#I main sniper as you could notice

[diamondzart]

The thumbnail artwork for my recent TF2 funny moments compilation on my YouTube channel. Go check it out btw, it has some non-english speaking (in a couple of clips) but I made captions!

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hello, hope you're a having a good day

Could you write something about 141 x reader where the sparring session turns a little too not your usual sparring (if you know what I mean). The reader and them being all sweaty and shit and like the sexual tension that's been there for a while. This idea has been plaguing my mind since forever. Thank youuuu

Haha! Yes! Omg, I love it. Okay, for this, I didn't go full smut. When someone mentions sexual tension, I tend to hyperfocus on that and want to bathe in it. Give me naughty thoughts and flirting-maybe even some actual physical contact that borders on dangerous territory. Give me the yearning! I want to giggle and kick my feet and think about what might happen later.

So, I indulged in that regard! I had lots of fun with this. Thank you so much for sending it in!!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x TF141!Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, knife play, grinding, rough kissing, caught in the act, training, naughty thoughts, mutual yearning

Word Count: 2.4k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Come on. Come at me.”

Soap rolls his shoulders and then brings his fists up in a fighting stance. He makes a “go on” gestured with his hands.

Every muscle in your body is sore. Tired doesn’t even begin to describe how you’re feeling. But you want to best Soap. He’s been on your ass for weeks now—insisting that the two of you should spar together. It’s not the sparring that makes you warm and tingly but the way he suggests it.

Always leaning in. Standing far too close. Bumping your shoulder with his.

Soap waits, but you’re not sure how to proceed. So far, you’ve been completely unsuccessful. As if knowing all your moves, Soap has dodged each blow and kick, effortlessly taking you down to the mat every time you thinking you’ve ensnared him.

Stealth is more your thing. Creeping around in the shadows. Taking out opponents from afar. A sniper scope is your friend. Hand-to-hand isn’t.

You lunge for him and Soap steps back. Fist missing him, you sidestep and go for a jab in the stomach. Soap slaps your hand away, and you want to yell in frustration.

“Sloppy today,” chides Soap, grinning like this amuses him.

It probably does. He’s one for a good laugh.

This time you feign, and Soap takes it, moving in. You’re ready for him, turning out of his swing to duck beneath and then aim for the face. Soap rises to block, and opens a clear line to his groin.

Fucking beautiful.

Lifting your foot, you don’t tap him hard, just enough for his cheeks to go pink. Soap grunts, and you chuckle.

“Shouldn’t have left yourself—”

With an oof, your back smacks against the tumble mat beneath you. Soaps snags your wrists and pins them above your head. You go to kick out at him, but Soap’s knees are between your legs. He shoves them wider.

You’re completely trapped beneath him.

And in a completely inappropriate position.

From where you’re pinned, you notice the small beads of sweat on his brow and how a few pieces of hair stick to his skin. Though his chest is covered by a shirt, it’s snug, with every muscle on display. Those powerful thighs of his press against yours in such a way that you’re imagining nothing between your bodies.

Would he feel this powerful over you if the two of you were elsewhere? Perhaps, somewhere more private. Somewhere without a tumble mat. Somewhere with a bed.

“Can’t harm the goods, love,” says Soap, his voice husky. You’re not sure if it’s from the close contact or from the tap you gave his crotch.

“Then don’t leave them vulnerable,” you reply, almost not recognizing the sound of your own voice. It too is husky as if dipped in desire.

The middle of Soap’s brow scrunches slightly. His gaze travels downward to linger on your lips and then further still until you sense him admiring more than he is observing.

“Soap—”

His gaze snaps upward. “Johnny,” he corrects. “Think we’re on closer terms.”

“Are we?” you ask, as his hips start to relax.

The press of him against you is apparent, and the hardness there is poking at you. Insistent. And you don’t want to ignore it.

Instead, you press upward, grinding against him.

Soap—no—Johnny, makes a sound in his throat.

One moment you’re under him and then you’re in his lap, the two of you sitting up, staring into each other’s eyes. Your heart hammers in your chest, and your hands fists the front of his shirt.

“You—”

“Are we interrupting something?”

You and Johnny turn just as Ghost and Gaz enter the gym. Gaz has a towel draped over his shoulder. The water bottle he holds it half-way towards his mouth before he freezes, gaze locked on you and Johnny.

Ghost cocks his head, arms crossed over his chest.

You’re speechless. Lost. Your mind hasn’t caught up.

But Johnny’s has.

With a twist, Johnny rolls and then lightly tosses you off him as if the two of you were simply practicing and not staring into each other’s eyes.

“You want a go, Lt?” asks Johnny.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“You up for another round?” asks Kyle.

The man is grinning like he could do this all day. You’re sore everywhere—ready to collapse from exhaustion. Hand-to-hand combat is not your thing which is why you’re here in the training room with Kyle.

Yes, you need practice, but you’ve also had your eye on him, admiring him when you think no one is looking. It’s an excuse for some alone time.

“I’d rather eat glass,” you mutter, snatching up your water bottle and drinking the last of it.

“Hate me that much?” he teases.

“So much so that I wanted to spend the afternoon beating your ass.”

Kyle bursts out laughing. He snatches the water bottle out of your hand and aims it at you, squeezing. There’s nothing in it. A few measly drops hit your face and then you lunge for him. Kyle jumps back and extends his arms outward.

“One more round.” He winks. “Come on, love.”

He’s being cheeky, and your blood is pumping.

Kyle tosses your water bottle to the side as you stride forward. His arms go up, and then the two of you are nothing but flying fists and feet. He’s faster, blocking every blow you send his way.

Sweat accumulates on your brow and on the back of your neck, dripping down your spine. You lick your lips, taste the salt from the sweat.

You duck. Swing. Kyle snatches your wrist and twists, pinning your arm behind you. With a sharp jab of your elbow, you nail Kyle in the stomach, freeing yourself.

As you spin to lash out, Kyle is right there, in your space, blocking all movement. You try to step back, to allow space in your next strike, but Kyle rushes in. The two of you are twisted up. Falling. Slamming into the mat on the floor.

You shove and Kyle resists, his strength outmatching yours. With cheek pressed into the mat, you have nowhere to go. You’re completely on your stomach, and all of Kyle’s weight is on you. He breathes heavily, chest heaving. You feel his breath against your skin, and the contact only sends your skin into a shiver.

Your mind drifts, lingering in places it shouldn’t. Worse—Kyle is aroused. His hardness pokes at your ass. But whether he notices or not is unclear.

“You’re improving,” he says.

“I have a good teacher.”

Kyle makes a noise that sounds like agreement. Every muscle is tense, and even Kyle’s hold on you seems laced with something harsh. But then it eases. Softens. His grip loosens enough that you roll onto your side, glancing up at him.

He is so goddamn close. Just a gentle tilt of the head and your lips would meet his. It wouldn’t be that hard. He’s right there.

Kyle blinks, and then his gaze trails downward, lingering on your lips.

“We,” he begins. “We shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

His thumb traces along the side of your throat, and your eyelids flutter with contentment. A little moan escapes you, and you hear Kyle’s sharp inhale.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck it.”

His thumb becomes his whole hand. Holding you in place, Kyle goes all in, claiming your lips with his. It is dominating, and you happily give in to him.

John Price

Your back hits the tumble mat with a sharp slap. The exposed portions of your shoulders and back sting from the contact.

"Again."

Groaning, you push up to a seated position. "We've been at this for hours."

"And you need practice," counters Price.

He's hatless. And shirtless. Only in cargo pants and boots, Captain Price's bare skin glistens with sweat. You won't pretend that the sight of him like this doesn't intrigue you. For months now you've been observing Captain Price in more than just a professional manner. It's hard not to, and the sweat-drenched man before you isn't helping things.

Captain Price runs his fingers through his hair, taking a step back. The casualness to the movement causes your stomach to twist with desire. Your body betrays you, and you have no idea if these feelings are entirely one-sided. Sometimes you think you might gleam a notion of his thoughts, but it always manages to slip through your grasp.

Price offers his hand, and an idea forms.

You extend yours, but don't close the distance. Price is the one that leans forward to do so. It's the perfect opportunity. When your fingers close around his, you tug back, throwing him off balance.

Price tips forward, and you turn to the side as he crashes down to the mat. In one fluid movement, you roll Price onto his back and straddle his stomach.

"Never let your guard down. That's what you always say."

Price's eyes widen slightly before softening. The corner of his mouth twitches into a hint of amusement. It immediately sends heat flaring through you.

"I do," he replies, and it's nearly a coo.

That smirk of his widens into an actual smile, and then it's you on your back and Price straddling. You strike out with an elbow but Price catches your swing, trapping your arms above your head. He bends forward a bit, and it is then that you feel the stiffness against your stomach.

Price makes no move to hide it, and you don’t dare glance downward.

"You need to do better-"

"Captain."

Price immediately recoils, sitting up and releasing your arms. You twist to look behind you, only to find Ghost and Soap standing nearby. Ghost is ever the silent observer, but Soap's head is slightly tilted to the side, the middle of his brow pinched like he's not sure what's happening.

"Meeting starts in five,” says Soap. “Came to find you."

Price coughs and then he's off you, kneeling and offering you a hand again. You don't try to knock him down.

"Just going over some pointers,” replies Price.

"Pointers?" deadpans Ghost and you shoot him a look. He shrugs at you, gaze lingering before moving to his captain.

"Give me ten minutes. Shower. Then I'll be there."

Captain Price gives you a quick glance before walking off with Soap. Ghost crosses his arms over his chest and just stares.

“What?" you snap

"Pointers," he repeats.

"Oh, fuck off, Simon."

He chuckles and turns to follow the two out of the training room.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

"Your posture is terrible."

"That's very helpful, Lieutenant,” you deadpan.

"Are you sassing me?"

"No."

Simon shakes his head and sighs. “Can’t throw a knife accurately if you’re hunched like a goblin.”

“Goblin,” you mutter under your breath. “Asshole.”

“What was that?”

You clear your throat. “Seems easy, Lieutenant. You just throw the pointy end at the enemy.”

Simon grunts and then grabs your raised arm. "You won't hit anything standing like that."

You resist his pull but you're outmatch when it comes to strength. With one hand on your arm and one on your waist, Simon shifts you into position.

"Like this," he instructs, bringing your arm back. "Firm grip. Feet pointed forward." Simon releases your arm but his hand on your waist remains. "Throw. At the target."

You let the knife fly. It strikes just right of the bullseye.

"Again,” nods Simon.

"Really?"

Simon slowly drops his hand from your waist, the tips of fingers lingering a second longer than necessary.

Removing a knife from his boot, Simon flips it end over end. "We could hone your skills a different way."

"What way?"

“Grab your knife and find out.”

Stalking toward the bullseyes, you yank out the knife, joining Simon in the sparring ring. He bends at the knee, crouching into a fight stance. You mimic the movement.

Simon lunges first and you sidestep. But he's quick for such a large man. He moves around and behind you so fast he's almost a blur.

Grabbing your wrist, Simon lightly twists and pins you against his front, the knife tip pointed at your throat.

"Again,” he growls.

Simon lightly shoves you away. You spin. Striking out. He slaps your arm down and raises his own, the knife tip pointed at your throat for a second time.

"Again."

Showing your teeth, you charge at him, barreling into him at the middle. Simon staggers but doesn't faulter. He attempts to toss you off him, but you remain firm, grabbing hold.

This unloads him, his weight toppling with you. The two of you go down. Simon rolls you onto your back, his body pressed to yours, knife at your throat again.

"Better,” he says. “Still needs improvement."

You go to shove him off, but Simon doesn't budge. He remains where he is, and every point of contact is like an electrical spark. Even his face is close, balaclava nearly scratching against your skin. There is not part of him you’re not touching.

Awareness settles in.

Simon is all hardness over you.

"Have any tips you can give me?" you reply.

His gaze slowly lowers to your lips. His hips shift slightly, something stiff poking against your inner thigh.

“I have one,” he murmurs.

Bet I can guess.

“How do you want it?” he continues.

"You're the expert," you reply softly, hooking your leg over the back of his.

It's an invitation, one you aren't sure he'll take.

There’s a brief pause, and then Simon hums in agreement. It’s a pleased sound, one that instantly makes you shiver. Without taking the knife from your throat, he closes the distance, lips pressing against yours through the balaclava.

Heat erupts, the knife in your hand forgotten on the floor as you grab at him, fingers digging in.

It's only a tease. You want the real thing.

"What's the tip?" you ask once he breaks the connection.

Simon answers by grinding his hips against yours.

That one. Got it.

“We should—”

A door slams from somewhere down the hall. Simon’s head snaps up. The knife disappears, and then Simon is pushing himself away, kneeling beside you. His head is turned toward the main doors, but no one enters.

“It’s late,” you say. No one should be coming this way.

He turns back to you. “Your knife skills are shit.”

You groan. “I know. Goblin hunch. Got it.”

Simon snorts, and offers his hand. You take it, and he pulls you into a seated position. “Just a few more rounds,” he says, and then with a husky twinge to his tone, “and then I’ll go make sure the locker room is clear.”

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @cherryofdeath @ferns-fics

@tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @miaraei @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @no-oneelsebutnsu @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction

@weasleytwins-41 @saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey

@mudisgranapat @lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza

@nishim @voids-universe @iloveslasher @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@umno-yeah @daemondoll @jackrabbitem @lxblm @arrozyfrijoles23

@lovely-ateez @ash-tarte @enarien @gingergirl06 @greeniegreengreen

[moonstrider9904]

Show Me Those Pretty White Jaws

Crosshair x Female Reader one-shot

Summary: Crosshair is used to getting any woman he wants, but when he can't get together with you, things are bound to get tense.

Word Count: 6.3k

Tags/warnings: SMUT 18+. Minors are not allowed here. Pining, jealousy, foul language, alcohol consumption. Love confessions, soft!Crosshair, flirting, being approached at a bar, playboy falling in love trope. The reader is a woman and described with short hair, but no other details are given except for she is also shorter than Crosshair. PiV sex, a bit of sub!Crosshair.

Playlist: Jaws and Rain by Sleep Token i promise you these songs are so crosshair coded and it hurts

One shot masterlist | Main masterlist | Read on Ao3

Dividers by @stars-n-spice

Sweet and smoky whisky filled his senses as he pulled his glass up to his mouth and tilted it to let the burning liquid warm his throat. Ever watchful, the GAR’s finest sniper examined the surroundings from his post on his usual booth facing the whole bar, his back pressed against the cushion where he sat. There in the noisy 79’s bar, there were dozens of faces similar to his, though none quite like him—a factor that greatly stroked his pride. Along the sea of bar goers, various feminine faces and features glanced and smiled at him, many of whom he had already met and taken back to his place. Crosshair never liked a sure thing, however. He liked the thrill of the chase, the excitement of seeking out and then succeeding.

Brown, piercing eyes finally landed on a figure that hadn’t caught his attention before. Your petite frame was angled away from him as you sat at the bar, and all he saw was the loosely-fitting black sweater draping over delicate curves, and short wavy hair stopping above her shoulders. You appeared to be by yourself, though it wasn’t long before Crosshair saw your frame moving as though you were talking, and the bartender finally made her way to stand in front of you, visibly responding to whatever you’d said. There you exchanged words for a moment, and the bartender was then called away by a soldier in need of a drink, but it didn’t seem the conversation between you two had ended for your body angled itself in the direction of your friend, letting Crosshair see more of your features with clarity.

He stopped sipping his whisky. In a quick glance, Crosshair was able to take it all in—the details of your outfit, the pronunciation of each curve of your body, the way the lights of the bar illuminated your silhouette, the shape of your eyes and your lips. There was something about you that made you stand out from the rest of the crowd, a softness, a delicate quality to you that made him wonder why you were at a bar instead of a cozy book shop. But he wouldn’t continue to question your presence there. The fact that you were was all the more lucky for Crosshair, and he resolved to make you his next unforgettable memory.

Crosshair downed the remainder of his drink with one last, swift gulp and set the glass on his table with a clank. He stood up and began making his way through the crowded dance floor; the sheer amount of people there made him grateful he was in civvies rather than his armor, despite the fact that his full armor always did him more favors when it came to impressing a lady. After a certain number of conquests, Crosshair had noticed the attention from a potential mate always seemed to gravitate towards his shoulders, chest, and waist, with the appendage on his left shoulder pad always earning him curious, beady-eyed questions about what it was like to be a sniper, questions he always replied with a seductive smirk and charming play at how lonely of a position it was, one he’d already memorized and learned it never failed—not only was his armor practical for a sniper, but his role as one captivated.

He wasn’t that far away from the bar now. The closer he got, the better he could make out the details of your smile, and finally he was close enough to hear your laughter above the other noise. Just a couple steps away, fate shone on him in the form of you glancing in his direction, and for a moment, Crosshair stopped. Your hair framed your pretty face better than anyone he’d ever seen, and your eyes were the most genuine specs of light in the entire bar, not unlike stars putting a city skyline to shame. Your eyes fell right on his, and as if Crosshair hadn’t been convinced already, your lips curved into a smile, one that showed him your pretty pearly whites and shone with knowing and confidence and a hint of spunk that beautifully contrasted with your overall tender aura, and enticed him to find out where that softness ended to become pure fire. His own lips flashed his signature seductive smirk at you, and though his eyes followed in that intention, his curiosity bled into his gaze, betraying how much he wanted to succeed in at least being worthy of knowing your name.

Dammit, Crosshair was certain he had to have you.

The intense longing lasted for merely an instant before you turned away from him and gave your attention to your bartender friend again, but Crosshair knew the night had just begun. He reached the bar and positioned himself to your left, not making any contact with you at first. The bartender glanced over at Crosshair, and the latter requested another glass of neat whisky. Before obliging to the request, the bartender quickly eyed you and retreated to get a glass, leaving you seemingly wide open for the sniper to make his move.

Crosshair then turned his back to the bar and glanced to his left side over at you with the look he already knew would work—he was gorgeous, and he knew it. He noticed you smirking as though you were holding in a chuckle, and finally, you met his gaze.

“Never seen you here, beautiful,” Crosshair opened, his voice smooth and deep. “Mind if I buy you your next drink?”

“I’d just finished for the night,” you smirked back.

“Ah, what a pity,” Crosshair answered just as the bartender handed him his glass of whisky. Crosshair took it and sipped it without breaking eye contact with you, and then he set it down again. “I hope you’ll stay with me while I finish mine then. You’d be making my whole night.”

You let out a gentle laugh and glanced momentarily at your friend, the bartender, and the sound of your laughter shook Crosshair’s confidence. He decided to push through it, though.

“Five,” you answered.

“Care to let me in on what that means, sweetheart?” Crosshair leaned in slightly towards you.

“Okay,” you got up from your chair and stood next to him, revealing your height to be much shorter than his, a trait he found endearing. “I’m gonna stop you right there. You’re handsome and everything, but I’ve already heard you using that line five times.”

Crosshair raised a brow at you and, silently, sipped his whisky again. “Is that so?”

“It’s not such a big compliment for your opening line to be ‘never seen you here’ when I’ve actually been here many times,” you smirked at him. “I don’t care how many pet names you add at the end of the sentence.”

Crosshair couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound rumbling low in his chest as he took another sip from his drink. “I knew there was a fire to you. How about you show me what those pretty jaws can do?”

“I’ll bite,” you answered. “Every time I’ve come to this bar to chat with my good friend here, I see you perform the same exact dance, each time with a different pretty face. I know your type, and I’m not going to be another one of your little trophies.”

“Oh, darlin���,” Crosshair hummed, downing his drink and setting his glass down without asking for a refill—if he played his cards right, he wouldn’t need another one. He leaned down slightly closer to you, looming over you with a seductive glint in his eye. “You know what’s going on here, and I like it when a girl packs a brain.”

“Is that so?” You smirked at him, tilting your head to give your eyes an enticing look.

“Yeah,” Crosshair’s airy voice softened, betraying him once again as it let you know just how much he desired you. “Now, wouldn’t we be perfect together, sweetheart? Just tell me your name.”

Crosshair’s hand slowly, almost doubtfully, made its way up to your chin, his touch soft in a way that would let you swat him away if you wanted to, but finally his fingertips made contact with your skin. As he tilted your face up to him, your endearing smile widened, and your body wiggled so softly he wasn’t sure if you’d done it on purpose or not, but he loved the way you moved. Your smile made it hauntingly clear to him—he was done for. He’d replay that image in his mind for years to come. Then, your eyes met his again, and Crosshair noticed that you were angling yourself closer to him, painfully slowly, and he matched your pace in leaning down closer to you. He was sure he’d won, and any second now he’d feel your lips against his, he’d learn what your name was and pronounce those syllables in his mind repeatedly until he could have you in his arms and his body with yours, and he’d continue to do so since.

Instead, you pressed an index finger to his lips, and your seductive look was replaced by one of knowing, even a little mischief.

“Not gonna happen,” you whispered, and you pressed your hand towards his chest, pushing him away from you enough to walk past him and leave.

An army led by a tactical droid had never caught him as off guard as you just had, and the disappointment was visible in Crosshair’s features. He closed his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows together with evident regret, and a sharp exhale accompanied his strain. All that was left for him to do when his eyes opened was to watch you leave, but you’d bolted so fast that he wouldn’t be able to do that.

“Damn,” a voice filled his ears.

It was your friend, the bartender, staring at him and visibly struggling to contain laughter.

“What?” Crosshair hissed.

“Can tell that one hurt. You’ve been rejected before, mate,” they said. “Never seen you make that face.”

The bartender then poured another glass of Crosshair’s favorite whisky and set it on the bar in front of him. Crosshair couldn’t help but direct a puzzled look at them.

“That one’s on the house,” the bartender stated. “My condolences.”

Crosshair was unamused by the bartender’s banter—the fact that they were your friend gave him the awful premonition that you’d be hearing about this in the future—but he accepted the free whisky and downed it all in one gulp as if it were a shot. He placed the empty glass on the bar and returned to his usual booth, alone, disgusted at his failure and at the fact that he knew he wouldn’t get your gaze out of his mind for the rest of the night.

He wasn’t able to do it for the many nights that followed.

There were some nights he did see you at the bar, and there were nights he didn’t. The nights you weren’t there were worse—though he gave you your space when you were both at the bar, he couldn’t help but find solace in knowing you were there seeing a friend at the bar instead of a lover. When you were nowhere to be found, he found his mind wandering and clinging on to all the possibilities, all the men you could be with, men who hadn’t thrown away their shot with you without even knowing it, without even valuing it.

And he still didn’t even know your name.

You—despite the fact that you had lost track of how long it had been since the cocky gray-haired sniper had made his move on you—would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of him. You were proud of standing up for yourself and your beliefs, and of not stooping down to a level of one more on the list of meaningless conquests at a bar, but the image of his enticing eyes had made its way into your mind in the course of those weeks. You’d thought back to the whisky on his breath, the way his teeth bared ever so slightly when he smirked, and how his chest felt under your hand when you pushed him out of your way.

It hurt, truly, that he was so careless with his own feelings, and the feelings of whomever he deemed attractive. But a part of you didn’t dare think of what things would be like if he was the relationship kind of man. Maybe you wouldn’t even be his first option in that scenario.

You found yourself at the bar on your usual spot, holding your usual drink in your hand, but its cool temperature had already caused the glass to sweat, and a thin ring of water had already appeared around the base. On any normal night, your drink wouldn’t last that long resting on the bar, and around you, everyone seemed to be getting their orders faster, a testament to your lack of chatter.

Finally, your friend the bartender approached you and crouched slightly to meet your downtrodden gaze. “No refunds for unconsumed drinks, I don’t care how sad you are.”

Your first instinct was to chuckle. “What, sad? Of course not!”

They raised an eyebrow at you and, from under the bar, pulled out a bottle of what seemed like hard liquor. “Maybe a shot of this will get you talking.”

You chuckled again, more genuinely than last time, and your whole body seemed to soften as you finally let your guard down. “No fair, you’re a bartender. Your expertise to read emotions is unmatched.”

“I like what I do,” said the bartender. “You’ve been getting more upset progressively. What happened?”

You looked up at them and sighed, taking a sip from your drink and setting it down again. “I’ve… lately, I’ve felt a bit lonely.”

“Dating scene’s hard, eh?”

“Not just that,” you said, tilting your head in reconsideration. “Actually, yeah, it’s just that. We’re at an age where we can, in theory, choose who we want to be with. But what happens when the person you want to get to know and maybe get intimate with is a total playboy who will most likely not see you the same way? What happens when being with the person you want to be with also means being at your most vulnerable and risking being cast aside by him?”

The bartender set the bottle of liquor down and their eyes widened at you.

“No way,” they said. “The sniper.”

You groaned and shrank in your seat, crossing your arms and leaning forward on the bar. “Yes. The sniper.”

“Baby girl, he is right there,” they said.

“Did you not hear me?” You asked. “I want something real, not a one night stand. I don’t care how—” you began to stammer, “-utterly handsome, gorgeous, and sexy he is.”

“So you stand by your choice to reject him,” the bartender asked.

You sighed and straightened your back as though to gather yourself. “Yes. Yes, I do. I just needed to vent.”

“So…” your friend began again. “Do you… want the sniper? Or do you want a palette cleanser?”

You met your friend’s eyes and hesitated. “I… I want to say… palette cleanser?”

It was obvious that you were doubting, but your friend, being the expert bartender and well experienced in listening to his clients’ problems, only had to look you in the eyes for a moment to know exactly what you needed. They knew every single customer at the 79’s—never mind the fact that most of them were identical—and for a couple moments, the bartender’s gaze drifted past your left shoulder and lingered for a while as though examining, as though they were plotting. You took notice of your friend’s positioning of their gaze, and you looked over your shoulder hoping you would see your next match.

All you saw was the sniper sitting at the farthest booth with a glass of whisky in his hand, all alone. But he wasn’t looking at you. With your heart plummeting in your chest, you turned away and reached for your own drink and took a large gulp from it.

“Wait here,” the bartender said. In the few moments they were gone, you paced yourself with your drink, beating the need to drown your sorrows, and when your trusted bartender finally returned, they did so with an agreeable-looking man, one who wasn’t a clone.

He was tall, had hazel-colored eyes and light brown hair that may have been blond in more natural lighting. He was dressed nicely, appropriate for a bar but not in a way that screamed a need for attention, and the amount of cologne he was wearing was rather attractive, certainly not too much of it. His lips were full and his bright smile crinkled his eyes as he looked at you, giving him a somewhat innocent gleam as he was visibly excited to meet you.

“What’d you say your name was?” The bartender asked him.

“Aiden,” he replied, looking at the bartender, and quickly went to meet your gaze again. “Aiden Maverick, pleased to meet you.”

You giggled softly, slightly surprised at how quickly your friend had gotten you company. Still, despite the speed, Aiden wasn’t a blatantly terrible choice. Actually, Aiden seemed like someone you could talk with, maybe hit it off, see where things went.

“Pleased to meet you too,” you said softly, holding out your hand to shake his. You then introduced yourself to Aiden and pronounced your name for the first time in a long time, perhaps even since you’d first set foot in that bar.

From the booth at the other side of the bar, Crosshair had tried hard not to stare at you. He wasn’t one to linger or to insist, but you’d made his mind your permanent residence. For the past weeks, even when he was on a mission sniping on some foreign cliff, his thoughts would often drift to the nameless girl from the bar, the one who only made him want her more when she was brave enough to tell him off like he deserved. For a moment, he asked himself why he continued to frequent the 79’s bar if all it did was remind him of how he screwed up with you before he could get himself a chance to try. It wasn’t as if he’d gotten a date since you turned him down. He hadn’t wanted to look at anyone else.

Some idiot he figured himself to be. Always confident and arrogant and snarky, with a quick remark ready for any occasion, but the moment one pretty girl turns him down, he shatters. Crosshair took a large gulp from his whisky—you weren’t just some pretty girl. No, he knew it when he first met you. He knew the second your bright eyes stared up at him and your soft, kissable lips smiled at him. He knew right then that he was a goner, that he would never be the same, that no one could compare to you, and nothing could compare to being smiled at by you.

But it was futile to lament. It wasn’t as if you knew, and it wasn’t as if you could. It didn’t matter when it came to you that Crosshair hadn’t gotten involved with anyone since he met you. You were the only person he cared to know that fact, and you didn’t.

For a moment, he dared to look at the bar, and the sight made him want to gag. Some nobody had gotten your attention—perhaps that nobody wasn’t notorious for anything and seemed perfectly rational. You were smiling at whoever that guy was, and Crosshair found himself wishing it was him standing next to you, flirting, charming you. He thought of going up there and putting up a fight, but some corner of him felt like he’d only be getting in your way of being treated nicely the way he couldn’t do the first time. Then, in the middle of his brooding, Crosshair’s watchful gaze picked up on another pair of eyes drilling into him just off the side of you and your acquaintance.

The bartender. Much like Crosshair in a battle, they saw everything. And it hit him. If anyone at the 79’s had taken note of the fact that Crosshair had put aside his old habits, it was the bartender. The bartender who, coincidentally, just so happened to be your friend, and just so happened to be staring intently at him as you hit it off with some other guy at the bar. Crosshair raised a brow at the bartender, asking with his gaze what he was supposed to do. He noticed the bartender directing a quick eye roll at him, and then they walked their way back to you and your new friend and placed one hand on your shoulder, the other one on the new guy’s shoulder.

“Alright, buddy!” The bartender called loud enough for Crosshair to hear. And then, the bartender continued to call out that “he” had their blessing to be with you, and then, the bartender pronounced your name.

Upon hearing what your name was, Crosshair understood. He understood that he couldn’t sit there for another second—to do so would be blatant waste, and if he did it, he would never deserve to be with you. But he downed the rest of his whisky, set the glass down loudly on the table, and stood up with more resolve than he had ever mustered in his life. He made his way across the crowded dance floor, finding it harder to do so than last time—his armor played a certain part in that, but despite the fact that it gave him confidence, the master-of-control sniper felt his chest shake with every step he took closer to you.

At last, he reached the bar and positioned himself beside you, catching Aiden’s attention. When Aiden looked at Crosshair, you realized he was standing beside you, and your eyes widened in surprise. You couldn’t help but feel defensive for a moment—you weren’t sure you’d be as firm to turn Crosshair down a second time.

“You’re gonna have to leave,” Crosshair told Aiden.

“What?” Aiden raised a brow. “Who do you think you are?”

“I haven’t been able to get this woman off my mind for weeks,” Crosshair evaded any temptation to buff up in testosterone and chose the path of brutal honesty. “You’ve known her for five minutes, I’ve needed her since the first time she smiled at me. I have gone back and forth six missions since then, been on the line of fire, and a blast to the heart would be heaven compared to never having another chance to make things right with her. I’m all the more hopeless than I was when I blew my chance, but I’m gonna need you to step aside right now because I need to make this okay.”

You barely knew Crosshair, but you didn’t reckon he was a man of many words. For him to say that much—and speak that beautifully—about you, made every fiber in your body shift towards him. You glanced quickly over at the bartender, and they were already looking at you with knowing eyes, raising their brows and gesturing at Crosshair before going on their way to tend to the rest of the customers. You let out a soft chuckle, flattered at the change in events, and you knew to trust your friend. With apologetic eyes, you looked over at Aiden.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Could you please give us a moment?”

Aiden appeared disappointed, but he nodded and stood up from the bar, taking the rejection like a pro and even managing a polite smile at you. “Right. Have a nice night.”

You directed a soft smile at him too as he walked away, but then your attention tunneled towards Crosshair, and your big eyes looked at him with hope and a twinge of caution.

“So…” you began, speaking as softly as the volume at the bar allowed. “I’m guessing changes of heart are common in soldiers.”

Crosshair stifled a chuckle. “Being a soldier had nothing to do with it.”

He was hesitant to touch you, and instead, he resorted to letting his gaze gently shower you with his purest intent. “What I said was true. I want to be with you, and I don’t care for anything else. All I could want is to come back alive from every mission to come home to you.”

You scoffed, but ended up smiling at him. “But… look. I’m crazy about you, and I never would have dreamed you’d want something with me. But you’re still you, you still get out and about and get whatever woman you want—”

“That’s over,” Crosshair said. “It has been since we met.”

“I can vouch for that,” the bartender jumped into the conversation. You looked over at them, half indignant, half amused, and your friend dismissed themself with a carefree wave of their hands before continuing their work.

You then looked at Crosshair again, and he looked at you. His entire aura seemed to soften, and he leaned in closer to you, almost shyly.

“You have a beautiful name,” he said.

You smiled, feeling your cheeks getting hot. “Thanks.”

He smiled back at you—he had a truly beautiful smile—and finally, Crosshair leaned in enough to rest his forehead on yours. Down at your side, you felt his fingers beginning to brush yours, and when you let him take your hands fully, you noticed his smile widen.

“So,” you said sweetly, “do you want to get out of here?”

His eyes met yours as your foreheads continued to rest on one another. “Yes. Do you want to?”

Your smile widened too and you gave a soft nod. “Yes.”

Crosshair gave a smooth chuckle, regaining some of his usual charm and confidence. “So, this is gonna happen after all?”

You giggled in response. “You’re pushing your chances, but yes.”

The laughter between you quieted down, and for a moment, your lips hovered over each other, flirting with the possibility of sealing the space and sinking into the first kiss. The tension in those millimeters left between your lips and his was electrifying, utterly delicious, and you wanted to savor it. You wanted that drumroll to lead to the best possible first kiss, and with your gaze suddenly full of mischief and excitement, you stood up from your chair and began leading Crosshair outside. He followed gladly, but not without leaving a generous tip for your friend, the bartender.

Outside, you were met with cool air and drops of rain falling from a cloudy, gray-blue twilight sky. The towering Coruscant skyline simply hit differently in the rainfall, and the countless lights that twinkled around you were reflected in the puddles on the pavement. You had no idea where you were headed, and you had the feeling Crosshair didn’t know either, but for that space, all that sufficed was to position yourselves under a lamp post. With Crosshair leading the way, he stopped next to it and turned around to face you as you caught up with him, never letting go of his hand, and that was when the rain began to fall harder. Anyone else who wasn’t covered from the shower would hurry out of the mist, but you felt it then without a doubt—the moment had come.

You smiled up at Crosshair and felt your spine erupt in sparks when he directed a smirk at you, one that was suggestive but didn’t lack an evident tenderness to it, a joy fueled by your presence and your hand in his. Towering, his armored, handsome figure inched closer to you, and his free hand secured your waist. Crosshair pulled you closer, you angled your face up as a sweet beckoning for his lips, and in those final beautiful seconds, Crosshair leaned down and took your lips in his, unleashing every bit of that delicious tension that had formed between you two. Every one of your feelings for him escalated, and you took a leap to wrap your legs around his waist, feeling him secure your rear end with strong hands. A playful moan escaped you, and you went on kissing him under that lamp post, mindless to the fact that you were soaking in the rain, for each second was worth the cold surface of your clothes in exchange for that heat building between your body and his.

In a matter of a blur, you and Crosshair left the spot under the lamp post that would forever belong to you two. The whole way back to your place, you could hardly keep your hands off of him, and when you managed to make sense of reality again, you found yourself in your living room clinging to his body once again, smirking into playful kisses as you both stumbled to your sofa. You rested on the couch cushions, wet clothes be damned, and enjoyed the sight of Crosshair looming over you with his figure still broad and armored. You let your hands roam freely over his silhouette, feeling damp plastoid on your fingertips wherever you touched, ranging from his back to his chest, his shoulders, even his expert hands. When Crosshair slipped his tongue into your mouth, you both moaned at the sweet sensations caused by the friction, and the taste of whisky prompted a wiggle of your hips that sent him reeling.

You felt your deepest corners beginning to ignite, and you let go of Crosshair’s body to bring your hands to your wet clothes, slowly beginning to remove your sweater followed by the blouse that clung to your body. When Crosshair noticed, you perceived the darkening of his gaze, and he aided you in removing damp garments. Your skin was left exposed, feeling cool as it came in contact with the air around you, and swiftly, Crosshair reached for a blanket you had folded on the armrest of the couch to cover you from the cold.

He resumed kissing you, and you decided it was his turn to lose the armor. You helped him remove the shoulder pad with the appendage, and the one without; his belt came off and then his chest plate, followed by one set of arm pads and then the other. By the time you were growing impatient, Crosshair was left in the black, thin suit that concealed his skin from you, and feeling the freedom from his armor, he pressed himself firmly to your body, letting you feel the hardening bulge between his legs. You invited him into the cocoon of your blanket, letting warmth engulf you both as your kisses wore on, and you felt his gloved hands taking their liberty with your curves.

Soon, you pressed yourself up to him and you were both sitting on the couch, breaking the kiss for a split second, only enough for you to pull the skin-tight black shirt over his body. You hesitated before kissing him again, prompted to take in all his beauty and memorize it, and when you kissed Crosshair again, your hands brushed from his lower abdomen and all the way up to his chest and collarbones; you could feel shivers forming on his skin as your hands trailed over him, and Crosshair let a deep moan bleed into the kiss, entranced by your touch.

You felt him standing up and bringing you along with him. He made sure you were still covered by the blanket as he carried you, and you broke the kiss, panting for breath with an enticing grin, biting your lower lip as you pointed your nose in the direction of the bedroom. Crosshair stood on the spot for a moment to kiss your lips one more hungry time, and then with almost impossible tenderness, he carried you to your room and set you on the bed, where you kneeled on the mattress facing away from him. As soon as Crosshair got on his knees on the mattress, with your back pressed to his chest, he kissed your neck and whatever he could of your collar until you turned your face to capture his lips once more. The blanket that covered your naked body fell down to your sides, and with your skin exposed again, Crosshair didn’t hold back before letting his hands feel your waist and travel up your breasts.

You ached in those moments of foreplay, longing for more, letting that hunger manifest in your kisses quickening and your breath straining. With a smirk into your lips, Crosshair obliged your silent request, and one of his hands went to your knee and snaked up your inner thigh, pausing for just enough to make you whimper in anticipation. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and you let out a wanton moan when you finally felt his fingers brushing over your clit in expert motions, not wasting another moment. Pleasure instantly flooded you, awaking every one of your nerves, and your body sank back into his as you moaned at the sweet electricity coursing through you. You could feel it building and bubbling more with each second that passed, enjoying every instant of it until you knew release was imminent. Your gaze found his, knowing you wanted to be looking into those beautiful amber eyes when it happened, and when it finally did, your whole body curved in its inability to keep upright at such intense pleasure expanding to your every corner. Crosshair moaned in unison with you as though to cheer you forward, enjoying every bit of your reaction, swelling in pride at how good he could make you feel. He didn’t let himself stop his expert work on your clit, he wanted you to feel every ounce of pleasure you could possibly feel, and when the time was right, he let you go for a breather.

He’d expected to remain on top, but Crosshair was met with you grasping his shoulders and leading him to lie down on the bed. You climbed on top and straddled his waist, eyeing the lines of his muscles standing out in the dim lighting of the room. You leaned forward enough to set your hands at the base of his hips where the fabric of his pants began and, pressing gently, you ran your hands up his abdomen, feeling the rise and fall of his muscles as his breath quickened in arousal. When your hands reached his chest, you felt the bulge in his pants hardening more, pulsating against your crotch, and Crosshair threw his head back on the pillow in a futile attempt to suppress a moan of sheer excitation before he looked up at you again with hungry eyes, his lips mouthing the word Please barely under his breath.

You leaned forward and kissed him again, moaning in tandem with him. Your hands reached down to the fabric that continued to cover the lower half of his body, and you undid the buttons at the top to pull it down enough to free his erection, and you heard Crosshair moan softly at the sensation. Barely giving him time to dimension, your hand grasped his girth and began pumping slowly, and you grinned with satisfaction into the kiss at the sound of Crosshair moaning louder at your touch.

“Yes,” he hissed, moaning into your kisses once more as you continued massaging his length. He continued to mumble things into your lips, only letting you make out faint details of “Touch me” until the final request was, like music to your ears, “Fuck me.”

You obliged, lifting yourself only to sink on his entire length, hissing at the sharp pain that quickly turned to pleasure when he stretched you out. You kept your lips close to his, and with his help, you bucked your hips up and down, rising and falling on his cock at a luscious pace. The heat emanating from your bodies continued to build between you, until you’d reached the quickest pace you could in that position. The sight of you on top of him was enough to entrance Crosshair, but he still ached for more. He wouldn’t have enough until you were writhing in his grip, and in a swift movement, he rolled over on top of you. In full control, Crosshair bucked faster into your hips, enticed by how deep and warm and wet you were. Every moan you let escape dragged him deeper into the state of ecstasy he found himself in, and he knew he’d never escape.

But he didn’t want to escape it. He’d pined for you long enough, and there you were, entwined in your lovemaking.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, letting him pound deeper into you until you once again exploded into raw pleasure. Your fingers clasped the silver hair on the back of his neck, and you let yourself moan his name out as you pronounced yourself his. After a few more movements, Crosshair was coming undone inside you, savoring every wave of intensity as the ropes of white flooded you inside, releasing airy moans as his body slowly allowed itself to calm down and he collapsed beside you.

Your visions blurred for the moments to come, and all either of you needed to know was that the other lay there beside you. You gathered yourself and rolled over onto one side facing Crosshair, and you let your hand slide gently up his torso one more time. You lay your head on his shoulder and rested your full weight on him, holding him close to you, and then you felt his arm draping around you as he let out a gentle, fulfilled sigh.

“We’ve got to do that again,” Crosshair panted.

“Yeah,” you said dreamily, and then you giggled. “You didn’t plan on sleeping tonight, right?”

Crosshair’s signature seductive chuckle rumbled low in his chest and he rolled over on top of you once more, seemingly ready to continue. “Not a chance.”

If you like, please reblog too. Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed.

Back to masterlist

[toulousewayne]

Catching Strays Pt:111🐈‍⬛💎✨

Red Hood x male!reader who’s a cat burglar with a similar M.O. to Catwoman who’s on a crime spree.

Summary:Your a Cat Burglar who’s dressed similarly to Catwoman. You enjoy the thrill of the chase.

—————

Red Hood’s bike races down the highway, he weaves through traffic pushing his bike to its limits.

He glances down at the screen following the signal. “Please don’t do it.” He huffs as he rushes down a ramp off the highway and onto the main road of East Gotham, still rushing his way through the streets.

—-

Black Mask laughs to himself from his office, he just broadcasted to the GCPD and Batman that he wants 50 million dollars or he’ll release the bio weapon,and if Batman or any of his sidekicks come after him he’ll detonate the virus.

“You think they’ll come lookin’ boss?” Black Mask has his back to him looking at the Gotham City skyline. “The Bat ain’t stupid enough to come here, he’ll be looking for where I’m spreading the virus, good luck to him. I’ve got some insurance this time.” He chuckled.

—-

Y/n landed on his feet in the sewers, he stood up and looked around. He knew he could enter the building itself he’d have to work his way up. He began to run down the tunnels. The only sound was his footsteps and the sound of drilling. He came to an overhang and looked down to see Black Mask’s men setting up lines and tubes.

He crouched and walked for a moment before he noticed a table with blue prints and supplies.

What are you idiots doing?

He glanced at the blueprints and took a few pictures of them. He began to move along until he heard voices from around the corner.

“I’m in charge of this project not you, you’re just the hired muscle!”a man threatened, Y/n peeked around the wall and saw the man get picked up by his throat.

“You misunderstood enano, your boss has me overseeing this project. So get back to work,” he threw him and he landed close to Y/n who accidentally knocked over a bottle.

The man came into the light and Y/n saw Bane for the first time.

“Men, I think we have a rodent problem.” He chuckled and Y/n moved fast.

———-

“Red Hood what’s your ETA?” Batman’s voice filled his com. Red Hood raced into a turn, down a street and barreled towards Black Mask’s office.

“I’m nearly there.”

“Stop, don’t approach. He’s counting on that.”

Jason wanted to ignore him, he was seconds from reaching his destination but he looked up and moved as a gunshot nearly took his eye out. He turned down an alleyway as another gunshot range out.

“Snipers.” He growled.

“Any idiot how he can get in, Robin and I aren’t far from your location. He won’t get away with this.”

Jason shook his head, and noticed a open sewer grate,“Stray hasn’t done anything to Black Mask. He’s in over his head.”

“I don’t mean him, so long as he doesn’t kill him. “

“Well then you better hurry up because I don’t think Black Mask is working alone.” He noticed the room Stray was in and he was leaping out of the way of Bane’s attack.

Red Hood fired his pistol one of them nicking Bane’s shoulder. “Step away from him Bane, I won’t break those arms.”

Bane smirked, “So this is your pussycat, well then I’ll be extra careful with him.” He pressed the button on his wrist and Y/n watched in horror as he doubled in size, his veins extending and turning blue, his demeanor become more deadly.

“I’ll break you both into pieces!” Y/n back flipped away from him and leaped up to where Jason was.

“Friend of yours?”

“Not mine.” He fired at him which pissed him off more.

“Go!”

“I’m not running, from whatever that thing is.” He cracks his whip. The two smirk before jumping out the way of a barrel being flung at them.

Red Hood and Stray dodged out the way of Bane’s attack and would attack him while he was distracted.

Soon though Bane got ahold of Red Hood and through him through a wall sending him flying. Stray jumped and wrapped his whip around Bane’s neck. He jumped down from the rafters and choked him.

“I’ll—break—you.” Y/n took his claws and severed the tube in his head causing him to scream. He got down and moved away from him running to Red Hood who was getting to his feet.

“That’ll hurt tomorrow.” He dusted himself before turning to Y/n who wore an unreadable look.

“Let’s go.” He turned for the stairs. Red Hood followed him upstairs into the main hall of the office lobby.

“You can’t kill him, I get he’s your father—“ Y/n turned toward him and glared.

“Don’t, has many heads as you’ve let roll I don’t care what you or Batman thinks. He owns me.” Y/n sprinted for the elevator and slide inside it as the doors shut. Red Hood was now in a room with armed guards.

“Thanks Cat.” He ready his pistols but then the lights when out and the sound of glass shattered. Smoke soon engulfed the room and one by one they became picked off.

“Where is he?” Batman and Robin emerged from the smoke.

“Penthouse, we have to hurry.”

——-

“Honestly you and Nightwing have rather interesting taste in suitors.”

“Not now.” Red Hood sighed as they entered the penthouse. Batman went inside first and they took in the sight of a struggle.

“He’s gone.” Batman turned to the desk and saw it mashed to pieces. He picked up a black phone that had a shattered screen.

“Tt, a waste of a trip,it seems your friend is just as sneaky as Kyle.” Robin turned to leave the two men in the room.

“No blood, I think Black Mask was waiting for him. “ Red Hood stopped before turning to the giant window.

“The roof.” The two rushed out the room and toward the stairs until they were on the roof. Black Mask had Stray in a headlock as he was getting inside the helicopter.

“Get back Bats,I’ve got a hostage. I’m getting out of the city!” The helicopter was seconds from take off.

“Let him go!” Red Hood clocked his pistol but Black Mask did the same pointing it at Stray’s temple. Blood present on his face.

“You’ll die a painful death.” He spat at the man who pushed the gun farther toward his face.

“I’ll blow your head off kid, you’ve caused me a lot. And I don’t care if your kid I’ll fucking paint this rooftop red, you heard that Batman I’ll fucking repaint this roof.” He pulled them into the helicopter as it took off Red Hood ran to the edge and watched as it began to fly toward the city.

“We—“

“I’ve got that covered.” The Batplane came racing toward them and stopped at the edge.

“Robin follow us on the road, don’t lose Black Mask’s signal.” Batman ordered hopping inside with Red Hood joining him, they flew toward the helicopter.

——-

Stray is still in Black Mask’s iron grip and still manages to piss him off.

“What you not man enough to look at your son tarface.” Black Mask tightens his hold around Y/n neck.

“I will kill you kid, you maybe my flesh blood but your no kin of mine. I’ll drop from the chopper.” He spat. Y/n looked around but his weapons were seized and his mask too.

“Y’know you kinda look like her.” He chuckled watching the city as they passed by.

“Go Fuck yourself.” Y/n spat at him which earned him a hard shove. He nearly fell out the chopper but was grabbed by his collar.

“I really am starting to remember why I never wanted kids. “

The Batplane is now directly behind them and begins to fire at the helicopter.

Black Mask grabs an assault rifle and fires back at them. “I’ll kill you Bats!” Y/n yanks on Black Masks arms and he fires around the small aircraft even hitting the pilot. Black Mask yanks Y/n and stares at him.

“Your dead kid.” Y/n takes his claws and slashes Black Mask’s chest. He pushes Y/n full force and spirals down to the city below.

It’s all in slow motion, the bright and vast city surround him, window after window, balcony and neon signs fade past him.

He barely notices the figure the grabs him and grapples them to safety. It’s only once his feet touch the surface of the rooftop does his world stop spinning and he’s back from cloud 9.

“Did that bastard hurt you?” He looks up at the Red Hood who his clutching Y/n like he’s the only anchor he has to reality.

“No..I’m fine you caught me.” The look up and seen the chopper spiral and crashes into Gotham Bay. The Batplane flies toward the crash before returning flying farther into the city.

The rain starts again, though nearly move to get out of it. Instead Y/n lifts his hands to the help and removes it.

Jason’s face is back before him. The jet black hair matted to his skin, the white tuff proudly in the front it too was wet from sweat and the rain. The scar across his face that Y/n gently traced with his thumb. His eyes still covered by the red domino mask.

“Stray—“

“Call me Y/n.” He cut him off tracing his thumb now just below the bottom of Jason’s lip.

“Well if we’re on a first name basis, I’m Jason.”

“And somehow Handsome that suits you.” Jason pulled him close. He took his hand and pried off his last mask allowing Y/n to see those pretty green eyes.

“I’ve wanted nothing more than to hold you, you are something special to me, someone—I’ve never felt this before.”

Y/n grinned before pulling Jason’s head closer. “Well Red, I think that call that being smitten.”

Jason smirked, “Well my little thief I can say you’ve cracked the code to my heart.” Jason kisses him and the two men hold one another has the rain showers them from above.

When the finally break away his when Jason pulls away with a slight scowl.

“Did I do something?” Jason shakes his head at him press a quick kiss to his forehead.

“No, my family was listening and are killing the moment.” He slightly yelled the last part which caused Y/n to laugh.

“Well then I guess you better not keep them waiting.” He pulls Jason in for another kiss this one more passionate and gentle than the first one. He pulls away and smirks.

“I’m beginning to like this, a lot.” He grins holding his Stray.

“Well it’s just the beginning.” Y/n hands Jason his helmet and grins. Jason wraps his arm around Y/n’s waist.

“I think I know a guy who can get you some new gear, though he’s kinda broody.”

Y/n smirked, “Who your Father?” Jason blushes and looks away.

“Aww you want me to meet your Dad.” Stray tracks Jason’s emblem with his free hand.

“Babe I will leave you on this rooftop.” He fastens his helmet and grapples them away.

“You wouldn’t dream of it, you’d miss me teasing you to much Red.”

“I’m a lucky guy.”

“You sure are Red, you sure are.”

[captain-pheonix]

Currently menstruating, id like to see the TF2 men (or support classes) experience the wild ups and down of mother nature when Reader lashes out at them over something comically stupid and then starts crying dramatically out of guilt for being so mad. Then goes back to happy and normal a moment later. Because i am an emotional wreck when the blood flows and i need an outlet for it. Thank youuu!!! Angle 📐 😇🪽

A/N: I know your pain bbg ❤️ tysm for sending it in Angle! I did a sort of half oneshot half headcannons thing, hope that’s ok, here you are! (Sorry this took a bit, life had been terrible recently)

Warnings: talk of menstruation (duh)

Scout:

- Whenever your on your period he would probably go to Medic for advice and some remedies

- He might think it’s really gross but he knows you can’t really control it after he got it explained to him

- He might notice if something is a little off about you that day

- Maybe by the way you seem annoyed or you trying to fight a fed up expression

- Most likely you would just be hanging out in his room at the base, laying in his bed and Scout drawing in a notebook, chatting with you

“Hey, d’you wanna try drawin’ somethin’? I’ll teach ya!”

“Oh, sure? Why not.”

- While you two are drawing you start having trouble following along with him

- The lines don’t match up with the ones you draw next and you start getting annoyed

- Eventually, you snap and just tear the paper in half

“Why are you such a good artist!? It’s unfair!”

- You get up off the bed and start pacing around, uncontrollably fuming

- After going from one wall to the other, you look back up at Scout’s crestfallen expression, sad kicked puppy eyes with a hint of realization

- The tears start falling and Scout smiles and lets out a little sigh, and beckons you to come sit beside him

“Hey, sweetness. C’mere.”

“No, no, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“It’s all good. I get it. Just let me take care of you.”

- Scout presses a kiss to your forehead

Sniper:

- Would likely enjoy it quite a bit if you just wanted a few lazy days with him

- He might go get candy and snacks to take care of you for the week

- He might not fully understand how periods work but he’s probably heard some things

- you two could hang out in his camper and read magazines/listen to music/cuddle

- maybe you start thinking about how you have chores to do and how you’re not doing anything

“Jeez, what is wrong with me? Why can’t I just get up and do dishes or something?”

“It’s alright, roo. You have all the time in the world. Just rest.”

“But—I mean c’mon, I have to do something.”

“Well, do ya feel up to it?”

“Uh…no, I’m in a lot of pain, but—“

“So don’t.”

- the feeling that you need to something starts making you feel bad about yourself and you start silently crying and trying to wipe your tears away

- when Sniper notices he gets concerned and wraps his arms around you

“Hey, hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, heh, sorry. Stupid hormones.”

- Sniper just huffs a laugh and keeps hugging you

Demoman:

- ok let’s be real he would offer you some booze for the pain and stuff

- a movie night would work nicely, because demo could probably pass out sometime during it and it would be a calm night

- the characters in the movie start making you angry, but weirdly angry

“Why do we have to watch this? It never ends up well for the main character! This is depressing!”

“Uh..We could watch something else, ya know.”

“WHY AM I SO ANGRY ALL OF A SUDDEN? WHY DO WE HAVE TO WATCH THIS STUPID THING?!”

- Demo turns off the TV

- you start crying after realizing you snapped at him

“Wait—no no I’m sorry.”

“Hey, lad/lass, c’mere.”

- Demo and you end up cuddling and then both passing out on the couch

Spy:

- I feel like he might know a bit about periods

- But it would really gross him out

- At least he might romance and charm you to make you feel better

- 100% get you fine wine and snacks to make you feel special and loved

- Lounging in his smoking room 10/10, might even offer you some of his special cigars or something if you smoke

- Treats you like high royalty

- Probably goes to medic for painkillers and other things to make you feel better

- Totally a chance to learn to dance to some music on the record player in his smoking room

- I feel like making a bunch of mistakes would set you off

“This isn’t working. Why aren’t my feet working? You’re the best teacher there could be, what am I doing so wrong!?”

- You break away from Spy and hide your tears by turning away from him

“Mon Chérie, are you alright?”

- He walks back in front of you to see you crying

“I’m...sorry.”

- Spy gives you a forehead kiss and wraps you in a warm embrace

- 10003939/10 gentleman he rubs your back until you feel better

Heavy:

- Heavy would likely not care at all, growing up with 4 other women for most of his life

- Considering this he would probably be at least a little educated

- Any questions he had would likely be answered by Medic

- I feel like Heavy would be one of the most understanding mercs

- At Heavy’s turn for making dinner, you decide to go help him because you feel like you’ve been lazy all day

- You burn your hand and start cussing wholeheartedly

“Am I just that bad at cooking!? I’m honestly so useless. Why can’t you teach me to be better!?”

- Heavy’s just straight up confused for a second

“Oh..oh no. I’m sorry.”

- tears start falling

“Is ok. Heavy understands.”

- bear hugs and then finishing up dinner <3

Medic:

- Bro has every remedy on hand and definitely tracks it for you

- So he would already know hormonal vs. Actually being mean/sad

- A good scenario might be a lazier day when you just hang out in his lab, and he educates you more on what he’s doing and why

- It starts you feeling like you’re not good enough and that Medic is so much better at his job than you

“And das how it’s done! Fascinating, ja?”

“Yeah. I guess I just wish I could do all this great stuff like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, c’mon, you know everything! You know so much you can just do surgery on someone and everything works out!”

“Well, it’s not that simple,—are you crying?”

- You just nod

“Ah. Come here, mein liebling.”

- gives you hugs and kisses until you’re better 🥰

———————————

Thank you for reading!! Again, I’m so sorry that took so damn long. I’m getting back into writing today!

[sparkly-sediment]

Tf2 Mediscout headcanons pt 1

This was requested! If you have any little tf2 desires, my asks are open, as are fanfic commissions! Feel free to dm

Personally this ship awakens a beast within if you catch my drift

It started off just like the others. No jarring attraction, no electricity, no 😩🫦💦. Just two dudes who are now very weird coworkers

Medic def has a type and Scouts fit the bill. Skinny lanky boy toy! During various experiments and totally inconspicuous injections (he told Scout it was penicillin) he notes the slender frame and the lean muscles but he is a professional after all

Scout, however, is not

He’s initially unnerved by Medic and attributes it to the threatening, could-vivisect-you aura, but the tightness in his chest when Medic comes too close or Scout catches a hint of his french cologne isn’tfear

They work fairly separately for a while. Yes, they live together, but they also live in a chaotic team of nine with very different jobs. Their conversations aren’t close like Medic and Heavy or Scout and Sniper

Different peers groups yk? And with the age gap, Scout isn’t exactly knowledgeable in whatever the fuck old people talk about

Scout isn’t a little bitch. He got his ass beat as a kid, so he could handle a bloody nose or split lip, and going to the med bay means close contact with a man who makes him feel funny (like, more than any chick ever had), so Scout keeps out

Medic doesn’t like that. Medic usually corrals someone onto the operating table, and Scout becomes his main target. The others don’t mind since they aren’t being sliced up but there are a few comments between Engineer and Heavy about it

They aren’t uncomfortable, but they notice. No one had made it weird so Engie wasn’t about to do so and neither was Heavy. They just notice an uptick of scout/medic conversations, the two bumping into each other a bit more, and the brutality of experiments on Scout decreasing

They’re highkey jealous LMAO who knew the doctor wouldn’t hurt you if he thought you were hot

Medic starts insisting Scout come in the med bay more. That doesn’t last long, because Scout quickly starts going on his own will

“I uh, need a bandaid” absolutely bitchless and unsure of himself it is pitiful! Medic finds it endearing

By this point Scout is aware he finds Medic attractive but is repressing the shit out of it. Internalized homophobia, tragically.

The way Medic towers over him, with his broad stature completely enveloping Scout haunts the runner and Scout starts having some silly little thoughts he just can’t control

During fights with BLU, he watches Medic haul the medigun and really starts spamming E ifykyk

What if Medic was rough with him? What if Medic held him down, or pinned him against the wall? Scout can’t help the images that pop into his head despite his best efforts, and he really can’t help the flush his skin takes when Medic touched him or speaks in a low tone

Scout is folded like a five dollar lawn chair and foolishly thinks he’s hiding it well

Medic knows and is toying with Scout like a cat. Bats at the mouse, holds his leg a little too long after looking at Scout’s ankle. He backs off and acts like there’s nothing tense about leaning over Scout for something on the counter

Medic is surprisingly chill if he’s in his element. Find him in the med bay, cleaning or tinkering with something fleshy, and he is really just vibing. If you’re Scout sitting on the counter watching, then Medics dropping knowledge of the human body

Medic exercising his intelligence sends Scout into heat highkey. Boy has no idea what the fuck he’s talking about but damn those hands that accent the big words!! He is desperate!!

Apologies for the set up rather than active relationship head canons. I’ll post some getting together, fluffy, and maybe nsfw headcanons for this pair!! Didn’t want a too long post and am tbh exhausted 😜

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

The Light Behind Your Eyes

Simon "Ghost" Riley X F!Reader Task Force 141 X Platonic!F!Reader

“Gave us quite a scare, darling, try not to do that again, that’s an order.” Price’s laugh was thick and wet, clearing his throat to try and help stop the tears. “Not allowed to leave us just yet there sweetheart, not until you’re old and gray.” Gaz knew you could hear their jokes, even if they fell somewhat flat.

a/n:ahhhhh! this is thanks to my amazing friend @gaylemonshark fuel my angst filled heart, this was probably the angstiest thing I've written in a while! warnings:mentions of blood, wounds, near death experiences, blood loss, broken bones, it's a total angst fest

It was supposed to be an easy mission, get the intel and get it back to base so that Laswell can analyze it. None of you had been expecting the firefight that greeted you the moment the helicopter landed. Price had taken the lead, Ghost running alongside him as they did their best to take out any enemies that were within eyesight. They’d managed to get more than half, laying low to check ammo and make sure that everyone was alright. A sniper had nearly taken Soap out, you had tackled him to the ground when you noticed the little dot resting on his shirt.

He’d thanked you quickly before firing back his own shot, successfully taking out the sniper that had been firing at your group. Price had sent you, Ghost, and Soap into the building to retrieve any important information while he and Gaz scoured the area. It was unnervingly quiet as you scoured for any documents, or hard drives that you could snag.

“I don’t like this, it seems too easy.” Ghost was on edge, and that wasn’t something he felt often.

“It’ll be alright, we’ll get what we need and meet back up with Price.” You pushed open the door to your left, jaw dropped as you took in the amount of filing cabinets.

Shit, this was going to be a lot more difficult with the amount of information you’d be sorting through now. Shouldering your gun, you started pulling open different drawers to see if any of them held any important documents you needed. You pulled out any files with names that stuck out and laid them down on the table behind you. The stack stayed relatively small, which surprised you. Ghost and Soap were still in the main area, scoping every corner to look for any stragglers that might’ve been hanging around.

You’d been so in your head you hadn’t noticed the man slipping out of the closet closest to you, gun raised. The sound of the safety is what caught your attention, spinning around to face him.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Your body was thrown back against the filing cabinets, pain spreading throughout your body like a wildfire. Ghost slammed into the room, knife wedged into the kids throat before he could even react. You pressed your hands against your thigh, and abdomen, wincing at the blood seeping through your fingers.

“We need evac!” Soap threw himself down beside you, hoisting you into his arms as gently as he could.

“Get her outside, now.” Ghost wanted the man at his feet to suffer, but he’d already bled out in the few minutes it took them to gather the files and get you outside.

You couldn’t keep your eyes open, eyes half lidded as you struggled to take in your surroundings. Price was barking out orders, more concerned with keeping you safe and alive than getting the information back. How could they have let someone slip through their fingers and get to you? It wasn’t until they’d placed you in the heli that the pain seemed to really set in. Ghost’s hands were pressed against your thigh, Johnny cutting off your tac vest to get to the wound in your abdomen. 

“Make it stop!” Your throat felt raw with the guttural scream you let out.

The pain was unbearable, and this wasn’t the first time you’d been shot before. There would always be wounds, times where someone wasn’t quick enough to warn you. This? This was hell incarnated. Your body was turning cold, fingertips and lips turning blue as your heart rate plummeted. Soap and Ghost watched as the heart monitor flatlined, your body limp on the bed in front of them.

“Goddamnit! Open your eyes!” Price was screaming above the sound of the helicopter blades, frantic.

Price threw off his gloves, beginning CPR as they hooked up another blood transfusion. If they weren’t able to get your wounds to stop bleeding they wouldn’t be able to save you. Gaz’s hands hadn’t stopped shaking, pressing more gauze against the angry wound on your thigh.

“You better come back or so help me.” Price’s voice cracked with each press of his hand.

The subtle beep of the heart monitor relaxed him for only a second before he shifted to help get the bleeding to stop. They needed to get you somewhere where a doctor could help take care of you, now. Soap’s hands were shaking as he pressed another wad of gauze against your abdomen, they couldn’t lose you.

“Stay with us darling.” Gaz began to thread a needle, glad the bleeding had slowed for the few precious seconds he had.

You didn’t so much as flinch as the needle made contact with your skin, they only had so long before you bled out and lost the battle your body was fighting. Gaz worked as quickly as his hands, and your body, allowed him to. He glanced over to Ghost when he finished stitching the smaller of the two wounds. Ghost’s hands were covered in your blood, sinking into the cracks that adorned his flesh.

“Lift your hands, I need to close the wound.” Gaz wasn’t sure where the medic was, but right now he was downright pissed they hadn’t been nearby.

Ghost didn’t want to move, to watch you die in front of his eyes. It was all his fault anyway, he hadn’t noticed the man slip into the room and shoot you. He’d been too distracted checking the other rooms, checking each corridor carefully. Gaz worked quicker with the wound on your leg, knowing they’d need to cut the stitches to get the bullets out back at base. Right now all he cared about was making sure that you stayed alive.

“We’re almost there darling, just keep holding on.” Price grabbed your hand, noticing how limp your hand was in his own.

They all sat around you, watching your chest rise and fall slowly, keeping an eye on the heart monitor they’d hooked you up to. The hospital felt too far away, how could they have not arrived yet? 

“Landing now, brace yourselves.” Nikolai knew he had to be gentle, or at least as gentle as he could be while landing a helicopter.

Your body jostled for a brief moment as they finally landed, the doors sliding open as Ghost and Soap started to yank off the IV’s and heart monitor. It wasn’t the safest thing to do considering the state you were in, but goddamnit they needed you to get inside. Ghost slipped out of the helicopter first, grabbing the end of the gurney closest to him. Soap helped slide the gurney out before grabbing the opposite end. They ran into the hospital, screaming for any doctor or nurse that was willing to listen. No one seemed scared or phased by the two, rushing over to take the gurney you were lying on.

Ghost knew his mask was wet, tears streaking down his cheeks as he watched the doors to the operating room swing closed. Soap was no better, chest shuddering as he tried, and failed, to keep his composure. Gaz and Price made their way in slowly, they’d known where you were, and now it was a waiting game.

1 Hour

2 Hours

3 Hours

4 Hours

5 Hours

6 Hours

7 Hours

8 Hours

That’s how long you’d been in surgery, eight fucking torturous hours while the team waited to see if you would even make it out alive. The surgeon had walked out slowly, surgical gown covered in your blood. Soap’s heart sunk, they’d been too late, you were gone.

“We were able to stop the bleeding and get them stable. Unfortunately there’s going to be a long road of recovery ahead, they have five broken ribs on top of the gun wounds.” Price nearly burst into tears at that moment, thankful you’d survived, but horrified at how much worse things were.

“Thank you doctor, is there any chance we can see them?” He wouldn’t push if they said no, your health was number one priority right now.

“Yes, but be advised they probably won’t be awake just yet.” She gave them the room number before heading off to strip off the reminder of what she’d just had to do.

Price and Gaz took off like rockets, eager to prove to themselves that you did in fact make it out of surgery. Soap was much slower to follow, Ghost staying rooted to where he was until Soap had made it to your room. Price was sitting at your bedside, both hands gently cupping one of your own. No one would ever mention the tears that were sliding down the captain's face, soaking into the beard on his cheeks. No one would say anything about how these normally stoic and strong men were brought to their knees knowing you were only clinging to life.

“Gave us quite a scare, darling, try not to do that again, that’s an order.” Price’s laugh was thick and wet, clearing his throat to try and help stop the tears.

“Not allowed to leave us just yet there sweetheart, not until you’re old and gray.” Gaz knew you could hear their jokes, even if they fell somewhat flat.

Soap couldn’t go into your room, couldn’t see you knowing that he still had a chance of truly losing you. You two were thick as thieves, pulling pranks on everyone at base, except for Price of course. He’d welcomed you to the team with open arms, saying he was happy there was someone new he could talk to. Price had told him, in no other terms, that you would still need to befriend all of them. You’d done so within a week, getting to know everyone and seeing how they worked best. It gave you an idea of how they would be in the field, who to stick with for which missions, and who worked better alone.

Ghost was someone that was a little harder to crack, you didn’t want to pry into someone who was clearly trying to stay hidden. Everyone had a past, it came with the territory, but knowing that he was working so hard gave you the push to not push. It took him nearly six months before he opened up to you, telling you everything. It had shocked you, not only because Ghost didn’t trust anyone whatsoever, but that he told you everything about his past. His traumas that had sunk so deep they were embedded into his very being. His soul had been tainted by the actions of other people, something he would never be able to clean.

The first time he’d taken off his mask in front of you was also the first night you’d kissed him. He’d let slip that his body wasn’t the only thing that barred scars, that he had to keep his face hidden to hide the horrors. You had whispered that scars made a person who they were, that with or without them, that person was still beautiful. It was the scar extending from just next to his nose, through his lips, down to his chin. 

In a way it was beautiful, this man who had killed to keep himself alive had a constant reminder of what happened to him. He’d never let it win, never let the horrors of his past be what tore him apart until he succumbed to death. You cupped his cheeks gently, lips pressing softly against his. You could barely feel the scar beneath your own lips, hands sliding so they were gently cradling the back of his neck. Ghost had also told you his real name that night, Simon Riley. You giggled and told him both his callsign, and his real name suited him. Though you had been a little shocked to find out that he had been a blonde.

“I show you my face for the first time, and your biggest gripe is my hair?” It was a soft blonde, a ting of yellow running through the tips.

“I honestly thought you’d be a brunette, pretty brown eyes and all.” You oh so gently gripped the base of his hair, straddling his thighs carefully.

“Ma thought so too, unfortunately my daddy was a blonde.” Ah, of course, men tended to take after their dads.

“Well, I still think you’re very attractive, blonde hair and all.” You pressed another kiss to his lips, sighing into it as Simon’s hands squeezed your thighs.

“She’s gonna be alright, I swear on it.” Soap wasn’t going to lose his best friend, he’d sell his own soul to the devil to fight it if need be.

Ghost couldn’t bear to look at you, to see how lifeless you looked after everything you’d been put through. He turned and stormed off, boots echoing in the nearly empty halls. Anyone who knew him would know he could walk in even the loudest shoes silently. Even with you being so close to death Ghost was still being considerate of those around him. You would joke about how often he scared you, how someone of his size and stature shouldn’t be silent. It was a habit he’d picked up after promising not to scare you anymore

Gaz had thanked you immensely for it, saying how he’d nearly pissed himself on a few occasions because Ghost had slipped into the room unnoticed. You’d played a few pranks with him, mainly scaring Soap and Gaz, or even new recruits that got too cocky. Even if he hadn’t been their superior the man was still intimidating. He never did it to you again though, ignoring your chances to try and ask why he’d stopped. It wasn’t because you’d asked nicely, or that Soap had told him one day that it kind of bothered you. No. It was simply because he truly felt comfortable around you. It had been so long that he didn’t feel as if he had to have the impenetrable walls up, ready to let you in.

He was going to tell you he’d loved you, wanted to wait until you were safe back at the base, but then he’d be the exact fucking reason you were here. Ghost was a lot of things, but an idiot was not one of them. He could spot an enemy without so much as glancing at them at times, so how had this one slipped by? He would’ve heard their shoes stepping on the broken glass that was scattered around. Or had this person already been in the room, hoping you had been one of them instead?

The had chilled slightly as he stepped outside, reaching into his pocket for the pack of cigarettes he’d brought with him. You had jokingly teased him about how they would kill him before any enemy could. And well, he’d actually laughed at that, because he kind of hoped the cigarettes would kill him first, then he wouldn’t have to let you down. He would be by your side when he passed, but life had ulterior motives.

He hadn’t even realized the first stick was gone until he was halfway through smoking the second one. It was a horrible habit he couldn’t break, you didn’t mind that he smoked, but it was the chain smoking that seemed to get to you. It only happened when he was extremely overwhelmed, or was self destructing. Ghost didn’t want to let you down when it happened, but it was the only thing that ever seemed to truly calm him down. He’d wanted it to be you, to have you be the salve his soul desperately needed. Nearly half the pack was gone before he finally stopped, stubbing out the final cigarette in the small dish beside him. He wasn’t sure if that’s what it was meant for, but he wasn’t about to litter.

“She’s awake, asking for ya lt.” Soap was wringing his hands together, creased leather squeaking in the quiet night.

“Go ahead, I’ll be up later.” Ghost couldn’t see you yet, not when his mind was thinking of a million different ways he could still lose you.

“I’ll save you a chair.” Soap patted his shoulder gently, he knew the older man was too tense, but there wasn’t anything he could do.

The only thing they could hope for was that you would make it through these next few days with no issues. Gaz had told them right away he’d stitched you up, not wanting to waste any seconds until you were in safe hands. They told him you were lucky, that if he had waited even a moment too long you wouldn’t have survived. It was a reminder how fragile life truly was, that you could be gone at any second. You wouldn’t admit it to anyone that not seeing Ghost hurt more than you expected.

“Thank you, for everything.” You squeezed Gaz’s hand, smiling at the way his eyes teared up.

“Just wanted to keep my favorite sergeant alive and well.” Gaz patted the back of your hand, laying it down gently in your lap.

“We all know that’s Soap.” Your grin widened as Gaz scoffed, you couldn’t laugh lest you suffer in more pain.

Price couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped through his lips, he would laugh for you since you couldn’t do much besides lay in your bed. The three of you were unaware of Soap and Ghost standing outside the door, watching you. Soap could feel his heart quicken, seeing your eyes truly open and shining with a light he was afraid would slip away. Ghost’s hands were shaking, he wanted to kiss you like it was the last thing he’d do. Price was trying to keep you smiling, to keep the worry from settling in.

Ghost pushed every rational thought from his mind as he pushed the door open, standing at the foot of your bed before he could stop himself. You looked over at him, eyes wide as if you had forgotten he was on the mission with you as well.

“I love you. I absolutely fucking love you Y/N, and watching you nearly die today reminded me that I could’ve lost you before I got the chance to tell you.” Ghost’s chest was rising and falling harshly. You opened your mouth to speak before he held a hand up, effectively cutting you off.

“I’d never gotten as close to someone the way I did with you, you brought out a side of me I haven’t seen since..since before everything.” Ghost swallowed harshly, reaching up to pull off his mask.

You could see the way his cheeks were streaked with tears, the eyeblack he wore underneath smudged and missing in spots. This was someone who hadn’t even told his captain about his past for over two years, hiding away the darkness that sat within him. Here you were, an angel sent from heaven to watch over him. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you today, I will never forgive myself for letting you get hurt.” He dropped the mask onto the bed, hands wrapping around your ankles.

The room fell silent, the only sound being the heart monitor you had been hooked up to. Your heart hadn’t spiked at all, your breathing calm.

“I love you too Simon.” You wiggled your toes beneath the blanket, the tips of your toes pressing into his forearms.

The other three men would deny that they teared up at Ghost’s declaration of love, that they had all watched how much Ghost truly loved you. How he had slowly, oh so slowly, slipped out of his shell to show you who he was. He smiled down at you, the right side of his lip drooping ever so slightly due to his scar.

“‘M gonna go to bed now.” You carefully pulled the blanket higher up onto your chest, snuggling with the soft material.

Ghost let go of your ankles slowly, watching the way you slipped into slumber so effortlessly. Though he was positive it was also the pain meds being pumped into your body, easing away the burning ache that was surely running through you. Price led Gaz and Soap out of the room, telling the two men he’d get rooms close by so they could keep an eye on you. Ghost wouldn’t move, no matter what, not until you were allowed to leave with him.

_________

His dreams were plagued by your death, each one becoming more vivid than the last, your blood staining his skin. He could taste copper, the salty rusted tang that blood always seemed to have. Times where he was the one pulling the trigger, mistaking you for an enemy as he took your life. He couldn’t seem to wake up, no matter how loud he screamed for his unconscious mind to wake up. It wasn’t until your fingers slowly began to run through his hair that he awoke, chest shuddering and cracking as he broke down once more. His chest heaved with wracking painful sobs. How could you still want to be with him? How could you possibly love him after what he’d done to you?

“You know, I always thought you had a softer side to you, something that no one got to see because you kept it hidden away from the world. And I was right.” You curled your hand slightly, running your nails across his scalp.

“Better than you imagined?” It was how Ghost coped, with dry humor.

“It is, thank you for letting me see it.” You continued gently scratching his scalp, feeling the way he slowly relaxed.

You knew that Ghost kept himself closed off for a reason, it wasn’t your typical “I got hurt by an ex and now I’m afraid”. No, this was something that wouldn’t be brushed off with a few kind words and a long hug. He would never be able to live his life without a reminder of what happened to him. And instead of turning him away when he’d practically begged you to, you smiled at him, and pulled him close to you. It was that day that you knew you were in love with him, but it wasn’t the time to voice those thoughts.

“Do you ever think about what happens after we die? If there truly is a heaven or a hell? Or if we reincarnate into new people?” You’d never given it much thought growing up, but this right here? This was a reminder that you were only human, and that life could be gone in the blink of an eye.

“Sometimes, stopped believin’ in all ‘at when I was a kid.” Ghost wouldn’t admit it had been when he was barely five years old.

No one wanted to be with someone that struggled to look at themselves in a mirror, to be reminded of the man that had beaten him so badly as a child. He was angry he’d grown to look like his father, save for his eyes, those belonged to his mother. The only thing he ever had left of her were his eyes. 

“I hope they have your eye color.” You slid your fingers down, grazing the edge of his jaw.

He sat up slowly, brow furrowed as he stared at you in the bed, did he hear you correctly or was he finally losing it?

“Excuse me?” Ghost’s jaw dropped open, your face was clear, so you were actually serious.

“I hope that our kids have your eyes, they’re this gorgeous shade of brown, like trees during fall in Massachusetts.” You’d spent quite a long time there, reveling in the colors when fall came around each year.

Ghost didn’t think before surging forward, pressing his lips roughly against your own, hands sliding back and gripping onto the roots of your hair. You grabbed onto his forearms, putting every ounce of strength you had into the kiss. Simon was the only man you’d willingly spend the rest of your life with, no matter how long or short that time might be.

[kybercrystals94]

Six Weeks (Part 3)

Read here on Ao3!

<<Previous Part | Next Part>>

Rated: T | Words: 917

A/N: Ugh! This chapter has been giving me the run around; however, I wanted to assure you that I haven't given up on this fic...it's just taking longer than I'd like...so I decided to post what I've written so far with the promise that I will get this story wrangled eventually 🥲

In the Rebellion, Omega is a captain. She has rebel fighters under her command and direction. She gives orders and they are followed. She plans missions and carries them out successfully. She is trusted, respected, and capable of any feat given to her. 

On Pabu…

“You better not try to get up while I’m gone,” Crosshair says, arms folded over his chest, eyes narrowed. 

Omega sighs, picking at a loose thread on the hem of Wrecker’s old shirt. “Yeah, so you’ve said. Twice.” 

“Because it’s important that you listen.” 

“AZI said I could walk around on my leg as long as I’m careful,” Omega protests, and she hates that her tone comes out almost whiny. “So did the medics at the base. You guys are making a bigger deal out of this than it is.”

“Humor us then.” Crosshair doesn’t wait for her to snark something back before he walks away. The front door opens and shuts, and she is left in the quiet house by herself. 

Wrecker is down at the docks to buy fresh fish for dinner, and Hunter still hasn’t returned from wherever he disappeared to. Crosshair didn’t say where he was going; however, Omega hopes that it’s to find Hunter. She’d go herself if it weren’t for the overbearing nanny droid that looks suspiciously like an ex-Republic sniper. 

Omega pulls out her data pad and sends Hera a message. You’ll be happy to know that my brothers are being as insufferable as you hoped.

The reply comes a moment later. Good. I better not see you for six weeks.

Yes, sir, Omega types back, hoping Hera reads it with its intended sarcasm. 

That taken care of, Omega tosses her data pad to the other end of the couch and sinks back into cushions. She looks around the main room, searching for things that might have changed while she’s been away; however, it is exactly as she remembers. Her brothers’ valiant attempts at home decor are still scattered throughout the room. Endearing eyesores, Echo had called them once when Omega complained about Wrecker putting up a piece of rusted metal he’d fished out of the sea.  

“He said it’s his favorite shape,” Omega had groaned, laughing. “I don’t even know what that shape is!” 

Hunter had bought a painting from the market that he claimed was abstract art; however, everyone knew that it was just a horribly, awfully painted tooka. Its eyes seemed to follow you around the room, becoming an inside joke: the tooka sees everything. However, Hunter will defend the “art’s” honor to his dying breath. 

Then there was Crosshair’s contribution, which Omega swears he did just because he knew it would annoy her. He collects rocks. Not pretty or unique rocks. Plain, nondescript, ugly rocks. He keeps hanging up shelves to display them on, and he makes them placards to note where they were found and the date.

“Rock.” Found: South Beach, Main Island, Pabu. Date: 15 BBY. 

“Rock.” Found: Left Boot, Main Island, Pabu. Date: 12 BBY. 

Omega does notice that a shelf has been added and a new row of rocks begins to line the plank of wood. She rolls her eyes. Omega decides that she will not give her brother the satisfaction of knowing whether or not she’s noticed. The perfect payback, because she knows he’ll never ask. 

**

“We’ve had worse injuries,” Crosshair says behind him. 

Hunter scoffs, seizing another weed by its base and yanking it out of the ground. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” 

“No,” Crosshair says, moving to lean against the wall, “just stating a fact.” 

“Appreciate it,” Hunter growls, rummaging through the foliage of the garden for another imposter. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t storm further away from the house.”

“I didn’t storm.” 

Crosshair huffs. “You had us fooled.” 

Hunter sits back on his heels and glares up at his youngest brother. “If you’re out here just to offer commentary, I really don’t need it right now.” 

“Oh, really,” Crosshair drawls. “And what do you need?” 

“I need to not think about it right now,” Hunter bites out, dusting the dirt from his hands. “I don’t want to think about Omega almost dying. I don’t want to think about her putting herself at risk every single day. I don’t want to think about the fact that we aren’t there to protect her because…” 

“We’re old?” Crosshair supplies.

Hunter makes a face. “That’s not why.” 

Crosshair rolls his eyes. “Whatever our reasons are for not fighting, it doesn’t matter…Omega’s made her choice. So don’t think about all that entails right now…because you have no control over any of it anyways. Instead, think about the fact that Omega’s stuck with us for the next six weeks and what we’re going to do with her while she’s in captivity.”

Hunter scoffs, moving to stand up and accepting Crosshair’s outstretched hand when it’s offered. “I forgot how poetic you are.” 

“One of my many talents,” Crosshair says loftily, but he moves his hand to Hunter’s shoulder, gripping it tight. “But I mean it, Hunter. We’re going to put our opinions aside, enjoy the time we have with her. Yeah?” 

Hunter swallows and nods. 

“Good.” 

As they start for the back door, Crosshair asks, “Do you think Omega’s noticed my new shelf of rocks.” 

Hunter grins. “She won’t say if she has.” 

“Brat,” Crosshair grumbles. 

“Says the one who keeps a rock collection just to annoy her,” Hunter says, bumping against Crosshair. 

Crosshair smirks. “A foundless accusation.”

TBC

Let me know if you'd like to be added to my Tag List!

Tag List: @arctrooper69 @groguandthebadbatch @ezras-left-thumb @maeashryver @baddest-batchers @laughhardrunfastbekindsblog @omegafett99 @heidnspeak @fionas-frenzy @dreamsight73 @royallykt @blackseafoam @illogicaalbraindump @skellymom @leapingbadger

[lottielovelace]

die prinzessin

(PLATONIC könig & sister!reader)

summary: So... turns out your mystery half-brother is a giant Austrian special forces operator. What now? (Catching up on two decades of sibling bonding, that's what)

originally posted on ao3 (wordcount: main version 3.1k)

Rating: T

Relationships: Platonic König & Reader, König/Horangi

Ao3 Tags: Brother-Sister Relationships / Sibling Bonding / Long Lost/Secret Relatives / reader is konig's half sister / Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (reader has scars implied to be from SH but it's ultimately left up to interpretation) / Deutsch | German / Author speaks German (as a second language) / Historical References / reading the prior installment is recommended but not required

this is a part of a series

Notes:

Possible triggers: - König teaches MC to shoot. No violence, but he gives her semi-detailed instructions on how to handle a sniper rifle. - MC talks about past mental health struggles, and König notices old scars of her. These are implied to be from SH, but I tried to leave it open-ended for anyone who doesn't want that in their reading. - König implied to have previously experienced homophobia.

Prior context: I recommend reading the previous installment in the series, but if you really don't wanna here are the truly crucial parts: Your name is Elisabeth "Elise" Linh Veidt, a medical student. You were kidnapped to serve as hostage for a half-brother (König) you've never met before, who ended up rescuing you. There's more, but it's not directly tied to this fic so I'll leave it unspoiled in case you do become interested in reading the first work in the series. I do not use Y/N. I sometimes do use "Elise" & other specific details (you'll see why it's unavoidable in this fic) but I try to—when possible—keep things vague so you can freely project onto her (ex: using "your hair" instead of "your dark hair").

About the German: I speak German as a second language. I like to assess my skill level as "I know what Genitive is, but I don't always remember to use it." As Hochdeutsch-speaking foreign civilian, my speech patterns/vocabulary are going to be pretty similar to Elise's but very different to König, a native Austrian and a hardened soldier. I tried translate as accurately as possible (lots of LEO usage), but besides maybe a "servus" or two, I made and will make no attempt to mimic the Austrian dialect because it's frankly a lost cause for me. That being said, if you are a native speaker and notice any grammatical/syntactical mistakes (or even any sentences where you go "he would not fucking say that" [ex: a term being super formal or old fashioned] please let me know!

About the legibility: This is the primary iteration of the fic. If the German really does make it impossible to read, here's a version devoid of foreign language, but if possible, I highly recommend reading this version for the fullest experience. This version is the most proofread edition and even if you don't speak the language there was linguistic nuances you can still pick up on. If there are any cultural references you don't get, I have an explanation post linked at the bottom. (also available here)

"Können wir jetzt sprechen?” [ Can we speak now? ]

“Fast,” [ Almost ], your brother answered as he continued to guide you through the complex’s winding halls. His refusal to answer questions until your surroundings were secure made the flight over to the KorTac base feel endless.

Finally he stopped at a door-lined hallway. Approaching the second on the left, he punched a combination into its keypad. It swung open, revealing a modest bedroom.

“Großes Bett” [ Big bed ], you noted. His cot was large, even for someone of his rank.

“Ich habe ein Verzicht erhalten” [ I got a waiver ], he lazily indicated at his height. You were once again reminded of your stark height difference.

You looked at him—or at least what you could see of him with the mask—again. Drawing from your bio classes, you knew you shared 25% of your DNA. Clearly none of it manifested in height. Your father had been tall, but even at his peak he was nowhere near as lofty as your brother.

“Deine Mutter muss riesig sein.” [ Your mother must be giant .]

“Sie war.” [ She was. ]

You mentally winced. Way to get off on the wrong foot.

“Meine Mutter ist auch verstorben. Früher dieses Jahres.” [ My mother also passed. Earlier this year. ]

“Entschuldigung.” [ My condolences ].

“Du weißt, dass unser Vater schon ein paar Jahren gestorben ist.” [ You know that our father died a few years ago. ]

You really hoped you weren’t the one to break the news to him.

“Ja, ich weiß. Wir haben einen Brief bekommen.” [ Yes, I know. We received a letter .]

“Gut.” [ Good .]

“Dein Name ist Elisabeth, ja?” [ Your name is Elisabeth, correct? ]

“Ja.” [ Yes. ]

You’re not surprised he knows. There’s gotta be a file on you somewhere packed with everything you’ve ever even sniffed at.

“Magst du deinen Namen?” [ Do you like your name? ]

“Wie bitte?” [ Pardon? ]

“Benutzen Sie Elisabeth oder etwas anderes?" [ Do you go by Elisabeth or something else? ]

“Elise. Und du musst nicht ‘Sie’ benutzen. Wir sind Blut.” [ Elise. And you don’t need to be so formal. We’re blood .] A beat passed. “Wie heißt du?” [ And you? What is your name? ]

“Jeder nennt mich König.” [ Everyone calls me König. ]

“König? Ist das nicht ein wenig dramatisch?” [ King? Isn’t that a bit dramatic? ]

“Wenn du so groß wie ich bin, gibt es keinen Raum für Subtilität. Auch mag ich Geburtsnamens nicht.” [ When you’re as big as me, there is no room for subtlety. Plus I’m not the biggest fan of my birth name. ]

“Darf ich fragen?” [ May I ask? ]

“Ludwig.”

“Ludwig? Wie der König? Der Verrückte?” [ Ludwig? Like the king? The mad one? ]

“Genau. Ich mag es nicht, aber möchte es noch würdigen.” [ Exactly. I don’t like it, but I do enjoy paying tribute to it in my own way.]

“Elisabeth und Ludwig. Unser Vater mochte die Wittelsbacher, ja?” [ Elisabeth and Ludwig. Our father had a fondness for the Wittelsbachers. ]

“Wenn ich der Märchenkönig bin und du die Sisi bist, bist du Kaiserin?” [ If I’m the Fairy Tale King, and you’re Sisi… wouldn’t that make you the Empress? ]

“Dann wäre ich dir überlegen.” [ I would outrank you then. ]

“Gefällt dir das als mögliches Rufzeichen?” [ Would you like that as a callsign? ]

“Was? Kaiserin? Muss ich wirklich einen?” [ What, Empress? Do I even need one? ]

“Ja. Es würde mir ein Stein vom Herzen fallen. Dein Name ist kostbar. Verrate es nicht. Zumindest nicht hier.” [ I think so. It would ease my mind. Your name is a precious thing, I don’t want you to give it away. At least not while you’re on base. ]

Your stomach twisted.

“Du hast mir gesagt, dass dieser Ort sicher sei.” [ I thought you said this place was safe. ]

“Ja voll. Aber jeder kann mithören und hacken.” [ It is. But anyone can tap into radio comms or steal files .]

“Was meinst du damit?” [ What are you implying? ]

“Es ist zusätzlicher Schutz. Bitte. Es könnte irgendetwas. Ich brauche nur, dass du eines hast.” [ It’s an extra barrier of protection. Please. You can pick whatever it is, I just want you to have one. ]

You thought about it for a moment.

“Ich möchte nicht ‘Kaiserin’ sein. Das ist zu viel Macht und Anstrengung. Die Kaiserkrone hat die echte Sisi erwürgen.” [ I don’t want to be ‘Empress’. That’s too much power and pressure. The imperial crown strangled the original Sisi, after all. ]

A smile bloomed on your face.

“Vielleicht zulasse ich ‘Prinzessin’.” [ I might be amenable to ‘Princess’ though. ]

“Prinzessin? Ich kann damit leben. Sinn für kurz?” [ Princess? I can work with that. Sinn (meaning sense/reason/mind) for short? ]

You nodded with deep gravitas, “Einer von uns muss die Intelligenz sein.” [ Someone needs to be the brains around here. ]

Something about the faux-seriousness in your tone made the two of you burst into uncontrollable laughter.

The moment is so beautiful, you almost don’t want to ruin it with the question you know you have to ask. Something ancient, the spirit of Orpheus or Pandora perhaps, urges you to look.

“Darf ich über der Maske fragen?” [ Can I ask about the mask? ]

He paused for a moment, hesitant. Then quietly he spoke:

“Ich kann es ausziehen. Du bist Familie.” [ I can take it off. For you. You’re family, after all. ]

There’s a reluctance in his voice that made your heart twinge.

“Du musst nicht wenn du nicht willst.” [ You don’t have to if you don’t want to. ]

“Nein.” [ No. ] This time his voice seems more resolved, “Ich möchte.” [ I want to. ]

He pulled off his hood. His face was ruddy, but it worked well with his light hair and eyes. You two both looked so similar yet so different.

“Du hast alle guten Gene geerbt,” [ You clearly got all the good genes, ] you joked.

He turned his head bashfully, accidentally revealing his battered side profile.

“Deine arme Nase! Was passiert?” [ Your poor nose! What happened to it? ]

“Zebrochen. Ein paarmal. Bisschen verwickelt medizinische Hilfe zu erkriegen wenn du deinem Gesicht verheimlichst.” [ Broke it. A few times. Bit hard to get medical attention when you refuse to show your face. ]

“Nächste Mal einfach ruf mich. Ich habe dein Gesicht schön gesehen.” [ Next time just come to me. I’ve already seen your face. ]

“Mit Verlaub zu sagen, wie viel kannst du hilf mit helfen?” [ No offense, but how much can you help? ]

“Ja leider. Was weiß ich?” [ You’re right. What do I know? ] you bit back. “Ich habe nur noch ein Viertel vom Medschule übrig.” [ I’m only a quarter out from graduating med school. ]

“Soll das ein Scherz sein?” [ You’re joking. ]

“Das war nicht im Bericht?” [ That didn’t make it into the file? ]

“Nein. Wann ist der Abschluss?” [ No. When’s graduation? ]

You tensed. He was beaming with pride. You hated to ruin it with the ugly truth.

“Ich weiß nicht ob ich graduiere.” [ I don’t know if I will graduate. ]

“Warum? Hast du schulische Probleme?” [ Why? Are you having troubles at school? ]

“Sozusagen. Meine Noten sind gut, aber heuer versuchte ich zu ausscheiden. Sie ließen mich nicht, so nahm ich Gewaltkur.” [ Sort of? My grades are fine but… I tried to drop out earlier this year. They wouldn’t let me so I took more… drastic measures. ]

König’s eyes drifted to your scars.

“Sie sind alt.” [ They’re old, ] you reassured. “Und danach dem ganze Entführungquatch, ich bin entschlossen zu überleben. Vetrau mir. Deshalb möchte ich nicht zurückkehren. Ich möchte leben, nicht in Schule sorgen.” [ Plus after the whole kidnapping ordeal, I’m more determined to live than ever. Trust me. That’s why I don’t want to go back. I want to live, not suffer more in school. ]

Your brother looked at you disapprovingly, “Du musst zurückgehen.” [ You need to go back. ]

“Kann ich einfach hier bleiben? Bei dir? Ich könnte Medizinerin sein.” [ Can’t I just stay here with you? I could be a medic. ]

"Medizinische Arbeit ist nicht leicht.” [ Being a medic is hard work. ]

“Fleiß ist kein fremd.” [ I’m no stranger to hard work.]

“Du wärst ein bessere Medizinerin, wenn du Schule fertigbringst.” [ You’d be a better medic if you finished school. ]

You stared at him with arms crossed, unyielding.

He tried again, “Wenn du dein Medizinstudium abschließt kannst du hier arbeiten. Und du erhältst eine besondere Belohnung von mir.” [ Look, if you graduate you can work here full time—and I’ll ensure you get a special reward. ]

“Was?” [ What? ]

“Eine Überraschung. Du wirst es schön wissen.” [ It’s a surprise. I won’t tell you. Yet. ]

You pursed your lips. Clearly this wasn’t an argument you were going to win.

“In Ordnung. Aber lass mich länger bleiben. Ich möchte dich kennenlernen.” [ Fine. But let me stay a little longer. I want to get to know you.]

“Natürlich.” [ Of course. ]

The tension dissipated.

“Du hast gesagt das du lasst Medical dein Gesicht nicht sehen. Erlaubst du irgendjemand?” [ You said you don’t let medical see your face. Do you let anyone else? ]

Your brother flushed. He really was quite pink under the hood.

“Einer.” [ One person .]

You mentally rolled up your sleeves. You had over two decades of little sister pestering to make up for.

“Echt?” [ Oh really? ]

“Ein Freund.” [ A friend. ]

“Ein Freund oder dein Freund?” [ A friend or your boyfriend? ]

“Ich liebe ihn.” [ I love him. ]

“Gefühl er gleichartig?” [ And does he feel the same?]

“Ja.” [ Yes. ]

“Na ja, ich muss sehen, ob er gut genug für dich ist.” [ Hmm. I’ll have to see if he’s good enough for you. ] 

He slumped in relief. With a jolt you realized he was afraid of you… rejecting him. For what? Being in a relationship with another man? No, you of all people would never do that. You silently resolved to make sure he would never have to fear that ever again.

“Du kannst ihn heute Abend in der Kantine begegen.” [ You can meet him in the mess hall tonight. ]

----------

The mess hall is awash with activity. Even here amongst allies and coworkers, people gave König a wide berth.

“Welcher ist er?” [ Which one is he? ]

König pointed to a man sitting alone at a table.

“Dieser.” [ That one. ]

“Noch ein Maskenträger? Bisschen narzisstisch, ja?” [ Another mask? Bit narcissistic of you, isn’t it?]

You felt your brother roll his eyes under his hood. The sitting man’s head jerked up at the sound of his heavy footsteps. His mask already pulled up over his mouth to eat, the man broke out into a brilliant smile.

“Das ist der Horangi.” [ This is Horangi. ] König introduced. “Klarname Kim Hong-jin.” [ Real name Kim Hong-jin. ]

“Sprecht er Deutsch?” [ Does he speak German? ]

“Ja.” [ Yes. ] Horangi responded. “Er war mein Lehrer. So wurden wir unzertrennlich. Du bist seine Schwester, ja?” [ He has been my tutor. It’s actually how we got close. You’re his sister, right? ]

“Richtig.” [ Yes. ]

“Does she speak English?” Horangi asked your brother, switching languages. You knew it was just a way to test your skills, but it irked you.

“I’m American.”

“Just because you’re American doesn’t mean you speak English. I don’t even know if half the stuff that comes out of Graves’ mouth even qualifies as human speech.”

“Graves?” you looked to your brother for explanation.

“Er ist—wie sagt man das? Yee-haw?” [ He is… how do you say it? Yee-haw? ]

“Südstaatler?” [ Southern? ]

“Geneau.” [ Exactly. ]

You crossed your arms and gave Horangi a final thorough look-over.

“I approve under one condition.”

“Yes?”

“Teach me how to fight. It’s great that I was able to meet my brother but I do not want a repeat of the kidnapping.”

Horangi cocked his head, “Wouldn’t you want to learn from your brother?”

“There are plenty of things I want to learn from him. This is not one of them. Based on size alone, we’re going to have very different strategies. I’m sure he’s a great fighter, but I have a feeling that using his technique with my frame would be… lackluster. No offense.”

“Kein Problem.” [ None taken. ]

“Very well,” Horangi relented. If this was all it took to be on the good side of his in-laws, it was a small price to pay. “I expect to see you at 7 sharp. I won’t go easy on you.”

“Perfect.”

----------

Horangi’s right. It’s not easy, but slowly and steadily—and with no small amount of tears and blood—you managed to win Horangi’s respect (and a nice set of abs).

About a week in, he makes a suggestion. You two were on a water break, your brother was sitting nearby. König had taken to watching your sparring, occasionally commentating or tagging in.

“Du verbesserst!” [ You’re improving! ] the Austrian complimented brightly.

“Und ich habe gar nichts mit es zu tun.” [ And I had absolutely nothing to do with the matter, ] Horangi muttered with mock resentment.

“Unsinn, du bist immer ein prima Lehrer.” [Nonsense, you are an excellent teacher.] König apologized with a kiss.

“Wirklich! Vielen Dank.” [ Definitely, thank you so much! ] you corroborated.

Horangi shifted. Even in training, he still wore the mask—at least while in the base’s general gym. He was more lackadaisical about it in private. Your “family dinners” with him and König had given you a good look at both of their faces. 

You’d become well versed in his facial reactions. Even with his face covered you could feel his devilish smile.

“자기야, du solltest ihr deine erste Liebe vorstellen.” [You know babe, you should introduce her to your first love.]

Your head snapped to your brother. Sans Horangi, you were probably the person on base who he felt most comfortable talking about his past with, but even then it sometimes felt like pulling teeth. You quickly learned to treasure any lore you gleaned.

“Was? Warum habe ich noch nie von das gehört?” [ What? How have I not heard of this before? ]

König raised his hands in defense.

“Das stimmt nicht. Er verhohnepipelt mich.” [ It’s not like that. He’s making fun of me. ]

“Wer ist diese erste Liebe dann?” [ Who is this first love then? ]

“Scharfschützen.” [ Sniping, ] he replied bashfully.

----------

After much cajoling, you finally got König to teach you to snipe. You had a good feeling about it. You always had a steady hand and good hand-eye coordination. Before the kidnapping, you’d even been looking into specializing in surgery (though now—whenever you’d return—you’d be taking a hard turn into emergency medicine and the other subjects required for a combat medic). Plus maybe it ran in the family.

You met at the shooting range one early morning. Horangi had recently been deployed and your brother needed to stop stressing about it.

“Ich wollte ein Heckenschütze sein.” [ I wanted to be a sniper, ] he explained as he showed you the mechanics. The assembly of the gun soundtracked his words with rhythmic clicking.

“Du bist ein Insertionsspezialist, ja? Was passiert?” [ You’re an insertion specialist, right? What happened? ]

“Zu groß. Das wird kein Problem für dich.” [ Too tall. That won’t be an issue for you. ]

You crossed your arms. Cheap shot. König didn’t notice your disapproval, eyes now trained on the target.

“Auch ich zappele.” [ And I fidget .]

“Ich habe dein Scharfschießen gesehen. Du hast eine feste Hand.” [ I’ve seen you shoot. You have a steady hand. ]

“Hände kann ich ruhen. Alles anderes, nicht so viel. Problematisch, wenn man unauffindbar sein muss. Erinnern: Drück, nicht zieh.” [ I can keep my hands steady. The rest of me, not so much. A slight issue when trying to be undetectable. Remember, squeeze don’t pull. ]

BANG

Bullseye.

“Du bist dran.” [ Your turn. ]

You approached the marked spot. This seemed so much easier before you felt the gun in your hands and witnessed your brother’s expertise first hand.

“Hol drei tief Atemzüge. Großer letzter Ausatmen. Das ist der Moment. Beacht Folgemaßnahmen, Rückstoß ist eine knifflige, besonders bei deiner Größe.” [ Take three deep breaths. Big exhale on the last. That’s when you want to shoot. And remember to follow through, recoil can be a bitch, especially at your size. ]

Even with your nervousness, you still found it in yourself to retort.

“Nennst du mich kurz?” [ Are you calling me short? ]

“Für mich seid ihr alle kurz. Das ist nichts speziell. Schussbereit!” [ You’re all short to me. There’s nothing special about that. Position! ]

The gun was heavy, but thanks to your work with Horangi not unbearable.

One.

Two.

Three. 

Even watching your brother’s demonstration hadn’t prepared you for just how loud the gunshot was.

You flinched. Hard.

The bullet went left, landing in the dirt with a small puff.

“Scheiße.” [ Shit. ]

“Gute Form. Ohne dein Zucken, wurdest du ins Schwarze treffen. Du musst nur an dem Krach passen. Probier es noch mal.” [ Good form. If it wasn’t for the flinch you would’ve got it dead on. You just need to get used to the noise. Try again. ]

You were still rattled, but your brother’s confidence in you steadied your hands.

You knew you could do it, you just had to…

Eins.

Zwei.

Drei.

There was no dust cloud this time. Only the noise of the round hitting something solid and your brother’s exhilarated whoop as he took you in his arms.

----------

Saying goodbye was rough. Both König and Horangi joined you on the ride to the airport, wanting to prolong goodbyes for as long as possible.

“Bis bald.” [ See you soon. ]

When your flight finally touched down and you returned to finish med school, it was with a few training bruises, an even steadier finger, and a determination to help your new family the only way you knew how.

An explanation of König & Reader's full names and the historical references behind them

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Hi! Congrats on the followers! Can I request Maneater by Nelly Furtado? With Crosshair?

Hello my lovely Anon!

I am so sorry this took longer than expected to post, things got crazy on the weekend, and then yesterday I was just super exhausted, and went to sleep early.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy my take on, Maneater by Nelly Furtado.

Love oo

Maneater

Warnings: Competition, showing off, betting, mentions of drinking, kissing. I think that's it, if I miss anything please let me know.

Main Master List   | Star Wars Jukebox Roulette |   AO3 Link

The shooting range was rather quiet, except for one lane. 

Every trooper seemed to be surrounding the one lane you occupied, you were too focused on your target, pushing it further and further away, as you sat in your chair using your sniper rifle. 

Crosshair was shocked by the sheer silence that seemed to fill the shooting range. His curiosity getting the best of him, caused him to walk over to where you sat watching as you took another shot. He listened to the murmurs surrounding you, unable to actually see what you looked like or what the big deal was, not that he even really cared.

“No one can make that shot.” One trooper mumbled to the other trooper standing beside him.

“They haven’t missed a shot since they’ve been here.” Another trooper further away from Crosshair stated loudly.

“Think they’d say yes, if I asked them out for a drink?”

Crosshair simply rolled his eyes as he heard the last comment, shaking his head as he set up his own sniper rifle in the lane beside you. With the crowd around, a desire for competition arose in him. A smile etched on his lips, as he couldn’t help wanting to show off. He set his target at the same distance yours was, taking his time to adjust his scope. He took his time and fired at the same moment you did, both of you hitting your targets dead centre. 

The whole crowd went silent.

You jolted at hearing the second shot and seeing the screen register the hit on the distanced target. 

“Nice shot,” you called over to the lane beside you, a sense of competition rising in you at seeing a competitor worthy of your notice finally turning up.

“Likewise,” came the response from the gravelly, low, whisper-like voice. It felt menacing but weirdly comforting in a way. 

“Care to wager, stranger?”

“You think you could beat me?”

“If I don’t, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“And if you win?”

“You buy me a drink.”

“What makes you think I want to spend time with you?”

“If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have set up your target right beside me, or even for the same distance.” You smirked as you lined up your shot, “Let’s go one more time, and then every time we make the shot, we increase the target by 50 yards.”

There were murmured whispers from the troopers behind you as they watched the both of you setting up. 

You shook your head ignoring them.  “So what do you say, stranger? Interested?”

“When I win, I’m ordering the biggest and most expensive drink available, and we won’t be going to ‘79s.”

“Fine by me.” You smirked as you both took the shot. 

You both hit every target for the past two hours. Your next target was reaching 11,000 yards; at this range, you doubted if you’d be even able to hit it. As it is, you were stretching the limit of your ability. However you weren’t one to give up, you lined up your shot taking deep breaths, and steadied your breathing. 

Firing.

Ping!

Ping!

You both hit the target again. You were impressed with the stranger beside you.

“You’re really making me work for my drink, aren’t you?” You teased as you both reset the distance to 11,100 yards. After you both hit 7000 yards, you’d agreed to increase the difficulty to 100 yards each time you hit the target. Then when you reached 9000 yards, you both agreed to change the difficulty once again, increasing it to 250 yards each time. 

“Wouldn’t be fair if I was easy on you?”

“True. Alright, since this should be the last one. Let’s go crazy 14,000 yards.”

The murmurs started again behind them, everyone was in disbelief. It seemed as though more and more people on base were coming to check out the competition between you and the mysterious person beside you. 

“You think you can handle that?” Crosshair asked, he was more than impressed with you. You hit your target every time, without delay; plus you had a rather pleasant voice that seemed to stir something deep within him. 

“If I can’t, then you get a free drink. What’s the problem?”

“Hmmm, fine. Just be ready to pay up.” 

Everyone in the gun range quieted down, as they watched you both set your target to 14,000 yards. The only thing that could be heard was the slight shifting from both of them, as they lined up their targets. Once again, almost in sync they slowed down their breathing.

You took a second and slowly squeezed the trigger, watching as the blaster bolt from your rifle took its time to reach the target, only to hit left of centre. You mumbled out a curse, as you looked at Crosshair, he still hit dead centre. 

You stretched as you finally stood after so many hours of sitting and shooting. You moved around the lane, finally getting a look at your opponent. 

Crosshair stood stretching, surprised when he came face to face with you. He expected someone … else. Not someone who took his breath away the moment he met them. 

“Crosshair” he held out his hand unsure of what more to say.

You nodded, smiling, as you introduced yourself, shaking his hand. 

“That’s some good shooting, Crosshair.”

“You too.”

“I gotta ask how did you keep it steady to hit dead centre.”

“Micro-adjustments, they’re so small, almost imperceptible to the human eye.”

You smiled as you leaned against the lane divider, smiling from ear to ear as you kept your eyes on the silver fox in front of you, “Impressive, wanna tell me more over the drink I owe you?”

“Can’t see why not.”

“You free for a drink, now?”

“Definitely.”

Half an hour later, you were both in a taxi unable to keep your hands off each other as you headed to your apartment. The bar could wait. 

Main Master List   | Star Wars Jukebox Roulette |   AO3 Link

Tag list:

@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @littlemisspascal @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal @crosshair-is-the-superior-clone @totallyunidentified @griffedeloup @leotatombs @leotawrites

[ooffmlsorry]

A/N: Not a request but @makemake22 stumbled across an idea I was already toying around with so kudos to them lol same brain cell moment ig! Plus I mentioned Miremo in this post (and might again) so I figured fuck it why not. So uh...I guess this is a "Law Bends the Rules for You" Part 2

Read Part 1

Law Bends the Rules for You Part 2

Y/N is definitely a pirate in the making.

When you said "cat," that's what Law was expecting. A cat is something small, mildly irritating at best, sometimes cute, and wouldn't get in the way because it's yours. What he got was not that. What you presented to him was donkey-sized creature resembling a grossly overgrown Maine Coon that could light parts of itself on fire at will.

That's not a cat.

He could plan around a cat.

But you were a package deal. If he wanted one on the crew he'd have to take both. And admittedly, when you said it was the only family you had left he just...he couldn't, okay? Law had excised the hearts of a 100 pirates, removed them from their bodies with cruel precision, but he didn't have the cruelty to separate you from the last piece of home you had.

He would kill or be killed to have one person left from his past.

Plus, you immediately gave him a piece of your mind for trying to leave it behind when you found out the Heart Pirate's own navigator was essentially a polar bear.

He should've known you'd be trouble from that alone. Yelling at him in front of his crew.

Now he was alone with it...her...Miremo. You and the rest of the crew were exploring an island. Even you weren't sure why Miremo stayed behind, but she wasn't interested despite being cooped up on the Polar Tang.

"That's really weird, I hope something didn't make her sick," you had said, pulling at the skin around your fingers until it peeled. A nervous tic Law noticed you had. "Could...could you just keep an eye on her? Please? There's some supplies I really need to get and I'd ask one of the others but..." You trailed off.

Law wanted to say no. He really did. It's not his damn cat, nor is it his family. Sure, if the thing was sick or injured he'd try his best, but he's not a vet. He's a doctor. A surgeon.

Did you think he had all the free time in the world to babysit your animal? He's the captain, he's a doctor. He's got stuff to do. And yet...when you asked, he said yes.

Now here he was, having taken his work to outside to the deck of the Polar Tang to keep an eye on Miremo while she lazed about in the sun. That was a little under an hour ago.

Ridiculous.

Law looked up when he heard the pat of paws slowly approaching him. "Do not light my papers on fire," he said.

Miremo stopped and sat just out of touching distance. True to her word, he guessed(??) the creature didn't light it on fire, but she did swipe her paw against it curiously.

"Y/N-ya uses paper all the time, you know what it is," he said sternly. "Stop touching it." Miremo kept pawing at it until she was able to lift one enough to get her paw under it. "Stop!"

Law snatched the paper and glared at the animal who looked back at him with a neutral expression.

"Room!"

A small blue bubble enveloped them. Miremo stood up immediately, ears flat against her skull and teeth bared. It was hard not to focus the terrifying length of her fangs.

They glared each other down. "Don't make me..." Law warned. Miremo lowered herself as if ready to pounce.

Somewhere in Law's head he could almost hear your voice: Please keep an eye on her. Y/N would kill him...or at least try to. Your punches nor your sniper skills were a joke.

He sighed and let the bubble flicker into nothing. "No more messing with my work, understand?"

How does she manage this thing? Law marveled. Or get anything done for that matter.

Miremo relaxed slowly. She sat and licked her paw before scrubbing her ear and blinking at him curiously. Otherwise, she was still. "Good...kitty?" Law tried the phrase out, he heard you say it to her often. He grimaced, the words feeling strange in his mouth, and went back to work.

He got twenty minutes of peace before Miremo kept closer, slowly. Law looked up to make sure he wasn't about to get eaten or scorched then tried his best to ignore her.

And then a heavy paw knocked his shoulder. He sighed, "what?"

He was surprised to have Miremo nuzzle against his shoulder. Was she purring? "What? What did I do?"

Puzzled, that would be a word to describe Law. Utterly puzzled the the cat rubbed around him and purred. "Okay..." Miremo's fur was soft and warm like Bepo's but much longer. She smelled like embers and the soft scent of you. Law ran his fingers through it and scratched between her ears.

A soft smile spread on his lips, his work somewhat forgotten. How often did he get to pet a fire cat? "Clearly you're not sick or injured."

She purred more in response and settled down next to him. Shortly after she shut her eyes and slept.

LATER

"Captain! You didn't have to sit outside with her!" Your eyes glowed with appreciation. Truly, you would've been happy if he glanced at her a few times while you were gone.

You couldn't believe he'd moved all his stuff outside just to look after Miremo. It made your heart warm and something flutter in your stomach.

He had moved his books and journal back in to his office with your help. You insisted on it, which only made Shachi and Penguin snicker. He was decidedly not going to read into that. His friends are idiots, that's all.

"I did as you asked, don't read into it," Law said. "And don't expect me to keep doing it."

Except this was the third time I've done as you asked, he thought. The idea that he wouldn't be able to stop scared him.

You didn't notice Law's internal battle, just grateful that he had helped you even if it put him in a sour mood. "Well." You reached into your bag. "I figured you hadn't had lunch by now so..."

You placed the wrapped rice ball on his desk. "It's a thank you," you said, trying to convey how sincere you were, "and payment. I really appreciated it, Law, really."

"Sure. You're welcome, Y/N-ya."

With that you left to finish sorting out the items you bought. Miremo followed you out of Law's office looking pleased.

[guardkeywolf]

im on my König brainrot atm. What if a reader half a head smaller then König took him down? Like reader got into a bet with someone to spare with König and to get him to the ground and winning. How would König feel knowing the reader can take him down?

Hello @spookybreadbluebird !!!

I enjoyed this one a lot! It was very, different to write for me, especially the mini-fight scene...

But I do hope you enjoy it!

°

°

°

°

König + Slightly Short!Male Reader

Y/n couldn't help but be pissed when he found himself on the sparring mat and König in front of him, looking away shyly but Y/n knew better than to underestimate his opponents.

König might have had the advantage with his size slightly, considering Y/n stood at 6'5, but it didn't matter when it came down to pure skill.

Sometimes he wondered why he ever let Soap convince him into a damn bet that was pointless at all...

It was a slow day in the 141 base when Soap had walked into his office, sweaty and tired as he sat down in some random chair. The man had just came from a training session as he took his time to regain his breathing before looking up to Y/n.

"That König, he sure is something... Feels like he was hitting me with bricks. I doubt anyone else can beat him aside from Ghost..."

Y/n let out a simple hum as he continued to work on his paperwork in front of him. The Sergeant’s face fell slightly before leaning back onto the chair more.

Y/n failed to notice the smirk on the Scottish man's face as he conjured up an idea.

"You know Y/n, I think König can even beat you too... Hell, I don't even think you could put him down if you tried."

Y/n fingers stopped dancing over the keyboard as he pushed himself away from his desk.

He sent a stern glare Soap's way, watching the man flinch in the process.

"You think I can't take down König, Sergeant?" he questioned, voice low and sinister.

"I bet you can't, sir," Soap responded looking him dead in the eyes.

"Just watch and learn," and with that Y/n got up and walked towards his door before making his way towards the sparring mats. Soap followed from behind like a lost puppy, grinning from ear to ear as he was eager to see what would be the outcome.

And now here Y/n was, facing König when he could have been finishing that paperwork that he needed to turn into Price later on.

Well, he was here now and to backing out would make him look weak, and Lieutenant Y/n had no intentions on doing so.

He took a deep breath before relaxing and finding himself into his main fighting stance, staring daggers into the Austrian's eyes.

He didn't say anything as some shouted "Go" from beside him and he was off.

König was quick to react to Y/n's right hook towards his jaw, dodging his head to the left slightly, thinking he was out of harms way.

Big mistake.

Y/n aimed a well-placed knee towards the Austrian's abdomen, knocking the wind out of the man before taking advantage of the small time to grab König's arms and throw the man's full weight over his head on the ground. From there, he put the man in an arm lock and pulled with enough force to not break it, but bask in the painful cries that feel from his lips.

Soon enough, König tapped and as Y/n let go of him.

Y/n looked back at König, watching the man sit there in shock at the loss, eyes wide underneath the sniper hood.

Y/n offered him a hand, watching the Austrian take it and pulled him into a standing position.

"How?" König asked in a small voice.

"You have a lot of openings in your form," Y/n explained, "And you're surprised easily."

König looked at Y/n in awe as he took in the words.

"I have work to do now," Y/n turned on his heel as he made his way back to his office.

Soap sat there gawking, guess he owned the Lieutenant something now.

König P.O.V.

He couldn't believe it.

Y/n made it look so easy.

So effortless.

So simple when he took him down.

He could only watch as the man carried himself back to his office like he didn't just kick someone ass with ease.

He said he was easy fo read... Was he really?

Was he that much of an open book?

After all his years of fighting, he had never been taken down so quickly.

Hell, if this were a real fight, he would have been death.

He could only stare at where the Lieutenant used to be in silence.

Perhaps, if he was lucky, he could learn a think or two from the man.

The next day, he found himself in front of Y/n's office, taking a deep breath before going in.

"Lieutenant Y/n."

"König, you need something?"

"Sir, after yesterday...would you," he hesitated, " would you be willing to train me?"

Y/n let out a low chuckle as he eyed him up and down.

"You sure you want this?"

He froze in place before grounding himself.

"Sir, I need this..."

Y/n sent him a smile.

"Sparring mats tonight, don't be late."

König stared before saluting him.

"Of course, sir."

°

°

°

°

If you enjoyed this work please feel free to REBLOG with the TAGS

By doing do, you help my work get out and tags help to navigate tumblr blogs easier!

Thank you for reading!

-Guards

[ohforficsake]

The Margay: Chapter 9

Memorize it. Destroy it.

prev / series masterlist / main masterlist

Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC

Word Count: ~4.7K

WARNINGS: I'm going to go ahead and flag this chapter as Dark!Frankie / Potential triggers herein for verbal and physical abuse (extreme jealously, manhandling, pinning against a wall, facial bruising, borderline choking), brief mention of self harm/suicidal ideation / Please read with care.

Rating: Explicit 18+ / language / crass mention of sexual acts / mentions of drug use / Minors DNI

A/N: Frankie breaks something.

Finally getting one of these up in time for Frankie Friday. This chapter. Whew this chapter. It came to me months ago. Something that makes you put everything down so you can transcribe this thing from wherever it’s coming from.

chapter moodboard if you're interested

Divider by @cafekitsune!

“Why are you draggin’ me to this, couldn’t you have found someone else?

“I already told you,” Santiago fiddles with his bowtie in a car window reflection. “It’s a favor to the guy who got us this gig in the first place. Needs bodies in the room for this fundraiser. Davis is covering the donation, it’s the fucking least we could do.”

“You coulda brought some girl.”

“Yeah, but I like you on my arm,” Santi quips with a pout and Fish flips him a choice finger.

The room is filled from marble wall to marble wall with standard Washington DC fixtures. The low din of conversation punctuated with the occasional chime of laugher and clink of glass. Diamonds glitter in the low golden light under massive, equally scintillating chandeliers.

Francisco can't help but scan the room as he trails Pope to the nearest proffered tray of champagne glasses, fingers absent-mindedly wrapping around one when it's placed in his hand.

And it's Frankie who sees her first at a distance. Sheathed in a flowing column of white. Black hair is blown out into loose curls that fall down to the middle of her back, face lit up in a laugh.

When she rocks on her feet he notices that her arm is wrapped around a man’s bicep.

Frankie drains the rest of his champagne, slamming the glass down on a hightop table before Pope catches the crook of his elbow and cuts off his path to her. 

“Don’t.”

“Who the fuck is that.”

“The senator who sponsored this thing? That’s his son.”

“That doesn’t make it better, Pope.” 

Audrey hanging off the arm of some spoiled fuckin’ rich kid.

Not that he’s a kid, he’s got a few years on Frankie at least.

But a senator’s son? 

Audrey. 

His Audrey.

Audrey who he’s seen covered in engine grease, cuddling stray cats, trekking through the jungle covered in sweat and blood.

Audrey who warms his bed and angles big green eyes up at him with his spend still coating her thighs.

His Audrey.

She’s clearly playing a game. 

She’s on a job. 

Undercover. 

She’s not herself. 

And she catches him staring heat at her from across the room.

A million watts of light spark across her features and she waves them over.

“Francisco. Behave.” Pope spikes him a warning.

When they weave through bodies to make it to her she greets each with kisses on both cheeks, grip falling subtly to Frankie’s arm as her last kiss lingers. 

“Let me introduce you," she says to the man, "this is Santiago Garcia and Francisco Morales. The boys who’ve been helping me out down there. The Major is, one of my oldest friends.”

“I should thank you both for keeping her safe,” the Major grins. He’s got a California accent and the tan to match.

She gives them his name but Frankie doesn’t hear it. He’s too busy sizing the man up. Guy’s got three? Four inches in height on him at least. Dark black curls, a face that’s weathered enough to betray that he’s never really worked a desk job. Even Frankie can admit he’s handsome. Roman nose, strong brow. But his eyes startle Frankie the most. 

They’re the same color as Audrey’s. 

The exact same shade of green. The effect of it is stunning when they both meet Frankie’s gaze. 

And Catfish can’t get the flash his brain conjures of the two of them tangled in white sheets out from behind his eyelids.

“You look beautiful tonight, Aud,” Pope charms in an attempt to distract from Fish’s tangible simmering.

“I can clean up okay if I have to,” she winks, untangling her arm from this man’s.

“So what is it that you do?” Frankie cuts in, just this side of prickly.

“Marine engineer,” he says, swallowing a mouthful of champagne. “Which is a pretentious way of saying that I spend my days on boats looking for sunken treasure.”

It is an oversimplification at its finest. Because like the three of them, he’s done his fair share of greasing the cogs that keep the world running smoothly.

And like the three of them, he’s greased them with blood.

“I think we could all use refills," Audrey clears her throat, "Frankie, would you be my extra set of hands?”

“‘Course,” he doesn’t realize he grits it out.

Like spitting slivers of glass.

He flattens one broad palm across the small of her back and guides her in front of him in the direction of the bar. He follows close behind, eyes searing into the back of her skull.

The tattoo on her shoulder taunts him where it peeks out from under the seams of her sleeveless dress.

On display for anyone to see.

When they reach the bar, Frankie slots in behind her, the panes of his chest finding her back.

Audrey presses against him with a hum.

She’s nearly his height in heels and he doesn’t have to bend now to whisper in her ear. “A man more dangerous than me?”

“A friend with a Messerschmitt,” she turns to face him, running her hand over his stomach under his jacket.

And he revels in her touch before betraying the way it soothes.

“You fuck all of your friends?”

Frankie can tell there’s history between them that involves more than clunky warplanes and tinkering with old cars and it bubbles up like bile spat out in needless cruelty.

“Only the ones who know what Messerschmitts are,” she tosses back in kind, her tone level in direct defiance of what’s clawing at the back of her throat. 

She turns around again as the bartender approaches and Frankie steps back a hair, breaking contact with her form.

It makes her seethe.

She hands Frankie three glasses of tequila with lime, balanced easily in generous hands, before she sweeps a gin martini off of the bar and leads him back to where Santiago and the man are laughing about something.

Fish hands Santi and glass holds the other out for Audrey, but she sips from the martini without breaking his stare and Frankie instead has to hand it over to the other man.

Messerschmitt. Since Frankie can’t remember his name.

They toast, what a pleasure to meet, happy you boys are keeping Audrey company out there. 

Company.

“Fish, the Major is a pilot, he was Air Force.”

“In my youth,” the man quips.

“I’ve heard,” he drains his glass and doesn’t attempt to continue down the path what Santi has forged for him. 

And so the two of them carry the conversation alone, Frankie staring daggers at Audrey who shoots him the occasional searing glance every time she plucks an olive from the golden skewer in her drink.

A hush falls over the crowd as vainglorious speeches start up.

But Frankie's ears are ringing.

Audrey makes it through one speech before excusing herself to the restroom with a soft hand on Santi’s elbow, and a brush on Messerschmitt’s cuff.

She doesn’t need to alert Frankie because Frankie’s been watching her every move.

He waits five minutes before slipping away in the same direction.

They’re about to pass each other in the hallway when Frankie’s hand shoots out for her bicep, a glance over his shoulder to be sure no one is looking before dragging and shoving roughly to pin her against the wall.

“So is this what you do, when you’re not with me? Fuck senators’ sons?”

“The fact that he’s a senator's son is honestly the most unfortunate thing about him. And what we do is not my being with you. It’s my job.” She presses something soft into his hand. “That’s for you. If you want it.”

Frankie stuffs whatever it is into his jacket pocket and continues.

“And is this part of your job? Hanging off the arms of handsome men in fancy rooms?” He runs his palms down her bare arms before they settle on her hips.

“Sometimes. But I don’t frequent these in my downtime. This is a favor.”

“A favor. To him.”

“Yes.”

“So you don’t make a habit of this? Being this charming.”

“Aw you really think so?” She snarks and Frankie’s hands on her hips slam her back against the wall.

“You like it, don’t you. All of these eyes on you. Driving me insane.” His fingers brush a curl from her cheek. “Don’t play coy, I see how they look at you. Do you beg them for it, Audrey?” 

“They look at me because I’m a novelty in this room, Frankie.” 

And she’s not wrong. She’s a lithe beautiful thing with rich bronze skin in a room of wives and mistresses the same shade of blonde caked in the same shade of orange. She moves through a sea of hungry eyes with comfort precisely because she doesn’t give a fuck about the other men in this room.

Not even really about Messerschmitt. Not now that he’s here.

“You mean you don’t work your way into their beds? Let them fuck you until you’re screaming?”

She scoffs a “no” and Frankie listens but doesn’t hear.

“Is it their money? Their expensive whiskey and the thread count of their sheets that makes you come?”

His hand skates up over her chest, fingers feather-light over the skin of her collarbone that peeks out from under the high neck of her dress.

“Because there’s no way their cocks are satisfying you. That room is rife with overcompensation.” 

Everything to this point has been some twisted form of foreplay.

But Frankie tips.

His hand moves to her neck now, the broad span of it making easy work of fitting around her throat. 

Because some part of him believes this. Believes that Messerschmitt has had her and would have had her tonight if Santi hadn’t dragged him here and it makes him wonder how many others. 

He needs to know how many others. 

Frankie's eyes are blown dark, logic is abandoned in a brain fogged with jealousy. Skin thrumming with possession.

And it’s out before he can catch it.

“How many of them have had you, Audrey?” Rumbled through low registers of his voice.

He uses his index finger to roughly angle her face back to him from where she’s glanced back into the room.

“How many of them have seen you fall apart? Hmm? How many of them have left you shaking?”

His body holds her against the wall, thighs pressed to hers, his elbow jammed painfully in the sparse space between them where he holds her. 

And Audrey just watches, gaze angled down her nose.

Amused.

Frankie’s a man in a trance as he runs the pad of his thumb over the lush of her bottom lip, hot breath following its path.

“Have they seen the way your mouth falls open when you clench around them? Do they know that you can see these little fucking teeth when you do,” he snarls it, sliding his thumb over her top incisors before slipping it farther to slide over her tongue.

He tastes of lime and ozone.

“How many of them have come in this pretty little mouth, Audrey?” Frankie presses down with his thumb to open it wider. 

She could bite down. She could box his ears and take out an eardrum or both. She could throw a knee into his crotch.

She could scream.

She’s not going to.

Not yet.

But she could. 

He adjusts his grip and his middle finger and thumb dig painfully into the space at the hinge of her jaw and he gives her head a small shake, voice dripping with condescension. “Do you swallow for them, or is that just for me?” 

And it should frighten her. The way her sweet soft Frankie has gone dark. 

The way he’s a hair’s breadth away from squeezing down on her pulse.

The way he could crush her jaw with the strength of his hand alone.

But this? 

This is always there. 

Churning under the surface until it heats enough to boil.

It's what she loves about him.

“Do you let them come inside you too? Let them empty their balls into your hot little cunt and leave you dripping?” He shifts one leg to the outside of hers to press her further into the wall with his body.

And it should terrify her, this being caged in, his fingers jammed hard into her mandible as he spits and seethes with equal parts disdain and infatuation.

“Do they fill you up like I do? With as much as I do?”

The hard line of Frankie’s cock pressed against her hip telegraphs unyielding, sick pleasure.

“Do they fuck you better than I do, Audrey?”

“There is no ‘they’ Frankie.”

“Oh? Well then. Does that man. Out there. Fuck you. Better than I do.” His arm twitches with each sentence, moving her head with it.

She should be ashamed of how wet she is.

“Would you let him come down your throat the way that you let me?” 

And she doesn’t dare give him the satisfaction of the truth.

“I know he doesn’t eat you out the way that I do. Doesn’t make you come on his face.” He presses his nose to her cheek, breathing in the scent of her. “I can tell.”

“But I bet he’d still give it to you. If you wanted him to.”

He doesn’t realize that he’s growling with every breath.

“I don’t want...”

“But would he. Fuck you.” 

“Yes.”

And Frankie’s nostrils flare and a breath hisses through his teeth.

His hold on her tightens.

“Yeah, I bet he would. Because you’re a fuckin’ toy. A pretty little plaything to be used when the need strikes and then…” he trails off. “He’d fuck you but he wouldn’t keep you.”

“Yeah—" he growls.

"I wouldn’t either.”

And Frankie says it because he’s frothing with impotence at what he doesn’t have to offer.

Any one of these men could give her the world. 

They paid $14K just to stand in this room. 

But Frankie wouldn’t keep her because Frankie doesn’t deserve her. 

And Frankie makes it her fault. 

Lashing out at her for the way she consumes him.

And all of this. This is trying to prove himself with his body where the rest of him falls short.

Because it’s all he knows.

The Delta who gave his body to the Stars and Stripes in search of validity and purpose and a place in this world. 

And those colors chewed him up and spat him out tasting like a bad back and a coke problem.

But he’s taken it too far now.

Still gripping hard at her jaw.

And her scorpion’s tongue delivers a barb that sticks right in the spot in his brain where he’s regretted it every moment of his existence since that night.

“You going to strangle me again, Francisco?”

The antidote to his fever.

“No,” the grip on her loosens.

The fight drains through the soles of his feet and back to the earth to be transmuted into something that doesn’t destroy.

He breathes without snarling.

And rests his forehead against hers before taking half a step back.

And she tips her face to hover her lips over his but neither of them move any farther.

They just breathe.

Looking like lovers to anyone who is watching.

She brushes a hand over the napkin slipped into his jacket pocket. “Memorize it. Or don’t. But destroy it either way.”

And Audrey slips from between him and the wall.

Frankie doesn’t move to turn around, instead bracing his forearm against wallpaper, listening to her heels on marble as she returns to the bathroom.

“And Frankie,” she calls over her shoulder, staving off the shattering of her voice. “Please be nice.”

He snorts as he spins and leans heavy against drywall, head thudding backwards. He scrubs a palm down his face and breathes deep, trying to bring himself back to even.

Trying to stave off the panic winding around his organs.

Threatening to constrict.

He has no idea what just happened. 

Frantic fingers scramble for the thing in his pocket.

A napkin that he unfolds. 

An address in Alexandria.

Her address.

He storms off to the gents and into a stall, mentally repeating the numbers and letters until it’s ingrained before he drops it in the toilet bowl. Blue ink bleeds into something illegible before he flushes it away.

His stomach turns and for a moment he thinks tequila is going to follow it. 

Frankie breathes in hard through his nose and out with a hiss, storming out of the stall to splash cold water into his face.

He prays he hasn’t left a bruise.

_____

“You good?” Santi whispers when Audrey slips in beside him.

“Yeah, do I look fine?”

He gives her a quick once-over. “Physically, yes. Spiritually?” Pope tips his glass of tequila towards her hand and she drains it as applause breaks out at the end of another speech.

“He okay?”

“Dunno.”

Santiago casts a look over his shoulder towards the bathrooms.

“Come, let me get you another,” he gently presses an open palm to Audrey's elbow, leading her to the bar. 

“Gin and soda.” Santi knows her and joins. “Two."

Santi knows the two of them well enough to hit on what just happened. "That really spun him up, huh?”

“Never meant to. I’ve known the Major for over twenty years, I came as a favor. He’s one of the few people on earth who knows what I actually do.”

“It’s not a fucking crime to be comfortable around someone," she adds in a soft voice. "I had no idea you were going to be here.”

“Sort of a favor on our end as well.” Santiago slips a tip into the glass jar as the bartender slides over two drinks.

Audrey swallows a sip, letting the ice cold liquid chill her burning stomach.

“I was fucking happy when I saw you both.”

And she sounds like she's about to fracture.

“Hey.”

Santi’s eyes are soft, heavy-lidded as is his way when he’s sincere.

“He’s an idiot when it comes to this.”

She scoffs and takes another sip.

“I’m gonna beat the shit out of him.”

“That’s very kind Santi, but I can do it myself.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“No.”

“Yeah, your jaw is starting to bruise.”

“Fuck,” and she adjusts her hair to fall where Frankie’s fingers were with Pope calmly directing her movements.

To anyone else they’re making conversation. 

But to anyone who knows, Pope is fuming and Audrey’s a frayed nerve.

And Messerschmitt knows and Messerschmitt would kill for her, but only if she says the word.

And she doesn’t.

“Let’s get you some food, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She has no appetite but she takes the arm Santi offers because he’s the only person Frankie won’t murder tonight and he guides her towards the nearest waiter with a tray of canapés.

For the first time in the two years that he’s known her, Santi realizes that Audrey can’t take care of herself right now. 

She’s unfocused, eyes darting around the room with none of their usual calculated discernment.

Big, liquid things. Fighting the threat of overflow.

Whatever the fuck Frankie just said.

He broke her. 

And so Santiago spends the rest of the night putting his body between her and Fish, and Fish knows that Santi knows something, the shame of it heating the tips of Frankie’s ears.

Audrey doesn’t stick around long after speeches are through.

She takes her leave after wrapping Santiago in a grateful embrace, kissing Messerschmitt on the cheek, and squeezing Frankie’s arm.

He can tell that was for appearances’ sake and he knows better than to follow right after her.

In the end he plays well in the sandbox. So well, in fact that he strikes up a conversation with the Major. They talk of helicopters and Immelmann maneuvers and they bore Santiago enough that he abandons them for a pretty blonde at the bar.

And Catfish shakes Messerschmitt’s hand when he leaves.

But he still doesn’t know his name.

_____

Frankie crawls back to her at midnight like a shamed thing with his tail between his legs.

She opens the door to find his hands stuffed in his pockets, doe eyes back on full display.

And Audrey wishes she hadn’t handed him that napkin.

But she also wishes for the confirmation that he offers now.

That they’re going to be okay.

In their own, fucked up kind of way.

She invites him inside without saying a word and he doesn’t reach out for her as he steps into darkness.

City lights filter in through large windows, but a candle on the coffee table is the only thing lighting his way.

She’s just been sitting in the dark. 

And he stands in her home that he can’t see, somewhere between her living room and her kitchen, watching her move from the bar to the fridge and back again, still clad in her white evening gown.

Like a ghost in the night. 

She hands him tequila and scoops the dregs of her martini off of the coffee table, downing it before heading for the sink.

He catches her arm on the way, holding her on the tips of his fingers, waiting for her to move. 

She stops but doesn’t lean in. 

“I’m sorry.” Frankie whispers. 

And the candlelight catches in her eyes when she looks to him.

For my jealously. For what I said. The questions I asked. 

For insinuating that you’re a whore.  

But instead “I’m sorry” is all he repeats on a sigh as he lets her go and to his surprise she reaches to wrap an arm around his neck, pressing her body to his, burying her face in his collar.

It takes him a moment before he holds her back, biceps squeezing around her ribs. 

And feeling bursts from his chest with a sob. 

“I’m sorry, cariño, I’m sorry,” he kisses against her hairline, seeking forgiveness in her mouth. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” is all he gets in return. “Alone.”

And she leaves Frankie standing backlit by city light, looking for all the world like a man-shaped void in her home.

Frankie thinks he should leave.

He wants desperately to run from this pain of his own creation, slip into drink in his own hotel room and pass out on the floor.

It can’t be that hard to find coke in DC.

And the thought scares him enough to make him stay. 

He forces himself to move on legs of lead to collapse on her couch, screwing the heels of his palms into his eyes, listening to water against tile where she’s left the bathroom door open. 

Audrey returns to him in a black linen robe, wet hair smelling of white flowers. 

Darkness unfurls into night-blooming florals.

The same darkness that dry-rots him from the inside out, leaving nothing but a cloud of cheap blow behind every time something collapses.

And her manicured feet enter Frankie’s frame of view, but he doesn’t look up until she kneels down, reaching her hand to cup his scruffy jaw and tip his face to hers.

He’s crying.

She thumbs one tear from his cheek before it’s replaced with another.

Frankie engulfs her hand with his, turning to press a kiss to her palm.

“We don’t work here, Francisco.”

And she skates around her issue to get to the heart of their issue. 

She’ll deal with herself later.

What they have doesn’t belong here. 

In city lights, where people wear diamonds and Rolexes. Where mistresses and wives are the ones making deals to keep everything running smoothly. 

Here where she moves with practiced ease. 

Here where he’s lost in words that don’t mean what they say and smiles that lash instead of soothe.

Where the air draws cruel things from his throat.

“I know.”

They never intended to bring it here.

“Forgive me.” He whispers.

Forgive me the delusion.

“Forgive me, Audrey.”

Forgive me my words.

“Forgive me,” panted against her mouth, foreheads pressed flush.

Forgive me and show me you still care.

Because I don’t. 

Not about my body, not about my soul, and I might damn them both tonight if you don’t forgive me.

But he’s still asking on his behalf.

“Audrey, please. Please,” he sobs. 

I don’t know why I’m like this.

I don’t know where else to go.

Take me back. To before I bruised.

Bruises that blossom on her jaw now in low light.

But bruises were how they started.

And she takes his hands in her own and leads him to her bedroom where she strips layers from him. Rids him of wool and cotton and lays him in linen sheets.

She fits against his back, arm around a chest that can’t find steady breath. Audrey presses kisses to the back of his neck. Strokes his hair until sleep briefly takes him.

Like the warm body that she is.

And in the night he finds her, heated palms on her stomach, pulling her weight to rest on his hips but she peels his fingers from her skin and rolls back to her side of the bed.

He knows why he came here.

To fix what he’s done but he doesn’t know where to start sewing up the damage. 

He ripped too deep.

And Frankie doesn’t know what else to do but offer his body and allow her to take what she needs.

To allow himself to be a body for her to use after his words and his fingers implied she was the same.

And she knows none of it’s true but she can’t help but feel it.

The love she doesn’t know how to give. 

The family she’ll never have because she knows nothing more than how to bring death into the world.

But from where Frankie lies, tonight what she needs isn’t him.

And it brings a fresh, heaving wave of regret to crash through his chest.

_____

“I was engaged once,” she offers hours later as the blue beginnings of dawn start to light the room because she knows Frankie is still awake behind her.

“To him?”

“To a man more dangerous than you.”

“What h— what happened?”

“We were playing house in a home that was never ours.” 

“We’re brutal things. Where he tries now to atone for his sins, I lean into them. We were never set up to work.”

“What does he do.”

And she doesn’t answer that particular question when she starts again.

“He was a Delta too, once upon a time.”

“What was his name?”

“Spencer.”

And it’s like a gift. Frankie knew of a Spencer who had made rank before him. Knew of the whispers that spread like wildfire through barracks of a ghost of a man who could do the impossible and he wonders if they’re one and the same.

Not unlike the woman in his arms.

“And now?”

“Sometimes we find each other on nights that get too dark. Sometimes we save one another.”

Lives and souls.

“But most times we’re nothing more than memories and whispered wishes in each other’s general directions. Each one of us hoping the other is still alive.”

“He would take you back?”

And Frankie doesn’t understand his fixation on this question, because she’s not his and never claimed to be. 

But pieces of her live in the hearts and beds of other men and he desperately wants all of her for himself.

A wildcat in a cage.

A taxidermied husk with glass eyes.

A pelt to drape himself in.

He doesn’t ever ask if she would have them.

“Everyone would take me back, Frankie,” she pulls the duvet up to her ear.

“Because I’m always the one who leaves.”

“Will you leave me?”

It hangs in the air. Unanswered.

And he knows now.

She will leave.

And he will be another man who holds another piece of her.

And she will continue giving away whatever pieces of her that men will take.

Until there’s nothing left.

Nothing but murmured whispers of a ghost.

And pieces of her memory.

_____

When daylight comes, Frankie blinks hard at where sunrise streams through sheers.

Reaching out for warmth before dread blooms in his chest.

Audrey’s gone. 

It’s her house and she’s gone.

And he bolts from the bed, searching for signs that she’ll return. 

But he finds no note, no text, no sign.

Audrey’s left him.

next

_____

Author's Post Script: Messerschmitt and Spencer are actual characters that I've borrowed to play with for a moment, all credit to their original owners. Feel free to slide your guesses into my DMs if you're so inclined. Or just want to chat after all of that.

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @missladym1981 @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @toomanytookas @spookyxsam

Also again taking the risk to tag some lovely folks who have shown interest in this here little story. As always, please do let me know if you'd prefer not to be tagged:

@tinytinymenace @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @theshensei @iamskyereads @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @soft-persephone @julesonrecord @criticalarchitecture @oliveksmoked @jessthebaker @tanzthompson @youandmeand5bucks @ems-chaos-corner @thethirstwivesclub @76bookworm76 @tuquoquebrute

Please note that old chapters are hosted on the OFFS Library page. New chapters will be posted here at Ohforficsake.

Shoot me a message @ohforficsake or comment under this post if you would like to be added to the taglist for updates! Thanks so much for reading.

[saenity]

— SHOTS FIRED

. ﾟ｡ ₍ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ₎ ｡ﾟ. an ishigami senku x reader fic

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。synopsis : an unexpected turn of events happened in your arrival at corn city. and it includes someone you love getting shot.

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。warnings : manga spoilers! (ch. 160) , gender neutral reader, mean reader, blood and injuries, arguments, anxiety, angst, violence, guns, established relationship, grammar errors

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。word count : 1.7k

"a sniper! we’ve got a sniper!" ryusui was answered with screams of terror and a panicked crowd. this alerted the sniper residing deep inside the forest with his gun ready to fire. 

"quickly! hide and find some cover!" you shouted to keep the shaken crowd away from danger. looking around, you noticed luna and senku are the ones who haven't took cover to the potential death they might face.

"what are you guys waiting for? hide!" senku immediately went down the ground leaving luna the last one standing up. with an annoyed grunt your were about to pull her down with you to keep her safe when a hard realization struck you.

despite the adrenaline coursing in your system, you noticed her line of sight is looking straight toward the forest as if she was looking directly at someone. it registered you that the enemies' goal is not to spy but to smoke the scientist out.  

looking abruptly towards senku if he's completely out of these sniper's sight, you know the person behind the gun isn't dumb and would later catch on that senku’s the one real scientist. 

no … i must protect him … please not him … 

but it's too late.

before you could start crawling to cover him, the bullet already hit him straight. the sack he's hugging has holes in it and there’s blood coming out his mouth. 

you couldn't breathe… senku has been shot… no… No… NO!

"magma! kinro! carry him inside!" you're shaking but you remind yourself to stay calm. You should be the first person to know how a clouded mind wouldn’t achieve anything. you can hear ryusui reminding everyone to keep it together and take it as an opportunity to strike back at the enemy as they have an idea that the main scientist is down.

"sure you ain't wrong… it might be our chance, but how could we move on from this?" concern and anxiety is evident in the ex-policeman's voice. it didn't help that ginro's statement added up to everyone's anxiety.

"if nothing else, we gotta dig up a grave for senku." it didn't help that ginro's statement added up to everyone's anxiety. but to everyone's surprise, ryusui let out a. lighthearted laugh and looked at senku. "don't bury him just yet!" the familiar scoff of a certain leek caught everyone's attention. 

"heh heh heh, i ain't dead yet dummies” despite his weakened state, senku has enough strength to speak with a blooded face. 

"the fragments passed right through me, nice and clean." panting for air, his face scrunched in discomfort due to the pain of his wounds. his strong facade withers as the pain continues to spread on his body. taiju and francois was quick to provide aid to him to avoid more blood loss.

you took it this time to collect yourself and prepare the basic medical equipment to administer an operation to remove the fragments still inside him. it would be dangerous to keep the fragments inside as it may cause an infection.

francois finished up bandaging senku but there's still a look of worry on the butler's countenance. "i've administered basic first aid… but anything further requires a trained medical professional." the butler themself is aware there's nothing much they can do.

with a soft touch, you placed a hand on francois's shoulder and gave them a reassuring smile. "don't worry, i'm here." you were answered with a hopeful look by not only francois but everyone.

you looked at the remaining people in the power team. "please carry him put inside him inside a clean room. i can't operate him on the floor." with a nod they followed your orders.

as you were about to wash up and prepare for the operation, the voice of the captain called you. ryusui has the look on his face that says 'it's all up to you'. you looked at him with encouragement and proceeded to prepare.

"francois, if you don't mind. would you prepare new clothes for senku? and a basin of water with fresh clean rags."

"as you wish, master y/n" as francois complies with your orders, you went to the room where senku is residing. what shocks you is the sight of an unwanted guest from the enemy's side. she's looking at your boyfriend with tears encasing her eyes, it’s either because of guilt or joy but what you  can decipher is the admiration in her eyes. What’s there to admire when someone got shot?!  you made your presence known accompanied with a glare when both of your eyes met.

luna’s the  one who spoke first between the two of you. “u-uh, I’m a medical student! I would like to provide some help…” is she joking right now? 

with a deadpan look, you scoffed at her that shocked her. “do you think I even have an ounce of will to trust you right now?”  you couldn’t hide your disbelief in your voice. you close the distance between each other and couldn’t control your cool anymore.

“if you think i would let you near with senku, you better think again. you came from the enemy’s side and contributed to their violent plans. you wouldn’t spy on us without a plan right? Answer me luna!” 

“i-i… i’m sorry! you’re right I knew they’re gonna snipe the scientist…” tears are now falling from the young woman’s eyes. it may sound so evil but you don’t feel any guilt at all because of the anger you are feeling right now. you may regret your words later but you need to let all of the stress let out.

you gave luna a smile, “and since you’re so kind to offer help, i hope you can use that kindness to understand why I’m being like this to you, right? because you’re a kind and capable woman, you realize not everyone who is welcome here can easily gain people’s trust.” the heavy sarcasm in your voice.

“so luna, i don’t want see you near around senku until he can walk and speak properly? i don’t want you close to him to avoid any hidden agenda you might have under your sleeves.” with that luna ran off crying. behind you, there was an audience who heard your fight with luna.

this is the first time they saw you lose composure. you were always cool and calm even in the most pressuring times. and seeing you out of character is new to their eyes. you look at them with no emotion in your eyes and gestured to francois to enter. they understand the distress you’re feeling right now as they’ve seen the progress of your relationship with senku.

placing the basin on a table near the bed, francois smiled softly and bowed as they leave the room. leaving you with senku alone.

“aren’t you going to scold me mr. scientist for being mean?” you joked lightly as you unwrap the bandage to clean off the blood at the surroundings of his wounds.

you were answered with a scoff and a soft look. senku knows you hate it when he gets hurt, you never failed to show your concern even before the petrification. when he trips down the stairs a chain of “do you feel any pain?”, “is there discomfort every time you step?”, “should we go to the school nurse?”

it was your second nature to take care of everyone around you and it shows a lot when you chose to take a health allied high school. where the students are being prepared for medical school. you were nurturing and doting, that’s what made senku admire you a lot besides one of the few people who would keep up to his science ramblings. 

seeing you this worried was not new to him, but losing your composure is. When you get this stressed it only means it took a big toll on you. And there’s a heavy feeling on his chest seeing you like this, so lost and in pain but still would do their duty. 

“heh… heh… do your job doctor, i’m completely in your hands.” you proceeded to remove the bullet fragments surely and carefully. With no anesthesia in stone age, you have to be quick to patch senku up. you can feel the phantom pain every hiss and grunt of pain he lets out.

fortunately, it didn’t took a long time to remove the fragments. after stitching and bandaging up, you gave him water to ease his throat. 

“i know you have something important to make us to do, wasting time isn’t good right now, right?” you said. 

“yeah… anytime they can move right now and we should be prepared.” you hummed and stood up. “I’ll let a few people to relay the messages to everyone, make haste okay?” holding his hand and giving him a firm squeeze. 

“you still need to rest…” your softly whispered. you want to cry. and he knows.

squeezing your hand back, you heard him answer you with assurance that he will. you nodded and walked outside his room. everyone was waiting patiently and looked at you with concern. you don’t know if its for you or senku, or could be for the both of you.

“senku has an important message to relay,” you started. “i’ll let a few people inside to avoid his room being crowded, please share to everyone what he needs to say.” you finishes off and immediately left the scene to catch a breath. you can’t be with the crown right now, you want to cry everything out.

this could be the scariest moment of your life. you saw him get shot. and it replays in your mind like a broken record. you didn’t notice the tears that were pouring out of your eyes and the  choked breathes you were letting out. your knees gave out making you fall down the floor. leaning against the wall, your hands covered your face and continued to cry. a much needed cry.

you were engulfed with a hug, a very familiar one. yuzuriha knows how much it breaks you seeing someone you love nearly die. she listened to you let out all of the distress and hoped her hug is enough to let you know you’re not alone. without saying a word you hugged her back with the same intensity. 

as you cry your heart out, you wish no one gets hurt the same way again. If only you could catch the bullets that threaten to kill the people you love…

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

Fit for a King - WIP - “I never miss the shots I take”

Fit for a King - Masterlist

a/n: this got a bit darker, but to balance it all out there's some cute smutty stuff later in the chapter - hope you enjoy

König, Müller and the KorTac Team are on a mission to get a target out of a prison, everything went well, but lying in bed, Müller is uneasy and reflects on today…

TW/CW: mentions of violence and death (ptsd), nsfw explicit scenes

I lie on the bunk in my tent and I can't fucking sleep. Today's mission replays in my head, over and over again. I almost missed one of the prisonguards. König ziplined up the tower, thinking it was all clear, when the guard stepped around the corner, running into him. Luckily my eyes were on him and I dropped the guard before he could even reach König.

"Achtung, Maus1!", he shouted over the coms. A moment later he added "Nice shot though." and I could hear the smile in his voice. I was extra careful after that. My eyes didn't leave him at all, were glued to him. Everything after that went smoothly and we got the target out, no problem.

But the feel of worry didn't go away and it's still eating me up a bit. The target already got lifted by heli, brought to the nearest hospital because the injuries were too severe to leave them with the field medic. We're going to get picked up tomorrow 1100. Enough of a break for most of the team to sit in the main tent and relax a bit. I can hear their laughs faintly and I'm sure booze is involved.

I didn't want to join them. The lingering feeling that I almost failed today and almost got one of my teammates killed – not just anyone, but the Colonel – got my mind racing and overthinking. What if I hadn't seen the guard when I did? What if I had missed my shot? What if the guard had moved faster or got a shot off at König?

I wanted to apologize to him. But after we rescued the target, he didn't leave their side. Then later he was in the meeting tent, doing all the boring organisational work with Horangi. And I didn't want to disturb them. I went for a shower, washing all the dirt and grime off myself, missing warm water already (one of the few luxuries I always miss on missions). By the time, Nikto asked me if I wanted to join them in the team tent, I was already spiraling into overthinking territory and drafting apologies in my head, so I declined. And that's why I'm lying in my bunk right now, rehashing every detail and going over what happened. Again.

As the only woman on this smaller mission, they gave me my own small tent, so at least nobody will see me in this state. I groan and push my head into the pillow. Relax, Karina, nothing happened. You didn't miss the shot. He's fine. Still standing tall. Mental images of Håkon bust their way to the forefront of my mind. Breathe, I tell myself, just breathe, as the scenes of his death replay almost as vividly as when he was shot right in front of me.

I don't really register what's happening around me, as the moment his head rolls back replays over and over again, until I feel a big heavy hand on my neck. "Müller, Müller!" The voice is calling my name. The scream I let go gets swallowed up by the pillow until I'm being flipped. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay.", the voice continues to try and calm me down as another big hand comes down on my mouth to stop my screams. "Breathe, Sergeant, breathe." The commanding tone of the voice cuts through the panic hazing my mind and my blurry vision starts to turn clear. I take two deep breaths and a t-shirt fashioned into a sniper hood fills my field of view, two eyes looking worriedly at me from the two holes cut into the front. The first thing I notice is that there is no eyeblack around them, just a bit left on the lower lashline, giving him an emo look.

"Erde an Maus2, everything okay?" I nod hesitatingly, holding back the tears I feel pricking in the corners of my eyes. I'm not gonna cry in front of the Colonel. "I'm okay.", I say, not sounding convincing at all. I'm glad he shook me out of my flashback, but his presence confronts me with the reason why I had a flashback in the first place.

"Uh, good that you're here, I guess.", I say trying to sit up. My head is swimming. "I actually wanted to talk to you about today." Even I can hear that I'm slurring my words, I'm still so loopy. "Hey, hey, langsam3." His arm loops around my waist. "Maybe you should go to the medical tent?", he suggests steadying me while he completely skips over the fact I wanted to talk to him. I try to ignore the feeling, as I'm reminded of the way he grabbed me just a few days ago, which was so different from now. "No, it... It'll be fine, I just need to bring oxygen back into my body." I slump down. "I guess, I didn't get proper air when… the pillow..."

His big hand strokes over my back just once, in a comforting manner, and I sigh. "Okay, you know best.", he says simply and relief floods my veins. "But I'm gonna stay here for a bit, so you don't collapse while nobody is here, okay, Mauserl4?" Mauserl. What a weird word. The ‘au’ is long and broad and the ‘l’ sounds soft and breathy. I nod and keep breathing.

"Oh, this is so stupid.", I groan and bury my face in my hands ashamedly. "Hey, stop it.", he says, carefully pulling them away again. "It's not stupid. That's just the way it is in our line of work, unfortunately.", he says and I can hear the sad smile in his voice. "I can't count all the times I actually pulled somebody from a flashback and then comforted them. You're one of us and unfortunately that comes with the package." His hand continues to stroke up and down my back, and we just sit in silence for a few moments.

"I almost fucked up today.", I say then, soundlessly. "How?", he asks, confusion mixing into his voice. "I almost missed the guard that was on the tower you infiltrated." – "Müller, that was not your assignment. And you eliminated him on sight.", he explains calmly. “But what if I hadn’t seen him or missed or something like that?”, I worry. “Did that ever happen?”, he asks softer than I would have expected him to ever talk to me. I shake my head and smile sadly. “I never miss the shots I take.” His hand stills for a moment and then starts to caress me again. “Then what happened?” I sigh. “I- I hesitated. For just a second. And instead of me dropping the enemy, my teammate got a headshot from them.” I’m looking at my hands. They’re shaking hard. A sniper’s hand should never shake. I ball them into fists, swallowing down the next wave of tears. “It was my fault that he died.” His other hand softly grips my chin and makes me look up at him.

I meet his eyes and they’re soft, so soft. He wipes away one stray tear rolling down my face. “You can’t change what happened. That’s the way it is unfortunately.”, he says, honestly, stern, and yet calm enough to give me some weird kind of comfort. “Beating yourself up doesn’t bring them back. We still all do it.” There’s sadness in his expression as well. “It’s the harsh truth. But we can still look out for our comrades that are still alive and kicking.” He’s smiling at me, I can see it by the way his nose is scrunching up and the laugh lines around his eyes get more prominent. It looks downright cute. “So, you don’t need to apologize for anything. Thank you for looking out for me.”, he tells me and I hear the sincerity in his voice. I nod and cast my eyes down. “I would do that for anyone of my mates.”, I say. “I know, but still. Thank you.”, he repeats again, with that soft voice that is making me feel things. I can’t look at him right now, feeling vulnerable and shy. It was easier to be stand-off-ish and flirty with him rather than… like this! Whatever this is.

“Hm, so shy, I don’t know you like this.”, he chuckles. “Weren’t you the woman that threw me over her back? That wanted me to take her and eat her up just a few day ago?” That pulls me out of my shyness. My head whips up to look at him again, and I feel heat creep up my face. “You started it. Both times.”, I say poutily, but I can’t help the little smile coming through. He shrugs lightly. “Maybe…” His eyes are twinkling and I would have given anything to see the grin on his face right now. His hand is on my cheek again. “Mh, look, already smiling again.” His thumb is caressing my cheek. And he’s close, so close.

“What do you say? You want me to take your mind off of it? Distract you a little bit?”, he asks, his face just a few inches from mine. You don’t have to be a psychic to know what kind of distraction he’s talking about. I nod, starring into his eyes, biting my own lip at the thought of him making some of his words true. “Use your words, Liebes5.”, he coos pulling my lip down. “Yes please.”, I blurt out without hesitation. He chuckles again, satisfied at my answer. His hands let go of me and grab the waist of my pants. I help him get it off, hurriedly, and he signals me to slow down. “Just let me, okay?” And I let him.

König gets rid of my panties as well, then he gets up from the floor and sits next to me on the bunk, pulling me into his lap, so my back is against his front, hard, warm, comforting. One arm he hooks under my leg, spreading me for him. My nerves are starting to get to me, but then I hear him groan, right beside my ear. It sends a wave of arousal over me because it’s so fucking hot when men make those little sounds. His right hand is slowly trailing down my stomach, the fingers softly caressing me. My breath hitches in my throat as he’s almost reached my pussy, and I can feel him hesitating as well for just the shortest moment. It feels like crossing a boundary. A boundary we’re both willing to leave behind us.

His fingers slide down and we both moan, almost in unison, when he touches me for the first time, definitely needy and already a bit wet. “We have to be quiet”, he whispers and I bite my lip again as he explores, stroking, caressing. I whimper as he slowly begins to circle my clit with two of his digits, dipping a bit deeper down with every flick of his wrist. I can feel myself growing wetter, more turned on, and I grab onto his arm that is still holding up my left leg while my other hand is sliding up to his shoulder. I just need to touch him too, and I don’t want to reach for his face because of his mask…

Then he pushes into me, one finger at first, slowly in and out. “Hmm, so wet for me.” He adds another finger, stretching me out. I let out a deep sigh. “More, please.” He chuckles. “Aye, Ma’am.” He finds a rhythm with his fingers and the palm of his hand presses against me with every push. His touches get me worked up fast and my hips move out of their own volition, grinding against him. “Yes, ride my fingers.”, he coos.

I look to the side and find his eyes that are already on me. And suddenly the cheeky reach-around, a little impersonal, is getting way too hot, and all too real. Those are my Colonel’s fingers in my pussy and from the thinly veiled lust in his eyes, he’s enjoying this. A lot. The little distraction, meant for my pleasure, is getting to him. “Feel so fucking good.”, he grunts. He pushes deeper, his fingertips brushing over the most sensitive spot inside me. Fuck, that’s only his fingers, and I already feel so full. How would it be like to take his dick?

His head dips down, breaking the eye contact, until his lips touch the side of my neck. Kissing, nibbling, licking, and I’m reminded of how he bit me, and I almost want to tell him to mark me, but the last shred of sanity is holding me back. “Come on, Prinzessin6, come for me.”, he breathes against my skin, the breath skitting over the wet patches he left with his mouth and tongue. “I wanna feel you come on my fingers.” His thumb is strumming over my clit and his mouth sucks on the most sensitive spot on my neck, and the sensations push me over the edge and I follow his command. He doesn’t stop fingerfucking me and helps me ride the orgasm out until I’m spent and breathing heavily in his arms. My head rolls back onto his shoulder and we just stay like this for a moment.

I look back at him, aware that he’s still inside me. But he pulls out his fingers and before I realise, he brings them to his lips. I can’t really see what he’s doing because of his hood, but the way his hand moves and how his eyes roll back, he must be… he’s licking my arousal of his fingers. My chin drops. “You taste even sweeter than I imagined.”, he finally says meeting my eyes again, and I can’t help the blush rising to my cheeks. I’m at a loss for words, but the way he looks at me… my god. I consider dropping down on the floor, to my knees, just freeing his dick and taking him in my mouth. But he gets up with me in his arms, holding me against his chest for just a moment. I let myself enjoy the embrace, his scent and warmth giving me another sense of comfort.

König sets me down on the bunk bed, pulling my sleeping bag over me. “Good night, Mauserl4, sleep tight.”, he says pressing a kiss on my forehead and I melt a little. God damn it. I look after him as he leaves, maybe admiring his butt a bit, the sway of his hips bringing more dirty thoughts to my mind. He peeks out the tent, looking around and then he’s gone. I sit up, reaching for my pants and… my panties are gone. Did he fucking steal them? I shake my head, laughing to myself, sigh and snuggle myself into my sleeping bag. Well, I guess, that just happened.

Maus: 'mouse', Müller's callsign (see chapter “If you have had me on my back, we can also be on a first name basis”)

Erde an Maus: 'earth to mouse'

langsam: 'slow

Mauserl: 'little mouse' (a more austrian version to 'Mäuschen', sounding a bit like: <mow-suhl>)

Liebes: 'lovely'

Prinzessin: 'princess'

[rascal-xo]

Hi hope you're doing good!!! Can I request ghost with a GN reader that suffers from hypersomnia and is sad that no one is taking their fatigue seriously and just think theyre lazy lol. Just some comforting stuff if that's OK with you!!

Surface Tension | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x GN Reader |

Chapter Summary: Ghost comforts you after a hard week in the field :)

Warnings: mentions of mental health, cursing, FLUFF, hypersomnia, angst

Word Count: 913

A/N: Thank you for sending in this request! I hope I was able to bring your idea to life :))

You watched the clock tik, and every second the hand moved was a second you felt yourself losing your focus little by little. No matter how hard you tried to get a good rest after a long mission, or nap when you had the time off, exhaustion always hit you like a bag of bricks.

You knew something was off about your rest, but the fastest way to push it aside was to ignore the feeling and try to stay focused on your tasks at hand. Being in the 141 meant that you were the best task force there was for any job that came the teams way.

You were the youngest recruit, and for the past year you’ve pulled more than twice your weight to stay above the water. You were a damn good sniper for your age but not as seasoned of a soldier when it came to time in service.

The rest of the men had years of experience on you, which showed. Determined to show your worth you began to take on more than you could carry, and it had proved right until now, when it started to take its toll on your physical and mental wellbeing.

Captain Price cleared his throat, bringing your attention back to the briefing. “Am I boring you, Sergeant?” He cocked an eyebrow. You suddenly felt the entire rooms gaze on you. Ghost met your eyes from across the table small table , turning his head in a ‘You okay?’ type manner.

“No Sir, just a little tired this morning.” You admitted, playing with the strap on your tactical pants.

“Let’s stay awake now. Can’t have you lost during the mission.” He answered back sternly, turning back to the pictures on the board and continuing his meeting.

Ghost’s foot brushed yours from under the table, nonchalantly. He had noticed you were more fatigued than usual lately, zoning out on the comms, failing to remember to do certain tasks on base. Every soldier met obstacles once a while, but he realized it was getting serious.

As the mission commenced, you took your position on a secluded hill a few hundred feet from the targeted site, as the sniper, scanning the area for hostiles. The rest of the guys were broken up into 2 separate ground teams in order to infiltrate the site.

Alpha team successfully took down the main set of guards, moving onto the next wave of security forces. This would be sending hostiles your way.

Then, suddenly you saw movement in the corner of your eye, and your heart skipped a beat. You adjusted your scope and aimed, but your hands were shaking, and your vision was blurry. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, but it was too late.

Captain Price's voice boomed in your earpiece. "Bloody hell Sergeant! You’re supposed to be our cover!”

You flinched at the harshness of his tone. You knew he was right, and it only added to your frustration. You tried to shake it off and refocus, but the fatigue was overwhelming.

The mission continued, more smoothly this time as you regained some strength to finish somewhat strong. Taking the win, you couldn’t help but feel like you were letting them down. Even if they didn’t say it to your face, you could read between the silence.

You found yourself away from the post mission celebration happening on base. You stood outside near the outlook facing the distant terrain, with a cigarette between your fingers.

It was impossible to win this never ending exhaustion that had decided to become a weight on your shoulders. You inhaled into your lungs, as the night time air blew past you taking the exhaled smoke with it moments after.

“Smoking the sleep away isn’t going to help, sergeant.” You suddenly heard from behind you. Ghost had a way of sneaking up on you undetected, certainly living up to his name.

“Maybe it will.” You say, as he comes up to stand next to you, leaning his elbows against the railing. He had changed into a more casual look, now only sporting a thin black skull balaclava as opposed to the full ghost mask.

Ghost looked at you, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. “I know it’s tough, but you can’t keep pushing yourself like this. You’re not a machine, and even machines need maintenance.”

“They think i’m lazy, Lt.” You said, not meeting his gaze. “You saw the way Price talked to me. I’m letting you all down.” You sighed, taking another drag of your cigarette before flicking it off the railing.

“Sometimes, he keeps his muppets on a short string, that captain.” Ghost replied, “Don’t let it get to you.” He placed an arm over your shoulder, leaving it there as you fell into his touch. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone, especially not to us. We know you’re a damn good soldier, Y/N.”

You nodded, taking in his words. He was right, of course. You couldn’t keep sacrificing your own wellbeing for the sake of trying to impress others. “I’ll be better, I have to be.” You said, almost a whisper.

Ghost continued, “Talk to Price, let him know what’s been going on. He’ll understand, and he’ll help you. We all will.” You nodded again, realizing that Ghost was right.

It was time to swallow your pride and admit that you needed to put yourself first. You turned to him, giving him a small smile, as you continued to watch the horizon ahead, together.

A/N: Requests are still open, send in your ideas!