Palestinians Don’t Have Basic Humanitarian Supplies. No Food Or Clean Water And The Israeli Army Is

b.jy ⪼ like a virgin

♡ pairing : bae joonyoung x male reader

♡ genre : suggestive, was going for an early 2000s mean girls au (idfk)

♡ word count : 616

♡ synopsis : m/n's a slut and jacob's a virgin. perfect combo.

♡ warning : explicit language, public blowjob

M/n likes dick. Everyone knew that, and he whole’s no shame about it. M/n’s a himbo, handsome, even beautiful, but incredibly stupid and gullible, which is why he ended up where he is.

Rich, stupid, and being sucked off on the hood of a car in a parking lot while everyone else was far off in the distance sharing milkshakes and curly fries at the shiny 24-hour dinner.

He’s not ashamed, he’s conceited, and if he gets a chance he’ll never say no to a bit of sucky-suck from someone as cute as the novice doing it now, Jacob Bae. Jacob was the adorable, quiet kid in M/n’s friend group.

On any other day, M/n would’ve just ignored the kid. But watching Jacob suck his vanilla milkshake, looking up at M/n through his eyelashes while he whipped the corners of his mouth from an overspill, and like the excess from his finger, he just couldn’t resist.

No one knows they’re out there. M/n made the excuse of going to smoke and Jacob said he would relocate the car closer just in case the group decided to get a little buzzed from the bar.

Swaying his hips side to side, M/n practically sashayed to the bubblegum pink Porsche which was unfortunately not his, but his sister’s. Jacob followed behind, looking behind him every two seconds as he stuffed his sweaty hands in his back pockets.

M/n looked like a fake jockish doll, he always wore “aesthetics” that didn’t define himself. Low-rise jeans, a varsity jacket that he stole from one of their friends to cover his bare shoulders when the rest of his torso was naked, and sunglasses pushed up on his head.

He was chewing gum, looking up and down at Jacob’s awkward shifting side-to-side stance. “C’mere,” M/n orders, crossing his arms across his chest, almost as if he was impatient. Jacob drags his feet close to M/n, but not close enough.

M/n pulls him closer by his waist, “If you gonna stand there like a fish out of water, maybe we shouldn’t do this.” Jacob refrains from commenting on M/n’s incorrect use of that idiom, partly because he’s too embarrassed to speak up.

M/n was almost like the God of the group. He had control over everything and everyone. He’s like a Siren, luring people in just to suck their souls out. Literally.

M/n hooks his fingers in the loops of Jacob’s jeans, he looks down at Jacob with puppy eyes. “Come then, suck me up like that milkshake, yeah?”

Jacob swallows thickly at M/n’s blunt order, he’s terrified. More so scared of doing something wrong, since, well, he’s a virgin. Of course, no one in the groups knows this since it’s assumed that Jacob had his fair share of booty calls from his ex, Kevin.

No one knows those “booty calls” was just drunk debating about milk bags and stuff like that. He did try to initiate something with Kevin, but he declined saying he didn’t need sex for affection. Ironic, because his defense for leaving Jacob was that he wasn’t very affectionate.

But M/n could beg to differ. With Jacob between his legs in those few minutes, gripping his thighs with one hand and the other playing toying with M/n’s hole. It was the best blowjob of his life, covering his mouth to hide his moans from the world.

When it was over, M/n and Jacob returned to the dinner separately. But M/n couldn’t get Bae Jacob out of his mind. Those were no virgin lips, and M/n would make sure of it.

dealing with the worst case scenario

your condom breaks

you feel a lump on your breast

your friends are ignoring you

you’re stranded on an island 

you got rejected by a crush

you get into a car accident

you got stung by a bee/wasp

you got fired from your job

you’re in an earthquake

your tattoo gets infected

your house is on fire

you’re lost in the woods

you get arrested abroad

you get robbed

your partner cheated on you

you’re on a ship that’s sinking

you fall into ice

you’re stuck in an elevator

you hit a deer with your car

you have food poisoning

your pet passed away

you fall off of a horse

you or your friend has alcohol poisoning

you have toxic shock syndrome

your house has a gas leak

*Waves awkwardly at you*

*Waves awkwardly back*

nom nom

Bedtime. 

I love this so much!

All’s Fair In Love and War

Summary:

“How would you like it if someone told you to stop sleeping around like the manwhore that you are?” He jabs back. Your hand goes to his face; roses wind up your arm, and the thorns prick at his skin as they come up to your fingers, “We may be lovers, darling, but need I remind you I won’t hesitate to strangle you,” you darkly tell him, stroking his cheek. “Oh, my poor sweet darling,” you coo, voice changing tone; Homelander’s body grows lax, and the rose on your hand puffs out a cloud of spores.

Pairings:

Homelander x Gender Neutral!Reader

Tags:

Deity AU | Ares!Homelander | Aphrodite!Reader | Ares/Aphrodite Inspired | Not Myth Accurate | Headcanons

Words: 2122

Author's Note:

I was curious, and I went through the Homelander tag and as it turns out there are apparently no male!reader or gender neutral!reader fics so I decided I might as well have a go at writing for the homicidal superman. This fic is inspired by the Ares & Aphrodite myth, which I took some ✨liberties✨ with.

So, how does the god of love end up with the god of war? Simple, Vought had decided the best way to appease the gods was to hold a feast and celebration in their name; naturally, John’s offering was violent. Yours, on the other hand, was quite interesting; two lovers dedicated themselves to you and, in their commitment, offered their blood as a seal of their devotion and then proceeded to use said blood to paint your insignia before dying from blood loss. Not sure what went through his head when he saw you smile at that, but he was down, scared, horny, and in love.

Tonight, the gods spend time mingling with the mortals, well, more like among them, as the humans stare at them all in awe, the humans looking up at the tall encompassing gods. Barely any of them spoke, but Homelander wasn’t paying any attention to that. His eyes were on you; you sat surrounded by several humans, lounging back as they brought you offering after offering. 

He decides to take the approach with the offerings; he sifts through the objects lying around; when none satisfy him, he moves to going through the humans waiting in line to see you; he steals finds a hand-tailored silk scarf, a hand-sized marble sculpture, and a handful of handcrafted jewels. He also cuts in line, dropping his ‘gifts’ in your lap.

“Stealing from my devotees, quite a boisterous move, warbringer,” you say to him, inspecting the statue. It was built in your likeness, painted colorfully, and detailed with small jewels. You beckon the sculptor forward, blessing her and then the others he stole from, before turning your attention to John. You beckon him forward, and he happily comes close; you hold his chin, “So then, Homelander, what can I do for you?”

You fuck, like he grabs your arm, and the two of you go and fuck behind the temple.

Given Homelander’s personality, and yours, the two of you have a strange relationship; you’re both rather possessive of the other, you much less and more subtle and equally prone to jealousy. The gods don’t care much; Vought doesn’t like it, but what are they going to do against the gods and the average mortals? They like it. When Homelander is busy with you, there’s less war because he’s focused on sex.

Let’s go back to that jealousy thing; there are two notable moments for both sides. For Homelander, it was the time a mortal prayed you would marry them; the town they lived in got leveled by a series of attacks until there was nothing left. For you, it was the time - correction multiple times - his little devotees tried to undermine you; note to self, nothing speaks divine retribution like a god striking you with death.

It gets the message across, but there’s also the fact that gods tend to have egos, so two gods who like each other but also have egos, that’s quite the combo. One moment you’re lovey-dovey; the next, one of you is threatening to kill the other, but if we compare other godly couples in mythology - ✨Dapne the naiad having her river-god father turn her into a tree so she could avoid Apollo✨or ✨Hera trying to kill off a lot of Zeus’ bastard children✨ or ✨any other Greek Myth at this point✨- technically, you guys are pretty normal 💀.

There’s a loud crash outside your temple, followed by the screams of your worshippers as they run off at the sound of Homelander’s anger. You roll your eyes, “If you kill another one of my worshippers, I’ll skewer you with your own weapons.”

He rushed in not long after, throwing his helmet by the door, pulling at his hair as you recline back in your long chair. He throws his hands in the air while grumbling to himself. 

“So then, what's got you angry today?” you ask. 

“The other gods want me to cease my duties, per Vought’s request,” he replies, “apparently, war makes it harder for humans.” He mutters the word humans with disgust, mimicking air quotes as he mocks what he was told. 

“Well, I must agree with them,” you start; Homelander rushed forward, hands coming beside your head as his eyes glow red. “Now, now dear, at least hear me out before you try and kill me.” His eyes lose their red tint, “Thank you, as I was saying, war may be fun for you, but for the mortals down there, it’s quite the hassle. You know, considering a lot of them die.”

Homelander’s face pinched in irritation, “I’m the god of war; what else am I supposed to do?! Hold their hands?!”

“Dearest, you are far too angry over this.”

“How would you like it if someone told you to stop sleeping around like the manwhore that you are?” He jabs back.

Your hand goes to his face; roses wind up your arm, and the thorns prick at his skin as they come up to your fingers, “We may be lovers, darling, but need I remind you I won’t hesitate to strangle you,” you darkly tell him, stroking his cheek. “Oh, my poor sweet darling,” you coo, voice changing tone; Homelander’s body grows lax, and the rose on your hand puffs out a cloud of spores.

He becomes putty in your hands, “I hate it when you do that,” he mutters, dropping on top of you; you run your hands through his hair as his voice drawls out into nonsensical mumbles.

“No, you don’t; you love it, don’t you, darling?” He shudders in your grip, and you move around the long chair, “Lie back, relax,” your voice commands, “let me show you some love.” 

As the god of love, you do have the underlying power of control and persuasion; it’s akin to having someone give you their full devotion, and believe you me, that power comes in handy when Homelander’s being a little shit. It also comes in handy in other places, but I’ll leave that to your imagination.

Like Aphrodite, there was talk of you marrying Hephaestus; unlike the original myths, there was interference. Homelander threatened to level whole cities if that happened; when the gods laughed it off, he did just that, managed to get through two cities before they called it off. The mortals were not happy; a few stopped giving him offerings but returned pretty soon when you persuaded them. A few of them, the Boys, as they call themselves, started desecrating Homelander’s temples, and boy, oh boy, if he wasn’t mad before, he certainly was now.

“Don’t,” you order, but his anger overwhelms him, “Homelander!” He ignores you, grabbing his helmet and weaponry and wrapping his cape around his shoulder; vines shoot up, and flowers bloom to cage him in. “John, don’t, these are mortals, not jealous conquests, and they are angry; you hurt them, and not even my share of tributes will keep you in Olympus’ good graces.”

His eyes are glowing red, and his jaw is clenched tight, “You think I give a shit about what Olympus thinks? Not even Zeus can tell me what to do!” He stabs the vines hectically, charging forward as you chase after him. “I’m the fucking Homelander; I can do whatever I want!” His angry war cry carries out through the skies, the birds fly away in terror, and you take a breath of frustration when the sky darkens. 

“Exalted one, should I bring out the wine?” one of your attendants ask; you nod, rubbing your forehead.

“Bring out the wine, food, and some medical equipment; that idiot’s going to limp back here like the fool that he is.”

“With all due respect, exalted one, why bother with him?” she asks. You turn to her, eyes furious, and she bows low, quivering, as she repeatedly apologizes, “Forgive me; I spoke out of turn.”

“Out!” you shout; another attendant brings what you requested, and just as you predicted, Homelander returns days later, armor torn, wounds and scorch marks everywhere. He falls next to you, head in your lap; you yank lightly at his hair, “Idiot.”

“I’m bleeding right now; can’t you offer me comfort?”

You yank his hair again, “Well, if you’d listened to me, then maybe, you wouldn’t be in this state. Did you kill them?” you dare to ask. He nuzzles into your lap and shakes his head slowly, “Good.”

Homelander gets to help rebuild every city he demolished during his tantrum; we’ve talked about Homelander and his scary moments; let’s talk about you. Because I’m sure, as you’ve probably been thinking, how exactly can the god of love be as terrifying as the god of war? Well, love is sweet, but it can also be dangerous and creatively murderous.

There’s only been one instance of your temple’s being desecrated, but that was quickly resolved after you drove the looters to madly seek out merfolk, so much so that they ended up crashing their ship and dying at sea. Or the time you cursed an entire army to doomed love, thus inflicting the end of their families, wives, husbands, children, and homes - all in one night. But perhaps the greatest example of your wrath is perhaps the brief moment when Homelander decided to go about and have a mistress, correction a second lover. 

Now you have nothing against one taking on multiple lovers, as long as all is consensual, but for this instance, it was with Stormfront, goddess of victory. It’s no secret that you and her share nothing more than hatred for each other.

There’s nothing quite like the sound of angry screaming coming from the god of love; there’s nothing quite like it since the sound causes every mortal close by to experience intense heartache.

“Of all the gods, goddesses, dryads, even naiads, you chose her?!” you scream, “And you did it behind my back?!”

“You–how did you find out?”

You slap him, “I am love incarnate, idiot; I know of every shred of love in every heart from here to the fucking Balkans!”

Homelander holds his jaw, wincing at the pain, “Yeah, so? I’m a god, I can have whoever I want, whenever I want, and right now, that’s not you.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is?” you speak, voice distorting, “Fine, then, let’s see how long you last without my love.” Your temple floors move, and he’s thrown out; the attendants all watch in surprise; by the end of the week, the mortals have a new myth to tell, an age of war and the absence of love.

Homelander is fine at first. Yes, without you in his corner, it’s not that much of a difference, at least not as far as he can see, but then he notices that his tributes dwindle to nothing, and his name becomes unspoken. Even the gods seem to disregard him; Stormfront suffers the same, if not worse. Her own temples are luted, dismantled, and the remains used to enhance yours. Her patronage is taken away, and soon, Maeve is the most beloved warrior-deity; Homelander’s popularity dwindles further, and soon the adoration he had is directed to a fucking demi-god. A demi-god, which, if the rumors are to be believed, is your new lover.

So he turns to war; he brings revolution here, destruction there, leaving a trail as Olympus watches this spat from afar.

“Can’t you ask them to stop this?!” Stormfront demands.

“And go back kneeling; I’ll survive this, then they’ll come back to me,” Homelander responds, admittedly; he should have realized sooner that your domain over love meant far more than just romantic love. You remained passive in love, giving and taking from those that deserved - romantic, platonic, self-love, deity devotion - and you took everyone’s love for him; even Stormfront seemed to be growing more and more apathetic towards him. His resolve breaks when he watches Stormfront fade from existence; when he returns to your temple, you’re lying back at your cult statue, a glass of wine in hand. He throws your demi-god lover’s head at your feet, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Two years, nine months, twenty-six days, and five hours,” you mutter; he falls to his knees, helmet placed to his side, an attendant takes you wine, and you sit up. Tilting his head up, “So tell me, what have we learned, John?”

“You’re a petty bitch,” he replies. You smile in response and kiss his forehead. John quite literally feels the love come back.

“Look who’s talking. Did you really have to take his head off?” 

“Yes.” The attendants disperse as Homelander stands with you, his arms wrapped possessively around you, “Since I learned my lesson, I think it’s time I got a reward.”

End Note:

Don't judge me ok, my taste in fictional characters is about as morally sound as russian roulette 💀

trying to prove a point to the boys at school

reblog this if you believe trans men are real men like this if you dont

Well, this is awkward

*Leaves*

Yup, it is

*Leaves as well*