angelwheat

[angelwheat]

So I start playing rdr2 again and Arthur Morgan just casually enters my heart again like:

gif belongs to @rdr2gifs

[angelwheat]

[angelwheat]

spydad stuff.. maybe.. pls i beg

TF2

Spy-dad Headcanons

author's note: i was going to keep my quickfire hcs short and sweet but i got carried away. hope you like em ♡

Pronouns: He/Him | Warnings: None

People tend to be shocked by Spy's parenting skills. He's surprisingly well-educated on looking after children.

Spy wasn't around much when Scout was younger, and it's a regret he'll take to his grave. However, at the times he was around, Spy spent a lot of time looking after baby Scout, playing with him etc.

He spent a lot more time around baby Scout when he wasn't old enough to really comprehend life itself. But as Scout got older, Spy somewhat drifted when Scout wanted to be with his mama more. He still tried to remain close to him by taking him out places and teaching him things, but at the end of the day, Scout crawled back to his mum.

Spy lives with a lot of regret now Scout is older. He wishes he was around more to perhaps give Scout the chance at learning better life lessons. Or perhaps be the one who would teach him how to ride a bike, as father's do. He hates knowing that Scout taught himself things on his own, and Spy missed out on the quality bonding time.

Now that Spy works with his son, he's reminded of a lot of his faults all the time, especially when he sees Scout doing something on his own, even if it's something like cooking. Spy could have at least taught him to make proper meals, and tell him how an oven works as Scout obviously didn't take note from his mother.

Deep down, Spy wishes he could change everything. But his job has shaped his whole persona and to Scout he's now a stranger. They know each other a just colleagues, as Scout still doesn't know the truth about Spy being his father. Which hurts Spy the most.

[angelwheat]

Hi!!! Could you please do the mercs with a feminine S/O or wife but she’s also muscular? Not necessarily bodybuilder but if she flexes, there’s way more than you’d expect. I understand it can be quite long so my preferred would be: Scout, Engie, Medic, sniper and spy. (Key medic and spy)

Thank you!!!

(Also, I fricken’ love the aesthetic of your blog x)

TF2

Scout , Medic , Spy; Muscular S/O

author's note: thank you anon. you kicked my butt into writing again. i'm doing just a few for now as to not overwhelm myself ♡

pronouns: she/her | warnings: none

Scout:

He would never admit it, but he absolutely loves an S/O who is very muscular. Albeit if he is trying to flex himself before anything is established between you two. It baffles, no matter what stage of the relationship you're in, how one can look so sweet and pure, until you flex, and then he's taken aback by your physique every time.

Scout doesn't see you, nor treat you any differently to any other person, regardless of how you look. However, he might ask you for some advice on how to build such muscle, if you're one to weight train, that is. Although he does ask discreetly, as to not embarrass himself...

Scout simply likes to admire you. A few times, you'll catch him staring if you're doing something mundane, perhaps lifting something, but it happens to allow your muscles to emphasise, and he can't help himself sometimes.

He's ones of those guys that loves to see his S/O feminised in a pretty dress, and then watch them flex. Something about it really makes him flustered and he's not sure if it's because they can probably take him in a fight or because there's simply a pretty girl in front of him.

Medic

He's a man that admires their physique from the get go. It's probably what drew him to them in the first place. He likes someone a tad bulkier, as there's more to hold ;)

A few times he's asked as he's observed their physique if they've weight trained before, no matter their response he still views them as absolutely stunning and admittedly he admires them if they have endured a lot of hard work to have such a stunning body.

He's rather stocky himself, given his job. It requires a lot of excessive heavy lifting and movement. His S/O won't ever feel out of place beside him, and if they ever do feel self conscious, Medic will deter any negative thoughts immediately.

His hands tend to stroke his S/O's arms a lot whenever he's holding them. Medic, himself, is not sure why he tends to caress them, but he feels a sense of calmness. His favourite thing is hugging them as he can feel their strong arms wrap around him. It grounds him plenty of times.

Spy

Spy, frankly, is built like a stick, and he knows it. Deep down, he's self-conscious, but his pompous sense of self will overpower that. His S/O, on the other hand, is a work of art, and he will surely let them know own that.

Spy treats his S/O to whatever clothes they like, so long as they get to show off their beautiful physique. He regularly compliments them on their body and strongly admires them. He's not opposed to being around you. Frankly, himself and his S/O are quite the paring.

If anyone is to critique his S/O when they're beside him, they best be carrying a shield as Spy can glare anyone to death if they so happen to insult you. Whether his S/O is physically stronger than him or not, Spy will not stand by someone putting them down.

It truly doesn't matter what they look like for Spy to love them, although, if they happen to flex before him, even if they're just lifting something heavy, his heart will skip a beat. Their physique is incredible and Spy will never be tired of admiring them.

[angelwheat]

♡ Imagine catching your f/o staring at you. It's a very simple, yet loving thing. To find your f/o gazing at you while you were unaware, well they couldn't help themselves. They hold your gaze, smiling. They've been caught but they don't mind, the only thing better than looking at you would be you looking at them too. You both can share your smiles, and enjoy the pleasant love that you both have for each other.

[angelwheat]

Hey *sonic freak gif*

Haaiiii! 🩷

I had to look up this gif btw and I'm not sure what the hell that was

[angelwheat]

TF2 ; Demoman X Reader

Author's Note: Frankly, I projected a lot of myself into this as I've been pretty down bad myself these days... I just thought I'd write some angst with my favourite man for a change. (gif not mine)

Topics: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Pronouns: She/Her | Words: 4085

“Anybody seen that cyclops?”

“Where is that drunk son of a gun?”

“He’s probably passed out somewhere as usual. I’m sure he’s fine.”

She bowed her head and expressed her disapproval, exhibiting a small gesture of exasperation upon hearing her teammates’ jest about the widely held assumption of the Demoman.

Despite the disconcerting remark directed towards the Scotsman, the underlying question persisted in the mind of only one throughout the evening, prompting various conjectures regarding the whereabouts of him. Notwithstanding her diligent efforts to locate him, neither the rooms she meticulously searched, nor the crates of alcohol indicated by another yielded any answer to where he was.

Their team’s third consecutive victory brought about a celebration, characterized by the customary revelry of beer, friendly banter, and perhaps engaging in a drunken game of cards. That night, even the more reserved members of the team emerged from their usual seclusion to mingle amongst the rowdy ones, people like Spy and Sniper, or perhaps even Heavy, who often resided in the contentment of their own company.

With an empty glass in hand, the lady discreetly proceeded towards the kitchen, refraining from interrupting the lively discussion among the men engrossed in their game at the table.

Seeking to replenish her glass with another generous serving of wine, believing it is well-deserved after such a challenging and exhausting battle. As she entered the room, she encountered the Spy reaching for a bottle of wine stashed away in a hidden spot in the cupboard, before engaging in pouring himself a serving of one of his cherished and refined wines.

Hearing the gentle footsteps behind him, the Frenchman turned around, holding the tall wine bottle in one hand. The bottle was half empty already, and his glass had a perfectly measured pour of wine.

“Care for another drink?” He chuckled softly, seemingly slightly intoxicated as he smiled in a manner uncharacteristic of his typically serious demeanour.

“Well, if you’re offering.” She laughed, extending her glass towards him.

As she watched Spy elegantly pour the crimson liquid from the bottle, the girl took a moment to think.

“You never share your wine with anyone, Spy.” She pointed out, observing him as he withdrew the bottle.

Spy raised his eyes and spoke briefly. “We are celebrating, mon ami.”

She took a sip of her beverage, expressing her distaste for the strong berry flavour, as opposed to the rather bland wine she had previously.

“And it would be ungentlemanly of me not to offer.” He remarked, smoothing his suit with his free hand before resting against the counter.

Observing the Spy, she noticed his refined demeanour despite being tipsy. The Frenchman maintained an upright posture, although his distinguished manner showed a hint of decline. He stood casually and took a sip of his drink, savouring the exquisite taste of such a delicacy.

The lady imitated him by leaning against the counter a short distance away, lowering her gaze as she subtly shifted her footing. She gracefully crossed one arm over her body, while the other elegantly supported her wine glass, gently swirling the liquid within as she sighed.

Spy noticed her sudden change in mood and asked genuinely, “Something the matter?”

She gently brought her glass to her lips before lazily responding, “I’m just thinking.”

“About what, may I ask?” He hummed, his speech slightly slurring his accent.

Just as she opened her mouth a sudden boisterous commotion emanated from the game room, leading to the swift assumption that one, possibly Scout, had met defeat in their game of cards. Despite being initially startled, the girl soon found herself laughing quietly as a series of insulted followed in that recognisable Bostonian twang.

She watched the Frenchman simply roll his eyes in response to the boy’s fiery temper, while a hint of amusement played at the corners of his lips.

However, her laughter quickly subsided as a fleeting thought entered her mind, causing her gaze to lower towards the ground while her grin faded.

“Have you seen Demo?” She inquired, glancing at Spy.

The Frenchman looked to her, his brows knitting as he asked, sounding confused, “He’s not with the others?”

Amidst the throng, the girl would undoubtedly recognise the sound of his laughter, and on this occasion, it was curiously absent.

Demoman was generally a vivacious man, quite boisterous, some would say, but unique in all aspects of himself. He would never let go of an opportunity to have a drink and commemorate a triumph with his teammates. He possessed the ability to make every celebration unforgettable, yet he was missing this one.

“I haven’t seen him all night,” She responded, her face reflecting a concerned expression. “It’s not like him to miss a party.”

The Spy responded with a small nod, for she was correct as he recalled every occasion the Scotsman had been present.

Fully engrossed in solving the whereabouts of her teammate, she found herself neglecting her drink, her concern becoming overwhelming.

“The others don’t seem to care.” She mumbled once another roar of laughter erupted.

Spy maintained his silence, yet his attentive gaze conveyed a thorough analysis of her. It was evident from her somewhat closed-off demeanour, particularly her lack of eye contact, that a significant level of anxiety ran through her.

“I’m sorry, Spy.” She turned swiftly, placing her glass firmly to the counter. “I’m gonna go find him.”

With a humble nod, the Spy watched her as she left the room. He then calmly plucked a cigarette from his trusty case and continued his way, preferring to spend the remainder of the evening alone.

--

With a sense of urgency, the girl swiftly made her way through the corridors of the base, eventually arriving at the living quarters. She composed herself before reaching Demoman’s room, where a steel medallion depicting his class symbol adorned the centre of the door.

She paused for a moment, standing in silence. Leaning in gently, she hoped to hear any signs of movement from the other side of the door. When she heard nothing, she raised her hand and knocked nervously.

Taking a moment to quell the anxiety that was building within her, once again she listened for any subtle sounds coming from inside the room, visibly perking up when she heard faint shuffling.

“Lad I told ya to get lost.” Demoman grumbled, albeit muffled from the opposite side of the door.

A noticeable creaking sound filled the silent hallway as the door opened gradually, revealing a very sleepy looking Scotsman. As the bright light struck his eye, he squinted, adjusting to the contrast as his own room was shrouded with darkness.

With a sudden surge of alertness, Demoman’s grogginess vanished as he opened the door wider once he realised who stood before him. The Scotsman offered a prompt apology, to which she merely responded with a warm smile.

“I’m sorry if I woke you.” She said with an embarrassed chuckle.

“No, you didn’t. I-“ He cut himself off awkwardly. “You need something, lass?”

It was evident that he lacked his usual expression. Typically, his tone is cheerful, and he often smiled while he speaks. However, he appeared devoid of any emotion.

“I just wondered where you were.” She admitted. “You haven’t been around all evening.”

Observing the direction of his gaze as it lowered to the floor, the lady examined his slightly unkempt appearance. Short strands of hair emerged from beneath his beanie hat. The sleeves of his high-neck sweater were rolled up to his elbows, differing from his usual preference for long sleeves. However, what truly captured her attention was his eye, which appeared slightly bloodshot.

“Just busy.” He reassured simply, his voice quieter than usual, but the smile he gave was clearly not genuine.

She immediately noticed the way he nervously swallowed, and she could sense that something was amiss.

“We’re all celebrating.” She told, eyeing him attentively. “Do you want to join us?”

The way Demoman was not fully visible in the doorway already suggested what his response would be. His apparent detachment from reality was evident in the way he seemed to stare blankly at her.

“Maybe later.” He replied almost in a whisper, glancing over his shoulder at something she couldn’t see.

Demoman’s hand rested on the edge of the door as he stood slightly hunched beside it, as if he was seeking support from it. She perceived that he was keen to seclude himself once again.

“Do you want some company?” She fidgeted with her thumbs nervously, eyebrows arching in a polite inquiry.

The Scotsman paused for a moment before nodding slowly, almost sorrowfully.

He stepped aside to allow her entry into his personal quarters. She had only visited his space on a few occasions but was familiar with the assortment of components and papers related to his craft that were scattered around the room in boxes.

Behind her, the door closed with a soft click, and Demoman walked past her towards his workbench, where only a bright lamp illuminated the room.

“Make yourself comfortable, lass.” He lazily gestured to the rest of the room.

Swiftly glancing around the room for a moment, the girl politely sat on the edge of his bed just a few steps away from where Demoman had slumped himself at his desk. She crossed her leg over the other, sitting quietly as she observed his hands reaching for small materials and tools, guessing that he was constructing something new.

Her head tilted with curiosity as he worked with delicacy and caution, something almost no one got to witness. Watching him work had her unable to restrain from asking a question.

“What’re you working on?” She spoke softly as to not startle him.

“Just making a few changes to some of these.” He replied, sounding rather unenthusiastic as he reached for one of his well-known inventions placed nearby.

Held delicately between his fingers was one of his most remarkable inventions, an explosive invention indeed. Despite being aware that it was merely and empty shell of one of his prototypes, she politely nodded in acknowledgment, although it appeared that her subtle gesture went unnoticed, as the Scotsman scarcely directed his gaze towards her.

Subconsciously, she tapped her thighs, chewing her cheek as she surveyed the room with genuine curiosity. Her gaze settled on the photographs neatly displayed on his bedside cabinet, alongside what she presumed to be familial heirlooms and cherished keepsakes.

She had to refrain from cooing as she gazed upon a photograph of what seemed to be a young Demoman standing proudly with his parents.

The unexpected burst of laughter from the floor below startled them both, causing Demo to shake his head and huff in disapproval as he regained his composure.

“The others are wondering where you are.” She told, her tone gentle.

She swore she heard a faint sniffle from him before her responded.

“It doesn’t sound like it.” He retorted harshly.

Pressing her lips into a line, the girl pondered.

It’s blatantly obvious that Demoman is not his usual cheerful self. His tone has a strong tint of bitterness, which is extremely uncharacteristic of him. He’s suddenly so short-tempered and blunt, a harsh contrast to his typical easy-going and lively self. He’s certainly never been known to be a grumbler or someone who resorts to such snappiness unless he’s in the heat of a tough battle.

While observing the Scotsman with rapt attention, she noticed a sudden change in the way his hands began to tremble and shake vigorously, almost struggling to maintain control of his tools.

Her eyes landed upon an opened bottle of drink, the label of which she couldn’t read under the dim light, but it was seemingly abandoned rather promptly as its contents remained virtually untouched.

“Is everything okay, Demo?” She asked cautiously.

The Scotsman let his tools slip from his hands, hearing them clatter as they bounced onto the counter. He sank back into the chair, resting his head on the back.

“Aye, call me Tavish, please.” He drowned out, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

She was aware of the Scotsman’s preference to be addressed by his first name, but she had developed a habit of primarily using his class name over the years, and so she politely apologised.

She furrowed her brows in a deep frown as she watched intently, seemingly lost in his own little bubble of emotions.

Tavish remained with his gaze averted from hers, directing his attention towards the ceiling as his hand slowly fell to his lap.

With a huff, the girl promptly rose from where she perched on his bed and walked towards him.

His gaze fixated on her as she stood before him, her hand gently pressing against the tabletop as she leaned against it.

“What’s going on with you?” She began, drawing in a breath. “You’re so snappy all of a sudden.”

Tavish simply blinked, his face reflecting a hint of sadness as his eyebrows lowered and the corners of his mouth turned down. He reached out with one hand and began to idly play with one of his tools, avoiding her direct gaze. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down noticeably as if he was struggling to hold back his words.

“Do ye hear the things they say about me?” Tavish blurted out; his words laced with upset.

The lady maintained a neutral expression, fully comprehending the implications of his words. She folded her arms across her chest, her shoulders drooping as she let out a sorrowful sigh,

“I do hear what they say.” She replied truthfully, watching him cautiously.

Very soon, she came to regret her words, for Tavish’s face visibly contoured with hurt.

His hand brushed across his face, as if attempting to erase the traces of his melancholy expression. “There’s only so many times you can take hearing the word ‘cyclops’ in a day.”

She sighed, her tone becoming more cheerful in the hopes of seeing him smile even a little. “But if it makes you feel any better, I don’t see you that way.”

However, it seemed that Tavish was far too engrossed in the depths of his own despair, as her words appeared to have no effect on him.

“Thanks, lass.” Tavish breathed a heavy sigh. “But it doesn’t change what the rest of ‘em think o’ me.”

The girl moved closer to him, noticing the gentle touch of his palm against his forehead as he winced slightly when the light caught his eye. She assumed that he had given himself a headache after spiralling into such a deep bout of self-depreciation, and on this occasion, it was not due to being drunk.

“You alright?” She asked gently, her eyebrows arching in concern.

Tavish nodded as he grumbled. “I’m just fine.”

Looking away briefly, the lady casually surveyed the room, merely glancing over the numerous belongings he had on display.

Every corner of his room held something that reflected the man Tavish was. His collection of components, chemicals, and materials for his craft, as well as his diverse array of family keepsakes, might raise questions for some, but he didn’t mind as they were all things he was deeply devoted to.

Her gaze settled upon a familiar memento of him – his trusty knight’s sword. It was respectfully placed against a cabinet that housed a meticulously organized collection of whisky. Beneath the sword hung a half-sized tapestry depicting what appeared to be a Celtic family crest, a distinct symbol of his cultural heritage and pride in his homeland. She couldn’t resist admiring it, taking in the intricate details with appreciation.

As her gaze continued to drift, she failed to notice the manner in which Tavish discreetly observed her from his seat. Throughout the duration of her silent presence beside him, Demoman experienced a sense of tranquillity, as her amicable demeanour alleviated some of the stressors that burdened his thoughts.

However, Tavish couldn’t help but wonder if she were admiring, or silently scrutinising as she remained avidly engrossed in her surroundings.

“Excuse the mess.” He piped up faintly, sounding embarrassed.

“Oh, don’t worry there’s no mess.” The girl hummed as she turned her attention back to him. “Trust me, your room’s immaculate compared to Scouts.”

A bashful smile graced her face as she cast a glance at the Scotsman, who, in turn, appeared perplexed as he observed her, his brows furrowed, and his head tilted in curiosity. Intent on lifting his spirits, she continued to speak.

“Well, I was just thinking actually.” She stated, making a gentle gesture towards her surroundings. “Your room says a lot about you.”

Tavish’s continued perplexed expression conveyed his unspoken words.

“It’s obvious that family is your biggest value.” She told with genuine sincerity.

The Scotsman’s eye scanned his room, admiring his decorations as if they were brand new. However, his gaze inevitably settled upon the photograph by his bedside, his most treasured possession, and he couldn’t help the sad sigh that fell from his lips.

“Aye, it is.” He answered, nodding softly. “But it feels like I only put shame on me family name.”

She noticed his hunched posture.

“Even for having not lost both me eyes yet.” Tavish grumbled.

Certainly, Tavish encountered a look of confusion from the lady. He made a casual gesture with his hand, silently conveying to her that she should disregard his words.

“I’ve a lot of expectations to live up to.” Tavish admitted, glancing back at the unfinished prototype on his desktop.

She nodded slowly, lowering her head.

Silence descended upon the room, broken only by the faint sounds of a ruckus emanating from downstairs. It seemed that Tavish’s decision to seclude himself in his room was frustrating him, as evidenced by his huffing.

“So, that’s why you’re cooped up tonight.” She deduced. “You’re trying to improve these.”

The girl gave a quick nod to the small construction in front of him.

“Aye.” He responded shortly, his hands continuing to fiddle with the delicate materials.

Her lips pursed for a moment as she considered her words.

“But, as a team, we don’t have any expectations of you.” She reassured him, hoping to lift his spirits. “And these don’t need improving in my opinion.”

Tavish reached up to remove his hat, running his hand though his unkempt hair, some of which fell over his face, partially covering his eyepatch.

“But that’s just it, lass.” He stated, raising his hands to make a gesture. “So long as these go kaboom they work just fine in your eyes.”

For a fleeting moment, a gentle smile graced the Scotsman’s face as he emitted a soft chuckle while playfully imitating an explosion with his hands. The light-hearted gesture, in turn, elicited a corresponding smile upon the girl’s face. However, his smile swiftly dissipated as a contemplative thought crossed his mind.

“But I see the faults all the time.” He added, letting his hands fall into his lap.

At that moment, the girl could only stare at him, her face contoured with hurt upon hearing him persistently berate himself and diminish his own value to the team. Seeing the true fragility of his self-esteem surprised her, as his vulnerability was rarely full displayed, especially when he was completely sober. One would truly need to share a strong bond with the Scotsman.

“I can’t stand being known as nothin’ but a ‘drunk cyclops’ ‘round here.” Tavish admitted, his tone tinged with a profound sense of dejection as his words effortlessly escaped his lips without restraint.

His words interrupted her line of thought, causing her to shake her head disapprovingly. The lady straightened up from where she had been leaning against his workbench and stood directly in front of him. However, he avoided making eye contact with her, preferring to sit and be consumed by his own sadness.

“Tavish, get up.” She instructed, her voice gentle yet firm.

The Scotsman turned to her, momentarily puzzled, but complied when she made an impatient gesture with her hands.

Wearily, he ran a hand through his hair and rose from his seat, standing slightly hunched before her, as if the weight of stress could topple him at any moment. Before Tavish could ask a question, the girl moved towards him and gently enveloped him in a hug.

Taken aback by her sudden action, Tavish was startled by the unexpected contact, his eyes widening in surprise. However, he quickly regained his composure and instinctively wrapped his arms around her. As soon as he felt himself settle in the comforting embrace, Tavish relaxed completely, practically melting in her arms.

The girl sensed the way in which Tavish gently pulled her closer, almost pressing against him, feeling his curly hair brush against her neck as he rested his head tiredly on her shoulder.

“I just wish you’d value yourself the same way as all this around you…” She said with sincerity.

Her gaze fell upon his family photo once more as she looked over his shoulder, gently caressing his back.

“I’m sure your mum is proud of you, Tavish.” She spoke, her gaze still fixated on the photograph.

Tavish shifted his position and gently pulled away, maintaining a loose hold around her waist, still yearning for her closeness.

The girl noticed the prominent frown on his face.

“Aye, but there’s always better for her.” He told bluntly.

She patted his shoulder reassuringly and smiled warmly. “I think that’s just what parents are like. They always want to see their kids succeed, right?.”

Surprisingly, Tavish’s smile turned up slightly, greatly contrasting the dismal expression he withheld.

“I’ve come to realise that you can’t work yourself into the ground to please others.” She admitted, subconsciously placing her hand on her chest.

Nevertheless, Tavish appeared visibly touched by her words, as he seemed to have become more animated and relieved of his weighty stress, even if only slightly. The girl couldn’t resist smiling with him.

“Thanks, lass.” Tavish breathed, running his hand through his hair once more. “I think I owe you one.”

She shook her head and replied, “You don’t own me anything. You’re my friend, and I’d be here for you anytime.”

Taking a step back, she let out a contended sigh and placed her hands on her hips, but she couldn’t help but notice how Tavish remained close by.

Perhaps it was simply because he had only one eye, or maybe it was genuine, but Tavish appeared to be observing her attentively with his head tilted down, gazing at her through his brows: much like a puppy yearning for attention. His hands were placed in his pockets as he began to chew his cheek sheepishly, shifting his weight on his heels a few times.

“Don’t give me that look.” She told, her tone playfully stern as she smiled broadly.

She heard the soft chuckle that escaped his lips, and a bashful smile quickly spread across his face.

With a playful roll of her eyes and a gentle click of her tongue, the lady extended her hand to draw him into another embrace. Tavish responded promptly, drawing her near and offering a friendly squeeze around her shoulders.

Just before she withdrew, she gently patted his back once again. At that moment, her gaze happened to fall upon the clock on the wall, and an idea suddenly came to her mind.

“Tavish, the night’s still young. I’d say there’s still plenty of time to celebrate today’s win.” She suggested. “Shall we put this behind us for tonight and share a drink?”

The girl raised her hand up before her, anticipating him to accept her friendly proposal. Without hesitation, Tavish grasped her hand, unable to suppress the smile on his face as they shook hand in agreement.

“Sure. Why not?” He agreed.

Without delay, the girl practically skipped towards the door, gesturing for Tavish to join her with a wave of her hand.

“Come on then.” She spoke over her shoulder “I think the boys have got some drink left.”

As she pulled the door open, she paused in the doorway and turned to the Scotsman who stood a step behind, her hand gracefully raising to cover her mouth from the side.

“But I know where Spy keeps his fancy wine if we really can’t find any.” She snickered mischievously.

Tavish’s face mirrored the same expression of mischief that of the woman before him, and they both shared a light-hearted laugh as they made their way down the corridor, eager to enjoy the rest of the evening together.

[angelwheat]

Tryin something new

[angelwheat]

Welcome to BLU (Builders League United)

RED | BLU

[angelwheat]

out of curiosity, does everyone have a certain type of character they get attached to or are urs random

[angelwheat]

You and your F/O(s) get caught in the rain!! Maybe it's just a sprinkle or drizzle, maybe it starts pouring down rather hard. Were either of you prepared with an umbrella? Does one of you have a jacket that tries to get held over yalls heads? Does one of you happily enjoy the rain and not mind getting wet?

Are yall quick to trying to get in a dry place or do you end up playing in the rain for a bit?

Is there immediate plans to have a warm shower/bath or warm food or beverages once yall get back to homebase?

[angelwheat]

Your f/o's love for you is unconditional. They would follow you to the ends of the earth! They would cross the ocean and climb mountains for you, they just love you that much.

proship/comship/neutral DNI

[angelwheat]

.♡celtichearts.♡ moodboard

so homely. so sweet n pure. this love feels like a fairytale ♡♡

*all images found on pinterest!*

[angelwheat]

for non-sharing self shippers...

your f/o only wants to be yours. it's hard for them to imagine being in love with anyone else. they want you to themself as much as you don't want to see them with anyone else. you're an important part of their life that they can't picture sharing that with another person, just as you don't want to share them. you're everything to them - why should they share that? they truly wouldn't want it to be any other way ᯓ★

dividers made for me by kynibyou! ✦ prosh¡p dni.

[angelwheat]

Whatever you do don't imagine your f/o pre-relationship trying to show off whenever you're nearby. Don't imagine them looking over at you after doing something cool to see if you were watching. Definitely don't imagine them getting a bit flustered when they notice you were watching and you look proud.

proship/comship/neutral DNI

[angelwheat]

Primis, Nikolai Belinski X Reader

Author's Note: Instead of neglecting writing entirely, I thought I'd keep myself refreshed by writing small stories every so often. Here's one for Nikolai as he doesn't get enough love <3 (gif not mine)

Topics: Hurt/Comfort , Fluff

Pronouns: She/Her | Words: 559

Location: Der Eisendrache

“It’s awfully cold out here.” A gentle voice spoke behind the man.

Nikolai glanced over his shoulder, tiny snowflakes fluttering down, filling the distance between himself and the girl standing in the doorway. His eyebrows slightly raised in surprise at hearing her voice.

“You should come inside.” She suggested, concerned that the man might catch a cold if he remained on the balcony any longer.

The Russian let out a soft chuckle, a hint of a smile gracing his lips. “I have grown accustomed to the frigid temperatures,” He remarked politely. “It’s much like home.”

She tilted her head, observing the way Nikolai scarcely gave her his full attention. One could only speculate about the multitude of thoughts that occupied his mind. He was undoubtedly a man of great complexity, yet there were moments when it appeared as though he displayed his emotions openly and simply. In this instance, she could not surmise him.

Pulling her coat closer to her body to fortify as a barrier against the frigid wind, she ventured onto the balcony. Overlooking the courtyard blanketed in thick snow, she approached the rickety railing with caution. She dared not lean against the ledge, baffled at how it hadn’t already collapsed under the weight of snow settled atop it.

In the periphery of her vision, she noticed Nikolai. His shoulders were slumped, and his head was bowed, conveying a weight of emotions that were not immediately discernible.

With genuine curiosity, she posed a question. “What’s on your mind, Nikolai?”

A deep sigh slipped past his lips and into the air as a wispy mist. She faced him completely, her eyes filled with a sense of urgency as they quickly examined him.

Nikolai composed himself and addressed her with sincerity, uttering a single word. “Home.”

With a contemplative frown, she pondered whether he had more to share. As he remained silent, a sense of foreboding seemed to envelope him, casting a dark shadow over his presence.

A shiver ran down her spine, and she moved closer to Nikolai as a cold breeze swept in. He seemed to feel the chill as well, as his shoulders scrunched up and he subtly made a face.

“Do you miss your home?” She inquired with genuine concern.

Nikolai placed his hands in his pockets, maintaining his gaze on the distant horizon, and nodded subtly, acknowledging the girl’s attentive observation.

“Despite the persistent state of war in my homeland,” Nikolai stared down at his boots, hearing the snow crunch beneath his feet as he shifted his footing. “I find myself longing for the comfort and familiarity of my native soil.”

She felt a pang in her chest, contemplating whether it was due to the chilly air or the wave of sadness she felt for the Russian.

“I understand.” She uttered in a gentle tone.

Nikolai softly hummed; his face almost devoid of emotion as he turned to her. His eyes were visibly drooping, clearly weighed down by sheer fatigue.

“Oh, Nikolai, you’re exhausted.” She said, feeling slightly apologetic for being so direct.

Nikolai would be a terrible liar if he even attempted to refute her words, and instead eyed her indolently.

Her arm extended in a courteous gesture, inviting Nikolai to accompany her as she gracefully led him inside.

“It’s Dempsey’s turn to take watch duty.” She informed him. “You deserve some rest.”

[angelwheat]