#boots n bombs n baby

[averageludwig]

BEGGING ON MY KNEES for more boots and boots baby content 🙏🙏🙏😭😭

do you think they adopt or 🏳️‍⚧️?

love your art 🫡

AHHH PLANNING ON IT!!! I dont have much rn but to answer your questionn I think the fact that I draw Demoman as transmasc welll (definitely 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️) here is a rough concept that might change over time of the baby!!!! Alieen :3

[friendlyengie]

And now we have the unfinished, uncolored eternal-WIP variety hour! 🎉! This months picks are “various gay people” and “random ‘put a character in situation’” ideas. The designs of the mercs as kids are partially brought to you by @illuteridae everyone say thank you to roger for his genius brain

[quotidianish]

To the 4 people who will see this post SWQUIDGAME IN 2023 JUMPSCARE . some tf2 aus. Mostly bootsnbombs

Closeups under cut in case tumblr smashes the quality:

[junuve]

I saw Medic x Demoman fanart and that altered my brain chemistry. Still thinking about Them.

[wndaswife]

trying your hardest | wanda maximoff & gn!reader

After moving to America to join the Avengers, Wanda wants to finally make a friend to ease her loneliness. She hopes to become friends with you, and frankly, Wanda idolizes you, but her social skills are... subpar at best.

Word count: 5020

Tags: fluff, humour, some angst, emo wanda being a baby, a little thing, a small very tiny little thing, wanda has a very big crush on you :3 (she doesn't know it yet tho cuz she baby)

A/N: for plot purposes, imagine the avengers didn’t have a catfight after aou

gif credit to (i tried really hard and i CANNOT find who made this gif im sorry)

Wanda Maximoff never really had an education as a child. What education was available in Sokovia was expensive, and despite her father’s late working hours, the twins’ parents could only ever afford their apartment’s rent. The twins were homeschooled as well as their parents could teach them, but after the bombing, they were on their own. 

Government-funded schooling helped them for only so long. The schools they were sent to were decaying, and always under dwindling government watch from ongoing airstrikes. The ground shook with explosive tremors as they commuted to school on foot. Wanda and Pietro stayed at an orphanage with hundreds of other children whose parents had passed due to the war — and the Avengers. 

Even the government’s debt caught up with what was left of Sokovia. Billions of foreign debt not paid, volume of imports that had increased exponentially since Sokovia worked on rebuilding their country weren’t making enough revenue to pay exporters back. Hundreds of children were booted from government care and onto the streets. The twins attempted to learn on their own, to become informed educated people if they were to ever make a difference in the world, but in Sokovia, even resilience could only get one so far.

Then, Doctor Strucker came along, promising them the extermination of the Avengers, the Western terrorists who had made the already politically-unstable and war-torn country their battleground. 

In hopes to cure the world from their terrorist reign, both Wanda and Pietro agreed to Strucker’s experiments, but the education they were given intended for them to become weapons. They knew little of real geography and world history — only HYDRA’s propaganda meant to poison their minds with blind hatred and little else.

When it seemed like you couldn’t be any more different from Wanda as it was, you were also the team’s brain. Stark and Banner specialised in physics and mechanics, but you were the team’s hub for everything else. From computer science to philosophy, you knew everything. No one exceeded you in developing team strategy, setting the stages for mission locations, profiling adversaries, and a dozen of other things Wanda couldn’t have even fathomed when she first met the Avengers in person.

It took Wanda only several moments to realise you weren’t a frontline fighter from your muffled voice in the Avengers’ earpieces to their callouts of your name as frequent, and perhaps even moreso, than their teammates that fought alongside them on the field despite your physical absence. 

Y/N — that was your name. 

When she had fought the Avengers in Novi Grad, creeping behind the Western superpowers like a heavy looming shadow, Wanda had looked for you. Strategically, it was a rational move. You were the centre of their battle, the heart of their teamwork.

And yet, you were nowhere to be found.

It was only until she had crept up behind Clint Barton when your voice grew clearer than ever before. From the tiny earpiece, you were controlling the field. Perhaps you were just outside, or maybe you were in another country. No matter the distance, Wanda supposed your hold on the battle would be no less effective. 

It was the distraction of thinking about you, perhaps — Y/N, the invisible hand — or Barton’s sole intuition, Wanda did not know, nor did she have very much time to think it over, that had made it possible for him to counter her magic. 

Then there was pain — immeasurable pain that Wanda hadn’t felt since Strucker’s experiments. It shot through her forehead like a dozen bullets had permeated through her skull. Pietro grounded her, and soon after, the twins targeted Banner.

Despite the rumours about him, the insatiable angry force he was told to be, his mind was the easiest to corrupt. Mental instability and insecurity racked his mind, and he quickly shifted into the green beast the Maximoffs had heard so much about. 

Carrying his younger sister, Pietro took the two of them back to Ultron’s base. 

They had won that day.

You were all Wanda could think about even while she and Pietro were off missions. You weren’t the Avengers’ frontline defence like Steve Rogers, nor were you the brute strength of the team like Bruce Banner. You held your team in your hands rather than tugging them along by their leashes although you likely could if you wanted to.

Y/N. 

Who were you?

On the television after the fight on Novi Grad, Iron Man and Hulk’s brawl in Johannesburg was on the news. The city was in shambles. Pietro said something about the deaths of innocents and the success of his sister’s magic in having the Avengers turn against themselves. But Wanda could only think of what you had thought when Stark and Banner came back to their compound, beaten and sore from none other than their own fists. Wanda assumed the Avengers’ compound — wherever that was — was where you were too. 

Wanda wondered how you were dealing with the fight at Johannesburg. What were you saying about her and Pietro?

Later that day, Ultron approached the twins in their bedroom and turned on the television. Despite having been offered separate bedrooms, they insisted on sharing one. Sitting atop their respective beds on the opposite sides of the room, there was someone speaking on the television about Johannesburg across from the interviewer. Their expression was stern but their eyes were solemn. Eyebrows were furrowed together, masking concern and worry; if Wanda knew anything, it was how to read someone.

“Y/N,” the interviewer began, and Wanda’s eyes widened, her head lifting from being held up by her hands, elbows on her pillow as it laid flat atop her crossed legs. “As the Avengers’ strategist, as many put it, how are you planning on handling the devastation that came upon Johannesburg, and the inevitable contact that the Avengers will continue to have with innocent uninvolved civilians?”

The question was packed, and the news station quite clearly had their own sentiments about the Avengers; they were setting you up.

So that was how you looked. Wanda swallowed and felt her chest flutter.

With your upper lip stiff and your posture unbelievably straight, you answered without equivocation. “A common misinformed perspective of any conflict follows the belief that there is any one party entirely responsible for the consequences of violent confrontation, such as the one we witnessed in Johannesburg,” you were saying. With the way her wide eyes were pinned on the television screen, Wanda didn’t notice the way her brother eyed her obviously piqued interest.

“I don’t believe the Avengers are the world’s most honourable superheroes,” you continued. Ultron shifted and Wanda’s head tipped to the side, her interest in you ever growing. “I don’t think anyone is, no matter whose side you’ve taken since the conflict recently — and perhaps even after the invasion of New York’s in 2012.”

That was The Incident, Wanda recalled, when the Avengers terrorised New York. That’s what HYDRA had always told her and Pietro.

“Despite whose side you may be on, as differing as our collective opinions may be, one thing is undeniable — we are all trying to reach a goal of peace for the world, fighting for what we believe is just. There is nothing more powerful than that. Perhaps, it is idealism that serves to be the strength of humanity.”

Ultron laughed morosely. He ridiculed your words, but Wanda wasn’t listening. Whatever you were talking about wasn’t only about Johannesburg. What were you referencing? Who were your words meant for?

Suddenly, your head turned to the camera and Wanda met your eyes. Everything in her froze, her eyes undeviating from your face.

“Wanda and Pietro Maximoff,” you spoke. Pietro looked over at Wanda, shock written on every inch of his face, and Ultron’s eyes darted between the twins, almost accusationally as he undoubtedly suspected coercion. Wanda almost expected you to step through the television screen and into her bedroom. “I know what you want.”

The screen was shut off suddenly, the black mirror of the television reflecting Wanda’s astonished expression. She looked away, shutting her eyes as she felt the burning gaze of Ultron on her. But your words reverberated in Wanda’s mind until your every feature and movement of your lips was memorised. Like a promise, like an ode, your words were immortalised within her.

Pietro wasn’t there when you took Wanda in your arms and saved her from a falling Sokovia. He wasn’t there when you laid her down onto the Helicarrier, nor when you took her hand and told her she’d be taken care of. Wanda cried into your chest at the sight of her brother’s body.

What would he have said if he saw the way your arm refused to leave from around Wanda’s shoulders as the two of them trailed behind his body while he was carried into the compound?

Pietro liked you, and would’ve loved to meet you. He referenced your broadcasted interview several times during their fight in Sokovia. He was proud to work with the Avengers, and proud to finally work towards their goal to help people just like them. He wanted to meet you.

Your voice was different from what Wanda remembered from the broadcast, and not because her memory had failed her, but because you were just… different. You were real, and not a picture on a wall or an untouchable reality forever separated from her by a television screen. As she watched you talk and laugh with the other Avengers, you were real.

But if Wanda was honest, she was much too shy to even start a conversation with you. Perhaps it might’ve been easier to approach you if you were an admired character on one of her favourite television shows, but it was exactly what made her admire you so much that also made her feel so shy around you. 

Granted, there was much to adjust to now that she lived in America and was now a part of the Avengers, and she did believe herself to be a generally introverted person, but she was especially nervous around you.

Wanda had gotten enough confidence to speak with some team members. Natasha was welcoming and kind. Thor was easy not to feel nervous around, but his energy was far too much for Wanda to handle just yet. Bruce was much more comfortable to chat with, and Wanda found that he was able to be rather nice once he forgave her for her associations with Ultron. Steve was always very kind to Wanda and she felt very safe around him, with Steve always trying to make her feel like part of the team, but she found that they didn’t have very much in common.

And there was Vision, who seemed to have taken a liking to her since even before the final battle against Ultron. He was nice company, but she found her mind preoccupied thinking of you while in his company, wishing that it was you who gave her as much attention as Vision did.

However, she’d been wanting to start a conversation with you since the day she arrived at the compound. Initially, she needed time to herself, and along with Steve, you also made the effort to check in on her and give her your support.

Once she was finally able to gain some footing in adjusting to things while shouldering the weight of her losses, Wanda started becoming more active within the team by joining training sessions. During them, she found herself unable to stop looking at you, watching what you were doing, seeing how you interacted with everyone.

Even as the Avengers’ primary strategist that was almost never in the field, you still made efforts to train and stay connected and involved with the team — and Wanda quickly learned that training was a major part of team building.

You were everything Wanda wished she could be more like; you were the kind of person she had never thought existed in a world she believed was only full of cruelty and injustice until recently.

There was an upcoming party at the Avengers Tower in celebration of the assigned team’s return from a successful mission tracking down a recently-located HYDRA base still hiding out. It was almost any ordinary mission, but it was the first step towards steadily eradicating all of HYDRA’s bases, even after Strucker’s primary base was taken down in Sokovia. Though Steve did also tell Wanda that he felt that Tony also primarily wanted to find any reason to celebrate since it’d been some time.

Wanda hadn’t been to any of the parties yet, and she thought that she’d be able to use this one as a chance to start a conversation with you. 

Wasn’t that what people did at parties? Talk?

Truthfully, she didn’t quite know for sure — she’d only ever heard about them through the sitcoms she watched as a child. She knew only of dramatised American portrayals of teenage parties through television.

Whatever it was people actually did at parties, Wanda was certain she would be able to make some effort to talk to you. At least in a social setting, it wouldn’t be strange for her to start a conversation with you.

Wanda made herself look nice and presentable, but not too formal since she didn’t want to overdress or bring too much attention to herself. She wasn’t sure what might happen if her plan to talk with you didn’t end up working, and if she was somehow left with nothing to do, she wanted to be able to slip away without anyone noticing, as if she had never made any attempt to come at all.

While deliberating whether it was better to arrive on time or a bit later once the party had been going on for some time, Wanda realised that at some point too much time had passed and her only option now was to join the party a bit later. 

It was only once she arrived at the penthouse floor where the party was being held that Wanda finally realised how terribly  thought-out her plan was.

What would happen if she didn’t get to talk with you? What would happen if she did, and she only made a fool of herself? Would it be better, then, to stay as two people who’d never conversed so that she might retain what impression you had of her now? Even if that meant she would never get to talk with you the way she wanted?

It was far too late now to change her mind if she wanted to, as she soon found herself walking further from the elevators and into the party. 

The party was rather filled; mostly, they were familiar faces, but it looked like many brought guests, and some guests had brought some of their own. It seemed that Steve was right — atop of celebrating the taking down of the HYDRA base, this was also a social get-together. 

She was still relatively at the edges of the room, so she was still going unnoticed. As she walked over to the bar, fidgeting with her fingers as she did, she took the time to look around and try to spot you. She reached the bar, crossing her forearms on top of its counter, and tried to draw the least attention to herself while avoiding eye contact with anyone as her eyes raked through the crowd. 

Eventually she caught sight of you also at the bar, but at the very edge with your own drink, your back facing the party. Wanda’s chest fluttered and she felt she nearly stumbled moving one foot in front of the other when she turned to walk towards you. 

She worried what would happen if someone suddenly approached you from behind, which would force her to then stop wherever she was standing and pretend she hadn’t just failed at her attempt to come up to you. 

The pressing concern aided her greatly, and she was well on her way to coming up to you without hesitation. But once she actually made her way to your side and once you raised your head from your glass and looked at her, Wanda damned herself for being so distracted, now without a plan or even a terribly-planned script to follow in making conversation with you. She didn’t even get to look at what you were wearing. 

It would be too strange of her to look you up and down before greeting you, right?

“Hi,” she said, hoping that the small smile she felt on her face was actually there lest she look like an absolute fool.

You turned around in your seat in order to face her, and now having your complete, undivided attention made Wanda’s legs feel like mush. “Hi,” you replied with a friendly smile. “Are you enjoying yourself? I don’t think I’ve seen you at a party yet.”

Wanda swallowed and nervously drew shapes against the bar counter with her fingernails, also trying her best to maintain a steady, friendly smile. “No — this is the first I’ve gone to. I haven’t been here for very long. I decided only a moment ago to come.”

“I’m glad you chose to come,” you told her and suggested for her to take the barstool beside you. Wanda lifted herself onto the seat and sat, facing you.

While you were talking, Wanda took the chance to look at what you were wearing. You looked nice, and Wanda thought you always dressed in a way that put-together, respected people did. She saw you in some likeness to the well-dressed characters on the sitcoms she liked — but, of course, modern. 

Maybe she had been taking too long to respond, for you spoke again: “How have you been doing? I know that the move must have been rather hard to go through.”

When she took a moment to respond and found that a response wasn’t immediately escaping her, Wanda felt panic settle in her chest. She knew she should have planned out what to say. She looked like an idiot in front of you. She didn’t know the first thing about socialising or making friends. 

“It was hard,” she said finally. “It is hard. Not so bad now. I mean, I’m trying to adjust.”

You nodded in understanding and Wanda felt herself losing your interest; she was sure that your responses’ intentions were now only to remain polite, to keep conversing with her because you knew she didn’t make very much effort to go out. 

Then you asked, “Did you want me to order you a drink?”

“Oh, I’m okay — I don’t drink,” Wanda answered, fidgeting with her fingers between her knees. Truthfully, she’s never tried alcohol before. Maybe she should have taken you up on your offer. 

“How have you been getting along with the team?”

“I think well. I like everyone. They’ve been very kind to me,” Wanda said. She could hear herself as she spoke to you; she sounded robotic and uninteresting. She thought she might try her hand at being honest about what she was thinking then and there. “But Pietro was always the most social of us both. It is hard to get along with others without him leading the conversation.”

Wanda must have not noticed how solemn she became after she mentioned Pietro, for you reached out and brushed her shoulder with your hand supportively, your fingers squeezing gently around her and lingering for a moment before letting your arm drop.

“I understand,” you sympathised. “You don’t need to pressure yourself into anything — really. I think you fit in here well, and I think you’ve been doing a wonderful job.”

That was the first time anyone truly supported Wanda like that; she was supported by the team as she was grieving the loss of her brother, always being told that she had a shoulder to cry on or a helping hand if she ever wanted someone to talk to. 

There was something frustrating about the way the team approached her grief. They had to have anticipated that she would feel a bit better at some point — or at least well enough to get back to team member material. 

In the way she was spoken to, Pietro and her struggles with his death were always approached as something she would get over at some point or another — like Pietro was something she was going to get over. She didn’t expect anyone to understand how she felt nor to share in her grievances, but it seemed to her that what she was going through was seen only as a temporary distraction to the rest of the team. 

They were kind in giving her their support, but her grief never seemed quite real enough to them. 

Granted, she was rather new to the team, so she understood, to some degree, their inability to understand her pain. But it was frustrating, nevertheless. 

But with you, it was different. 

You didn’t talk about Pietro or her struggles and pain like it was something to get over. You valued her as she was now, and saw her efforts as they were now. 

Wanda felt slightly pathetic for how worked up she was getting over your response, be it as brief as it was, but what you said meant quite a lot to her. She felt, for the first time, that she was being spoken to as a real person rather than a ball of temporary grief and pain. 

“Thank you… I really appreciate–”

She was cut off when you were called to meet one of Tony’s friends, an expert in software development who had even helped program some of the software you used for communication with the team while they were working on the field. Naturally, they wanted the two of you to meet. 

For a moment, Wanda forgot how popular you were amongst your colleagues. Why wouldn’t you be? It was only that you had a certain kindness and authenticity about you that seemed signature to you. But if Wanda admired that about you, and if she idolised you, why wouldn’t anyone else?

You looked at Tony calling you over then at Wanda, who was awkwardly staring at the floor in some pitiful stance of defeat. It made your chest tighten.

This was Wanda’s first time joining in at one of the parties, and you were the first she spoke to. Moreover, there was a kind of sensitivity to her that you knew lay beyond her typical timidity.

Through the conversation with her, you could vaguely see Wanda’s eyes flickering behind your shoulder occasionally, where the floor’s balcony was. From there, one would have a view of the spacious training fields and the expansive forests beyond that separated the base from the main roads.

Tonight, there were clear skies and a rather prominent moon. 

Gently, you tapped the back of Wanda’s hand that was resting on the edge of the bar to get her attention, and she raised her head and met your eyes. 

“Would you like to step out onto the balcony with me?” you asked. “I’m not quite in the mood to talk with them right now.”

Wanda seemed to perk up and she straightened in her seat. She nodded, and when you stepped off from your barstool, she followed and trailed behind you as you headed for the balcony. 

She watched from behind as you led her forward. She played idly with the tips of her fingers as she watched your hair brush against your back, watching the back of your head attentively as if it could tell her anything about you. 

Frankly, she felt a bit starstruck.

A certain panic settled within her as you opened the balcony door and ushered Wanda outside and into the warm evening air; she didn’t know what to say now. 

She wasn’t certain if she was interesting enough at all to have such intimate conversation with. 

What could she say that could possibly be of interest to you?

In spite of the disappointed chatter and lighthearted jabs from the rest of the team in response to your very-obvious aversion to socialising, you closed the balcony door behind you until it clicked shut softly until it was only you and Wanda outside. 

“Is it okay that you’re out here with me?” Wanda asked, looking at you as she stepped beside you. 

“Of course,” you answered and walked forward until you could stand against the rails of the balcony. “Why not?”

Wanda appreciated how easy it was to talk with you, and how your relationship with the team wasn’t all that you were. “I thought that maybe you might prefer being out there.”

“No — I want to be here.”

Wanda flushed and she looked away, using the excuse of looking out past the training fields as an excuse to hide her face from you. 

Making a bold move, Wanda thought that she might be honest with you; she had the real opportunity to make a friend, granted she pulled it off. “Y/N, I really appreciate you being so kind to me.” She garnered some confidence and turned her body and looked at you.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” you replied bashfully, and Wanda noticed that you also seemed a bit timid. She thought you were sensitive, and she liked that.

“But also,” Wanda added, taking in a small breath, “I really appreciate your effort in being sympathetic towards Pietro and I, even when we did not deserve it — especially after Johannesburg. Before your interview broadcast, I had never known of such kindness. It seemed you knew more about what Pietro and I wanted before even we did.”

Without a thought behind it, Wanda’s eyes left yours and she added, “I wish he was able to meet you. I am sure he would have felt equally as stunned by you.”

You asked, “I stun you now, do I?”

Surprised by the realisation of what she said aloud, Wanda looked at you and at the sight of your slight smile, also realised that you were teasing her. She flushed and rubbed her warm cheek with the back of her knuckle and distracted herself with two of the party guests walking through the field.

Wanda reminded herself that she came to make a friend — to be friends with you. So she spoke again. “To be honest, yes,” she replied. “I think you are admirable; everyone seems to like you very much, and the kind of bravery and kindness you have is of a kind I did not previously know could ever be sincere.”

She finally said it, and now, Wanda felt anxious about what you might say next.

You shifted and repositioned yourself as you pondered for a moment in consideration. “Well, I have to confess that most if not all of my bravery is rather insincere — I’m truly not as brave as you might think. In fact, I would argue that you’re more brave than I; you’ve experienced so much, undergone so much change, and yet you seem to have more drive than anyone to try your hardest at adjusting and getting back on your feet.” 

You thought she was braver than you? Wanda could collapse. She felt her chest flutter.

“But… the kindness,” you said, “is very sincere. I’m glad you see it that way.”

Wanda found herself stepping closer to you, feeling more comfortable in your company and feeling that she wanted to be closer to you physically, to hear your words within a closer vicinity and to see your face free of the soft shadows that the moonlight casted along the curve of your nose and the angle of your cheekbone. 

“I think you’re really special,” you told her. “I’m happy that you’re a part of the team. I’m glad you’re here.”

In all her life, there was only one place Wanda ever felt she belonged — with her family. Over some time, what this meant was redefined with the bombing of her home when she was ten and, recently, with the loss of her brother. There was a feeling of loss, an empty pit that burrowed itself within the deepest depths of Wanda’s identity where Pietro and her family and some sort of identity should have been.

It was not only others and her country that she lost, but a part of herself, when all the landmarks she had ever belonged to were stolen from her. But if she could learn anything from still being able to stand where she was and try her best and be brave — like you said — in spite of all her loss and grief, it was that she was not all that she identified herself with.

She still existed, and was still worth something, even without all that was lost.

It would be difficult to even begin finding who she was, exactly, without Pietro and Sokovia and her parents and the truths of herself and the world that HYDRA had always taught her. But she hoped that you might be at least the first step to her self-discovery — you were her first friend.

“Are you alright?” you asked, tipping your head down slightly to try getting a better look at Wanda’s face. 

Wanda had lost herself in her thoughts and forgot to reply to you. She must have been silent for a bit of time. “Yes, I’m okay.” She subtly swiped at her cheeks when she realised she was crying — perhaps it was from thinking of her family or of Sokovia, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the moment was that she started crying — as she looked over at the field for a distraction again.

Without another word, you stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Wanda’s shoulders, bringing her against your body in a soft hug. It was wordless and quiet and casual — support and comfort without any conditions.

Every time Wanda believed that she’d fully grasped the world’s capacity for kindness, believed that there couldn't possibly be something more gentle than what you have thus far shown her, you prove her wrong. 

She hoped she would never be right.

[gor3-hound]

i apologise if you feel something

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, dead dove, domestic abuse, possessive leon, toxic behaviour, heavy non-con, choking, p in v, improper prep, blood as lube, creampie, physical assault, crying, BRIEF murder threat, guilt, very brief praise n degradation mixed in

a/n: hiii! this is written w re2 leon in mind!! pls be aware there are quite graphic depictions of co-dependency n abuse in this one. it's late, so pls ignore typos !! title from bmth song of the same name

word count: 1.8k words

Leon wasn't the same man you knew before Raccoon City. When he first came home after his first day, he was clingy. He wouldn't leave you alone, following you around like a lost puppy. You didn't know the extent of what he went through at the beginning, but he slowly began to open up about the horrors he saw.

You were there for him. Of course you were. You let him stay at your place now his new apartment was left in ruins after the bomb hit. Not that he could stay in that godforsaken city, anyway. He still dreamt of the infected most nights, waking up in a cold sweat.

You could have handled that, if it was all it was. You wanted to be there for him, help him recover as best he could. You loved him, and you wanted him to be okay more than anything.

But he started changing. You couldn't so much as try and leave for the store without him crowding you against the wall, demanding to know exactly what you needed. If you were out and didn't answer his texts, he'd make sure to let you know you fucked up.

He wasn't above hitting you, gripping your throat until you almost passed out. Anything to keep you under his thumb, to make sure you wouldn't leave him. He'd seen too much death so early in his life.

He wasn't going to lose you, too.

You couldn't take it anymore. He controlled every aspect of your life. It was getting to the point that you'd flinch anytime he moved too fast. You hated being scared in your own apartment.

You tried bringing it up gently, tell him it just wasn't working out for you. After all, he'd be leaving for military training soon, and you needed to finish up your college studies and think about building a career.

You regretted it as soon as the words came out of your mouth.

“You think you get to leave me?” He says with a dry, humourless laugh. He stalks towards you like a lion cornering its prey, backing you up against the wall. He cages you in with his larger frame, looking down at you with a dark glint in his eyes.

“That's cute, baby. Really. You think you get a fucking choice?” The words are punctuated with a harsh grip on your throat, squeezing you so hard that your airflow is instantly cut off. You can feel the blood rushing to your face as you try and suck in a breath, your hands clawing at his wrists to try and get them off.

Your nails draw blood, and that just pisses him off even more. He yanks you towards him slightly by your neck before slamming you back against the wall, your head hitting it with a loud thud.

Pain shoots across your system, your vision blurry with the unshed tears forming. He lets go of your throat after another minute, watching with a sadistic glee as you crumple to the floor at his feet. He squats down, watching as you choke in air to fill your burning lungs.

“You're the only good thing left in my life, baby. You don't get to leave me.”

“You're crazy…” You gasp out, pushing on the floor to attempt to stand up again. He was dangerous. You needed to get out before he killed you.

His eye twitches at your words, and a foot goes flying for your stomach before you can even register it. You fall to the floor once more, sobbing as you curl in on yourself in a pathetic attempt to protect your body from more hits.

“I'm crazy?” He says quietly, an eerie sense of calm in his voice. He stands over you, placing his foot on your wrist before grinding the sole of his boot into your wrist, making you cry out in pain.

“I'm crazy?” He repeats louder this time, almost yelling at you. He yanks you up by your hair, dragging you into the bedroom and throwing you onto the bed. “You're the crazy one! You think this is bad, sweetheart? I can make you disappear.”

"You want to leave me, huh?" His breathing is hard and fast. "I'm crazy, huh?" The veins in his neck are bulging out, his hands fiddling with the buckle of his belt.

"I'll show you crazy."

Your entire body is shaking, but you have to get out. You have to get to your phone. You look at the door, and that was your worst mistake. In a flash, he's slapping you across the face hard enough that your ears ring, blood filling your mouth.

“Cute. Real fucking cute.” He hisses, grabbing your jaw roughly so you're facing him. He seems to get even angrier when he sees how terrified you look.

“Aww… baby. You're scared?” He coos, a mocking pout making its way to his lips. “You should be grateful. I'm keeping you safe. You have no right to be scared. If you knew what I've seen, what I've been through-”

He pauses to suck in a shaky breath through his teeth, images of the horrors he'd endured during Raccoon City flashing through his mind and making him feel nauseous.

“You should consider yourself lucky.” He says in a low tone, his expression hardening as he looks down at you. “You haven't been exposed to anything worth being scared of, princess.”

“Don't worry, though. I understand. I'll just have to fuck some sense back into you, hmm? Remind you of who's been by your side since day fucking one, keeping you safe.”

Your eyes widen at his words, and it seems to renew your fight. You struggle against him all over again, crying as you push and kick at his torso, thrashing as he pins you down on the bed. “Leon… Leon, no, wait… babe, fuck I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, m'so sorry, just…”

He shoves three fingers into your mouth, the tips jarring your throat and making you sputter and choke. There's a steady stream of tears running down your face at his point, your breaths heavy through your nose.

“Do you ever shut up?” He grunts, tugging down your pyjama pants and underwear, frowning when he sees you're not wet for him. That's new. Oh well. Wasn't gonna stop him.

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, coated with a mix of your blood and spit. He uses that to ease his way into you, pushing two fingers in straight away and spreading them inside of you to stretch you out for him.

“Leon, stop… that hurts.” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut and kicking your legs out weakly. He's not doing this for you. Doesn't try to hit your sweet spot or rub your clit to ease the discomfort like he usually does.

“One more word from you, and I swear to god, I'm going to break your pretty fucking neck.” He grunts, yanking his fingers out of your pussy to free his cock from his jeans.

You're nowhere near prepared enough to take him. You cry out in pain as he bottoms out in one thrust. He doesn't give you a second to adjust, nothing. He just starts thrusting, chasing his own high as he fucks into you.

Either you're getting wet, or you're bleeding. Whichever one it is, slick lines your pussy and makes his thrusts easier. He groans as he continues to rock his fat cock into your cunt, his head thrown back in pleasure.

His hands grip your thighs as you try and close them, holding them wide apart so he has full access to fuck you as much as he wants. You give up, going limp as he takes what he wants from you.

“There we go… shit, you feel so fucking good. Even when you say no, she sucks me right in.” He moans, his hips rabbiting even faster against you, the sounds of slapping skin filling the room.

“Such a… god.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Perfect little slut for me… pussy always squeezes me so good…”

His eyes flutter open, and he tilts his head down to take you in. He finally looks at your face and sees how much you're sobbing, the pure terror in your face. His brows furrow, and he frowns. He looks down further, trailing your body and noticing the bruise forming on your stomach. When his gaze reaches his cock and he sees the blood coating it, a look of panic flashes across his face for a second.

He seems to realise what he's doing, his expression switching to one of worry in an instant. His hips stutter, but don't stop. He pulls out just enough to spit on his dick, trying to make it hurt less for you. He starts to sob, his hands cupping your cheeks and caressing them softly.

"Fuck, baby. I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me." He says quietly, voice cracking halfway through the sentence. He feels sick when he sees your blood coating his length and has to swallow down the bile that rises in his throat. Doesn't make him stop, though. What the fuck is wrong with him?

"I didn't mean it. I swear. I just love you so, so much. I have nobody. Can't lose you, too." He breathes out, dropping his head against your shoulder as he ruts shallowly into you. “My pretty baby. Such a good girl. Don't wanna hurt you… hate seein’ you cry.”

You don't know how you end up comforting him, promising him it's okay even as your whole body aches and your insides burn with every thrust. It hurts to see him hurting. You'd rather take a beating than see him this broken. All it takes for him to cum is for you to say you love him, too.

He pulls out carefully, pressing kisses down your neck. You don't move. Don't speak. You couldn't, even if you wanted to. You're limp in his arms as he picks you up, cradling you carefully against his chest.

He runs you a bath, gently placing you into the hot, soapy water. He peppers kisses all over your face as the water washes away the blood and cum, soothing your aching muscles.

He keeps saying he's sorry, his eyes filled with remorse. He promises he won't do it again, but you know he will. As soon as you step a toe out of line, he'll snap again. You know you should leave. You'd be dead if he kept this up. But seeing that pain on his face, the way he trembles as he washes your hair tenderly…

You'd stay one more day. Just one more day…

[msgexymunson]

Rumour Part 5: Ready

Description: After your love confession, you're wondering if Eddie feels the same. Something happens to make him see how special you are to him.

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI this isn't for you bbys, the usual trifecta of angst, smut and fluff, brief violence (not between reader and Eddie) L bombs, brief male and fem oral receiving, p in v unprotected sex

A/N: this is the penultimate part!! I'll be sorry to see this version of Eddie go, I'm so happy you lot liked him as much as I do! If you enjoy this, please comment and reblog if you like it, it seriously makes my day reading your comments ❤

5.8k words

Masterlist    Part 1    Part 2    Part 3   Part 4

Sitting at your dressing table, you claw your hair into a sensible ponytail, fussing with the fluffy bits that stick out the sides. You really weren't in the mood to put a full face of makeup on, so you just apply mascara and lip gloss. It helped with tips.

Sighing into the room, you pout, attempting to stare down your own reflection, your mind wandering to the sticky dark cloud that clung to you. Intrusive thoughts had grabbed you and refused to let go for a week now. Black tar thoughts; slow moving, bitter and impossible to remove.

You hear your front door open with a rustle of leather and a creak of boots.

"Hey baby." You call out of the door frame, still fixated with your countenance in the mirror.

"Hey sweet thing, you good?" Eddie's voice is higher than usual and bursting with barely concealed excitement.

You don't trust your words, sensing they'll betray you, so you settle with a nonchalant "uh huh. You?"

"Pretty girl, I've got something to tell you."

You're sure your ears would have swivelled towards him if they could, heart suddenly inflating in hope. You turn to him, taking in his beaming face.

"What is it?"

He's pacing your room at this point, telling you what's clearly been dying to burst out of his chest, words manifesting with undeniable glee.

"Well, you remember that band we saw?" You nod, shoulders dropping, heart sinking again.

"The guitarist came into my shop for a tattoo, right, and told me they've had a falling out with the front man, Bill or Buck or whatever. Anyways, we got talking and I told him I could sing, and one thing lead to another- well guess where I just came from? Their managers office, I'm in! They want me as a front man! They're going to change the name, and obviously we need to practise and stuff, but I'm gonna be in a band! With a manager! Isn't that awesome?"

He squats by where you're sitting, grasping your hands in his. You've never seen his eyes more alive. His coarse thumbs rub circles into the backs of your delicate hands.

You do your best to swallow the lump in your throat, the disappointment bitter on your tongue. This clearly means the world to him, and you are pleased for him, truly. A smile adorns your face, warm and loving, even if it doesn't reach your eyes.

"I'm so happy for you Eddie." Leaning forward  you press a soft kiss to his mouth as a distraction. He smiles against your mouth.

"It's gonna be great sweets, for both of us." You can't help but scoff slightly at his comment but he doesn't seem to notice, instead moving to mouth at your throat, nibbling at your ear.

"Eddie what are you doing?"

"I'm happy," he says, sucking at the pressure point in your neck, making you stifle a moan, "I need you."

You laugh mirthlessly "well, do you know what I need?" The words have more bite than intended, an edge to your voice that's razor sharp, cutting through the room and changing the ambiance in a heartbeat.

Eddie's taken aback, leaning on his heels. "What do you need sweets?"

"I need-" not now, not now, he's so happy, just drop it. "I need to go to work." You finish lamely.

"I can drive you, I'm not working tonight."

"It's fine, Eddie, I could use the walk."

You stand, wrenching yourself away from him and his soft eyes. Marching into the living room you perch on the sofa to put your shoes on. Eddie's propped up in the doorway, frowning at you.

"I don't like you walking at night on your own."

You laugh at him, the sharp sound nipping; it has teeth. "Eddie it's 7 o'clock. I'm a grown ass woman, I'll be fine. Can't you trust me to look after myself?"

"It's not like that sweets and you know it." Long strides cut you off from the front door, his arms folded.

"I just need some space. Fresh air." You stand up to leave, but Eddie's about as immovable as a mountain; all rocky arms and stony glare.

"Can I leave? I'm gonna be late."

"I said, I'll drive you." He's towering over you, broad and intimidating.

You stick your chin out, mustering your courage.

"And I said no." You push past him but he holds your upper arm with a firm hand.

"Sweet thing what's this about?" He ducks down to your height, searching your face for clues.

Your eyes are glossy, vision beginning to blur. "You know exactly what this is about."

Eddie steps back, releasing your arm. "Sweetheart, I..." he trails off, arms falling to his sides. "I don't know what to say."

"Then don't. Lock the door when you leave."

You ignore further wordless protests from him and pull your front door open, not bothering to close it as you march into the biting cold, struggling to put your coat on as you go. You refuse to look behind you, knowing he's outlined in your doorway, watching you leave.

********************

The bar is a bustling, chaotic mess when you get there. It's unusual, but you're very welcome for the distraction. You serve drinks, run around collecting glasses, and make yourself as busy as possible.

Nothing can quiet the dark voice inside your head.

You're an idiot. Why didn't you just talk to him? You're acting like a brat. No wonder he doesn't treat you like a woman.

As soon as you push any of your self deprecating thoughts aside however, more comments run through your head like a freight train.

Him not treating you like a woman is not your fault. He said it already, he called you a play thing. Maybe that's how he sees you? But why would he do all that for your birthday if he doesn't care about you? Why won't he just say it?

You stop for a second behind the bar, pinching the bridge of your nose. Maybe if you pinch hard enough the thoughts will go away.

"Hey darlin', you ok?"

Looking up, you're met with the ashy mop of hair and concerned eyes of Matt.

"Hey, sorry just real busy tonight, what can I get you, the usual?"

"Yeah, and a glass of red for the lady."

You look over his shoulder and see the unmistakable blonde hair and, well, physique, of Estelle.

"Oh, are you two-"

"Together, yeah." He beams at you.

"Aw that's real sweet, happy for you," you smile back, "hey you know there's a free booth over there, there's a reserved sign on it but it doesn't look like they're coming. Just, collect some glasses for me, ok?"

"Sure thing sweets." You flinch at that; continuing to get him his order.

After a while the hubbub dies down and your manager leaves you to lock up. It's just you and four drunks, and Matt and Estelle sucking each other's faces like there's no tomorrow.

Shouting last call, they're ushered out of the bar, leaving you to lock up. You think about calling Eddie to come get you, then remember how you left. Guilt twinges your stomach.

This is stupid.

You pick up the phone and call his number, nerves bubbling in your gut. After four rings, it defaults to voicemail. There's no way he's asleep already. He clearly doesn't want to speak to you.

Grabbing your belongings you leave, locking the front door behind you. You stomp briskly in the direction of home, trying to move fast to avoid the cold, your breath fogging in the air.

You're so lost in thought that the first time you see the two men in front of you is when you walk head first into one of them. Shock shakes you; a sharp cold breath shoots into your chest. Nearly falling, you teeter until one of them grabs you by the arm.

"Woah, falling for me are you?" He laughs perniciously, helping you get your balance. You look up at a tall, gruff looking man, wearing a dirty Demin jacket. A rough, wanton demeanour radiates from him. Dangerous. He keeps his hold on your arm despite your pleading eyes.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going."

The other guy speaks up, moving to stand behind you. Crowding you; a silent threat, an escape blocked.

"You ought be more careful." Every word seems heavy and considered, like it was an effort to string a sentence together. You could smell the booze from here.

"Look, I'm sorry ok, I've got to go." You go to pull your arm free but he just grips you tighter.

"Seems you owe us a proper apology. Hot young girl like you, you should come with us."

Fear stabs you in the stomach; a red hot knife falls through your guts, twisting and cauterising as it goes.

"Yeah, we're havin' party." The man behind slurs out. You feel an unwelcome hand travel to your waist, flesh crawling with horripilation.

"Hey, let go of me!" You move to punch with your free arm but it's instantly pinned to your side by the gruff man in front of you. Hot alcohol breath is in your face, making you cringe and scrunch your nose up, panic gripping you as tightly as his hands.

Suddenly the hand on your waist is wrenched loose and you hear a dull thud. A shadow is cast over your shoulder, blocking the street light. You try to open your mouth to ask for help when a familiar low voice growls out.

"Don't you dare lay your fuckin' hands on the woman I love."

You see a blur, and hear a sick thud. It sounds wet and crunchy. Unable to process what's happening you stand there, frozen in shock. There's a scuffle, but it sounds underwater; after a while a firm hand guides you to an open car door. You smell cigarettes, and weed, and Aramis aftershave. Eddie.

********************

The next thing you're aware of is Eddie's apartment, Eddie's couch, safety; a blanket over your shoulders and a mug of something hot being placed into your waiting hands.

Eddie's crouching in front of you, hand with roughened bloodied knuckles stroking your arm so, so gently.

Your eyes refocus and there he is, chiselled jaw clenched, brown eyes filled with worry, blood running down the side of his face.

"You're bleeding Eddie." Placing the mug down with shaking hands, your fingers come up to his face.

"Fuck, you're ok." He collapses to his knees, pulling you in for a tight squeeze. Both of his arms encapsulate you, hands splayed against your back, holding you close.

His voice is muffled as he continues, speaking into your abdomen. "I was so worried when you wouldn't say anything, I didn't know what to do."

He pulls back enough so you can look down at his face. To your shock, tracks of tears run down his cheeks, shining in the light.

"Baby, you're crying." Your brows knot as you stare in the face of this dishevelled man in front of you.

He wipes his nose with the back of his hand and half laughs, "yeah, seem to be doing a lot of that tonight."

Your heart breaks at that remark, splintering at the thought of causing him pain. Standing up, Eddie stands too, holding onto your shoulders.

"What are you doing sweets?"

"Sit down I need to clean you up."

"No don't worry you sit-"

"Eddie, you're bleeding."

He finally sits down, holding his hands up in submission.

Fetching a first aid kit, a wash cloth and a bowl of warm water, you sit next to him on the couch and clean the blood off of his face, grateful to have something to do.

"I think you need stitches baby." You frown at the cut on his eyebrow.

"No it's fine, eyebrow cuts just bleed a lot. Trust me, I used to get beat up all the time." You give him some cotton wool so he can hold it against his eyebrow to try and stop the bleeding.

Taking his bear paw of a hand in yours, you gently take his rings off and dab lightly at the blood marks with the cloth, water in the bowl turning murky.

"Did you mean it?" Practically a whisper, knowing your voice will break if you say it any louder.

"You remember that huh?" He chuckles, still holding the cotton to his brow.

"Pretty hard to forget Eddie." On cleaning his hand it looks like most of the blood isn't his.

"Pretty shitty way to hear it for the first time. I'm sorry, I'm a stupid asshole." He huffs, looking down.

"Hey," his eyes meet yours, red raw and soft. "You're not an asshole."

"So I'm just stupid yeah?" He flashes a lopsided grin.

"Hey, you said it not me." He chuckles at that.

You gesture for him to move the cotton wool. The bleeding has stopped. You go over it with an antiseptic wipe and bandage it for him.

"You know, I tried to call you, for a ride. And I felt awful. I'm sorry. I should have spoken to you."

"Well, I felt awful too. I thought you didn't want to see me, so I waited outside the bar and tailed you home."

"Wow," you giggle, impressed by his chivalry, "I'd call you a creep but you saved me. So, thank you."

"Anything for you sweet thing." You blush at that.

"You're so fuckin' cute. I just, I'm sorry. And for the record, I don't fight, not really, but I saw them touching you and I just lost it. Can I explain a little?"

You nod, feeling your eyes already start to fill with tears. He takes your hands in his, looking at you dead in the eye.

"I'm not used to people wanting me. I'm not used to people staying, you know? Everyone always leaves me. I thought if I distanced myself a little, it would help, when you realised you were too good for me and left. When you realised I was too old for you."

Your heart swells, filled with love for this soft, vulnerable boy.

"Eddie, when have I ever mentioned your age? Or mine? I don't care. You are good, you're spectacular. You're mine. I love you."

"Pretty girl, I love you too."

Rough hands meet soft cheeks, chapped lips meet smooth. Crushing your lips together, you sigh in contentment, kissing the man you love.

His tongue laps into your mouth, softly massaging yours. You feel the chime of steel against steel. He quickly pulls away.

"Shit can I kiss you yet, I'm sorry I forgot-"

"It's fine Eddie, please." You press your mouth against his eagerly, tongue pushing into him. You take turns massaging each others tongues with your studs. It's sensual in a way you can't describe, an infinite connection, the sensation leaving you both breathless. Every movement conveyed with a lasting passion, an adoration for the ages.

His fingers start fumbling at your shirt, unbuttoning it slowly. He breaks away from you so he can start trailing hot little kisses all over your collar bone.

"Can I take you to the bedroom? I want to take my time with you."

You nod, biting your lip in anticipation. He doesn't scoop you up in his arms, like he does when he's desperate. He simply stands up and holds his hand out to you. You take it, allowing him to lead you gently to the bedroom.

You both perch on the edge of the bed, hands sweeping over torsos, ridding each other of your shirts. Each inch of skin displayed earns a kiss, each kiss earns another. Soft fingers trace tattoos, calloused hands rub warm flesh.

Time is inconsequential; nothing as crass as time could possibly invade this moment. You explore each others bodies as if it were the first time; touching, stroking, kissing.

Dragging your nails down his naked chest procures you a hiss through his teeth. You smirk, planting open mouthed kisses over every patch of skin, guiding him to lie back with your delicate palm. He complies, resting one arm under his head, the other hand stroking softly at the back of your head.

Unbuttoning his jeans, you pull them down slowly along with his underwear, stopping to kiss at the apex of his toned thighs. No matter how many times you see it, you can't help but think how pretty his dick is. Huge and girthy, resting against his stomach, flushed nearly purple at the tip, leading to the heavy steel bar though the slit.

You press little teasing kisses up the shaft and down the sides, watching it twitch at your ministrations. When you lick all the way up and circle the tip he practically whimpers; the steel of his piercing hitting the metal ball in your mouth.

Moving to rid yourself of your jeans he stops you to do it himself. Laying you down just where he was, he inches them down so, so slowly, kissing and licking at each inch of your exposed skin. The sensations building are progressing straight to your molten core, lava threatening to bubble out at all his small, careful, gentle touches.

Kneeling between your legs, thick digits trace the outline of your heat, spreading around your growing wetness. He leans over you, lips brushing your own, leaving paper trace kisses, his nose whispering against the side of yours.

"You're so beautiful like this. My beautiful good girl. I love you so much it fuckin' hurts."

With that, he sinks two large fingers into your pussy, gliding through your slick easily. You grasp at his biceps, mouth forming a silent gasp, heavily lidded eyes seeking his.

"I love you Eddie, you're- you're everything."

Eyes shining, he kisses the tip of your nose, the movements of his hand slow and soft.

You whine at his touches, gasping breaths escape your lungs as you stare into his eyes. He quickens his pace but you still him with a squeeze of your hand.

"Please, baby."

He knows what you need. Moments later he's between your legs, hard length rubbing against your folds.

"Like this, ok sweet thing?" A rough thumb pad strokes against your cheek as your breaths intermingle.

"Yes, please."

He smiles and pushes into you, diffusing the gentlest kisses over your forehead, cheeks, lips.

The feeling of being filled by him never ceases to amaze you. You feel him, in every pore, every cell. You open to him, exposed and vulnerable. Staring into his eyes you see him, really see him. He's just as exposed, just as vulnerable. Stroking at his cheek, you peck him lightly on the lips, allowing him to move.

Your bodies meld together, hips meeting in perfect unison. You feel his muscles tensing against your own; inked skin rippling against you, rose hip tattoo sliding against his skin.

Hooking your legs around him, you pull him deeper, and deeper. Your moans crest in a wave of longing, loud and lascivious. He smirks at the volume of your want, giving you exactly what you need. The bubbling heat of your release overflows, pouring out of your heat and into the universe, the feeling stretching and lasting forever; you and Eddie, an eternity in a moment.

Quivering and gasping, you make it back to this plane of existence, grasping at the roots of Eddie's hair in fear that you'll float away, begging with your eyes for God knows what. He takes one of your shaking hands in his own, lapping at your fingertips with his pierced tongue, deft kisses bringing you back to the here and now.

Smiling against your fingers when he sees you've made it back to him, he cages you in the unassailable fortress that is his arms; safe and warm and loved.

He holds you, large hand nearly encompassing your thigh, keeping you close as he moves against you. Both of you are glistening, the very aura around you pulsing in a crimson cloud of passion.

You're surrounded, engulfed and taken by him. There is nothing else except Eddie; this beautifully broken man, with his barely contained ardour, and his fragile soul.

You feel him speed up, mouth beginning to hang open, chasing his release. Pressing soft kisses to him, you map out your love over his cheek and jaw. He presses his forehead to yours, wide eyes locking, as he releases inside of you. Burly arms cling to you as he falls from that precipice, a tight embrace of consummation. The steady panting of his chest presses into you, wordless for a moment.

"Well, that was... intense" he chuckles softly into the skin of your neck, overridden by sheer joy. You stroke the back of his head.

"Yeah I know baby, same."

"Can we just stay like this? For a while?" The roundest doe eyes gaze at you.

"Of course we can. Just like this."

********************

Three months later and you're squeezing your way past giggling girls and denim clad men trying desperately to get to the backstage area, clutching a bottle of Jack Daniels to your chest. You're honestly impressed, this is the biggest crowd you'd seen them play for; there had to be a couple hundred people in this place at least.

After a few starter shows in dive bars, and a lot of practises, they were playing their first official gig as their rebranded band, Tongue Tattoo.

When Eddie had first told you the name you were very confused, staring up at him with an empty furrowed brow, wide eyes innocently gaping.

"But Eddie, you don't have a tongue tattoo."

"That's not what it means sweets."

"But what could it possibly-" Eddie flicked his tongue in an obscene gesture towards you, making you blush profusely.

"Eddie you can't call your band after-"

"-eating pussy? Why not? You seem to enjoy it." All smug grin and wandering hands as he pulled you in.

Thinking about it, it did seem appropriate. It was filthy, and sexy, and very Eddie.

Finally wiggling your way past some biker types in leather jackets you see two bouncers in front of you. Thankfully they remembered you, allowing you to pass with a nod and a wink.

You shuffle through the door, pulling down the front of your too short skirt with one hand, desperately clinging to the bottle with the other. Smoothing down the wrinkles in your top you let out a sigh of preparation and move down the narrow corridor into the back stage area.

If you could call it that. Bare brick and old sofas, a broken amp being used as a side table in the corner, cigarette butts on the floor. The room was swamped in smoke and noise; music playing from a beat up stereo, guitars being tuned, a couple of giggly girls hovering near the drummer trying to get his attention whilst he was in deep conversation with Anthony, the bass player.

Eddie's hunched over his guitar, fiddling with the strings, when Rich the guitarist nudges him. He looks up and sees you, eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree.

"Well, my pretty girl, holding a pretty bottle. What you doing fetching drinks? You don't need to do that sweets." You're drawn in to the warmth of his smile, hands grabbing to pull you in by the flesh of your hips, guitar pinched awkwardly between you both.

"I wanted to. It's a gift for you and the guys. For good luck." He grins whilst you pull yourself away for a moment, grabbing some loose glasses on the side and handing out a shot for each of them.

"Hey, don't forget yourself sweet thing."

"Oh I'm not-"

"-part of the band? Pretty girl, you've been to every practise, every dive bar, helped with equipment. Come on." You flush at his words but pour yourself a drink anyway.

Toasting to the band, you knock the bourbon back, relishing the burn.

The band are called and you move to leave to support them front and centre of the crowd, but Eddie has you by the wrist.

He pulls you in roughly, and speaks low and sultry in your ear.

"And don't think I didn't notice this tiny skirt," he says, grabbing you by the ass. Then his voice lowers further, almost a growl, just for you.

"When the show ends I'm going to fuckin' ruin you."

His words flood through you, leaving chaos in their wake. You're all wide eyes and clenched thighs.

Flashing you a grin and a wink as if nothing happened, he allows you to leave. You gape for a moment, then remember yourself and find your way out of the room and to the front of the crowd, elbowing your way to your place.

A couple of fans notice you and move out of your way. One guy even pulls you in front of him so you can see. No one wants to upset Eddie.

And suddenly it's all lights and noise as they come on stage and you see your beloved once again in all his glory. This is where he's supposed to be. You knew it the first time you'd seen him perform. He prowls across the stage as if he owns it, as if it were made for him.

They whip the crowd into a frenzy, playing a mixture of original songs and covers. The style you recognise from that night you'd seen the band without Eddie leading them, but now they had an edge. It was darker, sexier. As always he brought this undeniable sin to the table that sent the crowd crazy.

And that was all before he unbuttoned his shirt.

Girls screamed. Hell, some guys screamed. Eddie laughed deep into the microphone, and you noticed a splash of colour on his chest, deep red, that wasn't there before. There's an unnatural shine to it. You squint and finally figure out it's a plastic layer; he must have gotten a new tattoo, just over his heart. It's not until he finishes a song, taps the pop of red twice and points directly at you, that you see what it is.

It's a rose, almost identical to your own. The permanence of the act makes tears prickle behind your eyes, a gush of feeling flooding your heart.

Almost as suddenly as the show starts, it's over. The energy in the room is palpable, electrifying. It was definitely a good gig; you're certain the band are going to be pleased.

Pushing and shoving your way backstage, you get there just as Eddie does.

"Baby that was incredible!" 

He picks you up in his large hands and spins you around making you squeal like a school girl.

"Yes it fuckin' was! Incredible. C'mere."

Before you can blink he's pulling you in for a devastating kiss.

"Hey, come on guys, get a room!" You hear Anthony groan.

"We have a room Tony, you just happen to be in it." Eddie bites back, grinning carnivorously.

"Seriously? Not cool!"

Eddie laughs, but nods at the guys and pulls you through a door, down a hallway, and into what you can only assume is a supply closet. You haven't exactly got much time to take in your surroundings before Eddie's biting at your throat.

"Eddie, wait just one second!" You giggle, pushing his head away. Wild eyes meet yours. You can feel the post show glow practically vibrating through his system; you know you have a small window if that.

You hold your small hands to his shoulders, ducking your head to actually look at the new ink he has.

It's nearly identical to your own rose tattoo he gave you about nine months ago, just a slightly different style. It's a little more illustrated, slightly less realistic. It's still beautiful, a perfect accompaniment to your own.

"Eddie, its beautiful. I don't know what to say."

He gives you a lob sided smile, stroking at the apple of your cheek with his thumb.

"I love you sweet thing."

"I love you too baby."

You're about to lean forward to give him a sweet kiss but your mouth hits nothing but air.

Eddie's fallen to his knees, reaching under your skirt to pull your panties down. You kick them off and away. Expecting to feel his tongue, your eyes half close in anticipation.

The world falls downward. Suddenly, Eddie's picking you up, your head advancing towards the ceiling. He's lifted you with ease, bear like hands grasping at your ass, your thighs either side of his head. Pulling your heat towards his waiting lips; he's holding you in the air like a rag doll.

Abrupt slam of your back into shelves; Eddie's dexterous tongue laps between your folds. A guttural moan winds its way out of your lungs, tinged with animalistic need. The heat of his mouth is igniting the fire within you, hips rolling into him as nature intended.

You want to tell him he's making you come. You want to tell him how much he means, how good this is. All you manage is a broken scream and a muttered "Eddie, oh fuck!"

Eddie knows. He forces his face into you, ferocious intent clearly exhibited. His tongue is wickedness personified; fiendishly flicking into your core, so evilly it may as well have been forked.

Fire bubbles deep within you, an unearthly lust boiling just under the surface of your skin, waiting to lash out with all the force of hellfire.

Eddie sucks on your clit like the devil himself and forces your release out of you. Your thighs clamp around his head as your orgasm flies through every nerve ending with a cleansing fire. Your moans ricochet through the tiny room and probably out to the rest of the band. You're past caring at this point.

Panting and sweating, you want to take a moment to centre yourself but there's no opportunity. Eddie's pinning you to the shelves with one arm, as if you were his toy. The other is frantically pulling at his belt and fly.

Pushing his pants down just enough, he slides you down his sweating torso and towards his waiting dick.

You feel him breach you and bite your lip to control the burning sensation. Even in this elevated state, Eddie knows he's a lot to handle. He bottoms out, grunting with the feeling of finally being seated inside of you, but gives you a moment to adjust.

"You ok sweet thing?" His words are heady and husky, barely containing the predatory want, devious desire spreading into his very vocal chords.

"Yeah baby," you manage in a small voice.

That's all he needs. Eddie's huge hands are grabbing you by the flesh of your ass, pulling you up and down his length. He's using your  body, his puppet to control; a burning effigy for his desires.

"My fucking good girl, letting me use her like this. Fucking pussy beginning to be used." He's growling, low voice shaking slightly with each heavy thrust. 

You moan, clenching at his filth, slick from your cunt dripping down your thighs.

"Yeah? That good huh? So fucking filthy for me, so ready for me to fuck you. Shit, hang on."

He pulls you off bodily and places you on your feet, only to spin you around and force your front into the wall, kicking your legs apart.

The tip of his solid cock is teasing your entrance, breath of his words ghosting your ear.

"You can take me like this, huh? My good girl."

You're about to scream your submission to the heavens when he pushes back into you with no warning, turning your scream into a whimper.

One of his hands twirls into your hair, forcibly pulling your hair back so he can plant burning open mouthed kisses to your throat. His thrusts are unyielding, pushing his entire length into you, leaving dull bruises deep inside. Gasping at the relentless onslaught you tighten around him, feeling another orgasm about to race through you.

"You're gonna come, I can feel it. Don't you fucking dare. You wait, you come when I come. You come when I tell you to come."

You tighten your muscles, cunt constricting his cock, eyes tight shut. Your impending release is held on a gossamer thread, grasped by the fingertips of his threat.

"Eddie, please please please-" it's just babble at this point; inane, needy noises.

He speeds up his powerful thrusts, one hand holding you against the wall by your throat.

"You do as I fucking say. You want to be my good girl, don't you?"

You attempt to nod, head lolling to the side, only held upright by his firm grip.

Hot breath, a low whisper on the shell of your ear, "I asked you a question."

"Please, please, I'm your good girl!" So high pitched; you'd think you sounded pathetic if you were aware of anything other than Eddie's thick cock penetrating your entire being.

"Ok, fuck, I'm gonna come, come with me, please, oh fuck-"

Eyes tight shut, you do as you're told. Your release cries out, speeding through you, ripping out of your very soul and beyond, leaving your decency and sense of self in tatters, torn by Eddie's hands. Every bone turns, changes, now slipping into useless puddles, muscles unresponsive and uncaring. You'd sink to the floor if Eddie wasn't pinning you to the wall, with not a thought in that pretty head of yours.

Eddie gently pulls his member from you and softly sits you down on a nearby stool, pulling up his pants. He kneels in front of you, palms pressing into your thighs.

"Fuck, I'm sorry if that was a bit much pretty girl." Half a laugh huffs out his chest.

"It's ok, it's fine, baby." You want to sound sure, confident. Your voice is a whisper, a shadow of itself.

"Shit sweets you know what to say if it's too much." He frowns, palm coming rest on your chin as if he was inspecting your face for damage. 

You hold his sure hand in your trembling fingers, softly kissing at his skin.

"I'm ok, I know what you needed."

He laughs, pulling you in for a crushing hug. Voice in your hair, you hear "the fuck did I do to deserve you."

"Something really good?" You smile, relishing his hold on you.

"Seems unlikely but I'll take it" he grins, "you're an angel."

Preening at his praise, you soak up the feeling of Eddie pressed against you, the love of your life holding you as tightly as he can.

Masterlist    Part 1    Part 2    Part 3   Part 4

Part 1 of tag list! Rest in the comments

@angelsarecallin @cutiecusp @pxrxcxa @spencerinmydrawls @munsquinns @sillypurplemurple @tiannamortis @walleloveseve @sinczir @biblichornerd @frogers @lauraasiain @madiisixx @leftdonkeygothgoop-blog @rafestarkeysblog @kittykatvenom @southside-serpent-bae @psychedelicsandsunsalutations @biblichornerd @angelina16torres-blog

[twdgwritings]

Hello, sorry English is not my first language, but I would like to ask you for Mitch's headcanon, please, if it's not a bother and thank you very much.

Mitch Headcanons

Parings: Mitch x Fem! Reader

Warnings: death of a parent, typos probably, swearing, my opinions, everyone lives AU, did I miss any?

Summary: General and Romantic headcanons about Mitch!

A/N: I had two requests for Mitch headcanons, so here there are! He is a good guy, wish we got more of him. Sorry this took so long my brain is gone, it left me.

-General-

We all know Mitch was sent to Ericson’s because he fought his neighbors and blew up shit, including his father’s garage. Though to add more depth into his character, I believe Mitch had a little sister, whom he was fiercely protective of. The neighbors he was fighting would sometimes pick on his sister, which lead to the fights though no adult knew that was the reason. I also think Mitch’s father is widowed, his mother died a two years before he got sent off.

He LOVES cowboy boots, don’t ask me why I just feel it in my bones(and it looks like he is wearing them in game). Mitch has a few pairs, probably from some walkers or he found them around the school. Everyone is wondering how his feet don’t hurt all the time, he doesn’t even know.

Mitch is a bigger nerd than he lets on. Other than the fact he is smart enough to understand chemistry and make bombs, but I also think he was a comic book guy. Though he never let anyone else know thinking he would get made fun of.

Pretty close friends with Ruby. Kinda like a sibling relationship, but she smacks him in the head when he does dumb shit. (Which is often)

Puffs his cheeks out when embarrassed, which only gets him (playfully) picked on by the others.

He still has a lot of energy and likes to play fight with the others, but mostly Willy. Of course he doesn’t hurt anyone and it’s all in good fun. One time he was wrestling Ruby (probably because he wasn’t resting hen he got hurt or something, and she wasn’t having that.) so he was holding her down on the ground, giving her shit over how he is stronger than her… and then all the little kids Tenn, Aj and Willy tackled him and began tickling him. (It was Willy’s idea)

Mitch REALLY likes cats. He likes dogs too don’t worry, Mitch loves Rosie. Like if he found one he will steal it and bring it home, congratulations you have a furry baby with him now. Best cat dad 10/10.

He is ticklish and he hates it, the only ones who get away with tickling him are the little ones. Expect Willy, that’s basically his little brother so he will get him back. But if all three kids gang up on him (as mentioned before) he will try to run from them.

Honestly Mitch is a super sweet guy, once you get past all the attitude. He loves playing with the kids and can be the biggest sweetheart towards them, but instantly becomes an asshole when called out on it.

-Romantic-

You know how some people are like; “he picks on you because he likes you!” Yeah that exists because of guys like Mitch. He teases you and makes snarky comments because he has no idea how to handle his feelings, Ruby knows he likes you and she teases him.

His confess probably came from an argument between you two, yelling at him for being so mean and then he snaps back with something like; “I just REALLY like you!” Followed by crickets as you stare at him, Mitch is looking anywhere but you.

When it comes to PDA, he acts like he hates it and pouts but he loves it. I can see him totally being into the holding pinkies thing, it’s simple but adorable. You two standing together, pinkies interlocked and he is blushing like crazy.

He will teach you how to make bombs if you want, but he is super paranoid the whole time. Mostly worried you’re going to get yourself hurt, so he stands over your shoulder and watches like a hawk.

Mitch feels like a super cheesy guy, like romantic cheesy. But it’s an apocalyptic world, so he’s hard to have romantic dates. Your first date was sneaking out of Ericson’s at night, climbing a tree and looking at the stars together. That kind of cheesy, if that makes sense.

He gets too embarrassed to ask you to move into his room with him, so he just waits for you to do ur. Or just hint at it continuously. “Your room seems cramped, maybe you should come sleep in mine.” All the rooms are the same size lol. When you finally move into his room, he becomes hella clingy in private. Cuddling you all the time, has to be touching you. Mitch will let you decorate his room if you want, even if it’s something silly or girly. He will make a smart ass comment but if you try to take it down he gets upset like; “Hey, what are you doing I liked it there.” >:(

Sleeping in the same bed with Mitch is a pain, mostly because he rolls around and will roll ON YOU. He also sleeps kinda heavy, so you’ll have better luck pushing him off yourself rather than waking him up. When Mitch does wake up he kinda cranky like an old man, which you tease him about and he only mumbles a “shut up.”

[the-oblivious-writer]

Meant To Be One

Gf!Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader

One-Shot

Summary: You couldn't have guessed this is where you would end up after letting Sam Carpenter in your life. Well, now you're in your room, hiding, as Sam tries to break down your door whilst revealing the cruel future she has planned for the students of Woodsboro High

Warning(s): Swearing, dark!sam, manipulating/gaslighting, gun(s), mentions of death & killing

Notes: Based off of the song 'Meant To Be Yours.' Not sure how to feel about this one, lemme know what you think

2/7 for Seven Days Of Christmas

Bang. Bang. Bang—BANG.

That was all you could hear on the other side of the door as Sam Carpenter incessantly pounded on your bedroom door. You tried to be as quiet as possible but deep down you knew no matter how quiet you could be, Sam wouldn't leave until you opened up. 

“All is forgiven baby! Come on, get dressed! You’re my date to the pep rally,” she shouted from the other side. You stayed a few feet from the door, not knowing how far Sam would go. You’ve seen how far she could go, and you soon realized she could go much farther.

“Fuck off! You’re a psychotic asshole!” You spat harshly. Sam stared at the door with a grin so sinister you could almost feel it. 

“I’m protecting you! If you would just listen instead of chucking me out like trash, you would understand that!” 

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you! You should be dead for the way you’ve treated me!” The grip on Sam’s gun tightened as she spoke, soon loosening once remembering the plan. “But that’s when it hit me like a flash…” Sam took a short pause between, leaving you in a state of suspense. “What if high school went instead? Don’t you see it—those assholes are the key! They’re keeping you away from me!” 

“Sam, you’re fucking crazy! So what—what your solution is blowing up our school with everyone in it and we’re just supposed to drive off into the sunset?”

“Do you not want that for us?” You could hear the emotion in her voice, the sorrow in her tone evident. It made you want to give in until you remembered where you were, how you got here, what she had done—no, what you both had done. 

“It’s not that simple–”

“Then make it simple!”

“You tricked me into killing my best friend—not to mention the six other people we’ve killed. God. Just saying it out loud… It’s fucked Sam!”

“He was a damn asshole, an asshole that didn’t deserve you. Not like I do.” She spoke with pure venom, just the thought of him and you made her trigger finger itch. “When I found you, it changed my heart… and so I built a bomb. Because that’s how much I fucking love you!” She banged on your door again, causing you to flinch back. 

“Love doesn’t equal bombing the whole damn school!” You subtly moved around in your room as you shouted back, looking through your things for something.

“You don't know what you’re saying! They have made you blind, messed up your mind—but I can set you free!” She pounded on the door again. “Just open up, Y/N. Do you really think there’s going back?” 

You grabbed the bat from under your bed, getting ready to use it. Your grip squeezed around the handle as you slowly inched towards your door. “Y/N!” Another bang to the door causes you to jolt back. “Open the door, please… Can we not fight anymore?” Sam’s patience was thinning as she was only met with silence. She let out a sharp exhale, her hand subconsciously squeezing around her gun’s handle.  “Don’t make me come in there—I’m gonna count to three!”

“One!” 

You let out a shaky sigh, but your eyes suddenly catch sight of your closet.

“Two! Thre—fuck it!” Sam shoots the knob before kicking down the door. She was only wearing the cloak of her ghostface costume, opting to save the mask for later. You saw her look around, confused and frustrated. As she was just about to give up, she noticed your closet slightly open. You suck in a breath, trying your absolute hardest not to be caught. You could hear her combat boots as she inched closer to the closet.

 This is it. Your only chance. 

Suddenly, the doors abruptly open and instead of giving her a chance to make the first move, you swing your bat. She groans in pain after the metal bat makes contact with her back. You run past her, but Sam has a speedy recovery and immediately starts chasing you. One minute you’re running, the next you’re being pinned to one of your shelfs—books and items falling as she harshly pushed you up against the shelf. 

“You really thought you could get away from me baby? Tonight our school is Vietnam, and nothing is changing that,” she says in a low voice. “So you might as well bring marshmallows, we’ll make s’mores,” Sam lets out a sinister laugh at her own remark.

You narrow your eyes at her, looking at her with disbelief and pure confusion. How was this the same woman you fell so hard for? 

“I don’t even recognize you…” 

“Well you better get associated darling, because there’s no backing out. We’re doing this. There’s no point in fighting it.” She ran hand down your face, her knuckles softly brushing against your cheek and you hate how much you love her touch. 

“I’m meant to be yours. We’re meant to be one.” 

Just a moment ago you were absolutely repulsed by her plans. Disgusted with her. Disgusted with the vile acts you helped her commit, how she so effortlessly manipulated you, and how easy you fell for it. But oh, when you look into her eyes… it’s hard to say no. You can't help but feel yourself being pulled back into her cruel plans. You couldn’t resist Sam Carpenter. Not when she kissed you the way she did, not when she touched you the way she did, not when you loved her the way you did. 

Sam Carpenter had you in a chokehold.

“So what do you say baby?” With a tilt of her head, she looked at while flashing those dark eyes of hers—eyes she knew you couldn’t resist. 

“You know I can’t say no to you, Sammy…” You softly spoke defeatedly, completely forgetting the mindset you had just ten minutes ago. 

She brushed her thumb against your bottom lip, slightly smirking. “That's my girl. Now let's go blow up some assholes.” 

At the end of the day, Sam was right. She was meant to be yours, and you were meant to be hers.

You were meant to be one.

-----------

A/N: R did a full 180 but let's be real, who wouldn't for Sam?

[another-fanfic-haven]

Eyes on me! Baby

I've got what you need baby

A/N: guess who's back, alive and with a new obsession? :3 Word count: 530

You're his proudest creation, his Magnum Opus in genetic engineering. Agile, sturdy, strong… and just as fast as he is. Of course, you're not perfect; no one is in comparison to Him. He sees himself as a god. And, to be fair, so did you. He gave you the powers you wield so eagerly.

You're standing by his side, half a step behind, not to overshadow him. Your hands clasped behind your back, mimicking his posture, as he overlooked the preparations from the metal balcony in the hangar. The stealth bomber glimmered in the flickering light with the menace of what was yet to come.

"Soon, the sun will set at the age of men." He said, his voice cold, emotionless, but with a slight edge. His words echoed in your head, yet you could NOT help but grin slightly. That's what he wanted. That is what YOU wanted. Or at least, you thought so. The P30 flowing through your veins permanently altered your mind, making you a perfect puppet in this twisted theatre, your mind, and ideals finally aligning with his. You took a step forward, the toes of your boots lining up with his. The P30 in your spine glowed as you took one deep breath, exhaling slowly, easing the tension in your shoulders.

"Reckon we'll be ready to launch in half a year." You commented, yet it was more of a statement. The Uroboros research reached its peak. Now all that is left is to load the bombs with the virus and spread all over the world. You could sense his emotions, excitement, and impatience. In a perfect world, the payload would be long ready, and he could declare himself a new ruler, a messiah. You glanced up at him, trying to read his expression - cold as always, with eyes glued to somewhere in the distance.

Suddenly, the silence cut with his voice, he turned his face towards you, his eyes obscured by the glasses. It's not like they could display any emotion anyway. "Go fetch Excella. I'll need my injection soon."

He commanded, and you obeyed. Like a good little soldier. Like a good little rookie. You bowed courtly, then turned on your heel and made your way out of the hangar in great haste. Your steps were confident, quick, and deadly as you strut through the Tricell complex.

And there you were, standing in front of the heavy office doors. You raised your hand, knocking a couple of times with your fist. You retreated your hand, clasping it behind your back, waiting patiently for the command, allowing you to walk in.

And there it was. Excella's voice rang through. You pushed the doors open, allowing it to close on its own as you stepped in.

"Oh. It's you." Excella turned around to face you, her voice almost disappointed. She attempted to keep her tone even, not betraying any emotion or resentment towards you, Wesker's prized little agent. You tensed your muscles, eyes narrowing on hers. You cleared your throat before you commanded quickly and coldly, yet trying not to make it sound like an order.

"Wesker sent me to remind you of his injection."

To be continued..?

[kingofthe-egirls]

Hello hello!

Ok, I have a thought, hear me out!

Silly is the New sexy was amazing and we could need a Part 2~

Like, luffy can't help but think about your body and wants to do it again but she turns him down because you know people are literally being everywhere.

So! New Island, she stayed behind because of the short staw she draw, letting everyone go. She was totally fine and made stuff around the sunny. Imagine, she being in the kitchen as Lu burst in with a happy grin and be like >were alone! We can Do it again!< she just laughs and >give me a few after I wash the dishes<.

Lu pouts but sit down between her legs and be like prompt 8!

👀👀👀

ok im not gonna write the preamble bc u already did lmao let's skip straight to the smut, shall we?

DIRTY DISHES: LUFFY x Y/N

part 1

(cw: silly = sexy, est relationship, misuse of devil fruit, nipple play, face sitting, also this is my kitsune oc so kill the part of you that cringes, blowjob)

(a/n: i'll never stop playing dress up)

Songs: "Hard Feelings/Loveless" by Lorde, "The Bomb" by Florence + the Machine, "Morning Elvis" by Florence + the Machine

words: 1.5k

Luffy sits between your legs, head bumping back against the counter. His legs are splayed out in front of him, rolling back and forth like a little kid's. "Come onnnn," he whines, tugging at the cuffs of your denim shorts. He drags his fingertips up and down your fishnets, ribbing them in a satisfying, slow rumble.

You reach over him to finish scrubbing the dirty dish in your hands. Pizza sauce is crusted on from last night's dinner (sometimes even Sanji sets dirty plates to soak in the sink overnight).

"Okay, okay," you say, swiftly drying the plate with a soft towel. You set it in the dishrack, sparkling and clean, before turning back to your boyfriend. He's grinning up at you like a fucking capuchin.

"Hey."

You snort, rolling your eyes before crouching down to his eye level. He reaches forward to grab a strand of your hair, rubbing the damaged, bleached ends between his finger and thumb. It scratches against his skin. "Wanna play?"

"Obviously, Luffy. Now take your clothes off." You pull your own sweater off over your head--a baby blue cropped thing that you paired over a black bralette. You're wearing dark denim shorts with silver buttons down the side. Luffy tugs at the laces of your black boots. Steel-toed, a gift from Robin last time you docked portside.

Luffy giggles, and pulls his red t-shirt off over his shoulders. He slides down so he's lying on his back, stretching his rubber arms out to grab your hips. He slams you down onto his own face, cunt first.

"Fuck--!" You squeal, squirming in his arms so as not to crush his sweet little face. He's grinning at you like the devil.

"Sit," he commands, and you do. He bites at the denim of your shorts, not even bothering to take them off before he's running his thick hands all over you. You shrug off your bralette, letting your tits hang down, soft and bouncy above your ribcage. Luffy eagerly reaches up to grab them. He rolls his thumbs around your nipples in wide, slow circles. "So fuckin' pretty f'me," he murmurs, before stretching his neck up to suck on them. It's kinda alien, seeing his neck stretched out like a rubber band, but his tongue is magic so you don't fucking mind. You tilt your head back in pleasure, softly moaning.

"So good," you praise him, running your fingers over his hair. It's soft, and you pet him for a bit as he sucks on your sensitive nipples. You ride his abdomen, sitting on his stomach while he plays with you.

Your tails flick in pleasure.

"S'pretty, kitty," he says again, bucking his hips up behind you. He pops off your tits with a smack. His hands reach up to scritch at the base of your foxy ears. You hum, eyes closed in comfort.

"So are you," you say, reaching down to unbutton your shorts. You stand up, over him, to slide them down your legs. You leave the fishnets on. You're straddling him, looking down at your sweet captain with your legs on either side of his waist. Your boots stay on, too. The rose-gold bellybutton piercing sparkles at your abdomen: something you and Nami did on a whim last island, too.

"Spread your legs f'me," he says, staring up at your fishnet heat, so you lift a leg to place your boot on the counter. He's staring open mouthed at your cunt, left bare and dripping without any panties.

He licks his lips.

Suddenly, he's grabbing you by the waist again and slamming you down hard onto his waiting face. He slurps at your sensitivity, swiftly turning his hair white as he activates Gear 5. His tongue expands, shoving inside your slippery cunt as his eyes swirl rosy. Somewhere, a train whistle sounds in an honest to god awooga.

Shit.

"Luffy!!" You complain, as he rips your tights to give himself more room. Steam is pouring out of his ears, his eyes rolled back and crossed as he sloppily licks at your cunt. You're already dripping.

It's so cartoony, with him.

The sea laps at the side of the sunny, sparkling and sapphire in the afternoon sun. Seagulls call overhead. You watch them circle in the pastel sky through the window over the sink. Sparks soar into view as Luffy warps the energy of reality around him. You feel it pulling into you like gravity, bringing you ever and always closer to your captain.

He sucks on your clit.

You scream, surprised at the sudden suction. He slaps your ass cheek, the sound reverberating with several boi-oings throughout the empty room. You groan, sending your head back to just enjoy the sensations. You roll your hips over his tongue, sending shivers down your spine. He grips your hips, bringing you down harder.

"Sit!"

You squeal, letting your full weight sink down onto your captain's face. Supporting yourself on the sink, your hands grip around the cool porcelain as Luffy sends stars into your eyes. Sparkles alight overhead as his own pleasure creeps up. He's bucking his hips up behind you, and you turn to stretch yourself enough to reach his hard cock through his jeans. He lets you lean over, supporting your hips in his searing grasp. Your tails frizz out, shivering and shaking as he sends you over the edge.

Stars.

You gasp, coming to with sore thighs and an aching belly.

"Sweet girl," Luffy croons, letting you slide off him to the side. You collapse onto the tile, letting the coolness seep into your heated skin.

He sits up, wiping off your slick from his soaking chin.

"My turn?"

You smile, nodding eagerly as Luffy rips off his shorts. You settle onto your own back this time, letting him straddle your head. His sticky cockhead is shimmering with precum, and you reach out for an experimental lick. He shivers, letting out a hiss through his teeth.

"That's it," he says, rocking his hips forward. The tip hits your lips, and you let him in. You start sucking hard on his head, and he lets out a strangled moan. You run sweet, kitten licks up and down his aching shaft. The veins are bulging and sensitive, and every slide or dart of your tongue elicits sharp inhales and gasps from your lover above you. He shallowly thrusts his cock deeper into your mouth.

Stretching, you take him down your throat.

Luffy groans, softening your skin with ripples of elastic energy. His hair is fluffy and white, with matching clouds floating above his head. Your tails are squished behind you, but they flutter in soft, shivering arcs. He reaches down to grab one, wrapping it around his wrist.

He tugs.

"Ouch!" You yelp, trying to pull your seventh tail out of his grasp. He giggles, and doesn't let go. Instead, he pulls harder. An airhorn sounds. "Luffy!!!" You complain, face heating up. His cock muffles your words, but you glare up at him anyway.

"Shishi, sorry," he giggles, slowing his pace slightly. You relax, slowly sucking on his shaft as his thrusts grow erratic and sloppy.

His balls smack harsh against your chin.

Sizzles and pops sound overhead, and you open your eyes to watch star shapes dance around Luffy's face. His cheeks are flushed, and his head is tilted back. His adams apple bobs with his raspy pants.

The stars float down over both of you, sparkling and bursting in silvery rainbow shimmers. Luffy speeds up, his hips now a blur as you do your best to take it. A star slips down to bounce off your cheek and onto the floor. It sizzles out of existence.

A slight halo glows around your lover's face.

You wrap your hands around his thighs, and suck harder. He gasps, and spills his seed into your mouth. It spurts out from the corners of your lips, filling your senses with musky bitterness.

"Shit, shit shit," he groans, arching his back as he shudders and gasps. You moan, vibrations sending through his pulsing cock.

"Sweetheart," he moans, pulling out of your mouth. He sits back on his heels, giving you room to sit up. You rub at your sore jaw, before wiping his spend off the sides of your face. It smears into the soft hairs on your forearm, sticky and sweet. He grins, and reaches forward to pull you up into a kiss. He tastes like sugar.

"Sweet," you tease him, pulling on a lock of his downy hair. He snickers, swatting your hand away. "Snackies?"

He laughs outright, slapping his belly. He giggles, hiding his face in one hand. "Shishishi, hahahahaa!" He slips backward, bouncing on the now-rubbery floor. It buoys him, snickering and rolling on the elastic tile. It rocks you, too, as you stand on shaky legs.

"Luffy," you grin, tripping over your own feet onto his smiling frame. He catches you with an oof! as two arms come to snake around you. He brings you down to nuzzle against his face, skin soft and sweaty. He breathes into your hair, inhaling deeply. His fingers scritch at your scalp, and you peak up to see his hair swirling black.

The floor steadies beneath you.

"Snackies," he agrees, before he stands up with his arms still wrapped around you.

****

[sebsxphia]

ninety days.

rhett abbott x reader.

￫ description: rhett’s there when you come home with a milestone.

￫ c/w: a/a meetings, c/a meetings, drug and alcohol use and sobriety.

￫ a/n: i went to my first ever cocaine anonymous group tonight and i got a ninety day chip! i was incredibly nervous, but to comfort myself i thought up of this lil’ drabble and i wanted to share it. i hope you enjoy it and it provides any level of comfort to you as well! <3 my ‘sobriety’ masterlist can be found here! my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

You stepped out of the truck and shut the door behind you. The sound of the door slamming and the jingle of your keys echoed endlessly throughout the empty night sky. Your limbs were restless and your eyes were bleary, but the familiar glow of the porch light drew you closer to home and comfort. Rural Wabang had thus far, no groups and you found yourself having to travel over an hour west for your nearest group. It was worth it though. Worth what was now dangling off your keychain.

“Hey, lover.” You called out to Rhett. You spotted him the moment you stepped inside and kicked off your boots. He was perched on the kitchen table and hunched over. He was engrossed in a book about cabin building you’d got him last Valentine’s.

Rhett looked up, catching your eye and a grin broke out onto his face. You’d walked through that door countless times, but it still made Rhett over the moon to see you home and safe.

“Hey, darlin’. How you doin’? How was it?” Like clockwork, Rhett got up from his seat, gave you a kiss to your chilled lips and you placed yourself down at the kitchen table with your keys.

You hummed in thought, “Good. Davey was there. I haven’t seen him in a while, but he’s getting better. Two weeks clean, I think he said.”

“That’s good. I saw his girl in town, I think they’re tryin’ make it work again.” Rhett replied as he busied himself with getting your half of dinner out of the microwave. Whilst he plated up your food and grabbed you a fork, you drew your attention back to your keys on the kitchen table. You fiddled with them gently and your thumb smoothed over the blue and gold painted chip.

“I got it.”

“Got—” Rhett started to question what you meant as he came up beside you to hand you your plate, but in turn he saw what you were fiddling with. “Oh, baby. You got it.”

The plate was pushed onto the table and Rhett threw his arms around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his warm torso. With your ear pressed up against his chest and through the rumbling vibrations, you could hear an endless string of praises coming from your cowboy. He bent down to press what felt like a million and one kisses to the top of your head before pulling away.

He cupped your soft cheeks in his contrasting rough and calloused hands. The crinkles in the corners of his eyes found their placing and his cobalt blue eyes bore into yours with love. “I’m so proud of you, m’ love.” Your own hands held onto his and gave them a light squeeze in response.

“Thank you, Rhett,” you beamed up at him.

Rhett pulled out the kitchen chair next to you and slung one arm around the back of your chair. He tucked you into his side as you made good work of your dinner, savoring the sweet taste of each bite. “What’d y’ wan’ do? We gotta do somethin’ this evenin’.”

Again, you hummed as you pondered Rhett’s question and the best way to celebrate your ninety days. “Bath. With bubbles and the rose bath bomb.”

Rhett wore a lopsided grin at your playful tone and he pressed another sweet kiss to your temple. “Anything for my sweet cowgirl.”

[instantnoooodles]

A Driving Force

An ancient ask from an old friend, it came to me in a dream. Viola. 

Gibbs x Reader | No use of [Y/n] | 3.2 k | Mentions of Childbirth, swearing, pregnancy, mentions of sex, fluff with little to no angst

Pregnancy has got you ready to throttle your husband. 

Nearly eight months pregnant, and you are going to kill someone. 

Someone's name is Jethro. 

Jethro, who- after your first baby- thought it would be a swell idea to have another (don't get me wrong, he is more than good at making them, it's the labor and the first trimester that does you in.) Jethro, who is at work and not at home making you tea or rubbing your calves, or doing literally anything other than being at work. It's driving you nuts, and your son may as well be training for the baby Olympics. There's no reprieve, not with a heating pad, not with an exercise ball, not with the piss-poor excuse for a nap you'd tried to take, nothing. 

So you do what anyone would've done: You drive your ass to his work and give the security guards some vaguely veiled threats to let you up to the bullpen. 

And naturally, he's nowhere to be found. 

"I am going to kill that man," you grumble, reclining in his chair, leaning your head back, and closing your eyes. Ironically enough, the background noise helps- you feel more relaxed than at home. 

The elevator dings, and in comes the trio. (McGee- you assume- is down in the lab. Jethro says he prefers it to fieldwork some days.) And- naturally- they're yelling. 

"I had him!" 

"You had shit! That dude outran you by miles! He's halfway to Timbuktu right now!"  

"Dinozzo-" 

"Boss, I am telling you-"

"Dinozzo."

They stop in the bullpen, and you stand, hand over your stomach, and downright glower at your husband. "Leroy." 

Tony's face crumples into something like horror, Kate looks like a bomb might go off, and Jet- well, he looks a little south of terrified. As he should. 

"Sweetheart," He walks toward you, hands outstretched, and immediately goes in for a gentle peck on the cheek. You swat him away. He frowns comically. 

"Your son is driving me up a wall." 

"You shouldn't be driving like this," he reaches down and caresses the bump. Damn him and his soft voice. Usually, you only hear it in the comfort of your home, never at work, and maybe that's what melts your resolve of putting up a fight. 

You sigh, slouching into him and leaning your head into the crook of his neck. He takes it all in stride, cupping his hand on the back of your head, drawing circles with his thumb on that place where the base of your skull meets your neck. It makes you fall apart like a card tower. You groan- he has the decency not to laugh, just winds his other arm around your waist. "Is he giving you a hard time?" It's asked softly, gently, kindly, with all the warmth of a roaring fire and the bourbon in the basement. This is the Jet that makes you question if he's really an agent. 

"He's been kicking my bladder for hours," you groan into his shirt. It smells like sawdust and mint. "You'd think he's training for boot camp in there." 

Jethro rubs gently at your waist- Tony and Kate sit quietly at their desks and have the decency to stop arguing. Tony even takes a field trip to God knows where- it makes you smile. "Better or worse than Dani?" 

Dani is your nearly five-year-old. A bundle of joy and Jethro's entire world, she has a smile to light up a room. 

And a temper to rival Hell, she gets it from her dad, but he handles her well. 

You scoff. "Dani didn't take up gymnastics, and if I recall correctly, you missed the first eight hours of my labor." 

"Twenty more to go- didn't miss much." You smack him gently on the back, and he only chuckles and continues to rub the muscles of your hips and neck. "You damn near broke my hand." 

"Twenty-eight hours of labor, Jethro. You're lucky I didn't break every bone in your body and shoot you." He mumbles something like 'touche', and you stand in silence for a moment. Jet quietly says 'here' and untangles himself from you (you nearly kill him) until he spins around. Facing your back and winding his arms around to your stomach, he reaches underneath your bump, intertwines his fingers, and lifts. 

You come this close to moaning in the middle of NCIS headquarters. 

Jet started doing this sometime towards the end of the second trimester when your bump became less of that and more like a mound. (These days, it feels more like a mountain.) The muscles in your abdomen relax, and the relief is instantaneous. Your head lols back onto his shoulder, and you kiss the underside of his jaw. "Thank you." 

It comes out in a whisper, but he gets the idea and returns the gesture to your forehead. "'Course sweetheart," And then you just stand there. It could be hours- it could be seconds. Realistically, it was probably closer to ten minutes. Jethro is strong, despite his age and his appearance. If you asked him he could probably do this for another hour and then some. Come to think- he'd do anything you asked him to. And you'd do the same, quite frankly, but right now- right now this is plenty. 

Jethro releases the weight of your baby boy slowly, oh-so-gently and it nearly makes you sob (damn pregnancy hormones) and hugs you from the side, careful not to undo the release he's just given you. You peck his cheek, leaning into the embrace, and close your eyes. 

And then water splashes down your leg, down your pants, and onto a puddle in the NCIS bullpen. 

Motherfucker. 

Echoed both in your head and out loud by your husband, Tony chooses this perfect moment to come barreling into the room. "Boss, we got something- oh shit." 

"Dinozzo, go get my car," and Jet hurls the keys at Tony's head. Tony, with all his goofiness and jokes, makes none about the situation and beelines for the staircase, Kate hot on his heels. 

Contraction number one hits with full speed, nearly taking you to your knees, and Jet hugs you around your waist, keeping you from collapsing and yanking the phone from his back pocket. "If the nurse doesn't give me an epidural this time, you have my full permission to shoot them." 

"Yes ma'am," he says, throwing the phone onto his desk. You don't see what he's done with it, you're too busy trying to stand. 

The contraction fades, you rise, and Jethro rises with you. "You're early." 

"Dani was three weeks early," you breathe deeply through your nose and out through your mouth. 

"This is nearly four." 

"Well, then, Jet, get a damn move on." And move he does. He makes sure you're standing steady first, before flying behind his desk to grab a bag. You do a double take. "You keep the hospital bag in your office?" 

He gives you a quick peck on the cheek, slinging the bag over his shoulder and guiding you toward the elevator. "Been with me for two months now, sweetheart." 

You're going to sob. 

Jet's gentle hand on your elbow and back gets you both to the elevator in one piece. An agent- you don't know who- is standing there as the doors ding open. Jethro gives him a look that could freeze over hell as he turns around to ask what floor, and the mystery agent steps out. 

You poke the 'G' button as another contraction punches through you. Jet gets you to lean against the cool metal wall as the elevator begins to move, and you grip his forearm tight. You're not swearing, not yet, just breathing deeply, but at this rate, you'll be calling the doctor a fuckwad the minute you walk through the hospital doors. 

Tony and Kate (bless their hearts) have the car running right out of the elevator in the parking garage. Tony reaches for your arm to help you in but a sharp, "Hands off my wife, DiNozzo!" Stops him dead in his tracks. Kate steps in as Jet throws the bag in the backseat. He opens the passenger door while Kate leads you. 

"You're gonna do great, call us when the baby's here, and we'll handle the case, Gibbs." The last part is directed toward your husband, who takes your other forearm as you sit gingerly in the car. 

He drives like Jethro. Which is to say: Like a maniac. 

You don't complain, even if it feels like you're in the middle of a police chase. He cuts the fifteen-minute drive to the hospital in half, skidding to a halt in front of the maternity wing, and barely remembers to turn off the car before reaching behind him to snag the bag and half-carry you to the doors. You can hardly blink before they've got you in a room, changed into a hospital gown, and are telling you to push.

Mike Leroy Gibbs' labor clocks in at a whopping two hours. 

It's a very painful two hours. Jet may have threatened several doctors and nurses to give you an epidural (who complies, you don't know the details and you don't want to.) They whisk him away to check vitals and clean him up, though Jet also threatens to maim or seriously injure someone if Mike isn't in your arms in fifteen minutes. 

He's returned rather quickly (you have a feeling you'll have to do damage control when you give a shit.) And he is the cutest bundle of warm brown hair and the brightest blue eyes you ever did see. 

You don't let Jethro hold him for something close to an hour, you damn near fall asleep with him on your chest for a little while, but with a soft, "Jet, look at your son." He takes him

Jethro is pretty quiet while he holds him- he was the same with Dani, awestruck by her existence and speechless. He coos at Mike, who's fast asleep, and sways him gently back and forth. He sits down, the armchair pulled as close to your hospital bed as it can get, with one hand cradling your son and the other holding your hand, rubbing gentle circles on the meat of your thumb. 

(You crushed his forearm during labor. Not literally, Jethro is still injury free, but there will be bruises in a few days. He knows how sore you are though, and if he wasn't occupied with his new son, you'd be sure he'd be giving you a massage. He was just as good- if not miles better- than when you gave birth to Dani. He was on a case, deep cover, and didn't get the phone call from Ducky or the hospital until you were well into labor. Ducky's phone call was far more urgent- Gibbs drove at least forty over to get to you.) 

"Jet, I gotta call Donovan, he still has two more days with Dani-" 

"Already taken care of sweetheart." 

You're going to melt. Absolutely dissolve into a pile of lovey-dovey goo. "Thank you." 

He brings your hand to his lips to kiss each of your knuckles. "He's on his way, your brother drives slower than I do-" 

"Jethro, everyone drives slower than you." 

The corner of his lips twitch upward at that, and he doesn't argue. 

The room is... nice. It's the only way to describe it. You feed Mike, and Jet is respectful and goes to find you OJ while you do it. "It doesn't make me uncomfortable, hun. Figured you could just use some time with him, skin to skin." 

Yeah, you're gonna cry. 

You actually do, while he's away and Mike has finished. It's not sad tears, they're definitely happy. When Jethro comes back he seems to know it, you don't even have to say anything, he just sits on the side of the bed, curls an arm behind your shoulders, and pets your hair. There are kisses laid atop your head, and he rubs your bicep. He whispers in his soft voice, the one you're so used to hearing that when you visit him at work his 'Boss' tone makes you do a double take. (Is it hot? Absolutely. But there's nothing quite like the quiet tone he uses when he asks if you're ready for bed.) 

You sniffle, Mike shifts in your arms as Jethro wipes a tear and a series of gentle knocks at the door sound through your hospital room. One, two, three, four, five, heads poke through the sliver in the open door. "Boss? Can we come in?" 

Gibbs looks to you for permission before answering. You nod and smile softly, and he beckons to the agents. Abby and Kate file in first, closely followed by Tim, then Ducky, who holds the door open for Tony, who's carrying two huge plastic bags filled with something that smells magical. 

Abby gives you the first hug, careful to avoid your newborn, she wraps an arm around your shoulder while Jethro untangles himself from you to help Tony. ("Did ya buy enough for the whole wing, Dinozzo?") 

Kate comes in next, taking Abby's place with a hug around your shoulder. You share grins, and she asks you how the labor was- the conversation is easy and nice. (Everyone knows how bad Dani's labor was. You've come into the office a few times a month, usually with coffee or breakfast, or-hell, even dinner for your husband and his crew when the nights turn long. You used to come in once a week during the first trimester. You and Gibbs would be in the NCIS bathroom with your head in a toilet, hair held back, and circles rubbed on your shoulders. Those were rough days.) 

"Do you wanna hold him?" 

Kate looks a little dumbstruck. Ducky and Tim are giving her encouraging glances, grinning ear to ear. "Y-you're sure?" 

You smile up at her, readjust, and hold Mike out. "Make sure to support his head, arm under his neck, keep the blanket- there you go." Kate kinda giggles- a breathy laugh escapes as she turns toward Gibbs and grins wide. He smiles back- then wider to you- and winks. To this day, it still gives you butterflies. 

Kate moves around the room- pacing in circles, bounces your son in the crook of her elbow, and quietly talks with Ducky. Tim comes in for a small hug. "Congrats, Mrs. Gibbs. You feel alright?" 

You scoff and pull him in with both arms. "I'm exhausted- I think Jet threatened someone for an epidural." 

You give him a peck on the cheek as he steps back, unfolding himself. Tim blushes pink and smiles. "Anything I can do? Food? Clothes?" You nearly start crying again. "I make a mean quiche, waffles too- Abby's can vouch for me-"

You laugh (Jethro's eyes light up at the sound, Tony notices.) "That sounds wonderful, Tim. Thank you, I mean it." 

He smiles, genuine, and you get the feeling sometimes Tony and Kate are a little hard on him. Then you remember how they rallied when he was in the hospital from a gunshot wound, and all those thoughts fade away. 

"McGee! Get over here!" Tony yells from across the room, gesturing with a plastic knife. 

Kate comes over to hand back Mike, but you gesture to Ducky. "Go ahead, Duck. I'm sure you've had your fair share of holding babies, don't make me lecture you." 

Ducky smile kindly (everyone seems to be smiling lately, and as cheesy as it sounds, it makes you happy. The my-heart-hurts-with-happiness way. You think the work is thankful, but even that seems too small of a word for what you feel.) Kate hands Mike over, carefully, slowly- his head fits neatly into the palm of her hand, where it waits until Ducky re-settles the blanket over him. 

Duckys' a natural- he sways with Mike and regals him with PG versions of his cases. Mike, sleepy and half-conscious, wiggles out of the blanket and wraps one of his teeny-tiny hands around the doctor's fingers. Abby and Kate coo and fold the blanket back over your son. They wiggle their own fingers at him, but Mike stays sound asleep, shifting minutely in Ducky's arms.

Tony comes in next for a one-armed, light hug. (You suspect Jet is behind that- you pull him in all the same. ) 

"Gibbs mentioned you were hungry," he gestures to the small table ladened with takeout boxes. "Said you were craving pasta." 

You pull him back for another, tighter hug, gifting him with a peck on the cheek too, "Thank you, Tony, that's really sweet of you." 

He blushes lightly, with a smug sort of look on his face. "You guys can keep the leftovers- McGee's idea."

You give his hand a squeeze instead of words, but he seems to get the idea, winking and holding up your shoulders while you sit up as Jet brings a plate over. He doesn't chastise Tony for his hand placement or the still-visible blush painted across his neck and cheeks, but you're more focused on the heavenly-smelling, rich, and sauce-loaded noodles being presented to you. 

You groan. "You are a saint, hun. Thank you." You grab the plate and fork with eager hands. Tony laughs and meanders off to grab a plate of his own while Jet sits on the side of your bed. He's got his own plate- carefully portioned and balanced on one knee as he catches a noodle falling off your fork and nearly onto the sheets. 

"Thanks," you reply with a mouthful, but it comes out more like a grunt. Jet gets the message anyway, smiling down at you. You're more at an even height now that you're sitting up, and you watch cheerfully as Ducky looks to you for permission to pass Mike to Abby. 

Tim and Kate are chatting quietly. They look over at you and Jet once and a while. (You get the sneaky suspicion you won't have to cook or do chores in the house for months.) Tony is still ladling noodles onto his plate, and you watch as he hands a similar one to Ducky. 

You didn't notice when they first entered- or maybe she was hiding it- but there's a little (not-so-little) bag sitting at Abby's feet as she takes Mike oh-so-gently from Ducky. You guess it might be something black- it'll contrast with his eyes, and you giggle internally at the thought. Abby sways over to Tony, rocking Mike in her arms- you think Tony calls him Giblet Number Two, and you roll your eyes playfully. 

It hits you suddenly how happy you are, nearly knocks you breathless as you watch everyone crowd around Abby as Mike opens his eyes. This is... wonderful. You don't have words for it: you have everything you can ask for and more, and Jethro seems to read your mind (as always.) He reaches down to squeeze your free hand, looking sideways through his eyelashes. "I'm proud of you, sweetheart." 

You smile tearily at him. "I know." 

[f10werfae]

Sy, I am Backup

pairing: Captain Syverson x Girlfriend!Sniper!Reader

summary: Reader is like a total badass super deadly sniper and she leads like a badass group of women who are also deadly soldiers. Anyways the ladies are called in to help rescue Sy and his team? (requested by @stormcloudss )

Warnings: Gun Violence

requests are open/ likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated♥️

Henry Cavill Masterlist, Full Masterlist, Taglist Form

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“You sure you’ll be okay baby? You know the girls and I are always on call to help?” Y/n said helping pack her boyfriend Sy’s backpack for his next mission at his recent position, commander. “I know sugar, but i’d rather not put you into danger, ya know this” Sy huffed throwing on his boots before hotly kissing his woman goodbye and off he went.

Y/n L/n, wasn’t the most innocent, with her being head of the sniping division, she had quite the talent herself. In fact that’s how Sy and her met, they were put into the same training group at the deployment centre, and voila. Sy couldn’t help but find himself drawn to this amazing woman, not only was she able to carry herself, but Sy as well (Literally)

Now 7 months down the line the two had moved in together and were finally getting serious, until the dreaded call came. They needed Sy out there again, luckily it was only a short drive and a smaller scale task, but still all the more dangerous. Even though Sy was mean and scary to others, to Y/n he was nothing but her big baby that asked to share showers, kisses and cuddles on the daily.

“Ok I don’t have a good feeling about this” Y/n whispered to herself and calling up her fellow girls on their groupchat, watching as Sy’s truck pulled off and out of their home’s driveway. Rifling through her old gear, Y/n got out her old suit and equipment with the phone stuck between her ear and shoulder.

Steph: God did I think we would never talk again, Miss L/n

Y/n: Come on now Steph, it’s only been two months

Grace: Did commander send us a task or something?

Y/n: No but he sent Sy’s team one, a drug bust, which is unusual because how violent could it get for soldiers to be there

Sophie: Jesus there must be bombs or something, there’s no way it’s just a drug bust

Y/n: That’s what i’m sayin! Which is why I think we need to get ready girls-

Stephanie: Woah woah owah, ready for what?

Y/n: Look, all of our men are on that squad, and we know damn well their general is going to hound us for backup

Grace: She’s got a point, we are the most experienced snipers around the place

Stephanie: I can’t believe i’m actually agreeing to this, meet y’all at L/n’s place in 15

Sophie: Omg the gang is back together

Within a half hour, all four girls were stood in the living room, strapped into their camo gear. Hairs in ponytails, heavy duty boots in tow and let’s not forget them reloading their customised weapons of war. Each different sniper sporting a different colour, each representing each woman’s aura. Y/n’s was a strong deep red, you can guess the reasoning for that.

“So what do we just wait here or something? How do we even know they’ll need us, there’s like 6 of them” Grace asked setting down her green sniper and sitting down onto the velvet white couch.

“Because of this” Y/n rushed out showing them the newest message from their commander

General L/n, assistance is needed at (insert address) Be prepared for situations 302 and 105. Mild casualties reported, enter from the side and take position. You know what to do.

“302? That means mild explosives does it not” Sophie asked looking at the phone herself, her hand reaching for her purple sniper, her fingertips tingling with anticipation and exhilaration.

“Yeah and 105, means outnumbered. Holy shit girls, we got ourselves a good one” Grace shouted getting up, the rest of them following her out of the house and into the one van they were going to use.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Reaching the destination which seemed to be a dingy old warehouse, the girls got a glimpse of the amount of men walking in and out of the building, not their own men of course. Slinging on their extra ammo and their snipers, the girls found a wide enough pipe system for them to climb up skilfully. Y/n the first one to end up onto the roof, found herself a nice little spot with an opening straight into the warehouse. Setting up her stand and sniper, peeked into her scope and saw Sy’s squad.

Oh my were they outnumbered, they were practically surrounded, all of them tied up and some were clearly bleeding out. Just how strong were these other men? I mean granted there must be 100 of them, but wow.

Y/n felt her breath hitch when she saw her man, Sy, sitting dejectedly against a pile of cardboard boxes. His face still as brave as ever, but this time sporting more than a few cuts with blood running down his face. Y/n was going to kill these sons of bitches even if it was the last thing she did.

Looking up around the roof, Y/n saw that the other three girls were also raging, all of them nodding at each other before focusing down at their targets. Y/n found her first shot, a bald man who was tattooed all over, he seemed to be the one giving the orders.

Counting down under her breath

“3, 2, 1” And the trigger went off, the bullet embedding itself into the man’s head, instantly knocking him into the ground.

“Gotcha asshole” Y/n whispered loading up her next bullet, hearing all the men down below go into chaos at who shot their boss, the other three girls taking down what was assumed to be his right hand men. Leaving only the pawns of this vigilante group, when all of a sudden, Grace found herself making eye contact with one of the men, his smirk revealing golden teeth and a horrid face.

“Shit shit shit, i’ve been spotted, we gotta go now!” Grace shouted slinging back on her gun and running to the other girls, everyone hearing the men shouting up the side of the compound before they felt the shaking of the pipe system. Their only way down.

“Ok fuck uh- we gotta jump” Y/n rushed out looking over the hole she was spying on, noticing the high stack of cardboard boxes that could break their fall.

“Ok L/n even if we jump, we have to somehow get six injured men into a van, how does that work?”

“Let me take care of that, you guys jump and get them all into the van. If i’m not there in 10 minutes, leave without me yeah?” Y/n said stepping away from the hole and putting the other girls forward towards it.

“The fuck do you mean? Sy will kill us if anything happens to you, plus we can’t just leave you. No man left behind” Steph shouted

“Look, I won’t be left behind if this fucking works ok?! Now just go!” Y/n shouted, seeing the three girls salute to her before each taking their turn to jump onto the boxes, when all of a sudden Y/n heard the sound of metal behind her. They were here.

“Well, it’s just a little lady, musta got lost?” The front man said, twirling a pistol in his hands,

Within seconds Y/n had aimed her sniper and had shot the man full force sending him off the edge of the building, “Bring it on you filthy fuckers” She shouted loading in another round and going to town at the men in front of her, whilst running about trying to dodger bullets

- -

Grace, Sophie and Steph despite hurting their feet in the landing had now found themselves alone with their soldiers, untying them rapidly until a gruff hand pulled Sophie’s, “Where’s Y/n? I know she’s in your division. Agent L/n” Sy asked desperately limping, Sophie couldn’t help but stay quiet and instead looking towards the ceiling where they heard a loud cry say “OW FUCK SAKE” A woman’s cry.

- -

Y/n had near wiped them out, leaving one man behind to step over the bodies of his comrades. Realising she had no more bullets left, the man smiled at the sound of the empty gun, aiming his gun towards her leg before shooting it, immediately sending her to the ground, “OW FUCK SAKE” Clutching onto her leg Y/n growled and groaned, watching the man step closer towards her, a victorious look on his face.

“Looks like you’re down sweetheart, how unfortunate, women are always pathetic” He spat laughing at her, walking back towards the pipe system, leaving her to lay there in agony.

“Not yet” Y/n groaned pulling the key out of the hand grenade she was wearing with her teeth, and throwing it as hard as she could towards him as he bent down to climb

- -

“I need to go back for Y/n, you fuckers don’t understand-“

“No trust me we didn’t want to leave her either, but her orders were to get you guys into the van and wait ten minutes” Grace said guarding the back of the van which held the 6 grateful men, thankfully all of them only having mild injuries ranging from dislocations to cuts

*BOOM*

Shattering their conversation, everyone watched as a man's body blew up mid air, parts of the building edge being blown up to pieces. Everyone going silent at the thoughts in their heads,

"get the fuck out of my way or i'll make you" Sy growled, Grace immediately sighing and letting him step out, his now bandaged leg giving him the ability to somehow walk strongly. Sy groaned as he pulled himself up the pipe system, his heartbeat pounding in his ears at the fear of what's happened to his beloved girlfriend. His first love as well as that.

Relief filling him as he looked over the edge and saw a very much conscious and in pain

Y/n, who still had that same smirk on her face, “Told you I was here for backup baby” She shouted watching him shake his head and walk over to her,

“Don’t you ever fucking do that again, ya hear me?” Smashing his lips onto hers as if she would disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough, that’s how he felt.

(A few weeks later)

“Baby can I have a chocolate bar please” Y/n shouted from the living room, her casted leg set up on the couch, with Aika licking at her exposed toes.

“Comin’ right up honey” Sy said walking into the kitchen before settling beside her, her head falling on his chest with his arms wrapped around her shoulder.

“So about our next mission-“

“Shut it sugar, we’re not going anywhere anymore, not after that last scenario. We are done baby”

“What do you mean done? We can’t just quit?” Y/n questioned looking up at him confused, his lips pressing soft kisses to her temple and cheeks

“Of course not, but parental leave is a thing i’m sure we could get” He shrugged smirking down at her, taking a swig of his beer before taking a deep inhale in her neck, smelling her sweet peachy scent that he oh loved so much. A bit too much actually.

“But we aren’t parents Sy- Wait- HOLD ON-“

——-

Taglist Tags (Form is up there^^): @thereisa8ella @beck07990 @vrittivsanghavi @diyabhanushali1 @angelmather1 @hp-hogwartsexpress @lastwandastan @fdl305 @uwiuwi @alexxavicry @bookfrog242 @alina02 @aerangi @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson @sparklemarysunshine @oliviah-25 @mischiefsemimanaged @nikkitc0703 @hallecarey1 @misshale21 @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mansaaay @princess-paramour @stormcloudss @marvelgurl @taramaria @mysticfalls01 @kebabgirl67 @athena-roy @tinyelfperson @madebylilly @dumb-fawkin-bitch @kimhtoo17 @pandaxnienke

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Drawing chaos; Peter Quill x toddler reader

*Author’s note*

So this comes from @white-wolf-buckaroo​ who I thank for being sooooo patient with me and I hope this is the continuation you were looking for. After seeing the Groot shorts on Disney+ the Magnum Opus short was BIG inspiration for this fic so I hope you as well as all my readers enjoy this little drabble.

No warnings just some pure, unadulterated fluff.  This can be served as a sequel to this story here.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@queensdivas​

@queen-paladin​

@gay-and-ready-to-cry​

@austynparksandpizza​

_______________________________________________________

It had been four years since the Guardians had found little (Y/n) and to say their lives had changed well—it definitely had its fill of surprises.  Like the one time when they were on a mission in Tamaran to stop a Leviathan attack and (Y/n) (who had just started learning how to walk) had gotten out of the ship and while completely and blissfully unaware of the dangers on the planet, walked through the forests of Tamaran and nearly got eaten by an alien plant.  Of course Rocket managed to spot her and get her out of there.

Or the time when she was three and her father Peter had to stay behind on a mission because he had injured his arm pretty badly.  Though he enjoyed spending time with his daughter, he almost had a heart attack when they were playing a game of hide and seek and he couldn’t find her anywhere. It took over 2 hours of him having a panic attack searching every nook and cranny of the Milano but he couldn’t find her.

Only to have the team come back, yell at him before helping to find her until Gamora saw that she had slipped under Peter’s bed and had fallen asleep.  Of course as soon as Peter saw how cute she looked asleep, he couldn’t stay mad at her and took her back to her room (but he did give her a lecture about scaring him like that again).

Now at four years old, (Y/n) could walk and talk and she seemed fully invested in her world of the Milano.  She was especially good friends with Groot, or Baby Groot, again. Yep, another incident had made Groot burn up and he had once again become Baby Groot.  And of course when you get a baby as mischievous as Baby Groot and a curious toddler like (Y/n) Quill, things can get a bit chaotic.

The Guardians were out cruising through the galaxy when both (Y/n) and Baby Groot had decided to make something for their dads. Together the two of them got the supplies they needed to make their drawings.

They got to lounge room where they had their meals, coffee breaks or wanted to take some time away from the others.  (Y/n) and Baby Groot set down their supplies and set down their papers.  Groot began to white out the ALFIE comic book cover he had taken from Quill’s collection while (Y/n) was using an old page torn out of a Laskavarian translation book.

Groot then used some glue and placed it not only on the paper but also on the tail hair he had cut from Rocket’s tail.  While (Y/n) used her markers to draw her pictures.

“I am Groot.” He said to her.

“No my picture will be better.”

“I am Groot!”

“No mine!” (y/n) stuck her tongue out at Groot before returning to her drawing and Groot back to his.  (Y/n) capped her red marker before picking up the green one next and drew the next person she was going to draw.  She then looked up to see Groot holding her father’s boot which had his rocket propeller. “Hey that’s daddy! He wouldn’t like you using that.”

“I am Groot.”

“You better or I’m gonna tell on you.”

“I am Groot.” He mumbled before placing the broken shades over his face and activating the rocket boosters and placed it over his picture to draw off the glue.  After a while their pictures were almost done when Groot got the idea for how to get glitter.

He placed one of Rocket’s makeshift bombs on top of a green glittering hard drive Groot had pulled from the ship and then took him and (Y/n) out of the room with the detonator.

“I am Groot.”

“No I wanna push it.”

“I am Groot!”

“You can push it.”

“I am Groot.”

“No you push it.”

“I. Am. Groot.”

“Okay, I will.” She had tricked him thanks to an old gag she had seen on a cartoon show.  Groot gawked at her then pouted as she hovered her finger over the big red button before she pressed it and the room exploded loudly.  After the smoke cleared and the massive wave og glitter than shot out of the room had fallen to the floor, the two kids raced back inside with their pictures to use the glitter as they saw fit.

Suddenly Groot almost tripped over a large hole that had been made in the ground by the bomb.

“Uh-oh.” Said (y/n).  Groot pondered before racing over to the cabinet drawers and pulled out a roll of duct tape.  He raced back over and pulled apart the tape and together the two kids tried to patch the hole up before anybody noticed.

Walking through the hallway was Quill as he looked around with both a curious but worried look.  All day he hadn’t been able to find (y/n) and he knew she wasn’t playing another game of hide and seek.  For one thing she hadn’t finished her lunch which was odd because (much like her dad) she never leaves food behind.

He came into the engine room where Rocket was doing some repairs to the control panels that had been acting up and glitching on his side of the ship, preventing him from taking control of the ship when he wanted to.

“Hey Rocket.” Peter called out.  Rocket peeked out from the floor and lifted up his goggles holding both a hammer and blowtorch in each hand.

“What do you want Quill? Can’t you see I’m very busy fixing up my ship.”

“Uhh first of all it’s my ship. And second, you hadn’t seen (Y/n) or Groot around have you?”

“I’ve been down here doing repairs Quill, hadn’t seen hair nor twig of em.”

“Well I haven’t either and I’m starting to get worried.”

“Alright, alright. If it’ll keep your pants on, let’s see if we can’t find them.” Rocket said lifting himself up from the floor, set down his tools and took the goggles off.

The two of them walked along the hallways when they felt the room shake as well as the big boom that sounded off.

“Oh no.” they both said worriedly as they both took off running.  As they turned left, they saw that the room that lead into the lounge area had gone up in smoke and the fire alarm was blaring off. “Groot! (Y/n)!”

“(Y/n) can you hear me!?” Peter called out.

“Groot are you dead!!” Rocket exclaimed as they looked around frantically for both their children only to look down at the floor to see them both completely fine as they continued to patch up the hole with duct tape.  “Oh there you two are. Wait are-are those the ship’s fuel rods?!” Peter gawked as he pointed out the entire destruction in his ship.

“And how did the walls collapse like that and why is everything on fire!? And more importantly what smells like something died in here?!”

“Wait a minute is that….” Rocket sniffed the air before bending down and picked up the purple soap bar.  “Drax’s soap?”

“He’s been bothering me looking for that thing, won’t shut up about it.” Peter said.  The two parental figures then turned to the kids and Rocket scolded them both.

“Kids, why does it look like a bomb went off in here?” As Baby Groot pulled on the roll of tape he said.

“I am Groot?”

“Don’t give me that boldface lie. There’s no way this was a gas leak!” Rocket reprimanded him.  Peter crossed his arms over his chest before looking to (Y/n).

“(Y/n) Meredith Quill, give me the truth or it’s no music for a week.”

“We used the-the bomb for the glitter.” She said.

“WHAT!? How did-Rocket I told you to keep your bombs out of reach of the kids!!”

“Hey don’t you put this on my Quill!”

“You’re the one leaving bombs easily available for the kids to get to! Who else am I gonna blame!?”

“How bout the two gremlins who caused the explosion in the first place!?!?” the two of them looked down at the kids who were now looking down shamefully at their pictures. “Now don’t you two think you’re getting out of this by being cute.” Rocket scolded.

“He’s right. What you two did was completely dangerous and unsafe! You could’ve been hurt or worse killed!” the two kids looked at each other before holding up their pictures.

“What? What’s this more trash? Better be a written apology.” Rocket said as he took Groot’s picture while Peter took (y/n)’s. Rocket pulled out a pair of glasses and set them along his muzzle as he looked at the picture.  “Huh this is….hmm…..wow this is, this is pretty cool. Oh this is very nice!”

“Let me see.” Rocket showed Peter Groot’s picture to see that it was all of them together with Groot encompassing his arms around his friends and family.  “Wait why am I crying in the picture?”

“Cause you’re always a crybaby Quill. Face it, you whine more than these two do.”

“I do not!” Peter whined.  Rocket raised his brow with an expression that said, ‘really?’ Peter grumbled before clearing his throat and said.  “Well at least my baby girl sees her father for what he truly is. BAM! Top that!” Peter then turned over (Y/n)’s picture.

She had drawn each of the Guardians in a way she always remembers them.  Her and her dad dancing to music, her aunt Gamora’s hugs, climbing onto uncle Drax’s shoulders pretending he’s a mountain, and Rocket along with Groot (in his current state) with machines.

“Hmm. Impressive job there kid. Even though I still disagree with how you drew your old man.” Rocket ruffled (y/n)’s hair.  “We’re gonna have to get these two pictures framed, maybe even put them on top of the refrigerator.”

“You really like them?”

“Of course squirt, you and Groot did a pretty good job on each of your pictures.”

“I am Groot?” Peter and Rocket looked at each other before Peter said.

“As long as no one was hurt, I guess we can’t really fault you guys. Besides Rocket can fix this up.”

“WHAT!?!?”

“Your bombs, your mess. C’mon kiddo.” Peter picked (y/n) up and they walked back to their shared bed quarters.

As promised, Peter managed to find an old picture frame that he had kept and placed the picture inside and sealed it up before setting it right by the bed.

“There. Perfect spot for it.”

“Perfect spot for it.” (y/n) repeated which made Peter chuckle softly as he ruffled his daughter’s head.  “You know baby girl, that was pretty unsafe of what you and Groot did, I thought something bad had happened to you.”

“I sorry daddy. Just wanted to make the picture more prettyful.” She softly said.

“I know. But next time don’t follow Groot’s instructions on using bombs to make glitter. At this stage Groot’s a little psychopath.”

“What’s a psychopath?” she asked mispronouncing the word but Peter understood what she was saying.

“Well….it’s a person who doesn’t understand right from wrong and makes bad choices everytime. Which is something I don’t want you doing promise me okay?”

“I promise daddy.”

“That’s my girl. Now go to sleep.”

“Will you sing for me?”

“Of course. Which song shall it be tonight?”

“My song! My song! My song!” she cheered as she got under the covers.

“Alright, alright, alright calm down. Get settled in and I’ll sing it.” Once he tucked her in, Peter softly began to sing ‘Ooh child’, the very song she’s always loved ever since he officially adopted her what felt like a short time ago.

[atombonniebaby]

Atom Bonnie Baby's Rat Man Starter Pack

MacCadooldles:

The Playlist.

A mix of songs that I listen to when writing! Some remind me of Mac, some are songs I think he'd listen to, and some are HC and Fic specific!

Rat-Man Garbs:

DadCready Screens Masterlist:

Swings - Happy Tears - Bedtime Stories - Pulling Faces - Happy Tears 2 - Sleepy - Sanctuary - Protective - Duckie Boots - Sleepy 2 - New Dwellings - Off to the Beach - Mr Huggy

A MacCrady Profile

Name: Robert Joseph MacCready

Occupation: Gun for Hire

Experience: Gunner (don't hold it against him) Mayor (from 10-16) self proclaimed 'ruthless little bastard' (still applicable)

Nickname(s): RJ, Bobby-Joe, Mac, Sasshole, Mac n Cheesy, MacGreedy, MacSneezy, MacSleepy, MacWeepy, MacEaty, SnarkCready

Age: 22 years old (no really)

Height: 5'8'' (Short King)

Build: Scrawny (130 lbs.)

Eyes: Bright Blue (pwetty)

Hair: Light Brown, choppy (hella cute)

Features: All sharp edges and angles, rat-like (but in a sexy kinda way)

The best ways to annoy/piss him off:

-Trying to make him carry your junk.

-Leaving him in the dark about what is going on and not letting him have a say in important decisions

-Being irresponsible and not taking the situation seriously.

-Using chems in front of him, knowing he disapproves of them.

-Not taking proper care of yourself (i.e., not wearing armor, getting enough food and water, etc.)

Molerats (anything that looks, walks, or sounds like one)

Murdering Innocents and sadistic behavior.

Abuse of Power (this is probably the thing he hates the most)

What he likes:

Wit, sarcasm, and smart-assness (loves it!).

Making MacCready smile and laugh.

Playfulness (MacCready can't resist).

Cuddling and being held (He'd never admit it).

A good listener.

Surprising facts about MacCready:

His guilty pleasure is Sugar Bombs and Nuka Cola.

He started drinking when he was six years old.

He has a high level of intelligence and enjoys learning new things (he likes to spout out random facts)

Named all the dogs in Little Lamplight: Muttface, Pete, Hooligan, Ginger, Bandit, and Rex.

Headcanons!:

If there were one word he'd use to describe himself, it would be hardy. He's used to pushing himself to do whatever it takes to survive, even when doing things that others consider crazy. MacCready is sarcastic, stubborn, and guarded—he doesn't trust easily.

He affectionately refers to his rifle as 'Baby' (but only in private).

He is surprisingly insightful and observant, noticing details that others overlook.

MacCready's past has left scars on him emotionally and physically, and some days are worse than others.

When MacCready is ill, it the more clingy and needy he becomes.

Hates being cold, so bundling him in warm blankets helps make him feel better. Will accept hot soup (but NOT cave fungus)

Self-consciously hates how his knees knock together and his ribs poke under his shirt. (due to having rickets as a kid)

When genuinely happy, he's all toothy smiles until he thinks someone might notice, and then he reverts back to his usual stoic self. (doesn't like his teeth)

MacCready is always smoking, his cigarettes resting between his lips as he goes through one pack after another.

His guilty pleasures are Sugar Bombs and Nuka Cola. He loves sweet things but doesn't have time for much food.

His mind is full of cuss words.

He also has a habit of tapping his fingers against the side of his rifle whenever he's nervous.

MacCready and intimacy:

He misses physical intimacy and closeness and longs for that connection again but struggles to communicate it. Insecurity eats at MacCready; he feels guilty about moving on with his life and letting go of Lucy.

When MacCready does allow himself to get close to someone, the things that draw him to you aren't lost on him. How your presence brings him a sense of peace and makes him forget about all the problems in his life, if only for a while, how you make him smile when he wants nothing more than to cry, and how you somehow always manage to look at him with such kindness, even when he feels he doesn't deserve it.

MacCready finds sleep with a new partner extremely difficult. After losing Lucy the way he did, having trouble falling asleep is now a side effect of his traumatic experiences. He often wakes up in the middle of the night, unable to fall back asleep, and if his companion stirs, he's instantly wide awake, unable to keep his eyes off them.

He tells himself it's because he's trying to protect them, but he knows deep down that part of him can't stop wondering what it would be like to lose another loved one in a heartbeat. To find himself alone yet again... and being alone scares the heck out of him.

MacCready can be very vulnerable at night, especially after a nightmare. When he comes back to his senses, it takes a moment for the memories to fade away. Once they do, he gets flustered and tries to push his nightmares out of his head. He doesn't want his partner to see him as weak and break down.

As MacCready starts trusting you, he eventually reveals his troubles. He's more willing to seek support rather than deal with everything alone. He may still shy away from physical contact or withdraw after the initial breakdown. Once MacCready starts opening up, he slowly becomes more comfortable, allowing you to show affection and comfort him.

An ongoing conflict with himself is his attraction to men, which he has repressed for many years, believing that acknowledging it would question his marriage to Lucy. In MacCready's eyes, you either like women or men and not both. So, the fact that he harbors these feelings of attraction to men makes him feel guilty, ashamed, and, most of all, confused about his identity.