#bonnie has Bombs.

[ohmaerieme]

had this idea of a splatoon au where the octolings and octo valley is The Country. have not elaborated more on it but i had to get the idea out there

[loopscereal]

thought about this a little bit more

La ropa de chica y toddys es referencia a su interaccion en la gala, el concurso, lo que sea, es referencia a los vestidos que tenian puestos. el degradado en la camisa de chica representa el vino que toddy le tiro y cómo ESO es lo que piensa de cuando piensa en toddy,

La remera stá en la forma triangular , igual a la forma q tenia el vestido de toddy. sus shorts son más oscuros como la sección inferior del vestido uh. los bordes amarillos en su camisa son los accesorios dorados que tenía toddy, tmb tiene los mismos aretes circulares que tenia toddy, circulares pero azul, ( color de ojo wue tiene todddy)

esto pensando si le deberia cambiar la chaqueta naranja de Toddy para una chaqueta de mezclilla o algun material mas firme…. para tener un shilouette completamente afilado, punteadudo,??? uhhhh im too lazy to change it

. ok bueno la esquema de color de la ropa de toddy es la del vestido que tenia Chica. tiene estrellitas en el borde del pantalon como la parte inferior del vestido. el moño en la hebilla de su cinturón como el moño en la parte delantera del vestidoooo

uh chicaaaaa los huaraches y eseee chocker tmb, ambos estan atadas por detras, es referencia aaaaa como el vestido de Toddy tiene un moño en la espalda y los colores generales de su ropa son un poco más apagados porque está tratando de verse mas seria,??? less weirdo weird girl very sad'

[ghestlin]

dudes gorgeous

[lologoinsolo]

How I think the 141 would be with you being pregnant.

It’s the way that I know in my heart of hearts that Price wouldn’t tell his team until after the fact that he got you pregnant and also about the baby already being on your hips. Like??? The men have to suddenly stay at his place for some reason and he minorly forgets about the bomb that’s gonna go off once he gets home since he’s bloodied and bruised with possibly cracked rips. He planned to mention you and his baby to the team in a more controlled setting…oh well… “Here’s my wife(“WIFE?!?”) and my baby(“BABY?!?!”).” None of the men, except Ghost, were pleased to find out so late but they knew it’s because the man’s protective of you.

Gaz is a little secretive about his wife’s pregnancy, the team knows he’s married. He gushes about you nonstop to the guys and proudly wears his ring. But your pregnancy is something he wanted to keep hidden for a bit. He eventually made mention of it and suddenly all three were announcing themselves uncles to their soon to be nephew/niece. Gaz has you and his baby, once the sweetheart is born, as his Lock Screen. The men came like a day after you gave birth to drop off flowers, goodies, food, baby supplies and just about anything they could stuff in the hospital.

Soap is loudly talking about his bonnie wife and barin. The men were there nearly every step of the way of your pregnancy since Soap would go on and on about all the milestones. Even the small ones. The Scot proudly parading his bairn and you up to base once you were rested and probably saying some stupid shit like “I made that. Look at’em, just as bonnie as my wife!” His family is his pride and joy and he’ll be loud about that to anyone that will listen. Spoilers: they have no choice. He’ll yap for hours about you. Price bans your name from being mentioned after he had to sit through 2 long hours about his bonnie wife and wee one.

Ghost tells not a single soul that 1. He’s married. And, 2. His kid has already been born and a year old already. Not even torture can get that info out of him but it’s you that decides his most trusted men deserves to know. You show up to base with your toddler on your hip, Soap and Gaz’s jaws dropped to the floor when you introduced yourself as Mrs. Riley. The absolute chaos that shook the base was astounding. Price had been the one to ask Ghost why he’d mention the two of you now since he understands the most for the need for secrecy. Ghost simply grunted out, “the misses wanted to meet you,” while his toddler sleeps in his arms.

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 5: Night Out

You find yourself squeezed into the center of a round corner booth, Johnny to your left and Kyle to your right with John beside him. The bar is relatively quiet, even for a Saturday night. It is early, though. Plenty of time left in the night for more people to file in. Apparently they go out drinking every third week of the month, a day set aside for them to be together and celebrate another month of success. It’s sweet that they invited you, if not a little nerve wracking - you’re not exactly sure how much they plan on drinking and you’ve been known to be rather… sloppy after one too many.

You nervously adjust your top while Johnny yaps about the equipment sales person with the incredible ass. It’s hard not to squirm being packed in between them, hyper aware of the width of your hips and the size of your arms as they squish against far more toned, muscular limbs. A mean itch in the back of your mind lectures you about taking up too much space - about inconveniencing the people around you. About the optics of the pitiable fat girl tolerated by the handsome men around her.

An elbow to your arm finally knocks you out of your daze. “Och! There he is!”

You blink, following Johnny’s gaze to the man climbing into the booth beside him. It takes your brain a moment to catch up, processing the person in front of you. Your eyes turn to saucers as you realize it’s Simon - signature tattoos, piercings and all - just without his usual surgical mask. It shouldn’t make that much a difference, he still has that low brow and big dark eyes that slide over to you and make your stomach flip…but now you get the addition of his crooked nose, broken more than once and not set right, a small cleft scar leading down to a part of pretty, pink lips that quirk up in the corners when he catches you staring. A few scars scattered across his sharp jaw you hadn’t noticed before and a light layer of blonde stubble around each engraving on his face.

“You’re pretty!?” You gasp, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them. You bury your face in your hands while the others (Johnny) burst out in a fit of laughter. Simon’s shoulders shake in that signature, barely audible chuckle as he settles into the booth. Suddenly you feel a little less self conscious about the amount of space you take up in comparison.

John orders a round for everyone. Some light mixers to sip while you talk. You stick to listening, mostly, while the boys talk shop. You pick up a few personal tidbits here and there - specifically about Simon’s apparent sweet tooth as Johnny teases him about going through an entire package of licorice in one sitting. You file that away for later. Apparently John got his start after he enlisted in the military and got several very shitty tattoos during the first couple of years. Dropped out to get an apprenticeship, figuring he could do better. Kyle rolls his eyes, as if he’d heard the tale a few too many times.

“Where ye thinkin’ of lettin’ Kyle ink ye?” Johnny leans in close, breaking out of the group conversation.

You tilit your head. “Haven’t really thought about it. Wherever he’s comfortable, I guess.”

“Givin’ him free reign? Tha’s dangerous, bonnie. Might put it somewhere scandalous.”

“Wouldn’t be the first.” You blurt, regretting it immediately when you see that impish sparkle in his eye.

Johnny dips closer to you, shoulder pressing against yours. “Oh? Thought ye were a good girl, hen.”

“I’ve got a couple you haven’t, and will never get close enough to see, MacTavish.” You laugh.

“Is tha’ a challenge?” He grins, hand just barely ghosting over your thigh.

You shrug, face hot. ”Even if it was, you’d lose.”

There’s probably something deeply wrong with flirting with your coworkers while your boss sits a foot away, but your skin is too warm and your drink tastes to good for you to focus on that fleeing thought for long.

“From the gentleman at the bar.” A woman appears in front of your table, sliding a glass of pink cocktail toward you.

You stare at it before glancing up to meet a pair of dark eyes. He’s handsome, smiles and nods before going back to his own drink. Something cold runs down your spine, the bar warping for only a second. Your lip catches between your teeth before you push it away.

“That’s bold.” John scoffs, a twitch in his brow.

“Not gonnae take a free drink, bon?” Johnny teases, batting at your arm. “He’s no’ half bad lookin’. I’d take a bite.”

“I don’t take drinks from strange men.” You snap, a little harsher than you meant as you push the glass even further. “You can have it if you want.”

There’s a beat where you keep your eyes square on the table, waiting for an insistence that you take it, that you talk to him, that you just do what he wants because he seems nice enough. That you’ve ruined the mood by being sensitive, like you always do. Instead, Johnny grabs the glass and downs whatever fruity cocktail was inside.

“Alright, if I pass out ye have t’ carry me now.” He laughs, the conversation returning to the same pace as before. You just look up at him for a moment - his eyes bright and unwavering.

The more you’re with them, the more guilt you feel for doubting them in moments like this - but, equally, the more unreal they seem. Too perfect of men for you to have stumbled across. Too good for something as damaged as you. There’s a pang of loneliness at the thought.

You’re one again pulled from your thoughts - well, redirected, more like - when John’s arm comes to rest around the back of the booth behind Kyle, fingers brushing against your shoulder ever so slightly. You’d been noticing it more recently - John’s tendency to hover. He doesn’t cling like Johnny but he stays just a hair away. Fingers ghost over your arms and a hand hovers over your back. Sometimes he holds the back of your seat, leaning over you while looking at the appointment book, that wafting scent of leather and petrichor enveloping you.

He doesn’t look at you, talking across the table to Simon about some business thing. At least you think, you really hadn’t been listening. Maybe you should have.

“We should go check out that new place up the street.” Kyle announces, scrolling through his phone. “They’ve got great room for dancin’, apparently.”

“Is dancin’ the mood for the night?” Simon sighs, tilting his head forward. Even without the mask his expression remains placid. Difficult to read.

“Aye!” Johnny wraps an arm firmly around your shoulders. “We’ve got t’ take our little lass out on the town!”

You scoff, cheeks warming at the idea that you’re theirs. Their lass - their girl. Fuck that last drink really good to you, huh?

Johnny walks with an arm sling around Kyle’s waist ahead of you, John laughing and shaking his head at them. Simon hangs back a bit as you walk, taking small, slow steps to stay beside you with his hands in his pockets. The same as when he walks you home every night you close together. You silently revel in the safety of it - of having this massive man in your shadow to block out everything else. You risk glancing up at his face - so new to you despite knowing each other for weeks. His skin glows in the passing street lights.

So not fair that he’s been hiding lips that kissable.

That’s totally the drinks talking.

“Y’alright?” He murmurs, glancing down at you.

You jump a bit, not realizing you’d been staring, eyes wide and hazy. Since when we’re you such a lightweight? “Yeah.”

“Still bothered about that guy?”

You blink. In all honesty, you’d completely forgotten him. Too busy enjoying your time with your boys. Your boys. Your boys. Their girl. That feels really good.

“No.” You shake your head and grin. “Sorry for being weird about it.”

“Y’weren’t.” Simon shakes his head solemnly, lapsing into a comfortable silence as you walk. It’s made up for by Johnny’s forceful cover of Pink Pony Club.

The place is packed when you get there, Simon having to use his bulky form to push through and secure you all a standing table. Not that you really need it, it’s mostly so the four of you can do a few shots - as per Johnny and Kyle’s insistence. Yours too, but it’s more fun to use them as an excuse to down two green tea shots back to back. You’ve never been good at saying no anyway.

“C’mon, luv.” Kyle herds you toward the dance floor and you follow, not unaware of Johnny right at your back. Your head buzzes, the world feeling loose and slow and comfortable around you. That wall you might otherwise have up long gone as you’re safely pinned between two of your favorite boys.

Kyle’s hands trail down your sides to knead at your hips, guiding them to move in tandem with his. Johnny presses closer to your front, hooking your arms up around his neck. If you were any more sober, you might have thought twice about the way you grind back against Kyle and press your chest into Johnny - your coworkers - but as it stands you couldn’t care less. Your body buzzes with a comfortable warmth, the music seems to course through your veins. It’s so easy to let them guide you, to melt into them, to tilt your head back onto Kyle’s chest and grin up at Johnny’s big blue eyes.

It’s the loosest you’ve felt in a long, long time

Johnny says something you can’t hear, his head ducking and lips grazing the shell of your ear. A touch starved part of you wants to whine, to throw yourself into him and burrow into his chest. Bury yourself right between his ribs - surely it’s warm in there. The very sun itself housed where his heart should be.

Maybe you’re reaching the water-only time of the night.

You tilt your head, half-lidded eyes making contact with Simon’s. They’re boring into you, seemingly memorizing the way you three move against each other. Each step and sway stored away for future reference. Surely it’s in your imagination.

Eventually, you shuffle around - trading yourself for Kyle as John’s big hands come to rest respectfully on your waist. The music slows a bit, at least, making it easier to dance with your boss without feeling like you’re crossing a boundary. Not that you would mind crossing that boundary. You’d leap over it if you could - those pretty blue eyes smiling down at you in the multicolor bar light. Leather and petrichor fill your nose. There’s a spice to it that isn’t usually there. Your drunkenness sets your fingers alight as they trace up his strong arms to rest on his shoulders.

“Glad y’came tonight, dove.” John says, barely having to shout over the music. His voice just has that commanding timber to it that makes itself heard no matter the circumstance.

You give him a crooked grin. “Me too.”

John just hums, swaying you carefully. People don’t do this, a small part of you thinks. Don’t dance with their bosses. You look down to where you’re pressed together. It feels good, though. You wonder if you’re more to him than an employee - if he considers you a friend despite your inequalities of age and rank.

“Is it silly to say that I’m really happy?” You mutter, not expecting John to hear over the music.

“Not at all.” He shakes his head, dipping lower so you can hear him more clearly. “I’m very grateful that we get to have you.”

Somehow your face gets hotter and in an attempt to calm down you glance over his shoulder to where Simon still stands, leaned against the wall with a glass in hand. His eyes rake over the crowd, sometimes resting on Johnny and Kyle, sometimes you and John, sometimes they seem to just look off into the distance. A woman walks up to him. She’s pretty. Tall with dark hair. You can’t see her face - can’t tell what she says. A slimy, nosy little part of you doesn't like it, despite having no right to an opinion. Simon’s expression remains flat as he responds and she stomps away.

You turn back to John. “Does Simon not dance?”

John chuckles. “Rarely.”

You pout. “I hate that he’s all alone.”

“He’s fine, love. Promise.”

“I’m gonna ask him.”

“Good luck.” John laughs, letting you push your way out of the crowd as the current song comes to an end.

“Si!” You call loudly over the music, movements sloppy.

“Hm?” He cocks a brow.

You lock your hands around his wrist like a child trying to pull their parent toward some bright thing that caught their eye. He doesn’t pull away like a more sober you might expect. “Come dance with me!”

“I don’t dance.” He scoffs.

“Please?” You beg, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. Not nearly as effective as Johnny’s but they’ll have to do.

“No.” Even in your drunken state you notice the corner of his mouth quirk up before he forces it back down.

“You can’t stand over here all night!”

“Watch me.” Simon huffs.

You pout and let your fingers drift over his forearm, all muscle and so very vascular. His skin is warm under your hands, the ridges of scars dancing across the pads of your fingers - invisible to the eye under his tattoos.

“Well, then, I’ll just have to do what you like to do!” You say with a discerning nod, clambering up onto the stool at the table beside him.

He frowns. “Don’t let me take you away-“

“I don’t wanna leave you alone!” You continue to pout, the cotton in your head only making things fuzzier outside of your new single minded goal: Hang Out with Simon.

He looks you over for a moment, something passing through those dark eyes of his. They’re so mysterious - so deep. Like the Mariana Trench. That’s the really big one, right?

Simon sighs and downs the last of whatever golden drink was in his glass, setting it on the table beside you. “Fine. I’ll give you one song.”

You’re practically preening as you pull him into the crowd, hand firmly around his thick wrist. Part of you briefly acknowledges a few jabs from Johnny and Kyle as you pass them on their way toward the bar.

A squeak escapes you as Simon suddenly turns you around, pulling you close and leading you to the beat. He’s good. Weirdly good. You feel a bit like a floundering fish all of a sudden. It definitely doesn’t help that you’re a lot more drunk than you felt five minutes ago. He smells like spice, too.

“So much for can’t dance!” You laugh.

“I said I don’t dance, bird. Nothin’ about can’t.” An arm loops around your waist, suddenly twisting to dip you low - holding your weight so easily. You fall into a giggling fit, face hot as you playfully push at his chest.

As the night goes on, things get fuzzier. Blurred. There’s one last shot with Johnny and Kyle and all you know is an overwhelming sense of joy.

A/N: Don’t love love this part but it’s cute and this is supposed to be my easy to write fic so I’m not stressing about it. Suuuuper excited for the next couple parts tho🤭

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing | Part 5

-. —- / .-. . -.-. —- .-. -.. … / . -..- .. … - / ..-. —- .-. / …. . .-.

Part 1 found here | AO3

Simon’s rut had finished in due course, leaving everyone a little worse for wear but recharged emotionally. Johnny spent every moment not pinned to a mattress, keening, with you. He couldn’t quite tell how it was working. Each time he emerged from their room and daylight still touched their mountain you could be found outside.

Bundled up in the shawl he had picked up for you and the winter supplies everyone else had pitched in for, you seemed to be making friends with the crows. Johnny would dress for the weather and join you often sitting in silence broken by caws. Each time he sat you allowed him a little closer than the time before.

You befriended the crows; he courted you.

In passing times he coordinated with John about making sure you would be set for when they returned to missions. You would need a phone, a computer, a card to access the joint bank account, sign-in information for the local grocery store for deliveries and any other number of things. Everything that needed to be delivered would arrive before they left.

The day Simon’s rut finally broke Johnny showered quickly and found you on the back porch, setting the cashews out that no one had cared to find in the back of the cupboard.

“Care to walk with me?” Johnny smiled brightly at you despite struggling to see with the bright snow blazing into his eyes.

You narrowed your eyes at him before agreeing with a nod.

“Let’s not track snow in through the house, have you explored beyond the deck yet?” Johnny offers you an elbow.

The hard stare you pin him with reminds him of the feeling before a bomb blows.

“Just an elbow ya bonnie moves to and fro and not much else,” he shifted it to prove his point.

The laugh you let out comes through your nose, but you take his offer. Silence only found in a forest coated in snow is broken only by the crunching of boots. Johnny walks you around the house and down the drive. Nearly ten minutes pass in companionable silence before you speak up.

“Why a wife?”

“Mmm?” Johnny glances at you. He had been lost in his thoughts about well he didn’t really need to jump back into those thoughts right now, they involved his lips being in places they had not been invited…yet.

“Kate called me a wife. Why a wife and not pack?” Your lips are pursed as you ask.

Johnny tips his head as he thinks of how to reply. Seven more steps pass before he has an answer.

“Wife is an old word, not too common anymore. Its original meaning was a treasured one. It can still be listed in lieu of a designation on a lot of government forms. When Kate told John she had brought us a wife she told him that she brought someone we should treasure.”

You slowed to a stop, confusion and a waft of fear-laced want lifted into the air from your neck. Johnny held down the urge to lift a wrist to his nose to pull the scent in deeper. Even the sour, off notes to the want couldn’t disguise the heady pull of it.

He did, however, lift his hand from his warm pocket to press it to your cheek. Watching your eyes drift close and lips part at the touch sent a frenzy off in his body. That moment got him through a lot of rough spots after they shipped off.

Johnny thought about it now, that sweet moment where you began to understand they would care for you because you were their wife, as he aimed the truck up the drive. When the cabin finally came into sight in the bright, cold sunshine he couldn’t prevent his sigh. Three weeks home with you, while he recovered from a bad concussion, would be a blessed chance to woo you.

Parked neatly under the front porch, Johnny grabbed his bag and headed for the stairs. At least two storms’ worth of snow had settled on each step. Odd, but it’s not like you were expecting visitors. Clomping up the stairs to alert you to his presence, Johnny turned the door handle and sucked in a deep breath to call out.

Only stale air met his nose.

Stale. Cold. Air.

He hadn’t driven with a gun on his thigh but Johnny always traveled with a blade at his ankle. It appeared in his hand as he cleared the house. Each room that came up empty, no signs of a struggle, ratcheted up his concern. The back porch being covered in untouched snow told him you were gone.

Missing.

Stolen?

The knife slid home in its ankle holster, Johnny ran back to the truck and turned it around, heading into town. If you had any issues that is where you would most likely be. None of them had any voicemails when they turned their phones back on after a grueling mission.

“Old MacDonald had a farm, eieio!” You sing out in your loudest volume.

Thirteen days trapped in this tiny cell at the sheriff’s office had given you a lot of time to work out a good outlet for your anger at being contained. Laying across the thin mattress projecting your voice into the cement box at least gave you something to do.

“And on that farm, he had a pig, eieio!”

Seven weeks alone after a lifetime of being surrounded by betas had driven you a smidge wilder than Scorpio left you. Thankfully one thing Scorpio had taught you was how to get over your shyness of peeing while being watched.

“With a ‘you have the right to remain silent’ here and a ‘anything you say can and will be used against you’ ther—”

Something slammed into the bars. Letting your head loll to the side you looked at the young alpha deputy, with black hair and tattoos peeking above his collar, who stared at you with wild eyes and a snarl to rival a lion. Too bad for him you were a fucking badger.

“Do you have to keep singing?”

Catching his eye, you took a deep breath.

“Twinkle, twinkle little fuck. Being cops must really suck.”

This twisted version of the song belted out louder than Old MacDonald did.

Deputy Tweedle Dee hit the bars again and yelled toward the desks.

“Any word on those military guys up the canyon? I might kill her if she keeps up the singing.”

“Promises, promises officer!” You shout after him, cackling at the whine of distress he let out.

Damn, you really needed to see people more. A few weeks with only the crows to talk to and you started to lose it.

A commotion beyond the edge of your hearing cut through your song.

“Where is my wife!?”

The roar had you sitting upright, snow boots clunking against the floor.

They might have abandoned you and not answered their phones when the food deliveries stopped but you knew your new keepers would object to you being gone.

“Now sir, you can’t barge in her—”

That was the receptionist. Bit of a bitch but she didn’t antagonize you like the deputy did at least.

Deputy Tweedle Dee reappeared from the edge of the cell, collar pulled tight by a hand lightly covered in hair pushed him forward. The tattoo insignia came next and there he was, Johnny. His sharp blue eyes scoured you, tension around his eyes easing at seeing you physically well. The angry glare returns as he shifts his attention back to the deputy.

You didn’t know what to call him; you didn’t have a companion word for wife. You had forgotten to look it up until now.

Johnny shook the deputy. You smirked as his head bobbled.

“Let her out. Now.”

“No, I can—”

The deputy’s words were cut off with his air as Johnny twisted the shirt around his hand.

“Now.”

The menace in his voice pairs neatly with the scent of rage and vitality lifting off Johnny now.

The deputy pulls the key from his belt and opens the cell you had been trapped in. You stand and cross to the exit.

“Deputy Fuck-up,” you snark as you pass the men.

Hate flares in his eyes as Johnny lets him go. The hand that choked a man settles against your back, heat flashing through your shirt. They hadn’t given you back your coat after they threw you into lockup. The thin blanket provided did nothing to fight back the chill of the snow and concrete.

Your beta preens at Johnny’s touch. The burn of his anger in your nose has her crying out to soothe him. She will hush if you ignore her, she always has before. Walking back through the precinct you can’t help but flip off the old sheriff who is standing up behind his desk in the glass-walled office.

He hustles around his desk, hollering into the room. The ruddy red of his cheeks slinks down his neck as he gets closer. He would like Santa with his white hair if not for the short trimmed beard instead of a long bushy one.

“Now, young man! You cannot take that beta!”

“Go out to the truck please, wife,” Johnny murmured down to you as he laid a kiss to your temple.

“I need my shawl,” you inform him.

Johnny looks at you, all light disappearing from his blue eyes.

“They took it?” Frost would have puffed off his breath if the heater hadn’t kicked in then, the hum filling the space.

You nod once, eyes not leaving him as the sheriff steps up to speak to Johnny. The one who calls you wife ignored the blustering man as he shrugged off his own coat and settled it on your shoulders. His touch lingers at the zipper, scent of burning and a hint of disaster in his scent. Turning from the oncoming storm you leave the building that had jailed you. The truck is unlocked when you reach it.

Opening the passenger door you gag and physically recoil. The stench of fear and panic billows out like smoke from a broken window. Pinching your nose closed and sipping in air through your mouth you open every door of the truck despite the cold biting at your skin.

“Damn, I didn’t realize he might actually care,” you mutter, tone nasally.

Nearing five minutes later Johnny pushes through the glass doors, your shawl in hand. At his appearance, you step from the driver’s seat where you had waited and close the back doors as you work your way around to the passenger seat. Johnny climbs behind the wheel and passes your shawl over. You let it rest in your lap, running your hands over it as he begins the drive back to the cabin.

Halfway through the silent drive, he speaks.

“What the hell happened?”

Struck as if by lightning you can’t prevent but biting back.

“The fuck do you mean? What the hell happened to being someone you treasure? The food deliveries stopped two weeks ago and I couldn’t reach anyone. What was I supposed to do but walk my happy ass to town?”

Johnny glances at you from the side of his vision.

“Why not drive?”

“You really need to talk to Kate about the fuckery I went through before you make assumptions,” you growl at him, fingers digging into the plushness of your shawl.

“Interestin’,” he drawls in his accent.

“What is?” you snap

“You weren’t this feisty when we left.”

He says it as if it is an interesting animal fact and not the trait that kept you alive and assured your demise rising to the surface again.

Snapping your teeth closed you cross your arms and stare at your boots. The remainder of the drive is silent. You ignore every drifting scent coming from Johnny, unwilling to engage in any way.

Broken Masterlist | Masterlist

@lucienofthelakes @gg-trini @talia-the-gemini @thriving-n-jiving @z-wantstowrite @asialovesyou09 @literallegendicon @canthavetoomuchchaos @reinekoya @jsptmoche @demothers-empty-blog @hbaasaad @sun-daddy-yoriichi @wiciclesatmidnight @kaoyamamegami @little-mini-me-world @corvid007 @skeletonsucker @feyresqueen @dreamland08

[pettysreverie]

Shutting a very (nervous) chatty soap up by letting him give you head under the table of a fairly fancy restaurant?

(oh my fucking gosh!!! my first ask request! >.< sorry it took my so long babes, ya girl has been busy and also just down and out with cramps. Also? I was trying to decide on what was making him nervous...anywho! I hope this lives up to your expectations!!!)

CW: AFAB!Reader, Exhibitionism, Dubcon, I love writing out accents :P, as always if I missed any important warnings pls feel free to let me know (in case you didn't read my intro post, i get heavy handed with exposition. i'm not used to writing short form fanfic T.T have never written a 100 word anything outside of academia...sorry loves)

Okay, so the way I see it, Soap is a chatty motherfucker all the time anyway. Cracking jokes, making conversation, the whole spiel. He's a naturally extroverted guy, so it's not like he can help it...but when he's nervous? Oh, there's absolutely no shutting him up.

But can you blame him for being nervous? He definitely did not think he would he ever manage a date with you, an actress he's recently come to admire.

It started with seeing you in a few small roles here and there and enjoying them. And as you grew in notoriety and landed bigger roles, Johnny found himself seemingly following along—watching each project. Before he had even realized it, he had naturally become a fan boy of yours.

So he was absolutely surprised when, upon returning home from deployment, he had run into you. The poor bastard had nearly passed out.

He thought he had died and gone to heaven when you had actually given him the time of day, letting him chat with you in the queue as you two waited for your respective orders at the cafe.

And when, upon parting, you had accepted his invitation for a date and had given him your number? He really thought he was on cloud fucking nine.

This, all of this, the Scotsman nervously rambles to you as you sit for said date.

He's on edge, which is more than obvious—but you find it endearing. Johnny is just so charming. Even as he trips over his own words and blushes every so often, he manages to make you laugh.

And it's not like you don't understand.

Maybe you don't know exactly what he's feeling right now, but you've been in similar situations. And so, maybe that is why you just cannot help but try to lighten the mood.

"With how much you can talk, it's a wonder if you use that motormouth of yours for anything else."

Okay...even to your own ears, you realize that maybe you shouldn't have said that. You wince, ready to apologize, but Johnny's blue eyes seem to sparkle and the Scotsman smirks at you.

"Aye?"He asks, cocking a brow at you as he leans back in his chair. "Well, ah can promise ye... Ah can show ye be'er then ah can tell ye."

It takes you a moment, but it comes to you that he is not so nervous anymore. A more calm and confident air surrounds him now, his gaze more assured.

A shiver runs down your spine.

You have only just met the man, but you can tell that Johnny is many things. Intelligent. Extroverted. Charming. But how are you supposed to know that he is also a massive eater—that this man loves eating pussy?

How are you supposed to know that yes, he is a military sergeant that has a talent for many things, namely diffusing bombs…but eating pussy is where he truly thrives and shines?

There's just absolutely no way he's going to pass up an opportunity to eat you out. Not even if you two are in a fairly nice restaurant, sitting across from each other on your first date.

So of course it is a surprise that a smirk spreads across his lips, "Ma bad, bonnie. Yer right. Donnae mind if ah do."

And before you can call him off, telling him that you were only joking, the Scotsman has disappeared himself under your table. A feat unto itself given his not so small size, but with the tablecloth draped over the table and the natural humdrum of the restaurant life buzzing all around you, he is provided the perfect cover.

His nimble fingers hitch up your dress, his lips ghosting along your thighs. You can feel his stubble scratching your skin in a way that makes your breath hitch.

"Forgive me for ma ramblin' bonnie. Ah'll make it up tae ye."He murmurs just loud enough for you to hear from beneath the table, pulling a small yelp out of you as he nips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You're caught between wanting to convince him to stop, and wanting to see where this goes.

It's not like you're some A-list celebrity. Sure, you're getting bigger roles, but nothing too big just yet. Nothing that would garner you too much unnecessary attention naturally, anyways. You're not at the point, yet, of worrying about tabloids or paparazzi or being sneakily recorded by fans. For now, thankfully.

Still, the prospect of getting kicked out of such a nice restaurant and getting hit with a public indecency charge doesn't sound very nice.

On the other hand...?

On the other hand, you have a super sexy Scottish military sergeant beneath the table and between your legs right this moment. Talk about a wet dream come true...

You snap out of your own thoughts when you feel Johnny pull your panties to the side, his stubble rubbing along your inner thighs as his tongue takes a long, broad stroke up your cunt.

(Did I mention that he loves eating pussy?)

Your hand flies beneath the table, fingers settling within the tresses of his mohawk and tightening as your body jolts. You have to press your lips together, holding back a soft whimper that threatens to fall out at the way he seems to savor having you on his tongue.

And it suddenly strikes you that, actually...this might not a good idea after all.

"W-Wait—"

But Johnny doesn't wait. He doesn't listen.

He presses his face between your thighs, his tongue worshiping your flesh as you try your level best to remain as calm and collected as possible. Only, of course, now is when your waiter decides to come to your table.

"Ah, did the gentleman step out for a moment? Should I wait, or would you like to order for him?"

You freeze.

How the fuck are you supposed to answer that?

This is a first fucking date.

You definitely don't know him well enough to order for him. But to wait? That's not likely either.

"I'll...I'll order—"You press your lips together and tighten your thighs around Johnny's head as he starts sucking on your clit, causing you to full body flinch.

The waiter looks at you, a startled expression coloring his features just as a wave of shame courses through your veins. “Sorry….”You mumble, pinching Johnny beneath the table.

He apologizes with a kiss to your clit.

“I’ll have the chicken pasta, and he’ll have the roasted salmon with the white rice. Please.”You order quickly, trying to sound as polite as possible. More and more, this is seeming to have been a really bad a idea.

"Right, well then I'll have those out for the two of you as soon as I can."

You try to breathe a sigh of relief when the waiter leaves your table, but aren't even afforded the option. Not when Johnny is yanking your panties even further to the side. "Yer a fuckin delight, love."He mutters gravelly from between your thighs.

He sounds almost...feral.

Like an animal.

Another shiver runs down your spine and you shift your hips, pulling back. Your heart is hammering in your chest and with how intense this is getting, you're not sure you can keep a handle on yourself if things continue.

Besides, you're sure that you have more than embarrassed yourself for one evening.

This is only a first date, you can save some room to embarrass yourself more for another time—for another date.

But then Johnny's large hands grip your hips, forcefully pulling you closer to the edge of your seat almost greedily—hungrily. "Donnae run away from me."He says to you, and with him being hidden under the table it is almost an ominous threat of sorts. A deep, raspy voice not asking but commanding you to not move.

Johnny's lips close around your sensitive clit—sucking on it with an unforgiving intensity as he holds you in place. He's determined to make you cum. Right here. Right in this restaurant.

Once again your thighs clamp around his head, but if he's bothered about that then he makes no indication about it. He doesn't even flinch.

You try to say something—anything—but the words are lost on you when his tongue starts flicking your clit.

The sound you let out is just barely muffled by the sound your free hand makes as you accidentally slam it onto the table. A couple sitting at a table near yours looks over, shooting curious inquisitive gazes your way.

"S-Sorry..."You whimper, your thighs trembling and your hips twitching just beneath the table and out of their view.

Thankfully your slumped demeanor and shaky voice lend themselves more to seemingly like a jilted date than a frisky exhibitionist, so they only send you pitying glances and then turn away. Which you appreciate because, the very moment they turn away, you slump over onto the table.

One arm cushions your forehead while other grips Johnny's hair tightly, perhaps too tightly. But you can't be bothered to care. Not when he's slipping one of his finger's into your messy cunt as he continues his dedicated assault.

"F-Fuck,"Quietly falls from your lips, not being able to contain yourself so well anymore. "So good. So fucking good, I—"

The way he switches between sucking on your clit and licking it is making your head spin, and with his finger fucking into you slow but deep it's getting harder and harder to think.

"J-Johnny..."

Your entire body is buzzing at this point. You squeeze your eyes shut, but that's a mistake. Because now all you can focus on is his touch. How he is making you feel. The way his mouth is worshiping your pussy like its his sole reason for breathing.

He slips a second finger inside of you, slowly and gingerly—careful to help you accommodate to the stretch. That delicious fucking stretch of his long yet thick fingers. Nimble and fucking skillful.

Your nails are basically digging into his scalp at this point, but it's either that or you rut into him like the bitch in heat that you currently are.

But if you do that, you two will be found out.

Your cover blown.

Which might just be the Scotsman's desired outcome, given how he ditches the slow and savoring rhythm he'd granted you and instead starts finger fucking you faster now.

Heat pulses in your veins as a familiar tingling sensation begins to rise from inside of you. Your toes begin to curl in your heels and you press your lips together. Hard. If you don't, moans far too loud for propriety's sake will come spilling out.

It is as though your head is swimming—thoughts drifting away as you will yourself to muffle every whimper and mewl that battles against your quivering lips.

You want to warn Johnny. Really, you do.

You want to tell him that you're about to cum.

But how can you?

If you open your mouth, it's over for you. For the both of you.

So, instead, your shaky fingers tap on his forehead as best as they can. And you think, maybe he's gotten the message. Maybe...if his doubled efforts are anything to go by.

Warmth washes over your body and tingles take over your lower limbs, slowly spreading to the rest of your body as he continues to finger fuck you. His mouth is seemingly permanently attached to your cunt, the Scotsman determined to gorge himself on you.

But then his tongue does a thing and his finger curl just right, hitting you deep inside.

It's too much.

Too fucking much.

Your entire body stiffens, stomach muscles clenching as your pussy pulses and clenches around his thrusting fingers and onto his sinful tongue. Your thighs tremble as your legs wrap around his muscular torso—so caught in the throes of passion that you unintentionally trapping him in your hold as you ride out your wave of pleasure.

(I did mention that he loves eating pussy...right?)

Honestly, you're not too sure how you two don't get caught.

You're not too sure how he didn't get caught sneaking under the table and you're not too sure how he doesn't get caught get out from under it now, either. But he doesn't.

Still slumped over the table, you're slowly coming back to your senses.

Johnny has moved to sit beside you and is rubbing your back and shoulders soothingly.

"Ye did so well, bonnie. Am sure naebody suspected a thin'."He praises, his hand rubbing gentle circles into your still trembling thigh.

You don't speak. Don't even pick up your head. You don't trust your voice quite yet. But, of course, now is when your waiter comes back with your food.

You hear the plates land gently on the cloth covered table and then nothing. There's a pregnant pause and you assume that the waiter has left, then there is a throat being cleared.

"Is...uh...is your companion alright, sir?"

"Aye, tha missus is fine."Johnny replies coolly, his hand as gentle and calming as ever. "Just a wee bit under tha weather. We'll actually take this tae go lad. Thank ye."

Once your waiter leaves, you lift your head and Johnny immediately hands you your glass of water and urges you to drink it.

You try to set it aside, but he won't let you—kindly yet firmly redirects the glass back to your hand. And this time, you do finally accept the water and drink a few meaningful sips.

"Good girl,"He murmurs, patting your now calmed knee. "Feelin' be'er?"

"I...well, yes. But..."You're at a loss for words. What are you supposed to say. How are you supposed to continue your date after that? "I just can't believe we did that..."

Johnny nods, a hint of a smirk on his lips. And as his expression shifts you can see a bit of sheen on his face.

Clearly, as you'd still been slumped over, he must have wiped his face with napkin. Not well enough, though. Not when there's remnants still glistening on his chin.

"Whot? Is somethin' on ma face?"He asks, his thumb brushing away your cream from the spot your gaze had zeroed in on.

And you watch in rapt attention as the motherfucker sucks it off of his goddamned finger.

"Well, ah cannae say ah regret it."He replies to you, his smirk becoming larger now. "Besides, ah figured ah only got one shot fer a good impression. Wanted tae make it count."

Your waiter comes back once more, this time with your packaged meals. Before you can even think about the bill, the waiter is sliding Johnny back his card—clearly indicating that the meal has already been paid for in full by the sergeant himself.

Not that he makes a big deal about it.

Not that he makes you feel like you owe him for it.

For any of it, actually.

He stands, grabbing both ornate takeout bags in one hand and extends the other for you to hold. "C'mon bonnie, let's get ye home."

Go home?

While you're busy wondering what he could possibly mean by that, Johnny chuckles and pulls your chair out some before extending his hand out to you once more.

"Amnae pig, bonnie. Real class, ah am. Ah'll drop ye off and let ye rest. Ye can call me when yer ready. Tomorrow. Tha day after. So on. And we can plan our next date then."

His words calm your racing thoughts enough for you to take his hand, walking with him out of the restaurant. Although...well, you certainly make it a point to not look back at the wet spot you've undoubtedly left on the chair.

"You seem confident I'll call you for a second date."You reply, giving him a side eyed glance as you step out into the evening air and he places his coat jacket over your shoulders.

Johnny looks at you and this time his expression is somewhere between a smirk and a smile—his blue eyes gleaming with a charming sense of mischief.

"Am quite confident in ma first impressions, bonnie."

—————————————

.....Is this anything? Lmao, I hope this didn't suck. It's been so long since I've written smut. So long since I've written full smut. Don't jump me! I hope this is what you were hoping for >_< if not, let me know and I can try again!

Also? Any grammar errors are totally between y'all and whatever creator you believe in. I did my best. I didn't proofread this frfr because...well, I never do. Never have. Probs never will. Never did in my wattpad days. Never have in all of my academia days either. With the power of big breasted men with juicy balls, em dashes, and dominant women on my side, it's me against the world! Grammatical errors fear me!!!

BTW! If you also just have any Qs regarding my thought process for this or for any of my blurbs/posts/whatevers you can always send an ask :D as long as you're respectful I am too. I promise I don't bite

[drgnflyteabox]

If Soap has a partner who suffers from frequent migraines he treats it very much like a mission. Understands that sometimes his jovial, boisterous energy isn't necessarily going to help, that he's gotta keep his volume low and calm.

So he gets focused (locked in) like you're a bomb to diffuse. Low lights, meticulous timing for water, painkillers, and ice. Every six hours, on the dot. Rubs your tense neck and runs a hot bath if that helps you.

Hoo's that feel, bonnie, better?

It used to make you a little nervous how intense he got, how his eyes would bore into you as the day went on.

Now you recognize it as concern. He's found an assignment: make you feel better, and he's damn well going to finish it.

[skauni]

My John “Soap” MacTavish Headcanon

Soap is the one who’s constantly asking you if the bombs look right, even though you know nothing about making bombs.

It’s Soap that cocks a brow at you when you correct something he says while snickering because it sounded funny to you, to which he asks “What’s funny, bonnie?” In response.

It’s John MacTavish who stares at you with admiration in his gaze as you pass by him that only matches when he watches an explosion of his own handiwork from a… mildly safer distance from blast range—

It’s John MacTavish who will pin you to the couch at home so he can lay on top of you and cuddle you, you’re his sense of comfort and normalcy after all.

But it’s John “Soap” MacTavish who stares at rings for hours on end on his phone in attempts to find one that looked right on your delicate fingers in his opinion. One that said you were his forever to other guys.

It’s John “Soap” MacTavish who randomly tickles you when cuddling so he can hear that laugh he loves so much. And it’s never a simple tickle attack either—he ALWAYS has some sort of elaborate plan to surprise you with tickle attacks!

And it’s John “Soap” MacTavish who works on a mini bomb (that will do no damage, kinda like a firecracker or something) and makes sure the engagement ring is in it. So when he hands you the lighter for a bit of New Year’s fun, and the mini bomb goes off, he has a glass of water and pours it on the ring, cooling it off before getting on one knee and picking it up and facing you as he asks you to marry him…

[fallatyourfeet]

No Negotiations (Thomas Shelby x Reader - One shot)

Summary: Tommy thought he had been very careful keeping his relationship with YN a secret, but no, his number one enemy had discovered you. And these things rarely playout well in the world of the Peaky Blinders.

Word count: 1807

Warnings: Quite a few F bombs and quite a bit of angst. Maybe it ends well, maybe it doesn't.

A/N: This fic was a request and it's been a long time coming. I'm so happy to finally post something again.

Gif: I don't know who this Gif belongs too, but I'd love to give credit to the creator if anyone knows.

Please feel free to send me a message/comment/ask, I would love to know what you think.

If you like this, please feel free to visit my blog and take a look around! You can find my masterlist in my bio.

It was a particularly complicated time in Tommy’s life. There were a lot of different things going down. Dangerous things. And it most definitely was not a great time to be dating anyone. But YN wasn’t just ‘anyone’. To Tommy, she had very quickly and very unexpectantly, become everything. For the past year, it was YN that kept him sane during the whole fracture between his family. And with Luca Changretta still plotting his revenge against every single member of the Shelby clan, he thanked God that he had kept her completely separated from his family and business life. She was his escape. With her, his existence was simpler, uncomplicated. Cherished. Every secret second he stole by her side recharged him, settled him in ways he could never have imagined. Every night spent warming her bed gave him hours of blissful dreamless sleep. So, when he looked up from the ringside during the Goliath vs Bonnie Gold match to see her seat empty, he found himself unable to breathe.

Tommy started the night in good spirits, just happy knowing YN was there. Even if she was sitting anonymously across the opposite side of the hall, finding his thoughts already caught amongst the quiet moments he would steal away with her at the end of the night. When Arthur grew concerned of the men in Goliath’s corner, he urged him not to worry, to calm down and enjoy the match. And even when one of the men disappeared from ringside and Arthur felt the need to investigate, Tommy thought it was his older brother’s paranoia taking hold. But when Arthur didn’t return before the second man in Goliath’s corner slipped into the crowd, Tommy instantly found his stomach in knots, his eyes gravitating to YN’s seat.

It was empty.

Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe she had slipped away to the ladies. Or maybe she found herself completely disinterested in boxing and left to wait for him at their hotel room. Or maybe the growing knot in his stomach told him something much more unthinkable was taking place. Jumping from his seat, Tommy wasted no more time, easily slipping through the crowd, following the same path as Arthur.

It was unnervingly quiet walking down the passage and into the back rooms of the venue, Tommy barely registering the excitement of the crowd as it faded into the background. Only interested in the silence around him. But it was too much. Bellowing out both YN and Arthur’s name, his voice echoed and bounced off the tiled walls around him, his call answered by a gun shot. Tommy’s blood ran cold. The deafening sound vibrated through every cell in his body as if it had pierced his very flesh and Tommy couldn’t escape the hollow feeling that YN was somehow tangled in the mess.

Tommy moved desperately in and out of doorways in the direction of the gunshot, finding nothing. Until he turned the corner into a dimly lit room. But there was no mistaking what he saw, and he knew the scene before him would be forever burnt to his memory, causing him instantaneous regret. Arthur hunched over, visibly shaken as he clutched at his blood-stained neck, working hard to regain his breath. But he was alive. And beside him lay one of the men from Goliath’s corner, in a pool of his own blood, his face half blown away. But it was YN. Standing in that very same room, a room she was never supposed to be in, that had the regret burning like fire in his throat. Backed up against the cold tiled wall her whole body was trembling, arms outstretched as her hands clamped around Arthur’s pistol; knuckles white.

Tommy stepped into the room, startling her. Terrified, her trembling body swung around to face him, waving Arthur’s pistol unsteadily in his direction. All her features were overcome with fear, drained and washed out, his regret now burning bitter in his mouth. Moving towards her, he outstretched his hands, recognition dawning across her face. And when he whispered her name, she fell apart.

Simultaneously, the pistol slipped from her fingers, as her body slid down the wall, Tommy reaching her before she hit the floor, cradling her head, whispering against her ear, “It’s okay… you’re okay. I’ve got you.” Shaking his head, he found it hard to keep control of his voice, guilt ripping through his words, “I’m sorry… I’m so fucking sorry… I didn’t want this for you… I…” Tommy felt sick seeing her this way. Because of him, she had taken a man’s life, she didn’t deserve that kind of burden and there was nothing he could do to take it back.

“Tommy.” Arthur’s hoarse voice broke through his stupor. Looking across to his brother, he was no longer hunched over, but was instead standing before him, a steady stream of blood running from a gash to his neck. Speaking again, he gestured to the body on the floor, his words rough and strained, “I don’t know who the hell she is, Tommy, but he was tryin’ to drag her out the fuckin’ door.” Running blood-stained hands through his hair, he rubbed the back of his head, “I ripped her from his grip, but he fuckin’ got me Tommy, he had me… I’d be dead. She saved my fuckin’ arse.”

Tommy shuddered, not even allowing himself to think about what might have happened if Arthur didn’t reach her in time, all while he was too busy ignoring his brother’s concerns. Sudden gratitude spilled from his mouth, “Thank you, Arthur. You were right… I didn’t listen, but you were fucking right.”

Arthur crouched down, and whispered as if there were people in the room who could listen, “Who is she Tommy, and what does Changretta want with her?”

Surely the fact that he was on the ground cradling YN was explanation enough, but Tommy answered anyway, “She’s my girlfriend… I love her… that’s the all reason he needs.” And it was those words as they left his lips, that brought about an instant and upsetting decision.

Luca Changretta was no longer a threat. He had been dealt with in the most final way. Until the moment Arthur unloaded a bullet into his head, Changretta thought both Arthur and YN were dead, leaving Tommy’s exit plan for the mafia boss sailing through without a hitch. But there was still one thing left for Tommy to do. Something that tore at his insides, just thinking about it. But there was no other choice.

It was necessary.

Staring at YN’s front door, he took a deep breath, unable to put it off any longer. Lifting the iron knocker, he tapped it against the timber and cleared his throat, waiting for the sound of her footsteps and yet, hoping not to hear them. Never had he waited at her door with such trepidation, any stress or worries usually melted away the moment his eyes caught sight of her house. Always far too confident that he’d never been seen. God, he had been so fucking stupid.

YN opened the door with one of her breathtaking smiles, she was not going to make this easy. Fuck, he was going to miss those smiles. Burning the image to memory, he went to speak, but she leaned forward and planted a kiss to his lips, her sweet voice announcing, “Thomas Shelby… you’re late, you’re never late.” Tommy inhaled deeply, knowing that soon enough he wouldn’t be able to recall the sound of her voice, when what he really wanted was to wake up to it every single morning.  

Internally nodding, Tommy realised she was right, he had been putting this meeting off all afternoon, and when she stepped aside to let him come in, he found his feet cemented to her doorstep, his voice lost upon his lips. Seeing his hesitation, her features suddenly clouded with apprehension and concern. And it tore him to shreds. “What’s wrong, Tommy? What happened?” Grabbing his hand, she pulled him inside, sitting them both down in the parlour, “Tell me, what’s going on?”

Tommy didn’t want to be inside her house, he wanted to drop the news and leave, but she deserved more, so much more. Chewing on his lip, he inhaled deeply and cleared his throat, working hard to keep his voice convincing, “YN… I… I can’t be with you anymore.” YN jumped from the seat as if he’d slapped her. Tommy’s eyes shifted to the floor, concentrating on a scratch in the timber beside his foot, “It’s not safe anymore… people know who you are now… I… I’d never survive if something happened to you... I’d never forgive myself.”

“Tommy!” A few seconds of silence followed before she called his name again, “Tommy… you need to look at me!” This was not a good idea, no good could come from seeing her face, but how could he deny her? After everything she had given him over the past year. All those stolen moments and blissful memories… memories that would keep him functioning during all the lonely nights that would follow without her.

Lifting his head, he kept his gaze unfocused, worried her expression might destroy his resolve. Not that it mattered, her words and tone conveyed everything. She was furious. But she didn’t raise her voice once. “No… No Tommy.” Her comment snapped his eyes into focus and the determination he saw; on her face; in her posture, it took him by surprise.

Shifting in his seat, he couldn’t think, couldn’t stop the internal wall of his will from crumbling, with every word she spoke. “I won’t let you do this. I could die crossing the road today. I could get sick tomorrow and die next week. I could die giving birth or fall asleep and never wake up.” Drawing a breath, she shook her head, it was barely noticeable, “People die every day, Tommy, there’s nothing we can do about it, but I’m not going to let you give me up.”

Knealing down, her hands enveloped his face, demanding his attention, “I’m not going to miss out on a life with you, how ever long or short that may be… Do you not think I’m terrified of losing you too?”

Tommy shook his head, but his wall of resolve was gone, and he knew the words he spoke were no more than white noise, “My life… it’s dangerous… Just being with me is-”

Losing patience, she cut his white noise short with unyielding hands, refusing to let him look away. Her eyes were fierce. And her decision was final. There would be no negotiations. “Just shut up Tommy, stop talking. I love you. And I know you love me…. I’m not stupid, I know the risk I’m taking. But for you, I’m willing to take it.”

[auspicioustidings]

Kinktober Day 1

Moniker: Soap Risk Level: Low. Soap is a part-time resident who is detained as needed. He is currently not detained and is visiting freely. Brief: Oral sex, “69”ing. Note Soap has biologically female genitalia with an enlarged clitoris or “t-cock”. He accepts feminine and masculine terms for this. Safeword: The word RED is to be used by any party if at any point the session must stop. If any party is unable to vocalise they are to signal physically by touching their thumb to each of their fingers in sequence to signify RED. At no point should any party be both unable to vocalise and unable to signal physically. In the event that this happens, RED will be considered in action and the session will be stopped.

Thought losing your virginity on the first day might scare you off so I’ve shuffled the plan around. You’ve spoken with Soap before, helped him diffuse a bomb on the Medusa mission. He’s insistent you got along so hope having him first helps settle your nerves. I’m on cameras for this one, so I’ve got your back - Price

Well fuck you sideways, your first sexual experience with another person and Captain John Price was going to be watching. You don’t know how he thought that was supposed to settle your nerves. The poor paper that briefing was on had been twisted to pieces in your nervous hands as you made your way to the room. This was where you’d go everytime, this was where you worked. You’d seen it once and Kate had stressed that it would be thoroughly sanitized and reset after each use to fit whatever purpose it needed to. She further stressed that anybody who entered this room had been tested for any transmittable diseases, sexual, blood borne or otherwise, and would only be permitted entry if they came back clean. That wasn’t terrifying at all.

Did you knock? That would be the polite thing to do. Well the correct thing to do at least, Soap was a Sergeant and while the ranks were different in your service your equivalent would be somewhere around Corporal, a rank beneath him. Did he remember you or did Price just know as his Captain that you had spoken before?

The door opened and you about had a heart attack as Soap stood grinning before grabbing your wrist and yanking you through. You had sort of pictured him as handsome because he had a nice voice, but you hadn’t expected him to be so damn broad. Bomb specialists tended to be a little more wirey in your experience.

“Price said ye were out there having a moment, but I’ve only got the day with ye so cannae be wasting time.”

The room did not look as it had when you had visited it. It was warmer now, more welcoming. The raised platform in the middle had a big bed on it with a soft looking duvet. You couldn’t help but smile seeing all the bedclothes were tartan. So the soldier of the day had some say then.

“Right, first off cannae believe I get ye first. I bitched Price’s ear off but didnae think I had a chance. Very, very grateful tae my bonnie Captain for naw ignoring me though” he said, loudly announcing his thanks and sending a grin to the camera in the corner. “I ken ye probably have a bundle of nerves rioting in that pretty stomach, but ye need tae get over them and get over them fast because I need tae winch your cunt.”

You started choking as a gasp caused saliva to go down the wrong pipe. He laughed and patted your back, or at least he started on your back but his hand very much wandered to your ass and squeezed, hard.

It was a knee jerk reaction. You didn’t fully catch up to what your body had even done until you saw the blood streaming from his nose. Shit. You thought for sure Price was about to march in here and give you a dressing down for punching his solider in the face on your first day as a glorified sex toy.

“S-sorry! I wasn’t expecting you to… I mean I know that’s why I’m here, it was instinct” you blurted, getting increasingly panicked at the feral glint in his eye as he rubbed a hand across his nose which only served to smear the blood everywhere.

“Look at the camera for me hen, aye that’s it. Now tell Price that nice wee safeword so he kens ye remember it. The non-verbal version too.”

You shakily followed his instruction, freaked out at how calm and warm his voice was when his eyes were still manic.

“That should dae it, aye Captain? All mine until ye safeword out now hen.”

He attacked you, no other way to describe it with how fast and violent he was in grabbing your face and shoving his tongue into your mouth. He was still bleeding and you could taste it, could feel it stick to your skin. It’s not like you had never kissed someone before, but you never realised just how another tongue could bully yours, writhing against it and pushing it around at it’s pleasure. Oh fuck, if that’s what it was doing in your mouth… an almost painful jolt shot to your clit and you jumped at the shock.

He led you backwards until you hit the bed and then his hands were gripping the back of your thighs so he could use a combination of strength and momentum to lift you a little and toss you back onto the bed. You stared at him as his mouth broke of from yours with the movement. His face was a mess, blood and saliva coating his lips and chin even as the fresh blood had started to slow from his nose.

“Fucking need this hen” he said, almost a keening whine, as he shoved your legs apart and buried his face between them. “Been dying of thirst, ye need tae drown me.”

It was overwhelming just how desperate he seemed and you were shocked and embarrassed at the whimper that spilled from you when he started to lick and chew on the seam of your jeans. The scrape of teeth through the thick fabric had you feeling your heartbeat throb through your clit and your legs were trying to close, you weren’t sure if it was to escape the sensation or chase it with friction, but he muscled his shoulders between them and gripped hard around your thighs so they were locked open.

“Think ye can soak through them? I can make ye soak through them, fuck” he groaned, kissing and tonguing your jeans like he had your mouth.

It was so erotic and so wrong, he was leaving them marked with blood and spit and you felt powerless to do anything about it. You didn’t know if you were getting wet over it and you fisted the duvet below, the urge to run your fingers under your jeans and panties and check flooding through you. It was as if he knew because the next moment he was pressing the pads of two fingers hard against your opening over the jeans, but it was enough. Your panties grabbed onto the slick that had pooled around your hole and it was like a dam breaking, suddenly you could feel it everywhere.

“I-I-” you started, not actually sure what you needed but needing something.

“Nae patience eh?” he said, lifting his head to peer up at you, the picture of some decadent predator feasting on his prey. “Say please.”

“Please?”

“Say please Johnny, get me naked and eat my cunt.”

You felt like your cheeks had just become about equal to the surface of the sun in terms of heat. You had listened to fucking torture sessions to gather intel but dirty talk from this bloodied creature was the thing that tied your tongue up? There was almost an anger at yourself over it. No wonder you were a fucking virgin if you couldn’t even handle this, they should have chosen one of the confident candidates who would already have made demands of him.

“Naw, stop thinking hen. Please Johnny, get me naked and eat my cunt” he repeated expectantly, keeping his eyes on you even as his head turned and he nipped his teeth into the meat of your thigh.

“…please Johnny, get me naked and eat my cunt.”

He was about ready to cum from hearing you say that particular nickname so sweetly.

“Good lass” he said, planting a kiss where he had just sunk his teeth and wasting no time undoing the button on your jeans and peeling them down your legs, his eyes taking in everything underneath them on the way. “That all for me?”

You had forgotten the prep you had done over the last week. Hairless, smooth, soft. It hadn’t been a plan so much as a mad evening of bathing, shaving and nearly drowning yourself in scented oils and lotions in some sort of panic. Lingerie that you had nearly bailed on because it was so delicate and lacy and see through that it felt a level of sensual you weren’t confident in pulling off was now on full display for him and the fabric was so thin that your arousal was making it cling lewdly.

“Aye, think that’s all for me” he grinned as your jeans hit the floor with a thunk.

Fuck he was a sight. He looked like he had just been tearing into a carcass. You had around 5 seconds to take a breath and try prepare before his head was back between your legs. You didn’t realise how much the jeans had muted the sensations, but now with barely a scrap of thin fabric between your pussy and his mouth you saw stars. There was a scream that you vaguely realised was coming from you. His hair was so soft in your fingers, you felt delirious almost as you mumbled out a question about what conditioner he used and then about died when he chuckled right against your clit before he pulled back and ever so slowly pulled your panties off.

“Fuck that’s pretty” he commented before bringing your panties to his nose and rubbing them against his nostrils.

It broke some of the congealing blood, caused a little trickle to start up again. He didn’t seem to care and after another huff neatly, reverently folded your panties and placed them on a little table at the side. Your shirt he was quick with and showed less care, it going flying to rest on the floor a few inches from your jeans.

“These are pretty too hen, if Price wouldnae gie me a spanking for going off brief I’d fuck them” he said as he squeezed your tits together. “Just a wee taste.”

A wee taste here meant him crushing your tits together so he could suck both nipples into his mouth with such force you bowed off of the bed and felt like the wind had been knocked right out of you. Your bra was taken off and folded with the same reverence your panties had been, placed on the table with pink marks on the cups from that little trickle of blood. Most of the blood around his mouth was gone now, only a pink tinge left among all the spit and arousal.

“Ye ever cum for anyone else before?”

“I… no. I mean I’ve done it myself. Or with stuff to help.”

“Price remind me tae blow you later!”

With that he latched on your swollen clit. At first he suckled, humming as he did which drove you fucking mad. Then he pulled off with a slurp, gathered more wetness from your hole on his tongue and drooled it back on your clit. The tip of his tongue flicked at it rapidly, ramping up in speed as your body coiled tighter and tighter.

The noises were erotically disgusting, wet. You tried to tug his hair to get him to let up because you were going to explode, his writhing tongue was about to send you right over the edge.

“S-stop, gonna cum” you panted, trying to hold on.

“That’s the idea hen.”

“The brief said you wanted to… do other things?”

“Aye?”

He had stopped at least and your body was slowly stepping back from the cliff which felt awful. But the brief said he wanted to “69” so you couldn’t cum this early. You just looked down at him debauched between your legs, waiting for him to move on to the next part.

“When ye play with this fat pussy, dae ye stop at one?”

You felt a little panicked at his question. Theoretically, you knew people with your anatomy could have multiple orgasms. In practice you usually just got off and left it at that. It didn’t feel good to keep touching when you were so sensitive after cumming anyway. You sort of shrugged in response.

“Oh hen, you’re going tae gie me 2 like this, 2 when I eat ye from the back and then we can move on so you can have a taste of me. Thinking at least 3 while your lips are wrapped around my cock.”

“I- what? I don’t think I can have that many.”

“Thought I told ye tae stop thinking?” he said with a wink before he dove back in.

If you thought he was giving you his best before, you were quickly disabused of that notion. It took him around 5 seconds. His mouth latched onto you and his tongue eagerly abused your clit without any respite. You rocketed right back to that edge and went tumbling off, thrashing on the bed while he just pinned your hips down and kept going. Your pussy clenched in waves that seemed to never fucking stop.

It was uncomfortable when the orgasm was done but you were still being stimulated and you tried again to shove him away, but fuck he was strong. He refused to be moved, lapping messily at you with a desperation that gave you goosebumps.

“Stop, I can’t!”

“Ye fucking can” he barked back, teeth scraping on your now very oversensitive clit in warning. “Now get your legs up.”

He shoved upwards with his shoulders while his hands forced your legs back, bending you in half. Your hips were tilted now, both of your holes so fully on display for him that it made some undignified sound of humiliation come from you.

He feasted. No part of you escaped him - he licked the seams where your legs met your torso, he sucked on your lips and you wondered if they would bruise with lovebites, he lapped at your rim and had you screeching when he bullied his tongue in, only stopping when a beep sounded in the room.

“Aww fuck off Captain, her arse is fair game for oral!”

Another beep.

“Killjoy. Sorry hen, nae rest for your delicious wee cunt.”

You knew the tongue was a dexterous muscle, but fuck it was insane how he managed to get so much of it inside your pussy. He massaged your walls, flattened and curled the appendage and then flicked it fast. The barest brush of his pinky on your clit was enough to set you off again. You were sure you were nearly pulling his hair out when you came and he drank it up like wine. Decadently, savouring.

His face was a wreck, strings of spit and cum connecting him to you and then snapping and dripping off when he moved his head further away. There was a little blood around his nose, the rest long gone from all the fluids helping to dilute it. You licked your lips only to taste iron. That was right, he may have gotten wet enough to soak it off, but his blood was still all over you.

Fuck he looked drunk. His eyes were unfocused and dreamy, a dopey smile on his face as he went to his knees and looked down at you splayed underneath him. There was a wet spot, a large one, on the duvet. You felt boneless, like you had run a marathon. You weren’t sure you could move. But despite that you couldn’t help but drag your eyes across his still clothed body.

The brief had said he had biologically female genitals, but that his clit was enlarged. You’d never heard of the term t-dick but now it was all you could think about. You wanted to make him feel the way you did, boneless and ready to sleep for two days straight.

“Ask me.”

“What?”

“Can see ye thinking away hen, ask me what it is you’re wanting tae.”

“Oh…” you said, trying to bring your fuzzy brain back online and be brave. “I want to see you. And uh… you know.”

He stripped his t-shirt off with one arm and it was like a damn porno as he tossed it on the floor.

“Cannae say I do hen, ye need tae tell me.”

You sighed in frustration and squeezed your eyes shut.

“Taste you. I want to taste you the way you tasted me.”

“Aye ye do. Still owe me 2 before that though.”

You shot up. He could not be serious. You were already about dead. He could not actually expect you to cum two more times before you even got to the next part of the briefing. You’d fucking die, you were sure of it. You snarled at him when he went to grab you and it was an actual fight.

Your wrestled with him, feeling the burn of something like humiliation whenever your pussy rubbed up somewhere on his body. At one point you tried to lock your legs around his torso, feeling like fireworks went off when you rubbed against the hair running down past the hem of his sweatpants. You squealed in alarm when he wrestled you off and it left a shining wet streak across his skin. You fought hard but you had no chance against him as he roughly got you over onto your knees and shoved hard between your shoulder blades to pin you to the bed.

Your hips wanted to follow, to collapse down, but he didn’t let them. He bullied his knees between yours to spread them and gripped hard onto your hips to give him control over exactly where your hot, wet cunt was. Perfect position for him to dig in.

Another beep.

He grabbed you by the back of the neck and you whimpered when he wrenched your head up and turned it to the camera.

“Tell him ye still ken the safeword” he growled.

“I still know the safeword.”

His other hand cupped your slippery and unbearably tender cunt and gave a warning squeeze.

“You’ll remember yer manners soldier.”

“I still know the safeword, sir.”

Satisfied he pinned your head back to the mattress, returned his hand to your hip and maneuvered you so your hole was at just the right height for him.

He dug in.

Oh God, oh God from this angle anytime his mouth was at your clit the rest of his face was getting soaked by your gushing hole. He seemed so much closer now, like he was somehow inside you. His beard felt like it was ripping your lips apart and the prickly pins of pain were so sharp against the all consuming pleasure.

He was suctioned to you, only ever pulling of for a second to take a deep, gulping breath. There was a reluctance to breathe, to ever do anything but drink you down even if it meant he was half suffocating himself.

You tried to have any coherent thoughts about this. It was insane. You had signed up to help him get this out of his system but so far you were pretty sure you should be hiring him and not the other way around. You never knew this could be so all consuming, that your whole body would be so easily played by someone. You were at his mercy, every thump of your heart sending blood wherever the hell he decided it needed to go.

The next orgasm was powerful. It sent your body wild, your legs violently shaking and a choking scream fighting past your lips. You fucking hated him in that moment. He was so eagerly eating at your cunt, taking so much pleasure from it. It made you want it. You wanted to eat him out. You wanted to feel what he was feeling. But he wanted another orgasm from you first so he wasn’t stopping even with you screaming at him.

“Fuck you! I can’t go again, I can’t! Let me see you, let me taste you Johnny! It’s not fair!”

You’d lost any sense of shame. You think you might have lost any sense at all when you screamed your throat raw as your body fought the stimulation, tried and failed to get away so then just accepted it.

Cumming this time felt different. It was almost sore to have your muscles contract again, so exhausting you wanted to cry and beg to just sleep.

He slowed down, was gentle in cleaning you up with his tongue. When his grip on your hips loosened you collapsed to the bed, panting.

You could hear him taking his sweats off and it was the only thing to will you to turn yourself over onto your back. You needed to see him. You fucking needed it more than you needed anything as inconsequential as rest.

At first you felt like your brain was shorting out. He was standing at the end of the bed, now totally naked. His body was gorgeous, rugged. Your mouth watered as your eyes trailed down, following the path of hair to his pussy. He certainly hadn’t shaved in a panic like you had, the hair was just as thick between his legs as it was everywhere else. His fingers were lazily playing with his clit and you swore it was a cock.

It stood proudly through the thatch of dark hair, was dripping like you imagined a cock would. But that’s what it was. You understood now why the brief had called it a t-cock. Oh God you wanted to kiss, lick, suck - devour him the way he had you.

“Go on then hen, get that wet wee mouth on my cock” he said, his tone that of a man indulging the whims of some silly creature whose desperation he found cute.

You swallowed thickly, your body slow in moving through the exhaustion as you got to your knees and crawled across the bed to him. At first it was just a kitten lick, a little taste. Sweat, salt and something tangy and sweet. He was so slippery beneath your tongue and it was instinct to lap up the liquid, to keep chasing the strange taste.

“That’s it, good lass. There you go” he said, barely above a whisper as if coaxing some scared prey animal.

You shifted to get a more solid position, knees splaying wide to get you the right height and hands gripping his thick thighs. You needed to taste more, feel more. You fucking needed your mouth on him like you needed oxygen. You needed to drink down his arousal, the proof of what his body thought of yours.

He smiled down at you in tentative delight. You were so gone for this, all that trepidation vanished as you savoured the first tasting of him. No longer the shy thing that he had dragged into the room, now an animal understanding that the feast came before all. He knew the place you had went to couldn’t be permanent but while you were there he intended to enjoy it.

There was no skill in what you were doing, just a clumsy and selfish exploration. Your concept of time floated away as you treated his cunt and cock like the mouth of a stranger in the drunken haze of a club, wet, sloppy kisses against the heat of him.

He was dripping down your chin, the red around your mouth tinging pink and eventually being drowned entirely. His hands were massaging softly on your scalp, your shoulders. You wanted to stay here forever. He could not think of a compelling reason why not.

“Fuck, need tae get your taste back on my tongue” he groaned.

You barely registered your body being moved, only focused on keeping that connection to him. You wanted to crawl inside him, live there. Your nails dug into the meat of his thighs when you muscled your tongue inside his hole and felt the walls of him eagerly try to coax you deeper.

He maneuvered his body over yours and somewhere in the recesses of your brain you knew you should find this dangerous. He was big over you, could choose to drop his weight and smother you. Instead you found it comforting, like a warm nest for him to keep you safe and fed in.

“You’re so fucking pretty hen. Want tae keep you all tae myself.”

“You taste so good” you said, words muffled from the now insistent press of his wet cock on your face.

Everything was so wet, so hot. Touch yes, but scent and sound were both soaking, dripping, gushing. The first time he came you thanked him and begged him for more, more, more as your hips writhed up against his mouth.

--

You were sobbing when you came back online. You had been for a while from how tight your chest felt and the way your eyes stung with dryness. You were crying out broken words, begging him, saying you couldn’t.

“Ye can, one more. Just one more.”

Fuck, everything was tender and sore. No wonder you were such a wreck, your body was too wrung of pleasure that it could only give you pain now. He was relentless at your pussy and when you came this time it fucking hurt. Every muscle was cramping horribly.

“No more Johnny” you whined even as he ground his cock clumsily against your face and moaned through his own pained orgasm.

“Aye, one more. Need it hen, fuck. Could die in this pussy.”

You didn’t know how his tongue kept going, yours was useless now. You could only hold it out for him to rut against. You only knew he came again from how he howled. Your face was so covered in him that another flood barely registered. You really couldn’t anymore. You felt like you were about to die.

“Red.”

You mumbled it so softly and deliriously that you weren’t expecting anything to come of it, but he patted your flank and rolled off of you to lay on his back and pant.

“Jesus Christ hen, where the fuck did Price find you?” he said, voice hoarse and rough.

You couldn’t move. He didn’t seem mad at all that you had safe worded out at least. No, instead he pulled himself up with a long groan to flop down beside you.

“Gie me 20 minutes for a cuddle and a nap then I’ll get ye all cleaned up aye? I’ll let ye use my conditioner.”

And then he was snoring in your ear, his sweaty body wrapped around yours as you drifted off to unconsciousness.

—

Price was exhausted. He hadn’t intended to wank to you, but you had put those big, wet eyes on the camera and called him sir and then all bets were off. Christ alive the two of you had went for hours, writhing like animals on that bed.

He though after he had cum it would relief the pressure, but then you had so sweetly crawled over to lap at his boy’s cunt and he got hard all over again.

Soap certainly did owe him a blow job. You had been perfect for him, let him push his pleasure too far like he loved. And now there you both were boneless and passed out in puddles of arousal. He groaned imagining how the room must smell.

But he wasn’t needed. Soap was exhausted himself yes, but he enjoyed looking after a lover after such an intense experience and Price would not deprive him of that.

Part of him was tempted to change the plan, get you to one of the residents earlier, one of the ones who would ruin you so badly that you would need Price afterwards.

Thankfully, he was just about a good man when he dismissed the thought.

[tranceinnumerabletabs]

When Johnny Comes Back pt8

Howdy y'all! It seems I'm back. I'm writing this at like 5 AM. Idk why it seems like y'all didn't like the last part? Was it too long? Were the colors overwhelming? Hopefully not cuz it's so much more in here. Anyway here's the next part. Tell me if it's too long. Also I got college tests comin up so.....expect some delays for the next few days

tags: @supermegabitchboyexceptimagirl, and @beelzebee

part1, part2, part3, part4, part5, part6, part7

------

You’re standing on a cliff side, the sunset beautiful and fleeting. Ash swirls around you. You look to where it’s from and it’s your cat Simon tipping over the urn. The ashes surround you as a mysterious laughter surrounds you, along with mocking words you don’t understand but just know they’re meant to be despairing. And that he has a Russian accent for some reason. The ash swirls faster and the next time you look at Simon he’s a charred mess of what he used to be.

“Simon?” You ask, distraught and horrified at your sweet kitty’s death. Simon’s eyes were dead and bluer than you remember. The ash surround you more and more and you sense Johnny’s presence. You don’t know why or where.

“Johnny?” You call out and the Russian’s voice grows louder and more mocking as more, sadder voices joined in. It didn’t feel like there was an outside source to the voices. It felt like it was in your mind.

"He was the best of us"

"The toughest"

"Would have fought the world barehanded"

Your location changed and you’re looking over Johnny’s dead body, the shot on his head bleeding nightmarishly. His lifeless eyes pointing at you without looking at you. You hear an authoritative voice announce: “All stations- this is Bravo in the blind. Threat neutralized. Bomb is safe... One KIA.”

You see a strange shadowy figure loom over Sergeant Soap. His shadows reminded you of the fur on Simon.

It was hard to make out but you saw a skull with hollow eyes and knew you just knew that this was death and he was going to take Johnny away from you. You look at the horrific state of Johnny. Your mouth doesn’t move but you’re calling out to him as the reaper takes him away.

“Johnny! No! Please!”

You couldn’t move, you were running but it’s like you weren’t moving. You call out to them more but it’s like you weren’t actually screaming. You catch up to them and tackle death, but he and Johnny disintegrates into shadows and ash that surround you again. The voices come back: the Russian, the voices, Johnny himself. You couldn’t understand anything you’re hearing other than occasional words:

“KIA” “Bonnie!” “Be careful who you trust sergeant. Peo-“ “bravo six goin da-“ “-ple you know can hurt you the most” “translate that from bullshit to eng-“ “hen! I’m here” "-the toughest" “or I’ll FUCKiNG hang you from it” “would have fought the world bare handed” “LOVE! WAKE UP!”*

——————————————————

You GASP loudly as you’re shaken from your torture.

“Lassie?” He shakes you again

You look at Soap “Johnny?!”

“Aye I’m here what hap-“ you hug him tightly, just like the one you gave him yesterday: strong, tight, wet, bordering on suffocating if he wasn’t so durable, all done while you’re shaking. He grips you back, rubbing your back and ruffing your hair. “Birdie…what happened?”

You squeeze harder and he catches the hint that you just need to be grounded right now. He leans into your ear and whispers reassurances

“Jus’ a bad dream Bonny lass, yer here with me now. Yer big strong man, back from war safe and sound. You’re okay Bonny nothing is gonna hurt ya.”

“I’m not worried about myself Johnny..” you mumble. His words hit him like a brick all over again and his heart swells. he’d tease you for falling for him but…not now.

“Aye….I’m…sorry tae worry ye”

“I saw you dead…”

“…..” he goes quiet

“I saw you dead…and…and death took you…a-and…I-I tried to stop it b-but he disappeared a-and Simon also died and was burned-”

“Hey, hey…hen…jus’ a nightmare okay?”

“I’ve had this exact nightmare before. I don’t know why it keeps happening. It feels so real.” You finally pull back, looking at him. This time, when looking at the bandage on his head, you feel relieved. He’s hurt, but he’s here. Here and breathing. You place your chin on his neck and look up at him with soft puppy eyes

“I’m worried for you”

“I Ken.”

“You could’ve died”

“Aye”

“Your head was shot”

“Dinnae need ta remind me.”

You sigh and close your eyes as he ruffled your hair.

“I’m here Bonny. I cannae promise you to be back next time. I’m not that naive, seen too many a men sharing a laugh wit me one night and share a body bag the next. Hell, even civis die without warnin’ all da damn time. I cannae promise ye next month or next week, and neither can you, but I’m promising ye right now. And right now I’m layin’ in my kip with the fairest princess in the land.”

You crack a smile

“Aye, she’s even fairer now”

You giggle and hide your face into his chest.

“I’m glad you’re here Johnny”

“Haven’t heard you say that before. Say it again?”

You don’t shake your head or roll your eyes, instead you jump up to wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close to your chest

“I’m so happy that you’re here Johnny!” He growls and grips your body harshly

“I could get used tae this bein my good mornin’” he rasps

“Hmm..me t-…..” you stop, remembering something

.

.

“birdie?”

You pull back and have an annoyed look on you

“Johnny.” You say firmly

“A..aye?”

You grip his face roughly, as if trying to punish him “were you awake while I was trying to get out of your hold last night?”

“Dinnae Ken wha’ yer talking aboot’”

“Johnny.” You say ever firmer, looking at him with a piercing gaze

“Yes gorgeous?”

“Were you. Awake. While I was trying to go sleep in my bed?”

“…..”

“Johnny?” You growl, your touch now pressing into his head injury (not too hard through) to get your point across. “Tell me the truth”

“I love you mo chridhe”

“JOHNNY! YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!”

You rip the pillow out from under him and raise it above your head like a bloodthirsty barbarian, ready to strike

“Princess! Mercy please I beg o’ ya!”

“There’s no doll here now sergeant suds! Now it’s your superior! And you’re taking discipline”

He laughs at your mimicry, blocking your pillowy bludgeons to the body

“Since when-" smack "-were you-" smack "-my superior?”

You growl and increase your pace.

“I dinnae take orders from a civi!” He chuckles. He tackles you to lay down on the bed while you continue to pillow smack him.

“I’m the princess. I outrank you sergeant! Now unhand me!” You blow your tongue at him.

“Yes yer highness.” He rolls off you. You jump off the bed, face red at what you endured. He gets off and runs up to you too.

“C’mon leannan, aren’t ye glad that yer brave soldier was there to protect ye from the nightmare?”

Pause.

Well….that’s true. Who know how bad that nightmare could’ve gotten if he didn’t shake you awake and comfort you. He hugs your from behind, doing that terrible habit of leaning in close behind you to speak lowly over your shoulder while being half dressed

“I’m just doin’ by job princess. Duty calls”

“And does your Call of Duty include trapping and annoying the princess until she attacks you with pillows?”

“Tis’ Modern Warfare bonny. Things are like that these days.”

“And the bedtime story you made me tell?”

“Tis’ Modern Warfare too. I’d die for it” You sigh. He’s impossible. He leans into your ear more. “If it’s nae too late, Good mornin’ leannan”

“It’s the afternoon Johnny. It’s what happens when you sleep around sunrise”

“My sunrise happens when my sun rises”

“And when that?”

“When didja wake up?”

You blush “shut up.”

“Yes yer highness. Yer always so grumpy in the mornin’”

“You’re always annoying in the morning. Do they train you to be a nuisance the second you wake up?”

“Aye, ye never Ken when they might get piece o’ mind” You shake your head and try to move, his arms are imprisoning you fucking again*

“Johnny.”

“Nae”

“……I’ll make you breakfast”

“A big one?”

“Yes you beast. A big one. But you’ll have to get dressed more than your underwear.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so. You don’t see me walking around the place with jus’ my skivvies on do you?”

He shrugs “sounds like a you problem.”

“Do it and I’ll give you the flat’s entire inventory of bacon and a dozen eggs”

He lets go and dashes to the closet to get dressed. You smile and skip to make a feast fit for an army. A one man army that is. A tiny while later he there, shirtless but at least he’s got pants on.

“Thank you honey”

“You don’t have to say that. And I’m not your honey” you say the line you’ve said many times to the point where it’s an affectionate routine like your personalized greeting

“Then why are you so sweet to me hen?” He says on cue.

“Okay you Lorne lad. Go sit down as I make you breakfast”

“I want tae hel-“

“Sit down.”

He obeys and spends the entire time staring at you, just like Simon, who’s watching nearby. As per promise you added the rest of all the bacon you had into a skillet

“Aye, little more?” He teased

“This is like a kilo of bacon”

“Not enough”

“Sush this ain’t epic meal time.”

You decide to be a cunt to prove a point make enough food to feed the entire cast of Game of Thrones. Let’s see him ask for more now. what’s in an English/Scottish breakfast again?

Eggs. How many Eggs? Well no one eats eggs like Gaston, but Gaston hasn’t met Soap.

Sausages. How much sausages? Enough to make AO3 look clean enough to have a church service in.

“Ohh leannan that looks good!”

“I said shush let me finish”

Beans. Beans? You and the boys at 3AM Lookin for BEANS and this is enough gas to keep a tank in orbit.

“Bonnie I think that’s eno-“

“Shush”

Mushrooms. He wants mushrooms? Here’s Enough to recreate The Last of Us.

Does Johnny boy want toast? Here is Enough to eradicate the local duck population from existence, then enough tea to recreate the Boston tea party and serve the queen leftover. But knowing Johnny he’ll want coffee too.

How much coffee you give him? Enough to make a college student flinch

Aaannnd finally tomatoes. That’s Enough tomatoes to boo away every mediocre LA comedian into a better profession.

“Done” you grin and turn to look back at Soap, who was visibly salivating. You chuckle “are you hungry princess bubbles?”

“Aye” he says looking at the domestic scene before him. You, in pajamas and his shirt, making him a breakfast feast when he came back from deployment. It’s not just the food he’s salivating at.

“Eat up” you start serving it all and he digs in like a wild dog. Before meeting him, You’d be disgusted and put off by this barbaric behavior, but because it’s Johnny, not only do you let it slide, you also find it endearing.

Simon jumps on the table, you shoo him away from your plate, trying to make him eat from his kitty bowl. It’s on the table because he refused to eat otherwise. He wants to eat with your two and that’s final.

He, for some reason decided to eat from Soap’s plate, which was smart because Johnny “I’ll eat anythin’ you make me” Mactavish doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

You leisurely eat your food as Johnny seems to be challenging Matt Stony for his records. You sip on your beverage, that’s in a cup, while Johnny drinks from the pitcher. He finishes his breakfast, a surprise to even you seeing how much he ate, and lays back with a groan

“I’m stuffed lass. Dinnae think I can move.”

“You didn’t have to eat all of it”

“Nae, I’ll eat anythin’ and everythin’ ye make”

“Yeah well, don’t get used to it. Do you have any idea how expensive that brand of bacon was?” You say looking at your phone casually

“Ye’d have more money if ye married me for military spouse tax benefits Bonny” You laugh, what a bold offer and yet it doesn’t sound too bad.

“I’m sure”

“Think about it Bonnie, I’ll make ye a Mactavish, you already act like one, makin yer soldier a feast after comin’ back from the war” oh is that why he was affectionate today?

You snort “oh no Johnny. Once you retire, you’re taking my last name”

“And why’s tha’?”

“it’ll do you some good changing your last name. If anyone asks why you took mine, just say you married a feminist” you sip your drink.

"what's wrong with Mactavish?" he whines through his chuckle

“You’re a war criminal Johnny.” You casually mention, as if Soap ever wanted you to know that.

Jazz Music Stops

He didn’t.

part9

[imaginedreamwrite]

For fix it Friday : pretty little thing omega pregnant wither alphas has a music box or something that breaks and she can’t fix it

You were gone. Not gone; hiding.

The house was silent when he stepped through the door, the strap of his bag digging into his shoulder when he put the key into the lock and turned the handle. And then he stepped through and found the whole place silent.

There wasn’t music coming from the kitchen, playing through speakers while you baked or cooked or ate whatever the baby was craving. There was no noise coming from the living room, the TV not playing whatever animal documentary Simon would’ve wrung you into watching.

Silence, stilled and stagnant.

“Sweetheart, ya here?” He set his things by the front door, shutting the door behind him. He waited and unlaced his boots, kicking them aside, before he moved further interior. “Omega?”

Johnny waited, he listened. The door opened behind him, Simon, Price & Gaz all entered the house and noticed the same stagnant sound. There was an understanding between them, all of them, that something was wrong with their pretty little omega.

They could feel it.

“Lassie!” Johnny raised his voice, already heading toward the stairs that would take him up to the second and third floor. “Bonnie-”

They followed him up the stairs, soldiers on an operation steadily trying to navigate and find their target. Their omega who was squirrelling herself away from the alpha’s who loved her.

“Sweet girl-” Kyle called next, trying to locate you through the ministrations of his soft voice.

And all fell silent when they heard it, the shuffling of clothes, blankets, and finally your voice. The whimper that was almost drowned out by the chining grandfather clock hanging on the wall. It was there but it was soft, and you’d nearly gone unnoticed.

They, as a solid pack, moved as one unit toward the nest you made before they left. The door was shut and barred tight but that hadn’t prevented them from getting in.

“One-” John prepares for the breach, like they really were on an operation of the highest command.

“Two-” Simon continued, his potion behind Johnny was squeezing the space that was already limited in the hall.

“Three-” the door was kicked in, a sudden jolting bang echoing like a bomb in the room. You responded to the noise with a startled and digressed chirp, one that immediately sent the alphas forward.

“I couldn’t fix it,” you sat in the middle of your bed with a broken music box resting on the roundness of your baby belly, your hands holding broken pieces, “I tried to fix it, why can’t I fix it?”

You were in distress, you were hormonal and emotional, your bottom lip quaked and tears tracks stained your cheeks. That’s why you were so quiet, in so much distress, that music box was sitting on your lap in pieces. That music box was a gift for your baby, the first ever gift they had given you.

“I was trying to move it, it fell off the shelf. I tried to fix it, I can’t fix it-” you were repeating yourself, crying in the middle of your nest, your eyes brimming with big fat tears that couldn’t quite fall.

“We’ll fix it,” Simon stepped around Johnny, and crouched in front of your nest, his fingers sliding up the back of your calves to your thighs, “we’ll fix it, ‘mega.”

“I tried-” you started speaking again when Simon crouched in front of you, though your attention quickly diverted to the rest of the alpha’s who pooled in.

Here they were, fresh off deployment after a long operation, and you were having a breakdown. The omega and baby that they protected, was in the middle of a breakdown because she thought their gift was destroyed.

“Don’t cry, love.” Kyle came to sit next to you, your sweet alpha taking the pieces from you, handing them off to John. “We’ll fix it, yeah?”

The pieces were passed on, and Johnny reached forward to wipe your tears. Their scents filled the room, coating the nest with comfort that you’d felt long without. A hand rest on yours, you were slowly helped to your feet, John was the first to touch your baby belly.

His fingers spread against you, feeling the evidence of life growing and their future. You were just a good omega, a strong woman that they loved with everything they had.

“I didn’t mean to…” you stepped into their space, with Kyle on the bed, Simon and Johnny creating walls of this pack, and John before you.

“We know.” John, and his blue eyes searched your face, his lips turning up into a smile, “they’re just things. We can replace things.”

His hand slipped into yours, and he pulled you toward the door, leading you out. You would be fine, they would fix it, they would fix this music box and you would be okay. What they needed from you, was for you to relax and not be stressed, for you to trust them and let them take care of you.

[mari-lair]

I feel like that (Frin wishing the King to explode) would have to be triggered in a pre-game conversation. Like, before arriving in Dormont, there would be long stretches between cities and each one would have at least one camp stop for the night, and Maribelle/player has a chance to start a random topic. One of those could be about Mirabelle's roommate and have her air out grievances about Claude. It would have to be very specific relationship in group, maybe post Bonnie joining and post Siffrin losing their eye, also have to have Isabeau with a maxed comfortability or teamwork stat with everyone (he is more comfortable sharing his nerdy side). Mirabelle starts to get on a roll with ranting about Claude (Odile and Bonnie cheering her on) until she starts to trail off and get sad. Isabeau could try and distract her by asking specific questions about the chemicals Claude had laying around, and he guesses Claude was trying to make a bomb. The whole group starts talking about the idea of a bomb, how funny it would be for the King to blow up and the problems to be done with, etc etc. Eventually forgotten about with sleep for everyone besides Siffrin, whom eventually wishes the King blew up at the Tree.

I love this so much Anon.

Add a sweet layer of "is what Claude would have wanted" to the wish.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Part 10 - Blind Retrieve (Interlude)

Slasher Handler Masterlist

Read on AO3

Price calls Ghost for a job.

CW: Discussion of wounds, cannon adjacent discussions of terrorism and violence, Soap (the family dog)

Price calls Simon to work exactly four weeks after you puncture his lung. The wound is healed, with nothing but a bright pink line left behind. You’d gone into a bit of a fit when you’d finally seen it, helping him change the bandages. The drain hadn’t bothered you none, but the scar…

Ghost reports to the base at 2200, masked and kitted as usual. A bit of overkill, for a briefing, but he likes the routine of it. There’s a comfort in the distance it gives him. He doesn’t see many people, but the ones he does see avoid his eyes and find somewhere else to be.

He’s surprised, then, to see Soap pacing the length of the conference room when he arrives. More surprised at the warmth that blooms in his chest at the sight of him.

He’s a little skinny, Ghost observes, as blue eyes light up when they find his. Underfed and not as bulky as he usually likes, jeans and a tee sitting not quite loose on his frame. He lost his weight training privileges in prison, most likely. But his hair is shiny and his skin is clear. When he grins it looks like he has all of his teeth.

“There ye are, ye wee bonnie bastard,” Soap cries, dramatic, dancing forward for a clap on the shoulder. He’s away just as fast, laughing at the way Ghost’s knife barely misses him. “Miss me?”

“’Ardly noticed you was gone,” Ghost answers. “Gaz ‘ere?”

“That’s all I get?” Soap ducks close again, bats Ghost’s half-hearted swat away as he tries to shake Ghost by a vest strap. “Ten months away an’ yer done with me already.”

“Not really interested in ‘ow many dicks you sucked in prison,” Ghost says with a shrug. “Can’t imagine there’s much else that’s noteworthy.”

“Six,” Soap cackles.

A sour faced man, a general by insignia, clears his throat from the other end of the conference room. He visibly blanches when Ghost turns to look at him. The analyst next to him stares for a moment, then looks down at the legal pad in front of him like catching Ghost’s eye might kill him.

It might.

Putting a big hand on top of Soaps head, Ghost reels him in for a one armed embrace. It’s easy to tip forward to knock Soap’s skull against the one adorning his face.

“Good to ‘ave you back,” he mutters. “Been quiet.”

Soap nuzzles in and grins. “’Ardly any chips in this one. ‘S it new?”

“Mm. Gift from my new girl.”

Blue eyes go sharply interested. “Ye’ve a new bird?”

“Told you. Things ‘ve been quiet.”

Price arrives then, Gaz a step behind. They’re both dressed conservatively, jeans, tee, a light jacket. They don’t react to Soap’s presence, probably got their greetings out of the way. It doesn’t stop him from making Gaz put up with a full-body hug, though. Price rolls his eyes as he takes a seat, but he’s got a squirt to the side of his mouth that says he’s happy to have his men accounted for again.

Last to walk in are a couple of self-important looking uniforms who frown when they see Ghost standing in his customary corner. The colonels look sharp, for a late night meeting. Pressed and proper. They look slow. Ghost catalogs their lack of weapons as an afterthought. Ghost does not sit.

The briefing is uninteresting. There are terrorists, because there always are. The target is in London, because it always is. Red tape mans bombs have crossed international lines before anyone could do anything effective. There was an engagement in Bulgaria, and another in Czechia. Shipping containers made it to Lowestoft. Kortac was deployed. Kortac was eliminated. Terrorists are in the wind.

Typical.

“So instead of deploying us first, on our own turf,” Gaz says, tapping his pen on his notebook, “you let terrorists in, then threw a second rate team at the problem and made things worse.”

One of the colonels, the tall, fat one, bristled. “Now see here-”

“If you had this handled, you wouldn’t have called us,” Price interrupts. “So unless you’re paying all of this money to jerk yourselves off over a job well done, you need my men in the line of fire.”

“Easier ways to kill me” Soap chuckles.

“Apparently not,” Price mutters. Louder, he says, “Enough of the bullshit. Time for brass tacks. How many of the hostiles do you need alive?”

The sour faced general scowls, but says. “Two. They’re identified in the dossier.”

The little analyst pipes up. “That doesn’t mean you can just kill-”

“A bit too late for that,” Price rumbles. “If you wanted a low body count, you should have contained all of this before calling in the butchers. But if you’re too squeamish for this, perhaps you should leave before we talk civilian casualties.”

It becomes apparent that the rest of the conversation is just going to be a bunch of mewling around the realities of what they were called in to do. Ghost stops listening and half examines the briefing packet in his hands. He’s bored. Even thinking about the ways he would gut the little analyst after stalking him to his car is dull.

He wants to go home to you.

The thought makes him pause, and he pretends to reread the same line again.

He wants to go home to you. He looks forward to going home. He has a home, now, not just a flat. He has you.

The 141 is far from the suicide squad it was supposed to be. They’re too good, and unrestrained by the law and rules of engagement. They all fight to kill first and win second. Price runs a tight ship. Nothing escapes his scrutiny, Gaz’s perfect analysis. Soap is a wildcard. Ghost is the cold destruction extremists only aspire to. But shit happens when bullets fly. No one is immune to a hole in the neck or the brain.

He has a home to return to now.

“Price,” he says, ignoring the way eyes snap to the skull and away. His team looks at him without flinching. “Takin’ the dog on a walk.”

“No pissing on the carpet,” Price says, to the chagrin of the other colonel, who is stubbornly trying to explain unacceptable collateral to a group of men who kill for fun. Must be new to the game of hiring mercenaries. Gaz has a look in his eye that suggests he may not live to regret opening his mouth.

Soap, for his part, jumps out of his seat with palpable relief. The smile doesn’t leave his face when they leave the room, but the energy about him changes. The opportunity to move makes him sharp. From happy hound to a set of teeth with intent. Even so, he looks up with a sparkle to his eye. “Where to, Ghost?”

So goddamn charming. Ghost can’t help but smile under his mask. “Captain and Gaz got to meet the missus. Think you should, too.”

Soap is quiet for a long time, flipping a key card between his fingers that is certainly not his. Ghost can see his eyes flickering with his racing thoughts as they circle the floor. Eventually, he asks, “Ye think we’re ginnae die, then? Not like ye to phone it in.”

“Not fuckin’ likely,” Ghost snorts. “’S a waste of time, bringin’ oll of us in. Mace’d have it done in 48 hours if they’d called him in in Turkey. No, I jus’ want to introduce my pets to each other.”

“Oh aye?” Soap swipes them through a door and into a cubicle farm. He spots something - a candy bowl, apparently - and stalks forward to mess about at someone’s desk. Over his shoulder, he asks, “Gettin’ tired of ‘er?”

“Quite the opposite,” Ghost chuckles. “Wait til you meet her. I think you’ll get along.”

[pyro-tf2-but-trans]

After extensive research (scrolling down on my blog a few times) I noticed I have never headcanoned ages, so for my reemergence, here’s how old I think the mercs are and some other stuff :)

Scout

23 (im pretty sure this is canon)

Born April 8th

has a fuckass tooth gap, needed braces as a kid that he hated and refuses to wear his retainer now (medic does NOT approve)

terrible diet, he's only so thin because of his occupation and insane metabolism. He hasn't seen a vegetable since last time he visited his ma.

On that note, he's also TERRIBLE about drinking water and gets confused as to why he always has a headache.

boyfailure <3

decent cook, actually

as in the food he makes is edible, despite however it might look visually

grew up just outside of Boston

Keeps random shit on his walls, constantly needs more thumbtacks. Posters, post its, stickers, pictures, signs... why is there a fucking SPOON taped next to his door this is ridiculous.

Sometimes he catches himself sucking his thumb at his big age, the loser

when he was a kid he got bullied for not looking like his siblings like at all

Soldier

38

born July 3rd (WHY COULDN'T YOU HOLD HIM IN A LITTLE LONGER, MOM.)

world war autism

both as in intensity and special interest

First got into US military type stuff hearing about the Vietnam war as a kid, it fascinated him and made him absolutely determined to help

grew up in Minnesota, ironically HATES the cold

typa guy to make himself run laps and junk if he realized he was being rude to women or something

probably ace, yes I know he has children shut up

Pyro

probably the youngest on the team, maybe 25?

born December 20th

facial dysmorphia :(

they have burn scars all over their body from an old memory they've since pushed deep into the back of their head

they can handle not wearing their suit if they absolutely have to, but avoid mirrors lest they stare into it for a long time not quite recognizing the person looking back at them

medic and engie are really the only ones that have seen them outside of the suit more than once

sorry that got sad lol

anyway they hate being infantilized, not only for being the youngest but also for being delusional

it doesn't happen as often as you'd think, at least. But sometimes medic will baby talk them when they're getting a checkup or scout will say something ignorant. They can ignore it but it gets annoying.

they enjoy chocolate ice cream

a fan of the cold in general

pretty handy, actually. They built their flamethrowers and a good few of their melee weapons, engie taught them a lot.

cutting this short cause I've been yapping about pyro for too long

Demoman

36

born January 31st

has only actually been to Scotland like twice, he was born in the us with his mum, just grew up with her long enough to gain the accent anyway

doesn't know a lick of Gaelic, sorry. Obviously words like "bonnie" and "Gob" slip out, but that's just basic Scottish vocabulary lmao

he has a collection of eye patches, he thinks his missing eye is kinda cool when he isn't annoyed about his lack of depth perception

he uses bombs specifically because of his lack of depth perception, actually, since as long as he hits within the vicinity of his target he usually wins

he's a fan of the outdoors, hangs around sniper sometimes

crazy smart, specifically a chemistry nerd (obviously) but he can answer crazy specific questions on anything. this also means he's very good at converting measurements, if you're ever baking or something lol

that last part specifically helps whenever the European dweebs say something metric and the Americans need a translator.

"yeah that's 55 kilometers away" "..." "that's about 34 miles, lad" "oooohhh"

Heavy

54, the eldest

born August 16th

hes generally pretty good at English, but certain words annoy him

like colorful? jump

likes working out with soldier, specifically lifting. The most wholesome gym bros.

helps short people reach things on tall shelves

not a whole lot I haven't already said about him lol

Engineer

42

born June 10th

horrific blue eye stare

get brown eye contacts I'm scared

scout clings to him almost as much as pyro does, actually.

he doesn't mind all that much, at least

speaks Spanish pretty fluently, though he has a very obvious accent and has yet to master rolling his Rs, he's trying his best at least <3

he's a fan of fall

used to be the worlds most annoying angsty teenager, if you can believe it

grew out of it, obviously, but he still has a crap ton of old vinyl records of all the rock bands he used to listen to in secret in a box somewhere

(if you're wondering, his parents were NOT fans)

he has four siblings! he's the second eldest, two sisters and two brothers

knows a bit of medical stuff from medic, its how he put the healing factor into the dispenser

Medic

46

born March 19th

never went to medical school, but he did quite a bit of studying in both human anatomy and biology

so yeah he never had a medical license in the first place lol

he has a collection of bones and other bits (organs, wet specimens, etc etc)

human? animal? yes

the med bay smells like birds, its not sanitary

he's a good medic despite all of these, though! just double check that you have all your guts in order before and after an operation! scout still has a bird in his chest, after all.

off topic but he also has really thick hair that sheds a lot, like if he lays down somewhere you can find a bunch of black hairs like little snakes all over the place

^hes just like me for real!

like weirdly beefy? that medigun is heavier than it looks, and the backpack is even heavier

hed be a fan of squid game in a modern au

Sniper

30

born February 23rd

weirdly cagey about his birthday?? like he'll tell you if you ask but he'll be all like "what?? why do you need to know that??"

his footsteps don't make noise, he regularly startles people (scout) by just walking into a room and just standing there

sushi fan

like never gets sick, probably from being outside all the time his whole life but his immune system is made out of steel

medic finds this fascinating lol

blind as hell without his glasses

shaves with his knife just because he thinks its cool lmao

he has a scar on his cheek because of this though he lies and says its because he almost got hit by an enemy sniper

loser hides under his hat when he's embarrased

kisses him with tongue

Spy

50

born ??? (he says a different date every time someone asks)

THIS BITCH ISNT EVEN FRENCH!!!!!

grew up in like Nevada and puts on the whole french thing to be more anonymous

fuck is a petite chou fleur?? your little cauliflower?? come on now

#spyhater

no but I do think he is a spy, and a very good one at that (he managed to convince everyone he's french, after all)

he was supposed to be on a way more advanced team but got misplaced but he was useful on the team so he stayed there (and he felt guilty about leaving his son yet again)

needed braces as a kid, wears his retainer religiously

he's visibly uncomfortable with having his mask off, but not in the same way pyro is. He hates the idea of being seen more than they hate seeing themselves.

If he doesn't like you he won't make it obvious, but he'll just. stare at you for an uncomfortable amount of time. not even in a death glare way, more like he's calculating how many ways he could make you vanish into thin air

sniper thinks he's neat