

Of course they did.

They were confused and you let Moira explain - some sort of terminal generic illness she got by being exposed to too many Experiments and fumes. A lie, of course. But they believed it. That was all that mattered. After you came home that night, she unbuttoned her blouse and opened her tie, letter Ng them dangle aroung her ill frame and falling into one of the chairs, exhausted from this day full of work and the meeting. You had smiled at her, tried to help you relax, but with a quick flick of her now ungloved hand and a curt "No" you retreated to bed, leaving her alone.

You don't think she joined you that night. Maybe she did, but you were definitely not in your arms. She was just tired, nothing else. It was fine, after all, she was a hard working woman.

You stood up early next morning, making her breakfast in bed and even making her lunch to bring to work with her, one that she'd probably forget to eat again. Her mood was better when she woke up, coffee and food ready, she thanked you, gave you kiss and left no food on her plate and no coffee to cool.

You didn't register when she started to change up a bit, when she would watch you closely, not with love, like she had before, but with curiosity. Maybe it was after you had been diagnosed, doomed to live only a few months. Maybe it was when she made you the proposal.

"I can fix you. I can fix you, like I fixed myself, like I fixed all of them"

Maybe it was after you had said yes, or when she started to expirment on you. You were unsure. But the experiments hurt, even though she held your hand, held you close in her arms when you cried, nestled safe on her lap or even when she kissed your tears away, her low voice in your ear.

"You are doing so well, Love. Just a it more, okay? Stay strong for me"

Maybe you should have declined, died with her love still intact for you, before you switched from lover to experiment in her eyes. Maybe it would have avoided this outcome. You were cured, yes. But the pain was unbearable. No matter what you did, there was a surge of huge pain following your movements. After a while you got better at hiding it, accepting it. And yet, no matter what you did, even after it felt like simply thinking was painful, nothing could describe the empty hole in your chest, when you saw her pack her things.

"Where are you going, Honey? Is everything alright?" She had looked at you, her red eye piercing your soul

"Of course, Love. Everything is just fine. Blackwatch just needs me to leave for a mission, that's why I'm packing a few things"

"Why?"

"They need me, that's all. I am the only one able to tend to my fallen comrades, after all-"

"No. Why are you lying?"

She looked at you then, turning around to face you and her cold expression made you shiver. That wasn't your Moira. This was Blackwatchs' Moira. Talon Moira. Crazy-Scientist-Moira. Where did she leave to, you wondered.

"I wanted to safe you from the truth. You are awfully sensitive recently. An unexpected result of the Experiments, I believe. But it seems you have unfortunately kept your attention to detail."

You looked at her, confused. "Sensitive? I mean, you have barely talked with me, these past few weeks, you and I, we're married! We should talk a lot, sleep in the same bed! You loved me before all this and that has changed! I just want us to be like back then again. Wher eyou go to work, come home and we sleep, Where we talk in bed and I get to enjoy your company, your arms. You have been distancing yourself from me, and I don't know what to do, I'm devastated! Clueless! Not sensitive!"

Her expression fell for a moment, just a glimpse pat's that cold exterior revealing pity. "It's your fault you believed you were worth anything to me, actually. You were simply entertainment for me, nothing more." Moira turned around, grabbing her suitcase. You tried to stop her, tears falling onto the floor. "No, you don't get to leave me like this! You don't get to walk away from me with all the damage you just caused! I love you! How can you say you never loved me, when you married me?!"

"Like I said. It's your fault. I never wanted to make that impression" She pries your hand away from her arm with her long nails and opened the door while you followed her close behind, words falling out of your mouth to stop her, none of them sinking into either of you. She turned around one last time, before opening the door. "I suppose I should apologize. But you have no use for me anymore. The experiments conducted on you have brought no new revelations and your body is already at it's limit. So impossibly weak, no wonder you wouldn't be able to make it into any of our Organisations."

She handed you the key to the house.

"I never told you I was a good person. You convinced yourself I was. I told you from the very beginning what I was. I've always been an Egoist.'

The door slammed shut as you fell to the floor, crumbling.

Young Gods {Eustass Kid X Reader}

"Baby girl, don't get cut on my edges. I'm the king of everything and my tongue is a weapon. There's a light in the crack that's separating your thighs. And if you wanna go to heaven, you should fuck me tonight" ~ Halsey, Young Gods

NSFW below

Mentions: murder, hiding bodies, cheating, broken marriage, manipulation, unhealthy relationship, domestic violence (Kind Off), verbal abuse

NSFW mentions: Worship, rough sex (mentioned), Consenual sex at the start, Non-Con at the end (mentioned)

No NSFW cut this time, sorry pals

I do not condone Non-Con in any way, shape or form. I didn't think I'd ever write something like this. But it just kind of came to this, considering this one shot is based off the song and I always interpreted the quote above as pressuring into sex, this is kinda were it led. I originally planned to have a different outcome here, but the flow got me

Be mindful. Any comments that glorify non-con will be deleted and you will be blocked. People went through this, they experienced the pain and the suffering and the torment. I am not here to make light of what goe son behind the scenes, I'm not here to write a silly little enter tainemtn for you. Rape isn't entertainment, it should never be.

He wasn't good for you. You knew. He knew. Everyone knew. They kept telling you he wasn't for you, but you didn't want to listen. He was Kid, your Kid. Hotheaded, stubborn, aggressive but still yours. And he did keep it that way, he still remained yours, but never yours to control, to calm down. He was yours to love, but you were not his to love unconditionally.

There had been many instances, many mistakes you had caught him in, but still he kept you close. It's not like he forced you, it was simply your obsession with him, the way he made you feel, knew to play you like an instrument he had studied since childhood. He was insane, but who was to say you weren't?

There was that one time, he had been in your shared bed. Not alone, of course. You had opened the door after coming home, after eating your cold dinner he had made - it was quite terrible - and had seen him buried deep inside someone, wild blonde hair all over the bedsheets, hands grasping at Kid's and eyes closed, lowly moaning and grunting. Kid had heard the door open. Felt you enter.

You never forget that look in his eyes, as his eyes locked onto you, his hips not stilling their movements. He seemed angry, but not at the interruption.

He spent the night digging a six feet deep hole in the garden. You had spent the next morning planting flowers on the freshly re-dug dirt.

It was like this a couple times. Whenever you caught him, he would spent the night in the garden. It became a ritual of sorts, even though you were quite unsure about why decided to kill those people - men and women alike. Was it some sort of apology? Most likely not, he kept doing it over and over again.

Sometimes, when you were lying in bed alone, when you heard the shovel scrape and the dirt thump, when you heard his grunts and curses, when you heard him drag and something fall, before the dirt fell again, you asked yourself why you didn't go to the police, why you didn't rat him out, but the flashes of blue hair, blades, fishnets and a metal arm reminded you why.

Then, there were the nights he would worship you, his tongue lapping at every part of your skin, teeth working little purple bruises on your neck, on your arms and thighs, your stomach feeling warm where his flesh hand touched and cold where his prosthetic softly held you. It was sweet, loving even. You felt his mouth leave your shoulder, his tongue reappeared on your calf, he held your foot softly, before his tongue slowly made his way up. His mouth would worship your shoulders, your arms and hands, his tongue would glide from your feet up to your stomach, higher to your neck and into your face, he would lick you most private parts, making you mewl, making you moan. Making you absolutely his.

The Windows and doors would be shut, the curtains drawn closed, the noises of his wet tongue exploring your body yet again filling the room along with your moans and whimpers, your whispers for more and for him to stop already. He would make you come undone this way, absorbing whatever you gave him. His hands would continue, warm and cold a poetic play on your skin, as he expertedly played you, as he felt you shiver and heard you call out his name. Another time you would give in, and an additional one for good measure. These nights wer exhausting, pushing you to your limit again and again, making you forget what he had done again, making sure you still were his.

It worked, usually. These nights that seemed to be so full of love, if adoration and absolute infatuation from both sides, they were testaments of trust, a promise of love. Sometimes you wished it would stay like this forever, but alas. Another night, another girl. A different night, a different guy. He never changed, what would make him do that? Of course you wouldn't be reason enough.

"It's your fault I have to do this! You're just so boring, you're so strict and conforming, you always want to do the same lame things, like you want to control everything I do! Let a man have some fun if he needs to, you don't fucking provide it after all! Or what, you gonna say now, that it's not? Not your fault?! I even kill these chicks for you! I do that for you, or you'd flip! I know you people, you're all the same! What's the problem now. Then? You outraged cuz' the last dude didn't look like you enough? Does that make you cry? Should I get you to bed so you can rest? This ain't a fuckin' miracle dream, get the fuck over it!"

Of course, there were the arguments. When you had enough. When he had enough. Who was to tell? Maybe both. Screaming matches usually, resulting in broken promises, broken furniture. Broken Trust, even. You didn't listen to him. He didn't listen to you, that's how it normally went. Although, sometimes he did listen, sometimes he was quiet, death stare as you screamed your troubles. And then he followed, words twisted - or were they not? With an even louder voice, thundering through the house, no doubt your neighbours heard you, but they wouldn't snitch on the cops. Of course they wouldn't. The previous ones tried it. Their bodies weren't in your garden, but you didn't know where they were, didn't care.

"What?! That's not even what-"

"Oh, shut it with your complaining! That's all you ever do! What would you have done without me. Huh?! I could have left you alone at the altar! I should have! Would have shut you up properly! What if I snitched to the cops about the bodies, Huh? You were the one planting seeds, they saw that shit! If I would snitch, you would have absolutely no where to run to! Think you're gonna be safe in prison? Oh, snowflake, you wouldn't survive a day! You're nothing without me, you're fucking mine. So act like it! Or I'll make sure you will in the future!"

That was usually enough to shut you up. The fear of being rat out to the police, fear of being alone with actual criminals in a prison, some of which he controlled, was too much. At the start, that was always the end of it and he would go out, undoubtedly to do his own business again, while you pulled yourself together, cleaning the glass of the bottle from the floor that he had thrown in your direction. There had been no intention to hit, and he didn't, aiming farther right than he would have if he meant to hit you. You didn't want him to be mad. But after you realized, he wouldn't actually throw you to the cops, because they would find him, the threat stopped working. And it continued.

"You know damn well, that if they find the bodies you're gonna be the first they get in! I can lie myself out no problem, but what would they say, seeing a dude as tall as you with blunt force trauma, multiple stab wounds? Someone with your DNA inside and on them? No way I would go in for that! You would basically confess, and we both know that's not what you do!"

"Playing smart, Huh? Think you're better than me because you're a pretty little thing that can use their pretty little brain, Huh? Well, let me show you who that brain belongs to, I'm gonna keep my promise snowflake. I'm gonna show you that you fucking belong to me and do what I fucking say!"

He approach with loud thumps, steps heavy on the wooded floorboards, the remote you had thrown to deter him easily caught in his grip and abandoned on the floor. His eyes would shine dangerously, anger and lust filled, as he toweder over you, harshly grabbing your hair. He would tear you to the bedroom, ignoring your cries and attacks. The door would be slammed shut, key turned to lock it. The window would be wide open, curtains open as he turned on the light and pushed you towards the window.

"You gonna fucking defy me again, I'll make sure they all see you naked. And just to make it clear, if I need to go that far, Might as well carve my name into you, snowflake"

He squeezed your stomach harshly at that, empty threat hanging heavy above your head, as he pushed you towards the bed, his own clothes discarded fairly fast, and you followed suit. He sat down near the edge, yanking you to the floor and forcing your head onto his dick, making you gag as he went past your limits yet again. He pushed you up, onto the bed, hand on either side. You had stopped resisting, after all, what was it worth? Otherwise, you could be the first body in your garden without flowers. You didn't want to end like this, so you complied.

This was your life. You stayed with him, a twisted thing inside your heart telling you it was his way of loving you, his way of keeping you safe, but when he shut you off from the outside completely, no, since the first of these escalated nights, you knew he wasn't. This wasn't love, this was obsession, ownership. You were a hostage and you had no one to rescue you. You couldn't even help yourself.

So you stayed.

----

I actually originally planned this to be smut. Full on smut, but after discovering it went into a non-con direction, I felt really uncomfortable. So this is all you get. I will never, EVER write something like this again. I feel absolutely disgusting. But it's written, might as well let people read it.

This One Shot is not written for entertainment it also isn't written to inform, it's to give a sneak peak of why peole might stay with someone abusive. It's the ways manipulations can go. They might go so far, they might not. Please be aware, stay safe and keep in mind this can happen to anyone, no matter, age or gender or relationship to the abuser. Every Abuse is different and every story is unique. It's not our place to ask, but it's our place to listen when they talk.