#And one naked mercenary

[daily-tf2-demo]

To fill this askbox and Your, as You said, "empty" head, draw Demo trapped inside Your skull

Oh ho hohohho This was a fun one :D

Day 10

Demo trapped inside my skull! Trapped only because he's too drunk to leave and I'm just ehehhehehehebeb

He's sitting in scrumpy. Is he wearing anything? Who knows💃

[unnerving-presence]

i will never recover from seeing naked flaccid wesker mod /pos

[eternalsunrise]

shower talk.

deadpool (wade wilson) x f!reader

wc: 750 (drabble)

tags! established relationship, sexual & murder references (duh)

notes! wade brainrot is so bad idk, logan fic coming soon pls forgive me

wade often barges into the bathroom while you’re in the shower just to sit on the toilet seat and rant about the mission he just went on, or even to ask what takeout you want for dinner. couldn’t it wait until you had clothes on? sure, but he wants to talk to you now.

unexpectedly, you decide to take a page out of his playbook.

you’ve just walked in the door after your 9-5, throwing your keys and bag haphazardly across the room in frustration. you spy the familiar rumpled up red and black suit on the floor, wade was home. you had complained last week about deadpool tracking blood into the apartment after his “work.” it seemed your boyfriend had listened and obliged. if it weren’t for your bad day, the image of him cupping his crotch as he scrambled naked into the bathroom would’ve made you smile.

you hear the water still running, but you finally understand how wade feels, this can’t wait. you open the bathroom door and throw the toilet lid down, unsure if wade even heard you enter over the sound of his own voice belting hall and oates’ greatest hits.

you sit down and let out an overdramatic sigh. your boyfriend’s voice quiets down halfway through “out of touch”

“honey bear? you’re home! these stab wounds will heal in about two minutes then you can join me. i know how you feel about seeing intestines, and i don’t want to make you gag…well scratch that i do sometimes—“

“i fucking hate men.”

you hear the sound of the shower curtain opening slightly, and wade’s head peaks out, looking at you with wide eyes, “woah language, babydoll! you know degradation turns me on.” his head tilts to the side, noticing the distress written on your face “but i have a feeling this isn’t about me…”

you spare him a narrowed glance, then watch as his head disappears. the curtain closes and you hear the water hit skin again as he resumes his shower. he’s giving you time to speak. remarkable.

“you remember that guy i told you about? the one that gave me major creep vibes? and was just an all around dick?”

you get a hum in response, and you can’t see it, but you know wade is physically biting his tongue so he doesn’t say anything. it’s endearing in a way.

you rub your face with your hands, the memory of what you’re about to say lights the fire of anger again, “well. guess who got that promotion i was being eyed for? i’ll give you a hint, it’s not someone with a vagina! and on top of that, i saw him try to look under my skirt as i was leaving! that fuck.”

you almost regretted telling him that last part, knowing where this was going. but your mind was clouded by frustration, and the water was already turned off. the rings screech against the metal shower rod as wade throws the curtain open, reaching over your head for a towel. “okay sweet thing. where does this cock suck and fuck live?”

your eyes catch a glimpse of red turning pink as it swirled into the tub drain. you shake your head, suddenly realizing the severity of what your mercenary boyfriend was implying. “no no babe please it’s not that serious! and you just got home. not to mention if people found out, you’d get in so much trouble all because of something silly that happened to me and—“

a long finger is placed over your lips. you’re eye level with wade’s v line, partially covered by the towel now wrapped around his waist. you trail your eyes upward, locking them with the one who interrupted your rambling.

“shhh. nonsense kitten. now. you’re going to tell me this guy’s address, and i’m going to go out for…” wade uses his free arm to look at a make believe watch, “hmm, about an hour. while i’m gone, you’re going to change out of this sexy pantsuit. then have a glass of wine, and touch yourself while you think of me fondly. i’ll grab dinner on the way home. yes?”

when you nod with wide eyes in agreement, he removes his finger, bending down to meet your face, “atta girl.” he praises as his lips graze your own, kiss light as a feather. he clears his throat then, patting your cheek a few times as he stands up to walk out of the bathroom. whistling as if murder was all in a day’s work (you suppose for him it is)

you sit there stunned, wondering if you just got your coworker murdered….and why you were so turned on.

[a018233]

ೀ Identity v men with a s/o that sleeps naked.

Characters: , Eli Clark, Norton Campbell, Naib Subedar. Edgar Valden

content warnings: gn!reader, mostly sfw. Not really yandere, but can be read as one. Established relationships. Cockwarming in Norton's but it's not really sexual.

A/N: almost at 100 followers so I kinda wanna do a special. Someone should commission me and I'll write you whatever you want, give me sanrio photographer or buffy and my life is yours‼️‼️

Eli was surprised after finding out, he's a little traditional and modest when it came to clothes, but oddly enough, he wasn't against it. Eli can't help but think it's a little cute and endearing, though. Mainly because he thinks he's at the point of your relationship where you're comfortable doing 'weird' things with him. His biggest concern is you catching a cold. Eli prefers to keep his sleepwear on, so he won't join you in sleeping naked. Though, maybe on a hot summer night, he'd strip down to his boxers just so he can spoon you comfortably without overheating the both of you. Eli likes having you relying on him whether you realize it or not, so he prefers to stay up until you've fallen asleep so he can cover you with a blanket, it's more an act of love and reassurance that you won't accidentally catch a cold.

After you started doing it, It didn't take Norton too long to follow. He likes the close intimacy he gets from cuddling nude with you. Norton is aware he's high maintenance as a lover, to him, it's total reassurance that he's the only one for you. Reassurance that you love and trust him no matter what. The type of intimacy only he and he alone can have with you. It gives him a little pep in his step the next day. It's something looks forward to each night. He looks forward to your shared nightly routine just as much as waking up with you. I'd think at some point you two decide to kick it up a notch with cockwarming, something to keep you two locked in place together. He finds nothing as relaxing than burying himself nice and deep inside you while his arms keep you in a tight embrace.

Naib already likes sleeping in his boxers, so he doesn't really have a reaction. At least, that's what you think when you go under the covers on your shared bed. He's internally questioning himself. Is it okay to hold you? Where does he even put his hands without it being weird? Is he even allowed to look? For the first couple nights, he doesn't hold you like he usually does. But after a while, he gets used to it. Although, he won't join you in going full comando unless he just got out of the shower and dried himself fully, but he's keeping his boxers on when it comes to sleep. Naib isn't one for opening up or heart to heart conversations but having your head against his chest, and your limbs entangled with his provides comfort for him. He's a mercenary, someone who has killed for his own benefit. So it's complete solace when you ramble in a sleepy voice about your day knowing you trust him wholeheartedly.

Edgar can't help but scoff when you join him nude under the covers, he's seen your nude form before. You're his lover and muse, of course he'd seen every inch of you. As much as you're breathtaking, he's annoyed. He bought you a whole collection of all sorts of sleepwear made from the most richest material money can buy. Only the best for his lover, he can't have his muse wearing cheap clothing. Linen, silk, cotton, satin, and chiffon. With all sorts of designs he commissioned personally. Tailored to your exact size, some with your favorite colour's, colour's that match you. He even made sure the fabrics were light and breathable, and yet you choose to sleep naked? When the initial annoyance settles, he begins to feel a little flustered, yes he's seen you naked before, he has done full body portraits of you. But somehow this feels different. He can't explain why, but it feels more intimate than any canvas he's painted of you. Now, to him, it cements your love for him. That in the dead of the night, that you aren't his muse right now. But his lover. The one you love the most.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Eat your Young (viking!Konig x fem!Reader)

You weren't afraid when the Vikings came. Your ruler pays them well, and they protect you from enemies far worse - there is nothing to worry about as you, an unmarried maiden, wander into the embrace of one of them. They are on your side. Right? Tags and CWs: Age gap, size difference, Konig is a bit obsessive and a huge perv, mentions of violence, Vikings Are Actually Kinda Nice No For Real, hand jobs, oral sex, naked man/clothed woman, slightly historically inaccurate, jokes about inbreeding Thanks to @angelbabysblog for the idea. I changed quite a lot because I was reading articled about how many of the Slavic cities were actually cool with Vikings and worked with them AO3

The Vikings are here. Your Father never allowed you to meet them before – as an unmarried girl, even if you’re already of age, it would be…scandalous. Not smart. Dumb, really – everyone knows that girls that are messing with the warrior from overseas often end up being taken away. And you couldn’t survive sea travel. The Vikings are here, but it’s not really a problem – you know that there are other countries over the sea, the countries that die and burn every time a ship is sailed in their harbors. You also know that you do not live in a country like that. That sound of Vikings approaching is a good one – that you’ll be protected from the other enemies your country has. You always stole glances, despite what your father has told you – you were a curious thing, always searching for trouble, always interested in everyone outside of your small village. You’re on the border – stuck between sea and great plains, open for any enemy if it weren’t for mercenaries who deemed this place as worthy of their camp. They live here, occupying the territory outside – even build themselves houses, despite every rumor calling them nothing more but overseas barbarians who would tear you down for a flick of a coin. 

Well, you always thought you’d have nothing to worry about – you are not made of coins, after all. The Vikings had a leader, the one that stayed in the long house just outskirts of the village – the one that would always visit the elders, discussing the payments and the spoils of war. Father always punished you if any nosy neighbor would see you sneaking out to look at the warriors – but you couldn’t care less. If you are going to end up in a marriage with a fool, you could at least steal a few looks at the real men. Not the ones from your village – they felt more like brothers than anything else. Some of them were – second, third, fourth, just diluted enough to make the babies a bit less disfigured. 

But, oh, nothing compared to the vikings. You see them when you run for the lake, far from the shore. They are clean – cleaner than sailors from Byzantine who sometimes stumbled upon the small village by the sea. You think you heard them talking about how cleanliness is a sin – and just how silly it sounded. You think you didn’t like people from this place very much – sailors were often drunk, always handsy and never spared a kind word without an insult…not that you knew their language – but you are smart enough to know that if a man is attempting to grasp your breasts while sneering something through his teeth, it won’t be a love poem. 

— What are you doing here? 

Ah. 

You were spotted. Like a fox in a hunter’s trap – you are standing in the tall water grass, looking at the man through the weeping willow branches. Maybe, if you are lucky enough, he’d think you were a mavka, trying to drown him – some men were foolish enough to fall for the act, sparing you the consequences of your curiosity. You aren’t sure if the Vikings have legends of mavkas – if they even have lakes back where they are from. All travelers are mixed in your head – desserts, great plains, barbarians who would steal your sisters if you’d been blessed with some. Sea beasts who will take you on your ship, away from your father and…ah, it doesn’t sound too bad. 

— Can’t you talk? 

His voice is rough, and accented. Younger than you thought he would be with a body like this – a seasoned warrior, ginger hair covering his muscular chest and a small trail falling down his…

Viking knows your language. Shouldn’t be surprising – they are working for the elders and your ruler, after all. They get gold from your village, they get food from your village. They get sons – you heard about at least some of the women falling pregnant to the guests overseas. No one dares to say anything against it – but the rumors are still falling. You wonder if it’s as bad as it sounds. — I can talk. 

This sounds dumb, but there is no use in hiding. Your intentions weren’t innocent – you are curious and curiosity is what leads to the devil. Or god of death. Or goddess – you are not well-versed in matters of spirit and while half of your village is still worshipping old gods while the other preaches about new, stronger ones, you wonder what kind of beliefs Vikings have. You heard their women can wield magic – and can count. And read. You would love to read, you think. — Gut. Thought I spotted a Margygr.

The word is weird. Rough. You don’t know what that is, but you certainly aren’t one. You take a step forward, not caring that your linen dress is getting drenched in water – not caring about what your father might say after. You would just tell him you wanted to go and drown since he was so adamant on marrying you off to some one-eyed half-wit quarter brother of yours. He wouldn’t be surprised – and you probably wouldn’t be missed. A whore to be, as some older women from your village would say. 

— What is that? 

He tilts his head to the side, his blue eyes looking at you. You notice a piece of cloth in his hands – something that must have been covering his face, you think. He is covered in scars and dirt, blood from some battle is getting washed away into the water of the lake. Gods, you say to yourself – you won’t even be drinking from it again. Although you promised it to yourself a few years ago already, when you spotted a dead deer lying in the water – and it’s not like you held to your promise. Better than seawater, after all. — A…drowned creature. Drowning creature. Your people are calling them… — Oh. Mavka. — Others call it mermaid. Selkie. Mermaid sounds harsh too. Rude. Other languages are rude – still, you would like to know more. Still, you would like to do anything to get out of your village. Learn to read. To write. Maybe hold a baby goat close to your chest and not have it ripped away for the nearest dinner. 

— I’m not…that. 

— I can see. 

He laughs and you steal a peak at his manhood. You should be ashamed, really – if your dear mother was alive, she’d beat you up for being so immodest. If your dear mother was alive, you wouldn’t be allowed to sneak out like that – but she isn’t, so you stare at the man who can crush your skull in one hand. You stare at the trail of ginger hair going down his waist. The muscles flexing and the scars on his hips, glossy from cold lake water. 

Hm. 

Is it supposed to be this big? 

He coughs and you peek to look at him again. Coughing isn’t good – he can be sick. Contangenous. There is a sickness coming around from sailor to sailor – you wonder if vikings have it too. You don’t want to get sick – but it would surely keep you out of marriage for a long while. Maybe, if you’re lucky enough, you could be buried like a pretty maiden. White dress and mourning relatives. That would teach them how to send you off to marry some dumb cousin you never knew before. Or knew too well. — You shouldn’t come here, Schatzen. 

— Why? 

— My men won’t be as nice as I am when they see a maiden in the lake. 

You smile, tilting your head to the side. There are rumors – you can’t invite foreign mercenaries into your country without them taking their toll on the locals. Some people like them, some people are scared of them. Some are going out of the ordeal pregnant and some are not returning at all. But, you can run. But, this is your lake. You like it here – the quiet, the tranquility. You think that if your father proceed with calling you an old bride who should be married as soon as possible, you could just run away and live here. Fish is nice and there are berries when it’s not too cold. — Where are your men? 

You never saw Vikings in battle. Never saw a group of them up close – you’d like to, of course. There are warriors in your village, but their best shot is wolves and deer. Not other men – you think you’d like to see war sometimes. Maybe, all the boys of age would die and you won’t have to worry about anything anymore. You would be nice as a local witch – or a local healer. Old hag sounds nice too. — Around. Waiting for the order. — What order? 

You ask so many questions, König thinks. Pretty thing – smart, too. You aren’t afraid of him, even though you have to be. Most women would be screaming and crying if they saw someone like him in the lake next to them. Not Viking women of course – but people from around here are soft. Cherished. Coddled. You also seem soft, too soft, too gentle – a woman living in a small village on the shore without a husband shouldn’t be this careless. König knows you’re just lucky that the ruler of your country is kind enough to pay the overseas mercenaries instead of suffering the pillaging. Not all of people are this lucky. 

If he won’t get a promised weight in gold this village won’t be lucky either. 

König looks at your sweet face, at the way your eyes constantly dart to his crotch. Curious little thing you are – he isn’t sure if he is that happy that the payments have been consistent up to this point. That he can’t just screw this all over and demand a payment in other ways. That pillaging this village and taking all of its women isn’t really an option while they get their gold from here. Your long linen dress clings to your skin - you’re shaking, he notices. From cold, probably, dumb lady who is too curious for her own good. Hm. He has furs not far from here. He can…

— We’re protecting the shore. The border, too. You smile, nodding. And here he thought the locals knew why the foreigners were here – but he can’t expect too much, he guesses. At least it seems like you haven’t heard of most of his accomplishments. The rivers of blood would be enough to fill this whole lake three times. Or, maybe, you heard – and didn’t care, brave and fearless little thing. König likes the sound of that. 

— Are you cold? 

You ask him, to his surprise. Your gaze is switching from his face – he is open, cheeks flushed from the cold and a maiden right next to him, and he can’t even find it in himself to cover his scarred mug – to his cock. It’s standing proudly, heavy, balls hanging low as if asking to be held in your soft palms. König isn’t embarrassed – but he is surprised that your body, showing only a little bit in that dress of yours, is already enough to make him this bothered. This ready to give up the supposed protection of this village and take what’s his. — You can warm me. 

You tilt your head to the side, mimicking his action from earlier. Curious bird – he could keep you at his ship. Tied up to the post, ready for anyone to use you. You’re strong, and resilient. Should survive the long way home – and he is getting quite ready to find someone at last. If the ruler of your little kingdom won’t be as stingy as the previous one, König can walk away with a sack of gold hanging on his shoulder. Enough for him and for him men. Surely enough to sway you. — How? 

— Do you have a husband? 

He knows, you probably don’t. A husband wouldn’t allow his wife to run around and flirt with other men – and if König was yours, he surely would keep you locked in like the treasure you are. There is too many men ready to take what doesn’t belong to them. 

— No. And I won’t.

— Why? — Soon I will be too old to be a bride anyway. Not that I want it. He laughs at that. Surely, little bird, it wouldn’t be your choice. If the luck is on his side, it wouldn’t even be the choice of your father. — Touch me, Schatzen. You want it, ja? 

He says this with more awkwardness than before. Swaying women by his side isn’t his strong suit – and even with his strength, not many of them would just throw themselves at him. Being a mercenary leader might bring him money but with the whole team consisting of equally strong and handsome men, the broody leader usually isn’t the first choice. He gets his fill eventually – but not the one that would make his heart flutter. With you, however… Your hands are traveling down his abs. Caressing every bit of skin you see – sending goosebumps down his navel and straight to his hard and leaking cock. He wonders if you’ve done this before – but your actions are the one of an explorer, not a professional. YOu grab his cock with both hands almost as if strangling him, and König lets go with a choked moan. 

You retrieve your hands, nervous. Good girl. Eager, pretty. Such a shame this village usually pays its tolls. — Are you hurt? 

— Nein, it’s…go on. You proceed to touch him, the softness of your touches is making him groan from pleasure. This is something else – you’re something else. Having the power to bring a seasoned warrior to his knees – god, how much he liked the way you looked at him. Eager and curious, always going down to touch his cock some more. You press your palm together, making s steady rhythm – using the pre-cum from his cockhead like a lube. 

König relishes in the feeling – he might be one of the strongest soldiers, but it was the first time he felt victorious. With your hand pumping his cock up and down, the pleasure settling in his stomach and threatening to burst, he felt like a king. No, the king. Gods, you were beautiful. Worthy of throwing this village into the fire for. Worthy risking the payment. Your mouth is warm on his manhood – he didn’t expect you to be this active, to wrap your lips around the bulging head and bop your head just a bit. Up and down. Tongue swirling, as if tasting him. Making him sweat that you will decide to take a bite out of it, just to satisfy your curiosity. To his peace, you didn’t. He came shortly after you decided to put your mouth on him – when your tongue started to swirl around and collect the bitter taste of his pre-cum. When your curiosity about foreign warriors bathing in your lake finally made you do something about it – and he would feel bad about pressing a hand in your hair and forcing you to choke on his length, your nails digging small red paths in his pale thighs. You choke and squirm and cry and this is the sweetest sound he ever heard – so when he finally drags you away from his cock, smiling as you wipe your mouth and whimper. Squirm again, some more. The light in your faded a little as he pushed one calloused finger into his mouth and pushed your lips apart. Poor thing, he thinks. — You did good, little bird. 

His seed tastes weird on the tongue. You wince, but swallow – it’s what good brides should do, you think. Somehow, looking at this warrior, you don’t feel so bad about being considered a bride. Maybe…no. You stalled here for long enough – you saw the Viking. You touched him. Tasted him. Father is probably looking for you. 

You don’t even bother to say goodbye as you come out of the water – but König stops you right on the edge of the lake, firm hand on your shoulder. Squeezing. Touching. Feeling. 

— I…I apologize, maiden. I lost control. 

His voice is hesitant. You don’t like how unsure he sounds. It made you feel unsure too. Weird. Uncertain and meek. 

— Are you going to leave soon? 

He stops mumbling, looking into your eyes. This is settled – he is not leaving you here. You must return to your family, say your goodbyes. Maybe enjoy a few weeks of peace before his troupe finally gets a clearing on killing whatever enemies grouped at the border – and he will take you no matter the payment your ruler can give him. Nothing will be worth more than you. 

— Yes. Yes, I will. You turn away, almost running. He didn’t stop you this time – you need to get as much freedom in your lungs as you can. He will take you eventually and, well…you best enjoy freedom as much as you could before this. 

When your village will burn along with all the cousins, half-triple brothers, and elders, you’ll find out why most countries fear the Vikings. When you will be hauled to the wooden ship over a giant’s shoulder, with his hand sitting firmly on your ass and his other palm preventing you from screaming, you’d know why taking the attention of overseas mercenaries is a bad idea. When your ruler would refuse to pay the warriors for their service and force them to just take everything by force, you’d know why making payments on time is so important. 

When König would finally make you his wife, you’d understand why you should have drowned in that lake instead. 

[salaimoi]

𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 — 𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝒆𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒔𝒚𝒑𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒔] after his wife’s death, you became toji fushiguro’s only reliant shoulder. however, unbeknownst to you, your deceased friend’s ex-husband had ulterior motives in mind when he began to pursue you.

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆] angst

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒘𝒄] 2.k

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔] yellow is reader’s pov, blue is toji’s pov. it might sound repetitive and rushed bc i just wanted to get this out of my drafts. i know billie’s song came out like ages ago so it wouldn’t make sense to release this any later than it already is

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Things fall apart, and time breaks your heart. I wasn't there, but I know.

toji always reassured you a million times; he wasn’t heartbroken over his split with his ex-wife, not in the slightest. he rarely opened up about his past, let alone his previous relationships. and yet, deep down, you knew he hadn’t properly processed their rupture.

the most he ever disclosed to you was the fact that there was nothing left to salvage in his old relationship — so he moved on, and so did she. 

but was that the entire truth? 

you noticed the prolonged glances he would take when opening his wallet. the empty look behind his eyes when he stared down at his naked ring finger. even the faint sniffling at night that he tried convincing you were nothing more than allergies. but you knew he was silently mourning her. 

her – the real love of his life.

She was my girl. I showed her the world, but fell out of love and we both let go. ⋆࿐

i made it my life goal to tend to her happiness. the only reason for my very existence was to see that she had everything she could ever want. hell, that’s the only thing i’ve ever been good at.

i never kept anything from her — except my line of work. i couldn’t bring myself to tell her the man she fell in love with was a deadbeat mercenary who bathed in the blood of others for a living. as much as i tried to protect her from that side of my life, she eventually went digging her nose where it wasn’t needed. 

the aftermath of her discovering the truth about my hidden agenda came at the price of our relationship. 

she couldn’t withstand the constant pain of being by my side any longer, to turn in bed only to see a bastard by her side. she wholeheartedly believed that the man that now stood before her was no longer the one she fell in love with. 

somehow i didn’t blame her.

She was cryin’ on my shoulder. All I could do was hold her.

i still remember it so vividly — how her body trembled against mine like a leaf. tears coursed down her cheeks as she clung to me like a lifeline, seeking comfort in the midst of her anguish. as selfish as it may sound, the weight of her sorrow became almost too much to bear. 

i couldn't offer excuses or apologies; these were empty gestures that wouldn't alleviate the agony she felt at that moment. instead, i stood there, silently holding her, offering my presence as the only comfort.

the guilt washed over me in waves as i cradled her, feeling her heart shatter a little more with each sob. i knew i was the cause of her pain, yet i couldn’t tell her the whole truth. all i could do was hold her, wishing i could undo the past.

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Only made us closer until July.

the moment he began pursuing you when enough time had gone by, it immediately felt wrong. he was your friend’s ex-husband, after all. toji had never looked at you twice before, and now, he suddenly had lustful eyes for you? 

you eventually conceded because you wanted to be there for him, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he had no ulterior motives. but one way or another, every conversation at dinner circled back to her. 

“oh she loved mashed potatoes.” 

“fun fact, she had a strawberry allergy.” 

“did you know this brand of vanilla ice cream was her favorite?”

and as much as it pained you, you became a reliant ear for him — someone who would listen to all the little details he swore he had forgotten the day she divorced him. even if every bone in your body wanted to run in the opposite direction, far, far away from him, you stayed. 

maybe all he needs is time, you told yourself.

right?

Now I know that you love me. You don't need to remind me. I should put it all behind me, shouldn't I? ⋆࿐

your affection always remained a constant in my turbulent world, like a gentle rain that falls softly even amidst the storm. but the longer the internal storm went on, the more ravenous the regret and guilt raged on. i found myself unable to fully comprehend the depth of your love for me, but deep down, i knew that your love was unwavering. 

i knew that in order to truly move on, i had to let go of the past and embrace the present; you represented that fresh start i so urgently needed. but the thought of her still lingered, a constant reminder of what once was but should no longer be. it was as if i was being consumed by my own memories, unable to break free. as if a part of me still longed for the past. 

the weight of my conflicting emotions burdened my every waking moment, leading me to push you away with no explanation. feelings for the both of you coexisted, and i couldn't fully commit to one without betraying the other. every time i looked at you, guilt would wash over me for putting you through this hell.

 likewise, every time i looked at her picture, i felt like a traitor for ever moving on as soon as i did.

But I see her in the back of my mind all the time. Just like a fever, like I’m burning alive, like a sign. ⋆࿐

beneath the mask of indifference, i was plagued by shame. it was hard to accept that the girl who once consumed my thoughts was no longer part of my life, and looking at you, i realized that your love knew no bounds; that wasn’t enough for me. 

i hadn’t stopped loving her. 

it felt like a fever that never broke. an unrelenting heat that burned deep inside me, reminding me of the girl who dwelled in the back of my mind all those years ago.

every word about my past, every little detail about my ex, felt like a confession at church – a church where my sins would be revealed to the world. 

talking about my past wouldn’t magically absolve me of my past, now would it? redemption was never an option for me, and i wasn’t asking for it. instead of trying to cleanse myself of my history, i decided to leave it all behind like a forgotten box in an attic. 

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Well, good things don't last, and life moves so fast. I'd never ask who was better 'cause she couldn't be more different from me.

he told you to let it go — to let it die like she did that fateful day. it was no use keeping her memory alive, he said, but if that was the case, why did he take her last name months later? 

not to mention they spent years together — even conceived a child together; a child he named after her, but that detail never seemed to make its way to you. 

everyone told you to stop comparing yourself, but how could you not? she was everything you weren’t even after death: soft spoken, graceful, gentle, patient, loving. 

you didn’t dare ask such a redundant question so you didn’t voice it, but your continuous comparison to her was eating you alive; toji noticed it. you hadn’t slept with him in almost a month, internally afraid he’ll blurt out her name instead of yours.

𓂃 ོ𓂃 And I know that you love me. you don't need to remind me.

he went out of his way to send more ‘i love u’ messages than before; they seemed forced, just like your relationship. 

she had previously informed you of things that found their way to the most profound recesses of your mind. you didn’t flinch at the time, because you were mesmerized that he did such things for her, but it affected you later on. 

you learned bitter truths that made you doubt his love for you. and when you finally realized he didn’t do any of the things she spoke of, it dawned on you; toji didn’t love you. 

not like he loved her. 

𓂃 ོ𓂃 You say no one knows you so well but every time you touch me, I just wonder how she felt.

you’d stay up late at night countless times wondering what toji’s affectionate touch actually felt like. it was something only she ever knew, and you’d do anything to get a semblance of that feeling. 

but it was obvious no one knows the real him — not like she did.

despite everything, you decided to give this relationship one last try by booking a hotel for the both of you. everything inside you screamed that it was a horrible idea, but you did it anyway.

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Valentine's Day, cryin’ in the hotel. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, so I kept it to myself.

and he finally did it. he mistakenly blurted out her name on the most romantic day of the year. 

“i-i’m sorry.” toji rushed to apologize, grabbing a hold of your arm so you wouldn’t walk out the door.

“I wonder, do you see HER in the back of your mind, in my eyes!?” was the only thing you could force yourself to reply in that moment, breaking away from his grip in the process.  

“i do,” toji dejectedly admits with a hint of sorrow behind his voice. or was it indignity?

he pauses, absentmindedly digging his nails into the tender flesh of his balled up fist as he grapples with his conscience. all along, he knew the day to finally hold himself accountable would come, but he didn’t think it would’ve been like this. 

his mind involuntarily wandered, and in the depths of your gaze, he saw glimpses of his deceased wife — a ghost that lingered in the back of his subconscious even after all this time.  

memories of her flood his mind, and for a brief moment, the both of you merge into one — his past and present colliding into one. the familiar shade of your irises, the identical shine behind them, the bright glimmer of light behind them when you smiled — all of it brought a pang of bittersweet nostalgia to him. 

silence overtook the room like a storm, and with it, your heart. so he does see a reflection of his dead wife when he stares into your eyes — the eyes he promised captivated him to no bounds. 

“was all of it a lie, then?” 

“no.” 

“how was it not a lie, toji?”

“it wasn’t a lie, doll-“ 

“don’t call me that.” you interrupt him with words almost sharp enough to cut him, a slight tremble behind your voice. 

tears immediately welled up in the delicate corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. his expression softened at the sight; however, his reluctance to approach you remained. he knew he was the reason behind your hurt, just like he was the cause of hers all that time ago. history does indeed repeat itself, doesn’t it? 

he wished he could find the words that would help ease your pain — the exhaustion and heartache you felt. to take it all away with a mere sentence, that would be quite incredible. but that’s not how life works.

“okay.” he finally whispered, inhaling a deep breath in a mix of defeat and remorse before continuing. “i promise none of it was a lie; i meant every word. i really meant it when i said i adored your eyes…” 

he dry swallows a couple of times, as if doing so would suppress the sorrow lodged in his throat. his eyes darted around the room, as to not meet your own out of the unbearable guilt that simply refused to be consumed. 

the hesitation behind his subtle actions was a telltale that there was a ‘but’ hidden underneath the surface-level flattery. and with an equal amount of incertitude and delay behind your own words, alongside with a hoarse voice, you brace yourself for the moment he finally admits this so-called love of yours was nothing but an illusion.

“but?” 

“…but they’re not her eyes.” 

part 2 here.

[yandereunsolved]

Blood & Cheese Reborn - ,, yandere Aegon w/ an assassin reader

"𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯." word count: 3.6k cw(s): yandere themes, child murder, mentions of sexual assault, mention of miscarriage, descriptive gore, mutual sadism, degradation, suggestive themes (mild nsfw)

𓍢ִ໋🀦 An assassin, the assassin as some would call you. No one was truly aware of your backstory. Some said you were a disgraced general turned mercenary. Others whispered that you used to be an executioner for the kingdom and went mad, turning you into a lunatic who maims and dismembers for money. There was debate on whether you were a man or a woman—perhaps a third gender. Were you tall or short, common or noble, handsome or pretty? You were a tale that was told to children at night to scare them into behaving.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 That is exactly why Daemon Targaryen hired you. He needed you to kill Aemond Targaryen, the one-eyed prince and kinslayer. It was simply a son for a son. You were paid handsomely for this killing—over six thousand gold padded your pockets. 

You knew a thing or two about these sorts of tiffs between nobles. You had to carve some nobles' wannabe rapists eyes out the other night. You weren't being paid for it; you simply felt the need to. A rumor turned into you avenging a young, sweet noblewoman.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 The night of your perfected plans was foiled by a rival of yours. 'King' Aegon was warned about Daemon hiring you, and dozens of guards were posted at each possible entrance and exit. There was only one way to get in, and that happened to be the room in which Helaena and her children occupied. You didn't regret what you did; you relished it. You giggled as the so-called 'queen' cried out for you not to slay her son. 

You didn't just kill him; you cut off all his fingers and toes and neatly lined them up next to his favorite stuffed dragon toy. You cut off Helaena's ring finger and did the same to her daughter. You kept them and later gifted them to Daemon and Rhaenyra. It was safe to say that you soon became Team Black's most sought-after asset. 

You never agreed to work with them, never pledged your loyalty; you simply were willing to work for whoever paid you the most.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 To say Aegon was angry was an understatement. Furious? Livid? Enraged? Irate? No, there was no culmination of words that could express how much Aegon wished to have you tortured, stripped naked, and displayed on a spike at the entrance of the castle for all to see. His fantasies ranged from sadistic to depraved. They were limitless. They took up all the space in his mind that was supposed to be delegated towards comforting his grieving wife and winning the war against the Blacks.

The only thought was to have you pay. It would be you first and then the rest. It had to be you. You committed the sin, so you must pay tenfold.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 He lay awake at night with his anguish and enmity the only ones keeping him company. He refused to look at his wife's face, so he moved himself to a spare bed chamber. He spent his nights downing bottle after bottle of wine. His eyes were teary and red, and the violet within them seemingly paled to a grey. His eyebags rivaled those of any grandfather, and his thirst for revenge was much higher than that of Maegor the Cruel.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You visited every other night. You'd taunt him gleefully and always escape before any guards arrived. You always had a cloak engulfing your figure and a hood casting shadows over your features. You always sat on the edge of the window with both legs firmly planted on the ledge. Whenever he tried to reach out to touch you, you seemed to vanish. You never even entered the chambers. He could no longer distinguish whether you were a reality or just a visage of all his guilt and wrongdoings coming to seek retribution. 

𓍢ִ໋🀦 As the moons passed, the pressure on Aegon and Helaena to copulate increased. The man who was known to fuck multiple whores a night couldn't stand to touch his wife. It wasn't just the fear of losing another kin of his; it was also a certain repulsion. Her body no longer seemed like a viable option. Her curves and supple skin seemed so unappetizing. There was no urge to lick and bite to claim; he simply wanted her to stay as she was.

Helaena acted as if she were distressed at her husband's lack of motivation, but she was internally relieved. She doesn't know if she'll ever be able to carry a child again. She is already so much more protective over Jaehaera after Jaehaerys's brutal assassination.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 His cock ached, and the fog within his mind only thickened after each drop of alcohol he consumed. He had piles of parchment ranging from displeased smallfolk to plans of war. You hadn't visited him that night, and his entire thought process was only about you. He aimlessly palmed himself through his trousers and slipped into a dreamless sleep after. 

𓍢ִ໋🀦 His revenge was only able to fuel him for so long, and now his body is spent. He hadn't seen you in his window for almost a full moon, and he had begun to think that you had moved on. His heart broke more at the thought. He would never be able to avenge the death of his beloved son. He would never be able to carry the crown on his head without it weighing his head down to the ground. The war would be won by The Blacks, and Rhaenyra would sit on the throne. His family would die, and it would all be because he was too weak.

Like a dragon, he needed warmth, and it seemed as if he had been deprived of it for far too long.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 After two moons, you finally returned with that dreadfully melodic voice of yours. One leg was thrown over the side into his bedroom, and the other perched upon the ledge. His lifeless eyes barely opened until you ignited the flame within his belly once again.

"Did the little King miss me?"

No, he did not. He was simply worried that he had missed the chance for revenge. 

"I heard you can't get your dick up for your wife. You're even more pathetic than I thought you were. You'll never have another son to replace the one I killed at this rate. Such a shame. I was looking forward to murdering that one to!"

He shot out of bed and tried to grab a hold of your cloak. He merely stumbled and fell flat on his face.

"Stupid boy, you never learn."

Like the winds you moved. One moment within his reach, and the next, halfway down the castle wall, to only the gods know where.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 He's slightly ashamed to say that's the first time he's been able to relieve himself since his son's death. He imagined how you appeared and how you would look standing over him. That smug smirk on your features, the one so evident in your voice. Cock or breasts—both, neither, either—he didn't care. He was simply too willing to be looked down upon—just so he could titter and then slaughter you.

Filled with such conflicting emotions, two beasts fought over what course of action was needed. He would have to keep you for questioning, surely. If he killed you outright, then he wouldn't have a chance to know about his opposition.

He couldn't stop biting down on his lips to suppress his noises. He couldn't help the few tears that escaped the eyes that were temporarily a vibrant violet. He whined in a manner undignified and unbecoming of a king. Your title simply falls past his swollen lips with heavy breaths. 

"Stupid fucking assassin."

"Just an insignificant assassin."

"A-Assassin."

"Mommy."

𓍢ִ໋🀦 He felt invigorated for the first time since your appearance. His thoughts became more violent, twice as lewd. No one knew what happened with him that night. No one could know. His mother interrogated him, and he simply said that he made a change. Alicent did not buy that excuse for one moment but didn't press further. As long as he got his act together and ruled like a king, she was satisfied.

She did send Ser Criston to investigate, and he came back with a gash in his chest and a wound right above his navel, courtesy of you.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 She couldn't help but rush him to the maester. She doted on him after behind closed doors. He deserved it after everything he had been through. Alicent couldn't help but feel as if it were some slight towards her. As if this assassin knew her secret, her love.

"Ser Criston, it was that damned assassin that harmed you, wasn't it?"

"Yes, my queen."

She wished to blame Aegon. The assassin never seemed to take notice of anyone else in the family after the horrific tragedy of Jaehaerys's untimely death. You only seemed to harass her eldest son. She suspected it to be Aemond, who was your original target. Why not kill him now? 

She should chastise her son for not being more vigilant. He was the second most grief striken; he pledged revenge over and over, yet the one who committed the action always escaped him without so much as a scratch. She only lectured Aegon further and spoke about how he should rekindle his relationship with Helaena.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 Aegon could barely find it in himself to bed his wife. He was nearly being forced to do so by his court and mother, but he could only look at Helaena and see your hooded figure. He had never felt more fulfilled than imagining your body was the one beneath him instead of hers.

Helaena was absent as always, her mind drifting off into thoughts of the future. She did not mind Aegon's method, but she wasn't entirely enthusiastic about being put through it.

Something felt off to her—a foreboding sensation that crept from her stomach into her soul. It made her spine tingle. Her chest would tighten to the point where she was barely able to take a breath.

It was because of a dream she recently had—a reoccurring one. Someone else was cradling the dragon egg she promised for her next child, as it seemed that she would have to perform her duty and bear another. She could tell by their hands that it was not her holding the egg. The hands had many more callouses and a multitude of scars.

She only verbalized it to a single person.

They were a kind traveler simply passing through. She knows she shouldn't have burdened a stranger; they could have been a spy, but it just felt right to do so.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 It was the first time he had slept in the same bed as his wife since the incident. So, like a predator, you struck when he was vulnerable and spent once again. He can't lie; his heart palpitated and his violet pupils dilated due to more than just the darkness. He could feel his body flushing once again after being graced with the outline of your figure standing at the edge of his room. He dared not to speak first. For a moment, he wanted to drag you into this bed instead of tying you down and beating the answers out of you.

You could see the need in his violet irises. The draconic king was ravenous and wanted to devour you. It was so endearing. You were only here for answers, as always. Daemon eagerly shoved gold into your hands so he could receive the information you collected. It was a win-win. You got to play with the king and then go undercover for answers. You even caught a kingsguard the other day, the queens plaything. Now you get to see a mama's boy with a confused libido, all because of little old you.

"Is your precious wifey full of another of your kin yet? Did you enjoy it? Did you think of me? Oh, mommy~. You're just a love-starved boy, aren't you?"

How did you know that one word escaped his lips over seven nights ago? God's damn it. He meant nothing by it. It wasn't even directed toward the assassin. It wasn't directed toward anyone! He was so drunk out of his mind that he could have said something asinine, and you would have taken it as purely sexual.

He was stunned for a moment and then refused to speak. He wouldn't give you the pleasure.

"Baby boy is mad at his mommy, or would you prefer to call me daddy? You can call me that since you don't have one of those either."

"Assassin—"

You were gone, hurriedly this time. He just barely got a glimpse of your features being shone in the moonlight. He now had another problem to take care of, all thanks to you—stupid... person.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 It had been over eleven moons since your first appearance. Many people had fallen in war and illness; there were talks of King's Landing being taken over. Helaena was with child and then miscarried due to the stress she was under. His wife is now in a deep depression, and Aegon himself is struggling to keep the crumbling greens together. 

He could no longer say that he despised you, for he found solace in your mocking words. He needed to keep you in his presence. He needed to cage you. He needed to show you who you belonged to.

What if you left him? What if you decided that he had become too much of a bore? What if you chose to—what is he thinking?

This is all part of your plan.

You won't win.

You'll end up bent over the war room table, begging to be forgiven by him.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 That's what he thinks. It's what words he may dare to spill from his lips. He had to move to a separate chamber if he was to get back at you. It was the only thing that kept him sane. The thought of finally kneading your flesh and claiming it as his. To think of whispering tantalizing words into your ear, for you to whine and come undone as he has because of you.

His goblet is almost empty as the hour of ghosts arrives. You always appear at this time, until you don't. You turn up during the hour of the wolf, weakened. You have a hand clutching your side, and your breathing is ragged. There's a trail of blood marking the edge of the window. Your gloved hand was a deep crimson, leaving the prints of your agony behind on whatever you clung to.

He's half-clothed. He feels the urge to shed the rest of the layers as soon as he lays his eyes on you. His eyes were semi-lidded, and now they are greedily taking in such a precious sight. A gift from the gods.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You collapsed on the stone floor before him. Your features are easily accessible for his consumption. His nimble fingers slipped the hood of the cloak off your face, and he felt as if he had won the war right then and there. 

"The blacks most valuable asset laying right beneath me. Do you regret your words now, ñuha sentys₍₁₎?"

"Never."

Even your voice was hoarse, so soft and unconfident, unlike the tone you used to spit vitriolic words at him for so many moons. 

His hands were vigorously shaking. His mind began outpacing his ability to comprehend.

He had you within his grasp. What was he now going to do?

Lua ao, zȳhon byka ruarilaksa.₍₂₎

𓍢ִ໋🀦 He would later learn that there were rumors of you getting ambushed. You had come back to kill off his younger brother, and you were jumped by a group of mercenaries. He was unable to scavenge any further details of the fight, except for the fact that you became injured and still tried to follow through with your plan. Aemond stated that he saw your figure briefly. Aemond was speaking with another kingsguard at that time. Then you must have retreated to his room for some unknown reason. 

The story is strange, but considering the scarcity of true tales about you and your elusiveness, it isn't unbelievable.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You would later be forced into some hastily thrown-together room in a secluded part of the dungeons. You awoke to the long gash in your side cleaned and bandaged, your limbs shackled, and your fine fabrics used to conceal yourself replaced with some useless, dainty nightgown. 

The dungeon room was mostly bare. There wasn't a guard to be seen, but you could hear the faint voices of at least two down the corridor. It had a cot with a blanket and a feather-filled pillow. An old rug was placed on the grimey stones. It left you with a bit of padding. The entire cell stinks of rotten flesh and broken spirits. 

You loved it.

It was the perfect place to escape from.

You just needed to heal and find some way to slip out of these chains. You could then steal a guard's uniform and get out of this horrid sleepwear.

It's so thin you can nearly your skin through the translucent cloth.

Damn king.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You would not see him until the morrow. You broke your fast with a bowl of porridge and two slices of bread. You were given a glass of dry Arbor red wine. All the while, Aegon was staring at you with an expression you couldn't quite decipher. You weren't shy about scarfing down the food. You were irritated that he now knows of your features and perhaps others, but it wasn't the end of your career.

You have been known by many names in your years of assassinry. You have had to erase your past on numerous occasions.

It wouldn't be the first time you had to kill a king. It certainly won't be the last.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 This became a monotonous routine. Aegon would bring you your meals and you would eat them in silence. He never said a word to you. He simply stared at you, seemingly appraising you. You were still unable to tell his thoughts. You knew that he was wrapped around your finger. That much was made clear to you.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 Aegon kept every guard's mouth shut and didn't allow any of his family members to know you were down in the dungeons. They may try to kill you! Only he is allowed to decide your fate. After all, he is the true ruler of the Iron Throne.

He does suspect that Daemon and Rhaenyra will eventually notice your absence. He doesn't know the inner workings of your relationship with the Blacks, but you must be close enough to where they would become concerned.

He'd lie awake at night and think about it once again. There were so many things he could do to you that he became paralyzed by the opportunity before him.

He simply kissed his wife's head and made his way down to the dungeons once again.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 Aegon decided to do what you had been depriving him of for so long. He gives into that need for you, and you so willingly reciprocate. He gets lost in it. He almost loses his mind entirely. He can't decide whether he enjoys degrading you or being degraded by you more. 

It becomes a daily thing for him. An addiction that he doesn't wish to acknowledge or stop.

He never takes off your chains or gives you moon tea. If you miraculously bore his child, then perhaps he would let you.

Oh, it becomes a regularly occurring fantasy for him.

You bearing a male heir for him. The male heir that would replace the son you took. He would never allow you to have your child. He would raise it as if it was Helaena's. The look of anguish and the hurt in your voice to be denied the thing you created. It fills him with a crazed glee.

Perhaps you can't have kids at all, but it doesn't stop his dream of giving himself pleasure and making you suffer to the cruelest extent.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 He dresses you up in the skimpiest and frilliest things he can find. It's partially for his viewing pleasure and partially so you won't have anything to escape in. It's safe to say that it never stays on you for very long. 

Anything to remind you that you're beneath him.

Always.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 He uses you as a release for all his pent up emotions. He shares random things about himself and his day. He asks you questions about yourself and hangs onto every word you say. He no longer sees your jabs at him as hate filled; no, they've been playful and loving all along. You just wanted his attention. That's why you've done all these unforgivable things.

You're insecure.

He understands that. He needs to pay more attention to you.

So he carves his name into you with his precious dagger. He marks you in any way that pleases him; he loves to keep them fresh. He just needs to make sure that you know who you belong to. 

He doesn't want to see you getting into a tizzy and attacking him again, even if it excites him.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 Since capturing you, the progress of the opposition has slowed. He has been winning numerous battles. The Greens have gained significant ground.

Who are you, truly?

How big of a part have you really played in this civil war?

He has to know. So he goes back down to the dungeon with an even more urgent need for information. 

You're gone.

"Mittys, mittys, mittys! Eminna zirȳ arlī. Nyke'll emagon se guard's bartos bona ivestragī zirȳ henujagon!"₍₃₎

You only left a hastily scribbled note with a few barely legible words on it.

"𝘜𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨."

— 𝘈ō𝘩𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺𝘴₍₄₎

ᝰ translation(s) ᝰ.ᐟ

1. ñuha sentys = my killer

2. Lua ao, zȳhon byka ruarilaksa. = Keep you, his little secret.

3. Mittys, mittys, mittys! Eminna zirȳ arlī. Nyke'll emagon se guard's bartos bona ivestragī zirȳ henujagon! = Idiot, idiot, idiot! I will have them back. I'll have the guard's head that let them leave/escape.

4. Aōha sentys = Your killer

𖹭 tag: ( @eexphoria ) 𖹭

[the-teufort-nine]

waiter! Waiter! Offence class horny headcannons please!!

Offense Classes | Horny Headcanons For Our Frontline Mercenaries

NSFW Below!

Scout:

<3 Super high sex drive. Quick as a bunny and wants to fuck like one too! Definitely jacks off daily, probably multiple times per day. Doesn't last too long, but his refractory period is short as hell.

<3 Def has porn mags and videos. If PornHub existed in the 70's, he'd be on it most hours of the night.

<3 Living with eight brothers has taught this man to be quiet. You'd think he'd be yapping all throughout, but he's actually pretty good at keeping his vocalization to little whimpers.

<3 If he's got a partner, he's all over them pretty much whenever he can be (if they're comfortable with that, of course). Loves handjobs and getting blown, but he also likes to return the favour.

<3 Despite Spy's taunts, he actually does know what he's doing. Likes to put that blabbermouth to good use.

<3 Call him a good boy and he's cumming on the spot.

<3 Really likes lingerie/skimpy outfits. Put on anything playboy bunny related and he gets hard immediately.

<3 Falls asleep once he's cummed at least 5-6 times. If he's by himself he won't clean himself up until after the nap, but if he's with someone, he'll take a shower with them. Annnddd probably end up getting horny again by the end of it.

Pyro:

<3 Listen to me. Pyro fucks severely and you're wrong if you think otherwise. They are not an uwu smol bean, they kill people for a living, and they def get horny sometimes.

<3 The suit stays ON during masturbation.

<3 Lots of dry humping and using vibrators. The mask muffles a lot of the sounds Pyro makes, but they are noisy!!

<3 Probably uses temperatures to help get themselves off, like heating up the muzzle of their flamethrower and grinding against it. Not enough to cause damage, but enough to feel it.

<3 If they have a partner, then they're going to still mostly be using toys/thigh riding. Fantastic at giving though; Pyro knows how to use their hands.

<3 If you want to get Pyro in the mood, you'll probably need to actually say that you want to have a bit of fun. Unless they're burning something, Pyro's pretty much ready to go whenever.

<3 Cums in the suit, so they clean themself up privately, but Pyro is actually pretty good at aftercare.

Soldier:

<3 Average sex drive/maybe slightly lower than average. Despite being totally fine with being naked out in the open, he actually prefers privacy if he's gonna masturbate.

<3 When he is in the mood, he's got some filthy magazines, much like Scout does. However, he prefers to fuck (or be fucked) instead of jacking off.

<3 Has... no idea how to really ask his partner though. Despite being very loud and brash on the battlefield, he struggles when articulating his needs. Probably just starts kissing his partner and goes from there.

<3 Lots of panting and grunting. Starts yapping a bit more when he's close.

<3 Has to feel completely safe/secure in an area before he can get it up. Absolutely does not want anyone seeing him or his partner in such a vulnerable state. Keeps a gun nearby every time, just in case.

<3 Likes to be given orders and praise. Give him a sharp tap with his riding crop if you wanna hear him whimper.

<3 Absolute biggest turn on is seeing his partner in one of his helmets and only his helmet.

<3 Actually very tender afterwards! Will make sure your both clean and wants to be close to you. Expect plenty of Soldier-esque praise.

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

Hey I've been wanting to ask you for a while a request I've had. Can I have some headcanons of the mercenary's realizing their feelings for the 10th merc after they brutally bash in a enemy's skull in for trying to kill said merc. And then the 10th merc looks at them with extreme concern while checking up on them. Before turning around and killing another enemy that was about to kill them.

I would love to see the mercenary's reaction to being saved by their crush and having to deal with the horny panic of finding them attractive.

If you dont want to do this that's fine. Thanks again for making really good tf2 x reader content! I love it! Byebye have a good day/night.

The Mercs realizing they have feelings for Y/N after watching them brutally kill an enemy (NSFW)

WARNING: severe amounts of simping

Scout:

- Oh. Oh.. OH. OHH NOOO! OUR SCOUUTTT. HE’S BROKKEEENNN

- You look so dazzling with the blood on your clothes and the rockets whizzing past you. The explosions in the background creating a fine backdrop. Cue the cheesy romantic 40s music as you kill people in slow motion and Scout is in awe.

- You’re confused. He had been standing there even after you had successfully cleared the point. You wave your hand in front of his face and he doesn’t react.

- In his head he’s already having romantic fantasies of frolicking with you on the beach and bashing in people’s heads. The idea of you beating the shit out of him particularly makes him feel a certain way. He has no idea why. Oh god, is this normal? Wait.. Why is he already having thoughts of marrying you and growing old together?

- Immediately goes whining to Spy like a little pussy about you. He’s batshit scared of you but also has the most confusing boner. Good job. You sent him crying after his daddy. You hear a “SPYYYYYYYYYYYeeeEEEE!” as you leave the battlefield. Followed by a groan from said frenchman.

———————————————————————-

Soldier:

“NOW HANG ON PRIVATE THATS NOT EXACTLY— Oh.. Ah..” Soldier hisses through his teeth and puts his fist to his mouth, his helmet falls back a bit from the impact you made of kicking an enemy demoman’s sticky bomb back to him. You can see his expression is incredibly conflicted about this. With mild arousal. Holy shit. Somebody as batshit crazy as him. Who the hell kicks an active explosive?

- Because on one hand, you’re impractical yet affective at what you do. Just like him. But on the other hand that’s HIS THING. NOT YOURS! He’s one to act incredibly erratic on many occasions when strategy is in the back of his head awaiting the stupidly fast yet eons long conveyor belt.

- Becomes incredibly infatuated by you on the spot. Creating a sort of vague idea in his head on what you could be like. Cue very vivid fantasies of you and him strangling a sumo wrestler while naked, claiming france as an American owned country for some reason by sticking the flag into the tip of the Eiffel tower while naked, and having a fine American breakfast on the deck of your cottage.. (while naked.)

- “Is that a pistol in your pants or are you just happy to see me?” You ask him afterwards. “NEGATIVE. THAT’S A ROCKET. I ran out of room.” He lies. You believe him because that sounds like something he’d do.

———————————————————————-

Demoman:

- You destroy a sentry nest he was trying to demolish around a choke point. He’s both offended, and slightly attracted. You’ve destroyed his pride and humbled him. Normally Demoman is the only one who can take down a sentry nest unless Medic has full charge on somebody — among other things.

- He opens his mouth to protest but you silence him with an award winning smile that makes his heart flutter. As you run past him to head over to Medic and regain your strength, he’s scratching his stubble. Trying to comprehend the slurry of feelings. Demoman is an adult and he’s old enough to be fully aware that you can feel multiple emotions at once; that doesn’t make him any less disoriented though.

- “Ay.. finally somebody who’s on my level!” he calls after you. Promising he’ll outrank you next round. His competitive nature demands it. He’s trying so hard to ignore his boner right now. Assuming it to be just from adrenaline.

- Well, you’re tied. You’re both equal amounts on the next scoreboard. He stares at it on the intel computer terminals in disbelief. He immediately downs a shit load of his scrumpy. Holy shit. He has a massive crush on you now. Begins to wonder how drunk he can get before he forgets about this.

———————————————————————-

Engineer:

- You distract him so much he doesn’t even realize the jammed shell in his shotgun at first. You’ve made him lose like half of his life experience in a fraction of a second and he tries to take out the jammed shell and ends up burning himself. “God. DANGIT.”

- inwardly embarrassed and trying to make it seem like all was normal; he slaps the back of the gun so the shell falls out. Continues trying to defend the points… emphasis on tries. You’re his type AND you’re blood thirsty. He can’t help but feel slightly intrigued. The sparks of what would eventually be a crush once he starts talking to you more.

- He can’t bring himself to think filthy thoughts of someone he just met, he wasn’t raised like that. Occasionally the thought crosses his mind and he becomes a little angry with himself. Please stop being sexy in front of somebody who was raised in the bible belt. PLEASE! he would beg you if it didn’t sound so weird out of context.

- Fuck it. Christian shame doesn’t beat nature. He has to jerk off to the thought of you after battles in the shower. You’ve fucked him up.

—————————————————————————

Heavy:

- “Heavy, i’m fully charged. Focus on the soldiers in the front and tell me when to— Was zur Hölle?!” Medic complains, looking away from Heavy’s WAY too apparent hard on.

- Heavy would make a great ice sculpture right now. He’s both sweating and frozen in place as he watches you tear the enemy lines to shreds. He rarely feels this way for anybody at all. Heavy was certain his libido evened out as he got older but you just brought him back to square one. He felt like a horny teenager again.

- He wants to lick the blood off your neck so bad. It’s disgraceful. He feels like a disgusting sewage pipe and suddenly wishes the respawn machine didn’t exist so he could permanently die out here just to forget this even happened.

- Eventually waves his hand for Medic to pocket someone else. Goes over and helps you kick some ass. You indirectly both bond from this and successfully kickstart your connection.

———————————————————————-

Pyro:

- You’re the same as them in their point of view. A ‘misunderstood’ killer (Yeah, okay..) who wanted nothing more than peace of mind while they went about their daily business!

- The enjoy he sees in your eyes as you land a hit is marvelous. Every single swing of your melee felt like some sort of complex ballet. There was birds and neon colors following you wherever you went. You’ve now given them a weird fetish for adept mercenaries they had no idea they even had. They want to meet you RIGHT NOW.

- air blasts a poor demoman off a cliff you were fighting. “Hey. It’s alright. I got this.” You tell them. Pyro just tilts their head. You walk on to cap the cart and Pyro follows closely behind you. “What’s up?” You finally ask him, out of curiosity. Pyro just stares. You begin to recall horror stories that the other mercs told you of Pyro.

- They continue following you around as your own personal bodyguard. Engineer tells you that he does the same to him on occasion. To the extent of protecting his sentries. Apparently Pyro just follows people around like a dog because they have no idea how to communicate their interest.

—————————————————————————

Sniper:

- Watches you a day before a match doing target practice atop a bridge. The targets in question are in the ravine below. The way you so effortlessly hit each target, only missing a few — for some reason caught his attention. He lowered his scope from his eye and preferred the entertainment of you for a moment.

- You get angry after only missing two. Taking your long range and throwing it aggressively into the ravine. Sniper has no clue why you did this, considering you’re the first person in a while who hasn’t fucked up this course right off the bat. For some reason your aggression is getting him hot and bothered. Is this just a weird preference or a sexual thing? Holy shit, he has no idea.

- Sniper brings his legs together to hide his wood. “Eyes both open with a gun like that, mate. Instinctive to close an eye but I guarantee you, if ya just focus on nothing but the target then boom.” He says. Wondering if maybe he was just overthinking and his penis was being insane.

- “As if you shoot with anything else besides a fucking sniper rifle.” You talk back. “I do, actually.” He says, shrugging at your rage. He didn’t feel like sassing back right now. He was tired. “I could show ya if ya want.”

- He bites his lip, applying pressure to the point it’s red. It was both your bad attitude and shooting skills. He loved a partner who was needlessly edgy. This is seriously the type of guy to swoon over the most edgiest of individuals. Eat nails for breakfast and wear a biker vest for god’s sake while you’re at it.

———————————————————————

Medic:

- Uhm.. Medic’s a little weird.

- Not only is he aroused by you in general but the blood on your clothes and in your hair. The way you kill enemies in-and-itself is arousing him. Much like Engineer he tries to focus on his job to no avail. Ends up pocketing you all day and after the other Mercs ask him about it, he claims it’s because they’re all annoying and not doing their jobs correctly again.

- He sits at his desk at night trying to do paperwork. He can’t focus after what he’s seen today. He begins having incredibly fucked up fantasies of eating your organs. Or you climbing into his chest and sleeping in there. Better yet? sex with both your entrails hanging out! knife play! biting! Dear god he’s gross. God, just shut up.

- He puts a hand to his own heart, feeling his heartbeat. For a second he suspected he was getting possessed or something. But no, he’s just incredibly horny. “Archimedes.” Medic said breathlessly. “I do believe i’m moonstruck. Which is unacceptable..” He sort of laughs nervously.

- Coooo. Brrr.

- “Yes, I wholeheartedly agree.” His voice is hoarse. Medic picks up his bonesaw at the end of his table and looks at his own reflection in it. “Every time I love somebody it ends horribly. Best just get what I want and move on.” He says, darkly. What he doesn’t know is that this is the start of his relationship with you. Enticing you to have sex with him — with your consent — it brings you and him to an incredibly intimate level.

————————————————————-

Spy:

- MOTHERFUCKER AINT PLAYIN. he doesn’t waste time. He sees a fellow serial killer and he immediately goes in for the kill. (Pun intended.) But yeah this is Spy we’re talking about here. He’s a manwhore and I thought the canon already established that.

- “That was some fine work out there.” He tells you slowly. His hands behind his back. “Would you care to join me for a second?” He offers his hand. Which you take hesitantly. He takes you to his quarters and attempts to court you. Which works because he’s something straight out of a romance movie with his clever quips.

- “I have a feeling—“ He begins, slowly offering his hand and hovering it above your thigh, placing it down and rubbing you slowly when he didn’t sense any discomfort. “That we will enjoy each other’s company often, my pet.” He looks for your approval. Any sign of it.

- Dude is so fucking slick that you can’t resist him. He’s unbelievably experienced in romance and knows how to charm his way into your pants. It was like you were under a spell by a hypnotic snake. He ends up getting what he wants and doesn’t hold back. His knife is threatening your back and he’s atop you. “Shhh.”

- Sex happens. Aggressive sex. Right off the bat.

[myhornysaga]

𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝

Tags: smut, fluff, established relationship, mdni, graves x reader

Part 1, series masterlist

You and Phil have been married for over a decade now. You watched him and helped alongside in creating his brainchild, The Shadow Company, a private military company.

Fate is such a peculiar thing that you also happen to be a criminal lawyer who has quite a good track record of fair share of wins and losses.

But you had quit your career as a lawyer for a while. Yet, you offered Phil to be the head of his company's legal team which he solidly refused.

Even though you are good, he doesn't wants you involved in his dirty mercenary business in any shape, way or form.

But you know how to make him do what you want, wrap him around your little finger like your puppet.

A good blow job and licking his balls and he's a mess. Even better if you swallow his cum and lick your finger tips.

And then all you have to say is, "fuck me like a whore", with wide doe eyes...

Your words wake his primal cave man instincts and goes into an absolute rampage with only one mission on his mind which is to make you see stars in broad daytime.

Letting him rut his cock in you like a hungry dog in heat with your head shoved into the pillow. He drags you and throws you onto the carpeted floor and then starts thrusting his dick like horny rabbit while you grab pull his gorgeous blonde hair. He hisses at the pain but then leans down to suck on your nipple, making you moan, giving you pleasure only to then bite and make you yelp. Oh the pain and the pleasure...

After a certain tragic incident, he has mostly avoided cumming inside you. But oh Lord he'll be damned if doesn't comes inside you now! God, does he wants to fill you up. And he just does that. Sensing he's closer, he bites on your shoulder while you dig your freshly manicured red nails on his freckled back. And with that, he came in you.

You expected him to pull out honestly, like he usually does but god oh god does it feels good as Phil's cock twitched in you, you could feel his warm seed inside you. Oh god, thank god he came inside. You had almost forgotten what it felt like.

Graves had his head in the crook of your neck sucking on your neck, making sure he leaves his mark on you. You caressed his golden hair and pulled him to cup his cheeks.

Good Lord he is so beautiful. The muted sunrays made him look so... beautiful, ethereal almost.

You scanned his features like its the first time. His eyes, tired and blue, oh so blue. His lips, pouty and adorable, his nose and his cheek. Ah that damned scar on the apple of his cheek that stretched till his ear. Your fingers ran through his scar subconsciously and kissed it, with love and affection.

Graves knows he loves you but damn its like the first time again. Falling in love with you all over again because you accept him as he is, flawed, scarred, broken, tired.

You were so lost in the moment that you forgot your mission for which you now laid on the floor, legs wapped, naked with your husband on top and his cock in you as the cum dripped...

And.... done! He's yours now!

You have noticed for over a decade of warming his bed that Phil gets very vulnerable after sex. Its like, he will do whatever you ask of him, however crazy or insane it might be, he would gladly agree!

And that is how, you secured your position in your husband's private military company as the Head of Legal Team and department, Marketing and Finance Advisor and the Public face or public front for Shadow Company.

Its a lot of important roles but its not like you are incompetent. Your degrees, years of experience and having a family generationally involved in Finance and Law has helped you, a lot.

♧◇♧

M.list

[bitterrfruit]

houndtooth [16]

[masterlist]

Ghost x f!Reader - tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, abduction, bodyguard, forced cooperation, smut 18+ mdni - cw: below the cut - 2.2k words

you're the pampered wife of a russian warlord. ghost hunts you down and finds a use for you.

Ghost wakes up before you. 

The orange glare of the early morning sun beams through the towering windows of your sitting room, bathing him in gold and awakening him gently. 

The tired confusion sets in quickly. Douses him like rain. 

It’s too bright. He’s far more accustomed to waking up long before sunrise - both by virtue of the demands of duty, and the shadows of memories that torment him relentlessly in his sleep. They scarcely ease up even once he’s awake, leave him with his forehead sweaty and his compass spinning. 

It stills, though, once he turns his heavy head and sees you sleeping beside him. 

He blinks tired lids over dry eyes to rid them of their blurriness, as his memories of where he is trickle back to him. It takes a while. He hasn’t had a sleep so deep in as long as he can remember, and he wasn’t even in a bed. He slept upright as though napping on a plane.

He watches you. 

Your chest swells and sinks in languid breaths, deep and slow. 

Must be in a heavy slumber. Tired thing.

You lie outstretched on your back, arms sprawled above your head, one bare leg dangling from the side of the couch. Your t-shirt is rucked up to your ribs, exposes your soft belly and the lace-trimmed black underwear you wear underneath. Under the blanket of the morning sun your skin glows honey. The dusting of fine hairs on your stomach and thighs catch the golden light and glisten like glitter. 

For the moment he feels like he might be dreaming, lulled into a reverie by your listless breathing and the ballad of the morning songbirds. Your face is still, calm, untroubled if he ignores the bruises left by the mercenary. Eyes gentle and lips softly open. 

Your skin looks as supple as butter. He clenches his hands into fists to stifle his urge to reach over and run his hand up your naked thigh, to feel your velvet under his fingertips. 

How soft you’d be.

Woken up hungry. He could eat you. 

He has taken his time to steal his glances, plenty of them - but none in the way that he now observes you. 

You are a treat to look at, he cannot deny you that. He has indulged in it since he found you in your cage, all wet lips and pillow-soft curves. When you’ve been bared to him he gets his swill, drinking the sight of your sumptuous form like nectar, a delicacy he quietly relishes in. Every part of you. The lushness of your hips, of your thighs, the faint stripes that decorate the swell of your ass and catch the light like silk. The hollows of your waist, the soft cushion of your belly, the contours of your tender breasts and the satin-supple peaks of the nipples that adorn them. Even your face, too pretty, lingers in his crosshairs once he shut his eyes, bright in the darkness. 

You are a brief luxury that he hasn’t ever been afforded in his line of work. One unmatched even when he finds women to sink his cock into while off duty. 

Now, though, he stares at you with solemnity heavy in his chest. Thick and black like tar. The shadow of the knowledge that there are two fates that might befall you, neither of which he will be there to see. The first - one he’d be glad to avoid - is his failure and your return to the Russians you have aligned yourself with. A fate worse than death, he’s certain. 

The second, that he selfishly cannot fathom, is that he fulfils his promise to you and you vanish from his life, as fleeting and transparent as the smoke of his cigarettes. You’ll fill up his lungs and leave him dizzy and then, with a puff, you’ll be gone. 

He resents himself for thinking about you, for considering your future. For spending any time ruminating on such a thing. He doesn’t know you, he reminds himself - and he’ll never know you. 

He excuses his sentimentality on his sleepiness and the dire need for a shower. So he pushes himself up from the sofa, finds himself moving slowly so as not to disturb you. He picks up the mask he shed for you and holds it in a fist; he’ll put it back on before you wake up. Leaves his holster and handgun on the coffee table. 

Much like that of your Russian palace, your bathroom is absurdly opulent. He chose the one adjacent to your bedroom, the only one stocked with linens and soaps. Plush towels, glossy marble, unfathomably overpriced shampoo. He lets the water run hot down the back of his neck, pressure at its maximum to beat out the knots in the aching muscles of his shoulders. Leans his forehead against the cold stone tile, and sucks deep the steam, hoping it makes his head spin. 

Maybe with his vision blurry and throat closing he could rid his mind of you. The very image of you a parasite. 

As he stares into the black tile he sees you draped over the sofa, unfurled, serene, so unafraid of him that you’d leave yourself so vulnerable. So within his reach. 

Might you trust him, now, little thing? 

He lets himself imagine a distant reality where you do. Where you trust him so devotedly that you wouldn’t stir if he were to touch you. Where wouldn’t startle if he were to lean over and lay a hand on your soft stomach, if he were to trace it over your skin just to feel you. 

Where you’d only release a tender breath at his presence, where his touch would bring you only comfort and no terror. Where your lips would part softly when you felt him kiss you, when his mouth landed wherever he wanted it to, because you’d let him, and you’d welcome it. 

His blood runs hot and his cock turns heavy. Fills steadily with heat and hunger as he thinks about where he’d taste you. 

He’d graze his lips down your pretty neck, he’d feel the thunder of your heartbeat under his kiss against your jugular. He’d kiss your fragile throat, and feel you swallow. He’d kiss your collarbones, your sternum, and feel you suck deep a breath at each. He’d lift up your thin shirt and press his lips into the pillows of your breasts, and feel their cashmere softness brush his calloused and undeserving skin. He’d tongue your nipple, and feel it turn from butter-soft to pointed and alert between his teeth. 

His cock finds his fist, now solid as steel and thrumming with gluttony. He resentfully wraps his wide hand around his shaft, ashamed; but utterly beholden to the need, he does not stop himself. Lets out a low grunt as he runs his fist up his length, slow and deliberate, hisses under breath as he glides his foreskin over his ruddy head and tightens his grip. 

He’d kiss you under your breast. He’d lay a peck on every one of your ribs. He’d drag his lips down your belly. He’d leave purple bites under your navel, along the hem of your black underwear. He’d kiss your mound through the thin fabric. He’d pull the lacy hem to the side, relish in the beauty of your cunt, and commit the sight of your intimacy to memory so that he could picture it when he dies. 

He fucks his fist like he’s angry. Wrenches shut his eyes as he rests his entire weight on his forehead against the shower wall, the coldness of the stone the only thing keeping him anchored to the floor. He clenches his shaft in a tight hand, shucks his cock from base to tip. Chews on quiet grunts, swallows the groans that rise in his throat at the thought of the liberties he’d take. Fervour grows. Hunger swells. He chases it like he’s chasing you. 

You’d look down at him, and he’d meet your pretty eyes; glossy and cloudy, glistening in the dawn. 

He’d falter. 

Even in his fantasy, he cannot shirk the consequences of his cruelty. The conjured image of you still wears the black stains of what he has done to you. The weals left by his exploitation. The prune pool of blood in a ring under your beaten eye, the rosy welt in your lip, the barely-healed contusion on your cheekbone. 

He’d lift his head from where he had trespassed between your legs, and it would strike him that your only wetness would be the tears dripping from your chin. He’d feel his arms loosen, ignorant of how tightly he had restrained you and how eagerly you had strived to repel him. What he thought was wanton pleading would become desperate lamentation, you’d be begging for his mercy and not his tongue. 

He’d see the defeat in your swollen stare. Despondent at the futility of your escape. Laden with a bereft familiarity, because you’ve known too many men as blindly rapacious as him. Just another insatiable dog brawling to burrow between your legs, gorging on his prey and lapping up the blood as if tending the wounds he left.

He resentfully abandons his abating cock and it droops under its own weight, softened by the disgust that sits heavy in his stomach. Pure revulsion, dark and rankled. He lets out a harsh growl as he jettisons a closed fist into the tile, hardened knuckles strike the marble in a sharp thwack. The black stone fractures, a loud crack, a single jagged seam forms under his fist. An irrepressible impulse. Anger and shame funnelled into violence, as always. 

He pants like a dog. The shame sets in. 

You had told him yourself. He’s not above anything.  

His guilt is alien to him, and it makes him angry. It swells and spreads like cancer. Grows webs of thick tumours that root deep into every organ, woven with his comorbid hunger. His lust concomitant with his shame. All disease.

He finishes his shower in silence. Washes his cropped hair with your exorbitant shampoo. Uses your vanilla butter soap and tries not to get hard again at the scent. 

He takes a thick ivory towel from the rail and wraps it around his hips, tucks in the tongue above his mound as he digs through your bathroom drawers. Steals a spare toothbrush and a wad of your toothpaste, and brushes his teeth in the mirror. 

After he spits out the foam, leaning over the sink, he glowers at his reflection. 

Ugly fuck. 

Did he always look so jaded? So hollow? 

There’s death behind his eyes. His lips thin and bitter. 

He once considered himself good-looking. The women he took home and abandoned by sunrise used to tell him so, his bygone fiancée would say he was ruggedly handsome. He rolls his eyes at the thought. He looks in the mirror and he sees a rabid cur.

He dismisses himself with a huff and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Only now showered and undressed does he realise how filthy his uniform is. Grimy with sweat and blood. He considers how suspicious it would be for a well-paid bodyguard to be seen at a formal event in a stinking, russet-stained uniform - no doubt, it would attract reviling attention. 

His balaclava is no cleaner, but he resents the thought of baring his face to you now that you’re no longer under the influence of the pills he shoved down your throat. He yanks it over his head and tucks it under his jaw, bundles up his uniform in a fist as he heads back downstairs, feet heavy on each step. 

He hears your voice before he sees you, hoarse and quiet in your sleepiness. 

Who the fuck are you talking to? 

For a heartbeat, he dithers - listens for a voice other than your own. Keen ears for the baritone of a man, perhaps one of your comrades arrived too early, or one of his own men here to question you. He charges through the foyer, preemptive fury swelling like a blister, he shakes out his fists and his shoulders. He’ll tackle the cunt in nothing but his towel, if he has to. 

Barging into the lounge, he finds you, and only you. 

Sitting on the sofa, with your knees pulled up to your chest and a phone against your ear. He only catches the end of your conversation. 

“Хорошо. Спасибо.” Okay. Thank you.

You blink up at him innocently as you lower the phone and end the call, so naive to how he has debased you. Maybe you can see it, black and beady in his eyes. Maybe you can smell it on him.

Your cheeks seem to glow a little pink, though, and he sees your stare flit to his bare chest, to the towel barely hanging off his hips. You open your mouth to speak but no words spill from your lips, only a quiet breath. Enjoy the sight, little thing? Or are you simply struck by his scars?

“Who was that?” He asks rigidly, hoping to snap you out of your stupor. Can’t have you looking at him like that for much longer.  

You tuck a tress of loose hair behind your ear. “Housekeeping and catering.” 

“For the service?” 

You squint and suck your teeth. “No. For breakfast.” 

He snorts. “Seriously?” 

“No,” you bite, rolling your eyes. “I was - mh. Forget it. Do you want me to wash those?” 

He can’t suppress the grin that flashes in his cheeks. Grouchy little thing in the morning, aren’t you? 

Glancing down at the pile of clothes in his fist, he nods. You’re quick to slip off the couch, the patter of your bare feet quiet along the slate tile floor as you approach him. You take the uniform from him in an armful, and before he is able to thank you, you stand on your toes and reach upward - you clutch his mask by the forehead and tug it off in one motion. 

He bites down on the instinct to curse at you as you abruptly expose him, and his reflexive outburst instead emerges as a heated grunt. Anyone else, and he would have broken their neck. 

You add it to the pile of washing, and a proud little simper quirks in your lips. 

“Don’t pout,” you chide, a tired playfulness that he hasn’t yet seen from you. It cools him down. “It’s filthy.” 

“Sure,” he grumbles, mussing his hand through his short hair to fix where you had disturbed it, and you seem to find that amusing. 

“You smell like my soap,” you comment nonchalantly, as you adjust the load of laundry under your arm - heavy for you, by the looks, all that dense cotton and fleece. 

He crosses his arms. “Was the only soap in there.” 

You look up at him from under your lashes, seemingly resisting the urge to poke fun at him. You pout, then shrug.

“S’it okay if I take a bath after I put these in the wash?” You ask evenly, and the sincerity of the request ties a knot in his stomach.  

A dint pulls in his brow. He grumbles; “Why wouldn’t it be.” 

“You had a problem with it last time,” you retort, reminding him curtly of his perversion. The facetiousness in your tone is so rich that he can taste it. 

He blinks and sees your nudity behind his eyelids. In your spiteful silence, he hears the trickling of the droplets that fall from your skin into the bathwater. 

“I didn’t trust you,” he says, defensiveness sour on his tongue. 

Your eyes pierce through him, he feels their sting. “Still don’t?” 

Letting out a ragged breath through his nose, he rubs his brow with the tip of a rigid thumb. 

An apology for his violation knocks against the backs of his teeth. He could tell you that he wouldn’t stoop again to watching you, to having you strip under his careful attention. That he trusts you enough to let you enjoy your solitude. 

Instead, he grits his teeth. “Go have your bath,” he says.  

-

Price is in Ghost’s ear even when he isn’t, and he hears his captain’s orders hammering at him as he goes to sit out on the patio outside your kitchen. You’re not on fuckin’ holiday, Lieutenant. 

Hears him even still as he kicks his feet up onto the dry wooden table, leaning back in the wicker seat, and pictures you soaking in the bathtub when he closes his eyes. Remember what she is. Feel guilty, get attached, the whole mission shits the bed.

His captain’s choppy voice reverberates in his skull, as shrill as his tinnitus, and he does his best to smother it. He basks in the glare of the morning sun and lets the gold paint him. How long has it been - weeks, months - since he had enjoyed a single ray of sunlight on his skin? Maybe years. Not exactly a beachgoer. 

The air is crisp and cold, but there is no breeze, and the suffusing sun is warm enough to keep him from shivering. He’s hot-blooded, anyway. Steam rises from the skin of his bare chest in sheer ripples, he lets out a long and heavy sigh. He could laugh at himself, lounging shirtless in a bath towel, soaking in the sun as though he wasn’t on a special operations mission to prevent a genocide. Fucking absurd. 

He concedes, though - what else is there to do but wait? 

He was thorough in his search, but he knows there will always be more places to look. Two-thousand acres of hiding spots. Victor would not have been a dumb enough cunt to leave evidence of his war crimes within your line of sight. He clearly kept you well sheltered from it all - surely, he would not mar your one place of respite with his bloody handprints. 

Best he can do, he thinks, is prepare for the approaching evening. To prepare you for the very thing you had threatened suicide over to avoid being subject to. His apprehension at the thought is cold and prickling. 

Some small vestige of his spite, a black worm, remains suspicious of you. Concerned that once in the company of so many of your resented allies, you’ll forsake him. You’ll cry to Makarov about your torture, you’ll tell him your bodyguard’s name is Simon Riley, and you’ll scurry away to your private jet. Never seen again. 

He swallows a jagged rock. Lets the quiet music of the birds and the warm kiss of the sun distract him from his fears. 

He jolts when he hears from behind him the tall sliding door, rumbling along on its rails, before a clunk as it shuts. His shoulders loosen when he hears your bare feet on the limestone of the patio, approaching, before he sees you in his periphery - you lean into view, and place a steaming mug on the table in front of him.

“Made some coffee,” you murmur, as you walk over and pull out a wicker seat, not quite across from him, and sit down.

Dressed only in a fleece bathrobe of powder blue plush, your bare leg sticks out from between the wraps; you lift your knee to your chest, heel perched on the edge of seat. You hold your own mug by the handle as you sweep a lock of damp hair from your face. 

With his hands interlocked over his stomach, he looks at you listlessly. 

“I drink tea,” he grunts.

Your brow drops low, and you purse your lips at him. 

“Well you’ve got coffee,” you snip, evidently disappointed.

He lets out a dry chuckle at your immediate curtness. You seem to brighten up once he takes a sip. Plain black and watery, not a grain of sugar in the mud. How he tends to prefer it. 

“Enjoying the sun?” You ask impishly, a small grin as you bring your own mug to your lips. 

He settles back into his chair with a sigh. “Mh.” 

You snicker, eyeing his form as he leans back, pale chest reflecting the sunlight. “Don’t get burnt.” 

He sneers, but says nothing. He’ll gain a few more freckles, no doubt. Doesn’t take much. 

“So weird to think that two days ago I was in a cell,” you muse quietly, looking out over your expansive garden. The healthy but untrimmed lawn is pale with frost in the shadows of the trees, but bright green and dewy where the sun has melted the ice away. 

“It kind of just feels like a normal morning, doesn’t it?” You add, after his silence.  

The remorse hits him like a kick to the ribs. “Nothing about this is fuckin’ normal.” 

“Guess not,” you snicker. “Can’t say I would have ever pictured my husband’s assassin sunbathing in my backyard.”

Your attempts to fraternise with him only serve to make him sick. He might be able to find the humour in it, otherwise. 

To break the ugly silence, you ask; “Smoke?” 

He blinks at you, and you have a pack of Benson and Hedges cigarettes outstretched for him to take. Golds, by the look. Classy. 

“Get these smuggled in, eh?” He remarks sardonically, as he pinches the end of one and pulls it out.

You nod, sliding a small box of matches across the table to him. “Can’t stand the Russian shit.” 

He snorts as he sticks the roll in his teeth and scrapes a match to light it. Ironic. 

A morose smile tugs at your mouth as you take a drag of your own, then shut your eyes. “Nice to have a taste of home, though, isn’t it?” 

Home . 

Makes him nauseous to hear you call it that. Blocks out the warmth of the sun like a dark cloud hovers overhead. You share his home.

“Aren’t you in good spirits,” he comments tersely, through the cigarette he holds in his teeth. He shakes out the match to put out the flame and drops the end of it on the table. “D’you forget what we’re here for?” 

Your smile sinks as you lean back in your chair. “No,” you mumble. “I haven’t forgotten.” 

He wants to apologise for snapping. Doesn’t. 

“Good,” he says, but swallowing a sip of his black coffee, he eases slightly. Wonders if you’ve taken more of your pills since you woke up. “Haven’t seen you this cheery yet.” 

“I’m not cheery, ” you reply frankly.

“No?” He asks, “what would you call it.” 

You shrug. “I dunno,” you say, after a thought. “My old therapist told me I’m good at compartmentalising.” 

He snorts at that. Wonders at what point in your life you went to see a shrink. Didn’t do their job very well, evidently. You ended up here. 

“Burying your head in the sand, eh?” 

Chewing on your bottom lip, you quirk a shoulder. “Guess so,” you answer. “It’ll hit me eventually.” 

“Hold it off for tonight,” he grumbles, taking a puff as he looks at you. Can’t have you imploding when he needs you stable. 

You nod cautiously, looking at your toes. “I’ll try,” you murmur. 

Falling quiet for a moment, you turn to survey the vista of your garden, flicking the butt of your cigarette to break off the tail of ash. 

He looks at you. Looks at the slope of your nose, the profile of your face, the flutter of your eyelashes as you blink in the sun. Pretty thing.

“Isn’t it nice to pretend, though,” you sigh, speaking quietly into the distance.

“Pretend what,” he says under breath, voice hoarse. 

“That none of it’s real.” 

He huffs. “Don’t have time for that.” 

You nod solemnly. “‘Course not,” you concede, taking a sip of your coffee. 

He shuts his eyes, vision swimming in red as the sun shines down on his eyelids. Just listens to the puffs on your cigarette, to the slurps from your mug. 

“Sometimes when - when I’m here by myself, I play pretend that I’m just some normal girl who married a neurosurgeon, or something,” you prattle on, as though gently talking to yourself. 

“Yeah?” He murmurs mindlessly, a grumble, he takes a drag of his cigarette. 

Unsure why he’d prompt you to continue. Tells himself he has no great interest in your rambles about your dreams of normalcy, but listening to you talk makes his chest feel lighter.

“Mhm,” you confirm, quiet as though vaguely embarrassed. “Like - oh, I’ve got girlfriends coming over for drinks tonight, so I better do my hair. Or, maybe, my in-laws are visiting this weekend, so I should try that new lemon cake recipe in that cookbook I bought.”

You snicker quietly as you go on, putting on a bit of a character voice, a poncy old lady. “Night in tonight. Gonna paint my toes and catch up on Corrie.” 

He laughs, subdued, breathy in his wistfulness. Weird girl. “Nice evening,” he says facetiously. 

You giggle, and it’s elysian. Not something he ever thought he’d be lucky enough to hear. Sets in the dread, just as swiftly - that you’d laugh in a context such as this, fantasising about being in any situation but the one he has forced you into. 

“Joining me, Simon?” You tease, still in character. “I’ll make us some tea.” 

He’d typically wince at that, somebody using his first name when he hadn’t explicitly told them they could. 

Instead he snorts, eyes still shut, feels a remorseful warmth unfurl in his chest. 

“Sure.”

Stuck in front of your floor length mirror, you clip your hair into a bun at the back of your head. Loose and unappealing, you think, nothing too effortful and nothing too pretty. 

You tug at the third dress you’ve tried on. The first two were too revealing - one with a neckline far too low, one with sleeves too short. Now you wear an ankle-length dress of a dense black silk, heavy fabric with little give. Sleeves long enough that they cover the backs of your hands, a boatneck that only reveals a sliver of your collarbones. 

Still worried, you pluck neurotically at the fabric, shimmying it down and back up again. Can’t have the dress hug your curves too tightly. Can’t have it flatter you too well. 

You’re used to serving as decor, a trophy, luring the eyes of your husband’s comrades to feed his ego. Tonight, though, you’re raw meat. You’ll be bait walking amongst wolves. No husband to protect you, no honour to absolve you. 

Best you can do is make the meal less appealing. 

Pulling at your face as you lean into your reflection, you elect to remain bare-faced. Foolish to make yourself look like a prize to the men who needn’t put in any effort to win you. You gulp at the thought, and look down at your fingers; trembling like you are cold, you clench them into fists. 

Maybe you should take another oxy before the wolves arrive. That would be your third of the day. First after your bath, second before the caterers and housekeepers had arrived in the early afternoon. Find yourself disgusted at how quickly you fell back into the routine of your self-sabotaging habit. It’s just so easy to swallow them. To keep swallowing. 

The house staff were quick to get to work once they appeared. Housekeeping swept up any evidence of couch-crashing, wiped the dust off every surface, vacuumed every floor. The caterers kept the kitchen occupied, serving platters of hors d'oeuvres and buckets of ice for the liquor as if it weren't a funeral they were preparing for.

The first group of house staff fortuitously arrived after Simon’s uniform had gone through the dryer, and he had the chance to return his unnerving mask to its rightful place. He disappeared shortly after that, off to recon more of your property, so he called it. More intel to find. 

Your hunter becomes a different beast when his balaclava camouflages the human beneath it. In the moments he has laid bare his face to you, you’ve been able to pretend he is a man. An everyman, with noble intentions, with history and feeling, with a sense of humour. It’s a fantasy, you know that - a momentary reprieve to roleplay at mundanity. A way to hold your terror in abeyance.

Now masked, he mutates back into your hunter. Forbids any effort to muse on what kind of man he might be when divorced from his identity as a soldier or as an assassin. He returns to shadow. Few words, sharp eyes, one intention. And you are once again a tool, one not quite fit for purpose, but one to be used anyway. He reminds you of that when he barks his orders at you like you are his subordinate. Reminds you that you are his captive. 

Get dressed. Wear black, you’re mourning, he told you, as though you might have forgotten. Nothing too pretty. 

There’s a knock of a knuckle on your doorframe, gentle and alerting, it makes you jump all the same. You yip in fright at the sight of your masked hunter standing behind you, flexing his hands inside their tactical gloves.  

With his uniform clean and ironed, he truly looks like one of the men your husband had hired to protect you and his many other assets. Anonymous, stiff, loyally unquestioning. Standing at the ready. You wonder how he’d react if you were to make any commands of him. 

“Ready?” He asks, rumbling and indifferent. 

You draw in a breath through your teeth. “No.”

“You look nervous,” he remarks bluntly. 

“Obviously,” you snap, brows tightening  as you turn to face him. 

He moves in your direction, languid steps. “Don’t be. They’ll smell it on you.”

You glance again at your trembling fingers, and weakly reply; “I’m trying.”

When you look up, he’s in front of you.

“Stop shaking,” he grunts, tone strangely soft.  

You blink, and your tongue fails to find a response to give him. Pressure swells behind your eyes but your tear troughs simply ache in their emptiness. No tears to give. 

Instead the words tumble out from your teeth without filter, a squeak. “I’m scared.”

He stills. You only wish you could see his face, read the minutia of his expression as he considers how he’ll respond to your timid admission. Instead you see only the slight squint of his eyes, his lashes flitting as his gaze inspects you closely. 

“What’re you so scared will happen?” He asks flatly, no rising inflection to indicate much concern. 

The answer seems so obvious that the question strikes you as stupid, so you surmise that perhaps there is more to his query. 

The clear response would be that you are afraid they will hurt you. Terrified that you’ll fail, that you’ll give away your espionage and they’ll have no qualms about making you regret it. That Simon will abandon you to the dogs and escape into the night, another failed mission and an inconsequentially dead prisoner-of-war. 

But there’s something probing in his tone, in his sceptical lour. A desire to know what you might have endured that now engenders such quaking terror within you.  

In truth, there are many things you could tell him. 

You could tell him about the time Yuriy nearly scalped you when he drunkenly pulled you by the hair, just to hear you squeal, out of your husband’s line of sight. You could tell him how often Alexei would follow you to the toilet when he was over for conferences, how you could hear him playing with the locked handle, how he would whisper his threats through the keyhole. You could tell him that Leonid once held your finger between scissors when he saw Victor had put a diamond ring on it, threatened you that you were temporary and easy to steal. You could tell him any number of horrors they had inflicted on other women for far less. 

But, you wouldn’t tell him, not ever, about what they had done to you the only time Victor had left you alone with them. Before they knew the consequences of laying a finger on you. 

You still remember their sneering maws, cigarette-stained teeth yellow like kernels of corn. The lecherous laughter at the knowledge that Victor wasn’t there to claim you or to scold them. Confident that you weren’t important enough to him to bother to protect. 

“What is it,” he asks with candour, his voice low. Must have seen you sink into yourself, observed your eyes go misty and dark. 

You meet his stare, probing yet severe. You struggle for a reply. 

“I don’t know how to not look scared,” you settle on, avoiding a real answer. 

He lets out a puff of air through his nose, although from under his mask you can’t be certain whether he’s laughing at you. 

“You’re bloody good at it,” he scoffs. 

A pit forms between your brows. “At what.”

“Putting on your brave face.”

You nibble at the flesh of your lip, and you cannot think of anything to say. Your show of bravery is just that - a show. A mask you don in the hopes it will protect you. But it is as fragile as it is impermanent. Fear runs cold in your blood, turbid with shards of ice; it makes your fingertips tingle, and your ribs constrict around your lungs like jaws. 

If the man in front of you were somebody else, in an alternate reality, you’d ask him to hold you. To reassure you. You’d take his embrace like an anxiolytic. His touch a euphoriant. 

God, you need it. 

Your husband would once wrap his arms around you whenever you were overcome with panic. He liked you dependent on him for any source of comfort, and that you were. He’d kiss your hair and pet the back of your head when you cried to him. He’d whisper soothing assurances into your skin, and you’d forget that he was the very one responsible for your turmoil. His affection was a deliriant. 

You’re being stupid. It’s the pills talking. It takes a deep breath and a clench of your fists to restrain yourself. 

“They’re not going to hurt you,” he grits, after your jittery silence. You wonder if your fear is agitating him, his blunt tone belies an impatience. The clock is ticking. 

A trembling sigh escapes you. “How do you know that.”

“I’m not going to let them,” he assures you, with a grunt. 

Your heart skips at that. You briefly press the heels of your palms into your eyes to avert your gaze from him, temples thrumming. 

“What’re you gonna do, shoot all of them?” You badger, tearfully unconvinced. “ All of them?”

He chuffs. “If I have to,” he grumbles. “Would be doing the world a favour.”

You want to believe him. To feel the warmth that his devout protection might bring you. But your potent doubt still courses through your blood. Sour like vinegar. 

You shake your head. “I know that if shit hits the fan you’ll leave me with them,” you whimper. “I know you will.”

His lidded eyes weld to you, contact unbreaking. They turn foggy in his silence, as if he sinks into a daydream, deep in contemplation. Might he be already planning his escape? Considering his exits, his courses of action should you fail?

A ragged sigh seeps from his nose. “I won’t.”

“Promise,” you blurt, voice shaky. 

He kept the last one, you tell yourself. He held true to his oath the last time you had made him swear by his assurances. Maybe he will this time, too. A foolish thought, and sorely unlikely. But you need it. The promise of his protection, of your safety. A single shred of confidence that you might survive. 

He grunts, blinking away from you before he speaks.

“Okay,” he says. “I promise.”

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. ﹙ trio 781  x afab gn reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . it's getting steamy !! 🍒 :  Rishen: hero ˖ moth-spider-mantis hybrid ˖ preppy nerd character ˖ talisen: poet ˖ grim reaper ˖ naga character ˖ alessio: mercenary ˖ immortal ˖ antihero ﹙ verse 781 rishen, talisen, alessio ﹚

being in a hot tub with the trio you have been mutually crushing on for a while now turns to get a bit steamy. cw: erections, mature themes, suggestive, smutty, cock warming mention at the end

submission by 🍄

Just thinking about them having crushes on you again!

Being in a hot tub with them for the first time. Imagine being too nervous to take your slip off because they're already in the hot tub when you arrive.

You'll still have your bathing suit underneath but still! It feels intimate-

They'll give you encouraging words, telling you there's no one else around, and they'll be the only ones looking anyway! No need to be shy, it's just them.

They're practically half naked too, so you won't be alone.

Then you had an idea. After putting your things down, you take a few steps forward, slowly sliding your cover-up down your body.

You hear a low dog whistle coming from their direction when you turn around, letting the slip fall just below your ass cheeks before bouncing on your toes to make your ass jiggle.

You quickly stop, feeling too flustered to continue, you drop your slip and quickly enter the hot tub. You hid behind your hands muttering out rapid apologies. Bouncing yourself lightly up and down on your knees in the water to make your body adjust to the water quicker.

They'd shut down your apologies with words of encouragement and, after a second of silence, Alessio would speak up with a teasing grin on his face.

"You've always had a nice ass, anyway."

Que more sputtering and flustered noises from you.

When you glance at Rishen during your stupor, you take note of his teeth biting down on her lip and a smirk that frames it, the lascivious look in her eyes and her hand starts to reach out to you. Opening his mouth to speak only for a small yelp to be let out instead, as rough hands grab hold of his waist and pulls her back against a built chest.

If Alessio can't touch, Rishen can't either! Alessio's arms wrap around Rishen to keep them in place, littering open mouth kisses on their neck to calm down a pouty Rishen, giving you a wink once you locked eyes with his emerald green.

Rishen would squirm around on Alessio's lap feeling his hard cock press upset against his lap.

Can't say Rishen's too upset about being in Alessio's arms now. You look back towards your slip only to realize that you left it flung about, somebody could get hurt if they tripped on it. You have to move it.

It was within reaching distance, so you didn't even need to get out all the way! You stand up, moving to get your knees positioned on the seating.

Leaning over and reaching towards your slip, hips meeting the concrete with a nice sounding plap. Stretching your body to reach for your slip that barely grazes your fingers, the fabric of your bottoms rubbing against your clit pleasantly, biting your lip at the sensation.

They couldn't take their eyes off you, the way your pussy was just barely covered by your bottoms, emphasizing every crevice and each twitch. Letting out a little hmph, you scooch closer to the edge on your knees, still not enough to grab onto it.

Just about ready to give up and get out, you feel a hand on your lower back push you down against the ground, effectively pushing your ass further up into the air. Hips flush against your ass, causing you to buck your hips backwards and let out a small whine.

A long nailed hand reached over you to grab at the fabric, placing it in your awaiting hand. They'll give you a smack on the ass before pulling away. You give a small thank you and chuck it towards the rest of your belongings.

Before you can sit back down in your spot, the same hands grab you by the waist and plop you down onto their lap. You look up only to be met with Talisen's "Hello gorgeous."

You let out nervous giggles through your "Hi." You readjust on his lap only to grind your clit against his hardened cock.

"Can't you see the problems you cause?"

You have to bite down on your lip to stop a moan from leaving. With a shy smile on your lips, you roll your ass back against his hardened length. He lets out a hiss and tightens his grip around your waist, holding you firmly against him. Pressing his lips against your ear, you feel his breath against your skin, it sends shivers down your spine. He rasps into your ear "You're such a little minx."

You go in for a quick kiss on his lips only to be stopped by a cry from Rishen.

"No! I want to kiss them first!"

Alessio and Talisen would both chuckle, Alessio's hand trailing up the middle of their stomach to circle a middle finger around his nipple. He'd press light kisses along the back of her neck, a staggering moan leaves her lips. Talisen would look at them with a lust-filled gaze.

"So needy but if you so wish."

And Rishen would try to squirm out of Alessio's grip, he wouldn't budge, his hold only growing tighter.

"I never said you would get that kiss now, did I?"

And Rishen would just pout at him, the best he could anyway. A hand comes up to cup your breast, pulling the fabric away to tug and roll your nipples into his hand.

"You can just watch for now."

And before you know it, you'll be cock warming Talisen with an obvious bulge in your belly. His hand pressed against it, all the while, Rishen wishes that they could kiss your lips.

[bluespace-writer]

From anon: How would Mercs make up for argument with s/o?

[I am so SORRY! i deleted the ask by complete accident, I do hope you'll enjoy reading this etherway 👍🏻]

TF2 Mercs apologising s/o after an argument- [platonic, romantic]

Mercenaries: Scout, Solider, Sniper and Heavy

Scout:

> I view Scout as type of person that would walk around angry for some time, then feel more and more horrible with each moment, soon feeling uncontrollably guilty for this fight

> He is trying to apologise normally, just walks up to you and says he is sorry. It depends on you if you accept it or not

> If you do, then you just made him feel lighter instantly. He is proposing to get a bucket of chicken for you, of course he is paying (this time)

> But if you choose to not forgive him right away, he won't leave you alone. Expect him to give you occasional gifts for absolutely no reason whatsoever

> Finnaly when you decide to forgive him, Scout is going to shrug it off, trying to stay cool "Ha! YEAH! Of course you forgive me!", later someone saw him dancing victory dance in respawn room.

> If you are his partner, expect him to be more clingy, wanting your forgiveness above everything. Like previously he is going to follow you around. If you decide to forgive him right away, kiss on lips is enough to assure him that you are not mad

> Hug. Just give him assuring big long hug and of course a kiss. All he wants to know is that you are not mad at him. He won't let you go for a long while. After long and repetitive apology all he wants is to lay down with you on a couch and cuddle. "I am sorry" he says while giving you flowers the next day

> But oh... if you feel like you can't forgive him right away, he is going to DROWN in guilt. This man is going to do anything to just hear you are not mad at him. His mind will twist, worring if you find him annoying, if you don't love him, maybe he is not enough, that it was his fault-

Solider:

> I think he wouldn't be bother by an argument for a while unless he sees you are really hurt by it. If you choose not talk to him, avoid him and even ignore him talking, eventually he will connect the dots.

> "Maggot I- .... am.....". He is not good with apology " I FULLY AGGRE THAT MY ACTIONS WERE AN ACT OF DISHONOR TO MY FELLOW AMERICAN COMERAD! (Just- let him think you are one if you are not-) AND FOR THIS I APOLOGIZE. WILL YOU ACCEPT IT?!" He saluts waiting for your answer

> Salut back saying you do, he giggle loudly before patting his hand on your back.

> If you choose not to he will just nod and walk away. Later you'll find him talking to himself while staring into a mirror, saying shameful things to himself

> Apologising to you is his first priority now. He won't give you a lot of gifts, instead he is going to complement you from time to time "Good work Maggot!", "Only you could do it!"

> His ultimate way of sayin sorry is to suggest do to something in return to help you feel better. He is a roommate with a wizard after all! When you feel like you can accept his apology he will scream loudly, happy to accomplish his task and make you feel better

> If you are his partner, be ready for non-stop sorry's, and walking two steps behind you. He is a honest man and wants nothing more than give you love you deserve. There is no way he is leaving you feeling horrible, especially if that was his fault!

> Forgive him and be swarm with love and affection. Later you'll find him covered in honey (and naked) to show you he loves you. Oh boy find him a towel!

Sniper:

> After argument he is not going to talk to you for a long while. He doesn't need conflict or disagreement. It is going to bother him that you felt sad because of him. What can he do now?

> His way of apology is to tell you he is sorry straight away, somewhere privately. He'll tell you his side of the story and listen to yours carefully.

> Forgive him, and he'll nod, tiping his hat to you. Invites you to come with him to target practice or simple beer.

> Choose not too and you won’t see him for a longnwhile. He is going to purposely ignore you. His way of thinking is that if you won't forgive him, that means you don't want to do anything with him anymore. You hate him. You wish you weren't in his presence at all. This is how he sees it at least.

> You must be the one in this situation to break the cycle and talk to him. You just made him feel more guilty when you asked, why is he ignoring you. Expect long detailed apology and maybe small gift he made himself for you.

> When you finally forgive him, you see his hanging around you more often, asking you for help with things and simply spending time with you having a lot of fun

> As his romantical partner you just made his worries jump from 80% to 300%-

> You are going to be his first real and serious relationship he probably will ever be. He isn't sure what to do for couple days. All he wants is give you worthy apology.

> He'll spend days preparing perfect gift for you maybe even getting something you wish to get for a long time but it wasn't avaliable for you before. Come on...this have to work.

> Sniper is going to invite you somewhere private, away from prying eyes. First gift, then long, full of guilt apology. He just wants to say he loves you and wants to be sure you love him too.

> Im that situation hold his hand the whole time and end conversation with ha hug, when you accept his apology. This is all what he wanted to hear. Asks if you can spend time with him alone... he just wants to hold you

Heavy:

> Goes to apologise to you not longer than hour later after an argument. He may be big and scary but he doesn't want to stay in conflict with his teammates (Maybe besides Solider-)

> He brings gift in form of food he made by himself. He will sit with you by the table and give you proper apology.

> Take a piece of what he made and smile says you forgive him. He'll smile and enjoy nice meal with you, talking, as if there was no argument in the first place

> If you decide to take your time and don't forgive him right away Heavy is going to accept it with slow, a bit sad nod. Of course he still wants you to try some of the food he made, he made it for you after all! Even if you don't fell like you can forgive him yet

> Much later Heavy's way of trying to make you forgive him is to be there for you when you need him. Need something? He'll get it. He wants ti gain your respect before asking for forgiveness once again

> When he feels you are ready to talk again, Heavy will take you on, one on one conversation, asking if you wish to forgive him. Say yes and you are going to see the biggest and brightest smile on his face you have ever seen.

> If you are his lover he is not going to rest until you forgive him. He values trust and that you can find comfort in your other half and it makes his feel guilty you can find that in him after the fight.

> This is his task now. You can see him make you breakfast everyday (your favourite ofc), if you need or look for something he will give you it without a word. He wants to be there for you, and let you know he is going to be no matter what.

> Finnaly he'll sit next to you on couch and lay his hand on yours, looking down at you in questionable look, asking if it's alright with you. If you nod he'll pick you up, put you down on his lap and give you the biggest and coziest bear hug in history. He is happy you can feel safe with him and that you forgive him. Sorry you are staying in those big arms for a while

[choco-reblogs-stuff-aaaa]

OK OK OK OK OK people talk about sniper, or pyro, or medic being autistic right?

B u t

What if I told you all of them are?

Every single one.

Engineer? He's autistic. Soldier? Autistic. Frickin Spy?? Omgsh he's so autistic

So because my brain won't stop itching about this I'm going to write up a collection of all the evidence I have for why the TF2 mercenaries possess within their beings the big tism. By the time this is over y'all are going to be very sick of the word autism.

But IDC

So without further ado, let's go through each of these silly mercs one at a time:

Scout:

Alright, first up we got Scout. Scout I would consider to be AuDHD for multiple reasons

The ADHD is more obvious but like dude trust me he's autistic too

He's hyperactive, forgetful, gets distracted easily, kind of the basic stereotypical ADHD stuff you would notice immediately. He stims, he fidgets, he struggles in social situations, he's seen as over the top and a bit annoying, he talks a lot

Now a lot of these traits are things that are common for both autistics and adhders. But I wanna point out some things I notice about him that are autism specific

He has a special interest: It's Tom Jones. Honestly he probably has a special interest about baseball too

But I mean c'mon he's literally has a Tom Jones tattoo

You could argue this is just a hyperfixation but I bet it's been going on for a while

He also has "spikey" skills. Really good at stuff like drawing, dancing, sports, but he sucks at things like reading, math, etc

Mostly what makes me see him as autistic it's how he struggles in social situations. Bro doesn't know how to flirt unless he's got a bucket of chicken on hand

Soldier:

Honestly if anyone's autistic coded it's soldier

Special interest is all things American, especially if it relates to the military

Lots of autistic people wear certain items that remind them of something they like, usually disregarding things like how it looks or even whether or not it's comfortable. Soldier's helmet is way too big for him but he's almost always wearing it anyway

In meet the spy he does "hut hut hut" when he's doing down the stairs and it makes me so happy

He has no filter, he takes things really literally, he often sees suggestions as orders (teleporting bread anyone?)

Also when he says he's been doing nothing but teleport bread for 3 days it makes me think he must've been hyperfocused on that

I don't think he knows anything about volume control since he's yelling everything

What kind of neurotypical fights bears in Siberia while naked and covered in honey

He speaks his mind rather than beating around the bush

His helmet could also double as helping him avoid eye contact

Pyro:

Tell me they don't have aversion to like every texture besides their suit you can't

A lot of their animations are super stimmy

Pretty much nonspeaking

Has childish interests

Could also have schizophrenia? (I'm relatively uninformed about it tho so I might not be a good person to judge)

I bet half of their little mmph mmmph noises are audio stims

Special interest is fire

their stim is ARSON

Demo:

I headcanon him as AuDHD too

I mean tbf a lot of how he is is more related to alcoholism but shhh let me have this

But I mean he made friends with Soldier

Special interest in medieval weapons which would explain why he's crazy about swords?

Drinking could be an unhealthy coping mechanism/safe food

Probably also depressed with how he can never live up to his family's expectations

Infodumping about bombs in his introduction video

Honestly most of my "evidence" for him is just fanon but idc I like autistic Demoman

Heavy:

Whether or not him having a PhD in Russian literature is canon, some of his in game lines show him to be very poetic and thoughtful

The fact that he only has a few food items but always seems super happy to be eating them gives me safe food vibes

He sings and hums a lot, probably as a stim

He has the Resting Autism Face™

Special interest in his gun

A lot of his voice lines also just feel really stimmy to me, especially when he's doing the "YATATATATATA" thing

Not sure he has any volume control either

Seems to genuinely enjoy Medic's morbid stories, at least to a point

He really really really really really likes the song of the Volga boatmen in particular

He's the prettiest princess it's canon, you can't be a pretty princess without being autistic /j

He has a tiny bed for Sasha. HE HAS A TINY BED FOR SASHA

Heavy is often criticized as a class because guess gameplay is relatively simple and can become a little stale for a lot of people. Yet Heavy seems to have some of the most excited voice lines in the game. I feel like this emphasizes how much he thrives in routine, since he seemingly never gets bored of just doing his thing

Engie:

He has 11 phds

A lot of his voice lines also sound really stimmy to me. Either he's going YEEHAWW GIDDY UP or he's yelling DAMNIT DAGNABIT DANGIT DAGGIT NABBIT

Probably a lot of echolalia with that too

He humanizes his buildings and cares for them like a mother bird

Just listen to his genuinely heartbroken when his sentry gets taken down!

When playing Engie sometimes I find myself smacking stuff with my wrench even though I KNOW it's already level 3 and maxed and whatnot, or I KNOW I'm out of metal, just because I wanna hear the clang noise. So this point is just me projecting but I love the mental image of Engie giving his things a few extra whacks too

He sawed off his arm for his special interest

His whole monologue in meet the engineer is so autistic sounding to me

His dancing taunt also feels stimmy

He's always hunched over, implying irregular posture

He's a NERD—

Man of many talents including playing the guitar

Never takes those goggles off

How does he turn a stressful TF2 match into a (not so) relaxing tower defense game?

Medic:

I headcanon him as AuDHD too because he seems really scatterbrained and it feels like he's working on several things at once and always

He talks a LOT. definitely an infodumper

Either he's super stern or really giggly, there is no in between

He wears gloves in battle but not while doing surgery??? Does he just like organ textures??? Wacko

Special interest is obviously whatever the heck kinda of mad science he does

Here's a heavy medic headcanon I have: medic likes deep pressure hugs

Another special interest could be his birds

He's very spontaneous which makes me think AuDHD even more

Look how excited he gets when taking about the tumors in expiration date!

He got the organ stealing autism

Is it just me or does he fixate on baboon organs in particular???

Sniper:

I'm pretty sure all of you know why this man is autistic but I'm going to list some reasons here anyway

My main evidence tho are his Halloween voice lines: https://youtu.be/2WDljNAslys?si=JP25VOGGDWwwoCI7

Exhibit a, look how much he enjoys having an owl head

Exhibit b, lots of those voice lines make him sound really freakin' overstimulated

He probably wears the hat and shades for sensory reasons as well as because they look cool

Obviously the most socially reclusive of the mercs

I love his backstory where he learns he never felt like the other kids because he wasn't actually Australian, but what if he also didn't fit in with the other kids because he's autistic?

Also throwing rocks at people as a kid screams autism to me

No neurotypical would ever throw jars of his own piss at you either

I think he just wants to live in the woods somewhere and never come back to society and honestly that's based

I feel like he would be the type to bite his own arm when stressed (just like me fr 😭)

Extremely meticulous in following his own life rules (ie being professional and having standards, driving safely with the turn signal and everything)

Spy:

Ok just hear me out for this one

Smoking because stim reasons

He's literally and figuratively masking

He's very suave and probably really good with social things, but I feel like it looks like he's just practiced really hard, again MASKING

Who knows he might not even actually be French

Who collects photographic evidence for a ur mom joke

I see him as either being hypersensitive or hyper insensitive to pain depending on the day (his screams + "I do believe I'm on fire.")

Mad butterfly knife tricks as a stim? (Notice he couldn't help but fiddle with them even disguised as scout in meet the spy)

He sucks at dealing with relationships and that's one of the reasons he's a bad dad

He actually really cares about his team and you can see it especially in expiration date but he's not very good at expressing it

Do you think he wears the ski mask for sensory reasons too?

Probably has his suits tailored to not give him any sensory issues, which could be another reason he likes them so much

Believe me I could go on but I think this is enough to get my point across

THEY ARE ALL AUTISTIC >:00

[gremlingottoosilly]

I'm kinda obsessed lately with the concept of "human pet shops" in the monster au, horangi dragging könig to one so he can find a pet but könig it's actually the one to fall in love, how couldn't he? You look so hopeless

I love you!! I love your brain!! Omg yesss, it would fit so perfectly into a dystopian setting. Monsters take control over civilization, belittling humanity as the strongest beings in this world - there is nothing humans can do when most of them are killed, and only the prettiest, most breedable ones are left. It's really funny, how monsters completely disrupt normal evolutional progress - now it's not the strongest or smartest human who can survive, it's the most submissive and cute people, who just happen to catch the eye of their monster masters. You are just like this - adorable, pretty, perfect for some asshole of a werewolf to take you as their breeding mate...and then you get noticed by Konig. One of the worst possible scenarios - mercenary, colonel is infamous KorTac, Konig isn't the kind of monster who harboured warm feelings towards humans. He needs a warm hole to dump his eggs in and, at first, he thinks this is what you are. Sleeping on the floor, getting dragged by his tentacles constantly...then he actually took you home, placed you on his bed only to have you rolling over into a curling position and snoring softly because this is the best bed you had in months...

Besides forced breeding, he gives you too much freedom - you're only chained by a collar, but free to roam his house, you have a really nice nest where you can sleep during the day, and he takes you to his bed constantly. At first just for sex, but then he started to leave you toys and books and sweets that humans like... You're still so scared, so terrified of this big monster taking advantage of you almost every night(( your insides are constantly sore, you are tired of being bred and naked, and you just want to run away like a stray kitten, but Konig slowly introduces you into his world. You're so pathetic, so dumb, he almost feels bad every time he forces you into the shower, you hate being wet and cold(( he loves cold water, but will force through hot bathes just to make you smile, will buy you sweetly scented shampoos and little toys for the bath, so his human pet can have fun while he is washing her hair!! You're still forced to take his cocks and tentacles in your holes every night, despite your protests - you are begging him to give you a break, but he only adds more and more eggs in your tired holes(

[scekrex]

I saw that you're taking deadpool and wolverine x male reader requests? Idk if you do nsfw but can be either nsfw or sfw, up to you. I was wondering if you could do deadpool and wolverine (either deadpool x reader and wolverine x reader, or deadpool x wolverine x reader) with a male or ftm artist reader who asks wade and Logan if they can help him practice anatomy? Either the sfw route where they keep their clothes on or the nsfw route. If that makes sense. Thank you

We're rolling with Deadpool x Wolverine x Reader here baby. Implied ftm!reader, though that's only mentioned/implied with one sentence. Hope ya like it and that it didn't turn out too rough, it's been a while, gotta get back into writing lol

Baby paint me like a canvas

pairing: Deadpool x Wolverine x (trans)male!reader

warnings: language, sexual tension, implied threesome, implied smut

note: not beta read bc fuck you

“Wade,” your voice rang through the apartment, the noise bouncing off the walls until it reached the mutant you called out to. The merc emerged from the kitchen, with his arms crossed over his chest and a small smirk on his lips he eyed you up and down. “Babycakes,” the older man teased in return, the skin where his eyebrow would be located if he were to have body hair lifted up.

With your sketchbook under your arm and Logan by your side - you ignored the fact that you were dragging that man through your apartment like a dog on a very short leash, he followed suit and didn’t seem like he was having a bad time. Really, the opposite appeared to be the case. Not that it mattered in that very moment. “I need your body,” you blurted out, not even thinking about how wrong those words could come across - especially if you considered that it was Wade fucking Wilson you were talking to, there was no chance this man wouldn’t notice the double meaning of the words just spoken by you.

“Straight to the point, I see,” the merc seemed quite delighted by your choice of words as he pushed off the doorframe and started to walk towards you and Logan, that sly smirk on his lips didn’t fall for even a second. Red took a hold of the hem of his sweater and without a care in the world he pulled it over his head and let it drop to the floor. And really, it wasn’t like you’ve never seen Wade naked, the man could be quite confident about his body if only he wanted to. And yet your eyes were glued to his naked torso the moment the fabric revealed scared skin to not only your view, but also Logan’s. Who exhaled a little heavier than needed at the sight of the shirtless merc. “That’s not what he-” Logan began to speak, the older mutant clearly wanted to explain to Wade that he could keep his clothes on for that, wanted to tell Wade that naked skin wasn’t needed. But before he could ruin this sight for you, your hand covered his mouth and therefore muffled his words, “Sh, sh, sh, lemme have that.”

The merc only smirked at that sight, moving to unbutton his pants as well and really who were you to stop your boyfriend from undressing? Instead of telling Wade to keep his clothes on, you turned towards Logan instead, an eyebrow raised at your other boyfriend as if silently asking why he wasn’t getting undressed too. Logan grunted, the gruff man batted your hand from the collar of his shirt and with a silent roll of his eyes he also started to strip out of the fabric that covered his skin. “Thought you wanted to learn anatomy,” the brunette mutant grumbled as he tossed his shirt onto the nearby table. His eyes were scanning Wade’s body - it was clear that you weren’t the only one enjoying the view that the mercenary delivered. And you really couldn’t blame the wolverine mutant, not when Wade was a feast for the eyes with all those muscles that stretched over his fit body and the cocky smile his lips had curled into.

“And I thought you were horny,” Red almost purred as he moved over to the same table Logan had tossed his shirt onto. Acting as if they were in a movie - or for that matter maybe even a shitty porn - he swept all the things covering the wooden surface of the table right off of it, clearing it in one smooth motion before he himself laid down on top of it in a somewhat seductive pose. With his eyes constantly on his lovers Wade shifted, exposing more of his body with every change of position. “Wanna draw me like this?” he asked, laying on his side with his hand on his hip and his head propped up on his other hand. “Or like that?” Wade continued, sitting up. One of his hands rested on the center of his chest, the other covered his crotch - or at least he pretended to do so because the man’s private parts were quite visible, regardless of what the pose suggested.

Logan only rolled his eyes again, his attitude remained somewhat grumpy as he pushed Wade to the side to sit down next to him. Compared to the merc, the wolverine remained somewhat dressed - means he was at least wearing boxershorts. Even if those did little to hide anything, you were able to see what you wanted to see and while it seemed Logan had decided to simply keep it a little decent, you knew that the older mutant was aware of how revealing his underwear was. Logan was aware how good his body looked and what sort of effect it had on you and Wade most of the time, little he did to rile you up was done unintentionally.

“Just- geez,” you mumbled under your breath. Your hands clenched around the pen in your hand, the sketchbook pressed firmly against your chest as you watched the two men you were dating doing their very best to distract you from the original plan of drawing them. “C’mon baby,” Wade hummed in a tone that was way too suggestive, way too deep to be taken casual. “Use your words.” And oh, how you hated that you loved what those words did to you. Yes, Wade was a flirt, so was Logan which really wasn’t a big help. But that. That he was doing full on purposely, doing his best to take your mind off of the drawing, to guide your thoughts to something dirtier, something that still included both of them. Your eyes darted between Logan’s muscular tits - the man was moving his muscles subtle enough to let you believe it was done unintentionally, yet enough to make them bounce a little - and Wade’s poorly hidden crotch.

It felt as if breathing was getting harder with how thick the air was, the sight of both of your lovers so on display had your body running hot and your mind coming up with fantasies so delicious, it caused your own boxershorts to soak in the slick of arousal that your body produced. Your pupils were wide and your tongue darted out to wet your lips. And before you were fully aware of what was happening and where this road was leading you - and them - your sketchbook fell onto the floor, landing right on top of Logan’s shirt while your pen rolled over the hardwood, right underneath the couch. Not that you cared - how could you care about something so small when the natural bulge in Logan’s underwear grew to something more lustful while Wade’s lips and the words they spoke clouded your mind with all the nasty things that you wanted them to do to you.