#i fucking love cheese in the trap

[fxggotclown]

im complaining abt fans of a story that most ppl have no idea exists and in large part have only watched the kdrama adaptation . but a lot of fans talk abt yoo jung makes me so upset and sad . bc to me its very obvious hes autistic . but every time ive seen ppl talk abt him they are painting him as an abuser. grips you by the shoulders .he s morally grey just like everyone in hthe entire story .

[visenyaism]

They butchered Alicent so bad

oh i LOVED her this episode. some of the execution was a little clunky in places but moving the blood and cheese “pick which of your kids are dying” moment to be a conversation between rhaenyra and alicent was sooo fucking choice in a way i really found compelling.

like aegon this episode, alicent has been realizing she doesn’t know what the fucking point of all of this has been. again like aegon because they were raised in a deeply ableist society she cannot conceive of aegon where he isn’t the king she cannot wrap her head around what he’s supposed to be now all of the suffering she bore to get him to this point was for nothing. aemond is acting scary and out of control to the extent that he is an active threat to her and her other children she does not know him anymore.

she gets out loud explicitly asked by rhaenyra to resolve the dilemma that has been her entire character: she either has to choose her children or her relationship with rhaenyra. otto has been drilling this into alicent’s head since she was a child, alicent has been drilling it into her children’s heads since THEY were children. rhaenyra was the only one who pretended that wouldn’t be a choice forced on alicent! so then rhaenyra is the one to demand this of her it’s CRAZY. and alicent, who has been trapped for almost her whole life who has done everything expected of her and has been left with what? so much blood on her hands, everyone hates her, no one listens to her,and the children that she had to bear the conception and raising of against her will are unrecognizable to her. this war is transactional and will not stop until everyone is dead.

and alicent does something fundamentally selfish and cut them loose in the name of all of this just being over. she wants to be a person again. she can’t tell the difference between being her own and being rhaenyra’s those are the same to her. and then she steps out to look at the wide open sky, out of her cage for the first time ever while rhaenyra settles deeper into hers. that’s so interesting. 

the consequence being that she never had control of the narrative! but she’s still punished for this in how this story is told. she’s largely written into the background of the historical record and when she’s there she’s a caricature of a cold ambitious stepmother-queen. they’re trying really hard to reckon with the historical record as history is happening.

overall, I think I can understand why people are upset about this, but I loved it. I thought it was really compelling and there could’ve been a bit more buildup to that moment for her but I don’t think it’s that far out from her previous characterization at all.

[actuallyprobablyafaerie]

list of things that made me scream in pjo episode 3

Percy picking grover because he trusts him not to betray him!!! THEY ARE BEST FRIENDS OK

Luke still comes off as so likable and inconspicuous that whole convo he had with percy and the shoes i just

GROVER AND THE CONSENSUS SONG I CANT

annabeth staring at the different flavors of candy in the gas station and not being able to pick and just buying all of them. Thats the annabeth we deserve

ANNABETHS KNIFE APPEARANCE ALERT and a fury is IMMEDIATELY killed

uncle ferdinand foreshadowing……………

When annabeth and percy start arguing in the woods and grover tries to change the subject by talking about his uncle and they both completely ignore him. I LOVE GROVER SO MUCH

the bickering in this episode is ON POINT by the way

like the stuff theyre arguing about makes sense. Yes i would be concerned about those things too

ESPECIALLY since theres such a focus put on trust (esp after percy learns that someone is going to betray him) and percy and annabeth are arguing about stuff theyve lied or havent told each other about???? Sorry that might be skipping ahead a bit but GOD is that the good stuff

i love that they changed how the three of them ended up going into auntie em’s because before it was a little concerning that none of them figured out it was medusa. Plus having a fury outside just adds to the tension a perfect amount i think, because it really traps them in there

all the discussion about the gods and what medusa talks to percy about in the kitchen - YES MAKE ME HATE THEM!! All of this is adding up to lukes motivations making so much sense in the end

ALSO!! Them harkening back to sallys line in the first episode when she tells percy that not all heroes look like heroes and not all monsters look like monsters - they brought it back so perfectly. Percy wanting to trust medusa because of what his mom said, medusa calling Poseidon a monster, ALL OF IT is so good

When theyre down in the basement and grover puts on the shoes and then just fucking. Flies away and disappears into the darkness yelling a little. and annabeth and percy just kind of helplessly watch him go before being like - welp i guess that plans not working. That was peak comedy

them using annabeths hat on medusa and then using it to kill alecto THEY WERE SO SMART FOR THAT!!! Also percy just the invisible severed head was a hilarious concept to me

when percy suggests burying the hat in the ground with the hat on to make sure no one bad finds it and annabeth just!!! Agrees!!! And then grover has to be like no that hats important to her its a gift from her mother!!! And then percys like well we’ll find another solution then. That whole scene was good yes i liked that

also annabeth revealing that grover was her protector too and percy asks about it and grover just changes the subject and doesnt answer. He is the KING of avoidance

also grover finally interrupting annabeth and percy when they start fighting and giving his whole speech about getting along. That wouldve felt a little cheesy and preachy and out of place from anyone else but considering grover tried to get them to sing the consensus song a few hours earlier i fully believe that he would say that

I AM IMPERTINENT

Why the fuck wasnt there a lin manuel maranda jumpscare warning. I couldve used one of those

but actually all the jokes in this episode were so on point. Like percy calling drachmas chuckie cheese tokens. And him arguing about voting on the bus. Anyways

10/10 episode i will be rewatching like eight times before next tuesday.

[koolades-world]

Random Obey Me! Headcannons

Lucifer really likes human world blue cheese but refuses to admit it because he knows he will be made fun of for it by his brothers

Mammon has his first dollar he made in the Devildom framed and when Mc found it while looking for condoms he was really embarrassed

Idk it’s so funny to me to think of Mc and Mammon about to have sexy time and they need to go look for a condom. Mammon swears he has some so Mc goes digging though a drawer and finds a framed dollar bill while butt naked

“Mammon what is this-”

“SHIT UNSEE THAT HUMAN”

Levi has neck and back pains from all the gaming he does and really loves massages but is too scared to ask

Satan once stole a pair of Lucifer’s underwear and hung it from the RAD flagpole

Asmo made it a point to introduce Mc into his nightly routine as his face mask buddy, even to the point of doing it over call if they’re separated

This also sounds funny as shit imagine someone like Levi walking in on that

“So anyways, I stomped their skull in and got blood on my new boots. My hands also hurt from wringing the neck of that-”

“Asmo, Lucifer wants to know- HOLY SHIT WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOU”

“A face mask, Levi. You could use one”

Beel loves kids and likes it when they use him as a jungle gym

Belphie always kicks people in his sleep without fail. Mammon swears he does it on purpose but knows he doesn't

Simeon does the best hair braids and is regarded the best in the Celestial Realm

Luke hates girl scout cookies since he thinks homemade cookies are so much better

Solomon can be seen leaving Asmo's room at any point during the day but nobody ever sees him going in. Imagine hanging out with Asmo and Solomon just fucking appears and then disappears just as fast

Diavolo's favorite color is pink

Barbatos has a succulent garden and Mc will bring him a new one every time they come back from the human world

Thirteen definitely loves Mexican food and spice in general

Raphael is convinced soft blankets are the best thing to ever exist

Mephisto once accidently knocked over one of Luke's cakes and felt so bad that he sent Purgatory Hall a buttload of money and wrote an article in the RAD newspaper about how great the angels were at baking

Mammon and Lucifer openly hate white chocolate (because it's not chocolate). Satan does too but pretends to like it because Lucifer likes it

Whenever Satan needs a parter to go to the events he gets invited to, Mc and Asmo are his first choices. He's closest with Asmo (Belphie is a second close) and doesn't mind the fanfare

Asmo and Beel often travel around the Devildom together. Asmo can't eat everything he orders since he just wants pictres so Beel is the ideal companion. Beel is also the perfect body guard

Solomon's current favorite liquor is Fireball and always has some on hand, but Luke always hides it because he thinks drinking is a bad habit

Barbatos definitely listens to heavy metal but everyone thinks he listens to classical music

If my grandmothers met the brothers, Beel would be their fav because he would clean his plate but if it was everyone, Simeon would take it home because he’s so charming even though he’s barely clothed

Everyone is so downbad for Mc I think it might scare off other people how much they hover. Like, a lower demon bothering you? Literally anything could happen to them, like they could be thrown in an endless loop of suffering, they could be made dirt poor for eternity, or they could be torn limb from limb <3 gotta love it

Asmo and Belphie make a deadly duo when to comes to trapping people/demons/angels. They both have the power to lure you in, and would probably take turn luring in victims for an evening as some sort of strange brother bonding. They both remind me of angler fish in a way. Asmo lures them with the pretense of sex and Belphie with relaxation, two things people can’t get enough of and they can stay calm enough to pull it off

Solomon has definitely made the brothers swap bodies or something crazy like that, on accident or not, you decide

Whenever Mc is feeling down, Diavolo offers his man titties as a nice pillow to relax on because he read somewhere once humans liked that

Beel is like a bull in a china shop so do not take him anyway where you need to be delicate. Belphie knows this, and will put him to sleep and carry him when they need to go somewhere like an antique shop by promising him a snack afterwards

Beel thinks Satan, Belphie, and Mc make the best weights out of everyone. Satan will just read, Belphie will just sleep, and Mc is like his personal cheerleader. However, he can and will lift all his brothers and Mc and the same time if he wants to, it’s just difficult to get them all in the same place at the same time

Thirteen, Belphie, and Satan got in a prank war once and it had to end in a draw since one party could not best the other. In the end, they made a final, collaborative prank and pulled it on Solomon

Mc once fell down the stairs in the human realm, ended up in the hospital, and sent the entire cast into panic so much that they took turns watching over them

Mephisto and Mc once had a night out drinking together and (somehow) returned to the HoL but were totally smashed. Lucifer forbid them from doing it again, but they still sneak out together and just crash at Mephiso’s place instead

[thoughtsfromlayla]

26 Ways of Taking You: A for Aphrodisiac

Summary: On a quest to save your little brother, you and your fated companion Dream of the Endless, run into a small problem in Aphrodite's Temple.

Notes: ~2.2k words, GUYS! I finally wrote a fic that wasn't below 500 or above 5,000 words, it just doesn't need any random side characters... or a definitive plot.

Warnings: MDNI - 18+, dubious consent, sex pollen, aphrodisiac (duh), porn without plot, unprotected sex (get tested yearly guys), P in V, no foreplay just straight fucking, Dream is a red flag but he's my red flag. I am willing to die on that hill.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

B for Breeding

“A temple of Aphrodite?” You question as you walk through the marbled entrance. The overwhelming smell of roses fills your senses and the honks of swans disappear as you cross into the building.

Morpheus follows closely behind. The drizzle of rain seemingly bounces off his coat and hair leaving him dry like the Sahara. On the other hand, you, the poor human with no otherworldly affiliations, were soaked to the bone. Your light jacket and sundress stuck to your skin until it became itchy and you quickly take off your jacket to dry easier in the momentary shelter. 

You miss the way Morpheus stares at your exposed shoulders and legs. His eyes run up and down your body, to the way the dress sticks to you like a second skin.

“Aphrodite loved Ares, unlike her vowed husband. But such is the game of gods.” Morpheus explains and peels his eyes away from you. 

You lean on a large pillar that supports a large brazier, one of many others. The heat helps you warm up and the shivers slowly leave your body as it dries your clothes. 

“So, Ares is… here?” You say without much confidence.

When the fates set you out on this quest to find your brother, you hadn’t even packed your lunch yet. They just threw you to the wind and then gave you Morpheus as a guide. As for him, it was so “He could get out of the house more” as his older sister has explained it to you. 

So, here you were, soaked in summer rain and sharing conversation with Dream of the Endless on a quest to find your kidnapped brother - all of which happened since this morning. The everything bagel and cream cheese you had for breakfast sat uncomfortably in your stomach, the same stomach that was screaming at you to eat something as your journey had left you to skip the midday meal. 

“Ares is behind this gate created by Aphrodite,” Dream sighs as if he were spelling out the obvious. “Yes, it is a possibility.”

You simply roll your eyes. For someone who is almost infinitely older than you, he certainly didn’t act like it. Feeling warmer and dry you started exploring the temple, running your fingers across the divots in the carved stone much like the climbing ivy that decorated the walls. 

At the end of the temple stood a magnificent statue of Aphrodite herself, wrapped in cloth and her hair flowing in the wind. Beneath her pedestal, you could make out a rectangular outline made out of large roses. 

“Hey! The door!” You exclaim in excitement. As much as you hate to admit it, Morpheus was right. He usually was right but you’d rather keep that comment to yourself, in case the ego inflates any more of his head and he drifts off. Which, would unfortunately leave you on your own to solve these puzzles. 

Morpheus appears behind you, peering over your shoulder at the door. 

“Seems like a hidden mechanism. It would be wise to not touc-”

You press your palm onto the center of the door and it gives away to the pressure of it. 

“You fool!” Morpheus seethes out and you tense. 

It seems like a trap, now that you think about it. With bated breath you wait, slowly inching yourself closer to Morpheus in hopes that the King of Dreams may be able to protect you if something were to go wrong. 

Yet, nothing. 

The door slides back into place, the sound of marble against marble scraping against each other in the otherwise completely quiet sanctuary. The quiet atmosphere stays peaceful for a few seconds but ends when a yelp escapes you when the roses suddenly go into full bloom, the petals giving a “floosh” right in your face, its sweet pollen dusting both of your bodies. You stare wide-eyed at it waiting for anything else to happen. When nothing did, you let out a sigh of relief and turn to Dream with a smile. 

“See, nothing to worry about.” You shrug with your palms facing upwards. The two of you stare back as a golden engraving appears on the door. 

“One from two, enter together.” You read out loud while trying to dust off the shimmering pollen, sneezing when some enter your nose instead. 

Great, a riddle but nothing comes to your mind as you think. Morpheus glares at you still and his eyes drift down to the palm that touched the door. 

“Your hand is glowing,” He states. 

You look down at your open palm and panic. The skin is bright pink and as Morpheus has stated, glowing. You scream at your hand and shake it aggressively. When the glowing still doesn’t reside you scream again and face the palm towards Morpheus’ face and shake it aggressively to grab his attention. 

“Enough,” He commands and grabs your wrist. The grip is stern but it doesn’t hurt and the warmth of his skin calms you down. 

It is now that you realize that the skin doesn’t actually hurt. There’s no burning sensation or pins or needles, nothing. Morpheus takes a closer look at your hand and you can feel the exhale of his breath fanning your palm. It tickles and you try to pull away, but his grip doesn’t relent. 

“What? Do you see something?” You ask, your other hand is clenched in on itself as a way of grounding yourself. 

Morpheus doesn’t entertain you with an answer and instead brings his face closer. A sound that you didn’t know you could produce comes out from your throat as you feel the warm, slick feeling of his tongue on your palm. 

“Wha..mm” Your words fall short and he licks again and a whimper leaves your lips. You look up at him, his eyes are closed as he inhales deeply.

He brings your hand to his cheek and leans into it. When you release your hand and he lets you, you see that your glowing mark has smeared to his cheek. You come in closer, nervous about marking the Endless but he stops you again. He peers at you, all silver gone from his eyes and instead blown pupils pull you deep into their voids. 

His hands find themselves around your waist and you place your hands on his chest to stop him from invading any more of your space. It doesn’t and he advances still. His brooding act doesn’t help with voicing whatever he could possibly be thinking. 

“Hey, what’s gotten into you,” You release a moan at the end when he presses his nose to the junction of your neck. The hot breath released from his mouth had your lower regions start to grow hot and slick. 

When his tongue licks the length of your neck, your fingers grasp desperately at the lapels of his jacket, holding on tight as your knee buckle beneath you. Morpheus smelled like grass after a summer thunderstorm and he stood sturdy like an old oak tree. 

You whisper his name and his grip tightens more, bruising and unforgiving. 

He groans into your neck. “Aphrodisiac.” 

Of course, Aphrodisiac, named after the goddess Aphrodite, the very goddess you are trying to please and solve her riddle. The thought crosses your mind momentarily but it is quickly cut short by Morpheus’ continued administration. The pink stain spreads further on Morpheus, anywhere and everywhere you touch him. Your cheek was pink as well, where he touched yours and markings of his tongue glowed pink as he continued his kisses down your neck and across your collarbone. 

“Oh, gods,” You moan into his hair as he dives deeper towards your chest. Your body is turning hot and you can’t tell if it’s just the aphrodisiac or the way he is touching you. Perhaps it’s neither, perhaps it’s both. Either way, you can’t stop the sounds that escape your lips. 

He presses forward and you step back until your back hits the pedestal and Morpheus’ large frame follows, trapping you between a rock and a harder place. You can feel his erection pressing against your stomach, hot and heavy and begging to be released. 

With restraint, Morpheus pulls back and pants into your neck. Your own breath was ragged, your tongue felt heavy when you speak. 

“Please,” You whisper, your hands travel down his chest, pink smearing along his black shirt, and cup his erection. 

He looks at you now, eyes peering into your soul asking you if you really did want this. You nod, not trusting your voice for a second time. 

“Say it,” He commands again, his forehead pressed against yours. “Say it,” He whispers in a plea. 

You tip your head up and respond with the strength you have left. “Yes,” You murmur against his lips, barely brushing yours with his own. 

He seals the deal with a kiss and hands once again go to your waist. He grabs you, hoisting you up and your legs immediately wrap themselves around his lean torso. You impatiently grind your heat into his as he dips his hands below your dress line and moves your undergarments to the side. 

It was rushed, it was sloppy and it was nowhere near romantic, yet you’ve never felt so much excitement. No one was near but the peering gaze of the daunting Aphrodite statue made you feel exposed. Morpheus doesn’t bother to warm you up for him and the heat of his cock presses against your cunt. He pushes forward and it stings. Tears swell in your eyes at the intrusion, his cock splitting you open as he sets a rhythmic pace. 

“Forgive me, forgive me,” He chants into your ear but the words fly in one ear and out the other. The pleasure the Dream Lord was giving you more important and present in your mind. 

Your hand reaches into his hair and grabs onto his roots. A groan sings from his throat and you can’t help it when your lips connect to his Adam’s apple. You leave bruising kisses along his neck and continuously feel the vibrations of his moans, each one low and gritty. 

Morpheus felt like he was about to lose his mind if he didn’t quickly finish the two of you off. His body felt like it was on fire and his head pounded in his skull with ideologies of fucking you until you were nothing but a pile of pleasure. When your nails grip his shoulders, he welcomes the pain and bites down on your collarbone to suppress his wanton moans. 

You were too sweet for him, a type of innocence that he didn’t want to taint. Tears well up in his eyes as he realizes that he did it without him even knowing. The aphrodisiac completely consumes the two of you. He loved it, the feeling of your legs wrapped around his waist, your grip on his hair, your moans filling the space and echoing around the temple, but were not his to take. 

“More, more, more,” You moan, head thrown back towards the ceiling and he couldn’t deny you the pleasure.

His thrusts become ferocious, slamming into you harder and harder until you were just a babbling mess in front of him. Your words range from his name to curses to simple pleas. The contractions of your cunt spasming around him make him falter for a moment but he presses on. When your orgasm reaches you, your scream is muffled by his open mouth kiss. His thrusts turn sloppy and uneven before he finishes as well and you feel the way his cock pulses within you. His semen drips out of your spent hole and mixes with your release on the polished marble floor. 

Your body deflates as the orgasm finishes and you’re left panting and leaning on Morpheus as your thighs tremble around his waist. The door behind you opens with an ungodly scrapping sound and you look behind you. Lust was still evident in your eyes but you were pulled back to the real world again. 

The aphrodisiac wore off and a blush rose high into your cheeks. You push against Morpheus’ chest not wanting to be in his space, asking him to put you down, but quickly realize that it was a bad idea when your knees buckle and you start to fall. 

Morpheus grabs onto you to steady you and you murmur a thanks, too embarrassed to look at him in the eyes. The aphrodisiac has made you look at Morpheus in a different light, but there were more important matters at hand. You take one steady breath and readjust your underwear and dress, Morpheus releases his grip on your arms as you go to turn towards the open door. 

Beyond the door is nothing but darkness with a slight wind blowing out towards you and the smell of metal and leather comes into your nose. Before you can go, Morpheus’ fingers wrap around your arm again. 

“Should we… talk about it?” He asks in that low voice of his. 

You look back at him, somehow finding the confidence to look at him in the eyes. You find that they are full of adoration and passion that it turns your eyes downwards again. You’ve heard the rumors of what it means to be the lover to Dream of the Endless. It is rainbows and butterflies, the world at the edge of your fingertips, but one wrong move, and you are cast away like you were less than nothing. You think of Nada, Queen of the First People, who is still condemned to Hell for declining his promise to make her queen of the Dreaming. 

It’s too much, you have your brother to save, and there is no room to talk about love. 

“Later,” You say instead. You still need his help and if the promise of ‘later’ keeps him around long enough until the end of your quest, then so be it. 

“Very well. Later,” He repeats then follows you into the realm of Ares.

B for Breeding

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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This is going to be a 26 part series, all porn, no plot hehe ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)

Until the next fic,

♡ Yours, Layla

[burningcheese-merchant]

Psst, hear me out: The Beast being fucking yanderes with the ancients.

You Get It™️ I mean... Did you guys see episode 6? Burning Simp Cookie is already a yandere lol. He's been there and he refuses to leave. And Shadow Milk is honestly not that far behind, he feels some type of way towards Pure Vanilla and it would be cute if it wasn't so sad and creepy lol

Really though, I just love hero/villain ships in general (always have, since long before Cookie Run ever existed) and I get a kick out of villains acting stupid over crushes (read: obsessions), and acting stupid in general. There's just something about a villain being in love with the hero to a psychotic, comical degree, and the hero rebuffing them at every turn that's just really amusing to me lol. Like what Joker sort of has with Batman, you know?

Here are my Yandere Beasts in bare-bones terms:

Burning Spice: come on, if you've read my stuff, you know EXACTLY what Yandere Spice is like lol. If not, I'll refer you to this and this, as well as my fics on AO3. If those don't tell you what Yandere Spice is like then idk how else to help you lol

Shadow Milk: if the final boss of theater/drama kids had a crush but was also a malignant narcissist of some sort lol. Absolutely DESPERATE for Vanilla's attention at all times. If he's not actively trying to worm into Vanilla's brain and harass him in his thoughts and dreams, he's in the real world brainstorming better ways to do that lol. He does not grasp why the creepy puppet shows and gaslighting attempts aren't convincing Vanilla to fall in love with him. Will attack and torment and insult Vani in one breath and then praise and love and worship him in another, because he's a histrionic clown freak with whirlwind emotions. But above all else, he literally thinks he owns Vani and is meticulously plotting the horrible and hilarious demise of any and all he perceives as a threat to their union

Eternal Sugar: World's Laziest Stalker™️. Almost exclusively haunts Holly in her dreams (I have to assume that that's what her power will entail, as the Beast of Sloth); however, she's more "effective" in her wooing attempts due to her past experience as the Herald of Happiness. She actually goes out of her way to construct dreams and the like that have things in them that make Holly happy (or what she thinks makes Holly happy; she, as well as the others, has big tunnel vision and is very selfish and self-absorbed, and thus pays more lip service to her own wants than those of who she loves/obsesses over). Thankfully doesn't run into Holly in person often because that's work... but sometimes she DOES work up the nerve to go after her for real, and... well

Mystic Flour: Denial, denial, denial. Not just a river in Egypt the Golden Cheese Kingdom, but she'll say and act like otherwise. No, she does not like Dark Cacao. He robbed her of her volition and the chance to enact her will. He prevented her from freeing the world from pain and suffering. He is a stubborn fool who refuses to understand the truth. He... is very handsome. She does not like how handsome he is. It is distracting. She doesn't like dwelling on her memories of him and their encounters. She doesn't like how she came to harbor a single kernel of respect in her heart after he stood his ground against her; a kernel that she inadvertently nurtured and cultivated slowly but surely, until... no. No, she doesn't like Dark Cacao. She doesn't think about him all day. She doesn't want to try to lure him back to her land so she can trap him in the flour fog with her again. She doesn't miss feeling his dark eyes on her. She doesn't deeply resent his attachment to his people, and seek to transfer that attachment to her instead. No, she... damn it, he's ruined her. He's made her feel things again. He's made her succumb to selfishness and greed, to earthly desire and attachment - desire for HIM, attachment to HIM. All of her hard work and enlightenment gone to waste... She doesn't want to like Dark Cacao, she recognizes the folly in such a thing, but she's stuck - and so stuck is she that not only does she not really see a way out, she doesn't WANT one. She's become too content with her attachment to him too quickly. Now she has to agonize over her own foolishness, and try to keep denying that she doesn't care while also longing for his attention and wanting to do away with all that steals his attention away from her

Silent Salt: probably the least awful of the five, but he's still creepy and that's not a high bar to clear anyway lol. Has a better grasp on "normal" behavior than the others (like... he pays attention to what White Lily likes/wants and tries to adjust accordingly), but he's following her around everywhere and acting extremely violent and territorial over her towards anyone who he catches approaching her. He's legitimately, surprisingly sweet and gentle towards her; he brings her flowers, he listens to her when she asks/tells him something, he's more or less respectful of her personal space (he will try to be as physically close to her as possible, but actually backs off a little if she asks him to, only to try again, and so on and so forth)... but he's still a villain, he's still violent and creepy, he still gets angry when she pays attention to other people for too long and he has brought actual harm to others out of jealousy. He's the best of the worst but that really doesn't mean much of anything, he's still a psycho creep like the others

In short, they form a tight-knit coalition of absolutely fucking deranged freakazoids and they should all probably die :)

[queenimmadolla]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

(eddie munson x reader)

Summary: . . . In which you show Eddie's forehead some much deserved love.

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬. 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨. 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫.

“Alright─”

  “Baby, I—“

  “What a way─”

  Eddie broke off again, soft airy laughter escaping him as your kisses rained over his face in a frenzy.

  You had him trapped (he was a willing participant) underneath you, thighs spread on either side of his waist as you bent over at yours, to deliver smooch after smooch to every inch of his skin from his cheeks, raised from how hard he was cheesing, to his jaw—soft save for the barest hints of stubble, his nose and the sides of it, his cupid’s bow, and his mouth (but that’s a given).

  It wasn’t often you attacked him with affection and confined him to his bed, normally that was reserved for wednesdays and weekends, but when you’d walked back into his room after using the bathroom and saw him flipping through a Heavy Metal magazine, sporting a black tank top and some sweats, you’d decided plastering that beautiful face of his in kisses was more important than whatever mind boggling scene was being depicted on those glossy pages.

  The approach had been a little aggressive, magazine pulled from his hands and tossed across the room as you settled in place. From the sparkle in his eyes, you could tell he had no qualms with it.

  You pulled back, sitting up as you admired the flush in Eddie’s cheeks, skin slightly shiny due to his body’s sudden rise in temperature.

  His breathing was a little labored despite the innocence of the occurrence, and he spoke after heaving a sigh, “Cover all of your bases?”

  Your eyes scanned over his face, and while you weren’t wearing lipstick—meaning there was no obvious trail—you knew exactly what spots your lips had touched. Just about everywhere. Almost.

  “Not yet.”

  You reached a palm down to cover his eyes and Eddie squawked in surprise.

  “Uhm, okay… we playing a game now or─”

  “Shhh.”

  “I’m just—“

  “SHHH. Just let me do what I need to do.”

  Eddie held his palms up in defeat, knuckles stroking over his bedsheets.

  Your hand slowly trailed up, moving away from his eyes and lifting the brown curtain of bangs to reveal more skin.

  And more skin.

  And more, until you reached his hairline.

  Jackpot.

  “Eddie, do you know what having a big forehead means?” You asked, thumb stroking over the skin you rarely saw exposed.

  His brows below furrowed, more so in amusement than offense, “That the moment is over because you killed it?”

  “No.” You laughed with a shake of your head.

  “That you’re insulting me by saying I have a big head?” Eddie tried again, the corners of his lips twitching as he tried to fight a smirk.

  “Big foreheads don’t always equal a big head. Try again.”

  “Mmm,” he hummed, one eye squeezing shut as he pretended to mull it over, “I’ve got a big brain.”

  “No,” you started, laughing again when he let out an overtly affronted gasp before you continued, “It means I have more space to work with.”

  You dove down once more, pressing a multitude of kisses along his forehead. There was no planned pattern, you just pecked and smooched wherever you could, over and over again, heart filling with love for him as his boisterous laughter boomed through the trailer.

  His hands moved from their place on the bed to rest on your hips, basking and glowing under your attention. 

  Eddie still couldn’t believe you were real, that you cared for him enough to spend the majority of your free time with him, let alone be so clear and apparent with your feelings for him. 

  He was so very content with life. It had fucked him over for more than half of his times around the sun, but Eddie would go through it all over again if it meant he’d find himself in this exact position every time.

  Eddie Munson was lovesick. 

  It was all over his face, swirling in those warm brown eyes as you pulled away to admire your work. You moved your palm away, though his bangs didn’t resettle over his forehead, they remained sticking up and in disarray. 

  You leaned down once more, this time bracketing his head in with your forearms, nose nudging against his, breath ghosting over his lips. Then you were brushing yours against his—just barely, only enough to have his neck working to chase the taste of you before you whispered into the charged sliver of space, “You do have a big head, though.”

  “Oh, that’s it—you’re done.”

  Eddie flipped you over, your back hitting the mattress as you let out a shriek mingled with surprised laughter.

  He hovered over you, chuckling along as he waited for you to calm yourself. Once you did, you sank back into the mattress and reached a hand up to stroke up his jaw, towards his forehead so you could move his bangs out of the way, adoration clouding your eyes.

  “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

  When you looked at Eddie like that? He believed it.

[thedemonsurfer]

Hey can we talk about how the very recent SAMS stuff has turned out to be a brilliant twist of audience complicity?

With the most recent eps, its become blindingly clear that Dark Sun has been manipulating or influencing Moon's actions to some degree. And looking back over it, it's really fun trying to pick out the point where Moon started going downhill and being like 'oh, that's how he was being pushed'. Folks remembered that Moon was the first person Dark Sun ever grabbed, forcibly scanning him before sending him back home. Dark Sun outright told Eclipse that he wanted to do something to Moon.

Now Moon's reactions make more sense. The yelling, the lashing out at his family in a way he's never done before. The extremes that seem so Out-of-Character.

But at the time it was happening?

No one was talking about manipulation. Everyone was willing to go 'I guess Moon sucks actually'.

Including the audience.

How great is that! We're omniscient, more or less! The audience is exposed to interactions and monologues that the characters never see. We have knowledge like the exact things Moon said to Old Moon, or Dark Sun said to him. We can go back and reference them!

And yet we were led into the exact same trap as the characters-- looking at Moon and going 'you're no better than Old Moon'.

The thing Moon hates the most! That comparison to Old Moon, the fear that he really isn't any better. Haunted by a spectre of a shitty person that was apparently loved anyway. And you'd think we, as the audience, would remember that, but as soon as he slips up the comparisons start flying. I was doing it too!

And that's why I think the recent twist has been brilliant, because they hid it inside what they knew the audience would assume, like a pill inside some shitty cheese. By tying Moon's instability to his grief, it made his actions seem more plausible, and therefore it was seen as a failure of his character. Oh, clearly Moon just sucks as a person I guess.

We the audience failed the guy just as hard as his family did for not stepping back and going 'waaaaaait a minute', and we were manipulated by the writing into that failure (as, y'know, that's how writing works).

And that's fucking brilliant, 10/10

[fuck-you-upmusicbracket]

Tomcat Disposables (Will Wood)

Is there cheese in the great beyond/What's the moon made of?/Meet me there after I'm gone/Life gets short, our teeth grow long/Mind me not, and I'll/Mind my own, and my mind/Held the same light as the one in your eyes/Do I belong in right and wrong?/One dies alone, and why?/Don't know/Goodbye, so long

"Song is from POV of a mouse, wishing for someone to love and just to survive really. In the end the mouse is poisoned."

"This song. Is about a mouse. A MOUSE. it has no RIGHT being able to make me bawl my eyes out. so essentially will wood made friends with a mouse he found in his kitchen and was like feeding it and stuff. and his landlord said he had to kill it because mice carry diseases. so he had to set out a poison trap and kill it. and after he did so he wrote this song in tribute to it. it’s all from the mouse’s perspective and goes through the betrayal of being poisoned. ‘what’s the moon made of? meet me there after I’m gone!’ fucks me up so much you have absolutely no idea"

Drift Away (Steven Universe)

You keep on turning pages/For people who don’t care/People who don’t care about you/And still it takes you ages/To see that no one’s there/See that no one’s there/Everyone’s gone on without you

"Being stuck in one place while people, well, drift away and leave you behind. Realizing that relationships don’t always last forever. But waiting and hoping that, eventually, you’ll come back to each other, before realizing that’s not gonna happen."

Drift Away submitted by @angelicdevil

[littlebitofdnd]

I actually love the weird little queerplatonic-flavoured polycule dynamic of Deli and his skalds so much, and the LEAST interesting part of it to me is Deli.

Colin and Karna are, fundamentally, the same. Lost, abandoned smallfolk who have all the trappings of power but almost none of the control, both attaching themselves to Deli. The way they are put in direct competition with each other through Deli but would work the best together out of anyone in the group on a combat level.

Like, I am specifically thinking so hard about the way Karna casts silvery barbs to help Colin, but gives the advantage to Deli. She knows that Colin is her equal, and that they can help each other, but she just preens under Deli's minimal affection.

Also, especially pre-Five Years, Karna is particularly sensitive to everything Colin does. They both are slightly terrifying to the other. Karna also keeps him in mind, maybe subconsciously, by not using telepathy on him after he said he didn't like magic. She respects his mental privacy in a way that seems almost foreign for her character.

Karna envies and admires Colin, even subconsciously. She wants to be like him. She wants to be better than him. She wants to hold Deli's attention like he does.

And!! It should be noted, Colin does not reciprocate that envy. He doesn't mention his knighthood to Deli to say that he's better than Karna, he does it because he wants Deli to know that Colin made the right choice by leaving. Colin respects Karna. He fears her a little bit, but he respects her and the power she commands. He just doesn't like the way that she operates with Deli. He's upset that she can't see what he did.

AND DELI at the apex of this is giving them both what the other person wants!! Colin wants Deli to listen to him the way that he listens to Karna. Karna wants to consume Deli's mind the way that Colin does. They're stuck in this really toxic, tension driven circle where no one's needs are getting met, but the passion doesn't let them stop chasing each other.

Also, on a less serious note. Imagine with me a Pastrami sandwich that has peppers and cheese on it. Fucking delicious.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

too many teens whining for validation, this blog needs more weird and stupid so...

AITA for kidnapping my friend and trapping her in the cheesebarn?

Hear me out:

The story starts about a week before my (20 at the time ftm) 21st birthday. If you live in the US you know this isnt just some lame 7th birthday or 36th birthday, this is one of the big boy birthdays, the special ones. Its when you can legal buy alcohol and are therefore truly an adult in the eyes of the law.

Naturally my friends (20s) wanted to do something Big for our 21sts. So they asked me what i wanted to do and i said i didnt really care as long as I got a road trip somewhere with friends.

Everyone thought it was a fun idea but it was a little short notice for everyone to get time off from work, but my other friend we will call C also had her 21st exactly a month after mine to the day, and the two of us agreed to share our 21sts and not do much of anything on my actual birthday. This is important, bc it was a SHARED birthday road trip.

I agree to let C pick the destination and I provide the car. We didnt have much of a plan as we were going to meet up with C's old roommate who lives in the city we picked to show us a good time.

It was 5 of us total and about a 7 hour drive altogether there with not a whole lot on the way there. We get to the city she picked and meet the roommate and honestly the rest of this part is just standard 21st birthday shenanigans. Its when we start the drive home things really start.

Remember its a long drive with not much to see? Well that was a lie. On our way back we see it, the Real "Happiest Place on Earth" as far as places with a mouse for a mascot go:

Grandpa's.

Fuckin'.

Cheesebarn.

Obviously me and the other people on the trip want to stop and see the magic, but unfucking fortunately C happens to be the only Basic White Girl ™️ in the entire world who hates cheese and isnt even lactose intolerant. This girl is notorious for making "petty" and "I hate Cheese" her entire personality. She would constantly make faces and gagging noises and talk about how gross and nasty cheese is if you so much as eat a grilt cheese near her.

Clearly she made it known that she wasnt on board with it. "NO! FUCK YOU ALL IM NOT GOING TO A PLACE CALLED A CHEESEBARN ON MY BIRTHDAY!!" were her exact words.

But i remembered i was driving, it was my car, and it was supposed to be my birthday too. So I put it to a vote. "Raise your hand if you wanna go to Grandpa's Cheesebarn!"

All hands raise but one. With C out voted we head to the cheesebarn.

Guys. This place is amazing. Its obviously making cheese its main draw, but yhere's so much more, its every shitty midwest tourist trap rolled into one glorious place. There's even a chocolate shop. We even got C's roommate to ditch work and come meet us bc shr heard "Grandpa's Cheesebarn" and knew she had to drop everything.

All in all a good visit, C even seemed like she had fun once we got there (she sure spent $300 on candies and dip mixes anyway). We go home. Things seem fine.

Then C drops off the face of the earth.

She wont respond to our calls or texts and at first we thought maybe she was giing through a rough patch or something and try to just keep reaching out but give her space. But then we find out that not only is she still hanging our with our other friends who couldnt make the trip with us. So clearly she's just pissed at us about something.

Finally one day a few months later i catch her at her job and just tell her "I dont care if you hate us, we'll never speak to you again if you dont want us to, but what the hell did we do to you??"

And she just looked me over and says "Well. You kidnapped me."

lolwut

And she yells (bc this girl loves yelling at people) "YOU KIDNAPPED ME AND TRAPPED ME AT A CHEESEBARN ON. MY. BIRTHDAY!!!!!"

And i just said "Well it was my birthday too," and havent spoken to her since. Its been over a decade and "No ragrets" as we said back in the day, but uts baffled me for years that that was her reaction. "Im just over you guys" i can understand, and its not like she was shy about telling people she hates them and their out of her life ever before. And from what i ended up hearing from our other friends she kept talking with it really was about the cheesebarn and how we "ruined her birthday".

No but srsly AITA??? For making her go to a cheesebarn???

What are these acronyms?

[fxggotclown]

just put words to the fact that theres toxic yaoi in cheese in the trap . im obsessed w those two freaks. they are everything to me.

[bidisasterevankinard]

Inspiration Saturday

I was tagged by amazing @diazheartsbuckley

With break up and mpreg era in bucktommy fandom I was inspired to start quick mpreg fic where Buck and Tommy go through break up, but Buck also growths the future of his and Tommy's, their baby(ironic, right?). It's two pov fic on how they go through some stages of time away from each other

Mood board

And some of the of povs on the right after 8x7:

The words that the man who Buck was ready, still fucking can, call love of his life are flying in his mind, not letting him have a second of peace and calm. Not even when he sleeps. Because in the world of Morpheus he either relives the scene, when his heart was kicked too hard - he can’t be sure it ever will be fine -  again and again, seeing every detail as if in the movie, or he lives the happy life, still having Tommy near him, loving him. Buck hates that he doesn’t know what is worse. 

He should hate Tommy. Realy. Be angry for the implication that Buck just can’t know what he feels and needs in life. For how Tommy was 6 months making him believe he can be loved anyway, only to find out that the man had an exasperation date stamped on them, on Buck, from the start. And Buck wasn’t even good enough to serve him all that date. Wasn’t good enough at playing the game Tommy never told him they were playing. And now he pays the price.

He can’t hate Tommy or be angry with him even a little bit. He loves him too damn much.

-

He should have stopped himself from checking Evan out this time when the man was all sunshine and too much enthusiasm for the most boring tour over their station imaginable. He should have known the warmth of Evan was lava under his skin, that would burn him when he would be too close. But he let all his guard down. The man was too beautiful, hot as hell, brave, kind and impulsive in all the ways Tommy never saw himself ever be. And he was like a cheese for a mouse in the trap. Trap of Evan Buckley.

How can someone not fall in love with a man? How could Tommy not? How could he actually stop himself from just falling in too deep for the most beautiful and perfect ocean-eyed man he ever met? He tried. Told himself to hide heart depper, that Evan would see it eventually, so let’s not give him the chance to take away the sun of his smile too early. 

But he never expected Evan to be too caught up in how excited Tommy is as a first boyfriend, he never expected that Evan would still not see at least a little bit how broken Tommy is. The broken toy that people try to fix, but leave only more broken and unwanted.

Np tagging @wikiangela @diazsdimples @hippolotamus @theotherbuckley @bewilderedbuckley @typicalopposite @harmonic-intervention @hyperfocusthusly @repressedqueen @racerchix21 @loucifersbitch @louscurls @saybiwithme @asraindarkness @mmso-notlikethat @devirnis @bigfootsmom @bi-buckrights @lavenderleahy @leashybebes @queerbuck @actuallyitsellie @desert--moonchild @cliophilyra @powersuitup @pirrusstuff @tevankinkley @wolffnichols @watchyourbuck @saybiwithme @bekkachaos

[lurkingshan]

Random BL Superlatives: 2023 Edition

It's the end of the year and I'm feeling the need to give out some awards! We talk a lot about best show, best actors, best writing, best directing, blah blah but I gotta be honest, these are the categories that really spoke to me this year. In no particular order:

Best supporting garment: Porsche’s sweater, A Boss and A Babe

Did I create this entire list just to have an excuse to post about this sweater one more time? Maybe so.

Best performance despite a terrible wig: Daou, Love in Translation

This man managed to perform one of the hottest scenes of the year with that bowl cut monstrosity on his head. Respect must be paid.

Best new terminology: BGP, Bump Up Business

BUB gave us so many gifts, but I will always be most thankful for the business gay performance concept (BGP), a term that is highly relevant in discussions of the bl industry.

Best advice: "Unfuck it," Tien in La Pluie

It's not only the succinct phrasing, but also the delivery method.

Best ex who deserved better: Alan, Moonlight Chicken

Yes, I will be staying on the Alan apologist beat in 2024, thank you for asking.

Best unexpected needle drop: Wetter, The Eighth Sense

The moment this show captured my full attention.

Best WTF ending: The End of the World With You

You can probably still hear my scream of "WHAT" echoing in the hills. (Actual ending not pictured in case y'all decide to watch).

Best gut punch line: "Have you been well? Without me?", Our Dating Sim

Sure Shin Gi Tae, Lee Wan deserved it, but did I??

Best adorable child: Tane, Our Dining Table

Need I say more??

Best weapon: sparkle murder dust, Khun Chai

Truly the MVP of this show. I can't find an actual gif of the dust in action (too violent to be depicted) so enjoy these pretty men instead.

Best great character trapped in a bad show: Boston, Only Friends

My beloved, I will seek vengeance in your name.

Best use of music to fuck me up: Plumeria, I Feel You Linger in the Air

Cocktail and Tee Bundit, you know what you did!

Best meal: Chicken curry and cheese naan, What Did You Eat Yesterday?

Yes, this category is kind of a cheat so I can mention WDYEY on this list. And what about it!

Best unhinged energy: Nawin, Laws of Attraction

He may not have succeeded at stealing back his man but he certainly stole the show.

Best bl horror: Grand Guignol

I just need to make sure all you jbl fans know that this movie exists and that Issei fucked Mr Unlucky!!! IYKYK.

Best character comeback: Phupha, Our Skyy 2

From boring stoic love interest to actually compelling and kinda funny leading man! See what a little flirting with Pat Jindapat can do for you?!

[emmg]

Hello love Can I ask for Raphael x reader where Raph actually shows love, buuut in his own twisted way? One of my fam members had autism and he never ever said those three words, but showed it in acts of service and paying attention to what you say/do aaand i was thinking about Raphael who tries to show how much he loves her(or them) but well he's not very good at this. Tav reading book- he will read it too, because he cares...just to tell her how much it sucks. She's bleeding after a fight? Throws her into his healing pool and tell her how stupid she is for the whole time he's with her and how she wastes his time, but won't leave her alone, because what if this dumb mortal drowns herself? A guy said something to her and she felt like sh*t or he touched her to make her uncomfortable? He would give her a very fancy box with big bow and smiles innocently at her ; 'Come on little mouse..open it' just for her to see somebodys hand or head 'oh..this? its this creep from yesterday' Tav wears something cheap? oh boy he would tell her everythink he thinks about this rag. She thinks he wants her to wear only expensive things, because how she looks=his reputation but the truth is he thinks she deserves only the most lavish things in her life and he wont allow her to live below HIS standards And his fav way of showing love is giving her mortal who hurt her in any way already beaten so they wont demage his precious possesion, but conscious enough so she can enjoy torturing them (for sure he does it for his own amusement more than hers)

What a fun prompt! Although, to be fair, I can't exactly make it totally healthy because Raphael isn't an emotionally healthy person to be in a relationship with so this is still a little bit dark, though definitely not awful haha.

ETA: ah crap I missed the part about x reader. So sorry about that. In my defence, I truly cannot write from second person point of view. I’m very, very sorry anon. I’ve tried before and it feels awkward to me and everything comes out… bad.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Sometimes she feels hollowed out, as if something essential has been scooped clean from within her. She’s not sure why she stays—or even if she’s staying at all. Maybe he’s holding her here, maybe she has no choice, maybe she lost that freedom long ago. Because you don’t walk away when Raphael is speaking; you don’t walk away when he’s watching you. And his eyes are always on her, always, always, always following.

That gaze—it leaves her feeling half trapped, half sanctified, as though caught in some dreadful, holy spell. He doesn’t look at others this way, she knows that, but that knowledge only tightens the hold, winds the snare around her. It’s nothing, she tells herself—this attention, his careful watch—yet it feels like everything, a binding without words, a noose drawing tighter, a claw sinking deeper. Time twists strangely when he’s near, spiraling into something she can’t name, and she can’t help but wonder: will his interest wane, fade away to nothing? Or will it sharpen, tighten, until it consumes her, leaving her breathless, until there’s no space left at all? 

If it does—if he closes around her entirely, if his grip becomes her world, pressing in until there’s no air, no light, only him—what will she be then?

And she’s not even sure if he cares. He holds her there, yes, but it feels like watching a game; his own personal mousetrap, an exquisite little experiment to see how far she'll reach for the cheese. She wonders if he’s simply taking what he can, drawing her deeper until he tires of her, only to discard her when he does, laughing at her fascination with him. She can almost see it—him spitting in her face, turning her out with a sneer, then pulling her back in just as quickly. He'd fuck her, taunt her, pull her close only to watch her shatter, then laugh, invite her back with a gift, something golden, expensive, dripping with indulgent mockery. 

But then there are the other things he does, things that somehow feel worse—things that make the walls seem as though they’re closing in, or maybe as if he’s drawing her into some embrace she can’t escape from. She’s not sure which would be more terrifying. 

Sometimes, when they’re in Avernus together, she finds the portals dead, the way back to her world—a world of soft light and mortal trivialities, the Gate and its grime—suddenly blocked, cut off. And it's always the same dance. She demands an answer, asks why she can’t pass through, why she’s stuck here in this burning place with him, unable to flee back to the familiar. And he only waves her off, barely looking up, irritation flickering in his gaze. He says he hasn’t the time to bother with “simple magic,” that she can wait. 

But he knows, he knows damn it, that she can barely summon a spark, let alone force open a gateway on her own. He knows she’s trapped, helpless as a moth in a bottle, wings beating frantically against glass she can’t see. And he watches her, almost bored, as she paces, her panic ripening, sinking roots in her chest. Because he knows she won’t leave, can’t leave, and he’ll let her struggle just long enough to make her feel it—the helplessness, the claustrophobia, the bitter thrill of his control, closing around her, almost gentle, almost loving.

And then, only then, he flicks his fingers, and the portals blaze open, bright and mocking, as if they’d never gone dead at all. 

She's interrupting him, Raphael says, a nuisance he has no time for. Important matters, contracts to seal, souls to collect—real work to do, and here she is, lingering in his shadow, hovering as if she belongs, asking him to breathe life into a stupid portal. He snaps at her to leave, to stop her pestering, to get out of his sight. And so she does, shrinking back, biting her lip, retreating into her quiet corner.

But then, later—always, somehow, later—he comes to her, waking her from half-sleep as he climbs over her, pressing down with a heat that seems to burn straight through her skin. He murmurs his need, his lust, his rough, clumsy want, lips grazing her ear with words that are half-whispered, half-demanded. And she lets him, wraps her arms around his back, holds him, breathes through the rush of his hands, the awkward rhythm of his taking. 

She feels the weight of him, the feverish heat, and she sighs into it, into him, because in the Hells, everything is unbearably hot. His skin burns against hers, more furnace than flesh, and though she knows he’s hasty, heedless, that she’s just an outlet, a brief relief, she takes it. She lets herself be consumed by it, that pressing heat because here, with him, it’s as close to comfort as she’ll ever get.  

But sometimes there are moments that make her think he might care, moments she savors, drinks in slowly, wondering if they're real or merely the product of his boredom. She can never quite tell, but she doesn’t mind; she lingers on these glimmers of gentleness, holds them in her memory far longer than she should. 

Like when she’s soaking in his absurdly large bath, reclining in the steaming water with her arms folded along the edge, her head resting on cool stone, hair spilling loose behind her. She’s doing nothing at all, simply breathing in the warmth, letting the steam curl around her. And then he appears, slipping into the room, extending those long legs of his, rolling up his sleeves as he settles by her side. He doesn’t join her in the water; instead, he simply sits, a book resting in his hands, the very one she finished days ago. 

She watches, amused, as he leafs through it, the prominent wrinkle between his brows deepening with each page he turns. His expression is one of studied distaste, the kind that would be comical on anyone else. But on him, it’s strangely captivating. 

“Unhinged drivel,” Raphael mutters finally, his tone ripe with disdain. 

“Hm,” she echoes, half-lidded, watching him through the steam. 

“Why do you read this?” he questions. “I have half a mind to burn it. The sheer embarrassment of sharing the same air with it—I hardly want it in my library.” 

She smiles, faintly, eyes closing as she stretches a little deeper into the warmth. “I’m done with it,” she replies, lazily. “Do what you wish.” 

He taps two fingers against the spine. “The Duke is an absolute cretin, I must say.” 

“Oh?” she murmurs, her voice barely a breath above the water’s surface. 

“Utterly insipid,” he continues. "Such posturing, such shallow arrogance. I wouldn’t offer him a contract if he were the last soul on the proverbial platter.” 

She laughs then, quietly, letting the sound ripple through the steam. She knows Raphael is just indulging in his own particular brand of superiority, delighting in the verbal dissection, and maybe he doesn’t care for her company at all. But still, he stays, perched beside her, weaving disdainful monologues that settle like warm coals in her chest. And for a moment—just a moment—she lets herself pretend that he’s here for her. 

He continues, eyes fixed on the offending book as if it’s a particularly irksome insect. “The Duke’s speech in chapter five...” he says. “So very witless, wouldn't you say? Who professes undying love with such clumsy metaphors? And in the garden, no less, like a character in a tragic farce. ‘You are my sun and moon,’” he scoffs, his voice rising to a mock-romantic lilt. “‘My stars, my breath, my—’” 

He pauses, catching her wide-eyed, incredulous look. A faint smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, and there’s a glimmer of something—mischief?—in his gaze. “Oh, little mouse, don’t look at me like that. Surely you didn’t think I’d stoop to reading this… for enjoyment?”

She raises an eyebrow, half-laughing, half incredulous. “You read it?”

“Of course I read it,” he replies, with all the haughtiness of a scholar who’s just suffered through a poorly constructed essay. “I couldn’t very well leave such intellectual refuse lying about in my library without inspecting it first.” 

“Just inspecting it? Raphael, you just quoted chapter five.” 

He waves his hand dismissively. “A tragic misfortune. I assure you, it was purely incidental. I only skimmed enough to confirm my suspicions about its total lack of merit.” 

“Right,” she says, rolling her eyes, watching as he flips another page with painstaking precision. “Is that why you’re carrying it around?” 

He raises an eyebrow, looking at her over the book with that familiar, aristocratic arch of his brow. “Little mouse,” he drawls, his tone both affectionate and condescending, “you really must learn what jests are. I can’t go about explaining them every time, you know.” 

The novel is set aside.

His hand slips below the water, and she knows, he’s done talking, at least about her books. His fingers graze her skin, tracing erratic patterns. She feels his hand leave her only to hear the soft rustle of fabric, and then he’s there, sliding into the water, slipping behind her. 

His arms wrap around her even as he pushes her against the cool stone of the bath’s edge. She feels his impatience in the way his hands move—roaming, relentless, almost rough, his fingers pressing into her skin, biting, digging between the ribs, as if he can’t bear to be gentle.  

One hand cups her shoulder, anchoring her as his other hand travels down her side. It moves in a slow sweep, now a caress, almost reverent, then shifting, tracing a path with no pattern, simply moving, as if he’s learning her contours anew. His grip tightens, loosens, a rhythm that speaks of need and very little restraint. 

He dips his head, face buried in her hair, and she feels the weight of his breath, the moist heat of it on the exhale. There’s a hunger in his closeness, an intensity that borders on obsession. He’s quiet now, all the long-winded, self-important monologues silenced, his usual need to fill the space with words abandoned. 

She feels him pressing against her back, the hard, insistent weight of him, the subtle rock of his hips, and she sighs, her body folding further against the edge of the bath, yielding to him. The warmth in her chest spills out, dissipating into something intangible, and once again, she wonders: Was this all just a performance for her, or something he needs for himself? Was that little, half-sweet conversation meant to soften her, make her more pliant? Or, against all logic, did he truly want to speak to her, to share in that strange, fleeting intimacy? 

She wonders if he cares, even a little, if those sarcastic, needlessly elaborate jests of his are meant to coax a smile from her, to make her laugh. Or is it all calculated, a ploy to keep her engaged, to ensure that when he fucks her, she meets him with something more than passive resignation? She feels his fingers tighten on her waist, his breath hitch, and for a moment, just a moment, she allows herself to believe there’s something deeper beneath his touch, something that holds her in place as much as his arms do. 

There are other moments too, moments that sink into her like a sickness, twisting her stomach, filling her with a dread so deep it almost makes her want to flee, to scrub herself clean, to be rid of him. And yet, those same moments leave her feeling strangely exhilarated, a little unhinged, as though some part of her is thrilled by the horror of it all. 

Take the merchant, for instance. A two-penny swindler, trying to pass off cheap fabric as something exquisite. She spots his scam instantly—anyone with half a brain would—but he’s audacious, leaning in, voice low and greasy as he sells his lie. She calls him out, unimpressed, and he snaps, calling her a cunt. She flips him off without a second thought and moves on, thinking nothing more of it. She’s heard worse, so much worse, and just because she looks the part of a noblewoman at Raphael’s insistence doesn’t mean she’s forgotten the dirt and sweat of her own past. She knows the cheap tricks—how cloth is dyed in back alleys, stained with whatever can be found, how insect paste and a dash of alchemical solution turn cotton into “silk” for gullible morons. She’s done it all herself, seen the worst of it, and this pathetic attempt to cheat her hardly scratches the surface. 

She forgets the encounter entirely—until the next day. Raphael barely glances up from his writing, absorbed in the ink-stained pages of yet another infernal contract, when he pushes a small, ornate box across the table toward her. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even acknowledge it beyond a faint, almost bored gesture. She blinks, glancing from the box to him, and then back, curious but wary, wondering if this is another one of his games. 

She takes it, hesitates, then lifts the lid. 

Inside, nestled against dark velvet, is a finger. Blue, bloated, stiff with the grip of death. Her stomach turns, nausea creeping up her throat as she stares at it, bile rising as the realization settles—this isn’t just some random, expensive trinket. It’s a message, as clear and cold as the dead flesh before her. 

“Oh,” she whispers, voice strangled, unable to look away from the pale digit lying in the box, rigor mortis locking it in a ghastly curl. Her hands are trembling, fingers itching to drop the box, to shove it away, to wipe away the memory of this grotesque gift. 

She looks up at him, horrified, and finds his gaze resting on her, idle, yet somehow amused. 

She stares some more, her mind spinning as she tries to process what she’s holding, what this grotesque little gift is meant to convey. A part of her wants to retch, to bolt from the room, while another, unhinged part of her feels an inexplicable pull, an urge to draw closer to him, to be entangled in whatever madness constantly hangs off his sleeve. 

But she doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, she lets out a half-laugh, shaky and weak. “That’s… not what usually comes in jewelry boxes.” 

Raphael arches a brow. “I’ve given you plenty of jewelry, little mouse. Rings, bracelets, earrings—a whole collection of baubles you hardly deign to wear. Lavaliers, circlets, gems so fine even the simpering nobles of Waterdeep would weep for them. And yet, here you sit, determined to remain a rube.” He tsks, rolling his eyes with theatrical annoyance. “Mayhaps, I thought, just mayhaps, you might appreciate something different to suit that plebeian palate of yours.”

“Whose is it?” she asks, though she already knows. She feels the answer in the pit of her stomach, in the memory of yesterday’s insults and her dismissive walk away. 

He only shrugs, dipping his quill in ink. “I’m told he was a merchant.” He pauses, as if to savor the uncertainty flickering across her face. “Or was it a dockhand? Perhaps a barkeep. Truly, who can keep track of such insignificant lives?” 

She watches, spellbound in a way she can’t quite understand, as he sprinkles pounce over the wet ink, the tiny white particles catching the dim light. He lifts the paper, blowing the pounce off with a sharp exhale that sends the fine dust scattering into the air, drifting toward her. She coughs, swatting it away, a moment of reflexive frustration breaking through her discomfort. 

“So many names,” Raphael murmurs, almost to himself. “So many lives, so many inconsequential little people. It’s hard to keep them all straight, isn’t it?” 

She stares at him, a blend of revulsion and fascination churning within her. His words hang in the air, so careless, so detached, as if snuffing out a life meant nothing more to him than discarding an old, forgotten knickknack. And yet, he looks at her now, watching, as if expecting her reaction, waiting to see if she’ll recoil or lean closer. 

She leans closer, letting the moment pull her in, and he gives a satisfied little hum, returning to his writing with an air of contentment, as if the world is exactly as it should be. She watches the steady flow of his hand, the way his quill glides across the page in elegant, looping strokes, his cursive rising and falling. Her mind, however, catches on another thought, one that wraps around her and refuses to let go. 

He cares, she thinks, or at least he acts as though he does. This is how he responds to insults aimed at her, as if her offense is his to avenge. But another thought lingers, darker and heavier. He knows—that’s what unsettles her. If he knows, that means he saw, or had someone watch on his behalf, and that means she’s never truly alone, even when he isn’t there. She wonders how far that gaze extends, if he’s tracking her every step, every word, if he’s marked her movements like pinpoints on a map, an invisible tether she’s unknowingly bound herself to. 

Her hand drifts to her throat, almost absently, fingers brushing the skin there as if she might feel some hidden collar, a leash she’s been wearing all along without realizing it. But of course, there’s nothing—just bare skin and the faint, lingering warmth of her own touch. Still, the thought unsettles her, sends a flutter of anxiety mixed with something else, something uncomfortably close to… warmth. A warmth that spreads through her chest, that holds her in place despite the quiet urge in her feet to stand, to move, to walk as far as she can. 

But she doesn’t. Instead, she stays there, leaning close, just watching him as he writes, utterly absorbed in whatever Infernal text he’s crafting. And as she watches, that warmth in her chest grows, mingling with her apprehension, a mix of dread and fascination that knots itself around her, binding her there as securely as any leash he might conjure. 

Another day, another reckoning. 

She’s a mess of bruises, skin mottled and darkened so thoroughly she resembles a patchwork quilt rather than a woman. There had been a brawl, Astarion may or may not have thrown punches he couldn’t back, and they both may or may not have drunk too much. Korrilla may or may not have been at the Caress at the same time, her wicked laughter mingling with the chaos, and now her nose is a crimson fountain, dripping ceaselessly. Even the potion Korrilla forced down her throat did nothing to blunt the ache, the slight sneer on Korrilla’s face as she half-carried her back to the House of Hope making it clear she didn’t particularly want to be back tonight. 

When she stumbles in, Haarlep just laughs, calling her a “bloody, battered fool” and waving her off in disgust when she starts peeling off her clothes. With a muttered “Ew,” he disappears as she limps toward the restoration pool, her one salvation tonight. She knows it’s usually reserved for soothing injuries from far more… pleasurable encounters, but she hardly cares as she sinks into it, wincing as the water starts working its magic, stitching up minor cuts and scrapes as she closes her eyes and lets her head fall back. 

She drifts, the water lapping around her, letting the throbbing recede—until a sharp yank at her scalp rips her back to the present, her head wrenched above the water. She chokes, sputtering out bloody droplets as her eyes snap open, and she finds herself staring at Raphael’s livid face, exasperation etched in every line. His hand is tangled in her hair, and her scalp stings from his tight grip. He glances down at his dripping sleeves, soaked from pulling her up, and curses. 

“What a stupid way to die,” he hisses. “Drowning in my boudoir because you’re too idiotic to stay awake.” His fingers tighten in her hair, and there’s no mercy in his eyes. “Take a deep breath now.” 

She barely has a second to react before he shoves her head under the water, his hand pressing down with unrelenting force. Her body jerks, and she inhales raggedly before he drags her up again, just long enough for her to gasp for air and catch his sharp, appraising look before he shoves her down once more, holding her under like a misbehaving dog in need of punishment. Water floods her nose, stinging as she chokes, her hands scrabbling for purchase against the pool’s edge. 

Up again, another cursory glance, and then he plunges her under once more, his grip firm, a rhythm of punishment and cleansing, as though he’s scrubbing the night’s sins from her with each forced dunk. She claws at his wrist, nails scraping against his skin, and he finally releases her, leaving her gasping and hacking as she collapses against the pool’s edge, water pouring from her lungs in a desperate, wheezing cough. 

She realizes then, as she shudders and coughs, that the blood is gone; her nose, once a mess of numb throbbing, now feels raw but whole. She clutches the pool’s edge, head bowed, catching her breath as the water stills around her. Raphael just stands there, dripping, sleeves ruined, as he observes her. 

“Well,” he mutters, flicking water from his fingers with a faint sneer, “at least you’re less of a mess now.” 

He hauls her from the water, pulling her sodden form from the boudoir and away from the rumpled heap of her clothes. His eyes drift over them—the plain tunic, the uninspired trousers, the scuffed leather boots—with a look of disdain so pointed it almost makes her wince. 

“An offense to beauty itself,” he murmurs, almost to himself, though the words slap her just the same. “These… things.” His lip curls. “They will burn. They’re an affront to my eyes, and my patience is wearing thin.” 

His gaze slides back to her face, catching on her bruised nose, and he tilts her head with the care one might give a very expensive artifact. His fingers are unhurried, methodical, as he surveys her battered skin. “I don’t keep unsightly things, you know,” he says. “I like my things beautiful. It’s why I collect them—why I keep them close.” 

Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, his tone shifts to something almost conversational, a careless elegance in his words that sets her nerves alight. “Tell me, little mouse,” he begins, fingers tapping idly on his thigh, “shall I lock the door?” 

She feels a shiver run through her, her voice faltering. “Which… one?” 

He tilts his head in mock contemplation. “Why not all of them?” 

“Raphael…” she starts, but she isn’t even sure what she wants to say, or if there’s anything to be said at all. 

Unhurriedly, he begins to strip off his clothes, each gesture carried out with an almost ritualistic elegance. He slips out of his doublet, casting it aside with a look of mild annoyance. “Your doing,” he sighs, smoothing an imaginary crease before discarding it. “This fabric—fine enough to silence even the heavens—ruined by your negligence. It cost more than you could dream, more than most would spend in a lifetime.” 

She watches, stuck somewhere between disbelief and fascination, unsure if he’s preparing to fuck her or simply indulging in the strange meticulousness of his undressing. Each cufflink is unfastened with almost absurd care, each tie released with the same flawless precision she knows so well. The clothes fold neatly under his hands, smoothed and arranged as if they were sacred relics, and though part of her wants to laugh at the absurdity, she knows better than to test his patience now. 

Raphael pauses, shirt open just enough to reveal the line of his throat, his collarbone stark against tan skin. His eyes pin hers and his voice takes on a melodic, almost regretful tone. “Perhaps if I lock you in,” he murmurs, “you might refrain from throwing yourself into every pit of squalor in the Gate, seeking out any hand willing to smash that face of yours.” 

“No one seeks that, Raphael,” she says, her voice sounding distant. “It just… happens.” 

He snaps his fingers with a sharp, final click. “Yes, yes,” he echoes, almost as if humoring a child. “And doors just… lock themselves.” 

[harlowtales]

Jack and Y/N stir up the toxic 😤 ☣️ ❤️

18 PLUS ONLY - Adult Themes

There was one night Jack came in high and had been drinking which he doesn’t usually do. He crept into your room where you stayed in his condo to cater to his every need as his assistant. He crashed beside you as you lay there frozen. Trying to move him was like trying to move a brick.

Had he wandered into your room thinking it was his? Did he think you were his latest fling that would stay over some nights? Those nights that were so awkward when one of Jack’s flavours of the month would stay over and in the morning you would find some confused girl in the fridge rummaging around for a snack in his Tshirt and boy underwear.

Jack would always shoot you a look as whoever it was this time blew him a kiss goodbye trying desperately to stay. You didn’t seem to care at all. In fact you thought these girls were stupid and wanted no part of Jack’s world as “Harleezy”.

You had gotten to know Jackman Thomas Harlow and Jackman is who you were trying to hide that you adored, possibly had even fallen for…as far as that was possible for you. You were pretty but didn’t really understand that, and didn’t know how to “act sexy”, or any of that stuff, which drove Jack insane for you. He loved the awkwardness, the inability to take a compliment, the complete lack of awareness of how pretty you were, and lack of being able to bullshit him.

In fact, you were kind of grumpy which Jack found cute and would go out of his way to irritate you on purpose. You hadn’t intended your first assignment to be babysitting a grown man but this grown man desperately needed it. He was so kind and sweet it became a role you filled very well. At least looking after Jack had benefits. He was lighthearted and witty, and you needed that in your life.

You were a business grad and that was your mindset. Working for Jack was your first big break. It was Jackman who told you how he really struggled with fame and felt insecure while you two would chill some nights with pups and watch a movie. “Young Harleezy” was breaking hearts and gently kicking girls out in the morning.

However, you started seeing someone else in the business as you had no illusions of you and Jack ever being a thing. Plus dating someone so recognizable didn’t appeal to you. Unfortunately when Jack found out about your new man, he went on a bender at his favourite nightclub, the Hub.

He stumbled onto your bed and crashed, intending to tell you how he felt about you that night, but was too gone. In the morning you woke up to his arm and leg over you looking like an absolute angel with a mess of curls. He must never know how you felt about him. You worked for his label. As you were taking him all in trapped under his massive frame compared to yours, he opened his blue eyes, rubbed his freckled nose, smiled, and pulled you closer going back to sleep.

“J…Jack…JACKMAN it’s me Y/N get your giraffe self off me” you said trying to move just his arm was not working as he gripped you tighter. “Earth to Jackman I’m not Alisha…or “Delilah” who we all know her name is not fucking Delilah…or Jesse who has no makeup line coming out like how stupid does she think we are…or Joanne who like bitch I’m not your maid. Clean the crumbs off the counter when you make your post-dick sucking peanut butter and jelly sandwiches!! Uughhh!”The desperation in your voice reached a strained pitch as you struggled underneath him. This was what Jack was waiting for. He knew you cared and responded half asleep as his perfect pout turned up slightly at the corner in delight.

“Listen Y/N” Jack said still groggy “I know whose bed I’m in just relax.” He nuzzled into you and was full on cuddling now. He proceeded to doze back off and talk in his sleep. You learned he couldn’t stop thinking about you, said you’re his girl no one else’s, he loves grilled cheese with the crusts cut off, and Phil owes him $20.00. You laid there under the weight of him and listened to him babble until eventually you detangled yourself from the labyrinth of arms and legs, and went to make his eggs like you do every morning.

When you entered the kitchen Ismail was there having already grabbed something to eat and was working on his laptop as the sun was just beaming through the large windows over the Ohio river you had a full view of.

“Oh hey” you greeted him off handedly

“Hey.” He said quietly. Ismail wasn’t a big talker which was perfect for you especially in the morning

“He alright?” He said motioning over to your room

“He’s fine just fucking irritating as usual. I think I have a crick in my neck. He sleeps like pups just takes over the bed. Thanks for feeding her.” You replied as you picked up pups and gave her a kiss

“No worries. Sorry he insisted he had to talk to you last night and tell you everything. I couldn’t stop him from going in there.” Ismail apologized “When are you leaving for the Caribbean? We’re all dreading it”

“I leave today…wait what? What do you mean tell me everything is he ok?” You asked Ismail. Jack is always talking shit so you took nothing he said seriously…even in his sleep.

“Nothing.” Ismail said looking like he let something slip. “I’m taking over for you. Jack said he’s not letting some snotty nosed kid from Atlantic make his eggs for 2 weeks so show me how to make the Y/N special.”

You were getting the pan out and everything you needed as Jack never slept in even the odd time he got into some “substances” the night before. You started boiling the kettle for his tea and took the eggs out and a bowl. “Well first of all he only likes them scrambled but I’ve moved him over from hard to soft and some salt and pepper. I also pan fry his toast in THIS PAN. He says he can taste the difference when it’s done in any other pan. Got it? This pan for the eggs, this pan for the toast.”

Ismail gained a new appreciation for you 1min into these instructions. “I ain’t doing all this he gets what he gets.” Ismail vowed. What did he sign up for? Was his boy really like this? “No wonder he loves you so much.” He said and immediately clamped his mouth shut, but you were busy cracking and whipping up everything so you didn’t notice.

You placed Jack’s plate of eggs and pan fried toast on the table with a peeled and fanned out orange on the side with his favourite “Throat Coat” tea. Ismail watched in admiration knowing he wasn’t going to be able to top this.

“Ok Ismail since this is your crash course in all things Jackman let’s go wake him up.” You said preparing Ismail for what it’s like to get his friend out of bed. You were armed with pups which was your secret weapon.

You unleashed puppers onto the bed and Jack was attacked with licking, whining, and barking. Still motionless and in a deep sleep you took a pillow and hit him repeatedly in the head. “Jack!! JACKMAN!!” You yelled “Eggs!!” He came too with a gentle smile.

“Hey beautiful thanks my eggs are ready?” He said looking absolutely adorable with bed head and disheveled clothes from the club.

“Go take a quick shower first. Here’s some water and pop a couple vitamin C to sober up ok? I leave today and I need to make sure you’re ok before I go. You have a conference call with management and Ismail is here. I prepared your notes for your phone interview and the studio called. I booked you in all weekend. You have to finish those last 2 songs and make sure you sign that card for your cousins birthday, and I restocked the bathroom with that soap you like.”

As you gave Jack who was still waking up a run down of everything he needed to know in his life, Ismail was starting to understand why Jack felt such anxiety with you going away. “I’m exhausted already Y/N” Ismail said in awe of you “Jack buddy let’s go bud you got a headache?” He said helping his friend up.

“Yeah sort of.” Jack said feeling more depressed than anything “Y/N you’re meeting him in the islands aren’t you? This mr. record executive.”

You stopped. “Who told you that?” You asked stunned.

“I got my sources. You could’ve just told me… I mean it’s not like I give a fuck. I can have 2 and 3 girls over at a time while you’re gone and I don’t have to worry about whoever I have over crying that you don’t like them.” Jack said being as mean as possible. He had hoped something would’ve happened last night but he was too wasted.

“Jack fuck the whole neighborhood while I’m gone I don’t care.” You retorted annoyed as you busily went about preparing for your flight “Ismail have fun. I know I will.” You smirked which drove Jack nuts.

“Have fun blowing the boss’s son who cares!” He yelled back downstairs as he went up to shower

“Your eggs are cold now.” Is all you said calmly

“Bro. Is he…do y’all always…what in the actual fuck did I just witness? Y’all need to fuck and get it over with.” Ismail marvelled shaking his head.

“Oh trust me, that was nothing.” You said rolling your eyes “now watch when he comes back down.” You predicted in a hushed whisper.

Jack came back down his curls still wet and sat at the table with a sigh for attention while you tidied up the kitchen. “Pookie.” Jack called to you as you had your back turned washing up. “Pook! Yo, my food is cold, can you please warm it up for me?”

“Of course” you said taking his dish with a peck on his forehead to which he smiled and you put his plate in the microwave. “Look I leave in a few hours. Ismail is all set so if you need me don’t call me. I will have no access to email and spotty cell service.”

“Y/N?” Jack said in the most pathetic way “Don’t enjoy yourself too much you know what I mean? You got condoms right?” Jack asked as he sipped on his tea.

With that, watching the most toxic interaction he’d ever seen, Ismail walked away and left the room, he’d had enough.

“I bought a fresh box thank you dad.” You lied stealing a piece of his bacon before handing back his warmed up plate.

“A BOX??” Jack fumed “You know what? I lost my fucking appetite” he said shoving the plate away and folding his arms.

“You know what makes me lose my appetite? All your little hoes losing their underwear in your mattress. Like I’m so glad I don’t have to clean your cum splattered room. They’re so dumb and skanky and gross” You shot back pretending to gag.

“When do you fucking leave?” Jack seethed.

“Not soon enough!” You yelled stomping to your room. He was knocking on your door in 2 seconds.

Ismail was desperately trying to get Jack’s attention to cue up for his interview and conference call.

“Fuck off!” You said through the door as you decided to call your uber and leave early. This was why you were leaving in the first place. Most of the time the toxic banter was all in fun, but sometimes it got ugly.

“Open the door Pookie.” Jack insisted sounding nicer “Can I help you with anything before you go?” Which was his way of getting you to open the door. He didn’t want you going away mad and using your whole box of condoms to spite him.

“You want to help me? Take your meds.” You said still pissed as you opened the door to find him eating the breakfast he said he didn’t want and just standing there. “Why are you so clinically insane?” You asked him while gathering your things to head out early.

“I’m sorry I’m way off lately. I love you, you know that.” He said as he often did. What you didn’t know is that it was true.

“I called my Uber I’m out of here, remember interview and all that other shit. Hopefully when I come back you can treat me like a fucking human.” You said on the edge of tears which wasn’t normal for you.

“Please don’t sleep with him. I couldn’t…I wanted to tell you last night…I” Jack stammered and sat on your bed looking paler than usual

“Jack talk to me.” You said concerned as you sat next to him. “You can talk to me you know that right?”

“Y/N please. I need you to not sleep with this guy.” Jack begged.

“Jack I’m seeing him. I can’t just refuse to sleep with him. We’re getting closer and this will be our first time. He wanted it to be special.” You said dreamily. Jack couldn’t take it he abruptly stood up and started pacing.

“What if I fire you if you go.” He said

You shot up walking over to him to stop him pacing and talking crazy. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because…I can’t…ah fuck” Jack pinned you to the wall. He pressed into you and passionately kissed you as his hands began moving all over your body. You felt him rising quickly and panted “Jack no…please”. He pulled his sweatpants down and lifted up your shirt getting one breasts free sucking and biting your nipple roughly “Jack I can’t do this!” You breathlessly exclaimed. He turned you around and felt between your legs to tease your space.

“Then why are you so wet?” He demanded as he backed you up to your bed and pushed you onto it taking his shirt off as he stood between your legs. He kneeled down just admiring your glistening pussy and started licking all the way up your inner thigh, penetrating your dewey core with his hot tongue and suctioning your clit with his juicy lips. You gripped his damp curls with agony. Was this actually happening and why was this happening?

He forcefully had your hips in his grasp as you straddled your shaking thighs around his head. Once he came back up he stood up rock hard in front of you wiping his mouth with a mischievous grin motioning for you to pleasure him. This had gone too far now. The Uber was on the way, Ismail was in the living room, and Jack had things to do.

You took him into your whole mouth pulling the shaft slowly out of your wet mouth with a rotating suck at the tip. He lost his mind rolling his head back moaning and shoving your head down. You gagged a bit but spit on his now purple throbbing cock and pumped him vigorously matching his intense energy.

You both had so much pent up energy and anger that you needed each other so much. He pushed you back and entered you slowly as you winced from his size. This is not how you imagined your first time with him as you had done many nights falling asleep knowing he had brought someone home that you would see in the morning in the kitchen.

“How you give such good head and so…uughhh so tight and wet.” He said out of breath inside you rocking in between your thighs finding his perfect spot before he pummelled you into the mattress. He couldn’t believe how good you were. Had he known he would have done this a long time ago. “Your my girl understand?” Echoing what he had said in his sleep. His tender kiss on your forehead as he went deeper stretching you had you looking into his eyes in disbelief of the painful pleasure. “I’m not nice Y/N. not when the pussy is this good and belongs to me.”

He shifted all his weight onto you making you cry out “Jack I can’t…you’re too big…I…oh god.”

He covered your mouth muffling your pleas for him to stop when he knew you didn’t want him to. He didn’t want Ismail to hear you scream. “Shhhhh” he said in your ear overpowering you in missionary position. “Relax ok? Am I hurting you? Tell me yes.”

He let you speak moving his hand away. “Yes… fuck…PLEASE Jack.! I wont be rude anymore I swear.” The ecstasy you felt was uncontainable.

He smiled and covered your mouth again driving hard and fast and was not satisfied until he felt a tear drip down your face onto his firm hand. It was too much, too much he had held in for too long. He aggressively drove hard until he exploded onto your stomach as he quickly pulled out.

It was more than he had dreamed every night he was with someone else. “Fuck you’re so good” He said dipping his throbbing tip into his warm cum on your stomach smearing it all over before lying back pulling you to snuggle up to his chest. You were both a mess. One of your breasts was out of your bra, and your underwear still around one ankle. It all happened so fast.

Just then the Uber called and Ismail knocked on the door. “Jack buddy your interview and Y/N’s Uber is here.” Ismail called out to you and Jack heaving and sweating, you with his cum still all over your stomach.

“One sec bro.” Jack called out to Ismail and frantically turned to you “Don’t get on that fucking plane.” He demanded both if you still reeling from your rough romp.

“Jack I…” you started to say but he kept you from answering your phone. The Uber was calling you.

“Miss Y/N no longer needs your services. We’ll pay you full fare. Sorry bro.” He said still a bit out of breath as he hung up and tossed your phone on the floor.

“Uughhh!! I hate you!” You said exasperated

“I know baby. I hate you too, and by the way, you’re fired.” He said.

@itsyagirljaz @jackharlow502