#and even then he almost never does so I tolerate it for him because I wanna encourage him to keep creating when he does do his own stuff

[hiddenbeks]

oooooo i need to talk abt heidrun so bad. a fun fact abt heidrun is that animals will sense that something is Off abt her. horses will become agitated around her cats will hiss at her farm animals will freeze or flee in fear and it's all very sad

[ivegoneturbo]

ough

[sceletaflores]

well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…

pair: joel miller x fem!reader

wc: 8.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

joel found a lodge house…

You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.

He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.

Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.

You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.

And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.

It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.

What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.

But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.

You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.

You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.

Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.

You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.

In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.

You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.

All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.

After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.

It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.

It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.

A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.

You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.

Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.

It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.

The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.

You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.

Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.

There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

You learned how to be ruthless because of it.

How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.

The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss. 

And then you found yourself with Joel.

You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.

A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.

But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.

He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around. 

You didn’t know what to do with that.

It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.

Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.

He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.

It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.

The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.

You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.

Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.

The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.

The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.

Joel. Of course.

He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.  

“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.

You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”

Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.

“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.

Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway. 

You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.

Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”

With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.

You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”

Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.

You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.

You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.

You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.

Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.

You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.

Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual. 

But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.

You’re on your feet in an instant.

“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”

“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S’just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”

He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant. 

His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own. 

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”

"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.

“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.

"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."

Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.

You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.

The smell of blood hits you immediately.

The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.

Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.

Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.

“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.

It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.

A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.

“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.

You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.

You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.

You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”

Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”

He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.

You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.

“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.

Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.

You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly. 

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.

Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.

You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.

Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.

But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.

You’re staring, and you know it.

The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.

You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.

Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”

You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.

“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.

Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”

The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.

He’s too damn proud for that.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.

“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”

“Who taught you?”

The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.

You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”

You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.

Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.

You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.

“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”

Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side. 

“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned. 

You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”

You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.

You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”

“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”

You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.

“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”

Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.

“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now,  his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.

“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”

“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”

“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.

The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.

You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.

Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.

“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”

“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.” 

“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”

That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.

Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”

It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.

You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you. 

It never was.

“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.

“I want you to prove it.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. 

You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.

But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing. 

It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.

He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.

His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.

You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.

Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.

You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”

You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.

You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.

This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence. 

Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin. 

Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.

You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”

He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”

You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach. 

His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back. 

“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.

“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”

Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”

“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”

Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.

“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest. 

“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.

“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”

You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”

Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind. 

The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.

Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”

Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But you don’t hesitate.

You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch. 

“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”

"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”

Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.

He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”

His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.

You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need. 

You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.

Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency. 

As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.

Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours. 

The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.

“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.

Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.

“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.

"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”

You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”

Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”

Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.

Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.

“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.

He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”

The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.

“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”

“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss. 

The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness. 

Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.

Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk. 

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”

“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”

He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.

The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.

Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.

His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth. 

The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.

Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you. 

The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."

You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. 

Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.

"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.

Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.

“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”

His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.

Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.

You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."

With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure. 

You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.

Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.

His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.

He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts. 

Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.

Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.

“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.

“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”

Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.

Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.

A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.

“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.

All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits. 

Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO

[meowdei]

Sukuna who was never close to his twin brother and never cared about the pipsqueak runt of a kid who’s his nephew.

He doesn’t care and doesn’t want to be associated with that bullshit. His brother doesn’t take the hint ever and invites him to everything. “My sons’s birthday party” this and “my son’s kindergarten graduation” that. What sort of graduation is meant for a kindergartener anyway? That’s a load of nonsense. But Jin is as annoying as ever with insisting on keeping contact and trying to get Sukuna involved and he hates it until by some tragedy out of nowhere, his brother and sister and law are dead. Yuuji’s left an orphan and no one can care for that kid because there’s no one left.

No one except Sukuna.

They ask him, too. The social workers. They turn to him and say some pitiful script about being “the only family left to take custody of him.” He knows pretty well what’s going to happen to the pipsqueak if he doesn’t agree. The foster care system and the possible horrors such a bright (even if annoying) kid could face makes him question saying no for a second. He’s surprisingly conflicted.

And it’s out of sheer impulsiveness alone does he end up as a single, grumpy, begrudging uncle who’s got custody of a child he never really cared to know in the first place.

And then he meets you.

Sweet, bubbly, warm, and so weirdly happy. Dictionary definition of what an elementary school teacher should be. Yuuji’s absolute favorite person on the planet as he waves hello at you enthusiastically every time that Sukuna drops him off and goodbye every time that Sukuna picks him up.

“I heard his new guardian would be his uncle. It’s nice to meet you,” you murmur to him the first day he picks up Yuuji after school, a look of pure melancholy on your face as you stare at him with an unearthly amount of compassion and sympathy. “Yuuji’s parents were wonderful people. I’m really sorry for your loss.”

“Wasn’t that close with either of them,” he grunts out. You look over at where Yuuji’s gleefully playing on the slide of the playground. Too young and innocent to realize that’s been ripped away from him. Too naive to understand what it means to grieve. Too hopeful about the world around him to realize just how cruel it can really be.

“Oh,” you murmur, nodding slowly.

He thinks that your unnaturally kind demeanor will finally be broken for a split second of judgement. What sort of heartless bastard doesn’t feel an ounce of grief for his own brother’s death? Instead, however, you seem to look at him with some weird sense of wonder.

“You’re a good uncle for stepping up regardless,” you say softly, “it’s more than what most would do in your shoes.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he clicks his teeth, unbearably uncomfortable with how weirdly sentimental this all is. “He’s just a five year old. How much trouble could he be?”

You raise a brow in amusement, eyeing him like he’s got one hell of a surprise waiting for him. He doesn’t like the vague way you hum, “Yeah. How could such a little human cause trouble, right?”

“I’ve got it under control,” he grumbles, a little annoyed that you seem to think that out of all things, a simple child would be enough to cause Sukuna any issues.

“Let me know if you need anything,” you smile.

Yuuji calls to you from the distance, squealing look what I can do! before he does a rather clumsy spin. Sukuna raises an unimpressed brow. You clap and praise him with an exaggerated gasp of approval.

It’s oddly endearing, he thinks to himself—you, not the kid. The kid’s barely tolerable.

“C’mon, you brat,” Sukuna calls. And then he looks at you and gruffly adds, “And I don’t need help.”

“Okay,” you grin brightly. It almost feels like you’re saying that a little sarcastically. “I’m sure you’ve got this parent thing down.”

Before he can even correct you that he’s an uncle, not parent, Yuuji comes running over on clumsy, short little legs and grabs onto Sukuna’s hand.

“C’mon, Uncle ‘Kuna!”

Sukuna doesn’t miss the way your eyes soften. Weirdly enough, he feels this odd sort of squeeze in his chest that doesn’t make any sense. Maybe he’s just getting old—that has to be it.

[worstgenerationloser]

Could you please do ace, shanks and benn defending their f s/o from a misogynistic man? I had to face one at work and he gave me the absolute ICK

,, Rushing to your aid! ''

Ace, Shanks, and Beckman x F! Reader.

Summary... how would your boyfriend defend you from a misogynistic man?

Contains... misogyny, mentions of harassment, depictions of bloody violence, and some slight fluff!

A/N: IM SORRY YOU HAD TO DEAL WITH THAT ANON💕 I hope since you sent in this ask the men have left you alone! If not I'll ward them away myself!! 🤺🤺

Portgas D. Ace

Ace doesn't register it completely, so at first he's confused on why this man is talking to you as if you were a baby (mostly because he's a dumbass)

Now, even if he wasn't aware the man was being misogynistic at first, he's still rushing towards you because there's literally a weird man talking to you the way you would to a little kid, and you definitely looked angry enough to tear off his head.

"Woah, what's happening here?" Instinctively and natural as breathing, his arm slips around your shoulders and his fingers move to gently graze your arm in an attempt to console you.

He doesn't like showing his temper much, but when people precious to him are involved, his angry heart bursts into flames. When the man speaks, his jaw drops out of pure disbelief. According to him, he was mansplaining how pirates operate to you. Which is weird, because Ace knows that you're definitely well versed in pirates... Considering you're his girlfriend.

He wanted to diffuse the situation, but it seems like this random needed a reality check.

"Hm... Good to know, but I'm sure it's irrelevant to her." His smile is wide and joyous, but the ominous shadow looming over his face is anything but.

"But she's clueless!", the man rambles on and bumbles about like a headless chicken, before he turns back to get one good look at Ace. Then it clicks in his pea-sized brain that maybe you know a bit more about pirates than him.

Ace looks a little scary when he's mad, you discover . But mostly cute.

"My girlfriend doesn't need to explain her knowledge to some random asshole who couldn't make a lasting impact on her life if he tried, you're way below her, buddy."

With gritted teeth, Ace tries to not light fire to the whole town, but only you seem to notice his body is literally smoking hot.

According to Ace, the guy ran a little too slow, and that's how he ended up naked covered in burn marks! The marines didn't believe him, though, and you two were left to flee.

"Can you believe the balls on that guy? It's not like you're unknown, either. Portgas D. Ace's kickass girlfriend! It's got a nice ring to it, eh?"

He nudges you a little too hard and sends you flying into a bush, but you appreciate the cute moments with him no matter how brief.

Red-Haired Shanks

Shanks learned many things during his time in the Roger Pirates, but one thing really stuck with him throughout the years. He can tolerate being spat on and kicked around, if his crew sees it as a threat then he's not gonna stop them from doing whatever it is they're planning, but he's not gonna ask them to go out of their way to deal with it.

But when someone disrespects his crew, and especially you?

Oh, he's pissed.

You think he doesn't realize at first, but he's keeping a very close eye on you two. He tries to keep his ass planted firmly into his chair per Beckman's request. Beckman is the mature one, and he's almost never wrong in the astute observations he makes. Despite this, Shanks has no self control and he's lobbing himself towards the bar where you sit.

Beckman shakes his head disapprovingly at his captain, because unlike him, Beck knows you can handle yourself.

The man in question harassing you seems to be a small time criminal with a bounty of 50,000... That doesn't deter Shanks, it might have egged him on even more because who does he think he is harassing you?

By the time Shanks has made his way to you, your harasser seems to have taken it upon himself to demean you for your appearance, pulling out all the classics like "bitch" "whore" , and "slut" to name a few. Shanks, of course, finds absolutely no amusement in this. I'm sure you can guess what happened next.

Your harasser tries to argue and degrade you a little more when Shanks steps up, not realizing how silent the bar has suddenly become. He didn't even realize the hundreds of eyes disappearing from him, not wanting to watch things unfold.

"You're drunk, I'll give you that one." Shanks barks out a laugh like he finds it funny, but up close you can see that gleam in his eyes.

Well... it's not like you could stop him anyways.

But you really wish he left the bar standing, at least. It certainly isn't doing good for his reputation as an emperor of the seas.

When Beckman scolds him as if he were a child on deck, he laughs like he'll forget about it in a day or two. But everyone knows Shanks will be doing it all over again in a heartbeat. He holds you extra close that night, trying to make sure your heart isn't tainted by the venomous words spat.

"I don't want anybody, big name or small, disrespecting people I hold dear to me."

His words are sweet while he whispers to you in bed... he's an odd man, but he's yours.

Benn Beckman

Two words. Broken. Bones.

Beckman does not play around with his girl, at all. He'll bash in heads day and night if someone even looks at you the wrong way, but he restrains himself because he's not a jealous young man anymore, so he likes to think.

Regarding everything else, he's cool as a cucumber, he prefers to let things wash over by themselves and only offers advice if he senses things will go astray. (as previously mentioned)

You're his girl, and a damn beautiful one, so he isn't surprised when some people try and scope you out, the same happens to him with many women, so why be so hypocritical about it? His heart is locked inside of yours for the rest of his life whether you want him or not, so he knows you won't run off with another no matter how much Shanks jokes about it.

If they're a little persistent, he might walk up to you and give you a few kisses so they get the message. But this man was definitely not "a little persistent."

Beck doesn't have a second to think of what he should do when he hears the utterances of vile comments slip from this man's mouth after you turned him down, because he's already right next to you quicker than his own head can wrap around. He's big, tall and scary, enough so to make someone shake with just a look.

"A grown man like yourself should know that ain't no way to talk to a lady." His voice is low, and he's talking nice and slow for your harassers ears only.

Beck heard it all, him hitting on you in an unceremonious way, all the way to demeaning you when you rejected him, spouting the same chewed up rhetoric that is "women are only good for bearing children" and whatnot. He can't let that pass no matter how capable you may be of handling it yourself.

"And what are you gonna do about it?" The man's words were proven to be a bad move before his lips could rest against eachother.

Following that, there was quite a sight. Somehow Beckman managed to twist the poor guy into some kind of abstract form of art, all bloody and fucked up with no more teeth left.

And of course he ushered you away after wiping his hands clean enough for you, because he's a gentleman, he didn't do it for himself, it was for you!

"M'sorry you had to see that, sugar." His whispers fill your head while he has you resting your head on his chest hours later, a few giggles coming from outside your bedroom door. Guess who?

"You know I won't let nobody disrespect you like that. You aren't mad, are you baby?" Beckman is a real sweet talker, so it's not like you could be even if you tried.

Plus, he looks super hot fighting.

END.

Likes and Reblogs are appreciated! ❤️If possible, leave a comment too!

[obsessedwrhys]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ The Seven x Deadpool!Reader

t/w: loooots of dark humour/jokes, reader is insensitive and an asshole since they're also a supe working at vought, your powers are the exact same as Deadpool (even the skin condition), mention about killing, death, gore, r-pe, n@zis?!?!, alcohol, some intimacy (?). Also reader is gn!!

ᯓ★ here's a version with the boys <3

HOMELANDER

This man hates you so fking much

Has tried to kill you multiple times, he tried lasering you, tearing you in half and even throwing you into the sky but you just always manage to come back like the damn plague

Eventually he gives up trying to kill you and just had to deal with the fact you'll be kept alive... just temporarily though... he's still looking for ways to kill you

However, your powers gave you dozens of advantages when around Homelander.

He can be having a meeting about something serious and everyone would be listening to him due to their fear towards him, then there's you who'd be doing your own thing and just shout out unrelated things like "Donald Trump just blocked me on Twitter!! HAH!! SUCK IT CORNFLACKS!!"

Everyone turning to you with startled expressions while Homelander simply rolls his eyes before continuing his presentation.

You are a complete nightmare to the PR team, that's why for interviews or any events, you'll always be paired up with Homelander so he can keep you under control and stop you from saying weird shit that could ruin the company's image.

"So Deadpool, how does it feel being in the Seven working alongside Homelander? You've been working together for almost 3 years now" A reporter would ask as you two are surrounded by screaming fans.

"Like I'm in the twilight series, not because of the fantasy but because I'm still waiting for the part where he impregnates me—"

"O-kay! That's enough, just silly ol' Deadpool with those inside jokes"

"You can tell in this eyes that he wants to fuck me right now. HE'S GONNA FUCK ME!!" You shouted as you're being dragged away by him.

Obviously when you had found out about his relationship with Stormfront, especially her background, you had to say some shit about it. Not giving the slightest care about the fact he could be grieving over her death.

He'll be in his room standing in front of the window and you'd just storm in, being as loud as possible.

"I can't believe you dated a N@zi!! Is it because I'm Jewish?!" Which may or may not be true, nobody knows your origin.

He may hate your guts but if he ever needs someone to help him do some dirty work, you're the person for the job, you never ask why or how, which could be the only thing he likes about you.

"Y'know, maybe if you didn't have such a big mouth, you'd be tolerable"

"All the people I've slept with have said otherwise"

Compatibility? 50%

STARLIGHT

Before she joined the Seven, she had an image of what kind of person you were, she just didn't know it was this worse.

When you found out she used to work at this Sunday School Church, you just haaaaad to say something about it.

"So like, you say that prayer always works, but every night I pray for my hair to grow and it never does. Do you think God has me blocked? How do I get unblock?"

"Uh..."

You two surprisingly get along without one wanting to slice the other's throat, except sometimes the things you say can really piss her off. Which is why when the company assigned her a new costume, she was trying her hardest to avoid you, but you found out anyways.

"Holy shit Starlight! Nice costume, is this your Miley Cyrus breakthrough? Girl power!"

Insert her groaning out of annoyance.

Again, the second you discovered she was dating a guy behind the death of Translucent, you were heartbroken :(

"Of course this happens right when my therapist gives up on me!"

Despite your behaviour, you pitied her when it was revealed that she was taken advantage of by The Deep, so like any good friend, you took revenge by cooking his friend octopus and eating it happily in front of him.

"Revenge does taste sweet" You'd say happily while Starlight just watches by the side, both grateful and horrified at your actions.

In my opinion, you would definitely be the person she goes to once she starts working with the boys, you'll always be providing whatever information that happens in the company for her to use.

It helps her worry less about getting anyone killed 'cause you literally can't die.

Compatibility? 60%

QUEEN MAEVE

You're half the reason why she rethinks about her life choices when she wakes up in the morning

Not because you're a handful (which you are) but because you're always paired together on missions

"Deadpool! The hostages!"

"OKAY! God... you act just like my drunk uncle"

Which is a joke/nickname you like to address her by because of her alcoholism (yikes)

Whenever the company needs you for something, half of the time she's the one assigned to search for you.

There was this one time she caught you trying to have Anika track down Kanye West's location, nobody knows what shenanigans you were up to.

Another thing to mention was that you two were chosen by the company to sing a Christmas song for the year's Christmas ceremony.

Just imagine during the bridge of the song, she's singing normally while you're completely going off, your high note so high you were sure you had Mariah Carey a run for her money.

Even though she finds you a lot to deal with, you're actually her buddy to train with.

Since you're very skilled with Katanas, she likes to practice her swordsmanship with you.

You like to tease or make fun of her everytime she fails to strike you which is good motivation for her to get better. Maybe you guys bring out the best of each other?

Last thing I'd like to add is when she was found out by the public that she was a lesbian (She's bi but you get the running joke), you had gifted her a t-shirt that says, 'Biggest Dick in Town'

Compatibility? 80%

THE DEEP

Your human punching bag

If Vought was a high school instead of a company, you'd be the bully and he'd be the nerd getting stuffed inside the locker room.

For example, Homelander could be confronting Starlight about her relationship with Hughie and everyone would just start raising their voices til you come in yelling "SHUT UP!" to the Deep who had not said a single thing during the entire time.

Just imagine him staring at you like 😐

To be honest you also ate his friend octopus so you guys are actually never getting the chance to make up.

"Look dude, I don't appreciate your tone"

"I don't appreciate your haircut either but we can't all get what we want"

You may be a crazy person but you weren't going to be okay with the fact he violates every woman he sees, so not only did you cook the octopus but you also called in a male stripper disguised as a woman just for him to celebrate on his birthday.

Just imagine him all happy when you tell him the news and later that night he'll run inside your room, completely pissed off at your act after finding out but you just laughed and said.

"Happy April Fools 😚!"

"That's next month dipshit!"

Also, you never understood his weird fantasies. He has a thing for sea animals??You've caught him multiple times either flirting or getting off to one. It was concerning even for you.

"From how many animals you've fucked, you might just turn from the ocean's 'Seaman' to 'Semen'." You joked which he did not find funny.

Maybe you messing with him could just be your way of getting along with him since you're the same with everybody else, it's just he has more flaws to poke fun of and he's sensitive about them.

Compatibility? 5%

A-Train

He thinks you're fucked up in the head.

Half of the shit that comes out of your mouth just has him reacting like in the GIF

Buuuuuut you're the one he always brings to the club because you always know ways to give the party life.

You've somehow even got on the wall of fame, a lovely portrait of you with your hands making out a heart.

Also, you know about his business with Compound V waaaaay before anyone else did. He's still grateful you didn't tell anyone.

Just like everyone else, you also enjoy messing with him except he's fast and constantly avoiding you.

"Hey A-Train, how much do you wanna bet that I can die faster than you?"

"Dude... seriously?"

You guys rarely get sent on missions together because you're always slowing him down, not basing off the fact he's fast but because you get easily sidetracked with other things.

"Alright, we're here now, how much C4 do we use?"

"Fuck math! Let's use all of 'em!"

You ended up detonating all of the C4 on you before he could object the idea, he was able to run out in time, your action nearly getting him killed while you ended up dead.

But it's fine you'll just grow back.

You know that race he has against Shockwave? You'd be at the VIP section standing near where Homelander and Queen Maeve is, waving your huge banner that has a picture of A-Train's face and yours pasted over a figure carrying the other in bridal style.

Compatibility? 55%

TRANSLUCENT

He makes people paranoid but you make him disgusted.

There was this one time he was bored so he snuck in your room to see what you were doing.

At first he was confused why you had so many cute plushies but then the more he explored your room, he realised your room is basically every collector's dream.

You even had a huge teddy bear in the corner of your dressing room.

The reason why he doesn't like to spy on you is because the last time he did, he saw you putting your hand in the blender, then proceeding to put your private part into it.

Never again, he thought, never again.

He doesn't need to witness you carry out your intrusive thoughts.

Surprising enough, you're close with his son, I'd like to think that after his death, you practically became the kid's godparent. Though you can be sort of a bad influence, leading up to how he is in Gen V.

You always tell him you hate kids but he thinks otherwise.

After all, he can read people well.

You guys like to pull pranks on each other since you guys like competing on who's more sneaky

There was this one time, you woke up to find your suit gone so you ended up walking around the building, completely naked and unfazed by people's stares.

It was when you walked around the corner that you found your suit worn by someone else, turns out it was Translucent under it.

"Why is it so fucking tight dude? How do you stay in this shit all day?"

"You get used to it"

Compatibility? 85%

BLACK NOIR

Lovers.

He doesn't mind your attitude because he actually can't say anything about it.

No seriously... he can't talk.

But hey he's got a good shoulder to cry on.

"I just... hffgh... I can't believe my album didn't surpass lady gaga's... She doesn't even know how to use Katanas like I do!" You'd let out a loud sob while he just stares at you for a while before placing a hand on your shoulder, patting you gently.

You know the scene where he's playing the piano for one of the company's party? You'll be laying down on top of it and singing in your usual overdramatic high pitched voice.

He finds your humour amusing so he always does this little head tilt like in the GIF when you say some weird shit while waiting for his response.

Since both of you are the only members of the Seven that wears a full body suit, obviously you had to try on his but since it was impossible to achieve that, you just had the company make a copy for you.

He'll be walking down the hallway doing his normal routine until he notises another person in his suit, the moment you speak and he realises its just you is when he let's his guard down.

"I just got some transplants done to my ass, that's why I look different"

You both are never sent on missions together 'cause you guys don't work well, pretty much nobody works well with him since he's the silent type.

Example, you two were hiding behind some crates ready to jump on the bad guys who were snucking in illegal drugs. He gestured for you to wait as he went to check again, only to turn back to see you gone.

"Marry Christmas motherfuckers!"

He heard your voice shout and he found you standing on top of the stacked crates, machine gun in hand and began shooting aimlessly.

He didn't even do anything but just watch until you ran out of bullets. However, multiple survived and began shooting at you so you ended running towards where he's hiding at.

"Yankee yankee!" You yelped.

You know the video of the two girls taking off their wigs to reveal that they're bald and they start bonding over it? I'd like to imagine that's you and Black Noir with the skin condition under the suits.

One more scenario I wanna add, you guys could be having a meeting but since you were bored and you always hated meetings, you'd draw a big heart on a piece of paper and show it to Black Noir from across the table. Surprisingly he'd draw a heart back to you.

You were overjoyed so you began to draw you and him doing it, doggy style. He stares at your doodle for a while before choosing to just focus on the meeting instead.

Compatibility? 90%

(This took a while cause I was on vacation)

[1x1x1x1x1x1x1x1]

i like the idea of a killer!reader being like a big sleepy bear the moment they are out of a round, just immediately curling up onto the couch and sleeping, but then becoming the complete opposite in matches

and then immediately plopping down on the ground to sleep the moment they win the match lmao

i would like headcanons of them please,,, 👉👈

— 🌾

HELLOOOOOO

this is such a lovely request omg

i have a LOT of requests in the inbox so i gotta speedrun some

ooc and spelling mistakes are prolly here, too lazy to reread

enjoy!!

((fucked up the banner but whatever 💔💔

Forsaken Killers x Sleepless!Killer!Reader

1×1×1×1｡𖦹°‧

He has mixed feelings.

Well, all of her feelings are mixed with hatred so i guess you could put it that way,

The first time you won a match, and IMMEDIATELY stumbled onto the couch and passed out she was definitely taken aback. Were you feeling sick or something??

But after a while, he got used to it.

Every time you won a match, killing all the survivors extremely quickly, you always went into slumber right away.

They are expecting it at this point, and must admit youre one of the more tolerable killers here.

Not disturbing his,,,, thinking.

Hey if you were stuck in a cabin with a bunch of other freaks and psychopaths you wouldnt have anything better to do too, alright??

There were a few times when you accidently passed out really close to her on the couch, your head resting on one of his knees,

His immediate thought was to wake you up, but hes never seen,,,, anyone try that.

She didnt wake you up because she didnt wanna anger you! Absolutely NO other reason, and they WILL mass infection anyone who says even one word about this.

John Doeִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ

He doesnt really have any specific feelings towards you,

Probably because he cant.

His corruption is basically eating him alive, what did you expect?

From what he can recall, hes never talked to you?? Atleast from what he remembers.

And that would add up, since youre basically never awake in the cabin

Theres been maybe one time when he saw you awake, and that was when you first spawned in.

And well aside from that, he does see you quite often, even though you guys havent exchanged any words.

There was one time where you basically passed out next to him, on the floor.

He didnt really know what to do, or how to approach this, so he picked you up (as gently as he could) and set you on the couch.

You didnt really notice, and he doesnt really remember, so it never happend. Right?

Noli-.ᐟ.ᐟ

You arent really his cup of tea.

He sees you as,, boring. What!! He likes to have fun yk!

Hes a bit pissed about it too, you seem so fun in rounds but in the cabin youre just,,,, out. Passed out on the couch, drooling onto the pillows, one arm hanging down to the floor.

Honestly, its even a bit impressive, HOW does one manage to fall asleep within SECONDS after a round that was full od adrenaline.

He tried pranking you. Multiple times.

That being of course, playing extremely loud sound effects, (which 9 out of 10 times dont even work on you)

And toying around with you when youre passed out. By that i mean writing random stuff on you with a marker, posing you into weird poses and etc.

But after a while, you DID wake up once. And you were NOT happy with him,,,,

After that time, he (almost) never messed with you,

And he must admit, it was kinda hot

Mafioso🂱⚔

Pretty mixed feelings here.

On one side, youre extremely good at what you do, killing all the survivors with ease, sparing no one.

But on the other,, he just sees you as,, lazy.

The moment you go to sleep, hes unable to exchange any words with you.

Youre basically a stranger even though he sees you every day!

The only time he gets to know even an ounce of your personality, is when youre the killer and hes spectating.

This slowly turns into him full on getting obsessed with you.

Well, not exactly with you, but more so of getting to KNOW you.

His men did catch on, quite concerned with what hes doing

So they tried to talk to you one time, which involved waking you up.

You werent as aggressive with them as you were for example with Noli, since they woke you up, apolagizing for bothering you etc.

They only got a two words from you before you passed out again.

"Not now,," In a tired, worn out voice.

They told the boss, and he realized he can just,, do that. Wake you up.

And after doing that a few times, you werent really happy with him, even though he enjoys the few words you share with him.

Wait,,,,

zoo wee i wrote this in like an hour wth that was quick

i geniuenly need to drink more while writing because holy hell did i do a lot of words 💔

also i kinda stopped adding jason and coolkidd (ck being plantonic ofc) because they take the most time and i dont like writing for them💔 uhh quick pole

[elysiumsasylum]

What it is like to date them - Death Note - SFW

Mentioning - Light Yagami x Reader, L Lawliet x Reader, Matt x Reader, Mello x Reader, Near x Reader and Teru Mikami x Reader

Light Yagami -

Well, it depends if he actually loves you or not, because then it’s two very different versions of Light Yagami. For this, we will say he does. I can go on about the other version later.

For one, dear lord, I feel like he would attempt to push you away from anything related to Kira, that and L. Anything related to the Death Note is shielded away from you. Hell, Light would go out of his way to come up with a better hiding spot for when you come over.

As much as I want to say he drops everything for you, he doesn’t. He is still the Ace Student Light Yagami, he has a strict Schedule to keep his grades up. So he does have specific days, and times were you come over (Sayu absolutely adores you, as you are the most normal thing about Light)

His mom absolutely loves you, she will make you lunch for when you stay in Light’s room for a hang out, and Mr.Yagami has heard good things about you, he does want to meet you but his schedule won’t allow it, especially as of late.

He is oddly affectionate at the oddest of times. However he is rather picky with it, he will only hold pinkies with you, kiss your temples, and just reject any kisses back, unless he is willingly kissing your lips. (There is a part of me that feels he is a massive germaphobe so) He does hold you when he is studying at home. He does crave your touch he just doesn’t entirely know how to accept it properly.

You two planned to go to the same University, just so you could see each other more often, even getting Light to Tutor you when you don’t understand something. His your genius boyfriend, he has too. Your words when he gave you a funny look. You were a little perplexed when there was two max marking students, one being your Light Yagami, and… some sloppier student. But then again, you weren’t one to judge.

When Light was placed on the Kira Case, you begged to join him. However he ultimately refused it, saying it was better for you. Sure, you may have not studied the criminal justice track as hard as he did, but he said it himself years ago, you two were a package deal.

L Lawliet - (I really hope you like sweet things)

L Lawliet does feel regret that you were stuck with him. Especially with how he acts some days. Which does mean you have to reassure him that you love him for all his quirks.

As much as the detective is not entirely known for sharing, you are absolutely given a taste of everything on his plate.

Now, on the Kira Case, you are by his side, however he goes through the upmost of care to especially ensure that your face isn’t leaked, nor your name. He would feel too much guilt if anything were to happen to you.

Anything you bake (if you do) is considered his favorite, until it’s ranked out by something else of yours. He is your biggest cheerleader

He has a bad habit of putting his cold feet on you, especially when you both are sleeping (you are he isn’t), he will put his feet under your shirt. It apparently makes him feel closer to you. (Even if he was under your skin that wouldn’t be close enough so) he is cold all the time so he is like a living ice-pack.

He’s as clingy as a puppy with separation anxiety. So expect him to be sitting on you, as he works.

He has stolen your clothes, on more than one occasion. Again, puppy with separation anxiety.

Misa Amane -

She LOVE LOVE LOVES YOU!!! that is not an understatement either.

As much as she loves you, you are never allowed to meet Kira. (That’s just for her) However! You are allowed to touch her death note and talk to Rem. (“Her two favorites are now each other’s favorites!”)

Rem tolerates you at best, much better than Light Yagami in her eyes.

Consider yourself her dress-up doll. She loves doing your hair, matching outfits, make-up, and nails.

Date nights almost every night.

She will always just consider you perfect.

Now, the Paparazzi have no idea who you are, which is surprising of Misa. But there are a bunch of theories about you despite being her phone background.

Prepared to be SPOILED ROTTENN!!!! Anything you eye for a little longer than the others, consider it yours. That luxury bag you wanted, its your gift tomorrow, because it was on your wishlist!

She is a tad bit overprotective over you, as she did lose her parents to a robber, so. There is that small paranoia that she will lose you too.

When doing stuff for Kira, she tells Rem to watch over you, to keep you safe.

Mello -

Now, at first glance, not much of you is to be seen in the relationship. As Mello is demanding in general. However, I would think it's a hidden soft-spot relationship, as Mello just acts like a hard ass all the time.

You are always sent out to shop for chocolate items though... he promises to pay you back (he never will)

He is pretty sarcastic and snarky, very competitive with you just in general, however, he is softer with you. He will let you win a few times if you play games together. (Dont accuse him because he will just deny deny deny, and he will just stop doing it for a while but then go back to it)

Every time you kiss him, he tastes Chocolate and Cigarette Smoke.

PLEASE REMIND HIM TO BRUSH HIS DAMN TEETH, BECAUSE I KNOW HIS ASS WONT

Dont expect that many dates from him, to be honest, sure he believes that quality time is the best date, however it’s just you two sitting around as he does his own things.

Near -

Like L, he is like a puppy with separation anxiety.

Expect him on you while he stacks his die towers tbh... apparently you add extra height to them.

He is a major gifter, but it's like.. small trinkets... that reminded him of you...like I'm pretty sure, you have a small Pokemon figure on your desk...it isn't your favorite but it's just what he gave you.

He will mirror your habits to see the things you like. EX: You like stargazing? He will start going with you more and more. Do you like baking? He will start asking to taste or help. Vinyl record collecting? He doesn’t understand it but hell, he has some habits you probably don’t understand. He doesn’t judge.

He has a personal finger puppet that looks like you. (He tends to place them next to each other alongside his own). They are always right next to each other

He absolutely melts when you mess with his hair. A large thing of putty in your hands

Matt -

Ehem… Backpack privileges go fucking crazy. You’re welcome, Ladies in the back who wish to be a backpack.

Like Mello, every time you two kiss, all you really taste is smoke.

I hope you like high-speed driving because I don’t think he slows down.

He lends you his protective gear, like a jacket and gloves. He likes you in his clothes just in general.

He also lends you clothes. No if ands or buts about it. You have to wear something of his.

He will lay on top of you. Sorry. (He is not.)

He plays with your hair, nonstop. His hands are always in your hair if it isn’t blocked by a helmet.

Teru Mikami -

You two definitely live together in one nice ass house. I’m just saying.

As a lawyer, he will practically give you whatever you wish. It’s almost sugar-daddy like if you weren’t dating him.

Expensive jewelry is a kinda must, more or less it’s really necklaces.

He loves just having experiences with you. Hell, he will take a week and take you to Tokyo Disney Sea (or whatever the DN Variant is)

He enjoys doing a routine with you before&after bed. He’d even help, he’d insist on helping you wash in the bath. Washing your back, hair, whatever you need.

He cooks. I’m sorry. He cooks. I would assume he is a very picky picky eater and as much as he loves you, he’s cooking.

Yall don’t cuddle all that often, as I feel sweat kinda makes him feel ick. However! Winter is the perfect time as he will allow it. He spoons you though. He will not be cuddled, he is the cuddler.

A/N: Hello! This is Elysium- This is not proofread at all, however, I hope you all enjoy my first post. I’m getting myself back into writing again, so expect more stuff like this. (And posting it obviously) I appreciate any feedback! Thank you so much? I hope you enjoy what I have to share 💙🪼

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 17. A deck of cards

PREV PART I've yet to completely decide on the route of the good ending so at the end there is a poll where you basically chose the plot, but I might make outtake chapters with the other routes in a condensed form trigger warnings: (past) violence, (past, kinda) medical + physical + emotional neglect, DRUGGING, delusional batfamily, anger, tell me if I missed any! main m.list    series m.list    bad ending m.list

Dick had never felt this anxiety, not when Jason was kidnapped by the Joker, not even on his various undercover missions. Jason and him smashed the head in of a civilian, one you care deeply about. Fuck, he never harmed a civilian to this extent and Jason didn’t even seem to care. He was just going through the day as if nothing happened.

When they told Bruce what he did, he seemed almost proud. Glad that his two eldest sons are finally taking matters in their own hands, especially since you aren’t coming around. Why can’t you just fall in line? If you had just fallen in line Dick wouldn’t have become all he fights against. Can’t you see?! This is all your fault!

But Duke’s reaction solidified that they fucked up.

“What the fuck have you done?!” He shouts at them, getting right up in their faces. Honestly, at this point this is the whole relationship they have with Duke. He barely tolerates them on the field and they might have even burned that bridge. “What did you think would happen if you went after (Name)’s friends?! That they wouldn’t realise it was you two?!”

Jason groans, he should have threatened them more. He should have made sure they couldn’t speak after that little confrontation. “What does it matter?!” Jason shouts throwing his hands up like he’s a toddler. “Those friends are a terrible influence on them!”

And Dick can’t help but agree, he truly wants to feel guilt for what he did but he just doesn’t. He doesn’t because all they have done is try and get the family back together. All they have done was to protect you and if you can’t see that that’s your fault. “Please,” Dick spat out as he takes in Duke’s expression. “I know you agree with us, you wince every time (Name) brings up your so called mutual friends. You grimace every time you need to see them when they aren’t looking!”

Duke laughs, he just can’t help it, Dick is trying to establish a connection to him. Sure, he doesn’t like your mutual friends as much as you do, but that’s because he has just joined the friend group. He just needs to warm up to them, right?

Still Duke doesn’t know what to say back, because Dick is right. He does grimace and winces every time you turn away after talking about your plans with them. So he turns to Bruce who looks obviously confused. “Good luck cleaning up your sons mess after you clean up your own,” he says in a mocking tone. “tampering with your own child’s medication, how low can you get?”

Bruce tampered with your medication. Your father tampered with your medication. You knew he was a piece of shit, you knew that he was starting to feel entitled to managing your health, but to do this? Is he a fool? He could have killed you had your doctor not been suspicious, you’re lucky he won’t report it to the police because if there is anything you don’t need it’s a police investigation. At least not for now.

You will need one eventually, but not until the court of public opinion is on your side. Bruce could easily pay of anyone he wants to, and everyone in Gotham seems obsessed with upholding the Wayne name (well almost everyone). If you do not have the public’s support nothing will happen even if you find some criminals that don’t care about the Wayne name.

You need to find someone to leak the files you have on your family without it being traced back to you or should Duke do it so that he stays out of the crossfire? No matter what you do your family will know, but the public shouldn’t. They need to feel as if you are the perfect victim even if there is no such thing, because otherwise they will put the blame onto you.

The only thing you wouldn’t destroy is the Bat-family’s reputation, not when Gotham still needs them. But that doesn’t mean you can’t make their life harder.

That’s the only mercy you’ll show them.

After you got permission to take photo’s of Willow’s and Warren’s injuries you started documenting everything, the test results that came back on your medication and the possible outcomes of Willow’s injuries. Your brothers are lucky she didn’t have a haemorrhage, because if Willow died you wouldn’t be this kind. You would have burned the manor down with all of them inside.

You would have askedthe Penguin to connect you to Slade, a terrible man who kills with no mercy, one of your favourite customers. Incredibly polite, just a tad bit too obsessed with Nightwing for your liking and most of importantly, he can be bought.

But you aren’t going down that route yet.

You just need to convince Penguin that it’s worth attacking your family with a social media bomb. That it’s worth to dismantle the Gotham Elite and to not ignore Bruce Wayne, even with all the ‘good’ he does as himself.

You don’t have a concrete plan yet, that much is obvious. You still need to figure out a way to get out of that house without Bruce being able to claim that you ran away or have been kidnapped….

Just look at the deck of cards in your hands, you might have to use them all or perhaps one bluff will be enough to burn that house of deceit down.

NEXT PART short for poll's sake

taglist (CLOSED): @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

[ellewritesx]

incidental charges

(part four of the sugar, baby series)

Summary: He takes what he wants. You give what's left.

Warnings: sugardaddy arrangement, fingering, oral (m!receiving), unprotected sex, degradation, slutshaming, mild discomfort/pain, Harry's really mean, this is an angsty one i'm sorry

A/N: i'm lowkey very proud of this one but oh boy you guys are going to hateee me. i listened to ''i wanna be yours'' by arctic monkeys on repeat while writing this part so i'd 100% recommend listening to that while reading this if you'd enjoy that. let me know your thoughts when you're finished. enjoy (and good luck) x

Word Count: 3,585

...

You know something's wrong the second your phone buzzes. Come over. Now.

Not because the message itself says it, but because of everything it doesn't say. No teasing command. No filthy promise. Not even the ghost of a smiley face, like he sometimes uses when he's feeling particularly cruel. Just three words. Brutal. Unforgiving. Final.

You haven't heard from him in days, and this is how he chooses to reach out?

You shouldn't be this easy. Shouldn't feel your pulse quicken at the first sharp order he throws your way. But you're already tugging on the tightest, prettiest dress you own, already slipping into the shoes you know he likes for some reason, already rushing out the door like he's got a leash around your throat and a hand fisted in it.

You're already thinking about what you can give him, what you can do for him, to make whatever anger is coiled tight in his chest a little easier to bear.

When he opens the door, he barely looks at you.

No greeting. No dragging gaze over your body the way he usually does, savoring the little effort you make just for him. He just steps aside without a word, or even a simple acknowledgement, letting you pass like your presence is something he merely tolerates.

Your stomach drops, but you bite it down. You can handle this. You want to handle this.

Inside, the air feels electric, charged with something hot and volatile. His jacket is already off, thrown carelessly over a chair, like he hadn't even had the patience to put it away properly.

You frown. If there's anything you've learned about Harry since your arrangement started (which isn't much, honestly), it's that he's a very neat person. Never once have you seen his shirts wrinkled, or his tie crooked, or yesterday's clothes still on the floor. Never once have you seen dirty dishes in the sink, or crumbs on the kitchen counter, or even so much as a crinkle in his satin bedsheets.

His sleeves are shoved up to his elbows, veins bulging along the strong lines of his tattooed forearms. His jaw ticks once, twice, when he shuts the door behind you with a sharp, echoing click.

You turn to him instinctively, waiting for instruction, heart hammering against your ribs. But he doesn't say anything. He just stalks toward you with a hunger that's almost violent, yanks the strap of your dress down your shoulder, watches it slip halfway off your chest without even a flicker of appreciation.

It's not about how you look tonight. It's not about playing games. It's about need. About taking. About burning something off before it destroys him from the inside out.

You shiver under his hands but don't resist when he manhandles you backwards, walking you clumsily through the apartment toward the bedroom. You nearly trip over yourself, but he doesn't let you fall, just catches your hips in a bruising grip and drags you after him like he can't bear to waste a second more.

Still, you're so good. So desperate to soothe whatever anger he won't name. You don't even speak, just let yourself be pushed down onto the bed, legs falling open when he shoves at your thighs.

You want him to use you. You want to give him something real to anchor himself to.

Even if tonight, he's not reaching for you like a man reaching for salvation. Tonight, he's reaching like he wants to destroy something. And the worst part is, you want to let him.

You don't get a chance to breathe before he's crowding you on the mattress, pulling your dress up to your hips, baring your soaked underwear to his furious gaze.

''Course you're fucking wet,'' he mutters darkly, more to himself than to you, voice a low snarl. ''Knew you'd like being treated like this.''

Your breath hitches, but you stay still for him, let him strip you without so much as a whimper, watch your panties join the discarded pile of clothing on the floor. You spread your thighs wider when he forces your knees apart, giving him whatever he wants to take.

He doesn't even bother teasing you.

Two thick fingers shove inside you, rough and unforgiving, a guttural noise ripping from his throat when he feels how tight you clench down around him. You jolt with a soft cry, hips trying to squirm back from the abrupt stretch, but he's already got a bruising grip on your thigh, holding you down, open, forcing you to take it.

"Stay fucking still," he growls, curling his fingers viciously, seeking out that devastating spot inside you without an ounce of tenderness.

It hurts. It burns. But you take it, tears welling at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming intensity, the sheer need to give him what he needs. Your hands clutch at the sheets, but you don't make a sound except the broken little gasps that slip from your throat when he pumps his hand faster, meaner, grinding the heel of his palm into your clit like he's trying to knock something loose inside you.

"You like that?" he sneers, watching your pretty face contort in helpless pleasure. "Like when I use you like a fuckin' toy?"

"Yes." You take a shaky breath, blinking up at him like he's the only thing that matters.

Something flashes behind his eyes, something sharp and vulnerable, but it's gone before you can catch it.

He pulls his fingers out roughly, shoving them into your mouth without warning, smearing your own slick over your tongue.

"You taste that?" he snaps. "That's what you're good for. The only thing you're good for."

The words land like a punch to the gut. You flinch, just barely, but he sees it. Sees the way your lashes flutter, the way hurt flashes in your eyes before you try to tamp it down.

He knows you don't like being talked to like that. He remembers. Knows exactly how much the insult must burn, sharp and humiliating on your tongue alongside the taste of yourself.

He wants it to hurt. Wants you to push him away, to finally shove him off and tell him to go fuck himself. Wants you to be angry with him, to look at him like he's the piece of shit he feels like tonight. It would be easier if you hated him. It would be safer.

But you don't.

You just suck his fingers obediently into your mouth, wide-eyed and willing, even as your throat tightens against the sting of his words. You take it, not because you don't feel it, but because you choose to stay anyway.

And that... that ruins him in a way he isn't prepared for.

Something almost like shame sparks behind his ribs, fast and unwelcome, but he smothers it down with the same furious instinct that made him lash out in the first place.

You don't fight him. You don't pull away, even when he fists your hair and drags you down to your knees on the floor at the edge of the bed.

"Open up," he orders, shrugging his pants and briefs off and tapping the thick head of his cock against your lips.

You do, without hesitation.

He groans brokenly under his breath as he drives himself into your mouth, too deep, too fast. Your throat strains around him, gagging, tears spilling hot and immediate down your cheeks, but you don't fight him. You dig your nails into his thighs and take it, blinking up at him through the wet haze clouding your vision, hollowing your cheeks even when you're fighting not to choke.

"Fuckin' perfect," he grits out, hips snapping hard enough to make you whimper around him. "Good little slut, lettin' me ruin you however I want. Aren't you, hm?"

The word slut cracks across your mind like a whip. You feel it hit, low and sharp, like scraping across an old bruise he promised he wouldn't touch. You'd told him. That night at the bar, when you first met, so many lifetimes ago, you'd told him that you don't like to be called names. That you take offense to it.

It makes something in your chest lurch, a bitter twist of hurt, betrayal, humiliation, and for one savage second you genuinely consider violently sinking your teeth into him.

You don't.

You dig your nails into your own palms instead, grounding yourself in the sting. You keep your jaw slack, let him fuck your throat, let him call you names you hate, because some wounded, stubborn part of you knows that's what he's trying to make you do. Trying to make you angry enough to leave. Trying to push you away.

He's picking a fight you refuse to give him.

And the longer you stay, the softer you look at him, tears slipping from your lashes, tongue still willing under the ugly words, the harder he fucks into you, like he can beat the tenderness out of you.

It hurts. It's messy and unrelenting and mean, but still, you look up at him with glassy, adoring eyes. You want him to know that you're here. That he can show you this side of himself. That you can be whatever outlet he needs you to be tonight.

You reach up, fingers mindlessly rubbing slow circles on the skin of his thighs, something to ground yourself, and him, while he uses your mouth like it's nothing but a hole to fuck.

And he feels it, the softness, the care threading through every touch. He jerks away suddenly, pulling out of your mouth with a wet, brutal pop, staring down at you like he doesn't understand you at all.

Then he's hauling you back onto the bed, shoving you down on your back so hard the air punches from your lungs. You barely catch your breath before he's wedging himself between your thighs, lining himself up, no teasing now, no patience.

"You want it?" he rasps, voice low and raw.

"Yes," you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck instinctively, letting your legs fall open wider to invite him in.

He snarls under his breath like he hates how sweet you are to him. Then he drives into you with one savage thrust.

You cry out, back arching off the bed, hands clinging to him for dear life. He's huge, stretching you painfully wide, filling every inch like he wants to break you in half. He doesn't give you time to adjust, just sets a brutal pace immediately, hips snapping into you again and again, every thrust shoving you further up the mattress.

You cling to him anyway, one hand splaying against the sweaty plane of his back, feeling the muscles there bunch and flex with every furious movement.

You whisper to him between gasps, between whimpers. "It's okay, Harry. You can let go. I've got you. I'm here."

He groans low and vicious in your ear, fucking you harder to shut you up, but you swear you feel the tiniest shudder run through him.

You cradle his head to your shoulder, scratching your nails lightly over the short hair at the nape of his neck, murmuring soft praises between each wrecked moan.

"So good to me," you pant, kissing the shell of his ear, tightening your thighs around his hips. "You're perfect. Always so perfect."

His rhythm stutters.

Just for a second. Just a beat of hesitation. But you feel it. He buries his face in your neck like he can hide from it, from you, like if he just fucks you harder, he can fuck the weakness out of himself.

But it's too late.

You feel the anger melt into something messier, something achingly close to desperation, to want. You don't comment on it.

He slams into you harder, rougher, chasing his own release now, trying to outrun the gnawing ache swelling in his chest.

You don't stop touching him.

You don't stop whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

You just hold him, even when it hurts, even when your body is shaking from the force of his thrusts, even when you're barely holding yourself together at the seams.

And maybe that's what finally breaks him.

Because when he comes, buried deep inside you with a feral, broken sound, he doesn't even look at you.

And it stings.

It stings more than the bruising grip he's left on your hips, more than the ache between your legs where he's used you so carelessly.

Because Harry is always big on eye contact, he demands it. "Look at me, baby. Need to see you." "Eyes on me when you come." ''Show me those pretty eyes. There you are.''

He always wants you look at him. Needs you to, like the tether between you would snap otherwise.

But now, when you're lying underneath him trembling and cracked open, when you've given him every piece of yourself, he twists his head away, toward the wall, eyes screwed tight like he can't even stand the sight of you.

It guts you. Leaves you hollow and shaking, your orgasm wilting quietly inside you.

And somewhere, deep down, though he won't let himself feel it, it guts him too. Because he knows if he looks, if he really looks at the way you're still holding him, still whispering broken little praises under your breath despite your own pleasure fading, still caressing his skin like something sacred despite your own body tensing up.

So he looks away.

And it feels like the cruelest thing he's ever done to you.

He pulls out while you're still gasping for breath, yanks his pants up without a word, and disappears into the bathroom with the door slamming shut behind him.

The emptiness he leaves behind feels colder than any punishment he's ever given you. You blink up at the ceiling, heart splintering slowly in your chest, the mess between your thighs a humiliating, aching reminder that whatever has cracked open between you, he wants no part of it.

...

When he comes back, he doesn't say a word.

The bathroom light is still on behind him, casting a clinical glow across the floorboards, and his hair is a mess, cheeks blotchy from scrubbing. He won't meet your eyes.

He walks back into the bedroom like it doesn't belong to either of you, like it's a hotel room he's just checked into and you're the unfortunate occupant they forgot to remove first.

The air goes stiff.

You sit up slowly, the sheets pooling around your waist, heart thudding unevenly. You're not sure what you were expecting. Maybe a quiet, reluctant, apology, maybe an awkward attempt at a joke, maybe just for him to lie back down and act like it never happened, but none of it comes.

Instead, he leans down to grab his phone off the nightstand. His screen lights up his face in a wash of cold blue, making him look even more unreadable, if that's possible. You watch the way his jaw tightens. His shoulders twitch like he's chewing back something awful. He doesn't look at you once.

''Are you coming back to bed?'' you ask, voice hesitant and small, and you immediately hate yourself for how it sounds. Like you're begging.

The silence that follows is thick and sour. It curls between your ribs and settles there, anchoring itself to your shame. He doesn't even glance at you. Doesn't ask if he hurt you, physically or otherwise, doesn't acknowledge the way your hands tremble slightly as you pull the blanket up to your chest, covering yourself like you can shield yourself from whatever's happening between you right now.

''Did I do something wrong?'' you whisper nervously. You wish you didn't care. You wish you could swing your legs out of bed and leave first, say fuck you and mean it. But instead you just sit there, quiet and insecure and hurting.

He finally looks at you, just a flicker, a glance, eyes dark and unreadable.

''No,'' he says after a beat, and it's somehow worse than if he'd said yes.

Because if you'd done something wrong, at least there'd be a reason. A fix. A way back.

''No,'' he repeats, turning away, ''You were perfect.''

It should be comforting, but it sounds like an accusation.

You watch him tug on a hoodie from the floor, and you notice his fingers are shaking slightly, though he hides it well. Everything about him is tight, movements too stiff, face too blank, like he's holding himself together by force.

''Harry…''

''I think you should go,'' he says, and it's sharp. Clipped. Dismissive. And it hurts. So much.

You blink. ''What?''

He doesn't repeat it. Just tosses your clothes at you, like throwing you out after fucking you raw is part of the routine. Like your heart isn't currently trying to crawl out of your chest and disappear under the floorboards.

''You said I should stay,'' you remind him, because that's all you can cling to now, his own words, said so easily just days ago when his hands were still gentle and his voice was still kind. ''You said I should always stay after a night together. That it's the respectable thing to do. That you don't want to worry about me out alone at night.''

''I changed my mind.''

He still won't look at you. Like looking at you would make this real. Like your presence is something he has to ignore completely to make this easier on himself. Like he's already rehearsed this moment and now he's just waiting for it to be over.

You try again, your voice cracking, soft. ''Harry, please—''

''I'm not in the mood,'' he cuts in, leaving no room for discussion. ''Just go. I got you an Uber. Don't make this harder than it has to be.''

Panic flares under your skin. Instinct more than reason, you move without thinking, pulling your dress up your body in hurried motions, struggling to zip yourself up. It's something Harry usually does for you, always making a show of it, always making sure to kiss your shoulder before stepping away.

You give up on the zipper halfway. You just want to fix this, want to make it better, the way you always do.

Before he can tell you to leave again, you step forward, reaching for him, sliding your arms gently around his waist from behind. You press your cheek to the broad curve of his back, kiss the spot between his shoulder blades the way you always do when he's upset, when he's stressed, when he's somewhere you can't reach with words alone.

For a second, you think he might let you. But then his body stiffens under your touch, breath hitching, shallow in his chest.

And he flinches.

He jerks away from you like you've burned him, shoulder twisting sharply out of your grasp, shrugging you off like you're something repulsive he can't stand to have near him. You stumble back a step, arms falling uselessly to your sides, blinking at him in shock.

''Don't,'' he says, voice low and vicious. ''Just... don't touch me.''

The words taste like blood in his mouth. Everything inside him screams at him to take them back, to reach for you, to apologize, to fall into your arms the way he always, always, wants to when it's you. But his walls are up now, higher than ever, and he doesn't know how to tear them down without destroying himself in the process.

So he stands there, rigid and silent, forcing himself to feel nothing as he watches the hurt bloom raw across your face.

It's not just the words. It's the way he spits them out, like your touch is something filthy. Like you're some desperate, clingy thing he can't shake fast enough.

Your chest caves in on itself. You nod, even though it feels like your heart is physically tearing apart. You don't try again. You don't say anything at all.

He doesn't either.

There's something feral in his eyes. Not anger exactly, more like desperate frustration. Like he's trying to get you to hate him. Like he needs to burn this bridge before you get any closer to the parts of him he can't control.

He sees the heartbreak behind your eyes. You know he does. You see the flicker of guilt, tiny, barely there, before he crushes it down and tosses another dagger instead.

''You should be used to this by now,'' he mutters. ''Not like this is anything serious.''

It's the worst thing he could've said. And you know he knows it. You know because he still doesn't look at you. Because he throws the words like knives and doesn't wait to see where they land.

You swallow around the lump in your throat, nod slowly, eyes burning. Your body still aches, slick between your thighs, bruises blooming from where he held you down, and now he's pretending you're no one. Like none of it mattered. Like you didn't try to hold him together while he was falling apart inside of you.

You grab your phone without another word.

Your look for your bag, but you don't ask for help, don't let him see you search for it. You keep your head up. Refuse to cry in front of him. Not now. Not after this.

And when you walk out, heart in your throat, clutching your bag, you don't look back.

He doesn't either.

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

sugar, baby series tag list

@indierockgirrl @prettygurl-2009 @cherryflavoredbyme @dipmeinhoneyh @haliastyless @drewrry @maddiesalvatore1839 @robinsue87 @zoraaasyd @sincerely-yours-marsbar @m0mmyfromtarget @maudie-duan @hoolabalooba @hisparentsgallerryy @txmhxllqnd @harringtonhundreds @freddyselmstreet

general tag list

@2601-london @mads3502 @angeldavis777 @run-for-the-hills @postsexfistbump @hobireasns @madilee7802 @spinninc

...

[heartyluv]

Note: Literally after I thought about this and after Ivy said that I need to do it, I had to deliver. So everyone, kindly thank @asiatic-apple because she is a phenomenal motivator. The day I take a break from Tumblr fr will be a day for the booksss LOLL. Also, forgive me if this is not the best. Ideas were rushing and I did this under an hour. 🙏🏽

Creds to @/dollywons for the dividers!

Rating: Explicit - !!Minors DO NOT Interact!!

Warning: Smut (Not too detailed), Caleb is toxic and a baby trapper…

ToxicBabyFather!Caleb/Reader

✦ Okay, so you and Caleb have been together since like high school. He was in several of your classes and the first time you two had a conversation, he knew that he would forever be wrapped around your finger.

✦ The behavior he portrayed that caused you two to break up in the first place was not something he’s ever kept hidden from you. Truthfully, because you loved him so much and loved how he loved you, you believed that you could tolerate it enough until he fixed it. He never did.

✦ Possessive, obsessive, overly protective, crowding, overwhelming—just the definition of too much. But unfortunately, you were with him for almost a decade and in that time, you two had a baby girl that he and you love to death, but it wasn’t enough to keep you together.

✦ He’s definitely tried proposing to you several times, before and after you got pregnant, but you always said no. And you believed your pregnancy was an accident, a broken condom. But you thought it could be a good thing—that a baby would fix him.

✦ You never knew the man had gotten you pregnant on purpose the night you two had one of your more serious fights. He got on his knees and apologized over and over until you caved in and let him fuck you stupid. So drunk on dick, you never noticed when he sneakily took the condom off after he pulled out to swiftly change positions.

✦ “You can’t leave me, please don’t leave me. I’m everything you are…you’ll always be where I am.” His strokes would’ve been deep and forceful, oh my gosh…He had you bent over, back arched, and you had those sheets balled up in your fists while you’re fucking DROOLING!!!

✦ Despite the nasty words exchanged and his intense gaslighting in that fight, you stayed long enough for your daughter to be four years old before you actually called it quits, “for good”. But Caleb never relented. Because of that little girl, it was the only reason he had access to you. Just like he wanted, exactly how he planned.

✦ He was always on time to pick her up and to drop her off, but you’ve always known that it was just so that he could get under your skin, to make your body hot and your cunt hungry for him. You were weak with him.

✦ He makes sure to slide in his little threats, too. Even does it with a smile.

✦ “I hope you haven’t been bringing anyone in here. You wouldn’t want to make your future husband angry, would you baby?”

✦ You’re not allowed to date. He made that clear. I know what you’re thinking. How the hell could he control that? Simple. He has you obsessed with that COCK!! It has become physically impossible for you to even think about fucking or being with anyone else because of him. And you refused to say it out loud, but the fact that you let him fuck you RAW EVERY SINGLE TIME, tells him that you’re just as addicted.

✦ Never did you think you’d be a woman hung up on a man’s dick the way you are with Caleb’s, but if you’ve never had it, you’d never understand.

✦ Caleb’s dick is thick and it’s long, but not to where it’s scary. In fact, he fills you up so perfectly. Y’all are like a majorly fucked up puzzle. The way the tip of his cock always kisses your cervix like a threatening promise, making you feel how he’ll always be this deep in you is INTOXICATING OMG….

✦ And Caleb will literally come back to see you the same day he picks your daughter up. He’ll drop her off with his mother or something, and you hate that because it’s supposed to be his time with her. But when he has you spread wide for him in your bed, your pussy sucking him in so desperately, it becomes quite difficult to focus on anything else.

✦ “For someone to hate me so bad, you love begging me to fill you with my cock, don’t you pretty?” he mockingly coos, your legs over hooked around his arms. “Maybe I should get you pregnant again, hm? I already own you. Why don’t I just do it again so I can make sure everyone sees how much?”

✦ Your bodies mix and work like perfect fucking chemistry. YOU KNOW BED CHEM BY SABRINA CARPENTER?!?!? YEAH, YEAH THAT’S YOU TWO!!!!

✦ He’s always whispering the filthiest things, too. And you hate love that you clench around him tighter when he threatens imaginary men you’ve never even met.

✦ “Gonna take a picture of my cum dripping out of you before I leave. Maybe I’ll come back to stuff you again so you won’t forget that I was here, hm?”

✦ “If I ever find out you let anyone else touch my pussy, step foot under the roof I put over your head, I’ll blow his fucking brains out.”

✦ “I’ll wait till you come back to your senses and you’re begging me to come home. I’ll keep having you like this until then, yeah? And my cock hungry princess is gonna let me.”

✦ “You’re so pretty for me, baby. So, so fucking pretty. You feel me in your stomach? Wait until I put another baby in you. You’ll be feeling me for a loonngg time.”

✦ Should you stop fucking the man you were supposed to have left? Yes. Should you stop letting him come over and fuck you whenever he wants to? Absolutely. But could you give up that euphoric buzz he grants you every time his dick pulses inside your walls? Fuck no.

Tags 🏷️: @obeythebutler @honeymoonfleur

[rafesangelita]

♡ deciding to take a ride on the ‘tunnel of love’ roller coaster at the annual valentine’s day fair, rafe happens to catch you before it starts, conveniently locking himself in next to you. annoyed, you tell yourself you’ll be out and away from the man once the ride is over but (un)luckily for you, it just so happens to break down, leaving you two stuck together until it’s fixed..

warnings: one sided enemies to lovers (reader is the one who can’t stand rafe lol), forced proximity, teasing, flirty banter, slight angst (just a teeny tiny bit, it’s literally almost nonexistent), light fluff

a/n: now presenting… ‘TUNNEL OF LOVE’ 🤍 my town just so happens to be having a valentine’s day fair.. maybe (hopefully) i’ll go!

link: VALENTINE’S DAY CELEBRATION ໒꒰ྀི｡- ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

wc: 1.4k

[7:57 PM] bestie ♡: it looks like kelce is going to take me out for v-day after all!! don’t wait for me, i’ll catch up soon, promise!

you had just bought an extra large funnel cake for you and your best friend to share when you read her text, your sugary sweet smile faltering as you took a seat at a nearby bench. “more for me, i guess..” you sighed, feeling a little bit silly at the fact that you sat here by yourself when everyone who passed you by was either in a group setting or hand in hand with someone who was most likely their significant other.

you picked at the fried goodness, not really feeling as festive as you were just two minutes ago. “yo, y/n!” you recognized the voice before you even looked up, your eyes immediately rolling as none other than rafe ‘insufferable daddy’s money’ cameron made his way over to you. ‘please let this be quick..’ you whispered under your breath, not sparing the man a single glance as he plopped down ridiculously close to you.

“what do you want, rafe?” he smiled when he heard his name roll off of your tongue, his muscular arm draping across your shoulders as his mouth dropped next to your ear. “can you at least act like you could tolerate me?” you scoffed, shrugging him off. “no, i can’t,” you finally looked at him, “because even that is too difficult to do.” he swallowed thickly, feeling slightly defeated before he went for the funnel cake that sat in your lap.

“i’m really not that bad, i’ll make you realize that soon.” rafe was also too confident and cocky for your liking— more reasons you could add to your seemingly never ending list as to why you think you two would never work out.

“i highly doubt that.” rafe was licking powdered sugar off of his fingers when you met his gaze again, your eyes flickering down to his tongue. the one thing that you couldn’t put on your list was that he wasn’t hot. anyone with eyes can tell you that rafe was insanely attractive, but of course, you’d never admit that to him out loud.. or so you thought. “you’re staring.” he smiled when he saw that your eyes stayed trained on his mouth, a smug expression taking over his features.

you blinked away, deciding you had enough chit-chat for one night. “in your dreams, ‘cameron.” rafe watched you get up from your seat, gladly taking the funnel cake you basically shoved into his hands. “why, thank you.” he took another piece, popping it into his mouth. you flashed him a fake smile before adjusting the strap of your crossbody purse. “i’ll see you around!” he called out, waving obnoxiously in your direction. “no you won’t!” you whispered to yourself, deciding to explore the fair a bit more.

little did you know conversation between you and rafe was far from over.

you walked around the fair grounds for almost fifteen more minutes before you had decided you were better off at home eating some greasy takeout and having a rom-com movie marathon in nothing but your comfy pj’s.

just as you were on your way to the exit, a flashing heart with the words ‘TUNNEL OF LOVE.. find your lover inside!’ caught your attention. deciding you’d at least inquire about it, you walked up to the ride operator and asked away. “excuse me! hi, i was just wondering what does the whole ‘find your lover inside!’ thing mean?” the woman lit up as if she had been dying to answer this question.

“so basically there’s another roller coaster coming from the other side, and once you two meet inside, the ride will stop for two minutes before coming back out to the respective entrances.” she explained. “so it’s like speed dating?” you smiled, the idea enthralling you. “yeah, that’s exactly it!” she nodded. you weighed out your options and decided a little excitement wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“i’m suprised you don’t have a line, how much is it to get on?” you took your wallet out of your purse as she replied. “if you have a full-access wristband it’s free, but if not then it’ll be five dollars exactly.” you handed over the small bill, smiling to yourself as she let you through the metal gate. “it looks like two people can fit in here—” just as you stepped in, rafe came running from the opposite direction.

“stop the ride!” he shouted, his chest rising and falling as he bent over to catch his breath. you blinked. “it’s not even on, you drama queen.” taking a seat, you were about to pull the metal bar over your lap before he shouted again. “i’ll give you fifty bucks if you let me get on with her!” you crossed your arms over your chest, not expecting the ride operator to actually let him in. “seriously?!” you gasped when he walked through, flashing you a wink.

“sorry!” she pushed the guardrail over you and rafe until it locked in place before starting the ride. “this will all be over in two minutes.” you glared at him, trying to scoot as many centimeters away from him as you could. “that’s fine with me.” he shrugged. he leaned back in the cart, red and pink flashing lights illuminating the space in which you two rolled into slowly.

rafe kept his eyes on you, watching as you avoided his gaze. “why don’t you like me? serious question..” you sighed, finally giving him your full undivided attention. you opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. “what?” you acted like you didn’t hear him the first time, wracking your brain for any kind of answer. he smiled teasingly, pointing a finger at you. “i asked you why you don’t like me and you can’t even answer me!” you waved him off, facing the other way to hide the smile on your lips.

truthfully, you didn’t really know who rafe was. like just by himself as an individual. you knew that his friends were all assholes though, including the one who your best friend was willing to drop everything for. “i hate your friends,” you started, “and you are who you keep company with, sooo..” rafe cleared his throat as the roller coaster came to a stop. the inside of the ‘love tunnel’ was lit up with baby cherubs along the walls, red hearts and fairy lights adorning the interior.

“me and my friends are very different from each other.. i think you’d be surprised.” you hummed, adjusting the pendant on your necklace. “maybe..” the other roller coaster cart strolled in from the other side, the seats empty. “i guess it’s a good thing that i tagged along, since you would’ve been all by yourself if i didn’t.”

you glanced over at him, his blue eyes standing out in the pinkish lighting. “..yeah, i guess.” rafe’s head shot up as soon as the words left your mouth. “you really think so?” he scooted closer, the action making you laugh. “don’t push it.” you warned him, in which he held his hands up defensively. “okay, okay!” rafe had this smitten look on his face as if making you smile was his life’s greatest achievement.

“so you told me why you didn’t like me, which is fair, but i want a real chance at proving you wrong. can you at least give me that?” rafe hesitantly rested a hand on your knee, the hopeful look in his eyes making your heart melt into a soft puddle of mush. “hmm..” you pretended to think, the anticipation making rafe’s leg bounce. “okay. only under one condition though..” rafe nodded frantically.

“anything.”

“tell me why you like me so much when i avoid you like the plague, and never seemingly look in your direction.. like ever.” the man next to you snorted. “you want me to go down my full list? ‘cause we’ll be sitting here all night—” just then, the ride operator’s voice boomed through the intercom speakers from inside the tunnel. “hi, i’m so sorry for the inconvenience, but we’re having some technical difficulties and my electrician guy says it’ll be at least an hour or two before you could leave. i promise to issue a full refund once you two are off.”

you and rafe looked at each other half concerned and half amused. “..so, you were saying?”

[bunni-v1]

Oh, I would absolutely love to find out (in response to the post about Reader treating his minions like kids)! How do you think Shadow Milk would be like as a father? How would he treat his kid? :)

I don’t think Shadow Milk likes kids… but I also think he loves kids. Does that make sense? Like, he finds kids snotty and annoying, but they’re also really funny. They do stupid stuff and they’re so simple, it almost makes all their annoying habits cute. Almost.

He doesn’t really think too hard about having kids, mostly because… why would he? He’s an immortal god, he doesn’t really need to reproduce for any reason. But if he were presented with the idea by his partner I don’t think he would oppose. In fact, he loved the idea of making a kid! That’s all fun and dandy, but after the child is born (baked?) how does he feel.

Well, believe it or not, he realizes that he does like kids really quickly! Just, only his kids. Every annoying trait he seemed to despise before becomes undeniably charming coming from his little one. Oh, and if they look anything like you, help his soul he may crumble on the spot. He can’t help the way his dough softens when they bat their little eyes up at him all innocent like.

He 100% has a set of twins (bless his insane gene pool), and they are the lights of his life. They’re a nice mix of the both of you, and you’ll catch him staring at them a lot. He just can’t help it, seeing the product of your love is nice. Just one glance and any cookie could tell who’s the parents, it’s nice to have that literal living reminder that you love him enough to settle (sorta) with him.

They really can do no wrong in his eyes, unless you say they’re doing wrong, then it’s “listen to your parent kiddo” because he’s still stupidly in love with you. If you’re not around to tell them no, he’ll let them do whatever the hell they want. Hell, he encourages mischief and misbehavior, so long as they won’t get hurt from it.

He’s the fun dad, which is to be expected. He takes them on adventures and teaches them how to play pranks and even teaches them magic if they like. He wants them to grow up feeling like they’re on top of the world, because they are.

Still, he instills and demands respect toward both of you from them. He’s not above (reasonable and approved by you) punishments for either of them taking it too far. He also won’t tolerate disrespect to you, even if you’re the “no fun” one.

And, keeping it real for a second, he loves his kids. He really does. He’d never imagined having little cookies to care for, but he’d kill for them. When he first held their tiny little bodies in his arms, his whole world came together.

He’d lived his whole life bigger and grander than any other cookie, but holding his babies with you at his side… well he’d never felt smaller. He doesn’t typically like quiet, but he had no words to fill up the silence as he stood in awe of the beautiful children in his arms.

He’s a good dad, he wants to be a good dad. I know it’s hard to believe but once he gets these things he cherishes them. He would never forsake the family he was able to build up and keep as his own. The few cookies in all of earthbread that he let in would be loved like no others.

[trashytracktales]

Heyy girliee, first of all I want to say that your writing is absolutely amazing. I’ve been reading your Lando fics for the past couple of days and “endings, beginnings” had me feeling butterflies in my stomach 🫢 I wanted to ask you if you could write something about lando and reader being friends but constantly having sexual tension building up between them. Maybe they flirt with each other but never think of it as something so serious and one night after a party they completely destroy each other. I fully trust you with this and how you’ll develop the story haha and don’t hold back. Thank youuu :*

Think twice | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you so much for the love on Endings, beginnings & I appreciate you for taking the time to share this. Hope you like it 🤍🎀

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

𐙚 summary ──── What starts as a chill party, where they sit in their old habits, ends with new boundaries crossed and a heavy tension they can no longer ignore.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, swearing, mentions of alcohol and drinking, friends to lovers, bit of jealous!Lando, smut, slight teasing, praising, fingering & oral (sit on it), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex.

𐙚 word count ──── 4.8k

𐙚 date ──── Jan. 21, 2025

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

THE TWO OF them are always standing next to each other, no matter the room they’re in. The context, just like the reason why this happens, is redundant. Plus, they don’t even do it on purpose; rather, they are unconsciously drawn to each other like two magnets.

The party has finally slowed to a lazy hum, the music just a tolerable background noise now. People linger in clusters around them, their voices a distant murmur blending with the faint bassline of a forgotten playlist. The living room is dim, lit mostly by the glow of a string of fairy lights drooping across the ceiling.

It was supposed to be a small gathering, but then a friend told a friend, and that friend told their friends. And now, it’s almost impossible to find a private spot to catch your breath without breathing someone else’s air.

Somehow, they did. They are tucked into the corner of a couch, their space a small bubble of comfort. Her legs are draped over his lap, bare skin warm against the fabric of his black jeans. He’s cradling her calf in one hand, his thumb absentmindedly stroking her skin.

Her fingers thread through his curls at the back of his head, twirling them lazily. It’s a casual gesture, but it sends a shiver through him every time she does it.

Their conversation shifted into easy gossiping about a mutual friend — someone they both think is trying a bit too hard with their Instagram posts.

“It’s fucking obvious he’s fishing for attention,” says Lando, sounding almost conspiratorial.

“I know, right? The cryptic ass captions, the mirror selfies. He thinks he’s smooth with it, too,” she replies, giggling at the thought.

Lando grins, his thumb still tracing circles on her leg. The banter feels safe, the kind of effortless connection they’ve always had. But underneath it, there’s a quiet tension that neither of them is ready to address. Because they are, maybe, a bit tipsy, or because none of them has ever had the courage to take it further, for some reason.

“Alright, I need to pee,” she announces suddenly, getting ready to stand.

But Lando tightens his grip on her legs, his lips twitching in a smirk. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” she insists, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “If I don’t go, I might pee on you.”

Lando shrugs, “Go ahead. Then I might discover a new kink,” he encourages her.

“New?” she laughs. “That implies you already have at least one.”

Lando winks at her without saying a word, the corners of his mouth curling into a mischievous smile.

She rolls her eyes, smiling back at his immature behavior. “My God. You’re actually the worst. Move.”

He doesn’t. Instead, Lando, just stares at her with an expression that’s visibly different. His usual playful gaze has shifted to something more intense, and she tells herself he’s just a little... intoxicated. Still, it makes her heart skip a beat, because he looks so adorable when his eyes focus on something so intently. And so hot, that it makes her almost forget why she wanted to get up in the first place.

“Lan, I’m not joking, I actually have to go,” she whispers, her voice softer now.

He exhales, loosening his grip but not before giving her leg a small, reluctant squeeze.

“Don’t get lost,” he says, the words carrying more weight than they should.

She shakes her head, slipping off the couch and disappearing into the hallway. Lando watches her go, his eyes trailing after her like he’s afraid she might actually not come back.

Which is ridiculous, because he should not care. There are lots of other girls that he can take home tonight if he wants to.

Want, being the keyword.

Leaning back against the couch, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s always known she was the embodiment of the perfect girl for him — funny, kind, and loyal. But tonight, there’s something else in the air that makes his mind wander. The way she carries herself, her laugh, the way she makes everything around her seem brighter.

Lando realized long ago that he wants to he in her presence. The truth hit him like a punch in the gut. And he still feels that punch sometimes, especially when he sees her interacting with other people. Especially men.

He’s had thoughts about her before. Many thoughts. Wild fantasies he brushed off as nothing more than fleeting curiosity. And they’ve joked about it, too, their drunken ‘if we’re single at 35’ pact a favorite running gag. But tonight, it doesn’t feel like a joke — he might actually marry her if she keeps letting him invade her personal space like that. Except she wouldn’t have let Lando do that if she didn’t want him there.

He finds himself smiling at his own thoughts. But then, an unwanted stiffness claws his body.

She’s on the way back when a guy leaning against the wall near the bathroom is blocking her path. He’s tall, too close for Lando’s liking, and he is gesturing animatedly. She’s always too polite, smiling as she talks, but Lando notices the way she shifts her weight, edging away slightly.

Something close to jealousy ignites in his chest, but he manages to tame the feeling by looking away, and forcing himself to take a slow sip of his drink. She can handle herself, he knows that. But he’s also ready to step in, just in case he needs to. Most men don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and he’s aware of how insistent some of them can be.

When she finally returns, Lando’s mood has shifted drastically, and she notices it the second she looks at him.

“Hey, you good?” she asks, plopping back down and swinging her legs over his lap again.

“Yeah,” he says shortly, his hand resuming its absent stroking on her shin.

Her brows knit together. “Not you lying to me. Come on, Landinho, what’s with you?”

“Nothing,” he insists, but his tone is clipped, and his eyes won’t quite meet hers.

She punches his arm lightly, trying to break through whatever wall he’s just put up. “You sure?”

He looks at her then, and the vulnerability in his gaze takes her breath away. “Sure,” he says. But his hand tightens slightly on her leg, like he’s holding onto her in more ways than one.

Her heart clenches. Lando is her friend, the one person she can always count on, but in this moment, she feels the air between them growing in different direction. It’s not the first time, and it doesn’t make her uncomfortable, but it’s not easy for her to sit in it, either.

“You’re being weird,” she states, trying to lighten the mood, but her voice wavers.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mutters, forcing a small smile. “Just tired,” adds Lando, but there’s something he hides behind his eyes, something that makes her chest ache.

She studies his face, her teasing words dying on her lips. His eyes are heavy-lidded, the usual spark dulled by the late hour and maybe one drink too many. His movements are slow, lazy, his thumb still caressing her skin.

“I can see that,” she says gently, sliding her legs off his lap. “Up. Come with me?”

The sudden loss of contact pulls him out of his haze, “Where?” asks Lando, his voice faintly slurred with exhaustion.

“Do you trust me?” she replies with a knowing smile, standing up and extending a hand to him. “My god, Lando. My friend gave me keys to one of the rooms upstairs in case I wanted to crash.”

He hesitates, glancing at her outstretched hand before finally letting out a soft laugh and taking it.

They make their way upstairs, the faint thump of music growing quieter with each step. The room isn’t far, tucked at the end of a hallway. She unlocks the door, revealing a small but cozy space. The room is dimly lit, with a single bedside lamp casting a muted glow over the single bed that’s pressed against one wall, a small dresser, and an armchair in the corner.

Lando steps in behind her, the faint hum of the party fading as the door clicks shut. His gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the space. She lingers by the door for a moment, turning the key with a soft click, locking them in; the sound feels final, and heavier than it should.

Lando notices the bed immediately, his eyes narrowing briefly before he rubs the back of his neck, a gesture that betrays his unease. His voice is low and uncertain as he says, “You know what, I can crash on the couch downstairs. It’s fine.”

She tilts her head, her lips curving into a small smile as she watches him fidget. “You can,” she agrees, knowing that Lando has the superpower to fall asleep anywhere, no matter the place or how loud the background noise is. “Unfortunately, I locked the door,” she adds with fake concern in her voice.

Lando glances at her, his expression caught somewhere between playful and wary. “Yeah. You can unlock it, though.”

“But I won’t,” she replies, her smile softening, her words carrying an unspoken challenge that Lando catches immediately.

His lips part, and for a moment, he says nothing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Then, quietly, his voice dipping lower, he says, “Then don’t.”

His words linger between them, and she feels the weight of his gaze as it shifts to her. There’s no teasing in his expression now, no trace of the lighthearted Lando she’s used to.

She lets her arms fall to her side, her pulse quickening.

Lando’s chest rises and falls steadily, though there’s a tautness to his posture. His gaze darts back to the bed, then to her, and she swears she sees a flicker of something in his eyes — fear? Desire? Anticipation?

His jaw tightens, his eyes searching hers, and she feels the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on them both. Every glance, every touch, every joke that lingered a second too long — it’s all there, bubbling to the surface.

The tension between them that has simmered for months, maybe even years, suddenly feels unbearable. Lando’s eyes meet hers once again, and the quiet resolve in her gaze breaks something inside him. And then, suddenly, a glance he catches from her it’s all it takes. The restraint he’s held onto for so long snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. Before he knows it, he’s closing the gap between them, his hands cupping her face as his lips crash against hers.

She responds instantly, her hands tangling in his curls as she pulls him closer. The kiss is all-consuming, months of buried feelings and unsaid words spilling out in a rush. It’s intoxicating, a heavy blend of alcohol and the faint sweetness of her cherry lip balm. His lips are soft, impossibly so, molding against hers like they were made to fit. The taste of him is dizzying, a perfect balance of warmth and want, and each movement of his mouth sends sparks of heat rippling through her.

It’s overwhelming, the way Lando kisses her — gentle, but with a growing intensity that leaves her breathless, her heart pounding as if it’s trying to match the rhythm of his. His fingers trail down to her neck, squeezing lightly and pulling her against him as they stumble backward toward the bed.

“Do you know how long—” he begins against her lips, his voice rough with need.

“Too long,” she cuts him off with another kiss while her fingers are rushing to tug at the hem of his shirt.

Lando groans as they tumble onto the bed. Their breaths are loud and uneven, filling the small space as their lips crash together again, need and desire fueling every movement. Her palm presses against the small of his back, coaxing him between her legs. He instinctively follows her guidance, his body lowering against hers until his forehead rests on hers. At that, Lando sighs, not with frustration but a soft exasperation that halts them both.

“Are we… okay?” he asks, half-amused and half-concerned. “We shouldn’t—we should not do this. Not like this.”

She doesn’t release him, her hands still on his sides, her legs loosely wrapped around him. “We are,” she assures him, her voice calm but insistent. “It’s just us, Lando.”

His brows furrow, his lips parting in disbelief. “I know. I just don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and—”

Her hands move to his face, cupping it firmly and forcing him to look directly at her. “Regret it?” the girl asks, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “Don’t be silly. You know this isn’t about tonight. I’ve wanted you for a while now. I know you do, too.”

His eyes flicker with something raw, and he swallows hard. “I do,” he agrees. “But. It’d be such a waste to mess it up.”

The weight of his confession settles over them, and he falls onto the mattress beside her. For a moment, they both stare up at the ceiling, their fingers brushing tentatively before intertwining. It’s quiet, save for the hum of the party faintly bleeding through the walls.

And then, “You’re such a good kisser, by the way,” she finally breaks the silence.

He lets out a chuckle, visibly affected. “You’re not making it any easier.”

“I’m already messed up because of you, Lan,” she confesses, turning onto her side, her fingers finding his arm and tracing slow patterns along its length. “I trust us. No matter the outcome.”

Her hand travels to his chest, her fingers brushing lightly over his collarbone before moving to his jaw. She traces the line of it, her touch light but electrifying. Finally, her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her gaze following her movements so closely, as if she wants to devour him.

Their thoughts run wild, revisiting every stolen glance, the tension, the want — it’s always been there. Every moment brought them here.

And now?

“Do you, really?” asks Lando, his voice laced with curiosity.

She nods, her hands sliding down to rest over his, her fingers curling around his. “Completely. I trust us to figure it out as we go. Don’t you?”

He lets her words settle, a warmth spreading through his body. He does. But he still has to think twice before agreeing to something so drastic, especially when he is faced with something he wants so badly that it makes him burn with impatience.

Finally, Lando sighs, looking at her.

“It’s not a big deal, right?” she says with a quiet laugh, her voice tinged with both affection and relief. “We’ve always been good at just... being us.”

He smiles at that, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “That’s true. We’re pretty fucking great at that.”

Lando’s breathing hitches as she guides his hand to her ass, pressing it against her curves with an undeniable confidence. His grip tightens instinctively, and she drapes a leg over his waist, pulling herself closer. Their eyes lock, her fingers tracing his features, as if committing every contour to memory. They’ve never been so close to each other, and the intimacy of the moment makes his heart race, while hers almost melts under the warmth of his body.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he admits matter-of-factly.

Her lips curl into a faint smile. “Hopefully,” she whispers, her hand traveling south, to work on unbuttoning his jeans.

Lando swallows hard, his gaze darkening as he grips her tighter. “If I fuck you tonight…” his voice drops, laced with a possessiveness that makes her shiver. “I won’t be able to let another guy come anywhere near you again.”

Her eyebrows arch in surprise, finally able to put the pieces together, understanding why Lando was acting so strange earlier.

“Are you jealous, Lando?” she teases, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in her tone.

Lando’s response is silent; instead, he leans in, his lips finding the soft curve of her neck. He sucks lightly, then harder, leaving a blooming hickey that makes her gasp.

When he pulls back, his voice is firm, “No, I just want people to stay away from what’s mine.”

Her breath catches, and before she can stop herself, the word escapes her lips in a near-whisper. “Yours.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, but he doesn’t say anything, letting the intensity in his gaze speak for him. She pushes at his chest, making him fall back against the mattress with a soft laugh, and crawls on top of him, her thighs straddling his hips.

Impatiently, her hands work on his shirt, pushing it up his chest. “Off,” she demands, tugging until he lifts his arms and lets her pull it over his head.

His hands waste no time, slipping under her skirt and pulling at the lace of her panties. “These,” he says quickly, his breath warm against her collarbone, “are in my way.”

With a sharp pull, he slides them down her thighs, and she shivers as the cool air kisses her damp skin. She leans down, burying her face in the crook of his neck to hide her embarrassment as he guides her hips forward, her bare core pressing against the warmth of his abs. The firm ridges of muscle beneath her send a jolt of pleasure through her body, and she lets out a soft moan.

Lando’s hand tightens on her hip, his thumb brushing over her skin. “Look at that,” he breathes heavily, “What got you so excited, hm?”

She whimpers at his words, the heat pooling in her cheeks as much as between her thighs. “Don’t—” she mumbles into his neck, her voice muffled and shy.

He chuckles softly, the vibration of it against her skin making her shudder. “No, that’s so hot,” he teases, moving her hips just slightly so she drags against him. His own breath catches, and his hips shift upward, pressing the hardness of his length against her thigh. “You feel what you’re doing to me? It’s mutual.”

She lifts her head, her eyes meeting his as she lets her fingers trail down his chest. Next, she adjusts herself as her hand slides lower, brushing against the waistband of his pants before she pushes them down just enough to free him. His cock springs free, and she bites her lip at the sight of it, her own arousal growing as she reaches out to wrap her hand around him.

Lando groans, his head falling back against the pillow. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice rough and full of longing.

As she leans down to press her lips to his chest, her tongue flicking over his nipple, a sound escapes him that’s somewhere between a gasp and a moan. She glances up again, amused. “Well,” she teases, her voice playful but sultry, “I think I just found your new kink.”

Lando lets out a weak chuckle, his hand tangling in her hair as he pulls her back up to kiss her. “Shut up,” he speaks over her lips, but the way his hips buck against her hand tells her she’s right. “Everything you do is my kink,” he whispers, the rawness in his voice making her heart race.

Her cheeks flush a deeper shade, and with a playful glint in her eye, her hand squeezes his cock lightly, eliciting a sharp inhale from him. “Sorry,” she giggles, feigning innocence, “I just wanted to make sure.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk before his hands cup her ass firmly, pressing her harder against him. His voice is rough and dripping with need as he almost begs, “Come sit on my face.”

The unexpected plea is leaving her breathless, painting her face in confusion. “What?” she stammers, her voice nearly swallowed by the thrum of arousal coursing through her.

“Yeah, you heard me,” Lando assures her, his tone insistent, his eyes ablaze with anticipation.

Without waiting for her to argue, he pushes her skirt up around her waist, revealing the soft skin of her thighs, and pulls her closer to his face. She hesitates for a moment, her nerves warring with her desire, but when his strong hands guide her gently and his lips press a teasing kiss against her inner thigh, she gives in. The first swipe of his tongue against her entrance makes her gasp, her hand flying to the wall to steady herself.

Lando groans as he tastes her, the sound vibrating against her core and sending shockwaves through her body. One arm wraps tightly around her thigh, anchoring her to him, while his free hand drifts down to his cock, stroking himself in tandem with the rhythm of his tongue. Her moans spill into the air, mixing with his as Lando’s mouth works her over like a man starved, warm and wet and utterly relentless.

“Lan,” she breathes, her voice shaky as the intensity builds. Her hips jerk against his mouth instinctively, and he responds by pulling her even closer, burying his face deeper between her legs.

His tongue flicks, swirls, and presses in all the right places, and she can barely keep herself upright. She has to press both of her palms on the wall, but even then it’s not enough to keep her grounded. Not when Lando laps at her clit, his fingers digging into her thighs to keep her still as her body begins to tremble.

“You taste so fucking good,” he informs her between strokes of his tongue, his words muffled but clear enough to make her toes curl.

As her breaths turn shallow and erratic, she feels the pressure coiling tightly in her abdomen. Lando senses it, too, and his grip tightens, his movements growing more fervent. “Wanna come for me?” he asks as impatient as she is.

Before she can even process his question, her climax crashes into her like a tidal wave, her thighs trembling around his head as her moans echo through the room. Lando doesn’t stop, his mouth and tongue coaxing her through every pulse and tremor until she’s gasping for air.

In one swift, effortless motion, he pulls her down onto the bed and flips her over, positioning himself above her. His lips are slick, his gaze heavy-lidded with lust as he pumps two fingers into her, the wet heat of her still clenching around him.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his thumb brushing against her sensitive clit as his fingers curl inside. “Let me feel you.”

Her body arches off the bed as another wave of pleasure crests over her, Lando’s name spilling from her lips in breathless cries. The sheer intensity of his touch and the quickness of it all leave her spinning, her mind barely able to keep up as he drives her over the edge once more.

By the time her breathing begins to steady, Lando leans down, his lips brushing hers in a lingering kiss, tasting her satisfaction on his tongue. He grins against her mouth, utterly smug but entirely captivated.

“See how fucking delicious you are?” he whispers, and she can only nod, still lost in the aftermath of him unraveling her completely.

Seeing the pleasure etched across her face, Lando can barely hold it together. His hands tremble slightly as he shoves his jeans and boxers down for good, freeing himself at last. His cock, heavy and flushed, rests against her thigh, the warmth of her skin giving him goosebumps. He breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling in sync with hers as he pauses for just a moment, meeting her gaze with a mix of vulnerability and pure lust.

“Are we really gonna do this?” asks Lando, his voice hiding too much desire under its raspy tone.

His eyes search hers, looking for any hint of doubt. Luckily, there is none. She just nods frantically, her hands sliding down his back to cup the firm muscles of his ass.

Her touch sends electricity through him, and she guides him where she needs him most, her body arching in anticipation. “I want you. Please.”

Without breaking eye contact, he sinks into her, and the world stops for both of them. His head falls forward, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he feels her warmth envelop him, her slick heat drawing him in effortlessly. Her body opens for him so easily, so perfectly, that it steals his breath. The tension that had coiled tightly in her frame melts away as her legs wrap around his hips, pulling him closer.

Her arms encircle his shoulders, holding him tightly while she gasps Lando’s name. Her voice is music to his ears, and he presses his forehead against hers, the connection between them both overwhelming, yet grounding. Her fingers slide into his curls, playing with the strands at the nape of his neck as her hips shift instinctively, adjusting to his size.

“God, you feel…” he trails off, unable to find the words. Instead, he lets his body speak for him, drawing back before thrusting forward again. His movements are purposeful and powerful, each one making the bed creak slightly beneath them and pushing her up and down the sheets.

Her lips part with soft cries, her fingers tightening in his hair as her body meets each of his thrusts. “Lando,” she moans, her voice full of need and adoration, spurring him on. “Yes, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

He catches her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her sounds as his hands wander over her body. His fingers hook under the hem of her t-shirt, and he tugs it upward, breaking the kiss momentarily to pull it over her head. The sight of her bare skin, flushed and glistening, takes his breath away. Her breasts are adorned with black lace, and the contrast against her skin ignites something primal in him.

“Stunning,” says Lando just as his hand drifts to her chest, brushing over the delicate fabric.

The way she arches into his touch, her nails scraping lightly against his shoulders, drives him wild. His thrusts deepen, his hips moving with purpose as the room fills with the sounds of their bodies meeting, her moans, and his ragged breaths.

“Fucking hell,” he rasps. His jaw clenches as he feels her tightening around him. “You’re killing me. So tight and—”

Before he can finish, she pulls him into a kiss. It’s shallow, their lips barely meeting as they breathe each other’s air. Her nails dig into his back, her legs trembling as she holds him as close as humanly possible.

“You’re so good, Lando,” she murmurs, her voice quivering, her praise like gasoline on his fire. “My favorite boy.”

Her words send him over the edge of control, his hips stuttering as he thrusts deep inside her, feeling her walls begin to flutter and clench around his cock. Her back arches, her head burying into the pillow as her orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave. Again.

Her moans are unfiltered, and she clutches him like he’s her lifeline, while Lando stills inside her, groaning low and long as her body grips him so tightly that knocks the air out of his lungs. He presses his forehead against her chest, their breaths hurried as her aftershocks pulse around him so sweetly. Her nails scrape lightly down his back, grounding them both, continuing to whisper his name like a prayer.

It’s enough for Lando to surrender to his own orgasm, his body trembling as wave after wave of release takes him over. He stays buried inside her, unwilling to part just yet. The warm tightness around him makes him shudder, his hand gripping her thigh to anchor himself.

When he finally pulls out, he hesitates before pressing his knee between her legs, feeling the slick warmth of their combined arousal smearing against his skin. She squirms against him, her overstimulated body trembling, her hips shifting involuntarily as aftershocks ripple through her.

Lando watches her, his eyes dark with satisfaction, his voice husky as he whispers, “Forget 35. Let’s get married tomorrow.”

She exhales sharply, a laugh bubbling out of her. “I’m down,” she teases, her tone light but affectionate. “Let’s book the venue now.”

He looks at her, gaze softening, filled with something deeper as he reaches behind her and, with one measured motion, unclasps her bra. The suddenness of it catches her off guard, her eyes widening as he tosses it aside like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Before she can say a word, Lando leans over the side of the bed, fishing for his shirt. He finds it, holding it up, then tugging it over her head, the oversized fabric swallowing her frame.

“Perfect fit,” he says softly, his fingers brushing against her arms as he helps her adjust it. The gesture makes her chest tighten, her heart swelling with an ache she doesn’t fully understand yet.

After that, Lando slides back into his boxers and pulls the covers over both of them. The bed is small, forcing their bodies to press together in a tangle of limbs. It doesn’t feel awkward, though. It feels like a new home, safe and peaceful.

He rests his head on her chest, his breath warm and steady against her, while his hand absently caresses her through the fabric of his shirt, his fingers brushing over her nipple. Everything about the moment feels somehow so normal, like they’ve been this way forever.

The silence stretches on, so comforting, until she suddenly breaks it with a soft groan. “I have to pee again.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[strungnews]

Being in a polycule with Mark Grayson and Eve Wilkins is weird.

The two never really thought about it, hell, never really thought about anyone else romantically besides each other. They are quite literally, a power couple! But at the same time how could they fall in love with someone who they all got bad first impressions from?

(Fair warning I started rambling about this on the 22nd and ive been distracted with other content so it might be inaccurate and not up to date with the new upcoming eps! Sorry! 4k+ words oof)

When did you first meet?

Mark Grayson: First spotted at the convention, where you served as a temporary helping hand to one of your close friends who ran a free fix it portable station that helped aid costume malfunctions for cosplayers. You were a jack of all trades and a master of none. An average grade student, who participated as little and as much activities as one felt like, nothing really piquing your interest at any capacity to fully commit to it. Badminton, swim team, volleyball, chess, journalism, art, sewing. The talents and passion you had for it all were mediocre at best, but useful when the situation called for it.

Need an extra player in your team? You won't willingly volunteer, but if there was no other choice, so be it. Someone needing help on their swim technique? You've gotten more ear infections than you could count all because of swimming, several visits to the doctor and ear drops used. But an advice or two wouldn't hurt.

It just so happened you held a bit of liking to sewing, and with reluctance agreed to your friend's pleas of help for the upcoming convention day. You weren't really looking forward to helping around people who forgot to wear deodorant or were in desperate need of a shower, but he said you were splitting the tips by the end of the day. Money is money.

Mark would someyimes notice you here and there, carrying a huge clunky bag while assisting to anyone you could offer a hand to, but other than that, he said and did nothing else. He was more worried about the line for the Seance dog signing and Amber to properly pay attention. But couldn’t help gravitate towards you for some reason.

Though he does give credit where credit was due, between you and your close friend, you were a lot faster with the needle than he was. And you were only doing this for a day! But he didn't know that. Mark wouldn't lie, but he did find himself leaning over and away to look closer at your handy work whenever someone would happily walk away, almost catching his eye whenever you felt like you were being stared at more intensely than the individual you were fixing up.

His first ever person to person interaction was tainted by Mark getting distracted at the crowd of people dressed up as Invincible, before almost falling over himself and you. The supply of items you had just packed up all nice and neat now lay scattered all over the floor, going back to square one.

"Oh! Im so so sorry let me just-" "Thank you, but don't." You swat away his helping hand and turn your back to him. There he stands awkwardly, watching you silently pick up the pieces, his hand rubbing at his neck in guilt. The way you glared and spoke to him might as well had burned holes into his head till he had nothing resting atop his shoulders but charred remains.

You just ended up shoving everything back into place out of pure irritation before storming off, not sparing Mark a glance, not wanting to bother acknowledging him and getting angry for no reason.

He never noticed that you went to the same school as him before that whole interaction. All of a sudden it was like you were spawning everywhere he went, and you were non the wiser about it.

Whenever he'd walk with William and Amber, you'd be somewhere secluded with something to occupy yourself or just talking to that one guy you seemed close with. Even at the cafeteria, where you would be surrounded by people he had never seen you around with. Mostly tolerating their presence by the looks of it, only there because you were friends with one of them. Then you'd also started to hang out with Eve, which made him even more curious about you. Was Eve close with you? What was your relationship with her? Maybe he was getting a bit too nosy. Eve Wilkins: It was a lot harder to grab Eve's attention, even unintentionally. She's a busy gal, always handling this world crisis here and another there, she mostly has to focus time for herself and heroing than the people around her when she's just being Eve the student.

College wasn't all that hard for her, she was great at science and other subjects alike, a top student, Eve is.

But you weren't. In fact you were almost failing her favorite subjects. Numbers shmumbers, you hated it. And unfortunately for her, you were dumped on top of her already full plate unceremoniously when she had been pulled aside by one of the professors.

She didn't want to take it, but she didn't want a fellow student to fail a class she thought was so easy. So she hesitantly agreed, biting more than she could chew.

The event for the both of you was stressful to say the least. She was frustratingly ambiguous about her time and schedule, which clashed with your want to be punctuational, keeping interactions simply transactional. This was both stressful and moreso awkward for the two of you to go through. Eve wished you were a fast learner, but you were failing classes that involved numbers for a reason. Ouch.

Several pensive and forced smiles in the discomfort of your dorm room, each time you were told to start over or why you got this and that as an answer and formula was helping a migrane slowly develop the more time passes. She was trying her best, she really was. And you were too, you both can see the strained effort you two had put in. But by god the process was going by slow.

More breaks would occur than actual learning, before you caved and gave in first.

"I'm never getting this, am I?" Falling back to your mattress with a stiff bounce, you close your eyes and put an arm over them. Hand clenched, nails digging into the palm of your hand.

"Well, you're making progress. As slow as it is at least." You can appreciate how she still has the courtesy to be nice and sugarcoat it, but that was just making you all the more resentful of the situation.

"I just- I dont get it! How do you get this from that?" Quickly sitting up to point accusingly at the paper that lies on your soft cushions, its crumpled and dented with the amount of times you had to erase with shavings of it not too far beside.

"It's hypothetical, thats why we have assigned formulas." Eve pinches the bridge of her nose. She's exhausted and just wishes she could crash at her bed. But even the trip to the treehouse seemed tiresome to do, now contemplating if it was the best course of action to live there.

"Yes, I know! But-ugh." It feels useless, putting your hands up in defeat. "At least with science you can tell what you actually need to use. Math is all 'use your common sense', well i'm trying." Muttered through gritted teeth, you close the abused books and notebooks scattered on the bed.

It was a unified agreement to take a break and go out for a little while and get grub, blowing steam off in the process.

This goes on for two weeks, and gradually progress begins to show. You're making more sense of the subject and are putting pieces together easily than before, which used to be nothing. It was going at a snails pace, but progress is progress!

A small surprise quiz had popped up, and you answered the questions with a keen eye. Double checking, using the memorization methods Eve basically drilled into your head, a wavering air of confidence around you as you wrote.

The time for grading happened all too soon, exchanging papers to whomever was closest to you, checking one another's work before passing it back and receiving your own. Here came and greeted an unbelievably high score plastered in red ink on your paper, reading a 16/20.

You almost cried in joy with how surreal it was. It may just be a simple quiz to the others, but this was practically a milestone to you. The news was given to her, and you both felt lighter knowing you finally had it handled. As a cause for celebration, you decided to lounge in your bed and just have a time for yourself, no longer plagued with the tutors. Coming in the whole situation with Eve filled with dread, and coming out with a feeling of self reassurance.

Your time spent with Eve decreased the more time went on, which you were a bit sad about. Having considered her as a friend, but knew it was inevitable. School work is still work.

On occasion she and you would just text, maybe ask for help whether it be math or personal things, or just to reply to a stupid cat video one of you sent.

Eve did begin to notice you became a lot more confident in answering and volunteering in class, and she felt proud for you.

Meet up!

Burgermart seemed to be more sensational than before, ever since Mark decided to quit.

The place isn't as packed as other foodchain restaurants would usually be, but it seems a lot more crowded than what Mark was used to.

It was his to go to place even though he’ll be met with a few familiar faces working behind the counter, but nothing too bad.

He waits in line, orders his usual, and walks to his unofficial spot that Mark likes to sit at. Only to already be occupied with a friendly face he has met, and another not so much.

Based on the confusion on yours it’s safe to say you probably don’t remember him. Probably. Hopefully.

“Mark! Fancy seeing you here,” The two exchange hugs while you awkwardly watch, biting on your greasy burger unashamedly.

You and Eve move to the corner of each of your booths, and decidedly Mark sits next to you instead. A flash of hurt goes over her face, but disappears as soon as it came.

They’d chatter and munch on the fries left over from the burger platter of Eve’s plate, only humming noncommittally whenever you’d be dragged into the conversation, but said nothing else. Not wanting to butt in their conversation, so mulled over on why this guy’s face felt so familiar to you. But nothing pops up.

Everyone finishes up and after a few minutes all of you are standing to leave. Cleaning just a little but after yourselves to not seem rude when the workers clean up.

“I never really got your name.” Mark suddenly shifts his attention to you as the three of you walk out to the parking lot. Its already afternoon, making the weather warm a little.

“I never really gave it.” You reply back. In your head, you justify your response by chalking it up to not really knowing the guy. Sure he’s Mark, Eve’s supposed friend. But what else? What happened to stranger danger?

Eve doesn’t seem to pick up on that, and or doesn’t share the same sentiment, enthusiastically coming in to respond for you. “Remember when I said I was busy tutoring someone? Yeah? Well they’re said someone.”

“You talked about me?”

“Well, just the good bits . . . !”

Shame, embarrassment, you wish the world could swallow you up right then and there.

But you steel yourself, making sure to not make eye contact helping avoid digging your already deep grave. “Better be, or ill tell him the time you tore a hole through the papers when-“

“Okay! Okay! I get it! I promise, it wasn’t anything bad!” Her flustered state makes you laugh, slowly warming up to the both of them.

“I heard you got a high score that one time, man I wish I did too. I kind of flunked the quiz.”

“Maybe you should ask them to tutor you. They’re kind of a math whiz now dontcha think?”

The wink wink nudge nudge could not have been any more subtle.

“Shut up.”

What happens next?

So many new things in your life changed and occurred, both terrifying and exciting.

One of them was being introduced to the friend group that seemed to be ever expanding the more times you hang out with them. William was a hoot, he felt like the most normal person you could relate to. Amber was ambitious, a kind person who already had her shit figured out. And Mark? Well, hes a dweeb and a mess.

Even though you’ve been adopted into the new stray friend, you always gravitated to Eve more. She was the first person you really bothered to hold more than one sentence with. Albeit a bit forced.

Then the whole human robots occurred, you wish you could say you were there to be of help or even lend a hand, but you were dead asleep for the most part. Too busy holed up in your dorm room with work to fully enjoy the almost-adult, adult life.

Then Mark reveals his super hero persona to you, and so does Eve.

“How many know?”

“Oh, hun.” Eve puts a hand on your shoulder.

“You’re like, the last person to know. Everyone in the group practically already know.”

“What.”

You feel bitter but view them no more or less. Only asking to be taken flying at least once by one of them in exchange.

“THIS IS AWESOME!”

“Calm down I might drop you!” Eve is not surprised nor all that glad you asked her first, but feels a bit cocky about it. Another tally on whose the best super between her and Mark. Not that anyone’s counting.

★彡

It seems the two can’t catch a break. Mark especially.

Everyone’s there for Mark after the whole incident, and to further supporting his now semi-fixed relationship with Amber.

You can sense something about Eve though, but don’t pry. The way she looks at the two or how she tries to just hang out with you more to ‘get her mind off of things’ at her tree house, it was quite the tell.

“You know you can tell me anything that’s bothering you, and I wouldn’t judge you. Right?”

Eve hands a glass of soda, bubbling from the carbon dioxide. She sighs and says nothing, only opting to lean and look at the view overlooking the place.

“I know.”

Despite not being a super or wicked smart, you’re not stupid. You are Eve’s only confidant, even if you don’t get it, you sympathize with her.

Its one thing after the other with Mark and Eve. Mark comes back home with a purple baby, Eve focuses more on her studies to be an architect, things get messed up, and the secrecy continues.

Mark doesn’t get too deep into it, only ever talking to Eve about topics as heavy as that. So many . . . Events has conspired. You’re helpless to do anything to help soothe the bleeding wound. Eve says Mark just needs time, but you both know it’s not true. So, being the ever so genius you are, you offer a sleep over.

It’s a much appreciated and comforting sentiment for the whole family, they’re not sure if they want to be alone after what had conspired. But they also say nothing, keeping their mouths zipped tight.

A movie starts to play, a few hours had already passed ever since you and Eve rang the doorbell. Everyone’s huddled up at the couch, with Oliver sat in Marks lap, now crawling to Eve before reaching you at the end of the couch.

“Looks like he likes you.” Mark sounds so tired when he speaks, it’s a lot more quiet than when he usually talks, but Eve only nods in agreement.

“Yeah, babies like me for some reason. Even if I’m not a fan. But I guess since it’s Oliver..” He pulls and tugs at your clothes in curiosity, before harshly sitting himself on your stomach to face the tv. You let out an ‘oof’, which Mark and Eve laugh.

The tv plays, but its practically static to Mark’s ears, as he speaks again.

“I broke up with Amber.”

★彡

Having to be the middle of the two sided coin, you were forced to listen to the two’s complaints about one another’s crush. You wish you could just pull your hair out to get some semblance of relief with how its eating at you alive. At least William knocked some further sense into him when Mark confided in them after asking you first.

Eve? Well, she was busy. Like always.

But it was Mark this, architect that, Mark and Oliver, all that fun jazz. You couldn’t visit as often as Eve could, so she’d like to give updates.

Sometimes you feel like they’re so close to getting there, so close, until you get caught between the two again at the treehouse, seeking some you and her time till Mark showed up.

Something something future Eve, something something oh my fucking god Mark you’re screwing this up!

They both leave due to an emergency, leaving you there isolated at the treehouse.

“Great, guess ill just jump down and walk my way to the campus then!” You shout to nobody in particular.

Its about time!

Finally, the two got together.

No party no celebration, nothing big or grand. Just a small text of congratdolences, because she had to deal with Mark foreverrrr. Until an inevitable break up. Which will never happen.

Their relationship started off a bit fast, a bit rocky, but still stable. Still being at college and not possessing super human abilities, you would often video call and or gossip to them when they had the time. Catching up a lot more on things everyone would miss out since it felt like everyone lived in on different worlds.

You’d make William join in too, considering besides Eve, you were really close. But oh goodness, oh my word, he got caught up talking to his dearly beloved Rick and therefore forgot to reply!

Okay that may be a little exaggerated, but what can you do? Separated by the three people you were super close with in the span of half a year, you were getting clingy.

“Ugh, Will come on. This is the third time we’re hosting a small food get together without you, you can even bring Rick!” You’d complain while lying on your stomach in front of your laptop. Toiling away at your textbooks.

“How’s it feel to third wheel with the super couple? And plus, its finally a friday! I haven’t gotten a break in what feels like ages. Me and Rick are planning on staying in and having a movie night and falling asleep on the couch.”

“Barf. Rick this, Rick that, blah blah blah. You were so interesting when you were single!”

“Well sorry you’re the only one who’s single in the friend group.”

“Hey!”

Maybe you were a third wheel. Constantly hanging around Eve and Mark whenever they’d offer or whenever you had free time, you felt embarrassed. Especially now that you’re helping them look for an apartment —or house even— that they could possibly afford.

Being an expert in assessing many things in your life, of course your help was well needed.

“What about this one?”

“Looks… well..” Mark squints at the photo, giving it a slight once over before pursing his lips. Arms brushing up against yours as he crosses his arms and legs in faux thought.

“I know, it’s tacky, right? But I didn’t know if that was your guys’ style.” You click away to another tab, showing the place and its living conditions, plus the added bonuses it has around the areas. Nearby markets, easy access to vehicles if wanted, and a bit isolated so they went get caught super-ing.

“You saying we’re tacky?”

Ignoring Mark’s comment to your right, you shift your attention to Eve. “How about this one?”

“It’s a bit too good to be true, hows the rent?” Eve sets down on Mark’s bed with a slight bounce, leaning over to your left to sandwich you with Mark.

“Yeah about that.” You suck in hair between your teeth and move the screen as an answer, and she merely scrunches her nose.

“Man. Adulting is hard.” Mark leans his head with a thud on his headboard, before it slowly slides to the side, hovering just slightly on your shoulder.

“Tell me about it. I had to pick between saving up for the ride home or saving the cash for food.” You reply absent mindedly, tapping away at the screen with an occasional click of the laptop’s track pad.

“Imagine if you guys had another human being to deal with while you’re still trying to get your shit together? Yikes.” Shaking your head at the thought of it, makes your bones heavy with fatigue.

But Mark and Eve look over to one another with a shared look of confusion. Another person? As in . . . You’re not implying that are you?

They take you back to your campus but not before saying bye to Oliver. Even though he was just a year old, he already grew as big as a toddler. Wanting to hang out with you despite barely talking or even knowing him. It was like a baby duckling imprinting.

But Mark and Eve can’t help but think about what you said on their way home. Another person? It seems like a bit much. No?

They were already quite content on having each other, they didn’t know if the other was comfortable about the prospect of it all. But wasn’t opposite to it either.

So for now, they’d decided to tip toe around it instead.

A puzzling piece

Ever since that visit, the two have been a lot more touchy feely with you.

You dont mind honestly, chalking it up to them being a lot more friendly towards you and nothing else. Nothing more.

William and Rick start to notice too, after finally having everyone’s schedules align once in a blue moon and going out to just have some fun. They’d practically crowd you like body guards, and William and Rick would just watch, snickering to one another.

At times you do get suspicious. Eve holding your arm as you walked was nothing new, but when Mark started to initiate more physical contact with you, you’d spiral.

Of course Mark was hot, hell, Eve was too! Those were simply just facts, your best friends were attractive as hell. Who doesn’t admit that to themselves from time to time? But theyre off limits. They have each other, and you’re just you! No offense.

You couldn’t help raise a questioning brow when Mark and Eve started sitting away from each other in exchange of you being in the middle of them. Bumping shoulders, arms brushing up, hands on your back, or hair tucked behind your ear. It felt overwhelming.

So you confide in William and Rick on their behavior, receiving cryptic responses rather than actual answers instead.

“Are Eve and Mark being weird?” You’d ask, passing over your bag of chips to Rick while sucking on your straw.

“I think they’re being very obvious.” William answers dismissively waving his hand.

“Obvious? About what?”

“Oh you know, right Rick?” And he just shrugs with an awkward smile in response.

“Well has Mark said anything? Eve’s just been . . . Normal, I guess? But feels like they’re keeping something from me too.”

“Yeah, sure. Ill tell you if Mark says anything. Wink wink.” William says out loud rather than literally.

“Okay?”

Seeing as they were no help, you finally grew some and talked to Eve about it privately. No Mark, no Atom Eve or Invincible, just you and her in the a lot sturdier and built treehouse of hers.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes! Well, no.”

You spill your guts out to her, not looking in her general direction the whole time so you can actually let out the words you want to say rather than awkwardly fumbling and mumbling to yourself.

It seems Eve feels the same way, opting to look out rather than meet your own gaze. Picking at her nails at the same time.

“Do you remember when you were helping us look for apartments to live in? Before we ditched that plan and decided not to?”

“Yes . . ?”

“Then you mentioned something about another person being in our lives?”

“Another person? Since when?”

“Since when you showed us that great place! But was too out of our budget.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Well we thought. . . You were . . .”

It takes a few moments for you to make sense of it all, till Eve reaches to hold out your hand and it clicks.

“I meant having a kid! You know, white picket fence and all that!” Your face is practically hot enough to cook an egg on with her admittance.

She clears things up before Mark pops up all of a sudden. Not taking the hint of yours and Eve’s current state and inviting himself in.

“Where were you? I texted you that an hour ago and I still had no response. I got worried.”

“Crap, I think I forgot to hit send.”

Mark gets caught up in the current news, and feels like he’s made a fool of himself. Him and Eve are silently but not very subtly having a conversation about you in loud hushed whispers. Their backs turned to you and they’re holding each other’s hand in reassurance.

“Im not—Im not opposed to it though.” You say quietly, a bit hesitant to break up their conversation.

“Really?” They say in unison, perking up like excited puppies.

“I mean! If you guys’ll have me, that is.”

“We’ve been flirting with you for the past couple of months, I think we’re more than happy to.”

“You’ve been flirting?!”

“Yes, for months.”

Maybe in the near future the three of you could live in that house you found, just the three of you.

a/n: ahh i kinda hate and love this but im done so whatever just take it from me TAKE IT

btw id love to hear your thoughts and questions about this or just invincible in general teehee! planning on writing more ;P

[casino-lights]

so. the thing about Illario and Lucanis.

I don't have the screenshots but somewhere in Lucanis' mind, you hear Illario's voice saying "If I was in charge, you wouldn't have to do this anymore." as far as I can tell, all the other lines in his memories are from the game, but this one is from The Wigmaker Job. the story that took place over a year (probably more) prior to the events of the game. it's referring to a scene where Lucanis comes back from their contract, injured, and Illario, worried about his cousin, says that Lucanis wouldn't have to do Caterina's bidding anymore if Illario was First Talon. so now we know Lucanis still thinks about that conversation, even though it happened so long ago.

two other things about The Wigmaker Job: 1) Illario is a lot different in it and in some ways he seems more competent than the Illario we get in veilguard; and 2) we see Zara Renata at the end, and she already has Lucanis in her sights. depending on how much time passed between that contract and Lucanis' kidnapping, she could've been setting this up for months to years.

in the concept art/storyboard frames that were recently released, Zara is hardcore giving siren in the first image and it almost looks like she's straight up controlling Illario via blood magic in the second (imo)

now imagine if Zara was looking into Lucanis, started with the people closest to him, found Illario, and said all the right things. imagine she said he should be First Talon, Caterina never loved him, Lucanis doesn't believe in him and is secretly just tolerating him, he can save Antiva from the Antaam (or whoever else), he can lead the Crows to their long-awaited unification and make them even stronger, he's the smartest prettiest most super special boy in the whole wide world, etc. (if you give this man an ounce of praise and he actually believes it, he will crumble, I know it.)

now imagine Zara, having successfully sunk her claws into Illario - Lucanis Dellamorte's cousin, the only person closer to the Demon of Vyrantium than the First Talon herself - manages to convince him to let her kill Lucanis. he doesn't have to do it himself so there's less guilt. there's no way Caterina would make him First Talon if Lucanis was alive. and then Illario would be in a position to protect his beloved Antiva because if there's one thing the Antivan Crows are, it's patriots. I think Zara played Illario like a fucking fiddle and the game was just really bad at showing us that. I think when her spirit says "he fooled us both," she means he fooled her by being less of a coward than she thought and straight up killing her.

and maybe this is the Illario apologist in me, but I also think he realized the whole thing was a doomed plan after he was defeated. I mean, he shows up to the final battle to help, at risk of his own life. maybe he's trying to atone, maybe not, but still - he is there, and he sounds more like the Illario we see in The Wigmaker Job than whatever we got through the rest of the game. with his quippy little "was that suitably self-important?" line, he's closer to himself than he was this whole time, and that makes me wonder if maybe he wasn't fully Illario. maybe that was grief and guilt and a shaky sense of self and Zara's manipulation and the feeling of losing his grip on the power he never quite had to begin with, all bundled up into a new, bitter, resentful man. I think he was used like a pawn in Zara's chess game, and that doesn't take away from his agency in this situation or lessen the blow of his betrayal, but it does make it easier for me to swallow the fact that the Obvious Traitor Illario I was immediately skeptical of in-game is not the Illario I immediately loved after one scene in Tevinter Nights where he shaves a single hair because it was uneven with the rest of his five o clock shadow.

I think ultimately, Illario realized Lucanis would forgive him anyway. I think it's because he realized he would forgive Lucanis too.