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badingsm · 8 months

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Warnings: cursing, mentions of sex, puking, homophobia, (?)...

Note: Back again with another AU that I couldn't get out of my head for a while now. It might be confusing, but let's be patient, babes.

"Cum for me, baby." Natasha mumbled hotly in your ear, biting your earlobe sexily while she drew desperate circles in your clit. She wanted you to come first before she let herself get the relief that she's been chasing with you ever since you both started.

You're an award-winning actress in Hollywood, while she's an Avenger. Both of you have this image that people look up to. The industry and the world are still skeptical about this kind of relationship, but you didn't care—at that moment, you didn't care at all.

You even love it.

You love the feeling of sudden relief, like a breath of fresh air after the suffocating years of trying to appear as someone you're not. It gets exhausting, but you love your job; it's your passion, so you keep going even if the fan base (if you can call it that) is toxic most of the time.

Your management—jesus, they're very controlling.

They tell you what to do, what to say, how you should act, how you should talk, how you should keep quiet unless they ask you to speak, and why to ignore the fans around the streets waiting for you—it's suffocating.

Everything is suffocating.

So, here, you've promised that you'll let go.

You'll be yourself, get the air that you were desperate to get, and leave.

"Fuck!" Natasha growled in your ear as she shot her loads inside you, completely forgetting about the fact that she didn't wear any condoms because you were both so desperate for each other after flirting for an hour and a half in the bar. "Oh shit.."

"Feels good." You sighed contentedly with closed eyes. Your breaths were still heavy due to exhaustion, but you didn't care as you realized what just happened; your eyes shot up immediately. "Natasha!"

"Oh, god, I'm sorry," She apologized profusely, cursing herself lowly, "I-I just got carried away.."

"Fuck.." You sighed after a while, shrugging, "Well, we obviously can't turn back around."

"I'm really sorry.."

"Don't worry, my period's irregular," You assured her, making her eyes light up all of a sudden while you sat up to go clean yourself and get dressed. You raised your brow curiously and asked, "Why? You don't like kids?"

"Oh.." Natasha couldn't answer that.

"Hey, it's fine-"

"No, no, it's okay," She said quickly before biting her inner cheeks as she looked away. "..I don't think I'll ever want one of my own."

You wanted to ask why, but it was clear to you that she didn't feel comfortable about the subject, so you decided to drop it instead.

So, in short, she doesn't want to have a kid.

"Okay." You smiled at her on the bed; she was leaning her head against her folded arm. "I'll get going now, Natasha. Nice to meet you!"

"Definitely nice, detka," She winked flirtily, making you blush in the dimly lit room while you headed towards the door. "See you around, dorogoy."

"Hey, hon," Dominique, your co-actress, sauntered towards your trailer with a book in her hand, "We're on in an hour—you look pale, are you okay?"

"Yes," You assured her, frowning quickly, "I think my stomach's just upset; that's why I keep on puking. I'm fine though."

"So, have you eaten?" She raised her signature brow. "I know your habits, honey; you should eat, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." You rolled your eyes before plopping yourself above your comforter, patting the space beside you so she could sit, which she obliged easily. "I'm not really hungry, though."

"Doesn't mean you have to skip your food." She reprimanded like a mother, "I'll go get some food on the booth. "Wait there. Move and you'll lose a limb, I swear."

You whined, "But I'm not hungry-"

"You should eat, honey!" Dominique scolded, looking at you sternly for a measured minute before turning it into a smirk. "Besides, you need some energy for our bed scene later, you know, so you could keep up-"

"Dominique Sabine!" You whisper-shouted, flushing embarrassingly, which made her giggle. "Fine, fine! Get the food, go away! Shoo!"

With a teasing laugh, she left with a wink, while you sat there with a sigh, rubbing your pulsating temples.

Maybe it's just exhaustion; you should really rest and have a healthy relationship with food so this will stop.

Yeah, that's it..

"Shit!" Dominique cursed with closed eyes, acting like she was fucking you from behind while you stood there, bent over the bed, having your mouth open wide in a practiced act of pleasure.

At this moment, the pulse of your veins inside your head keeps on getting stronger, and it didn't help that your ass is being slapped repeatedly against the mattress while acting, making your surroundings spin uncontrollably.

You tried so hard to fight it, but it didn't let you win because it had gotten worse with every move and every noise that you heard, so without further choice, you stood up slowly, completely halting the scene.

"Hey, what's wrong, hon?" Dominique questioned immediately, worry lacing her tone. "You're pale. Jesus, what's happening with you?!"

"I'm fine, I just need some-" Your vision began to blur, and before you even knew it, black dots had taken over your eyes, making you collapse unconsciously.

"Well, she's here, in the hospital, and you should really-" Dominique cut herself off from talking frantically on the phone when she saw you slowly stir into consciousness. She was quick to go over to your side and say, "Hey, hon, how are you feeling? Should I call the doctor? I'll call the doctor.."

She rambled; her hands were shaking.

She was always the sister that you've never had, so this reaction that you see from her is what you guess is a normal one. Even though she had a flirty side, you treated her like your own blood, but sometimes you also responded to her remarks, making her a little flustered, which is something you love to see.

"Good morning." Minutes later, a female doctor entered with a nurse and Dominique behind her. "I'm Doctor Rialle, in charge of your health concerns. How are you feeling, Miss?"

"I'm fine now; we have a shoot, so I should probably get back and-"

"Oh, I believe you should really take a rest."

You raised your brow at that. "And why is that?"

"It's because you're pregnant, Miss Y/n, congratulations!"

And with that, your world seemed to slow down.

"Why? You don't like kids?"

"..I don't think I'll ever want one of my own."

You remembered that, and...

"Fuck, no, I can't be!" You shook your head, looking at her pleadingly to tell you otherwise while ignoring the shocked face of Dominique around the corner. "No.."

"I'll have to leave you for now, Miss Y/n." Doctor Rialle bid her goodbye when she heard her name being called on the speaker for an emergency. "I'll see you around."

"Yeah, no shit.." You deadpanned, still processing the bomb that was dropped on your feet. You then faced your friend, who was gazing at you with an unbelievable expression, and said, "Well, I guess I have to take a break now?"

"Who the fuck is the father?!"

"Yeah, let's not mention her here. She doesn't want to do anything about kids, so I guess it's just me and this." You pointed at your stomach with a frown.

With a furrowed brow, you gently caressed the invisible bump. Even though you weren't prepared for this, you couldn't, for the life of you, kill an innocent child inside your womb.

You love your career, you really do, but with this thing now with you, you knew they wouldn't stop asking, so with a deep sigh, you made a decision for yourself and for your soon-to-be baby, of course.

You don't want any issues; you want to have a quiet journey, which is why you wanted to take a break from everything and hide away for a few years, perhaps. You're not really sure what to do anymore.

Until then, you will try to be a mother to an unborn child with an Avenger mother who doesn't want to deal with any kids.

She made it clear to you when you asked her.

She doesn't want to have kids.

So, there's no need to talk anymore; you have to do this all by yourself because you don't want to give Natasha another responsibility that she probably wouldn't like.

"I'm leaving."

For good.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff au #natasha romanoff fluff #g!p natasha #intersex natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff angst

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shinolavolume1 · 2 months

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my blog utilizes irregular time signatures, polymeters, syncopations and tempo changes

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balkan-marie · 1 month

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Fan splatband based on my culture!

The band's name is "7/8 Craze"

They're called like this because Bulgarian folk music, dances and singing are characterized by unevenly divided (irregular) time signatures, also called Bulgarian Rhythms (7/8, 9/8, 11/8 and so on). The most unusual Bulgarian dance is in the 25/16 [7/8 7/8 11/8] time signature.

More about the characters below cause it's a lot. (Appreciate it if you read it)

The first man is called Stamen, 21y.o. He's from the Shopluk region (Western Bulgaria). The Shopi people are said to be very stubborn and selfish people who refuse to change, have good sense of humor and are not that smart. For example, Once upon a time three Shopi climbed on top of the Vitosha Mountain. There was a thick fog in the valley so they thought it was cotton. They jumped down and perished. Or another one about a Shop buying a soap thinking it's something to eat, he began to eat it but soon his mouth was filled with foam. He said: "Foam or not, it cost money, I shall eat it."

Stamen thinks his region's dances and music are superior because the Shopluk has the most complex and fast dances. He also refuses to go to Inkopolis plaza, Inkopolis square or Splatsville. He prefers to live in his small village. Stamen plays the instrument kaval.

The second woman is my splatsona, she decided to join the group cause she was bored. The rest of the members forget that she exists, they can't remember that she's a girl and mistake her for a boy, nor does anyone in the group know her name. She's rarely hanging out with the band and spends her time alone or walking around with her Smallfry. She's from Thrace and plays the gadulka.

The third woman is Galya (21y.o). She's also from the Shopluk region and is married to Stamen. She's as stubborn and not very smart as Stamen, but more goofy. She plays the tambura and does the choir singing. Galya tries to talk to the nameless girl once in a blue moon or just tells her to keep her hair safe.

Fourth man is Momchil, 23 y.o., he plays the kaba gaida (a bagpipe from the Rhodope mountains). He gets easily distracted and he's often staring at Zornitsa. His friends from his village warn him about the woman because there's something suspicious about her but he doesn't listen*. Momchil is calm, disciplined, quiet guy and a fish (but idk what type yet)

Fifth woman is Zornitsa(unknown age, but is an adult). She's yuda-samovila (similar to a Samodiva), an evil female mythical creature in a human (or should I say inkling here) form in Bulgarian folklore/mythology. Sometimes these women appear in front of young men, bewitch them with their beauty and trick them into marrying them, then take the man's soul. Zornitsa also can choir sing. She's from the Rhodopes.

The sixth man - Bai Chavdar [Ol' uncle Chavdar] is the oldest of all, 60 years old man. He's the founder and leader of the group, he plays the tupan and can sing. Bai Chavdar gets in arguments with Stamen pretty often. He is a sprat fish and he's from Thrace.

The band got known to the public when the unknown girl played 7/8 Craze's music in the waiting lobby, getting the other inklings/octolings' attention then spreading to everyone and even the salmonids.

*Momchil and Zornitsa are inspired from this video with similar designs, 11:13 time stamp. To understand them better.

#splatoon #splatbands #splatband #Fan splatband #Splatoon oc #I was wondering if embroidery in Splatoon universe is mix of those tiny squid/octo drawings and actual embroidery?#Didn't do it for the frame sorry but Stamen has it #7/8 Craze

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ace-of-clubs-and-diamonds · 6 months

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And here’s Blood Fest Week 3, with the keywords “twisted” and “fixation” and the prompts “traps” and “rage”!! “Traps”, of course, got me thinking about Saw. And since I’m down terribly bad for Amanda and have seen appallingly few fics for her…. well, why not? Underrated characters are kind of my signature anyway.

Hope y’all enjoy! <3

Too Late I’m Dead

AO3 link: Here

Pairing: Amanda Young x AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Word count: 5,160

Content warnings: Gore, mentions of self-harm (both in the Jigsaw trap context and the more typical context), trauma, PTSD, angst, discussions of disability (since a lot of Jigsaw traps are disabling), Saw is its own warning, smoking, alcohol consumption, flirting, kissing, making out, biting, vaginal fingering, friends to lovers, as is Saw tradition gay shit goes down in the bathroom, reader is AFAB but gender neutral

“Hi everyone. My name is Brandon and…. I’m a Jigsaw survivor.”

A subdued chorus of Hi Brandons echoed around the small church room. You barely even bothered to mouth the words. The gesture felt about as empty as the tipped over plastic water bottle you’d discarded by your chair some time ago. There was coffee at the sad makeshift snack table too, as well as a box of pastries that looked a few days past their prime, but you figured you didn’t need the caffeine to make you any more jittery than you already were. Your leg was bouncing enough as it was.

“It’s been about a year since uh. Well.” Brandon smiled nervously and made a vague, fluttery gesture with his hands. “Well. You know.”

A quiet, obligatory response from the other people – a murmur, a nod of heads. You stared at your bouncing knee.

“I’ve made great progress with my recovery. My knees have healed really well. I can fully walk on them again, even run if I’m careful. My dog Rex doesn’t really like it when I’m careful though.” He laughed fondly. A couple others offered the obligatory chuckle. “They hurt if I get too eager with stairs. Or if it’s too humid. But it’s going really well. I’m really, really proud of the progress I’ve made.” He nodded, as if assuring himself.

He’d had to break both his knees in order to get out of his trap. Was in a wheelchair for months and only recently started moving around without it. Or so you’d been told.

You weren’t sure you’d be able to break your own knees.

“Somedays, though.” Brandon looked away from the loose circle you all formed. Blinked rapidly. “Somedays, it feels like I haven’t made any progress. Somedays it’s hard. Really hard. And it feels like I didn’t survive that trap. Or if I did, some part of me got left behind.”

Everyone else was nodding, some with sad, understanding smiles on their faces. Your own pulse thundered in your ears like a distant, approaching storm.

“It’s really hard to have hope on those days, but…. what else can I do?” He shrugged, a helpless smile on his face. “Give up? Wallow around in my own misery? I can’t live like that. No one can live like that. Not forever. You just have to choose. You have to make a choice, just like the choices we made to be here. You have to choose to live. You have to choose hope. Or else you just can’t survive.”

You shot to your feet, heartbeat pounding in your ears, chair scraping back. Every face in the room turned to look at you. The church felt too small. Your ribs felt too tight. You felt too…. seen.

Who was he to judge you for wallowing in what you’d fucking gone through?

You spun around and bee-lined for the exit.

The cool city air against your face was a relief as you barged through the church’s double doors. But you stopped in your tracks as you spotted someone else already there. A woman was sitting on the church stairs. She twisted around, eyebrows raised and half-hidden by the choppy, irregular bangs across her forehead.

“Uh. Hey,” you said, somewhat awkwardly.

She paused, as if uncertain. Of what? You weren’t sure. “Hey,” she eventually said back. Then, after another pause, she twisted further around, a frown crossing her features. “Is the meeting over?”

“No. I just needed some air.” Fuck, you needed something to calm yourself. You dug around in your jacket pockets until you found a lighter and a cigarette. “Um. Do you mind if I…?”

She stared at the cigarette in your hand with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher, but eventually shook her head no. You internally shrugged and lit up. The first drag uncoiled the tension that had built up in your muscles, and you breathed the smoke out on a relieved sigh.

The woman glanced between you and the church doors. “Having fun in there?”

Did she know? The place didn’t exactly advertise, but it wasn’t exactly a secret either. You scanned her face. She looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t quite place her. Had you seen her in the meetings before? “Oh, yeah, lots. You know. Fun therapy shit.” Supposedly, anyway. It was supposed to be some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous shit, but instead it was for the few survivors of an active fucking serial killer. Jigsaws Anonymous or whatever the fuck.

“Must be going well if you’re out here,” she said dryly, resting her chin on a propped-up fist.

You shrugged, taking another drag. “Well…” Did you really want to tell her about how Brandon’s words had hit just a little too close to home? How they’d made you feel too small, as if the sticks you’d used to prop up your fragile post-trap reconstruction of the world had suddenly snapped, and the weight of it all was now bearing down on you? She was a stranger waiting outside the church. She could’ve been some Jesus freak for all you knew.

Not that she really looked like one. Not with the sheer red shirt over a black bra and fishnet undershirt, or the combat boots, or the sheer exhaustion around her eyes.

She looked less like a Jesus freak and more like you did on the days you could bear to look in the mirror.

So you just shrugged again. “It can be a lot,” you said. “What about you? What’re you doing out here?” You hesitated. “There’re still seats open if you wanted to…”

“No thanks. I’m good.” She offered you a close-lipped smile. “I’ve heard enough of the sob-stories.”

Yeah. You could understand that.

She didn’t look like she was going anywhere, and you didn’t exactly have plans of your own. So you gestured to the stairs next to her. “Mind if I sit?”

“Be my guest.”

You sat to her right so the wind wouldn’t blow cigarette smoke into her face. The smooth grey stone steps were wide enough that it didn’t feel quite so awkward sitting in silence together. Even though you could feel her analyzing you as you took another puff.

You blew the smoke away and smirked dryly at the cigarette. “Think Jigsaw’s gonna put me in another deathtrap for smoking?” You ignored the tightening in your chest as you said the words. Ignored the tremor of unease. Surely it wouldn’t be enough. Surely lightning wouldn’t strike twice.

“He wouldn’t do that.” She said it with such simple certainty, as if it was an inarguable fact. Even still, you found yourself stubbing the cig out and searching for a trash can to toss it into. You didn’t want to just flick it into the grass. Maybe Jigsaw would get you for littering. Maybe he was really passionate about saving the planet.

Who needed to be God-fearing with the possibility of Jigsaw watching your every move?

You shook the thought off. Introduced yourself to the woman. You smiled awkwardly. “Um. I’d offer you my hand but my, uh–” Personal hell “–Trap involved a hand thing so. I’m not a big fan of handshakes these days.” It had taken a long time for the nerves to repair themselves in your hand. A long time and a shitton of agony and medication and physical therapy. You still hadn’t totally gotten rid of the tremor. Fine motorskills were still harder than before.

Before. That.

But the woman just gave a rueful, understanding sort-of smile. Funny how people smiled so much in the presence of trauma and pain. “Amanda. I still have trouble going to the dentist sometimes.”

Shit, that’s where you knew her from, wasn’t it? You’d heard of her, read about her before, seen a clip of her punching a journalist square in the nose when she tried to follow her. All the photos you’d seen had been such shit quality that you hadn’t recognized her immediately.

Amanda Young. The person who killed a man and rummaged around his guts to free herself from the machine hooked into her jaws. The first person to walk away from a Jigsaw trap. The first survivor. In a weird, fucked up way, it was almost like meeting a celebrity. A celebrity for the most depressingly specific thing possible.

You weren’t sure whether it would make things weird to bring that up. So you just nodded. “So. What’re you doing here then? Are you waiting for someone?”

“Mm no, not really.” Amanda scraped at the chipped black polish on her nails. “I just like to come here sometimes.”

You stared at her. Something about her reminded you of a deer, twitchy and ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger. Or maybe not a deer. Deer looked like they’d snap in half if the wind blew too hard. Amanda…. did not. She was twitchy, but for some reason you got the feeling that she was just as likely to start kicking as she was to start running

Permanently caught between fight or flight.

You went with freeze, yourself. Or wallow, as Brandon had put it. Anger and embarrassment burned against your ribs.

“Hell of a place to visit.” You weren’t sure if you meant it as a light-hearted joke or a deadpan remark. The words came out somewhere in between.

“You’re one to talk.” She finally turned to you. It was the first time she’d actually met your eyes, you realized. “You actually believe all this bullshit?” she asked, gesturing to the church.

“Not really,” you admitted. “My therapist wanted me to go. Said it would help me to be around others who understand what I went through. That it would help me get closure or something. I didn’t want to. But he insisted.” You shrugged. He’d pestered you about it until you finally gave in a few weeks ago. He thought it would be good for you. Would help you heal. Really, it just made you want to fling yourself out of one of the church’s fancy stained-glass windows.

Amanda gave a derisive snort. You almost took offense until she said, “Half of the time these therapists don’t even know what they’re talking about. It’s a bunch of bullshit, too.” She propped her cheek on her fist again, giving you a side-long grimace. “People don’t change until they have to. Or until they’re forced to. A bunch of psychoanalyzing isn’t going to do anything.”

You…. strongly disagreed. But the slim scar peeking out from her sleeve kept you from saying that. “Bad experience with a therapist?” you asked, flicking your gaze away.

“It never really worked for me.”

“What did?” you asked cautiously.

She paused. Thought about it. Stared at you with an intensity that had you wondering what the hell was going on inside her head. Until eventually, “Jigsaw.”

You blinked. Stared. Tried to figure out how to respond to that.

She thought…. Jigsaw helped?

You didn’t want to judge. Fuck, that was exactly why you’d stormed out of the church. You were self-aware enough to realize that. Different things worked for different people, and different people responded to trauma in different ways, but….

The church doors squealed open. You both shot to your feet and turned around. Your fellow Jigsaw Anonymous members were leaving, the meeting over, spilling out from the doors with all the speed and excitement of molasses being poured out from a jar. You stepped to the side to let them come down the stairs. Amanda did the same, arm brushing yours, and you wrestled the urge to jerk away. You weren’t sure of the last time you’d actually touched someone, or the last time someone had touched you, aside from the gentle but coldly professional hands of doctors and emergency personnel. It was as startlingly foreign as it was familiar.

Amanda seemed completely unaware of your clashing emotions as her gaze locked onto something. You followed her stare to Brandon slowly making his way down the steps. A man with sandy-blond hair and a cane was with him, chatting, the both of them completely oblivious to either of you.

Did she know them? She was staring at them with such an undecipherable intensity and it was the only explanation you could think of. You glanced at the two men again, then back at Amanda. No… she wasn’t staring at them. She was staring at the blond man specifically.

It really wasn’t any of your business, but you couldn’t help but ask, “Do you two know each other?”

“Sorta,” was as much of a response as you got.

Once Brandon and the man reached the bottom of the ramp and went separate ways, Amanda turned back to you. It was just the two of you on the stairs now. And it was a little embarrassing how flustered you were just by her proximity. For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even know her.

Maybe your therapist was right. You did need to get out and be around people more. So you could remember how to fucking act normal again.

“Well.” Amanda bumped her arm against yours again. This time deliberately. You were pretty sure the facial expression you made was not a normal one. “See you round.”

Then she shoved her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants, hopped down the steps, and just. Walked away. You stared after her for longer than necessary.

She was impossible to get a read on. Weirdly confrontational, weirdly evasive, and weirdly magnetic anyway.

You kind of hoped you’d see her again.

She didn’t appear for the next few meetings you obligatorily dragged yourself to. It wasn’t until about a month later that you found her sitting out on the steps again. When you, again, had rushed out to clear your head when the room got too small.

“Hey stranger,” she said, tone somewhere close to teasing. It made you smile. Just a little.

“Hey,” you replied, approaching the stairs. And again, you gestured to the space beside her. “Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest.”

And so you developed a bit of a routine. She appeared on the steps about once a month, for a reason she never shared and that you never really minded. You would sit on the stairs with her, and the two of you would shoot the breeze. It was a comfortable, casual companionship born from a common factor and convenience. It was never anything very deep. Neither of you were there for therapy, not really. You kept it light, casual. That was the point, wasn’t it?

At least until one day when Amanda was standing by the stairs before the meeting had even started. You didn’t bother to hide your surprise as you approached her and exchanged your usual heys.

“You coming in today?” you asked.

“No. I thought we could head somewhere else.” She tilted her head at you. There was a playfulness to her expression, her smile. A playfulness that made you both a little bit cautious and a little bit excited. “Somewhere a little more fun. Unless you want to stay here. For therapy.” She pointedly lifted her eyebrows at you as she said therapy.

You glanced at the church doors behind her. Really, talking to her about anything but the fact that you were both Jigsaw survivors had done a lot more for you than going to these stupid fucking meetings had.

“Only if you promise not to put me in a death game for smoking,” you joked. Or tried to, at least. It really wasn’t that funny. You winced at yourself. But Amanda, to her credit, just linked her arm through yours. You almost preened at the friendly touch.

“Deal,” she said.

She ended up taking you to a bar. A gay bar, more specifically. You were a bit surprised she’d clocked you so easily but never said a word – but then again, neither had you about her. So you supposed you couldn’t be too surprised.

From there, your casual companionship escalated into something much more like a genuine friendship. You got to know each other properly. You talked about your personal lives and hobbies and interests. You even talked a little bit about Jigsaw, and everything after that. You told her how you’d been struggling with insomnia and how you’d lost your job when you stopped showing up. Because of, y’know, being stuck in a deathtrap. And being too terrified to set foot outside your door for a while after. You told her about the new job you’d gotten and struggled to adjust to. And you told her about your hands.

Nails through the palms Jesus-style. Because according to the hoarse voice on the tape that now haunted your nightmares – “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop”. She’d winced as you told her the story one evening. You’d winced as you’d recollected it. The pain shooting through your fingertips, up your arms, into your very fucking bones. The squelch of blood and muscle, the way you hadn’t been able to stop from screaming or the tears from spilling as you twisted and ripped your hands free of the metal spikes.

It was a miracle they didn’t introduced any infections into your bloodstream, the doctors had told you. A miracle.

You told Amanda how your hands still shook, were still a bit weak. How some days they were worse and some days they were better. And how fine motor skills had become hard now, whereas before you’d taken them for granted. God, had you taken them for granted. You’d been able to write your name, use a knife and fork, all that shit, so damn easily.

It had taken a lot of getting used to.

Amanda has just listened and nodded her head. Understanding. Not offering the grating sympathy people so often flung your way, all the while looking uncomfortably unsure of what to do with your presence and your hands and your experience and your trauma. But Amanda understood. Because of course she did. She knew what you’d been through and where you were coming from.

And she’d even smiled a bit mischievously, glancing down at your hands on the bar counter, and said, “Well, if you ever need help with anything, I’m pretty good with my hands. I could always lend a finger or two.”

Maybe it was the little smirk on her face, the glint in her eye when she said it. Maybe it was the loneliness and then the sudden friendship. Or maybe you’d just been a little too buzzed, but her words had remained lodged in your mind as you tried to go to sleep that night.

Amanda had shared things about herself, too, in the time you’d spent together. It had taken a little longer for her to open up – she was a bit slower, a bit more cautious. She seemed a lot more eager to listen than to do the talking. And you couldn’t fault her for that. But eventually, you learned that she worked as a mechanic, knew a lot about fixing and building machines and shit like that. She had a pet guinea pig that she’d acquired entirely by accident. His name was Pigeon. Her favorite color was red, her favorite bands were Nine Inch Nails and Hole, and her favorite movie was The Princess Bride. Her dad was a piece of shit she hadn’t seen in over a decade, and her relationship with her mom was strained at best. She was an only child.

You’d also learned more about her Jigsaw trap. How she’d become a drug addict in prison, how she’d woken up in a Jigsaw trap for it. How the little puppet with swirls on its cheeks had rolled out of the darkness on a tricycle and told her that she’d survived. And how she’d ended up in a trap a second time, a hellish prison of a house with several other people, most of whom had died.

The news had nearly brought your drink back into your throat. Lighting did strike twice after all. He did pick the same victims more than once.

God, maybe you really did need to quit smoking.

Amanda had placed her hand on your arm. Touch gentle but grounding all the same. And she’d assured you that that wouldn’t happen to you, Jigsaw wouldn’t choose you again. He had no reason to. She said it so confidently, and you so desperately wanted to believe her. That you wouldn’t be taken a second time. Or that she wouldn’t be taken a third. Not that she seemed too concerned about it.

That was the strange thing about her. When she told you about what had happened, she stared down at the counter. Her hands shook a little bit. The memory terrified her.

And yet…. she had this fixation on the idea that Jigsaw had helped her. The trap had gotten her off drugs. It had put her on a completely different path in life. Rather than dying from a drug overdose, she’d gotten clean. He saved me, she’d said, eyes wide and earnest and afraid.

You’d fought against the urge to argue that, to say No, he didn’t save you, he almost killed you. The idea of Jigsaw possibly helping – all while you struggled to sleep and were plagued by nightmares as you did, while you struggled to make your handwriting legible, while you fought the urge to bolt back home as soon as the sun started lowering in the sky? The idea felt like swallowing glass.

Had Jigsaw ever made anyone do that?

But you didn’t say any of that to her. People dealt with trauma in different ways. You supposed this was just her way of dealing with it. And it wasn’t really hurting anyone, so who were you to judge?

It certainly didn’t stop you from going to the bar with her regularly. It didn’t stop you from laughing with her, from getting close to her both emotionally and physically till the edge of your seats were almost touching and your arms were practically interlinked.

It didn’t stop the spark of warmth in your chest when she offered a genuine smile. Or the electric feeling that shot through your veins when she traced her fingers over your knuckles one night, after the conversation had lulled and your drinks had gone lukewarm.

“I wanna try something,” she said, voice soft enough that you would’ve missed it had you not been sitting so close your thighs were pressed together.

Eye contact right now would’ve been like staring into the sun. So instead, you stared at her hand on top of yours. Her knuckles were scratched up as if she’d gotten into a fight. “Sure,” you said slowly. “What did you have in mind?”

Amanda turned to you. You cautiously met her gaze. Christ, it really was like looking at the sun. Warm and beautiful but intense. Burningly intense.

Confusion turned to shock as Amanda hooked two fingers into the neck of your shirt and tugged you closer till her lips were hitting yours. You must’ve made a noise of surprise, because she drew away almost immediately. It was all you could do not to chase her and ask why did you stop? A small crease appeared between her eyebrows and she opened her mouth. And God for a second you thought she was going to apologize, when in fact she really didn’t need to because holy shit.

“Oh thank fuck,” you blurted. “You were flirting with me.”

Concern turned to surprise. Then Amanda laughed, the sound pure relief. “Yeah, I was. Did it take you that long to figure it out?” she teased.

“Uh.” Your face warmed. “Maybe.”

She grinned, then grabbed you by the shirt and kissed you again. Gentle but insistent. Her other hand curled around your nape. You didn’t know what the hell to do with your own hands until one curled around her back and the other ended up braced against the bar counter.

The bar counter. Right. You were very much in public. Sure, it was a queer bar, but it was still public.

So you reluctantly pulled away. Amanda looked confused for a moment before you said, “Hey, maybe we should… do this somewhere else?”

She blinked at you. Then, wordlessly, she wrapped a hand around your wrist and pulled you off your seat. She dragged you past the other patrons and tables – it was a quieter night, so you didn’t have to fight through a sea of people – and pushed through one of the bathroom doors, yanking you in with her and locking the door behind you.

“There,” she said. There was a look to her eyes, a look that made your heart stumble and your entire body go warm. “We’re somewhere else.”

This time when she kissed you, you let her fully take the lead. You slid your arms around her and melted into the kiss, sighing against her. It just made her more eager. She prodded at your lips with her tongue, slipped inside with a sweet little moan that had your heart racing. Sent your head spinning. You backed up till you hit a wall, dragging Amanda with because fuck you weren’t breaking this kiss. Not as she was getting to know you with her teeth and her tongue. She tasted like alcohol and peaches, smelled of loam and sweat and faintly of men’s store-brand bodywash. It was heady, intoxicating. Addicting.

Her hands slipped under your shirt. You shuddered at the exposure to the overly air-conditioned bathroom. Shuddered harder at her warm touch roving across your skin, the slight drag of fingernails over your stomach. Amanda broke the kiss with a wet smack as your muscles tensed underneath her.

“You’re so cute,” she teased. She dragged her fingernails over your skin again with just a little more pressure. You arced into her touch. Fuck. Fuck.

You wished you could come up with some kind of response. Something to convey just how much you were aching for her, both emotionally and physically. How badly and how deeply these emotions were running through you. But words were currently beyond your grasp.

Amanda leaned in and nibbled at your neck as her fingers slid past your waistband and teased the edge of your underwear. You clamped your teeth down on your bottom lip. Heat swirled through your veins, in your stomach, at the base of your spine. You moved your hips a little, just a little, to urge her on. Nails dug into the soft flesh there. A whimper escaped.

“Mandyyyyyyy.”

“Yeahhhhhhh?” She was all mischief and smugness as she looked back up at you. It just made you more desperate.

“Mandy. Please?” You gave her your best pleading look.

“You’re so impatient.” She said the words lightly, playfully. But she must’ve been impatient too, because she was pushing your underwear down. When her fingers brushed against your clit, you gasped and dropped your head back against the wall. Fuck, God, yes, right there –

“You sure you only just figured out I was flirting with you? You seem pretty fucking wet already.” She punctuated her words with a slide of her fingers against you. Because yeah, you were fucking wet. It would’ve been a little humiliating if you weren’t so achingly desperate for her touch.

“Yeah, well.” You drew in an unsteady breath as she circled your clit. A teasing touch that wasn’t quite enough. Fuck, it was impossible to form a coherent thought. “You’re just…. really fucking hot.”

It was hardly eloquent. But her breath puffed against your neck in a laugh. And you figured it would do for now.

She kissed the hollow of your throat, firmly rubbed her thumb against your clit. You practically bucked against her. Her other hand hooked under one of your thighs and lifted, and you threw your leg around her waist. Let out a moan at how it changed the sensation. “Yeah, like that,” Amanda breathed. “Just like that.” She said it as if you were touching her, as if she wasn’t the one doing all the work, wasn’t the one making you writhe and whimper and leak over her precise fingers.

Christ, you hadn’t felt this good in a while.

The pace was languorous, exploratory, testing what made you shiver and dig your nails into her shoulders and gasp for breath. As if she was intent on taking you apart and finding out exactly what got you going – a machine to figure out and put back together. Slowly, slowly, but in a way you savored, you felt the tension inside of you building up and coiling tight like a spring. You were quivering. Your clothes clung to your sweat-sheened skin. The music spilling into the bathroom from the bar wasn’t quite enough to cover the ragged breathing and wet, rhythmic noises, and it just made the whole thing feel even dirtier. Especially with how Amanda was panting against you, as if she was getting off just from you getting off and fuck it made you clench.

When she picked up the pace, you weren’t able to stop the gasps and moans that spilled out of you, the way you panted and pleaded her name. The sound of her fingers squelching against you had you burning. And when your release hit you cried out, clenching, shaking, clinging to Amanda’s shoulders and digging your nails in as you rode out the high. She didn’t stop, didn’t relieve the pressure against your clit. White hot pleasure burned through your body till tears pricked at your eyes. Distantly, she said something. Soft, sweet words that didn’t quite reach your ears as they rang from the intensity of your orgasm.

She only stopped when you went limp against her. Only pulled away from the mess you’d made – that she’d made too, really – to wrap her arms around your hips and kiss you, deep and slow, as if trying to commit you to memory. You lazily brushed your tongue against hers. Your muscles felt like taffy, worn out in the best way.

“You were right,” you said when you parted. “You really are good with your hands.”

Amanda grinned so widely and genuinely that you couldn’t stop yourself from capturing her lips again. Fuck. You might’ve been a little bit in love. Or maybe that was the post-sex endorphins talking. You weren’t sure. You didn’t particularly care either way.

“I think I owe you an orgasm,” you said.

Amanda brushed her nose against yours. For the first time since you’d met her, she actually seemed truly, fully relaxed. As if she’d properly lowered her guard just now, just in this moment, just for you. “Maybe next date.” The words sent a flutter through your chest. Next date. There’d be a next date. “But first,” she said, moving away to grab some paper towels, “we gotta get you cleaned up.”

#ace writes #sfbf23 #amanda young #amanda young x reader #saw #notsft #not totally satisfied with how this turned out but fuck it we ball

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justblades · 2 years

Text

QUICKIES WITH THEM !

♡ CHARACTERS : luca kaneshiro, sonny brisko + ren zotto x gender neutral! reader

♡ WARNINGS : SMUT, MDNI. exhibitionism, food play, oral sex, anal sex, public sex, size difference, not proofread.

LUCA KANESHIRO

it all started when the traffic flooded the blacktop highways causing a great headache for both you and luca. numerous beeping sounds, constant revving engines of the vehicles fill the air and you were beyond dismayed. this vacation was supposed to be an enjoyable one free of stress but the first step for it was already . . the complete opposite of the latter. his gloved right hand rubs your thighs in an attempt to soothe the annoyance searing in your mind while his left hand manages the black leather steering wheel.

he continues to keep on the lookout, whipping his head left and right to see if there were any signs of improvement of the situation already. the blond wears his black rimmed aviators as the sun rays' almost blind him from how sweltering hot the summer is— although it was already evident enough from the sweat staining luca's plain, onyx button down with patches of darker shades. you draw a long, blue sigh, irked from the events that keep on transpiring. when suddenly, you feel a thumb drawing viscules and irregular shapes on your clothed region, making you heave a deep breath and look at luca with a horrified expression.

luca pretends to not know why you're glaring daggers and just keeps on doing that. your inner thighs clench from the extreme sensation, the parching temperature making you feel dizzy as well. "luca . ." you murmur as your energy drops down, letting him do to you whatever he has in mind. "let's do something fun to pass the time."

before you knew it, you were straddling luca's lap as he continuously licks and sucks on your neck's sweet spot; all the while his cock was ramming in and out of your velvet walls. you were drained of patience and energy and in return you couldn't do anything but moan in esctasy while the male does all the work. it felt humilating to be doing it when you're surrounded with lots of people, but however, you couldn't care at all for they don't know any of your indentities. plus, this was a first ever public sex you had with luca, you can't stop, not when you're fully lapping his dick up by clamping around his size, seizing this bizarre yet contenting moment. you couldn't stop even when you've been sensing multiple pairs of eyes set on the both of your figures, basking in pleasure in the middle of a heavy traffic. "luca, luca, please faster."

SONNY BRISKO

barging into sonny's office with no forewarnings, you skipped your way inside and welcomed the blond with a tight hug plus a homemade dessert on your hand. "sonny our oh so hardworking vsf officer! here, i baked something for you!" you exclaim as you see sonny's lazulline eyes twinkle with wonder and excitement at the same time. you unwrap the ribbon keeping the container closed and a wonderful sight welcomes his vision.

it was a dark forest cake with his name written on top with the use of neon yellow frostings— solely catered for his preferences and colors he adore. the male dips his finger on the whipped cream which caught you by surprise and proceeded to get a quick taste. "hmmm." he hums, pondering what are the perfect words to describe your masterpiece. sonny then places the cake atop his desk table and pulls you close to his chest, his heart pulsates loud and fast from the thin white button down he was wearing.

you were in a confused state as you couldn't budge but melt from his sweet gestures, but then it all takes a sudden turn when his hands roam down your lower region and his tall nose brushing along the sensitive spot of your ears. "eat first before this." you mumble weakly but sonny's breaths deepens in exchange, getting a proper whiff of your signature scent. "i have my food right here." the flaxen haired responds as he forcibly spreads your legs open, gently stroking your sex with his slender, calloused hands.

it felt absurd to be bent over sonny's office table while loud moans continue to slip out of your mouth. he's licking the neon colored frostings smeared on your naked back as he thrusts his hard dick into your loosening hole, eyes darted on your body— making sure he cleans your skin off the whipped creams. you yelp whenever his tongue flicks lower and lower as well as when he pushes himself deeper and deeper, you swear to heavens it's not like sonny to do this. but you highkey hope this happens more often.

REN ZOTTO

teaching him all about human anatomy, you give him permission to see your body and experiment with you until he finally grasps the concept of each part. it was a ludicrous proposal you asked ren out of the blue— the shocking part of it was he accepted and now you're stuck in this predicament. his sharp rings trace lines on your skin until your lower region, his eyes widening upon examining each detail. you couldn't do anything but to cover your eyes in embarrassment, but when ren touches your genitalia, it almost makes you cream from the feeling.

"what? don't tell me to stop now, something is telling me we're just getting on to the exciting part." his smooth voice chimes into your ears like a big tease, and ren does it again. this time, his pointy, peculiar tongue glides all over your hole's surface. "ren!" you call out to him, wanting to be spared some piece of mercy on your body but he refuses to do so. he uses his hand along with his mouth to lap your sex up endlessly, continuously doing strokes and circling motions around the part.

for a mere mortal, it felt surreal to have your region sucked on by an alien who happened to enjoy too much of your abashed reactions from his skillful movements. "are you sure you're not one of us? you can't be too good at this!" you whine as you clasp your hands on his smooth ebony strands, while ren only beams you a toothy grin in return.

"is there anything you can do to satisfy me too?" he shoots the question and as if another soul took over you, you spread your legs open to let him see all of your body. he hums in approval and licks his lips in anticipation— he finally buries his enormous cock inside your tight walls, the warmth your body exudes is one that comforts the alien in the most sexual way as possible. his pace picks up the more he thrusts into you, to the point you could no longer keep up with his tempo and your pelvis just giving out until the very last pound. "cheeky bastard of an alien are you?" he snickers, sunset and teal irises squinting into two crescent moons. "you just knew?"

my masterlist !

#luxiem #luxiem smut #luca kaneshiro #luca kaneshiro x reader #luca kaneshiro smut #noctyx #sonny brisko #noctyx smut #sonny brisko x reader #iluna #ren zotto x reader #ren zotto smut #sonny brisko smut

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beanibon · 1 year

Text

Mary on a Cross

Prompt: in which an over cocky Nicholas D. Wolfwood thinks you're nothing but a innocent, defenceless reporter. Until you have him crucified on his cross.

Warnings: smut, edging, overstimulation, cock warming, slight religious wording, praise, sexual fantasies, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), face-riding, suffocation, bottom wolfwood and top reader.

A/N: reader is female leaning, but please feel free to interpret reader however you feel comfortable. And don't hesitate to ask for submissions if you want something specific with another character.

🚫 Minors DNI 🚫

A crumpled cigarette hung loosely from Nicholas's heat dried lips, smoke occasionally escaping by irregular puffs of air. The Suns heat wasn't helping his predicament, grunting as glared down at the wavering horizon.

"Fuck, if I had've known you felt this good, I would've fucked you long ago."

A dark chuckled followed, watching as your body contorted by the way he held you, eyes rolled to back of your skull. One hand held you up by your chin, the other mercilessly rubbing your clit. Your back was pressed against him, gagging out a strangled cry of pleasure as Nicholas thrusted in you, the other reason you were being held up, toes just brushing against the burning sand.

"You look just a good as the Punisher in my hands, only this is way more hotter." Nicholas cooed sadistically, a coy smirk gracing his lips.

As he held you, much like he would when whirling his signature cross shaped gun, Nicholas continued to mercilessly fuck your pussy. Rough fingers spreading you open, pinching at the sensitive bud of nerves.

"Wo-Wolfwood. . ." You gasped out, eyes turning to the Undertaker. "Wake. . . Up."

"Huh?" Wolfwood cocked a brow up, ceasing all movement.

"Wake up," You repeated, "wake up."

♡~♡~♡~♡

Nicholas jolted awake, met with a sharp jolt of the car, confirming they were still on the road. Rubbing at his eyes, his gaze turned to small reporter squished in the middle seat.

You looked pathetic as you pouted up at him, a hand placed gently on his chest. Nicholas raised a brow down at you before averting his gaze, hoping his unholy fantasies remained just those.

"Sorry for you waking you, you were just really heavy, plus getting pushed into Vash's metal arm is not as comfortable as you think." A light, yet awkward laugh was heard. You knew Nicholas wouldn't apologise, he never did when he crushed you underneath him, but you at least hoped the Undertaker would be kind enough to take your words into consideration.

"Well it ain't my fault you're so comfortable, sweet cheeks." There is was, the cocky remark you knew was awaiting you.

Releasing a sigh, you shuffled closer to the snoring blonde, hoping it would save you from becoming a pillow yet again. You prayed the next town was close, what you'd give to lay comfortably in a bed, not suffocating between two men in the back-seat.

Eventually Meryl did find a town, and in good time as the cars charge was practically diminished. While everyone stretched their legs, Roberto put you in charge of finding them a place to stay, to which you ran off immediately happy to be away from group for a bit.

Nicholas watched as you walked off, Punisher slung over his shoulder, his previous dream tugged cruelly at his mind. You never paid him any mind despite enduring his constant sly comments, flirtatious nicknames, and much more. Other than that, you were entirely at his mercy, assuming he did that to everyone.

You wasted no time in sorting out rooms, relieved there was at least three still available. You figured the boys could figure out amongst themselves who would bunk with who, leaving the other to rest in peace alone, while you and Meryl share the final room.

Once everyone arrived you filled them all in, Meryl happy she you and her could have some privacy. Finally you two could fill each other in on any gossip, or silent rants you both had to bite back from the rest of your travel companions. You already knew what you wanted to spit out, flashing an annoyed glance up at the Undertaker, who selfishly snatched the single room key from Vash's unsuspecting hand.

You were quick to settle into the comfort of the Motels room, collapsing on the bed, thanking whatever god existed for blessing you with a bed to sleep on. Watching as Meryl unpacked spare clothes, eager to change into something much more light and comfortable in the remaining heat.

"Oh! I forgot to mention, Wolfwood brought your pack from the car." Meryl spoke an a slight agitated tone.

"He didn't think of giving it to me when I handed out the keys? Why does he have to be so annoying, talk about a complete dick." You grumbled, begrudgingly removing yourself from the comfort of the bed. "Guess I'll be back then."

Leaving the room, you approached Wolfwoods room, knocking on the door. He was quick to answer, staring down at you like you disturbed his seconds of relaxation.

"I believe you have my pack, can I have it please." You held out a hand expectantly, only for dark eyes to look you up and down and moving away, door left wide open.

You let out an irritated sigh, entering and heading over to where your pack rested next to the giant cross.

Hearing the door click shut, you turned to give Wolfwood a quizzical look. His dark eyes bore into yours, swallowing thickly as his leaned his weight against the door, blocking your only escape.

"You really piss me off, sweetheart. Standing with your back to me is a dangerous thing, ya know," Wolfwood stalked closer, teeth grinding together. "You seem to make that same mistake constantly, if I didn't know any better I'd say you take pleasure in it."

You had turned your back to him, not taking his words seriously in the slightest.

"Is that so?" You spoke as if distracted, index finger hooking under one of the many straps that kept the Punisher covered.

Two hands found their way onto the curves of your hips, hot breath causing the hairs to rise on your neck. "I'd say you like torturing me, someone ought teach you a-"

"Lesson?" You interrupted, a crazed smirk gracing your gentle lips. "I think it's quite the opposite, you just need to be put in your place."

Wolfwood frowned, grunting in surprised as you caught him by his collar, tugging him closer. He felt his clothes grow tighter, hands squeezing your hips as he pressed against you.

You allowed his advances, busy untying the Punisher from its restraints. It was amusing releasing how oblivious he was to your actions, until you pushed the cross roughly onto the empty bed, snapping the man from his advances.

"Take your clothes off," Nicholas froze, returning his eyes to you. His expression was clearly one of annoyance, displeased with how rough you had been with his toy. "I'm not going to repeat myself."

Nicholas chuckled, giving your waist a quick squeeze. "Impatient aren't we? Why don't we savour this moment, let me bask in the victory of taking the sweet, innocent little reporters virginity eh?"

A scoff escaped you, followed by a harsh laugh. You pushed away Nick's hands, turning to face the man, leaning in close. "How bold of you to assume that I haven't been fucked before, you're not the first man that's taken me to bed Mr Undertaker."

You close the gap, lips connecting in an intoxicating kiss. A kiss that made Nicholas relax, cupping your cheek with a hand to deepen it.

You took that opportunity, pushing him backwards on the bed, back colliding against the cold metal of the heavy cross. Thankful his clothes protected him from feeling the full cold from the machine gun.

Nicholas would've like to protest, to nip some sly, flirteous comment your way, but he was silenced by the way your arms hoisted the dress from your body. Matching laced panties and bra on full display for him to drink in, you took that moment to tug sweetly at his own clothes until the two of you began to undress him.

Once he was fully nude, hardened cock twitching in anticipation of all the things he'd like to do, to show you he'd be the only one you dared to remember fucking your brains out. The only one you'd return to for a good time.

You shuffled onto his lap, leaning down to trap him in other addictive kiss. Hands massaging over his shoulders, loosening his tense muscles and moving them where you needed them. The two of you pulled away, Nicholas smirking up at you, attempting to move a hand to squeeze your ass, only to freeze.

Nicholas swung his head down to his arms, eyes wide as he looked down at the leather straps that shielded his cross in clothe, holding him down against the Punisher itself. He went to move his other arm, only to find it in the same predicament, same with his feet.

"He-hey, the hell did you do?" Nicholas hissed, fighting against the restraints that held him in place. He was on full display, left completely vulnerable where he lay.

"Fulfilling your sick, twisted fantasies." You simply said, sitting up to admire your handiwork.

You slid forwards, sitting comfortably on Nicholas's chest. He froze enamoured by the sight, taking in your holy form that glowed in the moons light, wanting nothing more than to be inside you. Maybe this wasn't exactly what he had in mind, the position especially, but fuck you looked absolutely perfect.

Looking down at him with half lidded eyes, you smiled sweetly. "If you don't make me cum, it'll take a lot longer before I even think about making you feel good."

Nicholas opened his mouth to return teasing, only you didn't allow him the chance before you shifted your weight to his face, thighs quivering as his stubble prickled your skin, the sensation that much more intoxicating. You started rolling your hips, fingers tangled into the dark locks of the man beneath you, who's body tensed and jolted at each movement.

He groaned against your slit, nose pressed against your clit at each roll of your hips. Nicholas's let out a noise in between a squeak and a moan, eyes wide at the tightness in his chest, the realisation that he couldn't breath flooded over him and his senses. You sighed as he body jolted in protest, responding by squeezing him tighter between your thighs.

"I suggest you get to work, otherwise I'm afraid you'll pass out long before we get a chance to fuck properly." You teased, never ceasing your movement.

Eyes rolled to the back of his skull, Nicholas in desperation for air began lapping at your leaking folds. It earned him a holy moan, the noise making him see stars, or that could be due to the oxygen being squeezed from his lunges. Either way, the noises you made sounded heavenly, reaching his very core.

It felt like hours had passed, each hour leading to another darkened spot in his vision. Nicholas felt his body jolt as he truly began to feel the pain in his chest, fingers frantically clawing at the mechanisms as your pace picked up.

Your core began to throb, panting as you tugged harder on his dark locks, forcing him deeper. Your orgasm came quicker than you wished for, drenching the poor man's face in your fluids. Releasing Nicholas, he gasped for air, chest heaving as he desperately sucked oxygen into his burning lungs.

Leaning forward, you crushed you lips against his slick covered one's. The kiss was rough and bruising, knocking the air from him for the second time. Strings of saliva keeping him connected once you pulled away, decorating his face in gentle pecks.

"Such a good boy, you seem to have earned yourself a reward." You cooed, fingers circling his nipples.

Nicholas hated the idea of begging, but he couldn't take it any longer. Nick managed a strangled, breathless "please", hands clawing at the barrels at each end of the Punisher. What he would give to have them dig into those plush thighs, squeezing your ass as you bounced on his neglected cock.

"I'm sorry, did the almighty Wolfwood beg? My my, how delightful," You giggled as he let out a groaned, ass pressed against his twitching cock. "Beg some more and maybe then you'll get to be fucked senseless."

Fuck you were cruel, and it didn't help that you looked like an angel while doing it. The moonlight making you glow like some holy ghost, perhaps there was a God, for he sent him the most beautiful woman on the entire planet.

"Ple-please, I want you. Just hurry up and fuck me, I can't take it anymore." Nicholas managed to buck to hips, squirming as his restraints dug into his skin.

You didn't say anything, only smirked as you teased his tip, smeering his precum along your folds. Nicholas groaned, trying his hardest to buck up inside you.

Seeing the normally confident man unravel before your very eyes was rewarding, no flirtatious remarks, no sly comments or nicknames. You felt accomplished, all those times he teased you, made you feel like some small spec he could just walk all over. Was nothing more than a pleading mess beneath you.

Crashing your hips down, Nicholas choked back a loud moan, not wanting anyone to hear the sinful act they were indulged in. His cock felt amazing inside you, thick, veiny and massive, filling you up so perfectly. You lowered yourself further, until you had fully engulfed his cock inside you, appreciating just how amazing it felt.

Unfortunately the man below you lacked the same appreciative nature his angel enjoyed, cock twitching in desperation. "For fucks sake woman! Just fuck me already!"

You smiled at him, a look of absolute innocence present on your face. Hands placed on his chest, lifting yourself up until you were completely free of his cock, only to cruelly slam back down. Nicholas cried out, mouth agape as you roughly fucked him into his cross.

Strangled moans and cries of "fuck" were all that was heard from the man, stars forming in his vision at each harsh slam of your hips against his own. He already felt cum drip from inside you onto his balls, face red at how a single thrust made him come so quickly.

"Such a beautiful sight, my sweet Undertaker, an absolutely gorgeous mess you are. Face covered in my cum, I believe you've already cummed twice." Your voice sounded so sweet, so enchanting, Nicholas knew he came for a second time, your cruel pace milking him for all he's worth.

Praises poured from your mouth akin to honey, sweet and sensual. Perhaps you were the devil in an angels body, seducing him to sin so carelessly. Nicholas lost count of the amount of times he came that night, body limp as you continued to roll your hips, pain and pleasure merging into a beautiful display of fucked senseless. He knew he looked stupid, drool dripping from his lips, eyes rolled to the back of his skull, tears staining his tanned, cum stained face. Yet despite it all, he looked beautiful to you, as he mumbled incoherent word vomit.

Once you reached your high for what felt like the millionth time that night, milking Nicholas's cock dry, you release the poor man. Watching as his cum leaked from your dripping pussy, the scene awfully sinful.

You leaned down freeing the man from his restraints, not like he had any strength to move anyway. Brushing the stray locks of hair from his face, as gently as possible you moved from your seat, hauling the practically lifeless man off the Punisher and pushing it to the floor.

You knew Nick would have no strength to clean himself up, so you did it for him, grabbing a towel and cleaning the mess from his face and aching cock. He tried mumbling something, causing you to laugh, he sounded so precious.

"Just rest Wolfwood, let me take care of you now." You hummed, placing the towel on the dusty bedside table.

"Nic-Nicholas. . ."

"Huh?"

"Call me Nicholas." The man panted out, eyes never leaving the wooden ceiling.

A sweet smile graced your face, tucking the exhausted Undertaker under the thin sheets before crawling in next to him, pulling him into you. He instantly buried his face in your chest, hands tiredly exploring your body, something he wasn't able to do prior.

You felt perfect to him, skin soft against his rough, calloused hands. You were beautiful, even if you were devil.

"Go to sleep Nicholas, I'll be right here." And sleep he did, gladly passing out with you snug in his arms, tracing small circles on his back.

♡~♡~♡~♡

Nicholas groaned as the sun peeked through the tattered curtains, pain erupting all over his body as he attempted to turn away. His whole body was stiff, muscles screaming in protest to the simplest of actions.

"Take it easy, you had quite the night last night, don't wanna overdo it." A familiar voice called out, causing Nick to jolt upwards hissing in pain from his body and the splitting headache.

"Hey! I said take it easy!" You yelped, helping to steady him holding a flask up to his lips, in which chugged down. "Sorry, I should've given you water before you fell asleep, it probably would've lessened that headache."

So it wasn't a dream? Wasn't some sick fantasy he had fallen asleep to? You really did fuck him crucified on the Punisher?

He eyes met your unfazed, yet cheerful face, giving him an innocent smile.

Yet he knew just how uninnocent you truly were.

"Oh and another thing, we got a noise complaint, good thing the owner isn't gonna charge us since it was our only one." You laughed, watching as Nick's face turned red.

"You really are a fucking devil."

A/N: Hiya everyone! I hope you enjoyed, this is my first post on tumblr and I wholly accept constructive criticism as I've only ever posted in private discord servers.

Let me know what you think and I look forward to do more in the very near future!

#wolfwood x you #wolfwood x reader #nicholas d wolfwood x reader #trigun wolfwood #trigun smut #wolfwood smut #nicolas d wolfwood #trigun 98 #trigun stampede

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figgrrr0 · 1 year

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I had a brain rot these past couple of days where female reader and cyno were pen pals and used fake names for one another. But then when cyno and female reader meets for the first time cyno noticed how similar there hand writing and is immediantly smitten

Ooh that's so cute!

Cyno realising you're his pen pal

Reader: Gn // Genre: Fluff // No Cw.

As soon as he met you, Cyno felt like he knew you from somewhere. He couldn't tell if it was the way you worded things, or the topics that you chose, but something about you felt familiar. And what's more, something about you just felt right; as if he'd wanted to meet you even before he knew you existed, (Of course, later he'd realise that he did know of your existence before that...).

He'd unknowingly watch you everytime you wrote something down, his subconscious mind having already put the pieces together before he had. But it's not like it was unusual for Cyno to be curious about someone's handwriting. It's a good way to recognise them, should he ever have to.

(But, he's glad that watching your words unfurl across the page seem to have a way of calming him, while also getting him somewhat excited, for some "unknown" reason...)

Everyone has a sense of irregularity when writing – it's impossible for your handwriting to be neat all of the time, or to stop your pen from blotching or smudging. But, that just means that the same pen would be likely to cause the same imperfections.

So, when Cyno takes notice of the handwriting, he can't help but be surprised. After all, what are the chances? However, that wouldn't quite be enough for him to know. He'd play it off as a coincidence, pushing it from his mind with a clear of his throat and a quick glance away. But when he looks back a second later, he sees the same blotting of ink above your "i"s and stamping of jumbled letters where the ink had printed onto the side of your hand as you wrote. And while even this is common enough to write off as chance, your signature sign off, even with a different name, is enough to convince him that it's really you.

Out of everyone, he'd know. From many hours of reading your words, and re-reading them over and over whenever he needed a little pick-me-up, no-one is better acquainted with your lettering and wording than Cyno is...

As much as Cyno wants to ask you then and there, he manages to hold himself back. Barely.

He doesn't need the reassurance; he'd already known it from the start.

Plus, wouldn't it be funny if he confronted you about it in a letter of his own, sent to the "pen-name" he'd been so affectionately involved with over the past year? Cyno certainly thinks so.

Thank you for reading! 🩷

Want to send a request/brainrot with me? Check my rules!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin cyno #cyno x reader #cyno fluff #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #Writing for an ask~🩷

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halluciniwaynia · 1 month

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people who say “I don’t like breakcore but I really like ultrakill’s soundtrack” are kind of funny to me because like…ultrakill’s ost isn’t composed of the same kinds of musical influences as most breakcore is. having frenzied drums and an irregular time signature does not necessarily make a track “breakcore”, and if you look at most of hakita’s favorite bands/tags on the HPH bandcamp page, it’s actually more metal/industrial rock inspired. which has a completely different lineage than breakcore does, although they do share some dna in the fact breakcore was inspired in some small part by electro-industrial acts like velvet acid christ, etc. these people likely aren’t connecting with the breakcore elements of his music but rather the other more familiar (and at the end of the day) rock inspired elements

#ultrakill #breakcore #personal post #industrial rock #metal music #im fully aware btw that putting down industrial music as being “rock inspired” is kind of reductive to its history but roll with me here pl #jungle and all of its derived genres are pretty universally recognized as niche hence why it’s often an acquired taste to be into dnb at al #if you didn’t grow up in those scenes #or with that kind of music

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findafight · 8 months

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lol you talking about steve loving prog rock and eddie hating it always makes me dream about a pre s1 fic where eddie irritates steve one day and steve brings that up and pops eddie's ego like a balloon. would be great for steve to do that in any scenario but i think steve in full king steve mode doing it would be so funny. the real reason eddie didn't like steve as opposed to any of the bullshit fics where they make steve a violent bully for no reason.

prog rock fan steve is so real to me. He'll listen to anything and like at least some of it but him being into progressive rock is his weird little musical niche.

It would madden Eddie. If it was pre s1 even better you're so right it would be hilarious. Eddie's on a little rant about real music and complexities and maybe it's steve wanting to mess with Eddie as revenge for stepping on his lunch maybe it's because he thought Eddie might understand, but he pipes in with something like "Yeah! people don't think progressive rock is even rock, with it's irregular time signatures and solos, when like, it's probably some of the most complex music in that isn't, like, Mozart or something." or that at least Progressive rock artists know how to play their instruments.

And Eddie holds this grudge he warns all the new hellfire kids that Harrington is bad news and he sucks so much terrible opinions etc. and the older ones are going Eddie...he just ignores us. maybe laughs at some rude things....he's annoying and rude yeah but...what are you even talking about....

Gotta keep eddie humble because as much as he can rail against them being sell outs, or pretentious, or not Real rock n roll, he can't actually say the songs aren't musically complex. Which would make him so so mad haha.

because, as you said, Eddie not liking Steve based purely on his music taste and opinions is much more in character than Steve being violent? (canonically untrue unless he sees himself as provoked.)

#eddie munson #steve harrington #findaanswers #Anonymous #anonasaurus #stranger things #does this count as #steddie #also i hc keith emerson as one of steve piano heroes.#prog rock fan steve

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throathole · 6 months

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Taylor swift should release an album with like obscure chord progressions and irregular time signatures and polyrhythms and a thoughtful deconstruction of the foundations of pop music itself. She has so much power to commit fuckery it’s a crime she doesn’t use it

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meshlasolus · 2 years

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House Of Memories (1/?)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Padawan!reader

Warnings: slavery, fluff (just sweet, young Obi-Wan)

Summary: Obi-Wan recalls his first time meeting you, when you were a slave on your home planet.

A/n: so this had literally been in my drafts about a year now I didn't even remember it was there then I saw all the Kenobi stuff coming out and remembered it existed.... anyway enjoy this there will be a whole series for it

Words: 2.2k (kinda short for me, I know)

Obi-Wan remembers the first time you entered his life like it was yesterday. When he was only eighteen years old, he and his master came across a slave camp on an outer rim planet called Mimban. It was out of the Republic's jurisdiction; therefore, the anti-slavery laws did not apply.

The mission that brought them here was simple enough, or so Master Qui Gon had initially thought. The labor camps on this planet made it practically impossible to find the separatist base. The Master and his young padawan walked endlessly until they got to a point of restlessness. At this point it would lead them to believe that maybe there was no hidden base at all, that perhaps this was a gigantic set up to haul them off on a wild goose chase while important things happened back at the Jedi temple. They of course scolded themselves a moment later for the thought. They only needed to concentrate, to sense something even the slightest bit off in the force. They had been trained to do it, and had before... the only thing keeping them from deciphering the exact location was a small stint in the force. A single being that held a strong presence.

"Master, do you-?"

"Yes, I sense it," Qui Gon turned on his heels immediately. He knew that the separatist base would not be found until the fork in the road had been delt with. The force signature radiating off of one person or creature in this place was the only thing either him or Obi-Wan could possibly focus on.

The young padawan followed after his teacher with much ambition to seek out the distraction, nay, the opposing pull in the force.

They both came to a stop at the edge of the camp, and low and behold, a child, maybe three or four years old at most, was working tirelessly in mud. Qui Gon tried to shuffle through her thoughts, perhaps to find a name, or a family, but she guarded them by the force, without even possibly meaning to. How a small child at such a young age could possess such power and subconsciously know how to use it already was beyond either of their comprehension, and yet even Obi-Wan, as doubtful as he was, easily found himself able to tell that the large force signature belonged to her.

"It can't be," Obi-Wan mumbled to himself, continuing towards the child as his Master did.

"It can, and it seems to be so."

Qui Gon was the first to approach the youngling, his nurturing fatherly instincts took over when he knelt down beside her, scraping mud into a bucket with her bare hands. She seemed so focused, which was irregular for a mind so young. Perhaps as a slave, she was forced to learn tasks even before this age. He wasn't sure if he should start with the native language of the lands, or in galactic basic. He wasn't very up to par with his Mimbanese, so he opted for the latter.

"Hello, young one."

She glanced up at him, and brilliance was held in her eyes, he could sense that much. A prodigy perhaps. She was listening intently for him to continue, though she knew he didn't belong to this camp, or even this planet. He was unrecognizable to her.

"I am Jedi Master Qui Gon Jinn of Coruscant, and this is my Padawan learner, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

At the mention of his name, Obi-Wan stepped forward. The little girl looked at him and stood up. She took a step towards him curiously, before grabbing at his hand and yanking it towards the ground she was on only moments ago. She began her work again, and even gave some fistfuls of mud to Obi-Wan for good measure.

"It appears she wants you to help her."

Qui Gon let out a chuckle. Obi-Wan did as the small child did, using his hands to fold mounds of dirt and mud into the tall metal buckets that sat beside her. He wasn't ever fond of children before, in fact, he might say he was often annoyed by them. He wasn't sure of this specific child yet, but she did make him quite curious.

"I sense her midichlorian count is quite high. I need to find who she belongs to. Keep her busy and make sure she stays within sight," Qui Gon stood, dusting what he could from his cloak. Obi-Wan nodded and watched as his master turned back to the camp before his sleeve was tugged on again by the child. An impatient little thing she was. He furrowed his brow as he got back to work helping her, filling the bucket with mud for whatever purpose it would be used.

Once done, she stood to her feet, beginning to pull one of the buckets with all her strength. He followed along, carrying the other bucket and going to wherever the destination was. He almost felt a hint of annoyance, until he saw her struggling over a bump in the ground. He instantly felt a large deal of compassion for realizing the actual situation here. This wasn't a child playing in the dirt for the fun of it, this was a slave that was being worked hard at an incredibly young age, with no hope of anything better.

He had of course heard of the slave trades of the outer rim territories, however he had yet to see the product of one. He had only just realized he stopped in his tracks, because after the child managed over the bump in the ground, she stopped also, looking up at him with a tilt in her head. She had made it clear she wanted him to follow her, did she not?

"I'm sorry," he spoke hurriedly, continuing on the pathway.

She seemed to be getting tired from dragging that entire bucket, but she kept onwards anyways, and it struck a nerve with Obi-Wan. He wondered how poorly a small thing like her must be treated to carry on like she did with no hesitation.

He looked closer at her hands and feet, both bare, covered in dirt as well as cuts and scrapes. He couldn't bear to stand back and allow her to do this any longer. It pained him now that he didn't see it before. All these people, these children that were bound to this planet to do labor for others they probably owed nothing to. He had an emotional awakening, a spring of immense compassion and sympathy all at once. He'd been so sheltered from such things before, that now it was all he could see.

He walked beside the child and picked up her bucket as well, nodding forward as to tell her she could lead him on. She did so, walking faster now that she didn't have a load to carry. The two buckets of dirt were a small weight to Obi-Wan, but it made him feel better to take it from her.

They continued on to what looked like a large sinkhole on the side of their camp. Others were dumping large crates of mud to fill it, and he assumed that's what she was doing also, however little she could.

She looked up at him and pointed into the sinkhole. He dumped the buckets into a scarcely filled area, then looked back to her. It seemed foolish to him at first, following after a child and doing her bidding, but now he did it willingly without question. He just wanted to help her.

She started on her way back to the mounds of dirt past the front of camp again, and he was ready to follow diligently if not for the voice of his Master.

"I dare say you follow her orders better than my own," Qui Gon said in a joking tone. He smiled and stopped in his tracks, the girl also stopping when she realized the one holding the buckets wasn't going back to the dirt with her.

"I only wanted to assist her in her labor."

"She won't be laboring here any longer. I've struck a deal to have her released into our possession."

Obi-Wan smiled. If even one child under these horrible circumstances had a chance of a better life, then he was by all means pleased. The little thing looked confused, but she heard a few things she understood. She just didn't know what it meant. She didn't know what the Jedi were, although Qui Gon had introduced himself as such.

"What of our previous mission?" Obi-Wan asked, his curiosity of their former reason for being on this planet got the better of him just now.

"The separatists seem to have already left their base on this planet. The council will be far more pleased to hear of our unintentional finding, I'm sure."

Qui Gon approached the girl again, but this time she seemed a small bit more intimidated. She wasn't quite sure she wanted to be taken away. She took a step backwards, then looked at Obi-Wan.

They both sensed her fear, and Obi-Wan remembered what it was like to leave everything he'd known to go train at the temple. He had come from better circumstances, however.

Obi-Wan knelt to the ground again, beckoning her over with a soft look on his face. "Don't be afraid."

It took a few moments, and she came slow, but made her way to him, nonetheless. He couldn't help but smile. She trusted him.

He scooped up her small form in his arms, and she grabbed at the hood of his cloak to keep steady. She seemed quite comfortable there, a puzzled look coming over her face as she toyed with his padawan braid.

His master kept looking back over his shoulder at the two. He had been trying for years to make his padawan understand the power of assisting those in need. It seems he only needed to experience it for himself. It was part of the Jedi way, and Obi-Wan Kenobi was going to grow into an exceptional Jedi.

Once back on the ship, Qui Gon presented his apprentice with a testing kit, one he knew as familiar. He also handed him some first aid supplies, as it seemed she would be needing some fixing up.

"We need to test her blood for an M count. If there's not enough blood you may have to draw it before we return," Qui Gon started up the ship, and lifted it off of the maker forsaken planet.

Obi-Wan was hesitant but continued to do as his Master instructed of him. The frightened look on the small girl's face was a stab to his chest as he set her down on one of the seats.

"It's alright, I won't hurt you."

He didn't see any ease come across her face, but he felt a sudden calmness in her force signature that encouraged him to continue. He cleaned up her hands and feet as best he could with what little he had, and unfortunately, there wasn't enough blood to be tested. He really didn't want to do this, but it had to be done sooner or later. He figured talking might make it better.

"Little one, what is your name?" He asked as he prepared a draw stick. He saw the gears in her head turning, so clearly, she was distracted enough.

"Y/n," she pointed to herself, not sure what else to say.

He pulled her arm slightly away from her body so it could only be seen in her peripheral vision. He kept his eyes on hers as to not let on to what he was doing.

"Well, I'm very glad to have met you, Y/n."

He poked the draw stick just barely under her skin, and she jolted a bit at the sudden prick of pain. He readied another question to keep her mind busy.

"Do you remember my name?" He quickly ran the draw, collecting a small blood sample for the M test.

"Yes," She nodded quickly, then pointed at his chest as she said "Obi."

"That's very good," he smiled genuinely, placing a small pad on her arm and taping it down until the small blood flow had clotted.

"Am I going to come work for you?"

He was a bit surprised at how chatty she had become in only a moment. Perhaps they didn't allow her to speak very often in her camp. It seemed no one there actually did.

"No, little one," he chuckled slightly, starting the blood test while she watched from her seat. "Where we're going, the only work you will do is training."

Maker, he thought, 15,000 midichlorians. His M count was around 13,500, and he thought he had a fairly high count. This child was stronger with the force than most of his friends or colleagues.

"Training?" She titled her head again, as she had all those times before. It was endearing.

"It's going to be fun," he nearly promised. "You will learn about the force, and everything you can do with it."

She seemed very confused, and Obi-Wan figured that even with her heightened intelligence, she was still only a child, at the age of three of four at most.

He watched her yawn, seeing her eyes begin to droop heavy. He opted to carry her into the back seating area, where the seats were more like benches. He knew she would be more comfortable here. He sat her down, and then he followed, letting her head rest over his knee. She was out like a light, and it didn't take long for him to be, too.

(Tags for this series are open)

#obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan series #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi #obi wan x padawan #obi wan kenobi x padawan!reader #ewan mcgregor #hayden christensen #anakin skywalker x reader

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triptuckers · 2 years

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a feeling of safety - rooster

Request: nope Pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader Summary: being called back to top gun means you see everyone again, even the ones you want to forget about Warnings: mentions of alcohol, a panic attack, swearing, mention of abuse, but besides that it's all fluff Word count: 1.6k A/N: when I tell yall rooster has been on my mind all weekend I mean it. this man has been on my mind all day every day all night every night istg im down BAD !! also this is not the fic I mentioned earlier, just something I thought of. readers call sign is sunny

even after all these years, your time spent at top gun was still your favourite period of time. which is why you were beyond excited when you got called back to it, to start training for a rather difficult mission.

lucky for you, you still owned a small house near the base. you had made so many good memories there, you didn't have the heart to sell it when you got stationed somewhere else.

and now you're back. you spent the first day cleaning the house and making sure the garden looked somewhat okay.

you were so excited to see everyone again. you had kept in touch with phoenix, but over the years you had lost contact with the rest. as soon as you got a call asking you back at top gun, you let phoenix know. the fact that she got called back as well made it all perfect.

the two of you met up at everyone's favourite bar, where you also caught up with penny.

you kept on seeing familiar faces come and go, and it was an evening filled with laughter, drinks and catching up. you didn't even mind hangman's horrible jokes.

at some point during the night, someone else caught your eye.

it appeared that rooster also got called back.

how could he not? in your eyes, he was still the best pilot you've ever flown with. last time you saw him, there was an unspoken thing between the two of you. yes, you'd made out a couple of times behind the bar when you had one too many drinks, but nothing more had happened.

you thought you'd matured enough after that. when you were training at top gun, you were young, full of life and you loved to go out every weekend. you'd changed after that.

but seeing rooster in one of his signature hawaiian shirts stirred something in you.

he caught your eye, and smiled at you. but your eyes are on someone who came in right after him. a face you thought you would never have to see again.

immediately, your chest tightens and you feel like you can't breathe. you freeze for a split second before you're getting up, abandoning the drink phoenix had just brought you from the bar.

all of your instincts scream at you to run, to get the hell out of there.

you mumble a quick 'catch you later.' at phoenix before you bolt and make for the back door.

rooster, seeing you freeze up when he came in, frowns and walks over to phoenix and hangman to ask them what happened. but they're just as confused as he is.

meanwhile, you're outside. you half walk, half run to your car.

normally you would never drive after having this many drinks, but the adrenaline in your body is making you act before you can think it through.

there's no way he can be here. no way.

he'd already ruined so much for you. he did not get to ruin your time back at top gun. he certainly did not get to poison your good time by being there.

before you know it, you're driving away. you don't even process where you're going.

your hands are shaking so you grab on tighter to the steering wheel. suddenly you're crying and your breathing is irregular. the tears in your eyes blur your vision as you pull up to a house.

you fully break down.

your entire body is shaking and you can't stop crying. even though you got away from the bar, your body is still high on adrenaline, in full flight mode.

it's dark outside and you've lost all sense of time when someone knocks on the window your car. you jump up, thinking it's him.

but when you rub your eyes and take a closer look you see it's rooster.

he's got a worried look on his eyes and opens the door of your car.

'hey sunny.' he says.

'hi rooster.' you say in a hoarse voice.

'I would have given you a ride if you'd asked, you know.' he says.

you frown, looking around you. you then recognise the house you drove to. it's not your own place, as you had thought. it's rooster's. you'd spent many nights there laughing and having drinks with your friends.

apparently you drove there out of instinct.

'come on, let's get you inside.' says rooster, reaching out and turning the engine off. he takes the key, unbuckles your seatbelt and offers you a hand.

you grab it, wishing you weren't still shaking so bad. if rooster takes any notice of this, he doesn't let it show.

rooster unlocks the door and takes you inside. he pulls you to the kitchen and makes you sit down. he places a glass of water in front of you and then takes a seat as well.

'some timing we're both back at top gun, huh?' he says. 'can't wait to see what they have in store for us. it seems like they got the best of the best.'

you're silent as you sip your glass of water, the adrenaline slowly leaving your body but you're still shaking.

'it makes sense you're here, and phoenix. just sucks hangman is there as well. I always had to get used to being around him and his bad sense of humor.' says rooster.

'aren't you going to ask?' you say.

'ask what?' says rooster.

'why I freaked out that bad.' you say.

rooster shrugs. 'looks like you're still pretty shaken up after that panic attack.' he says.

you lift your head to meet his eyes.

'what, you think I don't know a panic attack when I see one?' he says. 'besides, it's not my place to ask.'

a wave of gratitude washes over you. maybe this is why you drove here without realising it, you knew he wouldn't pressure you into anything. a part of you regrets not asking him out for drinks all those years ago.

'there was a guy who came in right after you.' you say.

'you don't have to tell me.' says rooster.

'it's alright.' you say. 'you deserve to know why I showed up at your doorstep all freaking out like that.'

'yeah, I don't.' says rooster. 'you don't owe me anything.'

'but you do.' you say. 'my instinct brought me here, rooster. I thought I was driving to my own place. but I wasn't. you make me feel safe. even after all these years. so, yes, you deserve to know.'

rooster is silent as he lets your words sink in. he was just glad he found you instead of some other random pilot. but the thought that he makes you feel safe, warms his chest.

'I was still at top gun, teaching the new students. you were already away on assignment.' you say. 'phoenix was still there. she doesn't know. that guy that came in, tried really hard to get me to go out with him. but he wasn't my type. far too loud and arrogant for my liking. but he kept pressing on, said we'd look perfect together. even when I explicitly told him I would never go out with him, he kept finding me. one night, I was at the bar just having a drink on my own. I had a rough day, a close call during a training flight. suddenly he was there, claiming I was waiting for him. he tried kissing me, I pushed him away, but he just tried again. said I shouldn't deny my body's needs. it took two other pilots who stumbled upon us to get him away from me, but not after he had already kissed and touched me a couple of times. I just didn't think I would ever have to see him again.'

rooster doesn't say anything for a moment. 'shit, y/n, I can't imagine what that must feel like for you.' he says. 'to get back to top gun and having to see that guy again. did you tell anyone about it?'

you let out a chuckle. 'no point in doing that.' you say.

'why not?' says rooster. 'that was abuse.'

'it'll be my word against his. all he has to say is that I was tipsy. and besides, it happened years ago. nobody cares.' you say.

'I do.' says rooster. 'what's his name?'

'I'm not giving you his name.' you say.

'but-' 'no, rooster.'

instead of pressing on, he nods. 'okay. then tell me what I can do for you.' he says.

you smile at him. 'you're already doing it.' you say. 'sitting here, listening to me, offering me a glass of water and a safe environment.'

rooster smiles back at you and reaches out to lay his hand on top of yours. the feeling of his hand on yours warms your heart.

'do you want to stay here tonight?' he says. 'I'll change the sheets and you can take the bed, I'll sleep on the couch. I won't feel too good about you going home and be alone for the rest of the night after all of this.'

you smile again and feel a tear in the corner of your eye. rooster looks alarmed.

'was it something I said?' he says.

you quickly squeeze his hand. 'no, rooster, no.' you say. 'of course not. it's very kind of you to offer me a place to stay. but I won't have you sleep on the couch of your own home. I'll take the couch, if that's okay with you.'

'and I won't have a lady spend the night on the couch.' says rooster.

'it's fine.' you say. 'you take the bed, I insist.'

'we'll be here all night if I keep saying no, am I right?' says rooster.

'probably.' you chuckle.

'alight.' says rooster. 'let me see if I have some sweats and a shirt you can wear.'

that night, you sleep on rooster's couch. his scent lingers on the shirt he gave you. the adrenaline has worn off, and you realise how tired you are.

it doesn't take you long to fall asleep. after all, you feel safe here.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Max/Marit

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