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maximotts · 1 year

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i feel like cowboy wanda would be so gentle the first few times she has sex with you bc she’s worried she’ll hurt you and scare you off but eventually she loses control a bit and manhandles you into position and when she pins you down, you moan and then the most DEVILISH smile spreads across her face

Ooo okay okay it's interesting you brought this up because I've been thinking about their first encounter a bit lately! We'll ignore that this turned into a whole fic, okay? I love them sm Also this isn't really edited because it was supposed to be a short answer and now it's uhm.. not short, so forgive any typos

18+ only please . wc: 2.7k . cw: first meeting hookup, drinking, dirty talk, oral, fingering, v light spanking, lap sits, possessiveness, Wanda being smitten, the pickup truck sex a lot of y'all have been asking me about that I said was coming, morning after with Wanda because she's as proper as she is filthy

Basically right now I have their first time more as a hookup where bunny is new to town and goes out to a bar one night to maybe make friends and see the environment, but then she meets Wanda and her group of friends who are all more than welcoming and you're having a great time hanging out with them.

But your eyes keep drifting to Wanda. Of course Wanda notices and, being the smooth talker she is, starts flirting with the new girl. She buys you as many drinks as you want which, end up being stronger than you're used to, but your nerves keep you ordering more. When she finally slips an arm around you, cornering you in the booth you'd only just plopped yourself into, you're more than ready for Wanda to kiss you— and kiss you she does.

You're shy by nature, never having made out with anyone in a bar, much less with a girl you'd only known for a few hours, but Wanda's thumb brushing over your cheek while she bites down on your bottom lip has you forgetting everything you're used to which admittedly, isn't much. Somehow she's pulled your thighs over her own, toying with the stretchy hem of the form-fitting skirt you'd decided to wear last minute. When she touches a particularly sensitive spot, you shiver and Wanda chuckles, "You cold, darlin'? Pretty as your arms are, I'll let you borrow my jacket if it'd help."

And so the night goes on with Wanda's thick denim jacket slung over your shoulders, her arm around your waist wherever the two of you walk. Normally you'd hate the presumptive way the cowgirl was handling you, as if she owned you already, but you'd be damned if you didn't admit you wanted her to stake her claim. So, in your slightly inebriated state, you took a leap, "Wands, I'm sleepy..."

Which catches her attention immediately. "Well now," Wanda pulls you close then, fingers carefully treading the line between caressing your hip and groping your ass; it would be the first time she whispers in your ear, but it'll never stop being insanely hot. "I hope you're telling me because you're going to let me take you home. I'd be real sad leaving tonight without you."

You wish your giggle of a reply didn't sound so girlish and naïve, but in hindsight, you had no idea the sheer intensity you were in for. "Only if you promise to behave yourself."

—

She's driven about halfway back to her house before she has to pull over; technically it was her land, pulled over to the side of the winding road and turning her truck engine off. "I know I promised to take you home, I still will, but I can't take another second not having my hands on you."

It takes you back a little; all you'd been doing was scratching over her jeans while you stared at the woman driving, but you weren't going to argue with her. "I don't really-"

"I've wanted you on my lap since I laid eyes on you. Get over here." Thankfully she doesn't have to convince you any farther, holding back a groan as you straddled her legs, skirt riding up inch by inch. It was a tight squeeze with you between her and the steering wheel, but Wanda hardly noticed once you started kissing her. This time was impossibly hotter, Wanda's tongue taking control of the kiss before moving on to shamelessly leave marks along your jaw and neck.

And Wanda is too good at getting your clothes out of the way, leaving you topless with record speed, squeezing at your breasts roughly while you struggled just to keep up with her mouth. "What if someone sees..."

The brunette only starts toying with your nipples, relishing in the way it got you rolling your hips. "It's pitch dark, silly girl. I can barely see you out here, don't worry your pretty little head."

You lost the last bit of your restraint the moment Wanda passed her fingertips over your underwear. They were thin lace, chosen by design so as not to show under your skirt, but they drove Wanda wild. She pushed them aside to slide her fingers along where you were already warm and sensitive, hips stuttering as she stroked over your clit. "O-Oh.."

"Look at you, already wet and needy. Were you like this all night? That why I caught you squeezing your thighs together so often?" You shook your head, trying to deny it, but you weren't even fooling yourself.

Wanda's had you rocking in place for hours by this point; you thought sure you'd been subtle and being called out for your behavior found your head ducking into the crook of Wanda's shoulder to avoid her knowing gaze. "Aww, it's okay! It'll be our little secret, promise..."

Wanda discovered night one what a responsive person you were, delighting in the vice grip you held on the back of her seat while she rolled your nipple in time with her other hand on your sensitive bud. You rocked against her hands as best you could, fighting to keep pace, but hopefully not finish so easily— it'd just been so long and you needed this much more than expected.

The next morning, you'd blame the alcohol. "Wanda please, I- I need.."

"What do you need, sweetheart, wanna cum? Make a mess in my truck after I barely got started with you?" You were nodding so hard your neck hurt, moaning quietly as you felt your body reach its peak; the first of many that night. Ears ringing and thoughts so pleasantly fuzzy, you couldn't recall a time you'd felt more free, in an old pickup truck or otherwise.

"Ooh, aren't you just a masterpiece..." The brunette took her time letting you down, pointer and middle fingers wandering until they just barely pushed into you: less than an inch, but unendingly torturous. "Sounds like I was able to make you feel better, least a little bit."

Tired hips tried every which way to sink onto Wanda's long fingers, the same ones you'd felt on you over your clothes back in the bar and had lists of naughty places you wanted her to put them. But each time, your lover avoids delving anywhere past shallow. "You're being mean, just fuck me."

"Mean? After I let you cum as early as you wanted? You don't know what mean looks like on me. Don't think you want to," A succession of wet slaps echoed in the truck's cabin, the silence of everything around you both amplifying the sound of Wanda lightly hitting your sensitive cunt and your resulting whimpers.

"Told you so. Now, bend over and stay still while I get a proper look like the obedient girl I know you are," Manhandling you over the length of her seats shouldn't have been as easy as it was after the long night out, but Wanda was strong and you never fought her while she pushed your arms to the passenger car door and spread your bent knees apart.

If you were begging her to fuck you out loud, you wouldn't be surprised, wishing so hard that if Wanda still refused to give you exactly what you wanted, she'd at least use her fingers, tongue, anything to fill where you currently felt so empty. "Please- I need more-"

Your thighs shake as she licks over your puffy folds, mumbling the most depraved things about you, your taste, your warmth, leaving you with the most intoxicating combination of feeling both used and adored. "You just keep dripping into my mouth, baby, it's impossible to keep you clean..."

"Can't help it, sorry," But your words aren't matching your actions, not when you kept searching out Wanda's tongue each time she flicked at your clit, pitifully rolling over the rough surface whenever she flattened it out.

You'd long since fogged up the windows, smudging the fog as your overheated cheek met the cold glass; each time you managed to open your eyes you remember exactly where you are, woods rustling in the middle of the night. "W-Wanda! 'm close again, please please...!"

"Mean girls wouldn't let you have two orgasms back to back, no matter how pretty." Wanda likes to believe she actually thought about whether or not to give you what you wanted, but in reality she knew she would leave you wanting the second you turned bratty. Sure it was a risk, not knowing how you'd react, but it was well worth the test to see if you had a chance of handling her past a quick night's distraction. "Straighten up, we're only a few minutes from home."

"That's not fair—"

But Wanda was already pushing you upright again, haphazardly fixing your dress, going so far as to buckle your seatbelt as if it'd keep you from your uncomfortable wiggling. "My car my rules! Like I said, we're not far."

Wanda expected you to pout and huff the whole way, worried in the back of her mind you wouldn't let her lay another hand on you after her denial, but she was pleasantly surprised. Somewhere shortly after she pulled back onto the road, you'd taken her hand; first just to play with her fingers, innocent fidgeting at best, but before she knew it, her digits were engulfed in sinfully wet warmth.

Her fingers in your mouth made the pair of you dizzy, hands holding her wrist as you pumped her digits in and out, tongue swirling over the tips and grinning once Wanda's neutral expression cracked, lips parting in a low groan. "Do mean girls let the good ones suck the strap they've been feeling near them all night or do they only get to play with their hands?"

"Depends on if they show them how bad they want it." Wanda could only look your way for seconds at a time, the visual of your half-lidded gaze trained on her jeans while you so obviously used your imagination to envision some other scenario, muffling your own needy sounds as you forced her fingers to the back of your throat... she'd underestimated the new girl.

Whether it was any lingering alcohol talking or whatever boldness Wanda unlocked that night, something urged you to continue goading her, making a show of spreading your legs and slipping her wet fingers to your sex before closing them once more, slowly grinding her shaking digits to sate yourself for that last tiny stretch of road to the farmhouse. "Bad enough to turn your hand into a toy for as long as you let me."

Wanda made that final turn up her driveway, parking her truck fast as she could with only one hand, "You're lucky I didn't crash just now, you little devil, can't wait to get you inside."

"Lead the way, since we're playing by your rules and all." As soon as she got her hand back, Wanda practically dragged you from her vehicle and for as many hours as you spent awake in her home, you couldn't remember a single detail of any room she brought you through that night.

—

When you wake up, it's to a dimly lit bedroom, curtains drawn so only a sliver of late morning sun peeked through. Your body ached, but it wasn't from the drinking, taut muscles and lethargic thoughts bringing back bits and pieces of everything you got up to the second Wanda got you past the front door.

The same Wanda whose bed you assumed you were currently sprawled out in. Doubt crept in as you realized you're alone, fretting over if you should've fallen asleep there or not. You were deciding whether it'd be more awkward to sneak out and go back to town on foot or to search out Wanda and ask if she'd mind driving you back to your place when you heard a single knock on the door. "Can I come in?"

Your brow furrowed, "It's your room, of course you can come in." Wanda cracked the door slowly, the back of her loose flannel shirt greeting you first before she turned around, a small tray in her hands. "Sorry for crashing."

"Never said you were unwelcome, I'm sorry for letting you wake up in a strange place by yourself... and for not leaving you at least a shirt, my bad." Your arms hastily bundled the blankets to cover your chest, your nakedness pointed out to you, but Wanda laughed, setting the tray down before heading for her dresser. "Don't worry, darlin, I love the view just as much in the daylight."

"What a reassuring hostess I have," Pulling the t-shirt she tossed you over your head, the delightful scents coming from the tray down the bed now catching your attention. On it was a short stack of pancakes, bacon, orange juice, strawberries... the biggest breakfast you'd seen since you'd come to town. "Did you make that?"

Wanda nodded and slid the food closer to you before sitting on the edge of her mattress, "I don't typically make this much food, but I had to get up early to make some rounds in the barn and I figured I owed you a hearty breakfast after such a nice night."

There was something so endearing to how she explained her actions, rambling on to offset her nerves, No one had even gone to such lengths to make your morning so comfortable after a single hookup, but this set the bar high for anyone else who tried. Not that you'd ever have to worry about another first night, but neither of you knew that yet.

For now Wanda scrambled to find the right way to show genuine interest in the girl she'd brought home and fucked every which way until they passed out and you amusedly ate your special pancakes while watching Wanda try, her fumbling charming you more than she'd ever imagine.

Eventually you put her out of her misery, putting down your utensils to sit up on your knees and stretch over to plant a quick kiss on her soft lips. "I really appreciate it and I'm not even a bit mad with how I woke up, but it's very sweet of you to care, Wands."

"Oh good because I'd really like to see you again sometime, if you're up for it." It would be a rare thing to see Wanda so continuously shy, but she was uncharacteristically smitten and she wanted to get to know you before the rest of the small town came for their changes too.

You hummed as you popped a strawberry into your mouth, licking your fingers in a way that painfully reminded Wanda of the previous night, "How's today?"

"Today?" The farmgirl ran a hand through her long hair, cocking her head to the side much like a lost puppy.

"Yeah, today. If you wouldn't mind me following along." With each minute that ticked past, the less you wanted to leave, much preferring a Sunday spent with Wanda than in your flat full of moving boxes.

Her eyes lit up, smile brighter than the sun, “Can’t complain about a beautiful girl all to myself all day!" Wanda was practically buzzing with everything she wanted to show you, from the chicken coops to the haylofts, but she forced herself to keep her cool.. on the surface at least. "Finish up breakfast and I'll find you some kind of pants."

"But I'm so cozy right here without them." Maneuvering over the last bits of food on your plate meant you more fell into Wanda's lap than sat on it, but she caught you nonetheless, tugging you down for the proper kiss she'd been waiting to share with you since early morning light. "Come back to bed with me?"

After the long sleep your energy was renewed, finally able to take Wanda into all your senses again, the taste of her lips, the subtle earthy smell from the work she'd already done that day, her strong hands settling confidently on your upper thighs... getting dressed was the last thing on either of your minds. "Wouldn't be much of a hostess if I didn't let my guest do as she pleased."

In the end, the pair of you might've set the world record for longest date from Sunday morning to when Wanda finally dropped a reluctant you back into town Wednesday afternoon.

#lets ignore that I have yet to make the au post #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #cowgirl!wanda #maximotts #motts writes.

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xoxoavenger · 29 days

Text

How to Break a Heart

pairing: Luke Castellan x Fem!Aphrodite!Reader

summary: Y/N's mother gives her a deadline on when she needs to break her first love's heart, but Y/N isn't in love. Luckily Luke has a plan to fool the goddess; they'll pretend to be in love, and Y/N can break his heart. But these plans never go accordingly.

word count: 4341

warnings: betrayal, no comfort but there is still fluff for most of it

notes: luke castellan has taken over my life i have like 9 drafts so we'll see how this goes (i'm always scared to post for a new character so any love is appreciated greatly)

part 2

masterlist

"How did it go?" Luke asked as Y/N walked out of the Aphrodite cabin. Her mother had requested an IM with her, and Luke had waited outside for her. Y/N didn't look too happy, but she never did after a talk with her mom.

"She thinks it's time." Y/N said, and as much as he wished he could read her mind, he had no idea what she was talking about.

"For what?" He asks, following as she begins to walk into the woods. It's clear she just needs to be on a walk to be away from everyone else, but she's letting him tag along.

"She said it's an embarrassment that I'd become an adult and still hadn't broken my love's heart." She says. "But I haven't fallen in love with anyone yet, and I don't wanna break some innocent person's heart." She stops talking when they reach the river, sitting on the wet ground. He thinks about his pants real quick and then sits next to her, wanting to give her his support.

"She gave you a time limit?" Luke asks, knowing the answer. The Aphrodite kids didn't usually go on quests, but this was a quest of its own. She knew the gods couldn't resist making things more difficult.

"Yeah. Four months. As if I could fall in love with someone in that time, let alone here." She grabs a rock and throws it into the current, the splash barely touching them.

"Maybe you don't have to." Luke whispered, looking at her. She turned to him, brows furrowed as she rested her head against her bent knees.

"I don't think my mom is gonna let it slide any further than she already has. The truth is, I've been putting this off for years. She's wanted me to break some pour soul's heart for two years now. Every time she's visited me, it's always 'what about that Hephestas boy?' or 'that Apollo kid looks so nice now.' I don't wanna know what she'll do if I disobey." Y/N admits, taking a deep breath.

"That's not what I meant." Luke smirked, causing Y/N to frown.

"What are you talking about, then?" She asks, sitting up and looking at him face on.

"If we pretend that we're in love - I mean, put on a whole show that convinces the whole camp," Luke says it quietly, as if Aphrodite may be listening to them right now.

"Then I can 'break' your heart and please my mom without actually hurting anyone!" She says excitedly, watching as Luke nods. "You're a genius!" She cried, throwing her arms around Luke. She was so happy to have this weight lifted off her shoulders. He held her back, and it felt nice for a moment.

"So, what's the story?" Y/N asked, leaning back and pulling her knees up and leaning on them gently now, instead of hiding behind them.

"We just have to pretend to be dating. I invited you over here to ask you out, so we'll walk back to camp holding hands." He said it so simply, she just nodded.

"What about kissing? Won't they get suspicious?" She asked, making Luke chuckle.

"We can figure that out later." He told her, and she just nodded. "For now, we only have to convince our friends."

"And the olympians." She shrugged.

"Only your mom. The rest of them won't care." Luke told her, standing up. He reached out a hand to help her up, and she took it. He then switched hands to hold her's, interlacing their fingers. Y/N had held hands with many boys, being a daughter of Aphrodite, but for some reason Luke's felt different. She was holding the hand he used to fight with his sword, calloused but somehow smooth. She looked at him, and for a moment she wondered if this would work. It was crazy to lie to a god, even if the goddess was her mother. Could she really pretend to be in love and break his heart? Would they still be friends afterward?

Luke squeezed her hand and smiled, and she felt relief flow through her. If there was anyone who could pull this off, it was Luke.

"We got this." He told her, and she nodded.

They walked to camp, hand in hand, and Y/N knew immediately that this idea would work.

"Oh my God!" Her sister Silena called, immediately seeing Luke and Y/N. "Uh, I knew it!" And Y/N pushed down the urge to roll her eyes. She could have come out of the woods with anyone and Silena would have claimed to have seen it coming.

And just like that, everyone knew they were together.

For about a month, they got away with just hand holding, hanging out a little more than regular, going on a couple night walks. But on one of their night walks, Luke brought up what she had been thinking.

"We have to kick it up. If we want people to think we really fell in love in four months, we have to be inseparable." He told her.

"Silena has already caught on. We have to make it look like we got caught doing something." She had been thinking about it, not wanting to go there, but they both knew there was no way around this. They had to make it believable. Everyone had to believe them for this to work.

"The Hermes cabin." Luke nodded, but Y/N furrowed her brows.

"But your cabin is like, never empty." She told him, concerned.

"Anyone who finds us in the Hermes cabin will tell everyone immediately. And we will get found basically as soon as we're in there." He had definitely thought about this.

"We'll get in trouble." She tells him, looking to the side at the water.

"Us getting in trouble for getting caught in a cabin alone together?" He smirks, squeezing her hand. "Yeah, I'm sure your mom will be really angry." When she turned to him he was smiling, and she couldn't help but smile back.

"You're a genius." She almost kisses him, because that's what she would do in the situation, but then she remembered they're not actually dating. She was almost embarrassed, but then she realized.

"We can't do this without ramping our relationship up a bit." She tells him, and he thinks for a second. He turns to the trees, and the smile is on his face once more.

"The younger kids are watching." He whispered, making her blush. Of course their younger siblings would be watching their romantic walk. "If it's okay with you," He mutters stopping and turning to her. He takes her other hand. "I can kiss your cheek. Or we," She drops is hands and grabs his face, bringing his lips to hers. She knew they'd have to kiss in front of everyone sooner or later, and clearly Luke was freaking out a little bit. She felt his hands go to her torso, high above her waist but just a little below her bra line. It made her heart race just a little bit.

Their lips moved in tandem, much more than any first kiss she's ever had before. She forgot everything as one of her hands slipped from his face to his chest. One of his slipped to her lower back, the other going to the back of her head. They broke for one second to reposition, but for some reason it was too much for her. She curled her fingers into his orange Camp Half-Blood shirt and brought him closer once more. She could feel him smile as he curled his fingers in her hair to position her better.

All too quickly, they separated. Y/N blinked a couple times, trying to clear her brain.

"I think they got the hint." He tells her, and she could only stare at him and try to figure out what he just said.

"Yeah," She whispered, realizing he was talking about their rouse. Of course, the only reason they had kissed was to get the camp talking. "They'll definitely be talking about that."

She didn't want to think about how upset she was, or why she was upset. This was fake - everything with Luke was fake.

"We should head back before Chiron comes and puts us on probation or something." She said, watching him nod. She let him lead her back to her cabin, where he gave her a kiss and a wink outside her door.

She was in trouble.

The next day, they met up to watch the kids make friendship bracelets. Luke had already made a deal with Travis, and no one noticed when the two left.

"We have a couple minutes until everyone comes in." He tells her, and she nods. He walks over to his bed, the single one in the corner of the huge cabin. Y/N has never seen it completely empty, and when she looks around it seems too quiet.

"How do you wanna," She mutters, heart pounding. She's nervous, and it's obvious.

"Hey," His voice is quiet, and she looks over at him. "We don't have to do anything that you don't wanna do." His hand goes to her har, pushing her hair out of her face a little bit. She had to force herself not to look away.

"We have to." She mutters, a sad frown on her face. They both knew she didn't have a choice for this.

"But we can just get caught alone." He assures her, sitting back on his bed. Y/N stays where she is.

"No, it has to be more. We have to convince everyone." She is convincing herself too, that she has to do this. She doesn't go on quests, and this isn't even courageous. This is something her siblings do for fun. She can do it for her mother.

"Okay," He tells her, grabbing her hands. She's about to ask how they should be set up, but then there's footsteps on the stairs. Before she can think, she practically pounces on Luke. She's straddling him, pressing him against the bed. Their hands became untangled and his go to her waist, lower than their first kiss. She hears the door open, and her heart freezes.

What are they doing?

Before she can mess up the entire plan, Luke leans up and presses their lips together. She doesn't know what to do with her hands, just letting them hold her up while Luke's venture under her shirt.

"Oh my gods!" Y/N and Luke separate with wide eyes. They were planning on getting caught, but not by her.

"Annabeth?" Luke whispers, turning to see his sister in the doorway, hand over her eyes.

"Shit," Y/N curses, getting up. She realizes her shirt is all scrunched, so she pulls it down.

"What a weird camp." The kid next to Annabeth says. Y/N notices him for the first time, a short kid that looked like he was enjoying this drama. He has to be new, because she's never seen him around and definitely never with Annabeth.

"This is strange." Ananbeth crosses her arms and squints. Y/N feels like she can see right through them.

"Oh, Chiron is not gonna be happy." The kid says, smiling. Before Y/N can argue that neither of them would tell the centaur, he walks up behind them.

"That assumption would be correct, Mr. Jackson." She has to remind herself that this was the plan, that they wanted to get caught.

"Chiron," Y/N says, looking up at him as he walks into the wide door frame. Annabeth and the kid move to let him in, also showing Y/N and Luke the amount of people behind him, waiting to see the

"This is unexpected from you two." He says, and Y/N can feel herself second guessing this plan. She doesn't like to be scolded by Chiron. Luke grabs her hand as if he knew what she was thinking.

"We're sorry, Chiron." Luke started, taking a deep breath.

"But we're not kids anymore," Y/N starts, the confidence coming from no where. "And sometimes we need time on our own." She can feel everyone's eyes on her, including Luke's.

"We can talk about this in the Big House." Chiron was clearly peeved, but she knew he couldn't get that mad. Everyone knew why Luke and Y/N stayed even though they were the oldest campers; they would be dead in the real world.

"You're up to something." Annabeth says as everyone leaves.

"I'm always up to something." Luke smirks before looking at the new kid. "I'm Luke."

"I'm Percy." The kid says, looking over at Y/N.

"Y/N." She nods, a small smile on her face. She looked at Annabeth, who knew something was up. She had to ramp it up.

She put a hand on Luke's shoulder and kissed his cheek, squeezing his hand and leaving. It had to be enough for now.

As it turned out, Annabeth went on a quest a couple weeks later, so they didn't need to worry about convincing her. But Luke was practically sick with worry for her wellbeing, and Y/N wasn't much better. Her deadline was coming up, and she was actually dreading it.

She was enjoying Luke's presence, enjoying the touches and the attention. She knew it was her mother's powers making her feel this way, but part of it was just her. She actually looked forward to waking up and going to see Luke. She thought about the night that they had fallen asleep in the warm sand, his chest cushioning her head. His arms were around her, and when they were caught in the morning she didn't even care about Chiron's second warning. Luke had snuck them desert anyway.

It helped calm her down from worrying about the kids on a quest, the fate of which would in turn decide the fate of Camp Half-Blood. She hated the feeling of war in the air, the campers fighting. Luke's comfort helped that situation as well. He would always grab her close, making her anxiety calm down and her mind quiet. She had taken to hanging out with him away from everyone's eyes, aside from plans to get caught. They would lay in the strawberry fields, looking at the clouds. Sometimes she would fall asleep, giving away the fact that she couldn't sleep in her own bed at night. As soon as Luke realized this, he made the Aphrodite cabin swear to secrecy when he would sneak in. They were great at keeping secrets when it helped their sister's love life, and her health. She had gotten so used to Luke sleeping in her bed, it was weird to think there was a time when he wasn't.

The first time it happened, she had almost jumped out of her skin.

It was right before the kids left, when everyone started to get uneasy about the Lightning Bolt. She had made a random comment that day when her and Luke were sitting on the dock, because she was too tried from her lack of sleep. They had been 'dating' for two months now, and even before she would tell him these things as his best friend. She had almost fallen asleep with her head resting against his shoulder, and he had shaken her awake. She stumbled to her cabin, not even wanting to tell her siblings about the night, but she couldn't sleep.

Everyone knew she had problems sleeping, so they tried to be as quiet as possible. They let her keep her window open, even though it dried their skin. And though her body was absolutely begging her to sleep, her mind wouldn't turn off.

She jumped out of her skin when she heard Luke's low voice.

"Thank the gods your window is already open." She shot up, heart racing. She looked over to see Luke climbing in. "And also thank the gods you live on the bottom bunk." His voice was so quiet she could barely hear, but at least she knew her siblings wouldn't hear. She knew they would never tell Chiron, since they loved a good relationship.

"What are you doing?" She asked, eyes wide and a smile playing on her face. His scar shown in the moonlight as he sat on the windowsill, taking off his shoes. He handed them to her, and she put them down gently on the ground before lowering himself down on her bed.

"I'm gonna help you sleep." He told her, looking at her in a way that made her heart race just a little. Even in the little privacy, where no one could see them, he was caring for her.

"You don't have to." She turned her head down, feeling self conscious in her bonnet. He smiled at her.

"I want to."

The two settled in, Y/N lifting up the covers for Luke to come under. They switched positions so she could sleep next to the wall, his arms around her immediately. She felt so secure and safe in his arms, more relaxed than she had felt in weeks. He settled his face against her head, giving the softest kiss to her forehead. So soft she was questioning it as her mind drifted away.

When she woke up, she was in his arms. The sun was up, and it was much later than she had woken up in the past month.

"Tell him I went on a walk. And she's sick." Luke was whispering, his voice rumbling in his chest that Y/N was laying against. Given the small size of the bed, they were entangled. Her legs were fused with his, her torso stuck between the wall and Luke's body. Her hand was entangled into his sleep shirt, and she didn't untangle it because that would have given up that she was awake. And she wanted to stay like this a little longer.

And she was enjoying the warm light and the nice morning.

"You know he'll come in here anyway." A boy was saying, but Y/N didn't want to listen. Without thinking, she rubbed her face into Luke's shirt, trying to get more comfortable. She rubbed a leg against his, shifting and sighing.

"If you wake her up," Luke's voice sounded venomous, and it made her start to smile a little. Her head felt so light but also so heavy in a good way. She didn't think she could feel that way.

"Fine, I'm gone." The guy said, and Y/N heard his footsteps walk away. She stretched for a second, settling down so that her leg was thrown over his and she was more on top of him than against the wall. Her hand relaxed, still holding onto his shirt but not as tightly.

"You awake?" Luke whispered so quietly for a moment he didn't think she heard him.

"No." She said quietly, feeling her breathing even out.

"Alright." He brushes his hand against her back, soothing her even more. "Let me know when you're awake."

All the Aphrodite kids were working overtime to make sure that Chiron never found out that Luke was sneaking into the cabin and also to keep the Hermes cabin from snitching. And also from keeping the harpies from killing Luke.

It was a full-time job.

They usually slept in Y/N's bunk, because her siblings just wanted her to be happy. They all knew that she was supposed to break someone's heart, but they tried not to talk about it. No one else knew about the deadline.

"Can you tell me how you got your scar?" Y/N asked one night, tracing the mark as they laid in bed. She had been getting so much sleep with him that she was able to stay up a little bit with him now and whisper low enough that no one else could hear.

"You don't wanna hear about it before it before you go to bed." He whispers, eyes going dark and hand grabbing hers, stopping her from touching it. Her heart drops, and she feels like a little kid scolded.

"You never told me." She mutters, not wanting to push but wanting to know. They'd gotten so close now that she wanted to know everything about him before she no longer had an excuse to be around him all the time.

Oh gods, how was she going to sleep without him?

"You're already overthinking." He whispers, and she just huffs and tries her hardest to turn from him while his arms are around her and she's also stuck between him and the wall. For a moment she thought about throwing herself over him and getting up, just to prove a point, but she knew that was taking things a little too far.

"I just wanted to be there for you like you are for me." She knew that didn't have nightmares like most demigods did; at least, if he got them, he hadn't had any since he'd been with her. But she also knew no one could deal with everything on their own, and if he wasn't telling her, who else was he telling?

"I'm okay." He tells her, settling in and making her start to get comfortable again. She stretched, leaned against him and let her eyes close, trying to forget about his scar.

Something about the conversation rubbed her the wrong way.

The kids returned and the war was avoided, and now Annabeth seemed to have her own relationship problems. It made Y/N relieved, then sad, because she remembered that her own relationship was fake. In a few short weeks, she would have to 'break' Luke's heart. But that was in the future, and she could put it off as long as she could. She didn't want to have to break his heart, because she had a feeling it would only break her's.

Everything had been going great until her mother showed up.

This time, it hadn't been an IM. This time, her mother was waiting for her in the strawberry fields where she was supposed to meet with Luke.

"Mom?" Y/N asked, not sure if she was seeing correctly. Her mother's beautiful face brightened, and Y/N just blinked. She had never met her mother in person.

"My favorite child." Her mother said, making Y/N's eyes widen. She thought Silena was her favorite child. "I am so proud of you."

"What?" Y/N had been planning on talking to Luke about their breakup tonight, but her mother thew her off.

"You've broken the most talented swordsman's heart! The pain, oh, it almost breaks my own heart." Aphrodite put her hands over her own heart, and Y/N just furrowed her eyebrows.

"But, I haven't broken Luke's heart yet." Y/N says, thinking about how weird Luke had been acting when he asked to meet her there. She thought it was about them breaking up, but what if it was something else. Could he tell that she had fallen?

"No?" Her mother looked genuinely confused. "I sense such distress, such a hole of love in his heart." Y/N had never seen a god confused, and she didn't like this.

"Something's wrong." Y/N muttered, flinching when fireworks began to be set off.

"Yes," Her mother said gravely, grabbing her daughter's hand. "I will help you find him and set this right." She said it as if Y/N was supposed to break his heart over the pain he must've been feeling. Before she could protest, her mother was teleporting her. She ended up in front of Luke in the forest, her mother no where to be found. Luke looked angry, his sword was pointing right at her. It was actually pressing lightly into her chest, which made no sense. Luke would never do that.

"Y/N?" He asked, eyes widening. The anger melted away a little bit, but he still didn't look like the version of him she knew.

"What are you doing?" She asked, watching him lower his sword but not his guard. His eyes caught on something behind her, and she turned.

Percy was standing there, eyes wide and scared. He had his own sword in his hand, arms lifted in defense.

"Get out of the way, Y/N." Percy said, sounding older than his twelve years. It scared her, seeing this kid forced to mature.

"What are you doing?" She repeated, turning back to Luke. His expression had hardened slightly, but it still wasn't as angry as he had been when she first showed up.

"You don't want any part of this." Luke's voice was deep and dark, and Y/N felt her heart drop to her stomach.

"What have you done?" She rephrased, eyes wide as the fear sprinkled through her body in cold waves.

"What I had to." Luke said, as if that explained everything. "The gods are against us. They need us, but they don't care about us. I mean, have you ever even spoke with your mom is person?" He was trying to use her, and it hurt her feelings.

"I just did." She said quietly, turning fully to Luke. "And she told me you were heartbroken." She reveled at the shock that washed over his face.

"She must have been feeling someone else." Luke answered, and Y/N just shook her head.

"Luke, please." She walked toward him, grabbing his free hand. "We had something. We were pretending to date but you can't tell me you were acting the whole time." She felt tears in her eyes now. "Luke, I love you." She whispered finally. Filling the silence was the wind in the trees, the distant sound of fireworks. But not Luke's voice. He stayed quiet for a moment.

"It'll pass." He tells her quietly, tilting his head.

He might as well have stabbed her, the words hurt so bad. Using her shock, he threw his sword up, and not even letting go of her hand he caught it the opposite way, using the bottom to hit her head and send her to the ground.

"Goodbye," He muttered as he let her hand slip from his, stepping over her to face Percy.

Y/N could hear the breaking of her heart as she let her eyes close.

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @one-sweet-gubler

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x reader fluff and angst #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan imagine

172 notes · View notes

from-the-clouds · 1 year

Text

bad liars (savior complex ii) - joel miller x f!reader

part one | masterlist | song inspo |

Baby, you're a vampire You want blood and I promised...

summary: It's been a month since Joel has last seen you, fully healed since your last interaction. But you haven't spoken...at all. Your radio silence becomes cause for concern when he hears about an outbreak of Infected at the hospital where you work. There's enough explanation in this part that you could read it on it's own, probably, but I'd highly recommend reading part one first to get the full experience. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7.9k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. (porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap. dom/sub dynamics.) Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, canon-typical suffering! Blood mention. Both reader/Joel are insanely emotionally unavailable, and love to lie to themselves and each other! (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: Ya'll loved savior complex and I'm so happy! Literally don't think I've had a fic get that many notes before, i had so many requests for a part two and because it felt like i left things open-ended enough, this came to me pretty easily! It might be the horniest thing I've ever written and also very angsty (what's new?)....but I think you'll like the ending <3 Special to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about my writing and to @zbeez-outlet for the wonderful idea.

Joel exhales and runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair – the tips of which were frozen together from standing outside for so long. It had gotten cold out. Very cold. Boston always did this time of year, and because of it, people stayed in, and crime in the QZ dropped, making it a safer place - though that wasn’t saying much.

Of course, the cold didn’t stop him from dealing. It did make his job a hell of a lot more difficult, since FEDRA was bored, out looking for trouble, and didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Although today, he must’ve been in luck, because the only sign of FEDRA had been helicopters and tanks that were clearly on a mission, driving to the opposite side of the QZ. Good, he had thought. A distraction.

Joel leans back against the brick wall of the alleyway, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his ears, stares at the ice in the cracks of the pavement. When he hears the crunch of gravel underfoot, he straightens.

The man approaching looks nervously over his shoulder, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his flimsy sweatshirt. Dave, a customer of his for some time.

“You’re late,” Joel doesn’t bother with a proper greeting.

“I know, I know, I got held up on my way here,” Dave answers, immediately beginning his excuse. “They cleared out the hospital because of an outbreak, that whole area was locked down so I had to take the long way.”

“Outbreak?” Joel tilts his head.

“Infected. I guess a bunch of hospital staff got bit. FEDRA had to go in and put them all down.”

Joel feels a distant pang of concern somewhere in the back of his head. “How many?”

Dave shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man, that’s all I know. It’s not like they’ll ever tell anyone what actually happened.”

Joel can’t help but think of you. He knows a couple people who work at the hospital, most of them through smuggling, but you’re the only one who he’s really able to bring to mind at the moment.

“So, can we, uh…”

Joel pulls the plastic baggie out from his pockets, fishing out the pills. On his end, Dave produces a wad of credits, his shoulders sagging in relief once they’ve made the trade and the drugs are in his hand. He takes one immediately, shoves the rest in his pocket. “Thanks man, I’ll see you next week?”

Leaning back against the wall, he nods, and watches his customer disappear down the alleyway.

The second Dave is out of sight, Joel’s chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath. There’s no reason why news of Infected at the hospital should concern him. If FEDRA had been called in – they would’ve gunned down anything that moved until it was under control. He knew, better than anyone, that they would do unspeakable things in the name of keeping order. Innocent people probably died, but the dead can’t get infected.

It had been about a month since Joel had last seen you, after he’d gotten beaten within an inch of his life and ended up on your doorstep, and you were the only person that could help. It hadn’t gone at all how he expected it would – at the end of the day, he had been surprised by your tenderness.

Still, despite that you’d let him take you on the edge of your bed, legs wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock, he wouldn’t really say that it changed anything about your relationship. He had actually been kind of afraid that it would, that your attitude towards him would shift to something more amicable.

But you hadn’t spoken to him in a month. Joel had told you he owed you one after you stitched him up, and had anticipated that you’d take him up on his offer pretty quickly. There were so many things he could do for you to make your situation better. Maybe you’d need credits…. Medicine…. Food…. Booze… Pills, something, but you haven’t reached out. You could just be biding your time until you really need the favor.

Still, the radio silence takes him aback. He should be relieved that you aren’t talking to him. But nothing? Even if it’s not about a favor…he wants some kind of confirmation that you’d both made a mistake. After all that, did you really expect nothing from him?

It dawns on him there’s now a chance you’ll never speak to him again, because you’re one of the ones that FEDRA killed. Or worse….you had gotten bit.

Joel passes by the hospital, taking the long way home. Everything is locked down, taped off. There’s a crowd around the place – family members, he assumes, pleading with FEDRA agents for information and getting nothing in return.

“Go home. I’m sure they’ll turn up,” he hears one of them say to a weeping woman. It’s useless to ask for an honest answer, for one of them to actually care.

Joel could go home. He could crush a couple pills, snort them, and quell the burn with a couple drinks. He could fall into restless sleep and wake up the next day as he always did, go about his business as usual. Survive. One day at a time.

Would he ever get confirmation that you’re alive? Because at this rate, he’s not sure he’ll ever know either way.

The feeling is going to linger. He hates it. Were you gone? If you are, he can handle knowing. Its somehow worse not to.

He tries to justify it to himself. You’re one of his solid connections to the hospital, you’d traded with him for medical supplies before. This is business, really, if he thinks about it that way. If you’re dead, he and Tess need to find someone else to work with.

Joel decides to take a detour on the way back to his place.

It’s past curfew when he arrives at your apartment, the sun has long since dipped below the horizon and with that comes an even harsher cold. Boston winters, he thinks to himself. If he is capable of missing anything, he’d say he missed Texas. Before all this, the last place he’d be caught dead was on the East Coast.

Joel raps on your front door. He forgets how shitty your building is, that you sleep here alone every night, listening to your neighbors arguing through the thin walls, shady characters slinking out of shadows in the dimly-lit hallway,

A few seconds pass. When he hears nothing behind your door, he knocks again, a little louder.

More time passes. He knocks again, louder. Maybe you didn’t hear him.

Nothing. He does it again. Could you be asleep? His jaw clenches.

Still nothing, and Joel knocks even louder. Maybe you’re not even here, and you work nights, and he’s just missed you as you head out for another shift. But he knows that’s unlikely. Since he’s known you, you’ve never worked nights. So where the fuck were you?

Joel’s pounds on your door, yells your name into its chipping paint. He listens for something, anything, on the other side, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, but he keeps going The side of his fist starts to hurt, but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he hears one of your neighbors yelling from the end of the hallway.

‘Shut the fuck up!’

Joel doesn’t hear exactly where the voice comes from, but it’s enough to snap him out of it. He halts his movements, his forehead falling against hollow wood, and in the silence, hears his heart pounding in his ears.

“Fuck!” he kicks the wall just outside the frame of your door so hard the drywall gives, leaving a hole behind. “Fuck.”

He stares at the result of his outburst for an undetermined amount of time. You were all alone. To his knowledge, you had no immediate family to inform. Who would be around to remember you? He’d never really know for sure what had happened.

“Joel?”

He looks up, his hands still clenched tightly into fists. When he sees that it’s you, standing at the end of the hallway, they loosen.

You look horrible - haggard, tired, your hair tangled and matted. As you move closer to him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders are hunched underneath the weight of your backpack. But once you’re standing in front of him, you straighten, lift your chin.

“What is this?” you ask. “What are you doing here?”

There’s no animosity in your tone, he thinks. You might be trying to put some in there, but you don’t have the energy to do so, so it just comes out sounding very flat.

Joel realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have a reason. A real reason that wouldn’t….give him away. He puts his hands on his hips, thinks desperately. You do nothing to help.

When he settles in silence, offers you nothing, you just sigh and shake your head. Your teeth are chattering, lips cracked from the cold, and you seem desperate to get into shelter, twisting your key into your lock and opening the front door. Once you step inside, you flick on the lights. He follows you, closes the door behind you both, and locks it.

“Oh, yeah, come on in, I guess,” you say over your shoulder.

Joel crosses his arms, standing in your kitchen.

“What, am I in trouble or something?” you ask. “Because if I am, you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve showered.”

“It can wait,” Joel says, and sits at one of your kitchen chairs.

You shrug off of your backpack and leave it on a chair, then unbutton your coat, tossing it on top. Joel swallows hard when he sees the damage it’s been hiding. Your scrubs are dirty, tattered in some places, one of the sleeves hanging, partially ripped off. And they’re covered in dried blood. It’s smeared on your arms, on the back of your neck. Not yours, he hopes.

What the fuck happened to you? You don’t turn to see his reaction, don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s going to ask about it. It’s almost like he’s not even there, and you clearly wish he isn’t.

He realizes then, that he has the confirmation he’s looking for. You made it out alive. He doesn’t actually need anything else from you. And you’ve given him a perfect out. He can leave while you’re in the shower.

But he doesn’t. Not when he hears the shower start, or the screech of the curtain across the metal rod, the sound of water hitting the basin. He stays there, motionless, until you duck out of the bathroom with your arms wrapped around yourself, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair damp and teeth chattering.

You pad with bare feet onto the tiled area of the kitchen, brushing past him.

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks.

You finally look at him, like you’re surprised he spoke up, or even asked the question. A choked, bitter laugh leaves you, and you shift your attention away from him, reaching into your cabinet for a bottle of bourbon. “Pass.”

You pour yourself a whiskey, and Joel watches you throw it back in one go, your nose scrunching up, your hand clasping into a fist as you take the shot. The taste doesn’t stop you from pouring another drink and gulping that one down, too, without as much of a reaction as the first. It’s only when you start pouring the third that he intervenes, standing and crossing the room to cover the glass with his hand before you can grab it.

“Slow down,” he says.

“I know you’re not telling me what to do in my own home.” Your mouth opens as you look up at him, incredulous.

Joel looks past you, shakes his head. He supposes your right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch the self-destructive behavior, which is funny considering how often he engages in it himself. He gives in, removes his hand from your glass. “At least…pour me one. You shouldn’t drink alone.”

Your expression softens slightly, and he’s able to see all the pain you’re hiding, just for a flash, before you turn to retrieve a second glass from your cabinet.

Once you hand him the whiskey, he sits in the middle of the tiny loveseat you’ve got in your front room, expecting you to sit in the armchair across from it. Instead, you approach with your own drink, nudge his knee with your own, and Joel slides over to make room so you can fall onto the couch beside him. Much closer than he’d expected.

It’s surprisingly good bourbon, and he wonders how many times you’d wasted it by downing it like you just had, instead of taking your time, savoring. He waits for you to get settled before he speaks again.

“What happened to you?” he tries once more, a little softer this time.

There’s some contemplation on your end, you look at him for a moment, then at your glass, then back up at him again. He can almost see you trying to figure out how much you’re going to share, but he wants to know everything.

“There was an accident at the hospital,” you answer, finally.

Joel slings his arm over the back of the couch, angles his body towards where you’re curled up, legs tucked underneath you. I’m listening.

Your voice stays even, blase. “A guard at the border broke protocol…and someone who was infected was brought in. By the time we realized, it was too late….”

“Were you hurt?”

“Almost.” you say. “I mean, yes, actually, I’m a little scratched up, but…it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

Your teeth start chattering again. Joel wonders if it’s because of the cold, or your nerves. Figures it’s probably both.

“My coworker turned and I uhm….I had to…” you say into your glass, your free hand flexing like it’s trying to shake off some unpleasant muscle memory. “I had no choice.”

“I understand,” For whatever reason, he spares you from telling the story. To him, taking down Infected was nothing. But to you…“What else?” he presses.

You shrug, avoiding his eyes, one of your arms coming to grip at your opposite shoulder. “I can’t really remember. A bunch of people died. FEDRA came in and just started gunning everything down….” you shook your head, and straightened up.

“I heard about that,” Joel offers.

“Wait…you knew about this?”

“Yeah.”

“So then why are you here, asking m-” the rest of your sentence drops off, your lips parted slightly. The look on your face shifts, slowly. Your eyes narrow. Remorse turns into something more neutral, then into curiosity. “Oh my god….you were worried about me.”

“No.”

“Yes, you fucking were,” your lips curl slightly, it’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close to amusement.

“No,” Joel defends himself. “I wanted to hear what happened from someone–”

“No you didn’t,” you interject, but he raises his voice to finish his thought.

“–who actually works there, not FEDRA’s propaganda.”

“No you did not. You’re checking up on me. You came over here after curfew to see if I was–”

“Enough,” Joel growls with enough conviction that it shuts you up, and he’s grateful, but its not enough to wipe the self-satisfied look on your face, because it doesn’t.

“What are we, like, friends now?”

He doesn’t answer, and slugs back the rest of his whiskey.

“Or would that be too much for you?” You don’t wait long for him to give you an answer, probably because you know he won’t respond. “I mean, if we’re both being honest–” He definitely wasn’t being honest. “–Today was really fucked up.”

You’re leaning forward now, some of the space between you is gone. And though you’re trying to give the impression that you’re unphased by everything, your hand is clenched tightly around your glass, and you avoid his eyes. It’s painful to watch you resist the urge to trust him. Not that he’s ever given you a good enough reason to – he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it anyways.

“It’s funny…” you say after a while. “I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die. At least… not like that. I’ve never felt that before…That’s something, isn’t it?” you ask him.

Joel looks at you, and is surprised at the vulnerability in your expression, sees you looking for some kind of validation from him. “....It is.”

You finish off your drink, and put the empty glass on the coffee table, shift closer to him.

“It looks like you healed up okay,” you say, after a spell. “How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did you take those antibiotics?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And I can’t even tell you had a black eye.”

“I’m fine,” Joel asserts.

Another shiver wracks your body, and he can tell this one is actually from the chill – your apartment is cold as fuck, it even is starting to bother him.

“Don’t you have a heater?”

“Kinda,” you glance over at the radiator in the corner. “Sometimes it works.”

“What do you do when it’s colder than this?” It was only November, things would only get worse.

You shrug. “I don’t know….just be colder, I guess.”

Joel imagines you curled up in your bed alone, wrapped in a thin comforter, shaking in front of him like you are now. He winces.

“How long are you going to stay?” you ask, changing the subject.

“I should probably go now.”

You nod, scoot closer. “But maybe…” you trail off, contemplating.

Joel sits up straighter, prompting you when you don’t speak again. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could stick around for a little while longer.” There’s a warm hand, yours, that lands on his thigh, and he recoils like you’ve touched him with a fire iron. He rises to his feet.

“Hey,” you stand along with him, step in front of him to block the pathway to the door. He could easily get past you, obviously, but it’s not as simple as that.

Of course he’s fucking thought about what happened the last time he was here – his arms around your waist, his mouth on your neck, your chest, your hands on his shoulders, whining his name. A freak accident, a glitch in the matrix, a statistically improbable thing.

“What?” he asks as you step forward, the fingers on your free hand sliding into the belt loops of his pants. He feels blood rush to his cheeks, to other places. And you’re still fucking shivering. You look so fucking miserable, he wants to yell at you to put on a coat, to wrap yourself in a blanket, in his arms.

“Joel,” you say his name softly, tilting your head up, leaning close. And then your hand is on the side of his face, and he realizes you’re fucking pleading with him. He knows what you want, but he has a feeling this isn’t just about sex. You’re looking for comfort, as if he’s capable of giving it.

“We made a mistake…once,” he tells you. “We’re not going to make it again.”

He says it to hurt you, but it doesn’t work. It’s like you knew it was coming all along. “I knew what I was doing,” you answer, earnest. “Didn’t you?”

Yes. You glance down at his hands, which are squeezed into fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. If he’s not rigid, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to resist. He wants you. God, he wants you. He never thought he’d be able to have you again.

“I could help you loosen up.”

Joel’s walking on the edge of a one-thousand foot cliff and hoping his foot slips. He wants to surrender. The only thing he thinks might save him is to say the meanest thing he can. Maybe you’d get turned off.

“Listen to yourself,” he says, finding the strength to meet your eyes. “You want me so bad, you sound pathetic.”

“Asshole,” you step closer, your mouth twitches, your lips are inches apart. “Do you think I care what you think about me?”

Joel realizes his plan has backfired. But he really only has himself to blame, he should’ve known better. With you, he’s never in as much control as he wants to be, and deep down, he likes it.

“Go lie down on the bed.”

It’s the only thing that seems to shock you. “What?”

“I won’t ask you again,” Joel steps backwards, crosses his arms. “Go lie down.”

──────

If you told yourself a couple months ago that one day you’d find yourself pinned down by Joel Miller, you’d think it’d be because he was about to kill you. Maybe because you cheated him out of something, maybe because you did something else to piss him off – it didn’t really matter. Regardless of how fucked up it was, that idea would seem more dignified than what was happening now.

Your back is being pressed deeper into the lumpy old mattress, and he’s on you. His mouth is warm, hot, wet, and dragging down your neck, nipping, sucking, licking. Your hands are itching to reach out, to skate down his torso, trace along his jawline, tug at his hair, but you can’t because he’s got them pinned above you with only one of his own. Anytime you try to fight him, his grip only grows stronger.

It was shameful, really, but you had asked for this – begged for it, basically. There were a number of reasons why – one of which was to blow off some steam after a near death experience, the other because you’d fucked him before and it had been good, much to your dismay. There was also a third reason that you weren’t interested in acknowledging now.

After the night Joel had gotten jumped, and you’d taken care of him, everything has changed. It’s a cliche, but true. You’d known what you were doing when it happened, and had no regrets. But it was probably not supposed to happen again, and you tried to keep it that way, more for his sake than anyone else’s. But….he was the one who showed up tonight after he’d heard what had happened. It wasn’t nothing.

Joel pulls away from you so abruptly that you gasp, shivering in the wake of his impossible warmth.

“Sit up,” he instructs, and you turn to find him at the end of the bed, arms crossed.

You obey, mostly just for the view. You hope to admire him, fresh from kissing you – flush skin, wet lips, tousled hair. Only he’s frustratingly stoic, unsullied – like he hadn’t been touching you at all.

“Look at me,” he says, and you do.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s nothing,” you agree.

“I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Good,” you watch his shoulders loosen, just a little, and he takes one step backwards, his eyes tracing down your body and then back up. “Strip for me….”

You aren’t dressed sexy at all, you remember, a sweatshirt and sweatpants. If you had thought this through a little more, you might’ve tried to make it nicer for him. “....Okay.”

“Start with your shirt,” he says, and you grab at the hem, but he snaps at you. “Ah-ah….slower.”

You swallow, nod, and carefully lift the fabric, dragging it up over your stomach, over the swell of your breasts, revealing your tight, thin white tank top.

“That’s it, nice and slow.”

Joel’s voice is soft but stern, a low rasp that makes your cunt clench around nothing, and he’s not even touching you. The sweatshirt is pulled over your head, falling somewhere on the crumpled bedspread.

Languidly, you lean back, shifting your weight to get off the mattress, and Joel palms himself through his jeans. You can see where he’s straining against the denim, and you find it hard to tear your gaze away as you go to pull off your sweatpants. Joel stops you again.

“Turn around.”

You do, and you’re sure he has a nice view of your ass as you slide them over your hips, bending over to let the fleece pool around your ankles. Slowly, you rise back up, looking at him over your shoulder for approval.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. Your stomach flips. A month ago, you would’ve done anything to get him to stay away from you, and now, you’re terrified to disappoint him.

That’s the problem. You’d spent most of the day fighting for your life — literally. But even after standing behind a barricade of heavily-armed FEDRA soldiers outside the hospital, you didn’t feel as safe as you did when you saw Joel at your door. You need him. For now, at least.

“Now the shirt,” he tilts his head towards the mattress, nodding encouragingly.

You get back on the bed, sitting back on your heels, and begin to pull the tank top up. It’s your last layer up top, you’re not wearing a bra, and you’re feeling a little vulnerable with him just watching you, fully clothed and composed, your gaze falling down to look at the threadbare linens.

“Eyes up,” he instructs. “Look at me.”

Taking in a shaky inhale, you do. It’s not easy. Everything about him looks dark, animalistic. A coiled ball of energy, waiting to pounce.

But, even when you’re bare before him, he doesn’t.

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

Of course, you don’t refuse, settling your head against the pillows.

There’s a sound of a belt – his belt, unbuckling, the snap of a button, the dip of the bed where he kneels when he comes to hover over you. Two hands land on top of your thighs, pressing the backs against his denim-clad knees, thumbs pushing your legs further apart.

And then…nothing. He’s still. He’s still for so long, that you actually think that something’s wrong. When you open your eyes, you’re met with a view of the underside of his jaw. You can just make out the pinched expression he’s wearing as he looks down upon you. Disdain, maybe…but it’s not meant for you, it’s for someone else….him.

“Joel,” you murmur. Instinctually, you reach for his hand.

The second it makes contact, he smacks your hand away so hard your whole body jolts. “I told you to close your eyes.”

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing them again.

You are well aware that he’s actively working through shit, probably doing some kind of mental gymnastics to rationalize why it’s okay to fuck you again, which, when you really think about it is kind of….pathetic. It’s the only thing that makes you feel any sort of power in a situation where you’ll surrender everything else. It’s a fair exchange.

Maybe, on a different day, you would want it softer. You’d like to think he’s capable of that, even though he seems determined he isn’t. Luckily, you don’t want it softer. After today, you want to be so far gone you can’t think.

Joel answers by leaning down and catching you in a bruising kiss. Finally. You press yourself against him cause you’re freezing and he’s so warm, and you frantically begin to unbutton the flannel he’s wearing, making it about halfway down before he pins your hands above you again.

“Slow down.”

You whine, a little frustrated because all you want to do is touch him. The fingers on his free hand hook around the elastic of your underwear, and he starts to drag them over the curve of your ass.

He’s got to be joking with how deliberately he’s moving, anticipation only building underneath his featherlight touches.

When he’s got your panties around your ankles, you slide your legs together so he can pull them off entirely, keeping them closed as his weight shifts, and your thighs are pulled back apart.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he doesn’t need to feel you to see it clear as day, with you spread open in front of him. “So fucking desperate.”

He’s all-but glaring at you, like you’ve done something wrong, and for a minute, your eyes flick away, just for a second of relief from the tension.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he asks.

“N-no,” you stammer, though it was supposed to sound confident.

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you, his head dipping down to press his lips to your knee, then an inch higher, then an inch higher, then higher – keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time, an arm winding around your thigh.

“I wanted to do this last time.” A confession.

“Yeah?” you sigh, trembling. It’s maybe the nicest thing he’s said to you, but you can’t even acknowledge it, because you’re buzzing.

He turns his face, his beard scraping along sensitive skin. “Mhm,” his deep rasp vibrates directly to your cunt, and when his head dips down, you close your eyes – it might just be better to focus on only one sensation at a time, you’re not sure you can handle seeing what he’s about to do.

Joel’s mouth is on you the second you do, and you gasp. He licks up the seam of your lips, mouth latching around your clit, swirling with his tongue, and back down – firm, determined, practiced. You try to buck up, but he has an arm locked around your hips.

He removes himself from you just enough to utter two words. “Stay still.”

You want to protest, but you realize that he’s let go of your hands, and it gives you the opportunity to thread your fingers into his hair, while you dig your heels into the broad expanse of his back, and he groans, tongue curling into you.

“I’ve thought about this,” you gasp, answering his earlier admission.

“When?”

“At night. More than once.”

“Fuck,” Joel growls, and you wheeze when he works one finger into you, forcing you to take it along with his next words. “You know how fuckin’ bad that is? Dreamin’ about a man nearly twice your age?”

“I d-don’t care, I want you anyway. Y-you can do whatever you want to me,” It’s too early to be past the point of speaking coherently, it really is, but you’re already there.

“F-fuck,” Joel repeats himself, and pushes another finger inside you next to the first, the stretch almost uncomfortable, but quickly fading to pleasure. “I’m going to.”

You’re not the going to tell him, though, that he’s the first man whose ever gone down on you, because you’re a little fucking scared for some reason. It’s intimate, very intimate, more than you expected.

The truth is, you weren’t actually very experienced at all. You could count on one hand the number of partners you’d had, and still not use all of your fingers. While some of them were good enough, they all paled in comparison to Joel. There had never been anyone like Joel.

His fingers curl as his tongue swirls around your clit and you cry out, inhale sharply. Minute by minute, you’re getting wetter and wetter – can hear yourself with each twist of his fingers inside you, bearing down on him.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, and your eyes flutter open just for a second, just to see his forehead, dark eyes staring back at you, and his hips dipping, rutting against the mattress. God he’s getting himself off to this. As hot as it is, the thought of not getting to feel him inside you causes a rush of anger.

“F-feels so good,” you’re right there, already, and it’s pitiful.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, you just nod, gasping. Joel works you right up to the precipice, hands tightening in his hair, hips lifting off the bed – and then he slows a little – just enough – to pull you back off the edge, and you let out a humiliating sob.

“Shhh!” he hisses with his mouth still on you, resuming the steady pace he had going. A little sigh of relief when you feel your release approaching again. He just lost his rhythm for a moment, it was nothing.

Again, he’s got you right there, you’re so close, hips jerking, breathing in short, sharp pants, something molten working its way up your spine. “Joel, that’s it, please I-”

He falters again – just enough. And it’s gone again.

You realize, with dismay, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He hadn’t lost his rhythm. He’s doing this on purpose.

If someone asked – not that anyone would – you wouldn’t be able to recall how long he keeps you in that state, being dragged and dangled, but denied the privilege of falling. It’s torture.

And at first, you try to be patient. You figure he’ll grow tired, desperate, and eventually want to move on. But apparently, he doesn’t want to move on. He’s content to keep you this way for as long as he sees fit, and you can’t handle it any longer. It’s starting to hurt.

“Please, Joel, let me-” you gasp.

“Let you what?” he pulls back from you, frustratingly too soon, once again.

“Let me come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please, please-”

“Just a little longer,” he dismisses you.

All you can do is pant and writhe, completely at his mercy. He keeps going like that, and you’ve stopped trying to filter yourself, the sounds he makes as he laves at you are obscene, you can see yourself glistening on his chin, and can feel the sheets damp beneath you. At this point, he’s enjoying this more than you are.

“Joel,” you plead with him again. “It’s too much, I c-can’t. Just, please I really need-”

“You wanna come for me, baby?” he asks. You nod ferociously.

“Yes, please, please,”

“You’re so fucking sweet when you beg, you know that? ” he murmurs. “Wish you were like this all the time.”

“Fuck off,” you manage, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You should do this to me more often.

Joel chuckles, and it vibrates just right, his fingers curling again and you moan, hands tightening in his hair. He’s focused now, you can tell because the constant stream of filth he’s been whispering has finally stopped. He’s persistent.

You’re unable to stay quiet, continuing to whimper just like that and please don’t stop over and over. And then all at once, every muscle in your body grows tense and you cry out, cunt pulsing around him so tightly that his fingers slow. “There you go, pretty girl, that’s it.”

You whisper his name as he continues to fuck his fingers into you, riding you through your orgasm and licking up the mess you’ve made.

At some point in the aftermath, Joel withdraws from you, and you hear the sting of his zipper. It takes a moment, but you’re able to see him through heavily lidded eyes, kneeling in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned all the way, pants around his ankles, jerking himself slowly in his hand. God he’s fucking huge, how had you forgotten about that? He’s a vision, beard still wet with you, looking down, watching your chest rise and fall. In that moment you realize two things. One, even though you’ve already come, you somehow want him even more than you had before, and two, you’ve never wanted to suck a dick so bad in your life.

So you sit up, crawl towards him, and reach out with one hand to take him in your palm. He lets you, sighing, closing down his eyes. First, you have to kiss him, so you rise to your knees, and he pulls you into his arms, one of them winding around your waist, the other coming to rest at the small of your back. “You take such good care of me,” you whisper.

He grimaces at the words like they’re an insult. You expect him to retaliate, to tell you that you shouldn’t say that sort of thing, but he never does. So you kiss him, gently, bringing your free hand to the side of his face. Once again, he lets you, and you taste yourself when his tongue presses into you mouth. You run your thumb over the head of his cock, and he hums against your touch, almost contentedly.

You’re doing whatever you want to him, and you’re shocked he hasn’t put a stop to it. It could be satisfying enough, you think, just to keep kissing him like this. Still, you sink back towards the bed to test things further. You’re about to wrap your mouth around him, but he pulls you off by your hair, so quickly, so hard that you yelp.

“No.” he says firmly. “Lie back.”

“But I just wanted to-”

“No.”

You consider trying to reason with him, but decide it won’t be worth whatever he’d do if you continue to argue.

Joel braces himself with one hand above your shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock, slowly teasing you by rubbing himself up and down a few times, before he gives in, finally pushing into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp at the stretch, reaching out grasp at his bicep, arching your back. He’d prepped you, and it was still too much.

“You can take it,” he says, pressing deeper into you. His hips are all the way flush with yours, he’s to the hilt, and he still snaps them even further, once, holding you there, so deep, you feel like you’re choking on him. “See? There you go.”

It seems like you can’t quite catch your breath, and you squirm underneath him for some kind of friction, some kind of relief from how intense it all is. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel how badly his own body is begging him to move, but he doesn’t.

“Joel,” you cradle the back of his head, look him in the eyes. “Move, please.”

He doesn’t answer, he just brings his hand to grip your jaw, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks.

“Please?” you murmur again, and his thumb slips into your mouth, silencing you. You suck on it obediently, and after you do, he finally gives you what you want.

──────

Joel told you he wouldn’t be gentle, and he isn’t.

He hadn’t been able to do this last time. Taste you, spread you open, fuck you properly. His hips snap against yours – ferociously, unrelenting, over and over. You’ve been going at it for awhile now, and he actually wants you to break. He wants you to tell him to slow down, to be a little more tender, not press into you so deep, so hard, so that if he listens, it wouldn’t mean he’s breaking his own promise. He’s got to be rough with you, because he’s afraid of what could happen if he’s not.

But you don’t break. You fucking take it, take him, each time, again and again, your nails digging into arms, your legs locked around his hips. Each time he delves into you, you’re getting wetter and wetter, and yet, you’re still so fucking tight. He doesn’t understand it. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s been with a woman like you – and you might be the best he’s ever had.

You’re not even making any noise – you’re just panting, gasping in Joel’s ear as you cling to him, and that’s all. He can’t even look you in the eyes. If he does, he knows you’ll see everything that’s wrong with him, and still beg for him to give you more.

Two hands land on either side of his face, turning his head so you can kiss him. Despite how he’s treating you, you keep trying to connect, to ground yourself. For as much as he wants to refuse, it feels too cruel to deny you. He lets you lock your lips with his own, feels your cunt clutch him even tighter. It’s impossible for you to kiss for more than a few seconds at a time without it getting broken up by a whimper here and there. You’re getting close again, he’s started to get better at recognizing it.

“You’re fucking so perfect on me, baby, you feel that?” he asks, and you nod, breathless. “Taking me so well, such a good fucking girl-”

A gasp from you cuts him off, your eyes squeezing shut as you are taken over by your climax. Joel groans and does everything he can not to come when you start pulsing around him, holding him closer, since there’s nothing else to do. It’s way too intimate…because it’s missionary, and he should’ve known better than to start off like this.

Pulling out of you is the hardest thing he’s had to do in a while, and he ignores your noises of protest now that he’s left you empty. Then, he flips you onto your stomach. He takes a moment to admire the curve of your ass, how it dips into your waist….to him, your body is perfect, and you’re young, your skin still supple and smooth. There are still places he hasn’t gotten his mouth on, and it’s a shame, he thinks, but tonight his patience is wearing thin. Joel pulls you back until you’re on your knees, and slides back inside. There’s a little resistance, you whimper, but it’s easier than the first time. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other across your chest, and starts to jerk his hips upwards, into you.

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you sigh in relief.

“I know, I know.”

You drop your head back until it falls against his shoulder, winding your arm back so you can pull at his hair, which kind of fucking hurts, but he likes it.

Ultimately, you’re pretty easy to please, and it’s not long before he feels the telltale flutter of your walls as you drip down over him, soaking his lap.

“You’re making a fucking mess, baby. You gonna come for me again?”

All you can do is plead with him. “I can’t, Joel. I can’t do it again, please just-”

“Yes, you can,” he interjects. “I know you can, baby, don’t worry…I’ll help you.”

“O-okay.’

He slows the roll of his hips just a little, focuses on deeper, longer strokes, and lets the hand that’s currently squeezing one of your tits fall to where your bodies are joined, finding your clit immediately.

You whine, arching back against him, the swell of your ass packed against his lower stomach. He sees a single tear leaking from the corner of your eye and feels a little guilty for what he’s doing to you. Only a little, though.

Without any warning, for the third time, you’re coming around him – easier than the last time, like always – and he uses the feeling of you throbbing around him to chase his own release, his hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your moans as he becomes increasingly frantic.

He turns his head, rakes his teeth along your exposed neck, and sinks them into your pulse point with a groan. Your breath is hot against him when you whimper in response.

“Just a little more, honey.” He’s so close. You bob your head, though you’ve nearly gone limp in his arms.

Like last time, Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s not going to pull out. The thought of deliberately coming inside you is actually what sends him over the edge, and he’s cursing and moaning your name. You whine at the feeling of him pulsing inside of you, arching back for more, even though he can tell you’re exhausted.

It’s fucking freezing in your apartment, and yet, his skin is damp with sweat when he finally regains some awareness of his surroundings. He’s panting, you’re sniffling, a weak smile on your face as you catch your breath. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips to your cheek.

Joel tilts you both forward – very tentatively, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist. At some point, your hand settled over top of his, and you threaded your fingers between his own, holding his hand across your stomach. You keep it there, even after you’ve settled onto the bed.

It takes a few minutes before either of you move, but it’s you who gives in first, wriggling out from where he’s got you trapped partially underneath him.

You retreat to the bathroom, like you did last time. Somewhere during your coupling the linens have slid down the bed, and Joel settles back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head. Now that he’s stopped sweating, he’s just cold, and he reaches to pull the bedspread over him. He should leave, he thinks, before you come out and ask him to. Beat you to the punch. Maybe while you’re still in the bathroom.

A few minutes later, and you return from the bathroom, dressed again in sweats. He hears you pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down. You flick off the lamp on your bedside table, and fall into bed next to him, lying rigidly on your back. He should reach out, pull you against him, let you settle in his arms. Instead, Joel rolls over on his side.

It’s terrible how beautiful you are, he thinks, watching you stare up at the ceiling, hugging yourself. So beautiful, and fucking smart. You’re strong, too, but not as strong as he wishes you were. Of course, no one could ever be that strong.

He whispers your name. You turn your head, pupils still blown wide with lingering lust.

“You need to learn to defend yourself, to shoot a gun, to fight,” he says. “After today.”

“What?” you roll to face him.

“You said you didn’t want to die,” Joel continues. “So you need to learn. ‘Case something like that happens again.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme guess, you’re gonna teach me?” your voice is a little hoarse after what he’d done to you, and you smirk at him.

“Yes.” It sobers you up, that he’s not fucking with you, or giving you a hard time. “I owe you, remember?”

“You do.”

“So…. I’ll teach you.”

“....Okay.”

“Alright.”

Joel rolls over to his opposite side, and you’re left staring at his back. Arms wrapped around

himself in a tight hug, he waits for you to tell him to go.

You never do.

Instead, he feels the heat of your body as you curl up against him, slotting one of your legs between his own. Your hand grazes up his ribs, over his bicep – a gentle, quick massage – before you tuck your arm underneath his own, your palm flat against his heart.

“What are you doing?” he asks, frozen at how tender the embrace is. It’s a foreign feeling, he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this.

The tip of your nose hits the nape of his neck, and he can feel your shuddery exhale.

“I’m cold,” you say, like it’s obvious, lips brushing featherlight against his skin. “And if you’re staying, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He can’t roll over and wrap his arms around you. He can’t kiss your forehead or play with your hair or murmur into your ear. He can’t offer you anything in return. Joel decides, though, if he’s going to accept comfort from anyone, it’s going to be from you.

──────

taglist (basically if you asked for a pt 2 on the last part i tagged you): @bbyanarchist @dlwrish @imaginewrites24 @captain-yellow-96 @daisyintheskyewithdiamonds @sludgec0r33 @c0wb0ym3nace

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #the last of us #the last of us writing #the last of us fanfiction #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fic #joel miller angst #writing

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gonzo-rella · 1 month

Text

Headcanons: Being Married To Old Man Ray Stantz

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

Relationship(s): old man!Ray Stantz x gn!also old!reader (romantic)

Warnings: Possibly inaccurate science words, because I'm a simpleton. (Let me know if I need to add any)

(A/N: Here's my first Ghostbusters thing! I've got a few other Ghostbusters fics in the works, mostly Ray-based reader-inserts because I'm in love with him, but I've also got a Phoebe-centric character study in the works that's based on part of her storyline in Frozen Empire. By the way, I loved Frozen Empire! I've already seen it three times, and it's such a joy. I'll try to catch it a couple more times at least before it leaves cinemas. Anyway, I haven't included any explicit spoilers for Frozen Empire in this, so you're safe to read this if you haven't seen it yet. I'd love to write more old man Ray Stantz fics, especially something involving Phoebe. I'm really excited to write for Ghostbusters, so feel free to send in requests! I've only seen the movies, but I plan on watching the Real Ghostbusters at some point soon. Also, even though I took my mum to see Frozen Empire the other day, I still don't have anyone to talk to about this movie, so please feel free to talk to me about it!)

It’s evident that, even after all of these years, Ray is still madly in love with you.

The adoration with which he looks at you is clear as day.

Venkman has always loved to tease you both about how sickly sweet your relationship is.

He will make fake gagging when either of you are affectionate to one another when he’s around.

(He won’t admit it, but he actually finds your relationship to be kind of cute)

It’s not like either of you are overly lovey-dovey, especially now.

Ray’s naturally a very passionate and expressive guy, but he’s rarely mushy.

Still, you show one another how much you care.

I have this idea that your silent way of saying ‘I love you’ to each other is holding the other’s hand, stroking their knuckles with your thumb and smiling at them.

It just seems so cute to have this thing that you’ve been doing for your whole relationship.

Ray knows you like the back of his hand, and you know him just the same.

It’s almost scary how well you know one another.

I can imagine that there’s been a time that someone’s asked one of you a question, and the other has been able to answer it with ease.

I love the idea of Ray being with someone who’s not a scientific mind like himself.

So, if you’re not as knowledgeable about the supernatural as Ray, you’ll still have picked up on plenty of information against your will, and Ray will always be impressed with and proud of you when you manage to regurgitate or understand his ‘science-y word salad’ (as you have referred to it).

He will also find it very attractive when you talk supernatural or science to him, but he tries not to make it obvious.

His eyes still light up like he’s a kid on Christmas when he explains supernatural stuff to you or tells you about a new psychically charged item he’s bought, and you find it so endearing.

Also, I can imagine him practically forcing you to listen to Podcast’s podcast when he discovers it, and you both end up getting really into it.

As devoted as he still is to his work and his supernatural endeavours, spending time with you is his greatest priority.

He might miss being an active Ghostbuster, but the silver lining of it is that he gets more time with you than he ever used to.

Even if you both used to be Ghostbusters, it’s nice to spend time together that doesn’t involve being covered in ghost slime and shouting over nuclear accelerators.

If you’ve not got anything else to do, I think it’d be sweet if you kept him company in his store.

Phoebe and Trevor are your honorary grandkids and you and Ray are beyond proud of them, especially Phoebe, who you’re closest to of the two of them.

Phoebe will always remind the both of you of Egon, so whenever she does something particularly Egon-like, you will exchange a knowing glance, and when she’s gone you’ll end up reminiscing about your old friend.

If Phoebe or the other Spenglers ever want to hear about Egon, you’re both more than happy to talk to them about him.

Even in his golden years, Ray is still the same sweet, passionate, excitable man you married all those years ago.

Sure, the regular excitement that came with Ghostbusting is long behind you both, but you both cherish this quieter time together just as much.

#ghostbusters x reader #ray stantz x reader #ghostbusters #ray stantz #x reader #x gn!reader #x gender neutral!reader #x gender neutral reader #x gn reader #phoebe spengler

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lixxen · 11 months

Text

I'll tear out your heart, it'll always be mine - The Spot x Male!Reader

I have an idea of what Jonathon Ohnn would be like if he'd be in this situation. He is a bit silly and I love him so much. Gonna cross post on AO3 when I get out of work tomorrow (today? It's 3am).

Send me an ask and I'll answer any questions about this small AU and I'll maybe write more!! (I did. This is an alternate version)

Title is from this song.

Warnings: slight obsessive behavior towards the end. Violence (canon typical). SFW

"Oh shit-"

The words came tumbling out as limbs flailed and hands grabbed onto said limbs.

Y/n had been sitting at home, minding his own business in his apartment when all of the sudden a giant black hole appeared and a spotted man came falling out.

The man had landed directly on top of Y/n, causing him to yell and flail.

"Hey, hey! Stop m- stop moving!" The strange man almost cried out, grabbing at the stray limbs that were assaulting him.

A closed fist was thrown at the man's face, which made him yelp. Y/n's hand went straight through the giant black spot on the face and came right out next to the man's head. It barely missed him, but Y/n panicked. He yanked his hand back with a small disgruntled noise.

"Who the hell are you?" Y/n tried to grab at the man's face, going for the white part, but the man grabbed his hand this time.

"The Spot!" The man heaved out slightly, as if he was out of breath. Y/n stopped flailing as he gave the man a confused look.

"Like... That dude who people have been talking about on the radio stealing shit?" Y/n squinted at the man in utter confusion.

"YES! I mean. Yes." The Spot nodded quickly and let out a triumphant noise. "That's me!"

Y/n took a good look at the man on top of him.

His limbs were long and awkward, as if he was stretched out ever so slightly. It was disproportionate to his solid trunk of his body. His skin was a pure white, the type that a fresh Tshirt would be, with inky black dots shifting across his skin.

"You seem so much gangly and awkward in person." Y/n's words came out and he couldn't help but grimace at himself.

"You know, that is so rude of you " Y/n bet that if the Spot had a face, he'd look offended. "Has anyone ever told you to never comment on people's looks?"

Y/n let out a snort and the Spot let his arms go.

"Has anyone ever told you that dropping on top of someone in their home, uninvited, is rude?" Y/n responded and moved to push the man off of him.

The Spot moved to get up, letting Y/n push him off practically. The Spot stood above Y/n and watched as he had moved to sit back up.

"It's not like I wanted to be here."

Y/n did recall that the reports had said he seemed to not know how to use his power quite yet, so that made sense.

"Well" Y/n dusted himself off and looked back up to the spotted man. "I would like to ask you to leave. As much as I'd like to chat, I do have things to do."

"Feisty." The Spot grumbled and pulled a spot off of himself. He flinged it against the wall, where it stuck and grew in size. "See you around."

"Yeah." Y/n watched as the Spot climbed through the spot. "Sure."

It had been months since their first interaction, and Y/n couldn't seem to shake the spotted bastard.

More and more frequently, the Spot seemed to show up whenever he pleased. He would simply open up a spot in the middle of the living room, walk out to grab a piece of fruit that was kept on the dining room table, then walk back out.

Sometimes, if Y/n was unlucky, he would actually stay a bit and ramble to Y/n.

Y/n learned that his name was Jonathan Ohnn. He was an Alchamex scientist who had been effected by the destruction of Wilson Fisk's tower and other events in the last year.

Apparently the accident had turned him into the being he is today.

Without a job and family, the Spot just seemed lonely and desperate for any interactions and money. He stole small things so he could pay rent from some shady slumlord that had connections to Wilson Fisk. Nobody else would home some spotted lab experiment gone wrong, so he did what he had to.

Y/n almost felt pitty for the guy. It wasn't necessarily his fault that all of this happened. He apparently just wanted to study alternate realities and ended up aiding in the space time continuum being sliced open.

Y/n had given in by now, letting the man crash at his place sometimes. He would let the Spot sleep on his couch, giving him time to watch the spots slowly disappear from his skin as if his powers were connected to his consciousness.

Y/n was now leaning against the Spot as they watched a soap opera on his television. The skin underneath his felt akin to skin, if not more rubbery and smooth. Almost as if it was a giant scar. He was cool to the touch on his limbs, but his head and rest of the body was warm.

"I don't understand why she doesn't go for Daniel." The Spot mumbled as he shoved popcorn into the large hole on his face.

That hole seemed to be the closest he had to a mouth and eye. It consumed food when he wanted it to and would change size like an iris. It was so odd, as the man didn't excrete anything. Y/n made sure to ask about it. The stuff that went in disappeared, as if his body absorbed it as pure energy and matter.

"It's for the drama." Y/n shrugged and pressed his cheek against the Spot's shoulder. "I thought you lived for drama?"

"Not this kind." The Spot would have rolled his eyes if he could.

"I know." Y/n smiled and looked up to the Spot.

Their time together had given Y/n a soft spot for the man. Today was the day he was going to offer him a place to stay. There was a second bedroom he kept as storage. He could buy a futon easily. He wasn't completely broke, and if push comes to shove then the Spot could steal it.

"Hey, Spot." Y/n started.

The man looked down to him and tilted his head.

"You know you can call me Jonathan, right?" That was his only response.

Right.

"Yeah. Totally." Y/n nodded. "Would you want to move in, Jonathan? You're always here and you won't have to do anything drastic anymore. No more stealing."

Jonathan was oddly quiet. He was only like this if he was thinking. It was almost eerie, especially when the spots on him stilled.

"Yes. Sure. I..." Jonathan put a hand on Y/n's arm. "Are you sure? I'm a freak of nature and I don't have a job. I am a liability and a burden."

"You need to get out of your shitty apartment, so I don't see why not." Y/n shrugged. "You can have my extra room."

Jonathan hummed before sighing.

He looked as stressed as someone without a face could.

"I could. Would you genuinely not mind?" Jonathan turned his whole body towards Y/n, who moved to sit up and put his hands on Jonathan's knees.

"I offered, right?" Y/n offered a small smile.

Jonathan looked down towards Y/n's hands and placed one on top of them. Y/n could tell that something was wrong.

"No one has been this nice to me since this happened." Jonathan looked back up.

Y/n brought his free hand up to Jonathan's face, tilting his head slightly.

"I won't abandon you, I promise. I care about you." Y/n rubbed his thumb across Jonathan's cheek, watching as the spot on his face get smaller as if it was closing.

"Promise?" Jonathan asked quietly.

"Of course."

Y/n stared in horror as emergency services cleaned up the rubble that was once his job.

Spider-Man and a villain had came blasting through the window and ended up destroying his job. He had gotten bruised and cut up in the process, which wasn't bad.

But it was the fact that the mom & pop restaurant that he helped manage was destroyed beyond repair that was bad.

"Y/n." The owner, Mr. Giovanni, approached.

Y/n felt a pit in his stomach as he looked up from where he sat. The man looked red eyed as he sat down next to Y/n.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think we'll be able to come back from this." Mr. Giovanni spoke quietly, only for Y/n to hear as people rushed by. "I am sorry. I didn't want you to have to loose a job this way."

Y/n looked away, taking a deep breath and pressing his ash covered palms onto his closed eyes. Emotions bubbled up in his chest and he could feel his eyes water.

"Don't cry, dear child." Mr. Giovanni put a hand on Y/n's back. "I can help you get a new one. I have strings I can pull."

"I... I don't know." Y/n dropped his hands from his face. "Would it be soon enough to keep up with rent?"

It had been almost a year since Jonathan had moved in. A year of supporting two people on one income that was better than what most people in his situation would have. This would ruin their financial state.

"I would hope. But no saying if it would." Mr. Giovanni frowned. "That boyfriend of yours still don't have a job?"

"He isn't my boyfriend." Y/n shook his head. "But no. He has a condition that makes it so nobody wants to hire him."

Mr. Giovanni hummed and whispered how it was such a shame.

The two sat in silence before the fire department walked up with an officer.

"My name is Officer Morales. Could we have a minute?" The officer spoke to Mr. Giovanni.

Mr. Giovanni turned to Y/n before handing him his final paycheck and leaving.

Y/n sniffled as he pocketed the money and got up. The walk home was filled with anxiety and self pity. It bubbled with anger the closer and closer he got to his home.

Y/n stomped up the steps of the apartments, going up two at a time. He unlocked his door with more force than needed, pushing himself in harshly. He slammed the door behind him. The apartment rattled at the force.

"Woah!" Y/n heard Jonathan from the depths of the apartment call out.

Y/n took off his jacket, gripping it in front of him with both hands. His bruised and dirty hands shook as his angered bubbled up.

With a loud scream that ripped through his throat like fire, Y/n threw his jacket as hard as he could towards the wall and fell to his knees.

"Y/n?!" Jonathan called out and there was footsteps running through the small apartment.

Y/n's eyes welled up with tears as he started to hard sob. Hands found their way to his shoulders, pulling him up slightly.

"Y/n, what happened to you? Who hurt you?" Jonathan asked, his voice warbling slightly. "Are you okay?"

Y/n let out a hiccuping sob as he opened his eyes again. Jonathan's face spot was blown wide and did the solar flare that happened when he was upset. His spots were shaking and swirling, coming off his body in the way that he'd seen solar flares reach from and back into the run in videos.

The hands moved their way to Y/n's face, holding him in place and inspecting him.

"Y/n, why are you bleeding and bruising?" Jonathan's voice sounded like it was glitching and about to cry himself.

"A fight." Y/n tried to take a deep breath, but it kept catching on the lump in his throat. "Spider-Man and a villain crashed into my job. They destroyed everything. Spider-Man tried to stop him. But I got thrown by the guy."

Jonathan's face spot shrunk at the mention of Spider-Man and the villain.

Y/n knew he held grudges against the poor kid, as much as Y/n tried to tell him that the couldn't have known.

"They did what?" Jonathan rubbed a thumb against a dry patch of blood on Y/n's cheek. "What villain?"

"The one with the wings. Vulture?" Y/n sniffled. "My job though... It's gone."

"Your job is gone?" Jonathan slowly took a hand off of Y/n's face and put it through a spot.

"The place was demolished. Mr. Giovanni told me that he can't afford to fix everything." Y/n explained as he watched Jonathan pull his hand back to them, with a wet cloth in his hand. "He said he'd try to get me a job."

Jonathan was oddly quiet as he slowly wiped Y/n's face. Y/n couldn't tell what he was thinking as he dragged the cloth across the now scabbing cuts. It stung slightly, but Y/n didn't flinch. He was too focused on the pinprick spot on Jonathan's face.

"Jonathan?" Y/n frowned.

Jonathan hummed in response, the spot flicking upwards for a second towards Y/n's face.

"You're quiet." Y/n stared simply.

"It'll be okay. I promise." Jonathan was oddly vague. "I'll make everything okay."

"What do you mean by that?" Y/n frowned.

"Don't worry." Jonathan took the cloth away and tilted his head. "Now, let's go get you food."

Jonathan Ohnn was a simple guy.

He normally wasn't one to step up when someone fucked him over. He normally let things brush by. Why would he fight people when he knew that everything was worth it.

It wasn't until Spider-Man ruined everything that he had felt worthless. His life was suddenly ruined; he lost his job, friends, and family. He felt alone and like his spots were eating him alive. He didn't feel human.

That was until he accidentally stumbled upon Y/n.

Y/n had cared for him, even with how he looked. He became friends with Jonathan over months and then took Jonathan in. He felt tied to Y/n. The two were two strings within an interconnecting web; tied together and forever interwoven.

The amount of anger and pain that Jonathan had felt when he saw Y/n crying in their foyer, beaten almost to a pulp, had been the worst he had felt since he had lost his life.

It felt as if he had crumbled again. He never wanted to feel that again.

So there Jonathan was, walking into a bar off of 42nd. It was a known villain bar that no one messed with. Something having to do with the sacred ecosystem of crime.

Or something like that.

Jonathan stepped into the bar and watched as heads turned towards him.

"Holy shit." One man grumbled and turned away. "Someone let the spotted one in."

Jonathan didn't care. He looked around the bar until he saw the Vulture.

The man had cuts across his face, a bruise of two littering his arms from the fight that destroyed Y/n's job.

"Hey! Who invited the D-lister?" Some villain in the back called out and others laughed.

Jonathan felt anxiety spike in his stomach, but walked towards the Vulture. He hated hearing the whispers about him, calling him a shitty villain. A joke.

He was getting tired of being a joke to literally everyone.

Jonathan stopped in front of Vulture, who simply looked up with a raised eyebrow.

"What'd you want, dalmatian?" Vulture mumbled into his beer.

"You destroyed Giovanni's." Jonathan simply stated. "You ruined perfectly good people's lives."

A few men around laughed at that.

"What of it?" Vulture sighed and sat down his beer, fully turning towards Jonathan.

"Someone whose very dear to me worked there. You threw him across the room like a sack of potatoes." Jonathan clenched his fist.

"Shit happens. You know that. We've all heard your story." Vulture cracked his neck and turned away. "Now get lost, you joke."

Jonathan took a deep breath and punched the man.

Quickly, a fight broke out. The flailing of limbs and drawing of fists had ended with Jonathan being thrown out of the bar.

He cursed as he watched the bar owner slam the door behind him.

"Fuck them." Jonathan grumbled.

He stomped away, before seeing an ATM sign across the street.

Y/n looked up as Jonathan dropped a wad of cash onto the dining room table.

Y/n blinked and frowned. The cigarette burning between his fingers was getting close to the end.

"Please don't tell me that spat you got in with Spider-Man was to get that money." Y/n was hoping Jonathan wasn't going to fall into this slippery downfall.

"No." Jonathan shook his head quickly then paused. "Well. Actually yes. But that's not the point."

"Then what's the point, Jonathan?" Y/n had an uneasy feeling.

Jonathan had came back late. He was acting irrational, mumbling about God knows what. It almost sounded like tongues by how quickly Jonathan was speaking and waving his hands.

"I thought you quit cigarettes a year ago?" Jonathan deflected, pointing at the now burnt out bud.

Y/n held a sour expression as he rubbed the bud into an old and stained ashtray.

"I told you I have one every whatever when I'm stressed. I did quit." Y/n tossed the bud into the nearby trashcan before looking back to Jonathan. "Now, what'd you do?"

"Nothing!" Jonathan held his hands up in defense. "I was doing a job and I ran into my nemesis!"

Y/n hummed and rubbed his face with one hand.

"Y/n, you look tired. Have you slept? Do I need to fix the fan in your room again?" Jonathan kneeled down to put a hand on Y/n's face.

"I'm just. I can't sleep sometimes. Anxiety." Y/n smiled up at Jonathan. "You know how it is."

"I do." Jonathan nodded before taking his hand away.

Y/n watched Jonathan as he took a few steps away, opening up a cabinet and pulling out random items. He was seemingly collecting them for god knows what.

"I do have something to do tonight!" Jonathan's voice was bubbly like normal. He was seemingly excited for whatever he was doing. "It could help fix everything!"

"Do you want to share?" Y/n asked.

Jonathan shook his head quickly.

"No!" It sounded like he would be smiling. "I will need a lot of power though! I have plans for us. I can fix everything and make sure things will go how they need to be."

Y/n felt worried now.

Jonathan had never been like this.

"What'd you do?" Y/n asked again.

"I found something out about my holes!" Jonathan did a little bounce as he walked. "I can access the multiverse!"

Y/n noticed now that his spots were almost all gone. There was his main one, but that was it.

"Where are your spots?" Y/n frowned.

"Used them up. I'm gonna get more, don't worry. It'll all be okay!" Jonathan sat his items in a little basket and turned to Y/n.

"Are you going somewhere?" Y/n stood up.

Y/n had a horrible feeling. Jonathan's hole was warping and flaring. He looked more skittish than normal. Something was horribly wrong.

"Yes. I'll be back! I promise. At least a few hours!" Jonathan grabbed his stuff and turned to the door.

"Please don't leave me " Y/n stepped towards Jonathan, who paused in the doorway. Y/n held a hand out and hoped he would listen.

"I have to go." Jonathan's tone was soft and low. "I'm going to fix everything. I'll be back."

And with those words, Jonathan left.

Two days.

He had been gone for almost two days.

Y/n sat on his couch, watching as the news played. He was hoping that if he watched the news closely, he'd eventually see if Jonathan did anything.

But he hadn't.

Not since a building nearby had holes in it and what was called a mini collider being found. Y/n knew it had to do with him.

Y/n sniffled and lifted up the remote. He was about to change the channel, but the news suddenly shifted.

The bar on 42nd that was known for villains was now being live streamed from a helicopter. The building was on fire and many villains that Y/n vaguely recognized could be seen laying outside of the building.

Then, as if on cue, another was thrown out of the bar. Y/n could only imagine the sound of the body blasting through the wooden door and frame, crashing into the cement as bones broke.

It took Y/n a second to realize it was Vulture.

The others villains slowly started to move, but Vulture didn't move at all. Heads turned to their fallen friend before looking back to the door of the bar.

Y/n could see a rippling on the screen, almost as if it was gliching where the door of the bar was. Then the being stepped out.

It was a pitch black, almost warping, figure. The limbs kept glitching and lagging almost as they move. An arm lifted up and an inky hole appeared above the Vulture. Rubble fell through and crushed the villain.

Y/n covered his mouth and choked on the air in his lungs. It was terrifying to watch as police officers shot at the beings, but it did nothing. Then the being looked at the helicopter.

Y/n could now see a giant white spot on the face and a few on the being's body.

Just like Jonathan.

Then it clicked.

It was Jonathan.

Y/n let out a strangled gasped as he grabbed the remote and clicked the TV off. He moved quickly. Pushing himself up and turning his body to move towards his bedroom.

He needed to leave the apartment. What if Jonathan showed up? What if he hurt Y/n like he did to those villains.

Y/n only made it halfway before he heard a crackling.

In front of him, in a blink of an eye, Jonathan appeared.

He was an inky black that never stopped shifting. His white spots were even worse as they never seemed solid. He had an odd crackling noise to him that almost offended Y/n's ears.

"Y/n." Jonathan spoke first. "I'm back."

"You said a day."

It was the first response that came to Y/n's head and it made Jonathan laugh. His voice was warped and crackling like his body. It sounded almost autotuned. Terrifying.

"I kept getting stopped by annoying little arachnids." Jonathan shrugged. "But I am here now. I have to complete my journey before we can have everything."

Y/n took a step back, his eyes slowly watering.

"What do you mean?" Y/n couldn't stand to see Jonathan like this.

"Y/n, I'm doing this for us." Jonathan sounded like he was frowning. "They take me seriously now and I am getting back at the people who hurt you. Who hurt me."

Y/n shook his head as Jonathan continued.

"Spider-Man created me, ruined my life. He ruined your job. I took care of Vulture already." Jonathan held out his hand. "Please don't step away from me. Please."

His voice was pleading as he realized that Y/n was terrified.

"Y/n, please don't leave me. You promised me you wouldn't." Jonathan started to plead. "I know this isn't what you wanted, but I couldn't just stand around and let them do this. The things they said to me. About me. About you."

"You promised that you wouldn't do something like this." Y/n shook slightly as he backed away again.

Jonathan took a large step towards Y/n, who now realized how much bigger Jonathan had gotten suddenly. He was almost a half foot taller. Must be from a power surge.

"I'm doing this for us." Jonathan's voice whined as he took Y/n's face with his hands. "Look at me! I love you so much and I couldn't watch as you spiralled."

His voice had gotten louder, but Jonathan's hold was gentle. What you would call his skin felt like electricity now. It didn't sting, but felt like touching an old TV screen with your hands.

"You mean so much to me. I'd do anything for you and you know that." Jonathan's voice had quieted back down. "You don't understand the lengths I'd go for us to be together and safe."

"Then why did you have to leave?" Y/n was crying now. "We could have been happy here. I could have gotten another job."

Jonathan was quiet. His face spot had stilled slightly, as if he was debating something.

"I have to do one final thing. Then we will be together." Jonathan nodded. "I promise. Okay? Then you can get a job and I'll make sure no one can find us."

Y/n nodded and put his hands on both of Jonathan's.

Jonathan nodded also and pressed his forehead against Y/n's. The two stood like that for a minute before there was a noise outside.

Jonathan's head snapped up at the noise and his hands dropped from Y/n's face. He seemingly glitched as he phased through different spots to reach the window.

Y/n watched as he stuck a hand through a spot and yanked it back.

In Jonathan's hold was Spider-Man. The kid thrashed within Jonathan's hold and Y/n gasped.

"Jonathan! Don't!" Y/n took a few steps forward.

"I have to deal with this." Jonathan didn't look up. His voice was oddly flat. "I will be back."

A spot appeared next to Jonathan and Spider-Man. Y/n sprinted towards them, but it was too late.

Jonathan and the spider had disappeared into the spot. Leaving Y/n alone, once again.

Y/n let out a scream before he fell to his knees.

Nothing good was going to come out of this.

899 notes · View notes

depravitycentral · 9 months

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im sorry if this is a lame ask, but i just had the idea and thought i would share it to see if it would strike any inspo! of course on this blog you’ve talked about all the things our beloved troupe members are into, but have you ever considered what their absolute turn offs are? like things that pull them out of the mood almost immediately? or kinks that would seem to fit certain members, but end up not being their thing for one reason or another

Ooh yes anon this strikes inspo !!

This is a good point - it's all fine and dandy to imagine sex with your yandere as being so bad but so good, as if they know every secret, dirty kink and fantasy you have. (That's because they do know, whether through extensive stalking, pouring through your search histories, or raw, natural sexual chemistry with you. They all think they've got that last one, but normally any positive sexual encounters between the two of you will be a consequence of the former two rather than the latter.)

But of course, everyone has turn offs, and while your yandere would be willing to do pretty much anything to please you, even the most obsessed, unhinged yanderes have a few hard, fast exceptions.

I'm assuming you meant just hxh yanderes for this, so let's proceed moving forward with that in mind! If you meant for another fandom, please let me know and I'd be happy to discuss those yanderes too <3

Let's discuss !!

(Tw for petnames, watersports, recording, anal, pegging, crying, hitting, and other smutty things)

Chrollo Lucilfer is pretty hard to frazzle in bed, and is one of those who have done extensive, eager research into both your own personal sexual preferences, and made educated guesses on kinks that seem to correlate with ones he already knows you possess. That said, Chrollo himself isn't especially risky in bed - he'll indulge you, sure, but he doesn't have a strong desire to try anything especially crazy unless you're a big fan. And while he'll let you have your fun (particularly in the beginning of your sexual relationship, just because promising you that he'll choke you or dominate you or whatever else you may like just to get you into bed with him and somewhat willing, just because he needs to pleasure you and get you warming up to him) , most of the time sex with him is quite vanilla. He's open to listening to whatever you want, with one very, very large exception: there is no amount of pleading or bargaining that will let you peg him. He doesn't inherently believe that men should always be dominant over women, but he does believe that he should always be dominant over you. And if you were to peg him, this power structure would collapse, allowing you too much control over both his pleasure and him. He doesn't mind being in a more physically submissive position (he'll never deny you when you straddle him and tell him that you're in charge for the evening, the only response you get being a twinkle in his eye, a soft smirk and a hummed we will see, my love), but the idea of you fucking him just rubs him the wrong way. He's more vulnerable with you than he is anyone else, but Chrollo has his limits. (Besides, the idea of absolutely falling apart for you is both alluring and terrifying, because the moment you discover his prostate, he'll be a gasping mess, his cheeks tinged a light pink and his grip on the sheets below him very, very tight. It would be embarrassing, and he can't allow you to see him in such a weak position - it would derail all the hard work he's done to convince you that you need him.)

Feitan Portor really detests being called Daddy. He thinks it's weird, and even if you - sweet, perfect, irritatingly attractive you - were to say it, he still wouldn't like it. There's just something about it that rubs him the wrong way - it feels too paternal, and while he doesn't remember having a family in any biological capacity, it still just makes his skin crawl. He won't get soft immediately upon hearing you say it (he's always just slightly hard when you're in his vicinity, so rarely ever is he truly flaccid around you), but he'll need to pull out and take a breather, mentally trying to erase the sound of the petname rolling off your tongue. He can deal with other petnames - he'd be okay with sir, if only because he's always kind of had a thing for roleplaying, or at least having some sort of overarching power dynamic present during sex, and being called sir would place him in a position of absolute authority, meaning he could do whatever he wants to you and you'd just obediently obey. (You already kind of do, too scared to say no to him, but it doesn't feel as authentic - he feels less comfortable, more vulnerable and exposed and raw, and he doesn't like that.) You could even call him master if you really wanted to - similarly, it feeds his desire for playing a powerful, dominant role, but he doesn't have any sort of particularly liking towards maid costumes or anything of the sort, so it wouldn't do too much for him. He's good with nearly anything else you could throw at him, but never Daddy. Frankly, he really just prefers his own, actual name - it just sounds so damn good when you gasp it, the sound going straight to both his cock and heart.

Phinks Magcub's brows always get pinched and his lips quirk down when he thinks about the idea of you bleeding during sex. It makes his hands itch, this protectiveness welling up inside him that makes him antsy and nervous and jittery, the energy all pent up and needing to be released because god, he doesn't like seeing you hurt. Even if it makes you feel good, your moans increasing because of the pain twinged pleasure, he's unwilling to indulge you - he couldn't bring himself to purposefully make you bleed, and while he does occasionally (often) leave you bruised and incredibly sore after having his way with you, that's a whole different thing from seeing that crimson color against your pretty skin. It just makes him uncomfortable - if you asked nicely enough he'd consider maybe lightly slapping you or getting rough with you (though he's already pretty rough when he gets lost in the moment - finger shaped bruises litter your body and hickeys dance along your collarbone and neck), but he'll draw the line at drawing blood. (Similarly, he doesn't really want to bleed himself either, but he'd be more willing to be in the position of pain than putting you into that position of pain. Besides, it might help him last longer, the pleasure warded off by negative stimulation - and god knows Phinks needs all the help he can get in delaying his orgasms.)

Uvogin is pretty adventurous in bed, all things considered, but even he has a few hard turn offs, one of which being degrading you. He doesn't mind calling you needy or possessive terms of endearment, but anything with even a slight negative connotation is always preceded by a 'my', so that when he's calling you a slut it always becomes my slut. Even then, he doesn't like doing this - his natural default when he's naked with you is to be praising you, because those are honestly the thoughts running through his mind when he's got his hands on you and he's feeling your soft skin against his. He genuinely only has good, lustful, reverent things to say about your body and the fact that he's getting to touch, kiss, squeeze, and fuck you, and he's not shy about telling the truth. And so, if you were to request for him to degrade you a bit in bed or be a little meaner, he'll oblige, but it'll feel just slightly forced, his words not holding their usual deep, growling timber that always sends shivers down your spine. He ends up compromising by mixing praise and degradation, but absolutely destroying you with his thrusts and well placed circles on your clit, channeling all the harsh, humiliating energy of verbal degradation instead into how he assaults your body with an overwhelming amount of pleasure. He just doesn't like the idea of lying to you, even if it turns you on in this context, because it just feels wrong to tell you that you're only a hole for me to fuck, and holes don't talk. You're not - you're so much more than that, and he doesn't want you to think otherwise. Hell no, not with all the work he's put into making you get comfortable with him and want him. One roll around on the liviing room floor (he'd gotten impatient and didn't feel like making the thirty step journey to the bedroom) isn't worth reversing months worth of warming you up to him. Not even if you leave his back scratched up or end up so stuffed full of his cum that you're literally leaking.

Nobunaga Hazama is, frankly, just thankful and elated that you're touching him. He's delusional, compeltely out of touch with reality, and fucking weird, but he's also a major sap and literally gets heart eyes everytime he sees you. And so, in the bedroom he wants everything to be as close and sensual as possible, and for every bit of pleasure and love shared between the two of you to be expressed in full. This, of course, includes any and all noises he draws out of you - that is, Nobunaga has to have you gasping and keening and moaning. He's loud himself, and he expects sex to be full of wanton cries and a cacophany of sound; one that you are expected to eagerly contribute to. And if you don't deliver? Well, Nobunaga will just try harder, licking at your faster or thrusting harder or pinching tighter - anything and everything to get you to make a damn sound, to give stop him from having to confront the reality that you aren't enjoying this nearly as much as he is. He gets turned off when you're quiet, which is a real bummer if you aren't naturally loud - you have to be, because he won't quite until you are, even if that takes hours and hours and hours.

Alternatively, Franklin Bordeau can tell when you're faking it, and he doesn't like that. At all. He doesn't want your forced moans or fabricated shaking or anything that isn't real - he wants you, your genuine reactions to his touch, and your genuine personality in bed. He doesn't want you to sound like some pornstar - with your moans constant and high and shrill and more pained than pleasured - for two main reasons, the first of which being that it's just annoying. He's never understood the allure of a woman screaming during sex, and even in the context of actual, real pleasure, it still makes him uncomfortable. It's too close to the sounds he hears when he's working a heist - he doesn't want you to sound like them, because he has no intentions of hurting you and just the mere thought of you bloodied is enough to get him soft immediately and clutching onto you like you'll disappear any moment. The second reason why he doesn't want you to be forcing anything is because although he's decently confident in his sexual abilities, he knows he isn't making you feel that good. He's sure him fingering you isn't capable of getting you gasping and whining his name constantly - sure, it feels good, and you'll probably moan and sigh, but still. When he's fucking you, he's hopeful that you'll cry out his name, but he knows you shouldn't be screaming and rythmically, shrilly moaning. He values honesty, and hearing your real, raw reactions to his touch and his presence feels a thousand times more pleasurable than anything you could ever forcibly manufacture - especially your orgasms. He can always tell when you're faking, so don't try it. Don't.

Honestly, it's pretty difficult to get Shalnark turned off. He's kinky, adventurous, and misinterprets a lot of your responses during sex - he likes to think you're just as wild as he is, and even when you clearly don't like something, he still thinks seeing you struggle is just as arousing. (Besides, most of the time he will get you to orgasm - and seeing the internal dilemma of hating what he's doing alongside the pleasure you can't hold back is absolutely delicious.) That said, there are very specific situations that Shalnark doesn't find any attraction in - specifically, he absolutely is not willing to be cucked. Having another person in the room while he fucks you hard enough to make you cry isn't a problem at all - on the contrary, he's very, very interested in that idea, because having another man watch him claim you makes both his possessiveness and nostrils flare, his palms getting sweaty and his pants feeling tight. Cucking, on the other hand, implies that there's someone else touching you - another person sullying you, getting their disgusting hands on your perfect skin that's all his his his, and that's just simply unacceptable. He didn't go through all that trouble of kidnapping you and keeping you in a secure location just to have you touched, fucked, loved by another man. It doesn't matter if it's a stranger or someone Shalnark trusts with his life - you will not be getting intimate with another soul for the rest of your life, simply because he firmly sees you as his property, and him yours. So don't even bother bringing the idea up - he'll fuck you in front of the stranger, no problem, but they're prohibited to strictly watching. (Or, maybe, they'd be good at helping get those camera angles that are really tough to capture - right up in your face, or right zoomed into where his length - flushed red and swollen - is sinking into you over and over, the home video the perfect thing to watch tonight as he cuddles you to sleep.)

Alternatively, Machi Komacine can't stomach the thought of doing anything public. It's not that she fears getting caught, but rather that it makes her uncomfortable that anyone could see the two of you. Someone could just pass by and happen to get an eyeful of you - your pretty skin and curves, your lovely body that her eyes always seem to get stuck on, watching, wanting, yearning. She's not spontaneous in any way when it comes to sex, and she just doesn't see the allure of the risk or danger involved. She's too possessive; it takes her so long to even allow herself to see you naked, and to have a stranger do that and even see your face while she's pleasuring you, while you're coming? The thought makes her nen flare up, the urge to wrap you in her arms and keep the world from even catching a glimpse of you only growing stronger. Even aside from her possessiveness, the idea of doing something where others could see you makes her nervous, too, because Machi isn't entirely confident in her abilities to actually please you in the bedroom. Sure, she understands female anatomy and has a good sense of what you like from all that stalking, but actually doing it? That's a different thing entirely - and the pressure of pleasing you coupled with the pressure of other people potentially watching her struggle makes her feel uncomfortable, a foreign, heavy sense of self doubt settling heavily in her gut. It's just not for her - sex belongs in the bedroom, or perhaps the couch or kitchen table. Not outside of your 'shared' apartment, and certainly not where someone else could get an eyeful of what's hers.

Pakunoda will still jump on the opportunity to pleasure you and be pleasured, but in general she'll be hesitant if the both of you are still fully clothed. She doesn't see the appeal of clothed sex - she wants you completely bared to her, utterly raw, your body on display for her to worship and touch and mark. She thinks keeping the clothing on is not only impractical, but diminishes the intimacy between the two of you. You'll get all sorts of sticky, hard to clean things staining the clothes, and because she can be a little snobby about materialistic delights like luxury clothing, she's not exactly keen on getting your slick all over her nice clothes. (Although, she wouldn't be entirely opposed to having your slick all over her skin, like you're leaving a mark of possession on her. Just not the clothes.) Clothes stop her from being able to fully explore your body, and, as much as she'd never admit it, when you have your clothing on it makes it much harder to use her nen on you. That is, while it makes her feel a little dirty and slimy, she will be using her ability to dig into your memories for any information on your kinks and fantasies, just because she wants to make sex as perfect and pleasurable for you as she possibly can. So shed the layers with her - it makes things so much better. Plus, the sight of you bare and squirming underneath her, looking all pretty and submissive and cute is certainly a drool worthy sight.

All things considered, Shizuku Murasaki is actually kind of picky about sex. She likes things to be her way or the highway, and as her darling you'll be forced to go along with all of her preferences and wants. And while she loves all things oral, there are a few things she's absolutely unwilling to do. Namely, while she worships you and cherishes you as much as a mass-murderer can, she will not indulge you in anything involving your asshole. It's a cleanliness thing for her; she knows you're clean (she'd just bathed with you this morning and personally hand washed you, paying very, very careful attention to your cunt), but she has a mental block against having her mouth anywhere near that part of you. She's always felt this way with every partner she's had - she just doesn't understand the allure of anal, whether that be fingering, oral, or penetration. She'd much, much rather pay attention to other areas of your body - your pussy, your thighs, your breasts, your mouth. She'll always shy away when she's got her face between your legs, but unfortunately for you, this courtesy does not extend to you too. She doesn't expect you to do anything with her ass, but she certainly won't stop you if you're getting too close, or if you get the desire. She'll just blink at you and tell you to be careful, then pull your head in by your hair and get you closer and closer and closer, enjoying the experience despite herself. Shizuku is a little hypocritical in a lot of aspects in sex, but this is one particular area where she's absolutely unfair.

Hisoka Marrow is a freak in every sense of the word. Genuinely, there is very, very little you could do that would cause him to fall out of the mood, or to rid him of the insistant, raging boner nearly everything you do gives him. He'll try anything once, and he firmly believes in keeping your sex life interesting and varied. That said, he certainly has preferences, and one thing that sits quite low on his list of preferred bedroom activities is to be worshipped. It's not that he doesn't want your attention and praise (he does, urgently), but rather that there's something about the position of being the one drowned in compliments and confessions of love that makes him a little uncomfortable. Perhaps it's because he's not used to being in such a submissive, vulnerable position, or maybe it's because he doesn't feel like he's got enough control of the situation. It doesn't really matter, because Hisoka will always send teasing remarks your way when you get the courage to be the dominant one, and that will almost always derail you enough to get you steering away from any territory that gets dangerously close to becoming too vulnerable and real for him. He loves you in his own twisted, strange way, but he's not ready to open himself up fully to you, to let you take full charge and just take care of him. He may never be ready, really, so any dreams you have of fully dominating him and reducing him to a trembling, fucked out mess will have to remain just that - dreams.

In general, Illumi Zoldyck will try most things you suggest. It's not that he's especially adventurous in the bedroom, but rather that you're the first person he's ever had any sexual contact with, and everything with you feels good, so he wants to try it all. He has very few boundries when it comes to you, and so consequently, there aren't too many things that turn him off. However, he does have two surefire things that he'll immediately and vehemently outright refuse. Firstly, he will absolutely not wear any protection. He turns his nose at the thought of condoms, and will only laugh in your face if you suggest using them for obvious reasons. He will be entering you in the most natural way possible, and he will be finishing as deeply inside of you as he can manage. Secondly, he absolutely will not allow another person to be involved in your sex life. There will be no third person in your bed, no other person for you to be pleasuring and be pleasured by. There is only you and Illumi - it's your sex life, and it makes his possessiveness flare up to dangerous proportions to imagine another person seeing you in such a vulnerable, intimate position. So really, don't even bother bringing up the idea - he won't even consider it, already shooting it down before you're finished getting the sentence out. (And after he finishes lecturing you about how another man or woman has no place in your bed, he'll promptly fuck you right then and there - no matter where you are - just to prove his point. He's all you need, after all.)

Sex with Kurapika Kurta is soft and sensual. It can be a little rougher if he's had a particularly bad day, or if he's recently had a run in with the Troupe, but for the most part he makes love rather than fucks. And because of this, he really, really doesn't like seeing you cry during sex. It makes him uncomfortable, his instincts begging him to comfort you and eliminate whatever caused your tears. He associates crying with the early days of when he'd kidnapped you, back when you were still terrified of him and much too scared to even stand to look at him, much less allow him to touch you. And particularly in the context of sex, he does not want to be reminded of all the horrible things he's done to you - things are good now, happy, and you've finally come around to the idea that he loves you, that you'll spend the rest of your life with him. And so, the moment there are tears beading at your eyes, he's immediately going soft, his palms cupping your cheeks as he stares wildly at you, asking in a rushed, still breathless voice if you're alright, if you're hurt, if you're upset and who he needs to kill to right this wrong. He overreacts, and it always, always turns into either self hatred aimed at himself for ruining your happiness, or a bloodthirsty desire to kill whoever is upsetting you. The only exception to his hatred of you crying is when it's done because you're too overstimulated, the pleasure too much for you to even process. When you're so fucked out from the pleasure he gave you, then the tears are acceptable. He still doesn't like them all that much, but it's at least a sign that he's treating you well, that he's able to make you feel good and pleasured, and it makes pride swell in his chest. So in general, try not to cry in front of him - he goes flaccid in mere seconds, his protective nature ramping up and any semblance of sexiness gone immediately.

When Leorio Paradinight has you in bed, he's almost in a state of utter awe, almost unable to really process what's going on. He's just so incredibly aroused by you, even if you're just laying beside him with your clothes fully on, and because of this he's game to try pretty much anything you want in bed. He's genuinely just so fucking excited to be with you that he'll do basically anything you want, no matter how degrading or gross or off the wall. That said, however, he doesn't really understand the appeal of pet play. He doesn't harbor any fantasies of you donning a set of bunny ears or a tail or anything of the sort, simply because he doesn't really like fantasies that change you, even if it's something as trivial as your ears. He thinks of you as perfection, and that includes every proportion of your body, every freckle, mole, hair and blemish you could have, and he doesn't want to pretend that you aren't exactly who - and what - you are. Besides, he just doesn't see the appeal; he wants you to talk and moan for him when he's touching you, not have you purr or whine or any other animal noise. He thinks it's a little weird, if he's being honest, and while he'll begrudgingly agree if you beg him to try it out (he'll do anything to see you smile, after all), his orgasm won't come as pathetically easily as normal. This extends to pet play where he's the one dressing up as a pet, too - he's more likely to enjoy it this way, but there's something humiliating about the butt plug tail and the fox ears, and it's humiliating in all the wrong ways. He's just not too big of a fan - now if you wanted to get some sort of ownership roleplay going that didn't involve pets or animals, he'd be all over that - the moment you refer to yourself as mommy or his mistress, he's practically creaming his pants, getting on his knees for you and begging for you to touch him. (And maybe even step on him, depending on how needy he's feeling that day.)

Razor, despite sometimes losing control in bed and getting a little rougher than he means to, will never willingly hit you in bed. He doesn't like the idea of slapping you. He might gently pat your ass when you're bouncing on top of him, but it's only just enough to make you yelp, only enough to make a slight smack noise of skin against skin. Hitting you - even in the context of sexual pleasure - reminds him too much of his younger days, back when he was a criminal and was much less controlled, much more dangerous. And really, that's the last thing he wants you to see him as - he wants you to take comfort in him, to want him to hold you and touch you, and he's sure that even if you want him to get rough with you and manhandle you, to smack your cheek and tell you to behave for him, you will start associating him with pain and violence. And he just can't have that - not after all the work he's gone through to prove that despite kidnapping you, he's not the monster you think he is. (Besides, there's just something more meaningful about softer, sweeter sex - he's fucked more women than he'd care to admit, but you're the first one he's gone slow with, the first one he's really taken his time with. And while it might be stupid, that makes you different in his eyes - like he's saved something special for you, like the passionate, romantic side of him that comes out when he's got you naked and stretched out on his fingers is something only you'll ever get to see.)

Another man who tries to keep things a bit vanilla in the bedroom (not for the same reasons as Razor, but rather because he just genuinely prefers more intimate and tame sex) is Knuckle, who can't stand the thought of recording your intimate times. He does objectively think the idea is a bit hot, but he's too worried that somehow the recordings will get leaked, that somehow other people will get their hands on precious recordings of him making love to you, of him making you moan and sigh and fall apart on his tongue and fingers and cock. He views the time you both spend together in the sheets as being almost sacred, like something special that's reserved only for the two of you, and having a camera rolling would just make everything feel too impersonal. It would make him nervous, too, because he'd want to rewatch the tapes with you just so he can see your face the whole time (he tends to lose himself the closer he gets to his orgasm, and always buries his face in your neck to try and make himself last longer, so he misses seeing your facial expressions when he's finishing inside you), but he'd be worried about the way he looks, about whether he looks attractive to you, dominant to you, sexy to you. However, despite his reservations about recording himself fucking you, he will photograph you in the pretty, feminine lingerie he buys for you. He'll get a new color or cut, and have you try on the set, posing for the camera while he takes a few shots, his pants visibly straining around his swollen cock because god, you look good. He'll keep the photographs in his pants pocket and never, ever share them, always looking back at them when he's away on missions and missing you. He's a bit hypocritical, but the moment a camera gets trained on him, he's turning red and clamming up.

Morel is another one who's very flexible in the bedroom, and would be difficult to completely turn off. However, one thing that Morel just simply can't get behind is watersports. He'll try it, if you really beg him to, but he just doesn't like it. It feels unsanitary to him (and god, the mess), but even beyond that it just feels a little degrading, and not in a good way. If you really, really pushed him on it, he'd give in and do as you please, reluctantly forcing himself to release onto you, but the entire time he'd be feeling guilty, discomfort eating at him because isn't it horribly disrespectful to be literally pissing on you? He loves you, and it just sits wrong with him. He'll refuse after that first time, and while he's not particularly into it, if you really, really wanted to, he'd let you reverse the roles. He's not particularly eager to have you wet yourself or piss on him, but that's better because now at least you're the one in the position of power. Plus, you're begrudgingly a little cute when you get all embarrassed about it. But still, it's most definitely not something he desires, and while he'd entertain your fantasies once in a blue moon, it certainly won't be a regular occurrence in your sex life together.

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