#their love language is “threats of bodily harm”

[inarticulateimbecile]

[travellingwiththedead]

*holds blade to your throat*(flirtatious)

[crimson-nail]

ex-antagonists always seem to specialize in unconventional love languages — like violence, and threats of bodily harm

[fairestbeard]

As a proud delulu, I'm always over thinking stuff in scenes and no show has made me be on overthink like The Bear. So, naturally, when I saw this scene in S2, I was curious.

What was the reason for Carmy's body language? The clenched fist and the torso jerk. And the choice to do a wide shot? That was intentional. The first time we see that wide shot it's to show Carmy and Nat's reaction to Richie's silly accusation. This one, however, is something you could definitely overlook if you are not an over-analyser. I thought it could be Carmy stifling his anger at Richie and/or the general anxiety for the place falling apart.

Then in S3, on my gazillionth rewatch, I noticed this same thing play out in reverse. These are the two scenes to compare;

Syd has that same body jerk when Cicero scolds Carmy.

Notice how there's the subject of physical harm in both scenes. It's them reacting viscerally to the threat or idea of bodily harm coming to the other. I mean, there's no way this is just a coincidence. It's like, on a subconscious level, they can't even stand the thought of the other getting harmed.

Or is it a premonition? I don't know. Arrrghhhh! I don't know.

But there's no way these two aren't hopelessly in love with each other. Don't even speak to me. They are soulmates.

[gnabnahc317cb97]

Waiting For Us

Bang Chan x Thick Reader

Word count: 5.7k

Synopsis: A sequel to Blind Date. It's the one year anniversary of you and Chan's first date. You celebrate by going to the same restaurant but something is off. Will your first anniversary go smoothly or is it destined to go as badly as your first date?

Warnings: MDNI 18+ONLY! Strong language/cussing, dry humping, oral (f receiving), fingering, there's a shower head involved at one point (if you catch my drift), spanking, rough sex (kinda), Chan dom/MC sub dynamic (if you squint real hard) unprotected piv sex (please use your head and a condom), praise/pet names, Chan calls mc a whore (one time, during sex), cream pie, cum shot, multiple orgasms, overstimulation (a little), mentions of pregnancy and labor. I THINK that's everything but if I missed something please let me know and I'll add it immediately!

It was your first time back in that restaurant since you and Chan’s first date. You were sitting in the same fancy Italian restaurant, at the same table, a year later waiting for your boyfriend who was, you looked at the clock by the bar, thirty minutes late. Deja vu. You had learned quickly, anywhere Chan was supposed to be, he was going to be at least fifteen minutes late. When you really needed him somewhere on time you would tell him thirty minutes earlier than the actual time and maybe he would show up on time. Unfortunately, Chan had made tonight's reservations, so you were waiting. It was fine. If your boyfriend’s biggest flaw was time management and his utter lack of being able to take a break without the threat of bodily harm, then you weren’t going to complain.  

The last year with Chan had been amazing, you had never been happier in your life. After your first date had gone so horribly you and Chan planned your second one and it went much smoother. Turns out the fancy restaurant Sarah chose was a little out of both of your element and maybe not the best choice for a first date. New person plus strange environment equals awkward, and awkward it was. You remembered absolutely hating sitting at that table a year ago, sitting across from Chan who was practically brain dead, he was so shy. Now looking back, you didn’t know how you didn’t realize it was his nerves, the quick glances between you and the menu, chugging his first drink. At the moment you were too close to the picture to see what was really going on. Hindsight is twenty twenty was a saying for a reason, you thought as you sipped the glass of red wine you had ordered while you waited. 

The second date you went on was exponentially better. You went walking around a record shop and then an old bookstore. You found this little dive of a diner and ordered burgers, fries and milkshakes. You talked about the albums and books you had both just purchased. You had never seen someone smile so brightly, his dimples, the way his eyes scrunched up. You thought you could listen to him talk about his favorite things forever. You loved the way he got so animated, moving his hands, making faces, and he was funny. You didn’t think you had ever laughed so much, you laughed so hard you ran out of breath and got a cramp in your side at one point.  

When Chan took you home that night, he walked you up to your condo. He leaned in and kissed you goodnight and went to pull away, but you weren’t done yet. His lips were so warm and pillowy, you wanted to be buried in them for as long as possible. You grabbed his jacket and kept him pulled close. He wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you in, squeezing your soft body and you put your arms around his shoulders, playing with the curls at his nape while his tongue explored your mouth. After you made out in front of your door for a little while. You and Chan finally went to part ways, both of you flushed and grinning like crazy. Chan bit his lip and smiled as he waved and walked backwards away. 

“Goodnight y/n.” You played with the keys in your hand and took a deep breath, smiling at Chan. 

“Goodnight Chan.” After a couple more dates that went particularly well, that was all she wrote. You were inseparable. If you weren’t at work or some other pressing engagement, you would be hanging out with your friends and Chan. Most of your friends were mutual but the few of his that weren’t took you in almost immediately.  

The first time you met them you were nervous. How would Chan act around them, would he be less affectionate with you, would he be embarrassed? He was taller than you by a couple inches, but you were definitely bigger than him. What if one of his friends thought you weren’t good enough for him, what if one of them said it? 

Chan could tell you were nervous; he held your hand as you walked into the party you were meeting his friends at. As soon as you were introduced to them all of your fears of their scrutiny and disapproval disappeared. They were so welcoming and funny, especially when they would gang up on Chan and tell you embarrassing stories from college and high school. He would groan and blush and hide his face. You were going to get another drink and Chan’s friend Felix jumped up offering to come, saying he needed a refill too. Chan narrowed his eyes at him and mimed zipping his lip. Felix just rolled his eyes shaking his head and followed you to find the kitchen. You did in fact find the kitchen and you were pouring drinks for you and Felix when he leaned a little closer so he was sure you could hear him over the music. 

“Ya know, I’ve never seen him so happy?” You bit your lip and quickly turned to look Felix in his eyes, to see if he was just trying to be nice or if he really meant what he said. 

“Really?” Felix nodded and leaned in again. 

“Yea definitely, he hasn’t been able to stop grinning like an idiot. I mean he’s always been an idiot but the grinning like one part, that’s pretty new.” You laughed and slapped Felix lightly. His huge smile appeared as he laughed, scrunching up his freckled nose. 

“No, but really y/n. I have never seen him so...” You held your breath. So what? 

“Whole. You seem to make him whole y/n, you give him purpose.” Your heart swelled and you thought you might cry. You hugged Felix and he squeezed you back tightly. 

“Don’t cry because if you do, I am for sure.” He whispered in your ear, and you laughed. Chan walked into the kitchen and saw you and Felix hugging. He shook his head walking over to the two of you. He playfully smacked Felix on the shoulder. 

“Jeeze I let you two walk away for one second and you’re trying to steal my girl.” Felix turned and cocked his eyebrow at Chan. 

“What do you mean trying? You see me hugging her.” Felix winked at you and gave Chan that megawatt sunshine smile then they both busted out laughing. Felix took his drink and went to get back to the rest of their friends leaving you and Chan in the kitchen. Once it was just the two of you, you quickly put down your cup, wrapped your arms around Chan’s broad shoulders and kissed him passionately. He braced himself against you and pulled you close, squeezing your full hips. When you pulled away Chan had a silly smile on his face and his ears were red. 

“What was that for?” You shrugged a little. 

“For making me happy.” Chan closed his eyes, cupped your face, and rubbed his nose against yours before pressing his full lips against yours again. 

“You make me happy too y/n. So happy.” That night was the first night you and Chan made love. Oh you had fucked before that, you had fucked Chan on your very first date, on a swing no less, but this was the first time you made love. Bodies pressed together tightly, slow and deep, soft kisses and sweet praise, breathing each other in. When you came that night it was like your whole body buzzed, you felt it everywhere, all over, your body practically vibrated with Chan’s on top of you, pressed into you, kissing you over and over, telling you he loves you, would do anything for you. You thought your heart couldn’t be fuller than it was in that moment.

Everything with Chan was just so easy. Even the hardest days were bearable. Chan had this thing he liked to tell you when you were overwhelmed or upset. He would say that ‘a life full of ups would never be fulfilling because you would never know how great the good parts are if you didn’t know how hard it could be too’. It always seemed to help put things into perspective for you. If you seemed down he would tell you every chance he had how beautiful you were. You were. He thought you had the most beautiful eyes and every time he looked at your lips, he wanted to kiss them. He loved your soft body too, your curves, his hands were always on you, touch clearly being one of Chan’s love languages. Whether it was twirling a piece of your hair while you both laid together on the couch reading, or a hand at the small of your back while you waited in queue at the movie theater, Chan’s hands were gentle.

Then there were times his touch would be scorching. Like when he ran his hands up and down your plush body after going down on you, making you cum multiple times on his tongue or when he gripped your hips as he thrusted into you from behind, slapping your full ass before fucking you harder. Your sex life was white hot. You would think after a little while you both would calm down a little but no. You were insatiable for each other. Just thinking about his firm torso and gripping his nice ass as he slammed into you had you squeezing your legs together under the table. You spent most nights together alternating between your place and Chan’s, but you hadn’t taken that last step of moving in together yet. Neither of you were in a hurry, you saw each other all the time anyway so it wasn’t imperative for it to happen. You’d move in together when you moved in, there was no right or wrong time as long as you both were happy. 

You were pulled from your reverie when you saw Chan rushing into the restaurant, it was like a replay of the first night you’d met all over again. Him in another black suit, hurrying to the hostess station before walking to your table with an apologetic and nervous smile on his face.  

“Well, some things never change. I was beginning to wonder if you were really standing me up this time.” You poked fun at Chan as he leaned over and kissed you, he seemed tense. 

“I’m so sorry baby girl I...” You put your hand up, shaking your head. You didn’t want him upset thinking you were mad. You knew why he was late; he didn’t need to make excuses with you. He was always late for the same reason. He had a habit of getting wrapped up in his work and completely losing track of time or anything that was outside of the task he was zeroed in on. You had never let it upset you, he was passionate about his job. Not everyone gets to have a job they love as much as he does. 

“It’s fine Channie, really. It hasn’t been too long.” He gave you a face that screamed ‘yeah right’ but nodded giving you a half smile, relieved that at least you weren’t upset with him. When the waiter came over Chan ordered a drink, and you got another glass of wine while you started talking about your day. Well, you were talking about yours, Chan seemed a bit quiet, a little distracted. You both ordered dinner and you ordered more than a salad this time. You could see why Chan had eaten his dish like he had on your first date. It was delicious! When the meal was done the waiter walked over with probably the most decadent looking piece of chocolate cake you had ever seen. It had two little sparklers lit on the top and written in chocolate syrup on the plate said Happy Anniversary Chan & y/n. 

“Channie, you didn’t... you’re so sweet.” The sparklers burnt out and you leaned over to give him a kiss. You pressed your lips against his softly and you could tell something was actually wrong with him. That little spark that was usually in him seemed to have burned out like the ones in the dessert on your table. He was upset about something, but you didn’t want to be pushy if he wasn’t ready to talk. He would come to you about it when he was ready.  

Chan had really hoped you didn’t notice how upset he was. He was trying to put on a happy face, but it was hard. He just wanted to get through dinner, get through the night. It was your first anniversary for fucks sake, he couldn’t tell you tonight. You both ate the rich chocolate dessert and drank the complimentary champagne. At one point, when you were talking about some silly video you had seen, Chan looked like he was a million miles away. 

“Chan? Did you hear me?” He blinked quickly and nodded. 

“Yea baby girl, I’m listening, sorry continue.” You shook your head. 

“Why don’t we get out of here baby? Do you want to go to yours or mine tonight?” Chan suddenly remembered the rest of his plans for the evening. 

“Oh uh, neither I got us a hotel room for the night.” Your smile grew and it made Chan feel warm inside. 

“Really?!” Channie, you’re such a hopeless romantic. I could just kiss your face off right now!” He let out a little laugh. He wanted nothing more than for you to be happy tonight. Tomorrow... tomorrow, Chan thought wearily. Chan paid for dinner, and you left for the hotel. When you got there and checked in Chan led you up to the room he had reserved over a month ago when he had been so excited for this night. When you walked in it was gorgeous. Very modern, sleek and simple, varying shades of white, black, and grey with chrome accents. 

“Oh my god! Chan! Look at this place! What the hell man?!” You ran over, jumped and fell back on the big fluffy bed laughing. Chan wanted to laugh with you, he wanted to be able to enjoy this like you did. Oblivious to what was coming. The choices that had to be made. The choice he wanted to make. When you sat up giggling you saw Chan standing there stoically. You weren’t used to seeing him like that, so serious. He was usually a fairly goofy, happy go lucky guy. He had seemed upset all night and you were trying to be patient and let him come to you about it, but he wasn’t saying anything, and you wanted him to enjoy this night as much as you did. Maybe if he just talked about it, he’d be able to. You walked over and grabbed Chan’s big hands and pulled him over to sit next to you on the bed. He followed with heavy steps. 

“What’s wrong Chan?” You asked as you both sat down. He shook his head. Not tonight. He wasn’t doing this tonight. 

“Nothing baby girl everything is fine.” The look on his face told you that everything was not fine. He was a terrible liar at the best of times but tonight there was no way to mask how upset he really was. 

“Christopher Bang do not lie to me. I can tell something is bothering you. I’ve waited for you to let out all evening, so just tell me what’s going on. I’m sure you’ll feel better.” He shook his head again. 

“No, I won’t, and you won’t either and I’m not ruining this night. Not on our anniversary.” Chan was getting more upset. You tilted your head confused. 

“You could never ruin tonight Chan. Tell me what’s wrong, it’s okay baby.” You ran your hand down his cheek. He sighed heavily and took your hand in his. He turned it over and looked down at your palm as if he were memorizing it, or perhaps looking into your future. He gently ran his thumb over the pulse point on your wrist, unable to look you in the eye knowing what he had to tell you. 

“I got a promotion at work today. It’s actually the position I dreamed of getting when I started at the company,” Your eyes went wide and you smiled brightly, squeezing his hand and pulling it towards your heart. 

“Chan that’s great news! Why on earth are you upset?” He chewed at his lips as he pulled your hand back down into his lap and played with your fingers, an absent-minded habit he had developed. 

“If I accept the position the first project I’d be in charge of would be opening and organizing the new Sydney office for our company. I would have to move to Australia for two years, once everything is running smoothly, I would be able to move back home.” Tears were welling up in Chan’s eyes at the idea of being away from you for any amount of time. You were in shock; you were not expecting that. 

“Oh.” Your bottom lip started to quiver, and Chan’s hand quickly came up to rub your cheek, comforting you. 

“I’m not accepting the position baby girl. I... I can’t be away from you for two years, I...” His tears started spilling over. You sat up straight and cut him off. 

“There’s no way I’m letting you turn down your dream job because of me!” Chan’s brows furrowed and he shook his head, refusing what you were saying. 

“It’s not because of you it’s because of relocating!” You scoffed and rolled your eyes.  

“If we weren’t together and you were offered this position, relocation and all, would you take it?” Chan’s head continued shaking, he closed his eyes. 

“No no no, that’s not fair because we are together, so what does it matter what I would do if we weren’t?” You stood up and started pacing as you ran your fingers through your hair frustrated. 

“You’ve been with me a year Chan and it has been the best of my life but this is a dream you’ve had for what; at least four or five years? I know how dedicated to your job you are Chan. I’ve apologized to countless people about your tardiness due to that dedication and I’m not letting you give up all that hard work for me!” Your own eyes were filled with tears now. 

“So what I’m just supposed to give up on us instead!? You just want to let us go?! Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for us?!! To find this!!” Chan motioned between the two of you. His voice got louder the more upset he got. You sat on the bed next to him again, tears started to trail down your face. 

“We’ll... We’ll make it work. We can do video calls and I can come vis-” Chan shook his head. 

“I can’t ask you to wait two years for me back here y/n. That’s not fair to y-” You cut him off this time. 

“No! Losing you completely when we are so happy is what is not fair Chan.” You laid down burying your face in your arms and you started crying, sobbing. Chan’s mind was racing a mile a minute. He wanted to comfort you, he wanted to ease your mind about all of this, his mind and he wanted a choice that kept the two of you together more than anything. Then it hit him. When the idea came into his mind, he thought he was an idiot for not thinking of it sooner. As soon as it popped into his head, he said it out loud. 

“Go with me.” You lifted your head and sat up sniffling, tears still streaking down your cheeks. You weren’t sure he was really asking what you thought he was asking. 

“What?” Chan scooted closer to you on the bed, the most determined look on his face you had ever seen. 

“Go with me. I’ll say yes to the promotion, and you come with me to Sydney. We’ll move in together. We practically live together already anyway. You can meet my family and see where I grew up.” You looked shell shocked. You blinked and gathered your thoughts back up. 

“You’re serious?” Chan shook his head. 

“As a fucking heart attack baby girl. When I planned this whole night out, I was going to ask you to move in with me anyway. Now it would be hundreds of miles away instead of my shitty apartment but...” You laughed. 

“I like your place.” He laughed too and shook his head. 

“What about my work? Our friends?” Chan rubbed circles on your back reassuringly. 

“Well, if you want to stay with your company, we could look into you transferring or you could always look for a new position in Sydney if you want a change. Our friends will love and support us, they’ll always be our friends whether we’re five miles or five thousand miles away.” You smiled ear to ear, the tears in your eyes now the sparkly, happy kind. 

“Sydney... together.” You said and Chan nodded, his smile was so big both his dimples appeared prominently. 

“Together baby girl. I love you so much.” You wrapped your arms around Chan’s shoulders and kissed him. 

“I love you too Chan.” He held your face in both hands as he kissed you over and over, each becoming more heated until teeth, lips, and tongues were all fighting for dominance. You crawled onto Chan’s lap, a thick thigh on each side of his legs. You sat down and started rolling your hips against his crotch. Chan lifted the skirt of your dress, and his hands gripped your full ass. Pushing you down to grind on him harder. 

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” You pressed against the erection straining his pants, your breaths coming out faster as you worked yourself over him. 

“Chan... I... fuck... I love you.” You were both kissing, pawing, grinding against each other. It was messy, almost frantic, as if the other may evaporate if your touches and kisses ceased. You pulled at each other's clothes clumsily until you got frustrated and sat back on Chan’s legs, gripped the collar of his shirt and ripped the buttons open exposing his firm chest and torso. He never failed to make your mouth water. 

“God damn baby girl!” You pushed Chan’s shirt off and started kissing his neck and shoulder, grazing your teeth across as you continued to ride him. Suddenly Chan rolled and you were pinned underneath him laughing. 

“You’re feisty tonight baby girl but don’t forget who’s in charge here.” You could feel how wet your panties were getting. You loved it when Chan man handled you in bed, he wasn’t scared to get a little rough, throw you around a bit. He was certainly strong enough to and you knew how to get him going. You wrestled against him but it was no use, he was far stronger. He had your arms pinned and you were trapped under him. You gave him those sweet doe eyes of yours and smiled.  

“Channie, baby...” You cooed and leaned in like you were going to start kissing down his neck again. Instead, you bit and then sucked a mark onto Chan’s neck, low enough that a collared shirt would still easily cover it but dark enough he’d have to wear one for a couple days. 

“Fuck, mmmm, I’ll get you for that one when you least suspect it!” Chan laughed aquiesing, sliding the straps of your dress down and pulling it off you. When he had the garment discarded it revealed the black lace lingerie you had worn especially for the occasion. He sat back on his knees, his legs now straddling you. Chan bit his fist and closed his eyes trying to get a hold of himself. His dick had never been so hard in his life, he was certain of it. There you laid underneath him in a matching black lace bra, garter belt and panties. Stockings that stopped just before covering the tops of your thick thighs. Chan lost it. 

“Oh my god, you are fucking incredible!” his lips attacked your neck and chest, licking, kissing, biting, marking you. Groping you over the sheer lace that did nothing to actually cover you but was effective in its intended purpose, which was driving Chan wild. He pulled down the cups of the lacy bra and started to squeeze and then suck on your breasts, gliding his tongue over one nipple before giving the other a similar treatment. You threaded your fingers through Chan's curls as he migrated further down your body, kissing and licking a fiery trail in the process. He bit at your garter belt and pulled at it with his teeth before continuing his way down your body. When his mouth stopped just over your lace covered mount you started to squirm. You could feel his warm breath as he hovered over your cunt. You started to whine. 

“Channie please...” He smirked up at you. 

“Please what baby girl?” You blushed because you knew what he wanted to hear, you propped yourself up on your elbows. 

“Please baby, lick me, here.” You ran one hand down your body, slid your fingers into your cunt and Chan’s eyes darkened. He grabbed your hand pulling it out of your lacy panties and stuck your fingers in his mouth, sucking your juices off, humming contently. 

“Mmmm you taste so good...” Chan wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer, burying his face in your clothed pussy. 

“You smell good too beautiful and you asked so nicely. How could I possibly say no.” Chan pushed your panties to the side and drug his tongue through your folds.  

“Oh, oh, fuck!” He lifted his head for a second and grinned at you before spreading your labia, pressing his soft lips against your cunt, and sucking your clit. The moan that came out of you went straight to Chan’s dick. He focused, gently licking and then sucking on your clit and then added two fingers, pushing them inside you. 

“Fuck baby girl you’re always so tight, gonna feel so good wrapped around my cock.” You moaned when Chan went back to slowly devouring you, pumping his fingers inside you. He started humming and groaning against your pussy as he pumped his fingers into you harder hitting the spot that made your body buzz. You gripped his hair tightly and pushed his face into your cunt more. 

“FUCKFuckfuck RRRIGHT THERE rrright there! Yes, Chan fucking lick me baby...FUCK... eat me good Channie! You’re gonna make me cum, fingers feel so fucking good inside me!” Chan doubled his efforts and soon had you sailing into the abyss. You came on his tongue as you rubbed yourself against his face. 

“I’m coming, oh... OH! Oh my god Chan, fuck, I-I'm coming!” Chan was practically a maniac, licking, sucking, drinking in every bit of you that he could as he finger fucked you hard through your orgasm. When Chan removed his mouth from your sex he sat back on his knees between your legs, grabbed your panties and ripped them exposing your cunt to him unobstructed. You gasped out surprised. 

“CHAN!” He smirked at you and then gripped your bra partially tearing it making sure your breasts were free and easily accessible to him.  

“I told you baby girl... when you least expected it.” You laughed; Chan loved making you laugh even when you were fucking. Right now, his cock twitched seeing you laying there giggling in that torn up lace. Chan wasted no more time. He grabbed your soft hips and pulled you close, lined up his cock, coated it in your cum and pushed inside you fully. He buried his head in the crook of your neck and shoulder immediately. 

“FUCK! God damn so tight beautiful.” Chan grabbed a hold of your garter belt and pumped into you harder and faster. 

“So big Channie, you fill me up so good baby, harder, fuck me harder!” Chan gave you a sly smile. 

“Say please?” You narrowed your eyes at him and smiled back, two could play this game. You gave Chan your biggest, sweetest fuck me eyes and whined. 

“Please, harder daddy!” Chan involuntarily moaned when you said that unable to hide how much he loved it when you called him that. He dug his fingers into your squishy hips tight and started fucking you hard just like you asked. 

“Does daddy’s good girl wanna get fucked hard? Treat you like a queen but fuck you like a whore? MY whore? Is that how you like it baby girl? Are you gonna cum for daddy?” He kept up his punishing pace and it was your turn to moan out uncontrollably. 

“Fuck yes yes yes! I’m gonna cum daddy please please make me cum!” Chan started rubbing your clit with his thumb as he continued to fuck your hard and deep. He leaned down to whisper in your ear. 

“Let go baby girl, cum for me, cum for daddy.” You saw stars, the whole galaxy behind your eyes as you came on Chan’s cock, coating him in your juices as you screamed his name. 

“CHAN! FUCK!” You laid there somewhere between limp and stiff as Chan fucked you, prolonging your orgasm, letting you ride the wave of ecstasy you were feeling for as long as possible. When you started panting trying to catch your breath Chan slowed down a bit, grabbing both your breasts and squeezing as he slowly slid his cock in and out of your creamy pussy. 

“You gonna let me cum all over this pretty lace baby girl? Fuck! Wanna paint that sexy body.” You nodded and when your head was on straight again, you started begging Chan to cum for you. 

“Please baby cum for me, cover me baby, cum all over my pussy, wanna feel it, so warm, Channie please cum for me!” Chan gripped your garter belt again, fucked you harder and you started to cum again.  

“Fuck fuck fuck Channie baby FUUUUUCK!” Your walls squeezed and fluttered around Chan’s cock. Your sudden orgasm pushed him over the edge, and he started to cum inside you.  

“I’m coming baby girl oh fuck yes, fuck!” He pulled out and stroked himself over you letting the rest of his load coat your belly and garter belt, your torn panties and your mound, as a little started to drip out of your hole.  

“That’s my beautiful girl, fuck you look so good covered in my cum.” Chan rubbed the head of his cock up and down your slit making both of you shudder and twitch from the overstimulation. Chan started getting hard again just looking at you laid out like that. Your plush body flushed, breathless, your big breasts rising and falling quickly. Fucked out in torn up lingerie, running your fingers through Chan’s cum on your soft belly and licking it off.  

“Let’s go clean up baby. I wanna rip the rest of this off you. Then maybe I can wash you up real good with that massaging shower head they have.” He pressed a soft kiss to your neck and then his lips were against the shell of your ear. 

“Maybe bend you over that marble bench in the shower and give you my cock again, unload all over that thick ass this time.” Your pussy clenched and more of Chan’s cum came dripping out. Chan stood up and started walking backwards towards the bathroom, his firm body and his hard cock both proudly on display for you as he beckoned you to follow.  

Chan made you cum twice on the shower head and two more times on his cock before he was satisfied. He came all over your backside and rubbed it all over your ass as he rutted against you. After, you both quickly washed up to get to bed. You were absolutely exhausted by the marathon of fucking you had just had. You curled up under the big soft duvet resting your head in the crook of Chan’s arm that was wrapped around you. He kissed the top of your head then you both settled in and melted together as you fell asleep. 

You were leaning over a very round belly planting your new flowers in the little garden in front of your house while Chan and your son were kicking a soccer ball around the yard together. It was the perfect day to be outside as a family and even though you were due any day and you were supposed to be taking it easy, you had to get these flowers done before this little girl made her entrance into the world. You weren’t doing anything too crazy just sitting and digging in the dirt a little you should be fi- you felt a contraction which wasn’t surprising necessarily, but it was a strong one and then suddenly your sun dress was wet. 

“Uhhh... Chan?” Him and your son turned towards your voice and when Chan saw the look on your face and the wet dress, he knew. 

“CJ it’s baby time little guy. Go grab mommy’s bag and put it in the car while I help her up, okay?” The little boy who had just turned six that year nodded and ran into the house. Chan hurried over to you and you felt another contraction, this one hurt. 

“FFfffuck.” You gritted quietly through your teeth squeezing Chan’s hand. You didn’t want to alarm your son and you tried to not swear like that in front of him if you could help it. Chan held your hand and rubbed your lower back as you did your breathing through the contraction. When it ended you looked up at Chan with tears in your eyes. 

“I know we’ve done this before, but it seems like it was so long ago now. I’m scared Chan.” He smoothed your hair back away from your face and softly kissed your lips. 

“Look at me, okay? CJ is getting your bag, we’re gonna get you to the hospital and everything is going to be fine, okay? How do we get through things? Hmm? Like CJ’s birth, the cancer scare with your mom, like Australia?” You sniffled and wiped your tears as you calmed down. 

“Together.” Chan nodded and smiled, kissing your lips softly again. 

“Together.” 

Please do not repost or translate any of my works. My blog and stories are NSFW and 18+ ONLY! Minors, ageless, and blank blogs will be blocked!

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Arrival on Ancient Terra

Warnings: threats of bodily harm, injuries, Chaos Space Marines, Death Guard Astartes, tell me if I need to add more.

Author’s note: Hura’s debut! An Explanation that spawned this AU. Prologue

Summary: Hura muses about what happened to him when he first arrived on Ancient Terra.

Another Author's Note: I Kept Reading it in case there is triggering content that I haven't tagged. Again. Let me know if I need to add anything.

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @egrets-not-regrets, @barn-anon, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @bleedingichorhearts, @kit-williams

Hura had been on Ancient Terra for several months, he’s done what he can to subtly spread the blessings of Grandfather, while still staying within the rules set by the Alliance between the greater Chapters of Loyalists, Renegade and Chaos Warbands. As an experienced Apothecary, he was allowed within the network of Astartes owned and run Apothecaries, he primarily dealt with his fellow Chaos Marines, especially the more belligerent-to-Loyalist Renegade and Chaos Marines. They won’t allow him near baseline humans that come with their bonded Astartes if possible, which he thinks is a terrible shame. Humans are such wonderful creatures, besides, he’s not the type to be actively cruel, not like the Slaneshi or Khornate type astartes.

He has a great love for his fellow marines and base line humans. He’s humming a song that he’d heard, it’s popular among the base line humans, they have such interesting forms of music. He’s been learning the main human language that is in the geographical area that he landed in when he first came to Ancient Terra. He’d wandered in the lovely swampy area, trying to figure out where he was, before he’d come across a wounded fellow Chaos Marine, under the thick muck he was under, Hura hadn’t been able to discern which legion he’d come from. But he’d softly asked if his younger cousin whished for his help in getting patched up.

The younger Chaos Marine had hissed, puffed, chuffed and growled and did many a snapping, jagged, sharp needle teeth to show just how scary he was. He had been mostly amused and soothed the hurt younger Astartes telling him that his display of Terror was quite impressive, but he can smell the blood, wounds, and rot starting to set in. The other space marine had deflated and allowed him close to patch him up. He didn’t care to remember the threats that the other had issued and spat at him. He had hummed and crooned at his fellow Chaos Marine after he’d snarl and hiss at him, explaining what he was doing before he did it as he patched up the feisty youngster.

He had been almost dragged by the other space marine to his warband. Apothecaries are rare among the Chaos Space Marines, and after an explanation of where and when he is, have become even rarer and more valuable, especially the ones who are not… exorbitant with their prices for their services. Learning of the truce between the greater warbands and the loyalist and renegades had been interesting to learn of, he’d abide by the terms, mostly at least. This whole bonding with a baseline human thing sounded utterly fascinating and he has seen at a distance what Bonded Astartes are like with their Human, the changes in behavior of his fellow Chaos aligned marines is very interesting to document.

Hura is open to bonding with a human, but he’s not actively seeking one out to bond with, he’s kept very busy with Apothecary duties, among other things. He’s on one of his rare days off as he explores the city when he senses something he turns his head slowly, carefully, when he spots them. And feels a pull, the pull, the draw, the lure, the song, the... well, his brothers and cousins all of many different names for the feeling of when they first sense their bonded. He follows the direction of the pull, seeing his human. They are a lovely human, who looks up at him, at first scent seems… worried, or concerned, but as he croons out sweetly, gurgling down at them.

“Hello my bonded,” He croons at them, the bond takes effect, and he sees as they relax and smile as bright as a thousand suns up at him.

They come over and he gently cradles them in his arms and listens to his precious human and walks in the direction that they request of him, learning of where they live, it’s a small apartment, and he eyes the human made and created for steps. He sends a message to his Warband Leader about his bonded nature, and the request for housing for himself and his human that would be suitable for both of them. His human has such a lovely voice that chirps up at him in one of the Ancient Terran languages, he understands more of what they say, when they speak slower, at least. He croons at them, nuzzling them with a deep, warbling purring.

[sailoryooons]

Shadow | myg x pjm (m)

❀ Pairing: Faerie!Guard Yoongi x Faerie!Prince Jimin

❀ Summary: Yoongi’s life has been sworn to Jimin’s since the moment he was born. He was bred, crafted and trained to be Jimin’s shadow, his greatest protector. Jimin loves just how much Yoongi can never refuse him.  

❀ Word Count: 6,539

❀ Genre: Dark fantasy

❀ Rating: 18+ anyone discovered to be interacting with this content under 18 will be immediately blocked from this blog.

❀ Warnings: Explicit language, toxic relationship, allusions to abuse, references to Jimin hurting Yoongi multiple times in the past, references to Yoongi only existing for Jimin, references to Jimin’s masochism, power dynamics, predator/prey, chasing, sadism/masochism relationship, rough sex in the literal dirt, Yoongi being referred to/treated like an object, blood play, biting/licking, spit play, humiliation, pain play, orgasm control, unprotected anal sex, fingering, dom/sub dynamics, bottom Yoongi/top Jimin, Jimin threatens various types of bodily harm to Yoongi, Yoongi Has Zero Self Preservation sometimes, there is reference to Jimin cutting a chunk out of Yoongi previously Ed Gein style, allusions to subspace and subdrop if you really really squint, zero aftercare. This content is marked as Dead Dove.

❀ Published: August 20, 2023 (originally)

❀ A/N: This is a repost from Hali After Dark that was done as a filled request and is a part of merging the few selected items I had there, over here. I will not make a habit of moving any other mem x mem works over to this blog, but because this was a requested item from a mutual, I didn't want it to vanish when I deleted HAD. I DO NOT DO TAG LISTS FOR DD CONTENT.

❀ A/N 2: If mem x mem isn't your thing - literally just don't read it. It is that easy. This is not me being a shipper - it is fiction and I do not believe in shipping people in a real-life setting. Thanks.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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Yoongi doesn’t want to be here. The breeze has an icy bite to it, filling the boughs of the trees with wind as it sweeps through the forest. He pulls his cloak tighter, dragging his gaze around the shadowed wood. This late in the evening, everything is cast in an eerie black-green light. There’s no sign of anything worth hunting, which Yoongi told Jimin several times. 

There’s no telling Jimin no. The prince is as stubborn as he is vindictive, a lethal combination for Yoongi who has grown up at his side. The more Yoongi says no, the more Jimin says yes. The more Yoongi tries to use reverse psychology, the worse Jimin makes it. 

Jimin is a prince with gluttonous tastes. He likes to take but never give, to force but never ask. As a child, Yoongi often wondered what had to have been wrong with Jimin to make him this way. As an adult, Yoongi knows that Jimin is far more complex and haunted than the prince would ever reveal.

Still, nights like tonight remind Yoongi that he is often the subject of Jimin’s attention. Being sworn to him has always meant that Yoongi’s life was Jimin’s to own and command. He just didn’t expect the prince to enjoy it so much. 

“You’re mad at me,” Jimin sighs, looking over at Yoongi. “Why are you mad at me, Shadow?”

Yoongi grinds his teeth. Jimin is the only person who manages to get under Yoongi’s skin. As Jimin’s personal guard, it’s his duty to protect the prince at every moment, against every enemy, and at any cost, including his life. What he had not anticipated was most of the threats made to his well-being came from Jimin himself. 

He looks Jimin up and down. He’s in all black this evening, his clothes tight-fitted for hunting. There’s a spiked, silver necklace around Jimin’s neck, the only sign that he’s of renown in the Court of Thorns. His dark hair is damp from riding through heavy mists when leaving the castle, hanging limp in his beautiful face.

Jimin has always been the most beautiful faerie Yoongi has ever seen. He has high cheekbones and an angular jaw, his siren eyes dark and gaze heady. With lips like pillows and rounded cheeks, Jimin shifts between looking sweet and lethal on command, wielding his unearthly face to his advantage. 

Countless fae have fallen to that face. There’s no one who can say no to Jimin, especially when he purrs in their ear in his velvet soft voice, the smell of his honey and mint irresistible. Even Yoongi has a hard time saying no at that point, which delights Jimin more than anything else. 

“I’m not mad,” Yoongi finally says. He chooses each word carefully, each conversation with Jimin a well-choreographed dance. “We’ve been out here a long time and I did not rest well last night.”

“Hmm, I should report back to Namjoon to let him know the palace’s most prized guard is tired.” Yoongi’s face remains impassive. Jimin isn’t going to report Yoongi to the head soldier and he knows that Jimin knows Yoongi isn’t tired. “Perhaps they’ll whip you for your inability to perform your best.” 

“As they should.”

“Would you like that, Shadow?” Yoongi’s hands squeeze the reins of his horse at the nickname. Jimin has called him that since they were boys in school together, rubbing it in Yoongi’s face that his sole purpose in life was to be Jimin’s shadow and protector, nothing more. “Want to be whipped in front of your peers?” 

“If it’s what I deserve.”

Jimin stops his horse. Yoongi sighs and pulls on the reins, stopping so that he’s in front of Jimin and facing him. The prince’s bottom lip juts out and he bats his lashes as he crosses his arms. Yoongi’s eye twitches in annoyance. Jimin does look cute when he makes that face, but Yoongi knows better. 

“You’re being annoying.” 

Yoongi bows his head. “I apologize, my prince.” 

A scowl contorts Jimin’s face. In a flash he’s gone from pleading prince to twisted faerie, his eyes darkening and jaw ticking as he regards Yoongi. Jimin remains silent and Yoongi can almost see the wheels turning in Jimin’s mind. This is when Jimin is most dangerous. Yoongi knows he’s coming up with his next move, wavering between violence and jesting. 

For his entire life, Jimin has been unpredictable. He has killed in the middle of telling a joke, he has kissed Yoongi square on the mouth in the middle of punishing him, and he has laughed in the middle of crying. He is made up of conflicting emotions, two sides trying to gain the upper hand. It’s often a tossup of which side will win, but after a hundred years together, Yoongi can usually predict which Jimin he is going to get.

Today, Jimin has driven Yoongi out into the cold evening, demanding a hunt. He wasn’t playful about it, commanding the guard with the steel that the prince so rarely uses. The ride from the castle, through the briars, and into the wood was silent, Jimin’s mood dark and hard to read. 

Yoongi thinks about the day before, when Jimin returned from a meeting with the king and queen, a laceration still healing near his eye. Today, it’s pink and nearly gone, a shallow wound for what is sure to be a shallow reason. The queen's desire for pain is not like Jimin’s. There are no rules to her indulgence in pain and violence, no laws by which she operates. 

Now, as Yoongi watches Jimin, he sees a twitch in the prince's mouth. Yoongi’s stomach flips, knowing that his neutrality to Jimin’s mood has pushed the prince from sour to angry, and angry to sadistic. 

“You didn’t want to come hunting today, Yoongi?” Yoongi grimaces. The use of his formal name sets off alarms. Yoongi licks his lips, trying to think on his feet, trying to work out the right answer. He doesn’t know where Jimin is going with this, but he can see the cunning in the prince’s face. “Speak, guard.” 

“There is nothing to hunt, my prince. Anything worth hunting is in hibernation.”

“Get off your horse.”

Yoongi pauses. “What?”

“Get off your horse.” 

Heavy with trepidation, Yoongi slowly dismounts. The leather of the saddle squeaks under the shifting of his weight and his horse chews on the metal bit, the sound of grinding loud in Yoongi’s ears. He lets go of the mare and then steps away from it, looking up at Jimin. 

“There.” Jimin points at Yoongi with a slash of a grin. Yoongi doesn’t understand, furrowing his brows and shrugging as if to ask what Jimin means. The prince’s grin spreads and the hairs on Yoongi’s arm rise, a tingle spreading down them. “Something worth hunting.”

Fuck. Yoongi realizes his mistake, clenching and unclenching his fists as Jimin drops the hand pointing at him, pulling the heavy crossbow from the saddle. Jimin sets the weapon across his lap and pats the top of it happily, looking up at Yoongi with his brows raised.

“Well,” Jimin urges. “I’ll give you ten minutes. Go on.” 

Swearing under his breath, Yoongi pulls his cloak off and tosses it on the horse. Jimin laughs as Yoongi tucks his silver necklaces into the collar of his shirt to dampen the noise as he throws Jimin a scathing look before taking off. Jimin gives a shout of glee as he watches Yoongi tear off to the west, moving toward the castle at a diagonal angle. 

Yoongi’s mind jumps into action as he runs. He’s fast. It’s colder now as evening turns into night. The air he breathes in is winter-sharp and the mist has made the ground damp and slippery beneath his feet. Yoongi can easily run over a mile in ten minutes. They’re at least seven miles from the briar wall, which Yoongi would reach faster if he ran straight back the way they came. 

Jimin will surely catch him if he goes straight back, though. Yoongi’s goal is to put as much distance between him and Jimin as possible. Jimin, of course, has horses. Distance doesn’t mean much when Yoongi is at such a disadvantage, but the west of the woods is filled with gullies and dells, much harder to navigate on horseback. 

As he runs, Yoongi is careful not to leave tracks. He is light-footed, even for a faerie. Most of his life was spent learning weapons skills, behavioral analysis, and court politics. He’s not much for espionage or assassin business, but Yoongi was trained by Hoseok for enough years to develop skills in the art of not being found, and for being hard to trace. 

Every one of those skills comes back to him now. He’s careful not to let the fabric of his clothes snag on trees. When he approaches dips in the land, he pauses to walk down them instead of sliding. He knows this eats away at his time to escape, but the evidence of his direction is worse than precious seconds lost to carefully picking his way downward. 

There is also the possibility it’s all for nothing. Jimin is one of the finest hunters in the court. His lack of interest in scanning their surroundings as they rode and not following hunting trails should have been the first sign that Jimin was off today. Yoongi had been so focused on trying to ignore Jimin’s prickly mood that he hadn’t gleaned Jimin’s purpose. 

Ten minutes pass. Yoongi is well into his run, lungs full of cold air, mind focused only on getting to the briar wall. Jimin, of course, has not said when this chase ends. There is no guarantee that Yoongi will be safe once he reaches the briars, but Jimin’s games always have rules. 

The most important rule is that he doesn’t do this to Yoongi in public. Above all else, the prince is smart. It does him a disservice to embarrass his personal guard in front of anyone, lest they think Yoongi is weak and by association, Jimin. 

Power is what makes the world go round in the Court of Thorns. Everyone Jimin comes in contact with is a reflection of the prince, who should be like a thorn: beautiful, but deadly. Yoongi must be fatal and strong. It serves Jimin no purpose to subject Yoongi to his madness where eyes can see, so the prince keeps these deviances in the shadows.

It’s this most important rule that Yoongi clings to as he runs for the briars, which are visible from the castle towers. By now, Jimin has begun his chase. Yoongi feels Jimin’s aura like iron pressing down on his senses, burning and eating away at his magic the more he thinks about the prince.

Minutes tick by. Yoongi is not yet tired, driven by adrenaline and a little bit of a thrill. Hot energy courses through him. He wonders if he can outrun Jimin and get out of the woods before the prince finds him. He smiles thinking about Jimin’s face if he beats him. 

What bothers Jimin most in the world is losing to Yoongi. In the rare instances that Yoongi outsmarts Jimin or slips from his snare, the prince is venomous for days. It’s worse when Jimin fails to get a rise from the guard, no matter how much the prince goads him. Yoongi’s apathy has earned him more pain and rage-laced pleasure from Jimin than anything else he does. 

“Run faster, Shadow!” Jimin’s shrill voice echoes in the wind. 

Yoongi pulls up short, turning to look over his shoulder. He has perfect vision, even at night, but Jimin is nowhere to be found. He slows his breathing and closes his eyes, focusing on the sounds of the forest. He can make out normal sounds of crickets chirping and rabbits scampering back to their nests, but there’s no sound of hoofbeats. 

A metallic click followed by whistling catches his ears. Yoongi inhales sharply and manages to step back just in time as a bolt fired from the dark of the forest whistles by him and hits the tree behind him. The arrow doesn’t go in far, which means Jimin took the shot from a distance. It also means Jimin is on his feet, and difficult terrain means nothing now. 

Cursing, Yoongi takes off again. Jimin’s laughter seems to echo around him, chilling him to the bone. He loses his grip on fear as he moves north instead of northwest at an angle. He no longer cares about tripping Jimin up. Yoongi needs the path of least resistance, jumping over fallen trees as a frantic energy thrums through him.

He doesn’t know what the rules of this game are. He doesn’t know what limitations are on the table, if Jimin is willing to maim him or kill him. Yoongi never knows, and it makes it all the more terrifying when he can’t come up with a sure answer. All he knows is that Jimin hasn’t killed him yet.

Yet. 

As if sensing his thoughts, he hears Jimin fire the crossbow again. Yoongi ducks as the arrow shoots wide and over his head, vanishing in the misty night. He swallows, sensing that the arrow had been aimed to kill. Anger flares through him and he tamps it down. No matter how angry he gets, Yoongi doesn’t fight back. Not earnestly anyway. And at least he knows a new rule: killing and maiming are possible. 

Yoongi’s life shouldn’t be this. The thought slips in between his focus on running and sliding under fallen trees. He’s one of the best fighters in the Court of Thorns and he is unnaturally intelligent. He should have a higher position at court than being the shield to a bloodthirsty brat, but Yoongi has bent and broken to the whims of Jimin for years now.

What’s another hunt through the woods in the face of hundreds of other games? 

Part of him loves it. If Yoongi wanted to turn around and let Jimin pick him off, he could. He flirts with the idea of pausing his run. Of stopping in his tracks and waiting to see if it’ll happen, if Jimin will put the arrow through an eye socket. 

Yet he keeps running because he knows that Jimin will keep chasing. Jimin has always chased Yoongi, a cat who can’t leave and let its dinner die yet. Jimin gives Yoongi special attention, and it makes Yoongi preen. No one else gets this. No one else is the sole object of Jimin’s ruthless attention. 

When they were younger, the queen thought that it was unseemly for the prince to be so obsessed with his guard. Jimin couldn’t leave Yoongi alone, pinching him on the soft of his thighs, cornering him and demanding to teach Jimin how to kiss, ordering Yoongi to stand outside of Jimin’s chambers while he fucked other courtiers, learning the arts of the bedroom, murdering anyone who so much as brushed an arm against Yoongi. 

It keeps Yoongi guessing. He never knows what the day will bring, the Jimin who covets him or the Jimin who tortures him. Sometimes, it’s a mix of both, which is Yoongi’s personal preference.

An arrow whistles. Yoongi steps to the side, but just barely. He feels the sting of the arrowhead grace his cheek, opening up a shallow cut. It doesn’t hurt much, but it does startle him. His foot catches a root and Yoongi shouts as he trips, sliding downhill into a dell as he goes.

Leaves and damp earth make his descent fast. As soon as he falls, he’s at the bottom, buried in leaves and surrounded by the scene of earth and pine. The ground is cold, leaching him of his warmth as he gets up to his knees. He could use magic to warm himself, but it makes him easier to find, his energy light a beacon to the magic-sensitive prince hunting him.

The crank of the crossbow makes Yoongi freeze mid-recovery. He looks up the hill to where Jimin stands at the top, weapon aimed at him. Yoongi’s heart pounds in his chest. Jimin is small and built like a panther, all sleek angles and muscles. He doesn’t blink, staring down at Yoongi, a small finger on the trigger.

This is what the god of death looks like, Yoongi thinks. Jimin is in all black, a terrible cruelty on his face. Suddenly Yoongi feels like the ant underneath Jimin’s boot. He only knows fear in moments like this, where Jimin’s eyes are so black that Yoongi thinks he will fall into Jimin’s gaze and let it swallow him whole.

Yoongi thinks he’s going to do it. It was always going to end like this anyway. Yoongi knew it would always be Jimin who killed him when Yoongi lost one of Jimin’s games or finally failed to entertain the prince. This tortuous cycle has a shelf life, and every road leads to Jimin finally doing it, finally pushing Yoongi over the edge.

Instead of firing the crossbow, Jimin grins wickedly and lowers it, tossing it to the side. The weapon clatters heavily. No sooner than Jimin disarms himself is Yoongi running away. The prince snarls and takes off after him, swearing.

“You little bitch!” Jimin seethes, sliding down into the dell behind Yoongi. “I’ll put you down like a fucking dog!” 

Jimin is not heavy or large like Namjoon, but he’s fast and strong. When he tackles Yoongi at the waist, Yoongi feels a bone crack. He doesn’t know where in his body the break is, but pain makes his vision flash as they slam to the ground, Jimin moving to pin him immediately. As delicate as Jimin looks, he’s still a warrior with years of training with Namjoon, a beautiful weapon but lethal all the same. 

Yoongi goes down face first. The shock of the pain makes his ears ring, the air leaving his lungs. He gasps and gets all leaves and dirt into his mouth as he maneuvers his arms from under him, intending to push upward to throw Jimin off. Jimin growls and digs his knee into Yoongi’s back, pressing down right on the spine as he reaches forward to pin both of Yoongi’s hands to the ground. 

Rearing his head back, Yoongi connects with Jimin’s face. The prince lets out a loud noise and Yoongi grins, wriggling under Jimin in hopes that the pain blinds him long enough for Yoongi to work a hand free. 

Jimin’s nails dig into the top of Yoongi’s hands, biting sharply into his skin. “Cease, Shadow. You’ve lost.”

The fight leaves Yoongi immediately. He’s entirely boneless, a puppet waiting for its master to pull his string. Jimin puts all of his weight on the knee pressing on Yoongi’s back, making the guard wince. Jimin’s kneecap is agony against Yoongi’s spine, pressing the air out of him slowly as Jimin lets Yoongi suffer against the ground. 

Finally, his weight shifts. Jimin straddles Yoongi’s waist, still holding Yoongi’s wrists to the ground as he lowers his face, panting against the side of Yoongi’s face. The guard feels a shiver go through him, Jimin’s breath is hot as his tongue snakes out to brush against the shell of Yoongi’s ear. 

“Much better than a stag,” Jimin whispers, voice like velvet and smoke. He nips at Yoongi’s lobe, teeth sharp against the soft skin. “What should I do with my prize, hmm?” 

One of Jimin’s hands lets go of Yoongi’s wrist. Jimin’s touch is delicate and slow, dragging his fingers up Yoongi’s sleeved arm. Even through the fabric, Yoongi can feel Jimin’s hot touch, chasing away the cold of the ground. He squirms and Jimin bites Yoongi’s cheek hard. He goes still and Jimin licks the fresh teeth marks, the ache in Yoongi’s cheek immediate. 

“Should I take your body and mount you on the wall?” Jimin’s hand reaches Yoongi’s shoulder and dips down to grab his face, turning him to the side. Yoongi looks at Jimin from the corner of his eye, but he can only see dark hair as Jimin presses his lips to the corner of Yoongi’s mouth and asks, “Or should I just… mount you?” 

Yoongi trembles as the prince’s tongue snakes out to lick messily from the corner of Yoongi’s mouth towards the bleeding, burning cut on his cheek. Jimin tsks, running his tongue over the cut. Yoongi wines, the rough drag of Jimin’s done making it burn more. Jimin ignores him, tongue laving back and forth over the wound, the tip of his tongue prodding.

“Did I hurt you?” Jimin coos. He speaks with his mouth pressed to Yoongi’s skin, smearing spit and blood. The switch from threatening to endearing makes Yoongi’s head spin. He is no longer a lethal guard of the Court of Thorns. He’s Jimin’s plaything. “I’m sorry, Shadow. Your face is so pretty, I shouldn’t do anything to harm it.”

“It’s not deep.” 

“Hmmm.” Jimin presses sloppy, spit-slick kisses down Yoongi’s jaw. Yoongi closes his eyes, letting the prince do what he wants. All instinct to fight has left, leaving only a blank canvas for Jimin to paint. “You’re right, Shadow. It’s a very shallow wound. You can take so much more pain than that, can’t you?”

Yoongi nods. “Speak, Shadow,” Jimin commands.

“Yes, my prince. I can take more than that.”

“Of course you can. You’re made for me. Designed for me. You can take what I give you, can’t you?”

“Yes.” 

Jimin bites Yoongi’s jaw, his sharp canines pinching soft skin. Yoongi’s fingers dig into the soft ground. “You bleed when I want you to, you take it when I want you to.” 

Jimin’s scent makes Yoongi too dizzy to reply. His body blazes as Jimin pulls at Yoongi’s clothes, his hands greedy. Jimin mouths at Yoongi’s neck, his jaw. Yoongi’s breathing is unsteady, unable to string together enough thought to help Jimin take Yoongi’s shirt off. 

The craving to be pinned down and marked over and over until his skin can’t take it and until there is nothing left swells. The shame of Yoongi letting himself be used like this is white-hot, but the pride of being Jimin’s prized possession soothes the burn.

“Mine,” Jimin growls as he reaches into Yoongi’s pants, gripping Yoongi’s already hard and throbbing cock. He bites Yoongi’s shoulder hard enough to draw blood. Yoongi succumbs to the pleasure, his hips canting in the dirt, the pain shooting him into deliria as Jimin continues to tongue at him. “My Shadow.” 

Jimin’s hands aren’t gentle. He squeezes the base of Yoongi’s shaft firmly, slowly stroking upward. The friction between Yoongi’s stomach and the ground isn’t pleasant but isn’t terrible as Jimin sucks at Yoongi’s neck, mouth taking whatever the prince wants. 

“Get up on your knees,” Jimin whispers, removing his hand from Yoongi’s cock. He gets off of Yoongi, giving the guard space to move. 

Every limb feels like lead as he does. It feels like the world has flipped upside down, making Yoongi unsteady as he gets on his hands and knees. Cool air kisses his skin, making the laceration on his cheek and bite on his shoulder burn. The pain only spurs the pleasure further. 

“Take your pants off,” Jimin says. He doesn’t touch Yoongi, happy to watch the guard fumble on unbalanced limbs. “Do it right or I’ll skin you like a fucking bear and bring you back to the seamstress to fashion myself a new coat.”

Yoongi can’t tell if the threat is empty or not. He thinks about the time that Jimin cut a small rectangle out of Yoongi’s thigh to give to the tanners to turn it into a small coin pouch. The coin pouch is probably still tied to Jimin’s belt now as Yoongi sits up high on his knees and unbuckles his breeches, taking them down with trembling hands. 

Free of his pants, he dares a look over his shoulder at Jimin. The prince is shirtless, his perfect skin gleaming in the haunting moonlight filtering through the trees. Jimin is a testament to his father’s heritage from the Court of Moons, an ethereal creature stitched with moonbeam threads and filled with shadow watercolors. 

Beautiful. Cruel. Hateful. Affectionate. 

Yoongi can’t ever recall where it felt like Jimin loved him. Cherished him and admired him like a beautiful piece of porcelain, perhaps. Mistified and awed, even, when he could break Yoongi down and mold him into any shape he wanted, like clay.

Now, his gaze is thunderous. His pupils are blown wide, and when a cloud reveals the moon in full, Jimin looks like a demon from the worst of Yoongi’s nightmares. Still, Yoongi doesn’t run. He turns to face forward, slowly bending over until his elbows are on the cool earth, his ass up in the air. 

Yoongi’s cock is heavy between his legs. The first time Jimin worked him up like this, Yoongi had been a shell of himself for days. Didn’t know what to do with the knowledge that being broken and split open into something that felt less than sentient made his arousal swell. 

Jimin’s nails scrape against the curves of Yoongi’s ass. He sucks in a sharp breath. Goosebumps spread on his skin, his entire spine tingling as Jimin’s nails turn to claws, prying him open and digging into the softness of him. 

Cool wind makes Yoongi clench. Jimin tuts and shuffles closer to Yoongi. The heat of his body is against the back of Yoongi’s thighs, the contrast of hot and cold making Yoongi spin. When cool spit hits the edge of Yoongi’s rim, he moans audibly. He feels the slide of Jimin’s saliva drip further down his ass. Yoongi’s breath comes out in pants and Jimin’s nails dig in.

“This is mine,” Jimin mutters. Yoongi can barely hear him over the beating of his own heart and the roaring of blood in his ears. He scarcely notices the way his cock aches, beads of precum oozing from the tip as Jimin blows air onto the thigh ring of muscles. “Hmm. You’re all tight, Shadow. You gonna let me in, huh?” 

Yoongi nods. His head drops and presses against the earth. He smells damp leaves, sweat and Jimin’s honeysuckle scent, too sweet for the demon it belongs to. “Yes, my prince.”

Jimin spits in Yoongi’s hole again. Yoongi bites his bottom lip, trying to control himself. All he wants to do is press his hips back. If he does that, he won’t get fucked at all. He has to be the perfect little puppet, only doing what Jimin asks, speaking only when told. 

One of Jimin’s hands dips between Yoongi’s cheeks. He tries not to sigh when Jimin presses a finger against his rim, the pressure so good. Jimin plays with Yoongi’s asshole, tracing the edge before pressing his finger in just a little. It’s both heaven and hell, the intrusion such a relief that Yoongi doesn’t hear what Jimin asks him.

He immediately regrets letting himself drift too far. Jimin bites Yoongi’s ass cheek so hard that Yoongi screams, rearing back his head. In Yoongi’s experience, there are two levels of pain he receives at the hands of Jimin: good pain and scary pain. Jimin’s bite verges on the edge of scary pain, punishment for not answering and a warning that next time, he’ll take flesh. 

“I said,” Jimin growls. “To lay all the way down with your hands out in front of you.”

Yoongi complies immediately. Gone is the guard who commands Jimin’s entire personal security team. The sword-wielding warrior who has killed in wars, in protection for Jimin, and for petty squabbles is nowhere to be found. 

In his place is a pliable medium. Pressed entirely flat on the ground, knees high, face in the dirt. He lays his hands out in front of him, clasping them there. It’s comforting to hold onto something, even if it’s just his own hands. 

Pleasure expands in Yoongi’s stomach as Jimin begins to work his fingers in properly. The stretch makes the eyes roll back in Yoongi’s head. He tries not to get too lost in the feeling, remembering to be on edge for Jimin asking a question or telling him to do something. It keeps Yoongi right on the cusp of insanity, a difficult and rewarding task as he fights succumbing to the way blood rushes through him. 

Fuck he wants to cum. Yoongi bites the inside of his cheek, drawing blood as Jimin works his fingers in Yoongi's ass, the press so good. Jimin firmly brushes up against Yoongi’s prostate, making him go dumb. Yoongi’s mouth is slack as he pants, knees and thighs trembling, keeping his ass in the same exact spot for Jimin. 

“Look at you,” Jimin coos. “What would everyone think if they knew my personal guard was such a little fuck toy? If they knew he was incapable of doing anything but submitting?”

The question is rhetorical. Yoongi always plays a  guessing game of when Jimin wants a response, but this one, he knows.

Jimin fucks Yoongi with his fingers harder, stretching him open. Yoongi whines, feels pleasure cresting to an unbearable amount as Jimin hammers Yoongi’s prostate. The prince laughs, not giving Yoongi the command to come, but rather watching the guard fight it instead. Yoongi’s muscles lock up as he resists the urge to squirm. He stops breathing, squeezing his eyes shut, jaw clenched as he fights it, trying to think of anything but the fact that he’s so close to his orgasm he could die. 

If Jimin keeps going, Yoongi’s going to come. If Yoongi comes without Jimin explicitly telling him to, Yoongi is going to experience the scary pain. 

Every nerve in Yoongi’s body feels on fire. It feels like he’s burning, burning, burning, like he’s never going to stop. He tastes the iron and salt of blood in his mouth as he bites through his cheek, feels the way his heart hammers in his ribcage, and starts to shake so much that Yoongi thinks he’s going to come out of his skin. 

Yoongi realizes Jimin isn’t going to give him permission. The weight of reality crushes him. Yoongi begins to sob into the dirt, trying to hang on to any shred of control he has. Jimin wants him to come without permission, wants to unleash hell on him. Yoongi claws at the dirt, desperately trying not to cave, to let Jimin milk it out of him. 

Jimin’s warm mouth presses to the back of Yoongi’s neck. He puts his weight on Yoongi, smothering him, keeping him still. Yoongi thinks this is it, this is when he lets go. He prepares for the oncoming violence like a storm in the distance. 

And then Jimin tells him to come. Yoongi’s brows scrunch together. He opens his eyes, trying to look at Jimin. He can’t see the prince’s face, but Jimin must sense Yoongi’s confusion. “Don’t make me tell you again,” Jimin murmurs against Yoongi’s neck. 

It’s like a damn breaking. Yoongi shatters, coming hard. His entire body seizes up, the sound coming out of his throat guttural and loud. His vision pulses black on the edges and he closes his eyes, squeezing them hard as an explosion of colors flashes behind his eyelids.

He can’t think. He can’t breathe. He succumbs to the sensation, pins and needles taking over as he shakes through the last of his orgasm. He is somewhat aware of Jimin behind him, pulling his fingers out and running his cockhead against Yoongi’s hole. He mewls, not ready for another orgasm. Jimin doesn’t care, pushing past the clenching muscles and pressing into Yoongi.

The stretch and pressure pull Yoongi from his drooling daze. If he was sensitive before, it’s nothing compared to now. He’s flayed open and raw to every stroke of Jimin’s cock pulling him apart. Oversensitive. Exposed, sparking wires. 

Yoongi hurts. The bite in his shoulder throbs, his cock hurts where it’s squeezed between his stomach and the ground, his cheek stings, bones ache, wet hole throbs as Jimin bottoms out, spearing Yoongi all the way through. 

It makes him vibrate, eyes fluttering as Jimin begins to snap his hips, hands gripping Yoongi’s waist and slamming him back. Every thrust threatens to break him in half, his face and body dragging against the ground. 

Jimin rakes his nails up Yoongi’s back, breaking the skin. Yoongi keens, toes curling at the biting feeling, sinking further into the heady mix in his head and gut. Jimin’s fingers wrap in the sweaty hair at the back of Yoongi’s neck. He knows what’s coming next but he still yelps when Jimin yanks, lifting Yoongi from the forest floor to his knees. 

Everything feels off-kilter. Yoongi gasps for air. Jimin claws Yoongi’s scalp, making his eyes water as Jimin fucks up into him. Jimin pulls Yoongi’s neck back painfully, holding him by the hair, and presses his lips to Yoongi’s cheek. It’s more teeth and tongue as Jimin continues to abuse Yoongi’s hole. 

He bites Yoongi’s cheek and laughs. “Such soft cheeks,” Jimin hisses, punctuating his words with the snap of his hips. “Such a soft fucking boy, huh? So delicate, so breakable.”

“Yes,” Yoongi agrees because it’s true. Yoongi feels made to shatter. Feels better when broken under the small hands of the prince. Feels whole when he’s splintered. “Yes.”

“Can’t even speak right.” Jimin slides a hand around the front of Yoongi’s throat and squeezes. Yoongi’s air supply is cut short. He feels the slow drip of the bleeding welts on his back, stinging as Jimin’s sweaty front rubs against the wounds. “What are you good for?” 

“Only you,” Yoongi chokes out.

Jimin’s grip tightens. “Don’t be smart, Shadow. I won’t go any easier on you for flattery.” 

Yoongi knows this. He wasn’t saying it for Jimin’s benefit. Because that’s the thing about whatever this violence between them is. It makes Yoongi feel whole, makes it feel like as long as he and Jimin have this between them, he’s made for something. 

Without it, Yoongi doesn’t know what he is. A faerie bred by two warriors to give the king and queen’s child a protector to grow with. Whose only reason for existing is to serve. Who has no goals of his own, who has no life outside of the prince. Without it, he’s not Yoongi. He isn’t Jimin’s. 

So Yoongi doesn’t say it for his benefit. He knows Jimin won’t go easier. Won’t fuck him softer or let go of his throat. He says it because he means it and he doesn’t want Jimin to let up anyway. He could die like this, no air in his lungs, mind detaching from his body. 

Between the pain and the feeling of Jimin’s cockhead pressing up against his prostate, Yoongi loses himself. He becomes a thing made only for Jimin’s pleasure. He becomes no one and nothing, suspended somewhere between life and death, only alive for Jimin to use. 

This is where Yoongi loves being most. Here, he doesn’t have to worry about protecting Jimin’s life every hour of the day. He doesn’t have to worry about navigating Jimin’s moods. He doesn’t have to calculate every word out of his mouth at court, doesn’t have to wonder what waits for him if - if Jimin ever tires of him, if he ever loses his position, if he ever becomes anything other than Jimin’s, if he dies.

If haunts Yoongi so often that he wants nothing to do with it. Nothing to do with anything outside of this, as Jimin lets Yoongi’s throat go, Yoongi’s lungs filling with air so quickly that it’s too much, snapping him right out of subspace to the present, where Jimin grabs Yoongi’s head and slams him forward again.

Yoongi’s hips collapse this time. He’s prone under Jimin as the prince chases his own orgasm, feral and rough. It hurts, but Yoongi comes dry anyway when Jimin tells him to, feels the helpless snap of pleasure inside of him. He loses the reality of it for a moment, feels the world run between his fingers like blood. 

When Yoongi comes back from wherever it is his mind goes in moments like these, he sees stars. The night is a watercolor of blue-black and lights above him. He hurts everywhere he can imagine. It burns his throat to breathe and his skin is chafed and irritated, covered in dirt and cum and blood. He feels bruised like aged fruit, and the puffy rim of his asshole feels ruined and swollen. 

A shadow blots out the sky. Yoongi blinks a few times, realizing it’s Jimin leaning over him. Demon. God. Prince of the Court of Thorns. His dark hair is damp with sweat, pushed back out of his face to reveal dark, alien eyes. There is clarity in them Yoongi only sees after Jimin’s fucked or killed, the calm after a storm. 

Tilting his head to the side, Jimin studies Yoongi like a gardener would inspect an insect. Suddenly, Yoongi feels too exposed and soft all over, breaking eye contact as he chooses to stare at the boughs of the shadow trees instead. He feels the water leaking from his eyes, the tears that come sometimes during. After. 

Jimin brushes a thumb across Yoongi’s cheek. The guard flinches on instinct, but Jimin ignores it. “Get up.” The command is soft, but Yoongi will find no comfort here as he struggles to keep up with the turmoil inside of him. “I want to go to bed.” 

Nodding, Yoongi tries to sit up. His limbs are still shaking and he feels disoriented. Jimin doesn’t help him, already fully dressed in black as he looks up at the night sky. Brushing himself off, Yoongi slowly pulls himself together. Slides back into The Guard, hides away just Yoongi. 

Jimin doesn’t rush him. Doesn’t jeer or lash out at him. He allows Yoongi this time of quiet to glue together what Jimin has shattered. 

When Yoongi is standing, albeit unevenly on his feet, Jimin turns to look at him. His face is impassive and beautiful. “You broke easy today,” Jimin notes. No reprimand. Just a sheer fact. Yoongi hesitates before nodding. “We’ll fix that, Shadow.” 

Yoongi’s mouth twitches at the corner a bit as he nods and follows Jimin as the prince heads back to the horses. Yoongi keeps close, his footsteps mimicking the prince’s, forever his shadow. 

[skzpixie]

Library of dreams, warm and loving masterlist

pairing: Changbin x Original female character genre: Nonidol! au pov: 3rd person summary: Fei Kai moved to South Korea to get a fresh start. The fresh start included a man with curly hair and glasses that hated her.

Taglist Status: Open! (46 spots available left) Taglist: @mynameisnotlaura, @palindrome969, @spiceyhamcat, @jutdwaekkigym

Story warnings:

Single mother! Kai x Ex military! Changbin. Strangers to lovers. Enemies to lovers. 3rd person. Disabled! Changbin. Kai flirts with people as always. Kai has a child (ages 2-7 through the story). Suggestive in many chapters. Themes of PTSD.

Dividers by: @cafekitsune

Chapter 1 - themes of imposter syndrome. Kai has a bad relationship with her parents. Han being a douchebag. --- Chapter 2 - a wee bit of violence --- Chapter 3 - Time skip, Angst towards the end, suggestive teasing(in like, one line), Kai getting hurt(Signs of a concussion), Changbin being slightly violent(he pushes Kai away from him), graphic depictions of traumatic scarring, self image issues(Changbin), a bit of fear of abandonment/fear of being replaced(Changbin again. Man's going through it) --- Chapter 4 - Concussion symptoms(No treatment), Alcohol, Drunk Han and Felix, Changbin not knowing how to be a big boy and handle his emotions, emotionally constipated Changbin --- Chapter 5 - Fleeting mentions of Night Terrors, Blood, Graphic depictions of bodily harm and death, How Chanbin lost his leg, Both Kai and Changbin being emotionally immature, both Kai and Changbin need to touch grass, one suggestive scene(Kai is naked, Changbin needs to stop being curious), angsty

Chapter 6 - Physical violence, Sexual harassment, men are gross, depictions of alcohol, threats, parental issues, Kai degrading the boys consensually, use of the word "whore" as a love language Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

more incoming...

Extra: Memes⋆Playlist

[lifenconcepts]

Y’all have no idea what you’re doing when you mess up a character. Sure, a bit of blood is nice, but if you REALLY loved them then you would put them in misery and anguish. here are some ideas :3

physical, emotional, mental distress, ill, harm..

Chop off a limb, their reaction can be plentiful expressive and entertaining.

Make an ordinary human quality an over abundance. there’s lots of opportunity here. Such as too much hunger (basic) or having enhanced vision (sensitive eyes too) or too much blood in the body or lots of one substance or limb like having 2000 eyelashes idk man. Make the consequences believable so it doesn’t resemble a superpower (like super hearing but their ears constantly are in pain and they get migraines from it and they ring).

Throw them into an unlucky situation where their vehicle messes up and if they’re on public transport then it just brings them somewhere wildly different than what they wanted would be nice if they also didn’t have a safe place.

Give them a sudden overwhelming emotion, play god, make them absolutely manic or depressive or unprompted hostile. It’s fun.

Give them a random delusion. There’s lots of possibilities here from commonly represented ones like feeling watch’s and what not but you can experiment! Make them afraid to take off their clothes, make them unable to walk through door frames, make them disconnected with their body (could be one on its own), make em irrationally afraid of pots, make them desire to destroy every slug in the world, there’s so much creativity to be unleashed!

Get rid of the most loved and prized thing in their life, this one’s a classic.

How would they respond to threats? Threats to their well being, to their home, to their belongings, to their financial stability, to their families, to their friends and pets, to their sanity, to their body, to their life?

Teach them a false belief and allow them to destroy themselves.

lead them into a false sense of security and rip it out of them at the very moment they need it most.

fuck it. Teleport them to a messed up place. Crumbling building, country without the language they speak, planet where there’s no air, they’re suddenly in the sky, no recollection how they got there.

Ruin their job or hobby for them.

The one thing that’s least likely to happen happens and what seems to be a one in a quadrillion chance actually happens (such as a bit of dust travelling so fast it blind them, or a sandwich causes them to slip and slide down the stairs and crash into a metal wall).

Make nobody able to understand them (interpret it however. Could be just language wise or just unable to comprehend their bodily cues and constantly misunderstand and misread their behaviours and thoughts).

Eh strip them away from their humanity or something. No more emotions, no more soul, no more love, no more morals. Only pain and suffering.

have them choose between two things equally dear to them (common trope but not common enough).

Make them a sad song personified, take Simon & Garfunkel’s Sound of Silence for example, or any of The Smith’s songs (incredible, really).

Make them suddenly have a desire to destroy themselves, an idealised fascination with something strange such as wanting to see red on themselves or want to feel the raw bones in their hand.

A tad bit of insanity is always wonderful. Truly.

ANYHOO if anyone needs help to think of a plot for their story or fanfic please feel free to request me, I have dozens of theories and ideas of how to not only make a believable thing but also an interesting character and truly effective hurt! I insist, I can help!

[silkendandelion]

Million Dollar Baby (completed), A One Piece fanfiction

Sir Crocodile x OC (male) Words: 40.8k Genre: Comedy, drama, smut, fluff

Summary: A (very) loose adaptation of Pretty Woman (1990), where Crocodile and River (Mirage In The Desert) make a deal: six days, six-thousand dollars. Everything appears to be business as usual, but neither of them counted on love.

Rated Explicit for sexual content (Chapters 3, 6, 12), brief moments of violence and threats of bodily harm. Reader discretion is advised for mature themes and strong language. Rating changes published per chapter.

Cross-posted to ao3, same username, here. Thank you for reading! And as always, please enjoy. <3

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15

[demonskiss]

Masterlist

☁️ - sfw • 🌑 - dc • ☄️ - smut • 💫 - fic • 🪐 - angst • ✨ - interaction • ☂️ - request

Multi Characters

character outline

muse feelings & indicators

multiple darlings? ☁️☂️

the college experience ☁️☂️

avoidance 🌑☄️☂️

cw: violence, threats (not to reader), gaslighting, rumor spreading, noncon touching, threats of noncon

annoyance! 🌑☄️☂️

cw: violence (to reader), implied blowjob, restraints, stalking, noncon touching

rewards for success ☁️☂️

cw: suggestive

violence is my love language 🌑☂️

cw: violence, murder, implied blood covered sex, possession

keeping your head afloat ☁️☂️

cw: manipulation, threats of rumor spreading

their types ☁️✨☂️

cw: suggestive

lingerie dress up ☄️☂️

cw: bruising, biting

too much sleep 🌑☄️☂️ (☁️ for violetta)

cw: noncon, somno, creampie, cnc, oral (reader receiving), fingering

valentine’s day ☁️☂️

cw: murder, slightly graphic gore, pda, slightly suggestive

delicacy on a silver platter ☄️☂️

cw: hybrid!reader, afab!reader w/ gn!pronouns, heat, restraints, riding, overstim, breeding, groping

shy darlings ☄️☂️

cw: afab!reader w/ no!pronouns, hair pulling, restraints, degradation, praise, overstimulation, dumbification

tsundere darling ☁️☂️

Emory

introduction

emory being bit ☁️☂️

emory with a masochistic lamb 🌑✨☂️

cw: pain play, threats of bodily harm (to reader)

emory’s lamb getting sick ☁️☂️

emory being recognized 🌑☂️

cw: bodily harm

emory’s displays of affection ☄️☂️

cw: fingering, edging

would emory let their lamb fuck them? ☄️☂️

cw: bottom!emory, penetrative sex, threats of death (to reader), biting

obedience 🌑☄️☂️

cw: dubcon, violence, begging, implied overstimulation

putting the “fun” in funeral ☁️💫

cw: mentions of previous noncon, dehumanization, threats of death to reader

Indignation 🌑☄️💫

cw: noncon, drugging, blades, threats of violence, degradation, biting, no foreplay, no aftercare

Blythe

introduction

blythe being pushed away 🌑☂️

can blythe finger you? ☄️☂️

cw: amab reader, fingering, handjob

blythe’s methods of comfort ☁️☂️

blythe being bit ☁️☂️

blythe’s cuddling and sleeping habits ☁️☂️

my world at your fingertips ☁️💫

cw: mentions of self mutilation

you miss… what now? ☄️✨☂️

cw: teasing, implied marathon sex

Violetta

introduction

violetta being drawn ☁️✨☂️

violetta and her unbearable cuteness ☁️✨

Ambrose

introduction

introducing ambrose to technology ☁️☂️

cw: suggestive

[enthblaze]

SAY LESS I'M HERE

Okay, so I call it the Universal Misplacement AU (or UMAU for short lol) and it's called that because Casey's "twin", Rose, is originally my Rise of the TMNT OC (Rise is the version that got me into TMNT) and when I started branching into other versions, I originally started with Rose dimension hopping and in the 2012 crossover, she and Casey became accidental twins because they look a lot alike and are Batshit Insane. And eventually this turned into a whole separate idea where Rose got teleported to the 2012 verse when she was pretty young and got adopted into the Jones family and was raised as Casey's twin. She's Fae, which means that a single multiverse can't have more than one of her, and her prematurely discovering her Fae magic (not that she was old enough to know what the fuck it was) is what got her to the 2012 verse.

But onto the actual AU! Rose was raised as Casey's twin sister. Those two are as thick as fucking thieves but anyone who doesn't know them might think they hate each other because bodily threats is their main love language. Their dad has made the joke about the Cain Instinct being the only instinct those two know on more than one occasion. Rose is on the boxing team in addition to Casey being on the hockey team, so the twins are athletic, reckless as hell, and bisexual (Rose is canonical, Casey is headcanon).

When Casey first starts out on being a vigilante, it does not take long for Rose to find out and she demands that she join him. So now they're badass vigilantes, Casey even snuck her a goalie mask she promptly painted pink and black to match. They have a list of plans they've labeled via the alphabet, wherein one plan aliterates with a letter of the alphabet; i.e Plan F is Fuck It, We Ball, Plan K is Keep Away, and my personal favorite, Plan M is Molotov Cocktail.

Rose's main weapon are the brass knuckles she totally didn't smuggle into her room (/sar) but has borrowed her brother's baseball bat lol.

I can't stress this enough, because i'm Emo about it; just because they threaten bodily harm and insult each other on a daily basis does not mean they don't care about and love each other to their very souls. Yk how Rose is Fae? During season 2, the closer they get the Kraang invasion, the more Rose's powers start to act up, because they're responding to her big emotions and the stress that follows. So, during the farmhouse arc, she and Casey put in a bit more effort in trying to understand her magic. And in doing so, a few days before Leo wakes up from his coma (which, idk if you've talked about Van during Leo's coma, but I would love to hear about the angst that comes with it), Rose and Casey have a very emotionally vulnerable and intimate moment in that they well and truly spill their hearts out.

Casey, to me, is a reflection of Raph in that he's a protector. This boy loves his family to point where he's willing to do Violence to keep them safe. And that includes his twin, very much so. When she gets overstimulated to the point of a meltdown, or is understimulated to the point of floating away in the clouds, he is the rock that keeps her tethered and he likes it. Because it means he can make sure she's okay that much easier.

And Rose has always been a lover. She can be as sarcastic and playfully mean and petty as she wants, she loves with everything she's got. So naturally, she reflects Casey's love for her back to him. Just like how he's always in her corner when she needs it, albeit with a remark and a smug grin she immediately wants to smack off, she will always do the same for him. She wasn't born a Jones. She chose to be a Jones. And she makes that choice every single day. Casey will always be her brother, and will always be her twin. She can't think of a thing in the world that would break that.

And. During this moment. When they are baring their souls to each other after three months of worrying about their dad and little sister, being powerless to protect their city the way they wanted and unable to help one of their friends. Rose's magic reaches toward Casey's soul, the very thing that makes him who he is. And tethers it to hers. Bonding their souls for however long they are siblings. And as a physical marker of this, cause this is a Big Fucking Deal, they are given each other's eye color on their off-side. Rose's left eye turns brown, and Casey's right eye turns blue. And now that their souls are bonded, they not only have a better connection emotionally, but magically too. Because Rose inadvertently transferred some of her Fae magic to Casey.

Which of course is used for IMMENSE chaos. Poor Leo is so tired of their shit LMAO

(Also, I have to apologize for how long this ask is LMAO I have so many thoughts and concepts but these are the big ones so far (I've got a couple of concepts in the works 👀) and i love this au sm)

"She wasn't born a Jones. She chose to be a Jones. And she makes that choice every single day."

STOP RN- THIS MADE MY HEART CLENCH /POS

I LOVE THIS AU SM ALREADY !!!

I barely know Rose and yet she's won me over. I need more Rose & Casey content. AND- I wasn't expecting magic or the Fae being brought into a 2012 au but I AM SURE HERE FOR IT- THIS IS AWESOME!!!

Oh, and never apologise btw for long asks, theyre my favourite. i loved all of this sm, and i deffo wanna see what else u got in store :]]

(and yes, ive made a few posts regarding Van during Leo's coma ahah)

Poor Leo waking up, only to be met with these two whirlwinds of chaos lmaooo XD

[devastator1775]

Their love language is threats of bodily harm and denial.

N just likes to watch before he gets his turn.

They are trying to flirt :)

N secretly likes watching when they do that.... i mean... just in case he has to stop them if they get too violent ofc 6v6;;; 👉👈

also meet lil "Sugar Cube" :D ill explain more about it... soon 9v9;;;

[reapxrs]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻

𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

FULL  NAME.    Shamira Hadar Nejem NICKNAME.   Mira, Mir, Dahlia, Dahl GENDER.    Cis woman HEIGHT. 5’7.75” AGE. 26 ZODIAC.  Sagittarius SPOKEN  LANGUAGES. English, Hebrew, ASL, some Spanish

𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

HAIR  COLOR.    black EYE  COLOR.    Dark brown SKIN  TONE.    13 BODY  TYPE.    Slim and toned, like a coiled spring. VOICE.    Higher than expected, almost melodic, surprisingly quick to laugh, unsurprisingly quick to turn harsh. DOMINANT  HAND.    Right POSTURE.    A constant challenge; shoulders back, chin up, arms crossed or hands in her pockets. Her weight is almost always on her toes, ready to run. SCARS.    A faded blotch on her inner right arm where she got burnt with candle wax as a child TATTOOS.    Scythe on left shoulder, handle stretching half to her elbow, a faded black band around her left ring finger, Calla’s full name in Hebrew over her heart, ‘tikkun olam motherfucker’ on her right forearm BIRTHMARKS.    none MOST  NOTICEABLE  FEATURE(S).   freckles. Her wife certainly loves them.

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 !

PLACE  OF  BIRTH.   NYC HOMETOWN.   Williamsburg, Brooklyn SIBLINGS. Uriah Nejem, younger brother. PARENTS.   Adara Nejem, mother. Mikhael Nejem, father.

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 !

OCCUPATION.   Manager (paper-wranglerer) for her and Calla’s mechanic shop. CURRENT  RESIDENCE.  Spacious 2-bedroom condo above the shop. CLOSE  FRIENDS.   Freesia, Daisy. RELATIONSHIP  STATUS.  Married to Calla FINANCIAL  STATUS.     If anything happened to Rose’s money, she and Calla could support themselves on their income, but it wouldn’t be terribly comfortable. DRIVER’S  LICENSE.  Yes CRIMINAL  RECORD.   Under her name, disturbing the peace. Not under her name, threat of bodily harm, assault, destruction of property. VICES.   Homemade sufganiyot.

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 !

SEXUAL  ORIENTATION. Wibbly-wobbly. PREFERRED  EMOTIONAL  ROLE. submissive |  dominant  | switch. PREFERRED  SEXUAL  ROLE.    submissive  | dominant|  switch. LIBIDO.    Generally low, but easy to ignite. TURN  ONS.    Her wife being affectionate, Very Good Food, when her wife (and most people, but specifically her wife) wear work coveralls tied at her waist TURN  OFFS.     Antisemitism, bigotry in general, mansplaining LOVE  LANGUAGE.  receiving gifts RELATIONSHIP  TENDENCIES.    Well, she’s married, and Calla’s been her only real relationship, so.

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 !

CHARACTER’S  THEME  SONG.   “Vox Populi”, 30 Seconds to Mars HOBBIES  TO  PASS TIME. She’ll people-watch from the garage office and sketch those who catch her attention. It’s very loose and sketchy, but recognizable. MENTAL  ILLNESSES. Genetic PTSD LEFT  OR  RIGHT  BRAINED.     Fairly even PHOBIAS. Young white men in loose coats, older white men in ballcaps and/or camo print. SELF  CONFIDENCE  LEVEL.  Fairly high, but not so she’s full of herself. VULNERABILITIES.    Calla, Daisy, Freesia, her beliefs.

[lxclerc]

𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐜𝐥𝟏𝟔

SUMMARY: in which your secret relationship with charles leclerc comes to light all because of a shirt. REQUEST: here PAIRING: verstappen!sister x charles leclerc WARNING: none. fluff. maybe some slight threats of bodily harm but it’s all in good fun. probably badly translated french and dutch.

masterlist

The first time you met Charles was an accident. You were drunk and you’ve lost your brother in the sea of people, shivering from the cold air of the outdoor after party, your dress definitely far too short and far too revealing for the european winds. 

You’re gripping a drink in your hand, attempting to hold it properly in your incoherent state as your eyes search the sea of people for Max. in your confusion and alcohol ridden state, you hadn’t noticed the chest in front of you, barreling towards it. Thankfully, unlike the cliche, your drink hadn’t spilled on his shirt but rather just the floor but as you faced him, white dress shirt covering his toned body, you almost wished it had spilled on him just to give you a reason to suggest taking his shirt off. 

“Het spijt me zo,” you said immediately, not even realizing that you’ve switched to your mother tongue in your drunken state. I’m so sorry.

The man before you stared at you for a few seconds, his brain trying to register the words. He too has had a few drinks though definitely not as drunk as you and he wonders if you’re speaking another language and talking gibberish. “Huh?”

Your cheeks colored red. “Oh um. I said I’m sorry.” There’s a slight accent to your words, similar to Max’s but a little thicker.

His face lit up as he smiled. “Oh, it’s okay. Are you alright?”

You noticed his very evident french accent, making you want to groan. You’ve never considered accents attractive till you heard him talk. But you’re sure he’s a driver because you’ve seen his face around before but with the alcohol flowing through your body, you can’t seem to recall his name. 

“Yes,” you say, voice slurring a little. “I’m looking for my brother. Do you happen to know where Max is?” 

“Oh, um…” he looked around, trying to spot the red bull driver to know avail. “Last I saw him, he was with his girlfriend. I think they may have left.”

It’s ridiculous you think. The party is for Max and his newest win and yet somehow he’s missing it. You rolled your eyes. Typical of him to forget all about you. “I’m going to kill him.”

“I can take you to your hotel if you want,” he offered. 

“You’re a driver,” you accused, eyes narrowed. “You probably shouldn’t be drinking and driving.” 

The man before you laughed and you tried not to stare at the way his smile lit up his face. You almost think it’s illegal for that kind of attractive to be walking around like nothing. “The hotel is walking distance from here, love.” 

Oh. Right. You’d also walked on your way here earlier with Max and Kelly. Even from where you stand now, you can see the outline of the fancy building. “Well then I accept your offer.” 

“Let me just say bye to my friends.” He smiles at you again and you resist telling him not to because his smile makes you feel tingles all over your body. 

You nod, following him to their table where you saw the other F1 drivers standing around, some you recognized, some not but if you had been sober, you’d probably be able to recite all of their names. 

“Mate,” he calls to one. You recognize him as Pierre Gasly only because a friend of yours from back home insists he’s the most attractive driver. “Je retourne à l'hôtel. Je vous verrai demain.” I’m heading back to the hotel. I’ll see you tomorrow.

You chew on your bottom lip. Speaking French has never sounded hotter than it did now. 

Pierre Gasly looked at you, giving you a smile before turning back to his friend and saying something to which the man you were with rolled his eyes at before turning back to you, his easy going smile plastered on his face. 

“I’m Charles, by the way,” he tells you once you’re away from the noisy crowd. 

Your relationship with Charles was almost instantaneous, the connection between the two of you coming out of nowhere. He asked you out the next day of your second meeting, with you recruiting Kelly to distract Max for the night so you can leave and him taking you to a fancy dinner where he made corny pick up lines that had you giggling over the champagne. 

The first time he kissed you, it was on a dock in Monaco, his lips softly touching yours till you muttered kiss me properly and pulled as his shirt, making Charles grin in the kiss as he felt you closer to his body. The first time you said I love you, it was under the blanket with a hoarse voice, trying to hide the fact that you’re terrified he might not say it back.

The next day after that, he said I love you ten more times. He said it as a hello, over a cup of tea, on a sunny monday morning with the sunlight glowing on his hair, as a thank you, as an apology when he accidentally got your order wrong, as a good morning, with a shuddering gasp, in a text, a whisper in your ear as they passed by each other and loud in the hotel room with feats of giggles.

You often bicker back and forth with you resulting back to dutch and him to French till everyone is staring at the two of you and you are laughing, already forgetting what it was you were arguing about. But whereas you both absolutely loved to talk, sharing the smallest details of your day over calls and facetimes, you also enjoyed the silence. You enjoyed just sitting on his couch as you read a book and he watches the TV or plays the piano, not speaking a word. 

But you kept it a secret. At first, it was because you were still getting to know each other, wanting to be sure before you let anyone know and wanting to reduce awkward encounters in case it didn’t work out. And then it became something sacred that you selfishly wanted to keep to yourself. You liked the thrill of sneaking into each other's hotel rooms and flying city to city. You loved hushed voices during calls and seeing everyone ask him if he’s single and him answering no then wink at the camera. 

Apart from that, you know your brother. You know he can be quick tempered and extreme, oftentimes overprotective as he believes it’s his duty as your older brother to look out for you. You know he’d make a bigger deal out of it than it should be and you’d really rather not have to deal with that. 

The first two days before summer break and mid season, some of the drivers decided to go on a much needed joint ski holiday, renting out a massive cabin. It would only be for two days for the rest of them but you and Charles had already booked it for another week, telling Max some lie about meeting your friend in London or something of the sorts. 

The drivers, consisting of Charles, Max, Daniel, Pierre, Carlos and George along with their girlfriends. Max hadn’t even wanted to come but you insisted under the false pretense of needing to bond with his ‘coworkers’. Thankfully, Kelly, your lord and savior at this point, more than happily backed you up. 

And so here you were, tangled up in Charles’ room as the sunlight tickled in, the covers tightly wrapped around the mess of limbs the two of you had become. From downstairs, you can hear some of the others already talking among themselves, making you groan as you check at the clock. In your opinion, seven in the morning is far too early for the entire cabin to already be awake.

“How are they already up?” You complained, pressing your cold feet against his leg, making Charles let out a small gasp from the sudden chill it brought. 

“Most of them probably trained,” he muttered, his arms around your waist pulling you closer to his chest. “Retournons nous coucher, ma chérie.” Let’s go back to bed, darling. 

“Still can’t speak French, love, but I need to go back to my own room before Max comes barging in.”

“Let him.”

You smiled at his sleepy state, gently pushing his hair back. “As fun as that would be, I’d rather not he see me naked in your bed.”

A lazy grin pulled at his lips. “I think it’s a rather beautiful sight, do you not?” 

“For you perhaps but I'm not in the business of traumatizing my brother.” You work to pull yourself out of his embrace, laughing as he groans. Grabbing the first shirt you find on the floor and your pajamas from the night before, you kiss him with a promise of seeing him later before sneaking out of his room.

You ran your hand through your hair, not bothering to go to your own room and instead choosing to have coffee first before breakfast. There you find Max, Daniel, Pierre and Carlos in their workout clothes dripping with sweat. Kelly and Isabel, Carlos’ girlfriend, are also there, still in their pajamas much like you are. 

“Morning,” you greet, grabbing a cup of coffee as you take your place with the two women. “How are you guys up at this hour?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Isa mutters, complaining along. “We could all still be happily sleeping right now.”

“Is that your shirt?” Max asks, breaking the conversation as he eyed the oversize white shirt you wore, some french artist printed on it. 

“It looks familiar, no?” Pierre adds, eyeing your shirt as well as he tries to remember when he had last seen it. 

You try not to choke on your coffee as you swallow. “Oh, um…yeah, it’s my shirt. Found it in a thrift store in Monaco.” You’re quite proud of your quick thinking and spontaneous lie till Carlos spoke up.

“Really? I think I saw Charles wearing–” 

At that exact moment, Charles entered the kitchen, completely shirtless. “Hey guys, did you see my lucky shirt? I think I left it here while watching a movie last night—”

He trailed off as he noticed everyone staring at him, your red face hidden behind a glass of coffee, his shirt proudly hanging off your body. The others were quick to piece it together, bursting out laughing. 

“Think we figured it out, mate,” Carlos teases, placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. But your brother seems to be at a loss for words. 

“Did you guys only figure it out now?” Daniel asked them incredulously. “Found them making out in a hotel hallway in Bahrain.” 

“Leclerc,” your brother finally speaks up, glaring at Charles. “You have ten.”

Charles turned to you in question but you only shrugged. “Ten what, mate?” 

“...nine, eight, seven…”

“Babe,” you call, unable to stop the grin pulling at your lips at the sudden panic in Charles’ face. “I think it’s time to run.” 

“...six, five…”

Charles stared at Max for half a second as if asking him if he’s serious but when Max doesn’t stop, he decides it’s time to dash for his life. 

“Mate, mate!” He screams as Max follows him, causing another round of laughter to erupt. “Let’s talk about this!” 

“My sister?! Really?! How long has this been going on?"

From your seat next to the girls, you calmly drank your coffee. "About sixteen months."

Max's jaw fell, his face seemingly getting angrier. "Sixteen months?! Leclerc, you little piece of shit!"

"Oh trust me, there's definitely nothing little about him."

As the other drivers once again burst out laughing, Max and Charles froze on their spots, Max looking as though he wants to throw up and Charles staring at you in disbelief.

"Y/N!" He screamed. "Do you want me to die?!"

"Leclerc, you better hope I don't catch you or else zal ik je vermoorden in koude bloede." I will murder you in cold blood.

[holdmeiamscared]

literally crawling out of a cave to obsess over the homelander like jesus 😮‍💨

anyways, here’s a story idea. long winded bullshit below the cut baby. (~3k words)

OMNIPOTENT— homelander x reader

⚠️: pre-season one, CANON DIVERGENCE, reader has a potty mouth, threats of bodily harm, reader is the guardian of their nephew (who is named in the fic), reader’s whole immediate family (minus their nephew) is deceased, mentions of brutal murder (it’s homelander— what were you expecting), homelander is his own warning, sexual intercourse— fem bodied reader, praise, homelander’s mommy kink (he never refers to them as mommy but if you look close enough it’s implied), reader is mouthy, homelander is literally obsessed, and reader is dangerously horny for him.

literally need a story about homelander meeting you, a lowly employee of Vought, likely a cleaner—someone nobody looks twice at.

you’re just determined to keep your head down, mind your business, get your paycheck and go home to care for your sweet nephew, the only thing that means anything to you anymore.

and it’s just a case of wrong place, wrong time.

you hear him before you see him, tearing into that poor Ashley girl— part of you freezes up, and you consider turning heel, but nevertheless, you have to pass. you’ll be quick, you reassure yourself— you take off, your shoes slapping the tiles as you pick up your pace, determined to not make any contact with them.

it doesn’t work. of course it doesn’t fucking work.

the sharp, “you! come here!” is enough to make you flee, but you don’t want any problems. especially not with homelander, the pretentious jackass that might as well be signing your fucking paychecks.

you turn your head, contemplating making a break for it, but you don’t— you stand steady, staring at the scene before you. your gaze flickers from the greatest hero’s tacky uniform, to the quivering redhead in front of him.

your hesitation is more enough to throw him back into a rage, “are you fucking deaf? or just stupid? i said come here!”

now, you normally consider yourself level— calm, but after the shit day you’ve had, you can feel the frustration bubbling in your chest until you’re sure you’ll burst, “not deaf or dumb, sir. just busy— some of us are more than just a pretty fuckin’ face around here.”

your life flashes before your eyes when your gaze evens with eyes that are supposed to be sky blue.

but your nerve isn’t quite gone— the face of your sweet boy flashes a warning in your mind. you can’t leave him all alone.

your lips curl into a snear, pretty features hidden behind that mean look you’d mastered at a young age— so much for not wanting problems. he doesn’t speak again, and you turn, hastily continuing on your way.

you panic the moment you round the corner, almost expecting the homelander to follow and rip your spine out in some sort of real life fucking horror movie.

your chest heaves as you try to calm your breathing, but your mind replays the fear in Ashley’s eyes, making your attempts to calm yourself futile.

no matter how many times you imagine her face— you can’t distinguish if she was scared for herself, or for you.

————

you see homelander in person again the next day, and it’s more pleasant than the first time— but that’s likely because he doesn’t speak to you.

your nephew, Jax, is hanging on tightly to your hand as you make your way to the exit of Vought. he’s fresh back from his crackhead mother’s house, and you’re just more than excited to just take him back home.

the feeling that settles in your chest when you look down at him is soft— it’s love. your boy is the only reason you know what love is.

and you can’t help it— you’re scooping him up before you can stop yourself. he’s far too big for you to carry like a toddler, now at the ripe age of eight, but you don’t think that would ever stop you.

you can hear his protesting already, almost like he knows what your planning just by the change in your body language, but it’s far too late— you’re already kissing at the chub of his cheeks, until he’s squealing, “stop! stop! you’re embarrassing me!”

people are staring, homelander among them— but you’ve never cared about the stares, and since Jax thinks you’re being so embarrassing, you might as well play it up a bit, “oh! my baby! my babbyyyy! my sweet, sweet boy!” you nuzzle at him, whole body shivering with restrained giggles.

Jax is trying to wiggle out of your grip with more determination now, and when you finally release him, he’s staring up at you with that mean smolder you know he got from you, “that wasn’t funny.”

you gaze around the lobby, tensing when you notice the azure eyes— watching you like the big, gaudy eagles on his shoulders, but you try not to let it faze you— and you turn back to Jax, smiling easily, all teeth and saccharine love, “i thought it kinda was, shithead.”

your thumb trails along Jax’s forehead, pressing away the frown in his brow, tenderness in every movement, “you ready to get outta here or what?”

if you would have looked at homelander for just a second longer, maybe you would have noticed how longing his gaze had turned.

————

now, it’s been five days since your first encounter with homelander, and something is wrong.

you can feel him, even when you can’t see him— he’s watching you. he’s watching you do your mundane tasks at Vought, and you’re getting increasingly more irate with each passing day.

some days he’s more bold with his stalking. you’ll catch a glimpse of that stupid cape rounding the corner in front of you, hear the sound of his thunderous footsteps, smell the lingering cologne in the hallway.

other days, you never see him, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t there. you know he is— just watching.

on the sixth day, you lose all sense of logic and every bit of your common sense, “don’t you have anything fuckin’ better to do? you’re the homelander for fuck’s sake— go save a cat or something.”

you pause for a second, maybe he was right— you are just stupid.

he’s in front of you before you can blink again. all long limbs, broad shoulders, pretty eyes, pearly teeth— and malice.

you hold you ground, even though your heart has pittered it’s way out your ass. you swallow thickly at the sharp, false grin that pulls at his lips, “you’re a real mouthy bitch— you know that, right?”

you pause, weighing your options, watching his hand unfurl from a fist— he could crush your goddamn skull right now; but foolishly, you don’t think he will, “really? i didn’t know.”

he closes the distance between the two of you— and it strikes you deep in your gut, a pull you haven’t felt since your last shitty high school boyfriend— the homelander smells so fucking good.

“you should watch your tongue— it would be a shame if someone had to fucking rip it out.”

you should be scared— terrified, but he’s so close and you’re so lonely.

he catches your gaze, and when he realized the patter of your heart isn’t from fear anymore—his grin loses all of its smug meanness. then, as if to prove his point— to confirm what he’s sure he already knows, his hand grips at your throat— squeezing until you wheeze and the leather of his glove squeaks a noise similar to the one falling from your parted lips— but you don’t waver.

he’s gone as quickly as he appeared.

the homelander thinks you’re fucking insane.

he likes that.

————

the next few weeks go the same way.

homelander watches you, and some sick part of you starts to enjoy it. part of you is still weary, of course. this man could crush your windpipe, fold you up like a piece of human origami, snap every bone in your body with probably just his fucking pinky— and that was just if you looked at him the wrong way.

it was not the brightest idea to interact with him the way you were, but your need for adult interaction always seemed to triumph over your fear of what he could do to you.

you’ve even started talking to him— like he’s your friend. the dumb part of you argues he is.

your conversations are small things that probably have no meaning to him, but you don’t care— it helps placate your burning loneliness, even if everything you say is met with a response that makes rage burn your belly.

you talk about how Jax won his spelling bee ( “probably not that hard to win, kids are fucking stupid anyways.”), about how the shutters of your shitty old house are falling off ( “maybe you should get a new fuckin’ house then— oh right, you work a shitty job, with shitty pay. you couldn’t afford a new house. how thoughtless of me.”), how hard it is being on your own ( “poor little you, huh? no friends, no family— pathetic little life for a pathetic little bitch.”)

you know he doesn’t know how to interact with a normal person— so you let the comments slide. they hurt less when you realize he doesn’t really mean it.

he talks back to you though, which is still the most surprising part of your almost friendship.

he follows you through the halls, dark eyes watching your every move— and he tells you about his shitty teammates, about missions he probably shouldn’t, about how sometimes he hates having to be Vought’s face, about how sometimes he wishes he grew up with a real family.

that’s how you know he must be lonely too— he spends his spare time talking to a fucking nobody.

and of course, he’s met Jaxon, who you have to say, was utterly unimpressed during the whole encounter, at least until the homelander dropped that fake ‘greatest hero’ bullshit. (Jaxon told you once you were safe at home that he liked homelander— you couldn’t admit it then, but you wanted to tell him— you liked homelander too).

part of homelander wants to dislike Jaxon because he gets the part of you that John craves, but with each interaction, homelander realizes that the kid has wormed way under his fucking skin, the same way you have.

he knows it’s because Jaxon is a mirror image of you— a goddamn smartass with an attitude that’s too big for their body.

seeing homelander’s awkward interactions with Jax is what makes you realize you do, in fact, have a thing for him.

part of you considers him a friend, part of you is scared shitless of him, and the other, final part of you, well it wants to fuck him.

you are definitely just stupid.

————

at the end of the third month of your weird almost friendship, something strange happens— you don’t come to work.

the first day, homelander can put it off as you being sick, you’re a frail little human, after all.

then suddenly, it’s been a week, and the feeling in his stomach is like hot coal— what if you aren’t safe? what about that little shit Jaxon? (homelander knew he should have followed you home when he had the chance.)

you return the following week, but you don’t engage him like normal. no sly comments, no talking, nothing. you barely spare him a fucking glance.

you’re dancing on his last goddamn nerve, and homelander decides quickly— you have to talk to him, or he’ll make you.

when he corners you the following day, leering down at you—big, mean, and demanding you tell him what happened, you crumble.

you’re the most pitiful thing he has ever seen, teary eyed and clinging to his biceps like a lifeline.

you tell him how Jax got hurt. you tell him how it’s your fault, how you shouldn’t have let him go stay with his coke-whore of a mother, and how now Jaxon was paying for your lapse of judgment with a broken arm.

then, the real waterworks start when you tell him the cherry on top of this clusterfuck is that the cops can’t even find the men that did it, and Jaxon can’t sleep because he’s too worried they’ll come back.

the homelander’s hands tighten on your waist one you finish your story, fingers digging in hard enough you’re sure it’ll bruise. his jaw clenches next, and suddenly, it’s almost like he’s looking through you rather than at you— he’s upset, but you can’t tell why.

he snaps out of it as quickly as it happened, grip loosening, eyes focused back on your weepy expression.

the homelander isn’t very good with comfort, so when he speaks, it’s followed by his gloved fingers moving to wipe at the wet under your eyes, which almost makes up for what falls from his mouth, “stop crying. you look ugly.”

you hand slaps at his solid chest in a teasing motion, a wet chuckle pulling from your scratchy throat and you gaze up at him, that same fondness he’s seen you look at Jax with marring your features, “i missed you, you jackass.”

he missed you too.

————

that very night— the cops show up on your doorstep.

they’ve found the men, and they’re all dead.

every last one of them, battered beyond recognition— the cops even think some of them got hit by a truck. it’s crazy how brutally they died— one of them was even split in half.

they don’t want to show you the pictures for confirmation, but you insist. it’s every bit as gory as you thought it would be— blood, bones, and insides spewed all over the pavement.

some sick part of you likes it.

you’re glad they’re fucking dead, and you hope they suffered.

Jax gets his first full night of sleep after you tell him that he’s finally safe, and while you sit, just watching him finally rest— you swear you catch a flash of the American flag passing by the window.

————

in the morning— for the first time probably ever, you seek out the homelander first.

you find him easily— he’s standing in the seven’s main meeting room, looking down at the street, like he always does. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t turn to address or acknowledge you— so you decide to talk first, “you killed them?”

he stiffens, but doesn’t answer. your heart skips a beat.

it’s all the confirmation you need, but you’re itching to hear him say it.

homelander fears you’ll hate him for what he’s done, and he stands steadily listening to the quick bump of your heart, “John— did you kill them?”

he turns at the sound of his name, looking almost like a scolded child, like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “they hurt Jaxon.”

he watches your chest heave— fearing that you’ll start screaming at any moment, then his gaze drops to your fiddling fingers— like he’s waiting for you to scold him.

you step closer, close enough for your scent to travel, and his gaze snaps back to your face, searching for confirmation.

you smell like you’re soaking your fucking panties right now.

“you killed them for Jax?”

you’re swallowing the ‘yes’ from his tongue before it even leaves his mouth. you’re desperate— hands pawing at any part of him you can reach, mouth stealing every bit of air from his lungs and mouthing it back to him in a quiet, whimpered ‘thank you.’

it’s not long after that, he’s settled in his chair at the end of the table with you perched in his lap. you’re sure you shouldn’t be doing this now— here, but it’s too late.

your shirt up is to your shoulders, homelander mouthing at your nipples through the irritating fabric left there— pleading with you quietly, “please— please. just want a taste.”

it sends a rush of power to your head, and your hips rock a jerky tempo against his pelvis until he’s moaning your name. you could fucking get off on the way he sounds alone— the fucking homelander, whining a pitiful little symphony just to suck at your tits.

he could take you now if he wanted to— you know he is more than capable of it. he could take what he wants easily, but instead— he’s asking you to give it to him. it makes heat fog up your brain in a way you can’t explain.

you give in to him easily, without a second thought.

it’s not long after that you’re split open on his cock, saccharine insides blooming open against the press of him at your fucking cervix. there are better places to do this, but you feel so omnipotent with each drop of your hips against his.

it’s so good— so fucking good that you can’t think of anything other than the feeling of his mouth pressing at the peak of your breasts, the tight grip of his leather-clad hands at your hips, the way he keens your name when you shift at just the right angle— christ you’re going to walk funny for a week.

some part of you knows he needs it, so you begin cooing sweetly into the top of his head, his whines of agreement muffled by the flesh of your chest, each followed by a sharp movement of your hips, “such a good boy f’ me, John.”

“love the way your mouth feels on my tits, sweet boy.”

“my baby is so brave, huh? takin’ care of those mean men f’ me, yeah?”

the way his hips rock up into yours at the praise, the rut of his flesh into yours hard enough you’ll bruise, means he likes it more than he’ll ever admit.

and as you watch John come deep enough in you it warms up your insides— deep enough you swear you can feel it in your tummy, a part of you whispers that this was a mistake. this relationship is more than you can handle.

after you’ve both settled, still connected in the most intimate way— your hands begin to brush through his hair, pondering where you would go from here.

you look down at him, worries quieting almost instantly. you can’t help but grin at how sweet he looks, nuzzled up to your bare breasts.

the moment is gone when his hands tighten against your hips— you fear he wants to fuck you again.

part of you lights up with need at the very thought, but the more reasonable part of you knows he’ll ruin your insides if you let him.

your thoughts are, again, cut short.

John tugs at a lock of your hair, pulling your attention to him.

he’s peering up at you from his spot on your chest, and you realize his eyes are sharp, the meanness you’ve grown used to mingling with the sky blue, reminding you of a storm rolling in, “you and Jax— you’ll never leave me, right?”

it’s a loaded question, and your heart jumps to your throat, but the smile you force is easy, that sweetness he craves marring your pretty features, “of course not John, you couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”

your words are followed by a lingering kiss to his false smile, and when he speaks again, that terror you felt at your first encounter rolls heavy down your spine, “good. that’s good, honey. i was scared i would have to lock you both up.”

all you feel is dread, itching it’s way through your brain until it burns.

he knows you’re scared— he can smell it. but you have to know, he’d never hurt you unless you made him.

you, him, and Jaxon— the perfect little family. homelander would do anything for you, for Jaxon. you’re all he has.

the rush of blood in your ears is all you can hear. the trepidation— the fear of what he can do, what he will do— is deafening.

this is all your fault— he’s had you once, and now, he’ll never let you go.

god— what the fuck have you done?

(PART TWO)