Imagine your F/O coming up behind your, and putting their arms around you, with their hands on your stomach.
They slip their hands under your shirt teasingly, coming in contact with your bare flesh. They stroke their fingers up and down your stomach, chest and sides, sending little shivers through your body .
Imagine your villainous or yandere FO torturing you, either with your consent or not.
(pain, injury, aftercare)
Maybe they use their hands, gloves or bare. Their knuckles strike you, raising bruises, splitting your lip and making you taste copper.
Maybe they use a whip. They strip your shirt off and give you lashes that raise bright red stinging welts.
Maybe they use knives. They trace the point across your tender flesh, just deep enough to draw blood in swirls and slashes.
Maybe they burn you, with hot pokers, or lit cigarettes. The hear searing and leaving little red marks in the wake of each press.
Whatever they do to you, it leaves you breathless and panting, sweat dripping down your body as your nerves light up.
When it’s done, your F/O coos over you, stroking your now so sensitive body gently with their fingers, even if you flinch away instinctively.
They kiss your raw and tender flesh, paying attention to all the places that they hurt you.
They brush your hair out of your face, away from your sweaty brow and kiss you there too.
And then they kiss your breathless lips, pressing themselves against your battered body, savoring the sweetness of your mouth just as they did your pain.
They tell you how much they love you.
Imagine taking a nap with your F/O.
The two of you are curled up together, limbs entangled, relaxed and comfortable against each other.
You’re lulled softly to sleep by the gentle presence of each other’s bodies.
Imagine finally confessing your feelings to your shipcest F/O.
The two of you are alone together, when the dam of your emotions finally breaks. You let it all pour out; the stolen glances, the fantasies you know you shouldn’t have…
You tell them you know they probably will not ever want to speak to you again. That you’ve probably ruined your relationship with them forever. You understand.
You turn, and start to go.
They grab your hand, and pull you back.
They tell you, no, stay. Please.
Imagine your vilainous F/O celebrating your birthday with you.
The festivities they have planned are absolutely lavish. They’ve taken into account all your favorites.
Maybe you don’t know if the enormous cake (your favorite kind), the streamers and banners, or the pile of presents were obtained legitimately or not, but you know your F/O got them for you with love.
The insist that everything be perfect for you, and when they show you what they’ve done, they scoop you up into their arms with a hopeful look on their face. You like it, right?
Enemies to lovers self shippers:
Imagine your villainous F/O in the middle of a breakdown at the height of their scheme.
You can see them coming apart at the seams, the sweat on their brow, the manic look in their eyes, the twitch of their fingers.
As they’re ranting, you can’t stand it any more. You have to do something. But what can you do.
You grab their wrists and pull them into your arms.
Not like this, you plead. Please stop. For me.
They stare at you, unsure, and you pull them into a deep kiss.
They tremble against you as you break the kiss, and they tell you, if it’s for you, anything.
Imagine waking up in the middle of the night to see a shadow standing at the foot of your bed.
While the first emotions that hit you are confusion, and perhaps fear, it only takes a moment before you realize you recognize the silhouette.
It’s your F/O.
You ask them how they can possibly be there, real, with you.
They ask you if it matters how. After all, they’re here…
Imagine attending a masquerade ball, and meeting your villainous F/O there.
Your F/O sweeps you off your feet. They are clad in an intimidating mask and an intricate costume, as menacing as it is entircing.
They pull you into their arms, and the two of you become the center of attention for all the other dancers, the most striking couple on the floor.
Imagine a session of play wrestling with your F/O that turns into tickling, and then laying on top of or below them, and starting to make out.