#but already sniper scope on him

[timethehobo]

I’m over 50+ drawings of Emmrich and it’s been 3 weeks since launch. Feeling crazy but I’m sure I’m not the only one.

[chibinasuu]

Date? | Zoro x Reader

Summary: Zoro asked you out on a date. (You thought it was just an errand run at the market)  Tags: fluff, pre-relationship, first date(?), GN but written with F!Reader in mind, no use of y/n

a/n: happy birthday zoro!! this is not a birthday-centric fic, just wanted to write something fluffy for the birthday boy :)

You sat on one of the swings on the main deck of the Thousand Sunny, gently swaying as you waited for Zoro. As the minutes ticked by, you started impatiently glancing at the door to the boys’ room. 

It was taking Zoro unexpectedly long to get ready today when he usually only needed less than five minutes to throw on whatever non-wrinkled, semi-clean clothes he could find strewn around beneath his hammock. 

“Want to go to the market with me today? Just us two?” was what Zoro asked you this morning. Of course, you said yes without a second thought. It wasn’t unusual for you to accompany Zoro on errand runs whenever you docked at a new island – it seemed the crew had appointed you as his (un)official chaperone, tasked with ensuring the directionally challenged swordsman could find his way back to the ship at the end of the day. With that being said, you couldn’t say that you didn’t enjoy every single second you got to be alone with your green-haired crewmate.

The Sunny was currently docked at a small, but lively harbor town. Nami already scoped out the area this morning, and she reported that, thankfully, there were no marine bases here, so the crew could spend the next three days in peace while waiting for the log pose to set.

Some muffled bickering came from inside the boys’ room and you were straining your ears to hear what they were saying when the door suddenly swung open. Zoro was quickly shoved out of the room by a pair of hands you recognized as Usopp’s, and a telltale flash of blonde hair, before the door slammed shut, told you that the cook was also in on… whatever this was. 

You looked at the man in front of you, his green hair still slightly damp from a bath (he took a bath?) but combed neatly. He was wearing a black, slightly oversized, short-sleeved shirt – unbuttoned over a white tank top – paired with some light blue jeans. 

You could only gape in awe, genuinely taken aback at the sight of him actually dressing up for once, but at your silence, Zoro stiffened and did a one-eighty, reaching for the doorknob, “I’m gonna go change.”

You touched his arm lightly to stop him, “No, don’t.”

He turned to face you again, and you placed your hand on his shoulder as you admitted, “You look really great. It suits you.”

The tips of Zoro’s ears turned red at your compliment. A breeze suddenly picked up, bringing about faint traces of lemon and eucalyptus… Was he wearing cologne?

You couldn’t help but lean towards him, inching your nose closer to his neck to catch another whiff of the lovely aroma. As if reading your thoughts, Zoro said, “Usopp sprayed it on me before I could get away.”

Ah, so that’s why the scent was familiar. You’ve smelled it on the sniper a few times before, but on Zoro, the cologne smelled slightly different, tinged with a scent that was so uniquely him. 

“Well, you smell fantastic.” You reassured him. “Shall we go?”

The walk to the market was brief, with you and Zoro strolling side-by-side in companionable silence. As the hustle and bustle of the market came within sight, you nudged him and asked, “What did you need from the market, by the way?”

“I didn’t really need anything in particular,” He thought for a bit, “But I guess I’m running low on sword polish.”

After Zoro made a quick purchase at the arms shop, you two wandered around the market with no directions in mind, stopping at whichever stall caught your eye. 

An old lady sat behind one, carefully weaving a bracelet out of thin, colorful threads. Her table was filled with more of her creations, each of them with unique patterns and color combinations. You picked one that you thought was the prettiest, admiring the intricate details of the different shades of green mingling to create a mesmerizing design. You checked the price tag and put it back down. As much as you wanted it, you really needed to restrain yourself. You told yourself you didn’t need another accessory – not when you just purchased a pricey silver necklace at the last island. 

A few stalls down was a table laden with vials and bottles of all sizes, and you excitedly dragged Zoro by the sleeve towards it. 

“Welcome, welcome!” The owner of the kiosk greeted you, “We have fragrances of every kind here – even imported oils from Alabasta! Do you have any particular scent you prefer?”

“Oh, it’s not for me!” You smiled before jerking your thumb at your companion, “I want to find something for him.”

“Well, take a look around.” He gestured to the samples, “I’m sure we can find something suitable for your boyfriend.”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks as you frantically waved your hand, while Zoro was similarly flustered.

“He’s not–”

“We’re not–, I mean–”

The two of you gave up explaining as the man profusely apologized for making inappropriate assumptions. After you assured him that it was fine, he began putting drops of the different fragrant oils on small pieces of paper and handed them to you. You sniffed each of them, bringing the ones you found interesting up to Zoro’s nose. All of the scents were alluring in their own ways, but one in particular stood out to you. It opened with a fresh burst of bergamot, layered with a spicy rush of cardamom and a hint of green tea. 

“How’s this?” You offered the paper to Zoro.

He took a cautious sniff, and his eyebrow raised ever so slightly. Zoro was never really into colognes or perfumes, but he was surprised at how much he actually liked the scent you picked for him.

He nodded and you beamed, turning towards the merchant, “We’ll take this one!”

As the man filled a vial with the fragrant oil, you reached into your pocket for some Berries, but Zoro’s hand on your wrist stopped you, “You don’t have to–“

“I know.” You cut him off, “But I want to.”

You grinned at him, “You can wear it the next time we hang out, so you don’t have to borrow Usopp’s.”

A smile slowly crept up Zoro’s lips, “Thanks.” 

The merchant was wrapping up the glass vial when Zoro tapped you on the shoulder, “Hey, I need to go to the restroom. Wait here for a minute.”

Before you could stop him, he was gone. 

Your heart dropped. If there was one rule to going anywhere with Zoro, it was to never let him out of your sight.

You quickly handed some coins to the merchant and began searching in the direction that Zoro went, standing on your tiptoes to look over the crowd in hopes of catching sight of that familiar green. You were just starting to descend into a panic when a hand suddenly grabbed yours. 

“I’m right here,” Zoro said softly into your ear.

You smacked him lightly on the chest, “Don’t run off like that again! You scared me!”

“Sorry,” He grinned, before shrugging and saying nonchalantly, “But you know what, I don’t know how but I could always find my way back if it’s to you.”

You wondered if he knew the effect he had on you.

Your grip on his hand tightened just a little bit. You knew he was just holding your hand so you wouldn’t lose each other in this crowded market, but you couldn’t prevent your pulse from quickening at the feeling of his strong hand in yours. It certainly didn’t help that he didn’t let go even after you left the market and the crowd behind you. 

You caught a glimpse of a massive flower field at the edge of town and tugged Zoro’s hand to grab his attention, “Nami heard that field’s a popular picnic spot for the locals. Sure looks pretty, doesn’t it?”

“Wanna check it out?” 

You looked at the field longingly before shaking your head, “It’s getting late, maybe tomorrow. We should probably head back to the ship for dinner soon.” 

“Actually,” Zoro said, “I was thinking we could try out one of those restaurants in town, if you’re up for it?”

You were surprised at Zoro’s suggestion – he was normally the type to return to the ship as early as possible and take a good, long nap after a day out – but you agreed to it nonetheless. When else would you get a chance to dine with your swordsman, just the two of you?

The restaurant Zoro took you to was a quaint place, but the food they served was beyond your expectations. Zoro was unusually talkative throughout dinner, and you couldn’t say that you didn’t adore this side of him. You two laughed and chatted through bites of steaks and sips of beer, and then dinner was over before you realized, far sooner than you would’ve liked. 

The walk back to the ship was also shorter than you remembered. As you walked beside Zoro, fingers brushing in featherlight touches, you had to resist the temptation of linking your fingers with his. The night was getting chillier and you would give anything to feel his warm hand in yours again, but you know you shouldn’t. This was just a friendly outing anyway – you wouldn’t want him to think that you got the wrong idea, or worse, what if he rejected your advances?

Zoro walked you all the way to the door of your quarters, “Did you have fun today?”

“I did.” You smiled up at him, “Best day I had in a while, to be honest.”

All of a sudden, Zoro took your wrist and slipped something onto it, “A return gift. For the perfume oil you bought me.” 

Your heart skipped a beat when you noticed that it was the green woven bracelet that you admired earlier. He must’ve gotten it when you were briefly separated at the market.  

“Oh, Zoro,” You leaped toward him, bringing your arms around his neck and enveloping him in a big hug, “Thank you!” 

Zoro’s arms tentatively wrapped around your waist and you melted into his embrace. You leaned back and brought your wrist with the bracelet to beside his head, giggling as you noted, “It matches your hair.” 

Zoro’s expression was unreadable as he gazed at you, and then, without warning, he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your cheek. You froze at the sudden act, your smile dropping in shock. Your heart was pounding faster than ever, and your fingers unconsciously went to the spot where you could still feel the touch of his chapped lips.  

Zoro mistook your surprised reaction as rejection and immediately dropped his arms from your waist, stepping backward as he brought his palm to his forehead, “Sorry, fuck, I shouldn’t have taken that dumb cook’s advice.”

“Huh?” You voiced, still in a daze and not understanding a bit of what he was saying, “What advice? What’s Sanji got to do with this?”

He hesitated, before admitting in a small voice, “He said a kiss on the cheek would be okay for a first date. If it went well.”

“D-date?” You asked in confusion, “Are you telling me today was a date?”

Zoro ran his hand through his hair in frustration, “Well, what the hell did you think it was then?”

“I thought it was just one of our usual errand runs!” You stammered out, before jabbing your pointer finger on his chest accusingly, “You didn’t say it was a date!”

After belatedly realizing that he, in fact, did not, Zoro flushed and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “Uh, I did say it would only be the two of us?”

You blinked, still processing his words and this absurd miscommunication.

“You know what, forget it.” Zoro's face was bright red as he began walking away from you in the direction of the crow’s nest, “Good night.”

“No, wait. Zoro.” You caught him by his hand, before placing yourself in front of him. “It was a really nice day.”

He refused to look at you, but you placed your hand on his chin, guiding his eyes to yours, “But if you wanted to ask me on a date, maybe you could’ve been a little more… explicit?”

You laughed in embarrassment as you gestured at your casual t-shirt and shorts, “Gosh, look at me! I would’ve dressed up better!”

“You look great no matter what you wear.”

You flushed at his sincere compliment, before taking his hands in each of yours, “I’d love to go on a date with you again, you know.”

You squeezed his hands, “Preferably one where I knew it was a date?”

He was silent for a few seconds, before muttering, “Tomorrow then.” 

“Tomorrow what, Zoro?” You teased, “Use your words.”

Zoro took a deep breath, looking you right in the eyes, “Would you like to go on a date with me tomorrow? We can have a picnic at the flower fields. You wanted to go there, right?”

“It’s a date.” You smiled, before giving him a peck on the cheek, “Good night, Zoro. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You entered your room, quickly shutting the door as your legs gave out under you. You sat stunned on the floor, hand on your chest to dampen the drumming of your heart, cheeks hurting from the wide grin you were sporting.

You knew you probably wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight, too filled with excitement for what tomorrow would bring.  

↳ masterlist ↳ taglist

[diejager]

bro make a fanfic about the reader and the ghost/konig WHEN THE READER WAS SHOT IN THE BUN ON THE MISSION AHAHAHHHAH LMAO (in the military helicopter when they were supposed to return, the reader was holding her butt, moaning, writhing in pain and trying to hide the pain)

That is a funny thought…

Shots Cw: gun violence, bb shots, tell me if I missed any.

You yelped when you were hit is the ass, flinching forward and raising your arm just as you turned to glare at whoever landed the shot. Your right cheek exploded in soreness, tingling from the sharp pain of a BB shot.

“Hit!” You called it, letting your rifle hang from your shoulder as you rubbed your right cheek, grumbling about the bastard, “On my fucking ass of all places.”

You walk towards the respawn with your arm up, still cussing out whoever shot you in the ass. You had a hunch about the shooter: Soap, who else had enough courage to shoot you in the ass. You doubted Gaz did it, he might’ve been tempted, but he preferred other type of pranks, more mischievous ones like tampering with the washer or drinks, harmless but hilarious. Soap, however, rarely knew the limit, going as far as stealing and hiding your stuff, tapping you in the ass or messing up your head while he cackled away, speeding off to Ghost or Price to escape your wrath.

You reasoned that this was a staged scenario, a small group activity Laswell came up with that landed your Task Force somewhere in France for game of airsoft, a Free for all in the reserved location. No one had complained, thinking it a good activity mixing fun, training and awareness —everyone agreed to it enthusiastically once Ghost had voiced his grumpy acceptance, seeing this as a moment to be able to training without the prying eyes of others or the presence of strangers. Once you reached the spawn point, your jump back in to land a few shots at Soap to see whether or not he liked getting his ass bruised by a BB. You walked off determined, mind narrowed down to a single goal, your retaliation—

Until you yipped a second time, a pellet bouncing off your second cheek. You whipped around, yelling as your eyes scoured the tree line and the openings in the buildings behind you, the windows, the roof and behind pillars. You couldn’t find Soap anywhere, he wasn’t hiding behind the trees or in the buildings, but you did catch the glint of a scope —a familiar sniper scope.

“Ghost, you son of a bitch!” You screamed in outrage, feeling how both cheeks throbbed with pain. You bared your teeth, hissing at your Lieutenant who seemed smug and comfortable in his high perch on the roof of the building, “Why’d you do that?! I was already out!”

”Big target, luv,” his amused voice cracked in your comm, the low rumble of sadistic pleasure ringing out in your headgear. He cocked his scope, his white mask standing starkly in his dark gear and broad figure, “Impossible to miss. Quit moaning.”

“Big target? Are you-!” Huffing at his continued laughter, you glared his way before you turned to hurry back to the respawn, “Let’s see who’s laughing later, you ass.”

“Fuck- Hit!”

Your shoulders shook with restrained laughter, admiring the way Ghost jumped from your perch, hidden in the darkness given by the cement wall. You listened to him hiss and swear, massaging the place you aimed for: the pronounced curve of his ass, his jeans rarely doing him the pleasure of hiding what he had.

“Quit moaning, Ghost,” you cackled as you parroted his words, telling him the same thing as he told you, but you had more to add, more to taunt and tease him as revenge, “Couldn’t miss it, Lt, it was a big fucking target.”

You watched him stomp off, retreating to the tree line for his spawn point. It filled with a sense of elation and ugly smugness, and all that was left now, was to find Soap.

“Steamin’ Jesus!” Johnny’s yelp felt more exciting than Ghost, something you could devour over and ove without regret.

“Not so fun, is it, Johnny?” You smirked, replying with a gleeful tone.

He looked red-faced, the tip of his ears turning a bright shade of red from the way you spoke to him, utilising his known weakness and playing him to watch him stutter and flush brightly.

“Awa’ a bile yer heid! That hurt, lass!” His voice had taken a whinier tone, face screwed in embarrassment and something that you couldn’t put your finger on at this distance.

“I know, shouldn’t have shot me in the ass then.”

Gaz tapped you on the shoulder, a smile threatening to break into chuckles. He’d known what happened to you and knew what you did in retaliation, finding amusement after siding with you, sitting beside you and peering at two frowning and mumbling men.

“Heard you had a lot of fun.”

“Not enough.”

You thought you heard Price sigh tiredly.

taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx

[quarterlifekitty]

Uhhhhmmmm I’ve been thinking about being a KorTac sniper.

And König resents you in a very special, petty way. He’s catty when you’re not around, snippy when you are. Very unusual, given how silent and professional he usually is around the base.

He hates that you’re doing what he wanted to do. But of course it’s much more than that— he doesn’t feel this way towards all of the snipers he works with. He hates that you have the job he wanted and he’s hopelessly attracted to you.

He can’t even claim that he acts so childishly because you don’t work hard, or you’re insubordinate, or that you lack discipline. He’s just a lonely, insecure man who cannot handle how much of your image in his mind is composed of that which he cannot have. You exist in perfect contradiction to him. Lovely, with subtlety in your precision and skill. He is a big, ugly thing used to break down doors. Your work is in adaptation, his is in being uncompromising.

He thinks about what you’d look like crying from his thick cock stretching you, breaking that well-trained composure of yours.

König is not a stranger to acknowledging the capabilities of his teammates, as rare as it is. He will not deny that there have been occasions in which you’ve saved his ass, bought him time, cleared his path to evac.

Body armor cannot save him from everything. The setting of this mission was woefully low on cover, forcing him to cross long distances in the open when moving through the area. The last stretch is the longest, and it’s nothing short of miraculous that he closes the distance without being shot down. He isn’t even seriously wounded. Bullets, from whoever has been charged with his cover, provided the miracle.

He makes it to the nearest high ground outpost, by no means a safe distance, but safer than before even through the smoke. He sees Horangi hauling you over his shoulder— evidently dragged from the base of a charred watchtower, only recently put out— or perhaps burnt through. Wheezing, dirty, singed sleeves and a nasty looking burn on your forearm.

“Smoke inhalation, mostly. Should be fine. But I don’t understand why she didn’t leave once the fire started. 바보야….” He trails, marching off to get you to medical attention.

König looks over the barricade and towards the horizon to see where your scope hade been pointed. Deep down, he already knows.

It’s a familiar run of ground, to say the least.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

31 / 1.7k / soap soulmate au, part 8

...

Peering down into the building from the adjacent rooftop, Soap sees you--his soulmate--through his sniper's scope. You. Here. On the wrong goddamn team again.

He mutters a curse into his radio.

You’re standing guard at your client’s back—a man who coasts under the radar as far as his criminal reputation is concerned, but a smuggler effective and dangerous enough to put him on the CIA’s hitlist. He’s hidden from view. Probably been told to stay away from windows for the night. You're obviously working security, outfitted to the nines as you would be on any job, rifle in hands, scanning the foyer for threats. You're unaware of 141’s snipers setting up on the rooftops outside.

Soap’s eyes darken. He doesn’t deal with internal conflict when he’s working. When things get complicated, he uncomplicates them. Right now, there are three thoughts in his head: 

One--he misses you.

Two--you blew him off to work for this scum.

And three--he needs to get his feet on the ground right now. You'll be lucky if all you get is an earful once he gets his hands on you.

He switches on his radio. "Got eyes on the target. LT, you in position yet?"

"Affirmative. In position," Ghost says, his voice gravelly and cold over the radio from his position on a neighboring rooftop. "Waiting on the signal."

Soap stares you down through his scope. His leather gloves creak and tighten around the handle of his rifle. It pisses him off how easy it would be to take the shot. If he were anyone else, you would be dead in moments. 

On the other hand, he could kill your client--your protectee--here and now. To hell with the mission parameters. It would be easy.

He sighs, flipping on his radio again. "Permission to infiltrate, Captain? Spotted a friendly inside."

Gaz's voice crackles over the radio instead. "Friendly this time, is she?" His tone makes it clear he’s spotted you too.

"Don't be jealous, Garrick."

"Positively green with envy, mate," Gaz replies, dry and sarcastic. "Too bad she’s not friendlier. Be helpful if you could actually get her to talk this time. Not to mention the other stunt you pulled."

Soap smirks and adjusts his scope to keep you in his sights. "Don't know what you're talkin' about."

Gaz scoffs. "Plausible deniability is for paperwork."

"Aye. Maybe I’ll mention in my next report who tipped me off about her bein' our hostage, too."

There's a beat of static. "Got nothing to say about that."

Then Laswell's voice cuts in. "Kyle has a point. The building is locked down tight and it’s gonna be hard to get a clean shot. If she's with our target's security detail, that’s our ticket inside."

"And if she's not willing to help us out?" Price asks.

"Depends on how persuasive Soap is willing to be."

"I might've picked up a technique or two last time,” Soap says.

The radio crackles as Price takes in a deep breath and sighs it out through his nose. Somehow, he makes it sound stern.

"Intel is intel," Ghost says.

“Failing that, bribery’s always a solid bet for a merc,” Gaz adds. “If they don’t shoot you on sight.”

"Right, then," Price says. "Soap, regroup with Ghost. Prepare to infiltrate. Gaz and I will take overwatch. Ghost, keep on comms. We'll find you the main breaker switch. Soap, I need you to keep things quiet, you hear me? Mission objective is priority. Do not, under any circumstances, be seen."

Soap's blood is already pumping hot. He’s never loved overwatch. He’d rather be close to the action--get his feet on the ground. Get his hands on you. "Copy, Captain. Ghost, I'm aimin' for the north corner. Meet me in five."

…

You mill about at your post, feeling twitchy and unsatisfied. This job is, on first glance, the same as any. Your PMC hired you and a few other mercs out to act as bodyguards for a man with more money than morals, if the size and clientele of this gathering is anything to go by. 

You shift your weight, scanning the overdressed crowd for threats. You wouldn’t hate it if this party were cancelled early.

"Stand up straight," your teammate snaps. "You're working. Act like it."

You scowl, but say nothing.

"Don't make that face at me," he says, bite in his tone. Horangi. Like he’s so patient. He's on just as short a leash as you, and it's pissing him off just as much. The difference is he has the seniority to take it out on you. 

"I don't know how you do this without feeling like a caged animal," you mutter.

His eyes follow a woman in a tight red dress as she passes by. Obviously, he knows what he'd rather be doing.

"A cage with a paycheck," he replies. "Some things you learn to tolerate."

You scan the room again. Your protectee is still here. That's good. You're hoping he takes his sweet time before he goes downstairs to start the so-called afterparty. 

You glance at Horangi again. "You know where the cargo is? Downstairs?"

"Last I heard. I got the east wing of this floor," he says. If the idea of that cargo is bothering him, he hides it well. He’s a good merc and he does what he’s told, like it or not.

You were a good merc, too, up until three weeks ago. Worrying about what rich idiots get up to isn't what you should be doing. You're supposed to keep the client happy. It's not your fault he can’t party without doing illegal shit.

You heave a sigh. "I'm going to check on it."

Horangi’s eyes narrow, flicking to you. "No, you’re not. Stay put."

"Fine. I'm going to the bathroom, then."

"Fine," Horangi snaps. "Go to the bathroom, and make sure you come right back. And don’t talk to anybody."

You walk away, rifle in hand, making your way into the back hall. You pass into the dim sconce light and swear you see something through the enormous glass windows as you walk by them. But there’s nothing there.

The lights flicker once. A beat. Just long enough for you to notice before they even out again. 

You pause at a flicker of movement near the side door up ahead. You have a split second to wonder why there’d be nobody securing the side door before the lights go out.

When you turn and head back for the foyer, you stop short. Down the hall, where you just came from, looms a familiar shape. The white skull on his mask pops out of the shadows. 

You don't make it back to the foyer.

Before you have a chance to react, your body armor is yanked hard from the back. You're pulled backward into an adjacent room and shoved hard against the wall. You expect the bite of steel against your neck or your temple, but it never comes. 

“Quiet, now."

You register Soap's familiar accent before your eyes adjust to the dark. "Johnny?"

"That’s right," he says. He's still got that way of speaking that's almost a purr when he's being quiet.

It suddenly feels like a long time since you’ve felt the heat of his body, pinned tight between him and the wall the way you are. He’s coiled tight, all lithe muscle and restrained strength. His eyes glitter with that wild, predatory look. It’s decidedly dangerous and tantalizing.

"I missed you, darlin'. You're gonna make this simple, aye? I know you can," he says.

You swallow the immediate urge to comply. Holy hell, you forgot what that feels like. "You need to stop greeting me like this," you hiss.

"I'd love nothin' more than to greet you in a different way, but you've got to start makin'  smarter decisions first." He leans all the way in and presses his nose into the crook between your neck and shoulder, nuzzling you in his full tactical gear. 

You muffle a sigh. He makes a quiet, content sound. 

"Besides, I kinda like this way of greetin’ ya. You make this little noise."

The radio on his neck echoes to life. You hear a tinny voice come through, saying something about an objective.

His eyes shut tight as he listens, one hand pressed firmly against the wall beside you. He doesn't back away yet. He's been dreaming of this for too long--laying his head on you and letting the sound of your heartbeat drown out everything else. It just can't fucking happen yet.

You feel, rather than hear, his low, annoyed grumble as he replies. "No, I copy. Just keep your bloody heads on."

You concentrate, trying to make out the voices of his teammates. It sounds like Ghost's voice.

Soap groans, his fingers flexing and gloves squeaking against the wallpaper. “I’ll be there in a minute, LT.”

You shift slightly. "Why are you here?"

A muscle twitches in Soap's jaw, and he pulls back so he can look you in the eye. "Should be askin' you the same thing. You’re on guard detail for a bloody criminal."

"It's a complicated situation."

"Then uncomplicate it."

You open your mouth to reply, but Soap's radio crackles back to life. This time, you can make out the words.

"Target located." Ghost's voice.

"Attaboy." Price. "Get him isolated. Third floor, east windows."

“Won’t be that easy,” Ghost replies. “He’s surrounded by civilians. Security’s thick.”

You tense even as Soap begins to relax. You fist your hand in the collar of his tactical vest, trying not to sound frantic. "Do not kill him. Johnny, listen to me."

Soap's expression turns grim, and he looks down at your fingers. Then he reaches up to cover your hand with his. "I know he's your client, but there's a reason we're here. He smuggles weapons. Big weapons, and not to anyone friendly. Just take it easy and let us clean up."

"No, listen," you snap, pulling him a millimeter closer. "He has the cargo here. It's not weapons. It's people."

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / [part 8] / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12

more Soap / masterlist tag

[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; the fight pushes strength and resolve to their breaking point. in the aftermath, a steady embrace provides comfort, offering a moment of stability to your worn and exhausted spirit.

⚠️ warnings; graphic depictions of violence and blood, character death

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

König knelt in the shadows of the opposite building, his towering frame concealed behind a crumbling wall. Beside him, Sybil sat silently, her eyes scanning the darkness with an eerie calm.

The plan was simple: wait for your signal. But König’s nerves simmered beneath the surface. His fingers drummed against the serrated dagger at his side, his rifle slung securely across his back. He hated waiting—he always had. It left too much room for doubt, too much time for the unknown to creep in.

Sybil let out a soft, low whine, breaking the silence. König reached out, his massive hand brushing over her sleek fur. “Geduld, Mädchen,” he murmured, his voice a rumble in the stillness. Patience, girl.

But the stillness didn’t last.  

From the shadows, they came. 

The vampires moved with deadly grace, their forms nearly blending into the darkness as they closed in on their position. König’s rifle came up instantly, the sharp crack of his shots echoing in the alley. He managed to take down one, the creature crumpling with a snarl, but the others were too fast, too many.  

Sybil launched herself into the fray, her powerful jaws snapping down on one of the attackers that came from behind them. The vampire screeched, twisting in her grip, but she held firm, her lithe body moving like a ghost through the chaos.  

König cursed under his breath, drawing his serrated dagger as another vampire lunged at him. The blade caught its mark, sinking into pale flesh, but it wasn’t enough. The vampire barely flinched, its snarling face inches from his as it shoved him back.  

“Verdammte Blutsauger,” König growled, the frustration boiling over. Damn bloodsuckers.

Another attacker came at him from the side, and he felt the sharp sting of claws raking across his arm. It was too much. Too many.  

With a deep, guttural snarl, König let the humanity slip away. His form twisted, his already-massive frame growing even larger, more monstrous. Horns curled upward from his head, his hands morphing into deadly claws. His eyes burned with a hellish glow as he roared, the sound shaking the very air around them.  

The vampires hesitated for a fraction of a second—a fatal mistake. König lunged, his claws tearing through them like paper. Sybil moved in tandem with him, their coordination seamless, but even with his unleashed power, the onslaught was unrelenting.  

Then, a sudden crack shattered the night—a sniper’s bullet bursting through the window of the building across the way. The vampire lunging toward Sybil collapsed mid-leap, its head snapping back as blood sprayed into the air.  

König turned sharply, his glowing eyes scanning for the source. From a rooftop nearby, the faint glint of a scope caught his attention. Another shot rang out, and another vampire fell.  

Before König could process further, Gaz appeared from the darkness, his presence a sharp contrast to the chaos. His hands moved fluidly, and with a murmured incantation, a ripple of energy erupted from him, ensnaring one of the vampires in glowing chains. The creature screeched as the magic bound it, leaving it vulnerable for König to finish off with a swipe of his claws.  

Gaz approached calmly, though his eyes flicked over the battlefield with sharp precision. “You’re welcome,” he said with a faint smirk, crouching beside Sybil.  

Sybil whined softly, her massive frame leaning into Gaz’s touch as he smoothed down her fur and snout. “Miss me, girl?” he murmured, his voice softer now. Sybil nuzzled into him, her eyes half-closing as though savoring the familiarity.  

König, still in his monstrous form, huffed and straightened, his claws curling into fists. His horns gleamed faintly in the dim light as he regarded Gaz. “Who was that?” he rumbled, his voice deeper and more guttural in this form.  

Gaz shook his head, still focused on Sybil. “That was Price. He’s on a nearby rooftop, covering us.” He straightened, his gaze meeting König’s. “The other two—Ghost and Soap—are already inside the club. They’re helping her.”  

At that, König’s chest rumbled with a low growl, his glowing eyes narrowing toward the club.  

“Relax,” Gaz said, his tone even. “She’s got backup. And now, so do you.”  

Sybil let out a quiet huff, her nose nudging at Gaz’s hand again. He chuckled softly, his fingers continuing to smooth her fur as König finally began to shift back, his form shrinking and human features returning.  

König’s claws flexed as he shifted back to his human form, his towering frame still radiating tension. His breaths came in deep, controlled bursts, though his eyes, dark and sharp now, bore into Gaz with restrained frustration.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” König said, his voice low and cutting. “She was clear. We were clear.”

Gaz straightened, meeting König’s gaze without flinching. His hands paused briefly in smoothing down Sybil’s fur, but his expression remained calm. “I know,” he said simply, his tone steady but unapologetic.

König let out a growl, his shoulders stiffening as his frustration spilled over. “Then why?” he demanded, his voice rising slightly. “This was not your fight. You had no reason to—”

Gaz cut him off, his voice firm but still measured. “We had every reason.”

Sybil shifted, her dark eyes flicking between the two men, her large frame still pressed against Gaz’s side as if sensing the rising tension.

Gaz stood fully now, his tone softening but his resolve unshaken. “I know she didn’t want us involved. I know what she said. But this isn’t just about her.” He glanced briefly at Sybil, his fingers brushing her fur before continuing. “We’ve got a bone to pick with Makarov, too. What he’s done—to her, to Leah, to all of us—it’s personal.”

König’s jaw clenched, his fists curling tightly at his sides. “This was not the plan,” he said through gritted teeth, his accent thickening with his frustration.

“No, it wasn’t,” Gaz admitted, his gaze steady. “But plans change. You’re not the only ones who have something to settle with him.”

König’s glare didn’t waver, but Sybil let out a low whine, her nose nudging his hand. He glanced down at her, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“We’re not here to step on toes,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But we’re not sitting this one out, either. Price and I are here to make sure this ends—tonight.”

König’s silence stretched for a moment, his dark eyes flicking back toward the club across the street Finally, he exhaled heavily, his hands falling to his sides. “Fine,” he muttered, though the edge in his tone remained. “But if this goes wrong…”

“It won’t,” Gaz interrupted, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “She’s got Ghost and Soap inside, doesn’t she? Between them and us, we’ve got this covered.”

König didn’t respond immediately, his gaze still locked on the glowing red lights of the club. Finally, he gave a short, reluctant nod, his focus returning to the task at hand.

“Good,” Gaz said, rising to his feet and giving Sybil one last affectionate stroke. “Because Makarov has no idea what’s coming for him.”

. . .

You dry-heaved over Makarov's body, your breath ragged as you clutched your knees for support. He was dead—just like that. The so-called great mastermind, the architect of so much pain and suffering, reduced to a lifeless heap on the bloodstained floor. It felt surreal.

And yet, as you stared at him, another thought surfaced, unbidden but undeniable. For someone like him—someone grandiose, who believed himself untouchable, a perfect being, a mastermind—this was the perfect death. No spectacle, no grand finale. Just cold, unceremonious, and messy.

It was almost poetic, in a way. The man who thrived on control, who reveled in the suffering of others, left sprawled and broken in his own chaos.

The thought steadied you for a moment, but the adrenaline still coursing through your veins didn’t let you linger. You had to move.

Coming to your senses, your eyes darted around the room, finally landing on your bag slumped against the sofa. You staggered toward it, every step a painful effort, and knelt beside it, hands fumbling through its contents.

The first thing you grabbed was a small glass tube—a bottle of perfume, deceptively elegant. Your fingers scrambled to uncork it, nearly dropping it in your haste. As soon as the stopper was free, you tilted the potion back, swallowing the contents in one swift gulp.

It burned going down, but you forced it back, grimacing against the taste. The potion, made from the herbs your mother had collected for you, was designed to neutralize whatever cursed concoction the succubus had fed you earlier.

The second item you grabbed was your lipstick. Clutching it tightly, you pushed yourself to your feet and stumbled toward the door, your pulse pounding in your ears.

As you moved, the realization of the eerie silence hit you. The room was void of sound, as though the air itself had been sucked away. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as the oppressive scent of death slammed into you, sharp and cloying. Gagging, you raised a trembling hand to cover your nose and mouth.

The darkness beyond the door was different—inky and impenetrable, an abyss that even the pulsing red strobe lights from the party downstairs couldn’t pierce. The untouched revelry below felt almost mocking, its carefree energy a world away from the oppressive stillness enveloping you.

A deep, guttural sound echoed down the hall—a savage, wet tearing that sent a chill racing down your spine. It wasn’t human. You turned instinctively toward the noise, your pulse spiking as you strained to make sense of the chaos unfolding just beyond the room.

You slammed the door shut on instinct, twisting the lock with trembling hands, but when you turned back, you froze.

Simon was standing there. But no, this was Ghost.

He loomed over Makarov’s lifeless body, his broad frame somehow absorbing all the dim light in the room. Shadows clung to him like a second skin, his presence dominating the space with an almost supernatural weight. One boot tilted Makarov’s head to the side, as if inspecting the corpse.

Your breath hitched as his dark gaze turned to you, cutting through the distance like a blade. You couldn’t move.

Slowly, methodically, he began walking toward you. Each step deliberate, heavy, and unrelenting. Your instincts screamed at you to run, but your body betrayed you, backing you into the locked door instead. The cold press of the door against your back did little to steady your trembling frame.

When he finally reached you, he loomed over you, his shadow swallowing you whole. You flinched, your mind flashing back to the last time you’d seen him like this—feral, unrelenting, dangerous.

Ghost’s hand rose slowly, his gloved fingers brushing against your cheek. The unexpected gentleness of the touch made your breath hitch, but the sting of the deep gash there brought you back to the present. His thumb lingered, tracing the edges of the wound as his brow furrowed beneath his mask.

“Bastard,” he muttered, his voice low and rasping with venom. His eyes flicked briefly to Makarov’s body, his contempt cutting through the stillness. “Would’ve made ‘im suffer more. Deserved worse, the prick.”

But then his gaze shifted back to you, softening through his mask as it returned to you. He reached for your hands, gently wrapping his fingers around yours. You tried to pull away instinctively, but his grip held firm, steadying your trembling fingers.

Your nails, cracked and caked with blood, made him stop for a moment, his gloved thumb brushing carefully over your stained fingertips.

“Look at this,” he muttered, tugging at the hem of his shirt with one hand. “Bloody hell, love. Shouldn’t’ve come to this. Shouldn’t’ve been you.”

His accent thickened with every word, the edges of his voice rough with anger—not at you, but at everything that had brought you here. He wiped at your hands with his shirt, his movements careful despite the frustration that seeped into his voice.

“You deserve better than this,” he said, his tone growing heavier, harsher. “Should’ve been me doin’ the dirty work, not you. You ain’t built for this—no one should be.”

The blood smeared onto his shirt as he kept at it, his brows furrowed, his breath heavy. “I should’ve been here,” he snapped, the frustration pouring out now. “Should’ve stopped this whole bloody mess ‘fore it got this far. That’s on me. All of it’s on me.”

His gaze darted back to your face, his thumb pausing against your palm as his chest rose and fell with barely restrained emotion. “I let you down,” he said, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper, his accent thick enough to blur the words together. “I let all of us down. Won’t bloody happen again, swear it.”

His words cracked something in you, the weight of everything—Makarov, the blood, the pain—finally catching up. Your walls crumbled, and before you could stop yourself, a sob broke free. You slumped forward, clutching onto Ghost as your body trembled with the force of your emotions.

“Simon…!” you choked out, his name a whisper torn from your lips as you buried your face into his chest.

Ghost froze for half a heartbeat before his arms wrapped around you, strong and sure. He pulled you against him, his warmth engulfing you like it had in the past. His broad frame felt unyielding, a solid barrier against the chaos of the world.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, his voice softer now, though his accent still roughened his words. His gloved hand slid to the back of your head, cradling you gently as his other arm held you firmly around your waist. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

You clung to him, your fists gripping the fabric of his shirt as if letting go would shatter you completely. The tears came harder, each one pulling at the tension you’d carried for so long.

Ghost didn’t rush you. He stayed there, immovable, as your sobs wracked your body. His hand moved in slow, comforting strokes down your back, his fingers brushing through your hair with a tenderness that made you cry harder.

“It’s alright, love,” he murmured again, his words vibrating through his chest. “Get it all out. You ain’t gotta carry it alone anymore.”

Eventually, your sobs began to quiet, your breathing evening out as the overwhelming wave of emotion receded. Your grip on him loosened slightly, though his arms didn’t falter, still holding you close.

When you finally pulled back, your make-up was ruined and cacked on Ghost's shoulder, but there was a lightness in your chest you hadn’t felt in ages. He cupped your face briefly, his thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek before letting his hand fall.

He stayed there for a moment, his head dipping slightly as if gathering himself. When he finally looked back up, his hand still holding yours gently, the intensity in his eyes was almost unbearable.

“You close your pretty eyes now,” he murmured, his tone softening despite the weight of his words. “Let me finish this. I owe you that much.”

. . .

The room was quiet save for the low hum of tension that hung in the air. König stood by the window, his imposing frame silhouetted against the faint glow of the city lights outside. Sybil lay at his feet, her ears twitching occasionally as she listened intently to every sound. Nearby, Gaz paced restlessly, his hand running through his hair as he cast glances toward the sealed door at the far end of the room.

Then it happened.

The door began to glow faintly, the intricate lines of an array appearing as if etched by an invisible hand. The glow pulsed softly, growing brighter with each passing second.

Gaz stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing at the sight. “That’s my cue,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. He turned to Sybil, crouching down to give her one last affectionate scratch behind the ears.

“Be good, girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her large snout. Sybil leaned into his touch, her eyes half-closing, as though savoring the familiarity.

Straightening, Gaz gave König a nod. “She’ll need you,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

König inclined his head, his sharp gaze fixed on the glowing door. “Go,” he rumbled.

By the time the array was complete, Gaz was gone back into the shadows.

You stepped through the threshold, the glow of the array fading behind you as you crossed into the room. The lipstick you had used to draw the array was clutched tightly in one hand, its cap missing, the vibrant pink smeared across your trembling fingers. In your other hand, you held a bag—a heavy, bloodied bag. Crimson dripped steadily from its base, leaving dark splatters on the floor as you moved.

Your face was streaked with tears, your eyes red and swollen, and your entire body trembled with exhaustion and pain. You were hurt, bone tired, and completely spent, but you said nothing.

Ghost was nowhere to be seen.

Before you could take another step, König was there. His massive arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest with a gentleness that belied his size. You sagged against him, the weight of everything crashing down as his solid presence engulfed you.

“It’s over,” König murmured, his voice low and steady. His hand rested protectively on the back of your head, holding you close.

Sybil moved to your side, her nose nudging at your hip in silent comfort. Her warmth and König’s embrace were grounding, a fragile lifeline in the chaos that unravelled.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to let go, closing your eyes as König held you firmly in place.

Behind you, the glowing door disappeared, sealing shut as though it had never been.

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[lovifie]

An Offer You Won't Refuse

Bottom Price x Top Gaz | Smut - 2.543 words (Back to Masterlist)

CW: handjob, meanish Price, blowjob, rimming, anal sex and a kiss on the lips hehehe

Price knew how important it was to have the team at its peak condition, and to do so; he knew it was important to boost the morale of the team and help with… pent-up energy.

Especially when they would find themselves tucked in a safe house, keeping guard to make sure no enemy could sneak up on them. Which usually required one of them to remain stuck to a window with a sniper, keeping an eye out for any approaching vehicle.

Simon was an expert at it, the man was able to stay in position for days if required. No need for breaks, no reduction of attention while doing the job, the sniper gun one more limb of his body.

Price was second to it, the years of experience making it easier as times passed, but as his responsibilities grew so did his number of distractions, making him lose his focus more easily. 

Soap had his own approach to sniper duty, while usually the soldier would stay lying down with the sight on the scope, the scotsman usually remained seated using his own eyes to look out; swiftly moving down to the gun the second he saw anything. 

Gaz struggles the most with the sniper position. Too restless, constantly switching positions, unable to stay still for too long. The captain finds it endearing how the sergeant would try his very best to stay still, futile attempt after futile attempt. 

He knew it was a tic-tac bomb when he was looking out the window, still; he always loved to sit behind the sergeant. Seeing how he tried to concealedly rub his growing erection against the ground looking for some kind of friction. Cute. 

The four men were used to spending months together, within the same walls more of the time or cramped inside a minuscule tent. More than once have they need to turn a blind eye to something that was obviously happening under the covers.

And just as many times have they ignored when two of them have suddenly decided to take the first turn to take guard. Whatever keeps their mind focused on the important task. 

So when the young sergeant seems more focused on fucking the floor than keeping an eye out, Price is quick to call him out. 

“Focus, Garrick.” His deep voice travelling to the man, the vibrations of his voice running almost through the ground to his dick. 

“Shit, Cap’tain, can you… He groans, obviously aware he has just been caught red-handed. “Can you get in for a sec? Need to wee.” 

“Don't lie to your captain, Kyle.” Price says, pushing himself from the wall he was leaning on to walk to the sergeant. He can hear Kyle groan, defeated. Price stands next to him, looking down at him and he notices how Gaz’s hips are elevated from the ground. 

An evil smile appearing on Price’s face before he set his boot on top of the sergeant’s ass pushing his hips down making him hiss. It makes Price chuckle, slightly rolling his boot over the younger man’s body to create more friction between him and the ground. 

He notices Gaz’s hands shake on the gun and he removes his boot from his body, instead lying down next to him, looking up. He turns his head to look at the sergeant, smile still on his face. “So… wanna try that again?”

Kyle’s eyes furrow, not understanding the captain's question. “So-sorry, sir?” He asks, side-eyeing him for a second before looking forward again; he knows he is already in trouble, he doesn't need to make it worse.

And although Price likes to pride himself on his self-control and ability to keep his instincts and needs out of his mind; he too, has fallen for the sergeant’s charm. For his full lips, honey-coloured eyes and perfect smile. The fact that the sergeant also has the best ass he has seen in his life is just a bonus.

That's why only Gaz is surprised when Price moves his hand between the sergeant’s chest and the ground. Slowly but swiftly moving down.

“It's important to focus on the job, Kyle. You can't be distracted with external things.” Price says, looking at the sergeant's face, seeing his slightly opened mouth. 

“I know, sir.” Kyle says, eyes focused on the scope, trying his best to ignore the wide hand moving down his body. 

“Better to take care of… the distractions, right?” Price asks him, his fingertips resting over the buckle, teasing him.

“Affirmative, Sir.” Kyle answers, fighting every urge to take his clothes off himself. 

Price takes a long time to answer, wanting to make the man wait. “This is a really important mission, Sergeant.”

“I know, sir.” He answers, repeating his words. He moves his weight to his side, urging the man to move without talking.

“There is a lot at risk.” Price continues, after a long pause again. His hand still resting on the buckle, not giving Kyle the pleasure he so badly wants. 

“Sir, please.” Kyle says, sighing when he no longer can see when all of his senses are on the feeling of his captain's hand so close to his groin. “I can't focus like this… please.”

Price chuckles beside him, his eyes catching how his lower lip trembles, pupils dilating every time his hand twitches. The Sergeant still hasn't looked at the Captain once, so well-behaved that even Price is impressed. 

That's why he pities him, getting his belt and pants undone so he can finally free his hardening dick.

The feeling of the captain's calloused hand around his length it's what finally makes Kyle close his eyes, sighing at the satisfaction of finally getting the desired friction.

Price smiles, enjoying the little game that he has created. He was already aware of the power he had over the sergeant, blind trust and obedience in him; but still, it was a different feeling from seeing the man buck his hips against his fist. 

His hand is dry, not even having bothered to spit in it; but Kyle doesn't seem to mind the burn of the dry skin against his most sensible member. His head falls down, biting his lips to keep himself from moaning, but his hips still move in a disordered rhythm, as if his mind was telling him not to do it but his body was moving against his will.

“Eyes on the objective, sergeant.” Price orders, smile still plastered on his face when he sees Kyle whip his head back up, eyes on the scope and in the search for any possible threat. 

But Price's hand still moves along his shaft, tugging at it on his way down, making the sergeant move his hips along. It's Price the one that manages to get Kyle's hips into the rhythm, making him move them up when he moves his hand down and vice versa, his fist meeting his pubic bone when Kyle thrust forward. 

Such delicious sounds and cries fell from Kyle’s mouth, urging the Captain to give him more, make him cry louder, thrust harder, make him unable to hold the gun. But it is his fault for choosing such a great soldier, because from his chest up, the sergeant is focused on outside of the building. 

So Price changes his strategy, instead of working along with Kyle, he makes him work for it. He stops moving his hand, keeping it within reach but barely past the middle of the sergeant's thick length. It makes the sergeant thrust lower, his exposed tip rubbing the hard floor making him hiss. “Cap’tain…”

Price looks down, to where the angry tip of the sergeant keeps hitting the ground, the pleasure from his hand enough to make the pain worth it. But he pities him, moving his hand lower and engulfing the sergeant tip on his fist.

“Fuck, harder, please…” The sergeant whisper, his hands twitching on his hold of the gun almost wanting to move it lower along with his captain’s to fuck his fist the way he wants. 

“Don't tell me how to wank you off, Garrick.” Price chuckles with an eyebrow raised, closing his fist just a tad harder than what Kyle wanted making him groan as his hips buckle.

“Sorry, sir.” He moans the apology. It was a delicious torture, the touch of his captain borderline painful but still making him unable to hold still, the gun that was resting on the floor still weighed a ton with the way he tried to keep his hands from slipping from it. 

He just wants so badly to grab both of Price’s hands, making them cup his lengthy dick and fuck them, his angry tip poking through them with each thrust; spitting on them just to hear the squelching sound of his saliva between his captain fingers. 

Instead, he can only shallowly thrust into his hand to prevent himself from peeling the skin of his dick against the floor, trying his best to keep himself from whining at the lack of more friction. But still, the barely there feeling of his captain's hands has him losing control of his lower body. 

Price’s eyes are stuck on his ass, on how his asscheeks clench whenever he thrust forward, the sergeant's dick twitching on his hand with his approaching orgasm. He looks at the sergeant’s face, smiling when he notices he has once again let his head fall down. Eyes closed and moans sliping easily off his open mouth, and he decides to make him an offer.

"C'mon, sergeant... I thought you were pent up and that's why you wanted to change positions… I offer you something... If we kill this motherfucker before the week is over... I'll let you fuck the real thing."

And it is that what throws Kyle over the edge, splattering his seed over his captain's hand and onto the floor. He grunts as he does, his captain’s name spilling from his mouth in barely a whisper. 

Price wipes his hand on the floor, propping himself on his elbow to pat the sergeant's butt. “That’s a good boy, you can relax now, sergeant. Ghost has been on the top floor for half an hour now with the sniper.”

Price still thought it has been hilarious to tease the sergeant like that, both with making him look out the window during the whole ordeal and with the way he took advantage of the neediness of him to give him the half-assed handjob he gave him. 

What he didn't think was so funny, was when Thursday afternoon hit and the head of the organisation they were following got the top of his head blown off and Kyle turned to Price, who had almost forgotten about his offer and said: “My room or yours, sir?”

He still found it slightly comical, the way the sergeant was so eager to close the door, locking it, when he entered his room. Because the last thing Price was expecting from the sergeant was the way he ended up blowing his back. 

It all started with the sergeant urging him to take off his clothes, sitting him down on the edge of the bed. The sergeant's hands were roaming his body like it was his possessions, and when his mouth entered the equation, Price didn't really mind. 

He felt bad when he felt himself slide down Kyle’s throat, feeling mean for the excuse of a handjob the man had received in comparison. But then Kyle's mouth moved lower, licking his heavy balls like it was a delicatessen, and it was when he felt the sergeant's tongue probe at his ring of muscle that had him throwing his head back. 

The sergeant had him in the most committed position he had ever found himself in; both metaphorically and literally. Because with him laying on his back, with his legs clutched to his chest, his sergeant tongue deep into his ass and his hand fisting his length, he has never had more gratitude to the lock of the door. 

Price can feel himself clench, his orgasm surprising even himself, wanting to hold the sergeant's head to push him impossibly closer to his body. But before he can, Kyle pulls back, licking his lips and orders the captain. “Turn around, sir.”

Never did he think he would see the hungry and lustful expression on his sergeant's face, intimidating and promising enough to make him roll over easily. The sergeant behind him tugs his own length, slapping it between his captain's hairy cheeks making himself groan. 

He uses his hand resting on his captain's cheek to spread him, giving him free access to his spit-covered hole before letting his tip catch on it. Not pushing yet, but he bends forward, coming to rest his head on the captain's shoulder. “C’mon, Cap’tain, eyes on the objective, yeah?”

Price turns his head to look at him, confused with what the sergeant means, but it's the smile on his face when his tip finally enters and makes Price’s mouth open at the intrusion that he understands that the sergeant only wanted to see his reaction. 

Kyle chuckles behind him. “What’s there to lose, right?” He says, before kissing his captain on his lips, moaning into each other's mouth when Kyle slowly pushes forward. The both of them feeling more coy because of the intimate kiss than for what is happening below waist level. 

The sergeant only waits until Price has gotten used to his girth before he starts to snap his hips, pushing in and out with ease and picking up the pace. His hands find the waist of his captain, using it as leverage to stand kneeling behind the captain. 

Price's body is flat against the mattress, his dick chafing against the sheets, but with the way Kyle holds his waist, pulling him back to meet every snap of his hips, the only thing that he can do is moan the younger man's name. 

Although he is aware of Kyle’s stamina, it still surprises him when the man doesn't seem to be able to tire himself out. The speed, depth and constant stimuli to Price’s prostate have him babbling nonsense, having come undone more than once at this point, his dick not even able to get hard anymore and spilling out onto the puddle of cum between his flaccid dick and the mattress. 

He can feel the bruises forming under his sergeant's fingertips, but he can only grab the pillows, face buried into the mattress as he moans loudly and shamelessly at his sergeant’s mistreatment. It's after he comes after who knows how many times, that he hears the sergeant grunt, his thrust becoming sloppy and irregular, and after what feels like hours he feels him spill deep inside of him. 

He can barely keep his eyes open enough time to see the sergeant pull out, laying next to him; only for him to slap the captain’s ass hard, making him hiss and saying: “That's a good boy, Cap’tain.”

And because Price is a good captain, and he perfectly knows how important it is to keep his soldiers happy and with the morale high, he knows too that he would definitely make the same offer to the sergeant in the future.

[wonsroyalty]

theory 101, jake x reader. one shot.

a/n: i lowkey want to continue this one..

You sat on your boyfriend’s gaming chair, jumper-clad back against his bare chest, pyjama bottoms on the other side of the room.

His fingers were buried deep inside your cunt guiding you through the game.

He curled them up after witnessing you get your first kill with his guidance.

“That’s my girl!” he cheered. “Well done baby!”

Shots fired at you from above and you recalled when Jake had told you to start building to get away.

His fingers stopped pumping in and out, opting to massage your sweet spot as Jake stared at the screen, mouth open.

Your head fell back onto his shoulder as you gasped for air.

“Baby, no!” He whined.

He pulled his fingers out from you and grasped onto the controller.

Your head shot up, tears threatening to fall for the umpteenth time.

“Press this one here, then that one.”

You followed his lead, having already realised the drill.

This was your sixth game after losing the five previous ones and it was the longest you had lasted.

Everytime you got close to orgasm, you involuntarily took your eyes off the screen which was your demise.

You decided to take this round seriously because if you won that would mean that Jake would finally let you cum.

Once he realised that you could hold your own, Jake returned his fingers to where you needed him most.

He absentmindedly rubbed circles on your clit, cheering you on when you knocked down yet another player.

You bit onto your lip, fighting the urge to close your eyes and placed your focus onto the screen.

Your kills shot up and so did Jake’s fingers, tweaking your nipples with one hand under his hoodie while the other pumped faster at each kill.

“I’m so close, Jakey.” you whined.

“Yes, you are baby!” he kissed your shoulder. “One person left in the game now!”

You found purchase on high ground, using your sniper to scope out the scenery.

Your opponent spotted you first, shooting at you from below.

Jake’s fingers sped up, adding to the suspense of your chance at a victory and orgasm.

You bucked your hips against his fingers, chasing your high while you shot down the player with four headshots.

“Shit!” you both shouted for very different reasons.

‘Victory Royale’ appeared on the screen as you screamed out in pleasure.

“Woah, baby..”

You’d squirted all over his desk, covering his PC in your release.

“Oh my…” he trailed off.

“I’m so sorry.” you cried. “I’ll pay for it- ”

Jake trapped your lips into a kiss, biting on your bottom lip before adding bites to your neck.

“Can you give me another?” he pleaded. “Give me another, pretty girl..”

[yawnderu]

Longing — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Im crying. Ghost is easily the most beautiful character to write about, this man deserves the world I just want to hold him :/

I want to love you. I help you recover when you're wounded, I sit next to you during briefings, I watch over you during missions. What do you want? A love poem? I don't know how to write those, but here, I found a knife you may like.

Simon carefully looked at you through the scope of his sniper rifle, making sure no enemies were near you. Whenever he took overwatch, his focus was mainly you. He watched as you took down enemies with ease, basking in the sight of your bloodied yet focused face, helping you take down enemies that could have given you any issues until you were out of his sight.

"Target down." Your voice was music to his ears, breaking him away from his trance as his hand reached for his radio. He cleared his throat before speaking, trying his best to hide the longing in his tone.

"Good job." But oh, you knew. You knew from the moment you looked into his eyes, from the way he always seemed to be next to you no matter what, from the way he always made sure to watch over you, from the way his tone softened when talking to you, from the way he put his hand on corners you may bump into; yet how do you tell a man this broken you love him no matter how shattered his soul is? How do you go about introducing him to your friends? Do you just say "hi, this is my boyfriend, he's a little rough around the edges but I see God when I look into his eyes"?

"Rendezvous at the helipad." Was his only indication, though it lacked the usual bite his words carried. Loving you was a low-grade ache, yet he still craved your love. He always felt undeserving of nice things, undeserving of life, completely unaware that the world owed him after everything that happened to him, yet his only interest was you.

Intimacy scares me, but I can make you a cool mask. As he walked, he remembered the time he "lost" a bet with you, his punishment was to make you a matching balaclava. He acted annoyed at it, as if it was an inconvenience, as if he didn't spend twice as much as he spent making his own mask just to make sure every single detail on the balaclava was perfect. Completely alone in the middle of nowhere, he allowed himself to snicker softly, remembering your surprised face when you saw the carefully crafted mask. The way you treated it with so much care as if it was made of glass, the way you put it on and looked just as beautiful as ever.

"Ghost?" Your voice broke him out of it, not even realizing he was already at the helipad. He nodded his head once he saw you, gaze drifting around before he walked past you.

"Simon. Call me Simon."

[rileyslibrary]

“A barista?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “I used to pretend play with my parents.”

He looks at you with one raised eyebrow. Confused. He surely knows what pretend play is; it can’t be.

“Y’know, taking their orders, then pretending to be making coffee and serving them.” You elaborate.

“Ah.” He nods.

The question was, “what did you want to be when you were young?”. You asked him, but he diverted the question back to you. He said he had to take watch while you two were sitting on the roof, waiting for the target to appear.

“What about you, Ghost?” You ask.

“Don’t know, kid,” he says as he looks through the sniper scope, “can’t remember much from my childhood.”

Of course, he doesn’t. Trauma does this to you. It doesn’t erase memories, but it suppresses them. Like you’re throwing piles upon piles of clothes in a closet. Only to find that its doors won't close one day and all the dirty, unorganised garments would come crashing down on you.

“Alright,” you say, “what would you like to do for a living if you weren’t doing this, then?”

He shifts from the scope and stares at the horizon. He’s thinking. Like nobody has asked him before. That or he never planned for the future. That’s what this job does to you.

He tilts his head back to the scope. “Open a pub.” He finally replies.

“Didn’t you role-play something like that with your parents?” You ask.

You know you’re approaching a dangerous territory in that brain of his, full of mines that they’d be best left untouched. But talking about you past is a good thing, especially when you’re with Ghost. You’re sorting out your mental closets together, cleaning them out and organising your thoughts like folding clothes on Spring cleaning day.

“My father was already a drunkard, darling,” he explains, “didn’t need my help with role-playing pub with me.”

You shrug. “Would you like to take my order as a practice?”

“Go on.” He says in a low tone.

“A glass of Sauvignon Blanc, please.”

“Sorry, love, we don’t sell shit like this here.”

“Ghost!” You laugh, “you can't talk to your customers like that.”

He huffs, but he’s enjoying it. He brings his hand towards you, his fingers pinching on a stem of an imaginary wine glass. “There you go.” He says, still focused on the scope. You touch his hand so he can sense that you’ve accepted the glass and thank him.

“Maybe we can combine the two ideas,” you contemplate, “a coffee shop by day and a pub by night.”

He lets a light chuckle. “We’ll need a license for the pub,” he explains, “sort of a pain in the ass to acquire it.”

“So you’ve looked into it, I see.”

“A couple of times,” he admits, “can’t live like this forever now, can you?”

You sigh and nod in agreement. “I’d visit your pub, Ghost.”

“Sure, as long as you pay for your drinks.”

“Of course, I will.”

“You sure?” He asks, “cause you didn’t pay me for that wine.” And extends his hand towards you.

You smile and place imaginary money in his palm, and he grasps your hand.

“Promise me,” he says, “that you’d leave this job while you’re still alive and jolly.”

You look at his hand with your mouth open, but no words come out. He squeezes your hand, begging for an answer.

“I-I’ve got nowhere else to go, Lt.” You manage to utter.

“Sure you have,” he says, “a whole life ahead of you.”

He lets your hand and grasps the rifle.

“Will you come visit my coffee shop?” You ask.

“If I’m alive till then, I promise I will,” he replies, “now get ready; our target’s approaching.”

[mrslankyman]

Failed Mission

Montague (fortnite) x (fem) reader

-> smut / unsafe sex

-> gun use

->idk shit about guns

->Montague forgot his tripod stand. Maybe your ass would work better

->2k words

(request)

Too bad working for the Society meant going on missions with the most annoying man ever. 

Montague. 

His french accent: annoying 

His outfit: ugly

The way he nitpicks everything: infuriating 

He never wanted to listen to You. He never got the right things on the list for the mission. Always forgetting something. Last time he forgot the sticky bombs. Wonder what he will forget this time. It was just a steak out mission. 

There was a rumor that The Under Ground would be attacking Lavish Lair today. That’s how you found yourself on top of one of the snowy mountains that surrounded the mansion. Montague right next to you. His supplies are back in the Jeep. The two of you were just watching below. Trying to see if anything suspicious or off was going on. 

You both just sat in the snow. You mentally hated it. Back at your mansion there was no snow. You lived closer to Ritzy Rivera. So coldness wasn’t something you cared for. Montague on the other hand? He must be as cold as his heart. 

“Wait.. I see something.. I think it’s that Hope girl Valeria talked about.” He got up spraying snow all over. Some of it landed on you, letting out an annoyed groan when you got up. He walked over with his Sniper Rifle. 

Here we go. 

He loaded it and held up the gun. Until he noticed one thing. 

He had the wrong scope. So aiming to hold it up wasn’t going to happen. He shook too much.

Mistake number two.

He didn’t even bring the tripod.

“What now? Did you forget something again?” Your voice was laced with annoyance already. 

“Yes, in fact I did. I have the wrong scope.” He looked over at you as he spoke. Eyeing you up and down in thought. 

“So? Get the tripod and aim the best you can.” You rolled your eyes as if it was obvious. 

“I didn’t bring it.” His voice was lower now. Almost menacing. He was obviously annoyed at you too but he had an idea.

“So what now? I only have my AR that isn’t going to do shit from up here.” You practically yelled at him. He did this too often. 

“I’ll tell you what we're gonna do. Get on your knees.” He demanded pointing near the edge of the cliff. “What the hell, why?” You questioned glaring at him. 

“Just do it, trust me.” He kept pointing at the spot. He was far too strong to deny. He could just shoot you right now if he wanted too. So you listened and groaned as you let your knees sink into the cold snow. You mentally thought of ways to get him back. Maybe on another mission you could dump cold water on him or-

You were cut out of your thoughts when he shoved you down to the ground completely with his foot. Your face shoved into the snow and your arms slid down.

Your back end was arched up, ass in the air. You spit out snow as you lifted up your head. Using your hand to wipe off the snow. “What the fuck is your idea?” You looked back at him as he got on one knee. Laying the barrel of the sniper on your ass.

“Put your head down or i’ll blow it off.” He warned and watched you slowly lower your head.

“Hurry up.” You groaned. What the fuck kind of idea is this. 

Montague on the other hand was having a hard time aiming right. One reason; you were moving too much.

Another?

He was staring at your ass. The position he got you in so easily. You both always got annoyed at each other and got into fights. Yet you both always chose to do missions together despite the hatred. With hatred comes tension. Sometimes the tension feels a little too sexual. 

His eyes wandered from the target below to you to the target.

Once he finally focused in he got a good aim. His hand on the trigger ready to blow this Underground agent's head off you moved.

“Fuck!” He yelled pointing the gun's muzzle at your head. “Stop fucking moving.” He growled as he watched you freeze. You knew his dumb ass would never pull the trigger. But it did scare you slightly. 

“My bad i’m in the freezing fucking snow with an idiot using my ass as a tripod for his fucking gun!” You yelled not even looking at him. Keeping your face forward as you felt the gun move from your head. It was replaced by his hands gripping your hair. He pulled you back to his chest. He dropped his sniper and leaned into your ear. 

“Stop talking back.” His accent slurred most of his words when his voice was this low with anger. His other hand laid on your thigh.

“What are you gonna do if I don’t? Shoot me?” You smirked as him tugging on your hair didn’t make you scared. It makes your mind wander to other things. He was also losing his focus on the mission. His eyes looked down at you, how your lips slightly parted and you looked up at him fully. His hand tangled in your hair. 

“No, I might do something else though.” He warned his eyes were half lidded now. The feeling of you pressed to his chest made him feel things he tried to ignore when around you. Now he was letting those feelings go freely. 

“What is something else, Montague?” Your voice closed in a whisper as you got to his name. If only you knew how that drove him crazy. He could feel himself hardening. Dick straining against his dress pants. 

“You really wanna do this?” His question was almost a whisper as he leaned his head down closer. His stubble looked so much better up closer. His blue and brown eyes looking into yours. The scar made him look menacing despite the blush on his cheeks. 

His frosted tipped hair moved with the motion of the icy wind. 

“Maybe I do.” Your hand moved on top of his hand that was laying on your thigh still. That gave him the answer he needed.

He closed the gap between you two and let his lips engulf yours. All the feelings of anger, annoyance, and sexual tension went into the kiss. All the times you two argued and got into each other's faces now came to a close. Any time you two argue after this it is surely going to end the same way this mission is going to end. 

His hand moved yours off his as he slid it further down to the inside of your thigh. His hand in your hair pulling your head back further. He didn’t really like his angle of kissing. He wanted to grab your face and shove his tongue into your mouth. 

Despite that desire he kept you in this position. 

You pulled away from him and gasped slightly. He went to lean back in wanting, no needing more of you. He wanted your lips back on his. He actually wanted them all over his body. 

“It’s too cold for this.” You sighed, you could feel his hard dick against your ass. Or was it his belt? Either way it was extremely hard. 

“Why not?” He practically begged. His voice was still low but it had a desperate array to it. He wanted you now. He didn’t wanna wait. 

“Let’s go to the Jeep.. come on. Je veux te baiser.” He cooed in your ear his french accent even more prominent as he spoke in his native tongue. “What does that mean?” You asked, laughing slightly.

He got closer to ear his hot breath tickling your neck. 

“I want to fuck you.” His voice was so low and husky you could feel yourself throbbing. 

“Then take me to the Jeep.” You whispered back and without a second thought he had lifted you up and was trudging through the snow to the Jeep. You littered his neck with wet sloppy kisses before he laid you down in the back seat. You scooted to the other seat as he crawled in. He leaned up to the passenger seat and grabbed the lever. Shoving it all the way to the front to give himself more room. 

He loomed over you and smirked. “I want you on my lap now.” He growled and sat back in the seat. You crawled up to sit on his lap. He spread his legs out a little more. His diamond belt buckle really added to his outfit. 

You leaned closer and kissed him. His medallion hitting your chest as you got closer. He kissed back. His plump lips moved with yours in such a needy fashion. He wanted you so badly. He wanted to fuck you so hard you’d forget about any other man who ever pleased you. 

He pushed you back and took a breath. You took this pause to unbuckle his belt. Undoing his dress pants and just pulling out his dick from his boxers. You didn’t bother pulling his pants down. You just pushed the flaps of his pants to the side and his belt. He helped you slide off your pants quickly and underwear. He stared at you before leaning his head back against the headrest of the seat. 

He grabbed your hips and lifted you over his perked up dick. “You ready?” He asked as he slid one hand down to line himself up with your entrance. 

You nodded and slid down on him. You bit your lip holding back your moan. Montague on the other hand? He let his moan echo in the car. He didn’t hold back on the noises. He hadn’t fucked someone in so long. 

He was too busy keeping the Society in order. He loved how your pussy tightened around his dick. This feeling was better than any successful heist he had ever been on. Money made him have a happy feeling but this pussy made him want to live. 

He wanted to wake up every day knowing he could fuck you when ever you wanted. 

He wanted to please you instead of annoy you. 

He made a mental note to forget the tripod again.

“Montague..” You let his name slip out of your mouth in a high pitch moan. He grunted and slurred out random words or phrases in french. You didn’t understand them but you assumed they were good. 

He held you still by the hips and slammed his dick up in you. Letting his hips go up and down ramming his dick into you. You both let out moans of pleasure. He slid one of his gloved hands down and used his thumb to make slow circle motions around your clit. 

“Fuck.. I’m gonna cum..” You squealed as you felt yourself coming undone with each thrush of his dick. He groaned in agreement and grabbed your face with his free hand. Slamming his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. He moaned as he felt you cum on his dick. His motions became sloppy and he moved in and out at different paces. You watched his face scrunch up in pleasure and a low “oh fuck” came out of him before he pulled out and came on his vest. 

Good thing he had 500 others.

He looked you in the eyes as you both calmed down from your highs.

“Oscar can defend himself.” He chuckled and pulled you back to him.

[salmon-bagel]

Tf2 mercenaries x Seductress! Class! Reader

Warning: nsfw content, female reader, sexism

Scout

When Scout heard that there's a woman who's a professional at seduction, he had already started plotting.

"Hello, name is Y/n L/n, but you can call me the Seductress. It's nice to meet you."

"Heya, nice to meet cha' mommy- Oh, i mean mommy i mean mommy i mean mommy i mean mommy-"

Constantly hits on you. Scout believes that you're the type of girl that's 'easy', someone who will let anyone bang them regardless of who they are.

That boy isn't going to leave you alone until you let him into your pants.

Even when he's not busy trying to get in between your legs, Scout is asking you for advice on how to woo the ladies. Considering you're a professional at flirting with people.

You go back and forth on giving him good advice and bad advice. Sometimes you feel bad that he can't get a girlfriend. Then again, you think to yourself that no woman should be within three feet of Scout because of how much of a horny asshole he is.

After some time, you did grow to have a soft spot for him. Since he's bullied a lot by the other mercenaries. He can be kinda cute when he's not being a complete jerk.

Soldier

Soldier treats you like the other mercenaries. Ruthlessly bleating in your ear when you're doing something wrong.

"GIVE ME ONE HUNDRED SQUATS NOW! I WANT THAT AMERICAN ASS NICE AND PERKY BY THE TIME YOU'RE DONE!"

He wants the best from you. Regardless of your gender, he'll push you to the limit until he's proud enough to call you a warrior.

Soldier tests that you're a good seductress by making you flirt with him. It's an ego boost on his part, but he's genuinely trying to make sure you're hot enough for the enemy.

"YOU CALL THAT FLIRTING!? I'VE HEARD BETTER FLIRTING FROM A MONKEY! AT LEAST THEY CAN PUCKER THEIR LIPS BETTER UNLIKE YOURS!"

Buys you clothing that he believes would work well when you're seducing the enemies. It's always american themed swimwear or lingerie. You began to believe he's just buying that for himself for you to try.

Whenever the team successfully wins for the day, Soldier immediately rushes towards and smacks your ass as hard as he can.

"NOW THAT IS AN ASS I'M PROUD TO CALL AMERICAN!"

Sniper

Sniper believes your work is very unprofessional. Considering he believes you have to whore yourself out to the enemy team. Instead of using your actual skills.

He says he has nothing against prostitution or sex work in general. Sniper just thinks that stuff you do should be kept behind doors and not on the battlefield. He says it causes too much of a distraction. However, you claim that 'distraction' is the point. Sniper doesn't seem to get it.

You honestly could care less what he thinks. Snipers throws jars of piss for a living, and he really thinks he has the right to judge other people?

The truth is you're good at seducing people. Too good. That it distracts him from doing his own job. Sniper has a tendency to watch you through the scope of his gun.

The way your body gets all hot and sweaty from the terrible heat, oh it does something to him. Sniper has imagined licking your sweat off your tits while you degrade him for being such a filthy fuck.

You are his go-to jerk off material. The women in his porno magazines don't get him off like they used. The only way he can relieve himself now is by imagining your fat ass bouncing on his cock.

When he noticed a pair of your panties in the laundry basket, Sniper couldn't help himself to inhale the sweet scent of your panties before putting them back.

Sniper knows he's a damn hypocrite.

He slut shames you for what you do, only to get off to you afterwards. The post nut clarity consumes him with guilt and shame.

Sniper still hasn't built up the courage to apologize to you.

Heavy

Heavy is one of the very few people who treat you like an actual human being. He was raised by a single mother alongside three sisters. Heavy knows to treat a woman right. Less he wishes to face their fury.

Heavy doesn't understand why you seduce the enemy. You're supposed to shoot at the enemy, not bat your eyelashes and wink! However, after watching your work on the battlefield, he gets to more of an understanding.

"Oh, I see. You lie to enemy and lure them in like fish? HA! Very clever!"

Absolutely loves gunning down the enemy that is distracted by you.

Is one of the few men who genuinely falls for you for your personality. Heavy knows you're drop-dead gorgeous, but he knows that beneath all that beauty is a truly intelligent woman. You earned your place on the team by impressing Mann Co., with your skills instead of batting your eyelashes and begging to be a part of the team. You make his heart swoon like no other woman has.

He likes to write you poetry. It helps convey how he feels for you because he's too bashful to put it into simple words.

Heavy is not afraid of anything. Nothing, not even death itself. However, it took him a lot of courage and constant rehearsal to ask you out on a date.

He hopes to start a genuine relationship with you. Heavy doesn't want a one-night stand or be friends-with-benefits with you. He wants you to be his girlfriend and maybe possibly his wife later down the line.

Engineer

"Well, I'll be! Aren't you the prettiest thing I've ever seen."

Engineer is taken aback by your good looks and sauve personality. He genuinely questions why you wanted to be a mercenary. A beautiful lady like yourself is too of high risk to get hurt!

Will always be there to help you if it gets too much for you to handle.

However, he can be very overprotective over you on the battlefield. Engineer thinks it would be safer for you to stay on the rancho relaxo than getting shot at by the enemy. As much as you'd like to not do anything on the job, Mann Co. isn't paying you to be lazy. They see everything and will tell you to get off your ass and start fighting.

You have to beg Engineer that you can do it on your own. He understands your point of view and begrudgingly lets you fight with the others. Even if it means going against his code of defending and protecting a lady when she needs it.

While putting up dispensers and sentries, he can't help to admire you from afar. Engie believes that a guy like him has no chance with a girl like you. What woman would be interested in a bald man who has a robotic hand and locks himself away in his work? No gal that's who.

Engie fantasizes about working up the courage to flirt with you and ask you out, which would eventually lead to a rather sensual night spent together. He did try to ask you out once but miserably failed. Engie kept stuttering and mispronouncing words out of nervousness while attempting to seduce you. You couldn't make out what he was trying to say. Thankfully, Demo had the heart to pull Engie out of that mess of a conversation and save him from further embarrassing himself.

So now, he just admires you from afar. Dreaming that one day he'll get to win your heart.

Spy

Surprisingly, he wants to get to know you as soon as possible. It's not every day you get to meet a lovely lady.

When he learns of your class type, oh boy, this man will make you question if you're even meant to be the Seductress.

"Mademoiselle, you are the most beautiful creature I've ever laid my eyes on."

"Do you know why they call Paris the city of love? Why don't I take you there and show you?"

"If the verb ‘to love’ didn’t exist, I would have invented it upon seeing you."

Spy leaves your entire face red and completely frozen after he's done talking to you. He's so flattering and charismatic. In comparison to the other men, he makes it seem like they're not trying at all. It isn't their fault, though, Spy is a natural at wooing the ladies.

You're surprised when Spy gifts you things that you really like. You never shared these intimate details with him before or with the other mercenaries. When you asked him how he knew what you specifically liked, Spy merely winks at you and grins. He has a way of receiving information without anyone knowing.

He has a tendency to kiss the back of your hand whenever you two are greeting each other. Spy is a gentleman and can't help himself to be sweet to a beautiful woman.

When Spy asks you out on a date, you agree to it because you have been meaning to go out. You felt like you'd go insane if you stayed in the base any longer. You put on your best dress and left with Spy into town.

After having a nice meal and a few glasses of wine, both of you give into temptation. Spy could hardly keep his hands off you when he drove you both back to the base. All your clothes came off the moment you reached his bedroom. You found it a little strange he refused to take off his mask. Oh, what the hell. He's hot and treated you to a nice date.

In the morning, you receive uncomfortable stares from the other mercenaries. Let's just say you and Spy weren't exactly quiet during your lovemaking. Unfortunately for the others, you decided Spy would become your fuck buddy.

Medic

He's been meaning to include a female subject in his experiments- I mean, he's glad to meet you!

You try your best to steer clear of him. However, on the front lines, it isn't so easy. When you're constantly getting shot at and stabbed by enemies, you'll need the Medic's help to get better.

When he sees you in action, Medic feels a new emotion that he's never felt before. Is this.. love? Maybe it is. Or maybe it's just lust.

Medic has never been infatuated with any woman. Except you. The way you lure in these pathetic men with your good looks and false promises, only to kill them afterwards- oh God, it makes him giddy. He feels like a schoolboy all over again!

Medic does routine check-ups on you. To make sure all your lady parts are in working order. In reality, this perverted fuck wants to have an excuse to grope you. Always gaslights you into believing he's not being a degenerate.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Why, of course! Breast cancer isn't something to take lightly!" He'd respond. You would understand, but after thirty minutes of him fondling your breasts, you knew what his true intentions were.

Medic writes you love letters and his dove, Archimedes, deliver them to you.

The letters start off relatively sweet. Medic writes that he views you as a Goddess, a truly ethereal being that is too perfect for this world filled with lesser mortals. And how he's the only man truly worthy for you.

Then, the letters take a complete turn the more you read it. He writes how he wishes to fulfill every filthy fantasy he's ever had with you. Oh boy, the list is long. For one, Medic wants to tie you down, gag you, and breed you like the filthy whore you are. Another consited of how he wants to fuck you on the battlefield while you're bleeding out and fingering your open wound as if it was your pussy.

You've stopped reading his letters and tend to light them on fire.

Demoman

"So, how much do you regularly charge for a quick shag?" He'd ask you before laughing his ass off.

Demo will never take you or your work seriously. Even if you politely ask him to.

He doesn't see what's so hard about showing off your tits and saying how much you love to suck cock. Demo believes you should've been a stripper if you wanted to tease men so desperately.

You frequently explain to him in detail how you help and provide for the team. You honestly can't tell if Demo deliberately forgets or because he gets drunk so often, he hardly pays attention to you while you talk.

Don't worry, though. After you've instilled the fear of women into him, he'll be gladly reminded that he shouldn't judge or ridicule a woman. If his mother were here, she'd knock some sense into him.

Demo apologizes to you, drinks, gets drunk, and apologies some more

"I'm sorry, lassie! It's just that I just get so lonely sometimes! What woman would give me, a one-eyed freak, a chance!"

He bawls on the floor, crying in front of you. You attempt to cheer him up by comforting him. Instead, you end up getting drunk with him.

Did you shag him in the heat of the moment? That's all up to you ;)

Pyro

Has no idea what you're doing to the enemy. Anything sexual you do is translated as innocent in their vision. Will never know what real seduction or sex.

Luckily, they think everything you do is nice and polite!

Regularly gives you grotesque gifts, which are usually human hearts and bones. You begrudgingly take the gifts because you know they mean well and don't wish to be disrespectful.

Pyro has a tendency to go through your closet when you leave your room. Or while you're sleeping. Either why, they steal your clothing and belongings. They pick out outfits and wigs they like along with makeup supplies. You wonder where you placed your dress and immediately begin searching for it. Maybe you left it in the laundry room. As soon as you exit your room, you see Pyro wearing your clothing over their suit. Fake eyelashes have been glued onto their eyes, and lipstick smeared all over the breathing hole.

You can't even be upset with Pyro. They're doing their best.

You let Pyro keep the dress they're wearing, considering it most likely wouldn't fit you anymore.

[vaxxman]

Oh I'm sad to see people didn't like comic 7, I thought it was very well done.

This isn't an invitation to an argument, I just want to say my opinion because I'm seeing a lot of people criticising the last chapter.

We got a lot of answers and everything that seemed conveniently placed for plot was completely in the scope of how the previous stories have worked before. I thought it was funny that soldier lived in a cave of Australium. It's just as convenient as Medic having a deal with the devil and the mercs being unable to die. Or Grey Mann having a daughter who no one wants to punch in a fist fight. Or Sniper's parents coincidentally being involved with the sinking of New Zealand.

I think it was a very good choice to not let the mercs do anything plot driving in this chapter, because this conflict was never a conflict that could have been ended by the mercs. They wouldn't even have cared, heh. We've known that everything was carefully orchestrated by the Admin, so it could only have been resolved by those who are part of the bigger conflict. Hence Miss Pauling, the Admin and Saxton do most of the plot. Everyone else already had a lot of screen time in the previous chapters, but none of their stories were truly contributing to the actual conflict at hand, so the story can't come to an end until we actually see the person who's been pulling the threads actually come to terms with what she was doing. I'm very happy that her ultimate plan turned out to just be a pointless act of revenge, since we've all known from the start that the gravel wars are pointless. This is just one more dimension deeper into how pointless it is.

Managing to resolve the story and making sure all characters receive a happy end the way they did was more than I had hoped for comic 7. But just to summarise how I think everyone received their peace of mind across all comics:

1. Sniper: Finds out he's adopted -> figures out his step parents were his true family after all

2. Spy: Really wants to tell Scout that he's his dad -> actually manages to say the words, even if he wasn't honest with his appearance

3. Soldier: Delusional hater of commies -> marries a Russian woman and stops claiming racist things, because Zhanna as a person was more important to him than whatever he believed about Russian people. Still weird, not with less delusion but genuinely a sweet father and husband. Exaggerated and maximally silly way of how to actually change people's racist opinions in real life.

4. Scout: Upset that he can't get laid and thinks he has to be More Man -> glows up by becoming a dad who steps up and is less preoccupied with getting the girl of his dreams. His kids are what matters to him now and he becomes like his mom

5. Heavy: Worried about his family in Siberia -> his sisters show him they don't need him to protect them all the time and everyone moves to America so he can be with them. His sisters get to live freely.

6. Engineer: Is involved with the conflict since his grandpa, and is contractually unable to stop it -> tells Miss Pauling to sink all Australium in a trench so this never happens again

7. Saxton Hale: Wants to go back to the time when he was still actively doing things, gets his company stolen -> gets his company back but realises it doesn't make him happy. Leaves his company and joins Maggie again because fighting alongside her was what he's always wanted since we got glimpses of his past

8. Miss Pauling: Thinks the Administrator has a great plan that desperately needs her -> learns the plan was nothing at all and decides on the spot to end it by not giving Admin any more Australium because she realises she has been feeding into the conflict

Medic, Demoman, and Pyro never had a personal conflict to resolve. Medic had his moments to shine by sabotaging TFC and being in hell then coming back. Demoman had his arc with his liver leaving him and defeating the robots due to the alcohol in his blood. Medic scooped out parts of his brain to keep him unquestioning about his eye. Pyro is just a very simple character, and I say that with no judgement at all. Pyro is happy with arson, but also with a Dalmatian as their pet.

Everyone is still friends with each other and have their own little families. They come together to celebrate Smissmass at Scout's place. I think Saxton's last line "or do you want to live forever" was so well placed, being a nod to the meme from Expiration Date, as well as pointing out that, obviously, things have to come to an end we should embrace that ending when we see it's time.

And as always. If anyone doesn't like that any of these things, we are still free to make our own stories and reinterpret characters.

[bits-and-babs]

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐌 — 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

↳ summary: prompt: “That’s so fucking hot.” — Paired with Ghost on a 'drill' mission, you get to witness his sniping prowess first hand.

↳ pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader (Delta)

↳ [1k] content: 18+ MDNI. Utterly self-indulgent. Shy reader (because I fancied something different), firing guns, very vague power play, very light degradation (barely there but it’s there), fingering, cum eating (don’t know if this counts but I’ll put it anyway), Ghost is very skilled with a gun.

ghost masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist

Easterly winds trace the curve of your cheek and gently waft your hair across your forehead. The pitch blackness that hangs in the nighttime desert air swallows you whole, your defensive spot illuminated only by the waning crescent moon. It's fucking freezing, you're tired, and you'd been staring down a sniper's scope for over six hours.

You’d already decided that whoever thought a sniper drill was a good idea was going to face your wrath in the morning.

Settled into the sand grains beside you is Ghost's hulking frame. His patience is remarkable, settled on his front with his finger fixed on the hairpin trigger of the HDR. He's not moved once since getting into position, the vaguest sign he was even alive being the blink of his eyelids. He doesn’t even need to practise, and you’re convinced he’s been paired with you simply because he pities you being a shit shot. 

"Do you not have pins and needles?" You grumble, the crosshair in your field of vision blurring into a shapeless mush after gazing at it for so long, "I swear I've got a dead leg."

"No." Simon's answer is definitive. You're unsure if you believe him at first, but he squeezes the trigger without warning. The gun cracks, firing its round, and you almost jump out of your skin at the sudden break of silence. "What the fuck, Simo-"

Disbelief stalls your loud complaint, the image of a body-shaped target with a bullet hole dead centre of the cross in the inner circle's fixed point making your jaw drop. 

Simon settles back, shedding the shell casing from the HDR and effortlessly loading a second round. It's like breathing for him, the sniper rifle like a body part that worked as seamlessly as his arms or legs. 

It slips out, your inner dialogue somehow managing to worm its way out of your lips before you can swallow down the mortifying comment. 

"That's so fucking hot..."

Simon doesn't seem to respond at first, but your cheeks are already heating up in embarrassment as you try to backpedal. "I mean- I mean, I'm sure most girls at home would find that really hot! You must have so many girls asking you out when you go home- Half of Manchester, I bet!" 

You laugh awkwardly, holding your own sniper weapon in a death grip. You wish the sand would sink beneath you, dropping you into the depths below. 

"Not really," Simon's rumbling voice cuts through the desert silence. It makes your humiliation even worse, and you squeeze your eyes shut and plan to request a transfer with Captain Price the moment you return to base. Or even hand in your resignation letter. You'd never have to fear running into Simon on another team that way—

"Delta," Ghost's gruff voice cuts through your downward spiral. You open your eyes and glance over at him apprehensively. He's still staring down the scope of his rifle, mask concealing his expression from you. Undoubtedly he was enjoying making you feel stupid.

A heavy hand settles on the back of your thigh, and you suddenly exhale the oxygen in your lungs as though someone has popped the membrane with a pin. Ghost doesn't look up from the scope; his attention is focused on the target over seven-hundred meters away. 

"G-Ghost-" Your voice tremors, and you wish you could blame it on the chill in the desert air. Instead, it's Simon's palm slowly tracing up your thigh, palm squeezing gently at the globe of your ass. 

"Quiet," he orders, and you nod quickly, falling in line at the sound of his authoritative 'lieutenant voice'. He continues his advance, pushing his fingertips under the waistband of your khaki cargos at the small of your back. 

Simon hesitates. He offers you a chance to wave him off, but you can't think of anything worse— he's touching you, sparking your skin hot beneath his slow, deliberate touches. 

Breaching the waistband of your pants, he ensures that he inches his hand below your panties, too, fingertips tracing the naked curve of your ass as they continue their descent. You whimper softly, impatient, but the sound dies in your throat when you see Ghost's irises flick to you in a warning. 

Quiet, I said. 

Swallowing back any more noises of complaint, you spread your legs ever so slightly for him. A rumble of content sound from his chest, and Simon aims his sight down the scope of his rifle again. 

Simon's fingers sink into your fluttering cunt from behind. The stretch alone has you biting down on your knuckles in an attempt to smother the yelp that threatens to breach your mouth. 

What makes it worse is Simon's blatant nonchalance. He adjusts the positioning of his Sniper to mitigate the desert breeze with one hand. Meanwhile, his fingers sink deeper into you, easing in and out until you hear the slick sounds of your cunt swallowing his digits. 

It's pathetic. Ghost'll probably taunt you relentlessly for it, but you rock back onto his hand as his fingers tease your spasming walls. 

"O-Oh, fuck-" you choke out, breathless, as you lower your head and brace against the rising bliss in your abdomen. Again, Ghost's eyes flick over, cautioning you. 

"I'm tryin'a focus," he scolds you flatly, pushing his thumb into your clit harshly. You yelp at the sudden pressure, the arc of pleasure that whips up your spine. 

"W-What can you possibly be fo-ohh-" you moan out, losing your sentence as he slowly begins to circle your clit with his battle-calloused thumb. 

"On this," Simon hums, and again the crack of his sniper rifle jolts your body in shock. Fuck- but he keeps rubbing at your clit, sinking his fingers deeper into you as he searches for your g-spot. 

Your head whips up as your cunt flutters around his digits, looking down the scope. Again, Ghost has hit the target perfectly— slap bang in the middle of its forehead. 

Honestly, you could have cum from that alone, but Ghost's fingers are retreating just as your orgasm surges. You whine loudly, looking over your shoulder to see him remove his hands from your pants despite your protests and use his thumb to push the bottom of his ski mask over his mouth. 

Sinking his fingers into his mouth, he groans as he tastes you. It's the most sordid sound you've ever heard, the noise settling deep into your abdomen as you watch him lick his fingers clean. 

Simon knows what he's doing, knows he has you on the edge of a mind-shattering orgasm, but ignores your heavy breathing and desperate gaze to nod his head at the target. 

"Your turn. Best stop your hands from shaking, love. Get him between the eyes, and I might let you cum."

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[danyasblogsblog]

MY LIVING LEGEND KEEGAN RUSS

warnings : SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, death, grief, gunshots, sad ending, SOO angsty, probably more

- after y/n’s best friend, ajax’s death, they havent been the same. in the end, all they want is to die. until they dont want too.

based off the lana del rey song, living legend

a/n: magpie is your codename!! finallyyyy im doing a gender neutral reader!! hope u guys enjoy. sorry if it all moves too fast. im not very used to writing long fics.

‘tangos. next building.’

the afternoon horizon glistened as gunshots reverberated through the air. the burgundy hats worn by federation soldiers fell off as they dropped to their knees, crimson blood rippling out of their chests. you held your sniper scope up to your eye, holding your gun in a white knuckle grip. as soon as you spotted one of those maroon hats, your trigger went off. the gunshot was loud, but your headgear stopped the sound from blowing out your eardrums. you watched as the solider fell backwards, blood pooling out of his bullet wound. a sigh escaped your mouth as you pulled the scope away from your face, holding it against your chest.

‘nice shot kid, almost getting better than me.’ keegan’s voice was like an angel call from behind you, and his calloused hand went to grip your shoulder. ‘almost? wow, could you be more narcissistic?’ you chuckled.

‘just watch and learn.’

you stared as keegan removed his firm grip on your shoulder and pulled out his gun from his back. he brought it close to his face, and his hands lingered over the trigger. of course, you thought to yourself, safety is already off. his eyes scanned the nearby buildings for federation soldiers, and within a matter of seconds, he spotted one. pulling the trigger, the man was dead on impact. the death rattle shook his body, as a pool of blood circled itself around him.

‘thats how its done, kid.’

keegan looked down at you, waiting for your approval. ‘wow, mr living legend. that was a beautiful shot.’ you quipped, silently clapping for him. before he could respond, merrick’s voice erupted out of your radio. ‘everyone, move forward. enemy contact ahead in further buildings.’

you huffed out of your mouth as you and keegan made your way out of the abandoned house. you thought about the memories that were once created in the very room you and keegan were killing people in. were those people who lived there even alive anymore?

‘whats on your mind, magpie?’

keegan’s voice slightly startled you. ‘nothing.’ you muttered. it really was nothing- you didnt have time to be worrying about the people who once lived in the houses you and your team ended lives in- especially when your life was at stake.

keegan looked bothered by your answer, but nevertheless, you two continued walking. side by side, arms lightly grazing eachother when you wandered a bit to his direction. soon enough, you met up with the rest of the ghosts.

‘keep working with the people you’re with now, don’t split up. there are too many of them for us to risk it.’

merrick’s barked orders were copied and obeyed as everyone slowly split up with their partners. keegan’s footsteps echoed yours in a rhythmic manner.

you knew why he told everyone to not split up.

‘theres a building up there- high enough to see everything. we set up there to prepare. be quiet though, because sometimes federation soldiers are surrounding the building.’ his words were confidently spoken, and you followed pursuit.

*+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+*

‘imagine falling off this thing.’

you looked down through a broken window in the building, the ground seeming so far away.

‘well you better not, im not dragging your dead ass back to fort santa monica, y/n’

‘you’d cry if i died, i know you would.’ you imitated a crying face, and wiped imaginary tears from your cheeks. you chuckled and keegan rolled his eyes. your hushed voices could only be heard by each-other as the shuffling of footsteps from keegan echoed off the walls, bouncing back to you two quietly.

the sound of gunshots and spanish orders being screamed frantically switched a flip in the two of you- your joking demeanours suddenly serious and concentrated. you pulled your gun out of your back sling, taking off the safety. you glared as you stared into the scope, searching for the familiar burgundy hats that you had learned to hate.

‘see anything, magpie?’

keegan pulled up close behind you, and you could feel his breath on your neck as he leaned down to your ear. his silent whispers to you were like a mantra you wish could be repeated thousands of times. ‘nothing. not a single solider in sight.’ you mumbled.

he leaned back up, straightening his back.

you put your scope down, your eyes finally resting, and the tension in your jaw relaxing. you sighed. spanish was heard below you and keegan. you immediately pulled a pistol out of your holster, your reflexes making your body move fast. footsteps and creaking floorboards could be heard, and to say you were on edge would be an understatement.

‘its fine, kid. they wont come up.’ keegan’s hushed voice soothed you, but you were still unable to shake the feeling of the need too protect him and yourself. ‘did you hear me? its fine.’ he was a bit louder now, but there was still not a chance in hell the enemy could hear him. the floorboard creaking and quiet voices stopped after a matter of seconds. ‘better safe than sorry.’

silence.

you raised an eyebrow at keegan, wondering why he was suddenly muted.

‘i know you still blame yourself, y/n.’

first mistake.

your silence indicated you knew exactly what he was talking about. something that killed you inside. ajax’s death.

you had blamed yourself for it- you took one minute apart from him and when you had returned, a bloody trail and a missing ajax were all to be seen. the multiple nightmares you had had the days following his disappearance plagued you, even to this day, it still did. thinking about how, maybe, his death could’ve been avoided if you had just listened to your gut.

you still remembered the day he died. when keegan held him as he died in his arms. when you guys had gone between hell and earth to find him- just for him to die the minute you got your hands on him.

you still remembered sobbing in keegan’s arms with your head pounding, blaming yourself and wanting to just die. since that day, suicidal thoughts carried around you. you just wanted ajax back. he was your best friend- the first ghost you met. he was the first person you told about your crush on keegan. you would do anything for 5 more minutes with him- to tell him how sorry you were. to tell him how much you cared about him.

‘it wasnt your fault. you know that.’

you were silent. the way keegan’s smooth voice talked about it made something rattle inside of you. you felt weak. you were distracted. your airway felt tightened- as if you were being choked. tears threatened to fall but you couldnt dare yourself to let them roll down your cheeks. you had to focus. you had too.

keegan thought about what you had said earlier, about dying. come to think about it, he liked you a bit to much for your death. he didnt want you to be just another funeral he’d have to attend. he wanted you to be alive. he’d miss the concentrated face you made when you were on a mission. all the memories you two had together.

*+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+*

‘i saved you a chocolate bar, kee.’

‘how healthy.’

‘i know, right?’

*+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+*

you fell silent. gunshots could still be heard, and it was the only thing that was stopping you from falling apart. the fact that you were on a mission, and it wasnt the time to fuck around.

‘keegan, this isnt the time.’ you huffed. you so badly wanted to talk about it, but how could you? it simply wasnt the moment, and both you and keegan knew this subject wouldnt come up again for a long time. you thought keegan would stop pestering you with questions, that maybe, he would just leave it. but oh, how wrong you were.

his strong, broad frame walked over to you, and his wintry blue eyes stared down into yours. his hands firmly gripped onto the back of your elbows, not too tight, but he had a stable grip. god, you thought, i forgot how stubborn this man is.

‘i wanted to talk about this with you, and i know its not a good time too right now, but i dont get another opportunity like this again.’

keegan was a man of very few words- his eyes and actions speaking more than his mouth did, but now, you could tell he was serious. you pulled your eyes away from his, but the intense glare he carried still was focused on you.

‘keegan-’

a louder gunshot could be heard- one closer to you and keegan’s position. immediately, you felt on edge. but keegan’s grip on you tightened, and you felt compelled to stay where you were. that was your second mistake.

‘ajax wouldnt want you to blame yourself. you.. you doing this to yourself is hurting you. its distracted you for months i can tell. you’re always on edge, you just arent the same. the jokes you make arent the same. you just aren’t right.’

‘keegan stop. youre not.. youre not a fucking therapist. just leave me alone, i dont want to talk about this.’

third mistake.

your annoyed tone set something off in keegan- you’d never been like that with him. you had always been even-tempered, something the rest of the ghosts admired. your words, enunciated by the way your voice seemed sharper to him now, made him furrow his eyebrows as he stared down at you. he let go off your arms, but for some reason, you longed for his touch still. you shook off the feeling, and stepped away from him.

*+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+*

you didnt know how it happened.

the spray of blood sprinkled itself over the walls as it erupted from you like a fountain. the ringing in your ears felt like the devil screaming at you as you fell back, your head hitting the wooden floorboards.

a wail of pain escaped your lips as your hands travelled your stomach trying to find the bullet wound, and when you finally laid your fingers on it, your body felt stiff.

suddenly, all your fantasies of dying and killing yourself were gone. now, you just wanted to live. your life was fading, and it was fading so quickly.

keegan had rushed over to you, screaming into his radio, telling merrick you got hit. over the incessant ringing in your ears, you could hear the panic in his voice. his trembling hands went to your wound, examining it. birds sung as he begged you to open your eyes- the sun’s light slowly fading, just like you.

‘magpie, y/n, open your eyes, open your fucking eyes, please.’

keegan’s eyes were horrified when he saw what he was looking at. blood trickled from your mouth, falling off your chin, and your uniform was stained with crimson.

‘kee-’

you tried to say his name, but only half came out. blood spluttered out of your mouth as you wailed in agony. ‘speak to me, y/n, solider. come on, talk to me.’

keegan ripped open his medical pouch, taking out some gauze in an attempt to prevent more blood from spilling out your wound. it pooled around you as you tried to speak. ‘i- i just want to..’

you were appalled at how difficult it was to talk. it was like your vocal cords had been ripped out, and all that was left to leave your mouth were gasps that made your lungs ache. ‘keep going, magpie, come on.’

‘i- i always wanted to.. die, after aja..ajax.. but i just want to- to live.. now’ every few seconds you had to pause your speaking so you could cough out blood. it blocked your airway as if it was trying to silence your cries. ‘i dont- i dont wanna di..die im not- not ready.’

keegan’s hope of you living was slowly disappearing. the bullet was still lodged in your stomach, ripping at muscle and letting its molten heat play with your flesh. ‘you’re not gonna die, im not letting you, im not. youre gonna live, for me and for merrick and the other ghosts and ajax, especially him, okay?’

even though keegan was trying to calm you, he could barely keep calm himself. his breathing felt difficult and forced as he watched the life escape from you. your eyes were still fluttered closed, but tears ran down your cheeks, mixing with blood as they went further. ‘please.. p-please keegan, i dont want too di-’ ‘stop talking like that, youre gonna be just fine, i promise.’

it was a ridiculous thing to promise. oh, how keegan wished he hadn’t said that. he knew. he didnt want to think about it, but he knew deep down what was gonna happen. ‘im not ready, god. god.. im not ready… i wanna.. i wanna..’

‘come on, keep talking to me, please.’

keeping you talking has keegan’s way of making sure you were still awake- that, atleast your body could keep your lips moving with phonics.

keegan felt so weak. wrapping the gauze around you felt like covering your corpse with a cloth. ‘i wanna live.. and be.. with- with you.’

keegan was taken back by what you said, to say the least. his heart thumped against his sternum, as if it was trying to escape. blood mixed with phlegm coughed and spluttered itself onto his balaclava from your mouth, but he couldnt care less.

he tightly wrapped the once white, but now, deep ruby red gauze around your waist. he stared at your face as your lips trembled, his hands tying a tourniquet at the end of the gauze.

‘i.. i wanna be with you too, y/n.’

*+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+*

they say hearing is the last sense to go. however, speaking was the last thing you ever did.

‘you re..really are, my living legend.’

[hungermakesmonsters]

Love, Sick Love

Chapter Six

Plot summary : Working at one of the shadier bars in Brooklyn, you have one rule; don’t mess around with the patrons. Most of them are criminals, dangerous. None more so than Billy Russo, but Billy believes that rules are made to be broken. Especially your rule. One lapse in judgement is all it takes for Billy to decide that you’re his, and he’s never been the sort of man to take rejection well.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Guns, crime, Frank Castle, and panic attacks. All chapters will deal with dark and smutty themes, including but not limited to stalking. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.9k

A/N : If you've see S.2 of The Punisher, some of this might seem familiar.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE

Master List

Chapter Six

It was always the same dream; painted horses, blood, broken glass, screams. Flickering light, muzzle flash, and that white skull.

Night after night it haunted him, terrorised him. 

He’d wake up a cold sweat, his heat racing over the half-remembered terror that he couldn’t even say for certain was real.

Once he was awake, there was no getting back to sleep. He sat up on the cold warehouse floor, surrounded by his crew, his brothers. They’d all agreed to sleep in the warehouse before the job they were about to pull for the sake of operational security. But not every man had stayed where he was supposed to.

Jake was gone. Vanished without a trace.

As Billy searched the warehouse for him, he felt an unbridled sense of anger filling him at the betrayal, and that anger quickly spiralled out into other angry thoughts.

Like last night.

He’d watched you on your date, watched you do everything you could to get over him and move past him. But Billy hadn’t let you. He’d seen the way you’d thrown yourself at Marc once you had him in your bedroom, and then he’d revelled in your disappointment the moment you realised that your condoms were gone.

Today, he knew you’d probably go to your building manager and ask for the locks on your apartment door to be changed. You’d never think of checking the window latch, you’d never notice how he’d rigged it so it didn’t fully lock anymore.

You’d never be able to keep him out. He wouldn’t let you.

You were his, whether you liked it or not, and Billy wasn’t going to give up on you.

He’d already spent so much time in your apartment, all those days you’d spent working the day shift, he’d spent showing himself around, learning everything he could about you. And, when he’d learned all there was to learn, he’d spent hours simply laying on your bed, remembering what it felt like to sleep beside you.

And, when he wasn’t in your apartment, he spent his days following you.

He’d followed you into the city that day, and you’d almost caught him on the subway.  It made it more fun for him, made him feel like a Marine again. He picked hiding places like he would a sniper's nest, turning you into a mark, a target. His recon taught him so much about you; where you liked to shop, your favourite coffee shop, and how you liked to lose yourself in the city crowds with nothing but your headphones for company.

He’d grinned as you approached someone wearing a similar jacket to his, as if you could somehow sense that he was following you and you were trying to find him. And, just like that, he unwittingly pulled you into a game of cat and mouse.

His nights were spent on the roof of the building opposite yours, observing you through a scope then, when he was sure you were sleeping, he’d climb up the fire escape by your bedroom window to watch you sleep, sometimes spending the whole night there.

Billy came to learn very quickly that you were more than happy to walk around your apartment wearing little to nothing, and on more than one occasion, he’d found his hand in his pants, fingers wrapped around his cock.

“Where the fuck is Jake?” One of the guys asked, loud enough to rouse everyone and pull Billy from thoughts of you.

Billy shrugged. “We’ll deal with him later. Get everyone up, we’ve got a job to do.

They had a plan, they’d spent weeks running drills and rehearsing, making sure everything went smoothly. It had given Billy purpose, and being with the guys had given him a sense of belonging and brotherhood that he’d been sorely missing.

And, once the plan was set in motion, Billy was able to focus, silencing everything else in his mind.

They got into the cars, each armed and with a mask. Billy looked down at his mask, remembering the day he’d decorated it, putting all of his pain and uncertainty into the design. Sometimes the mask felt more like a face than his own did and, when he was alone, he’d find himself hiding beneath it. But, today, it served a different purpose; to strike fear into those around him.

They entered the check exchange and things became a blur. The plan went off without a hitch and, in less than five minutes they had the money and were on their way out without even having to fire a shot. 

Billy felt good, he felt a rush of adrenaline like he hadn't felt in - fuck, he couldn’t remember how long.

“Hey, isn’t that Jake?” Someone shouted, waving at a figure coming down the street in Jake's clothes and the mask he'd gotten for the heist. “Hey, asshole, you’re late!”

“He’s not gettin’ a cut now,” someone else said.

Billy turned, expecting to see his friend, but immediately realised that there was something wrong...

At first it was the voice, a rough growl from beneath a devil mask - the mask that Jake should have been wearing. It wasn’t Jake’s voice but it sparked an uncomfortable recognition in Billy, enough to make him freeze.

“Russo!” It called out.

He turned, his heart pounding in his chest.

(It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t.)

He knew that he should leave, that they needed to get out of there before the cops showed up. But he couldn’t move.

The figure slowly pulled off the mask, confirming all of Billy’s worst fears. 

Frank.

Why was Frank there?

Pain and panic lanced through his chest, lungs burning as they refused to draw breath, and the world tilted on its axis as Frank opened his jacket and revealed the white skull daubed red with blood. His legs weakened and he almost dropped to his knees. His head shook, hoping he could wake himself from this new nightmare. But there was no escape.

Then there was a gun in Frank’s hand, an anger on his face that Billy had only ever witnessed a couple of times before, when they’d been pinned down by the enemy as Marines. Now, he was looking at Billy that way, glaring, wishing him dead before even lifting the gun.

Billy tried to force a breath, he felt claustrophobic, stifled by his mask. His mind continued to race, knowing that this was another piece of the jigsaw but not knowing where it fit into the picture. 

They were friends. They were brothers.

At least, in Billy’s mind they were.

But Frank had the skull painted across his chest, and the sight of it left Billy feeling inexplicably terrified and sick to his stomach.

All around him were shouts, his crew telling him that they needed to leave, but when their cries reached his ears they seemed like little more than distant mutterings.

Someone shot and, finally, Frank moved, lifting his gun and firing back. But Billy didn’t race for cover, didn’t move to lift his own weapon. All he could do was stand and watch, his feet firmly rooted in place by the panic and confusion that had forced the breath from his chest.

Without thought or care, he pulled off his mask, shaking his head again, trying to make sense of the jumbled mess of thoughts and emotions that were tearing through him. The shots around him were barely noticeable over the ringing in his ears and the echo of his own racing heartbeat. 

(Why was Frank shooting at him?)

People were dying around him and it hardly registered. He just remained there, in the middle of the street. 

“Did you do this to me, Frank?” 

He heard the voice, loud and angry, broken and agonised. It took him a moment to realise that the shout had come from him. Although he didn’t want to admit it, it was the only thing that made any sense.

His head hurt. His face hurt.

Everything about the moment hurt.

Billy lifted his gun and repeated the question. “I said; did you do this to me, Frank?”

He pulled the trigger, even though his aim was wide - he wasn’t trying to hit Frank, just get an answer from him.

“You’re goddamned right I did,” came the answer over the din around them.

The words felt like a knife through his chest, slicing into his heart. He pulled the trigger, again and again, each shot getting closer and closer to Frank, a terrible gut wrenching scream leaving his lips. The gun clicked, the clip empty as he continued to pull the trigger.

Suddenly, there were arms around him; two guys pulling him into the car.

As they left the scene, Billy dropped his head into his hands, losing track of what was happening around him.

Somehow, on the drive back to the warehouse, amidst the yelling and the blaming, Billy managed to mostly pull himself together. When they got out of the cars, they divided the money up between them, and he sent two of the guys to look for Jake to find out what the fuck happened. Part of him knew that he should deal with the rat himself, but Billy had somewhere else he needed to be, someone else he needed to see.

You.

He needed you. He needed to see you, be near you. He wanted to hold you and lose himself in you.

----------

To say you were livid was something of an understatement. 

You were angry and scared. And you were exhausted. Fighting him all the time, looking over your shoulder and wondering if he was there, was so fucking exhausting.

First thing in the morning you’d been to see the building manager and asked to get the lock on your door changed, making up some excuse that your key kept getting stuck. He told you it could be done that day, but that it would cost you extra. You hated paying more, but keeping Billy out was more important, and you’d happily pay more to be able to sleep soundly that night.

After the previous night, you didn’t expect to see him again. You thought Billy would at least possess enough decency to give you some space. But decent and Billy were apparently mutually exclusive.

He was there when you reached the bar, earlier than usual and sitting at his usual table at the back. And, while he watched you enter the bar to start your shift, his gaze soon dropped back to the table in front of him, like he was deep in thought.

You looked at Jenna and she gave a shrug.

“He’s been like that for over an hour,” she said.

Good, you thought. Maybe he was feeling some remorse for what he’d put you through.

You got to work, chatting for Jeena and trying your best to avoid talking about your date with Marc.

“We’re going to see each other again some time,” you told Jenna with a shrug, wanting to make it seem like the night hadn’t been a complete failure. 

An hour passed and Billy hadn’t moved from his seat, but you’d started to notice the way he kept touching and holding his head like he was in pain. At first, you did your best to ignore it - so what if he felt like shit? It was probably a bad hangover.

But when you noticed a couple of members of his crew slowly filter into the bar and avoid him, you felt an unwanted pang of concern.

You’d seen glimpses of how Billy could be, how he could struggle and how he sometimes seemed to lose control of himself. And, now, you could see that he was in pain. The trauma and damage of whatever had happened to him ran deep and, as angry as you were with him, you wanted to be the cause of his suffering, not his injuries.

You left it a little while longer, until you noticed him wave Jenna over for another drink.

“I’ll get it,” you told her. 

But, instead of reaching for his usual brand of whiskey, you grabbed a glass and filled it with water and ice.

Your stomach knotted as you approached him and placed the glass down in front of him.

“What -” he started and then stopped as he lifted his gaze and realised that it was you and not Jenna standing beside him.

“Drink that,” you told him.

“That’s not what I ordered.”

“Yeah, well, you look like shit, Billy, and if you puke, me and Jenna aren’t cleaning it up,” you said.

“I’m not some fucking little kid. I don’t need a babysitter,” he snapped.

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” you snapped back, keeping your voice low so no one could overhear. “You’re lucky you’re in here at all after the shit you pulled last night.”

Before he could answer back, you turned away from him and headed back to the bar, telling Jenna that he was cut off. The way you said it was enough to tell her not to question why.

You made it another hour before things started to get quiet and you asked Jenna if she could close on her own. All you wanted to do was go home, have a hot shower and crawl into bed. You were tired, exhausted from staying up half the night, expecting Billy to let himself into your apartment again while you were sleeping.

More than that, you didn’t want to be around him when he looked so pathetic and broken. Despite everything he’d done to you, it was hard to hate him when he looked that way. And you were nothing if not set on hating him and burying all other feelings you might have for him.

Thankfully, Jenna agreed, still feeling guilty about making you cover for when her brother had been in the hospital. And, besides, it was quiet even for a Thursday.

You didn’t give her a chance to change her mind before heading in the back to grab your jacket and quickly leaving.

A sigh of relief slipped out as you stepped out into the cold night air and started your walk home, blissfully unaware that you weren’t alone until you dared to look over your shoulder. To his credit, he made no effort to hide and, honestly, he was hard to miss; tall, dark and miserable, his gaze fixed on you.

For a time you kept walking, wanting to just ignore him, but the closer he got, the more your blood started to boil.

“What do you want, Billy?” You said, finally stopping to confront him.

“I -” he paused awkwardly, like he didn’t have the answer, like he didn’t even know what he was doing, “- I wanted to say sorry. I just...”

You wondered if it was all an act, or if something had happened to him to spark this drastic change in him.

“Sorry for which part, Billy? Snapping at me? Breaking into my apartment? Fucking up my date with Marc?” You fired off question after question. At this point the list seemed endless and Billy had a lot to answer for.

Discomfort crossed his face at the mention of Marc.

“You deserve better than him.” 

“Really? And what do I deserve, Billy?” You asked angrily. “Someone like you who just wants to own me?”

“No, that’s not -”

“Someone who fucks me like I only exist for their pleasure?���

It was the first time you’d brought up the way that he’d fucked you and how it had made you feel. (Though, if you were to be honest, just because it had made you feel that way didn’t mean you hadn’t enjoyed it.) And, again, you saw a flicker of something uncomfortable on his face, as if your words were causing him physical pain.

“You - you liked it. I know you wanted it...” he said, managing to sound nothing short of uncertain.

Your heart gave an awkward squeeze in your chest when he didn’t fight back, when he didn’t make some smutty comment, or try to tell you what you wanted. Why wasn’t he fighting back?

“You never even bothered to ask what I wanted,” you answered back.

The words seemed to cut him, but that thought brought you no joy. What the fuck was going on with him?

“I -”

You watched as he shook his head, and you quickly started to realise that there was something wrong with him. He was usually so ready with a witty retort or a snappy answer but, now, he seemed almost lost in himself. This muted version of him unsettled you and you didn’t like it. You wanted the Billy who would take your rage, not the one who seemed like he might break if you said one more vicious word.

He moved before you could think to stop him, his hands holding your face as he pressed his lips to yours, kissing you and pushing you back. Even the kiss felt different; although it was eager, it wasn’t demanding. Instead, there was a hint of desperation to it that had you hesitating before pulling away.

“Stop,” you gasped against his lips, your hands on his chest, pushing him away.

You heard him take a ragged breath before he spoke. “Please. I - I need you...”

You would have rolled your eyes at his begging if it wasn’t for the catch in his voice, the broken tone that spoke of a pain far greater than a simple headache. His hands stayed on your face, holding you in place while your eyes searched his, desperately trying to understand what was happening.

This - whatever the hell it was - was different. This wasn’t Billy trying to stake some claim on you or get into your pants. He seemed desperate, like he needed someone, needed you to be there for him.

Something had happened between the phone call last night and this evening, something far more than his headache. You thought back to the bar, back to how people had been avoiding him and how Jake hadn’t been with him. Something was going on and you knew that you needed to get to the bottom of it if you ever stood a chance of getting him to leave you alone.

You covered his hands with yours but made no attempt to pull them away from your face.

“What’s going on? What happened today, Billy?” You dared to ask, even though you’re sure it’d only end with you getting pulled further into whatever mess he’s involved with. “Why are you being like this?”

His chest shuddered as he took a ragged breath, a flicker of panic on his face as he realised that he couldn’t quite draw breath. The confident and controlled man that you knew disappeared and you weren’t sure what had replaced him. 

“Billy...” you said, trying to keep him grounded in the moment.

He pulled away and turned his back to you but you could still hear his awkward, gasped breaths. He was having a panic attack and you had no idea if you were the cause but you felt responsible.

“Every night,” he said, a hand lifting to the side of his head, fingers pressing roughly against his scalp. “Every night, the same thing comes at me, over and over. That - that fucking skull! A-and it was him all along!”

Every night. He was talking about his nightmares, like the one you’d witnessed him having in your bed.

“Who, Billy?” You ask, trying to understand. “I don’t know what you’re -”

“I couldn’t see it. I didn’t want to see it.” His words were broken and awkwardly forced out between disparate breaths. “I don’t understand why he’d - why would he do it? Why?”

Against your better judgement, you reached for him, your hand finding his shoulder, forcing him to face you. You regretted the decision immediately, almost drawing back when his wild eyes fixed on you.

“Billy, you’re scaring me,” you said quietly. 

It was an admission that you didn’t make lightly, but you didn’t know what else to say, how else to try and pull him out of whatever his was. Part of you wanted to just leave him there, but another part was worried it wouldn’t be as easy as simply walking away from him. In his current state, you weren’t even sure he’d let you leave.

“It was him,” Billy repeated.

“What was him, Billy? What did he do?”

“This!” He said, his hand held inches from his face.

Obviously something had finally shaken the memory loose in Billy, and as he’d predicted, he didn’t like what he’d remembered. Now he was being forced to try and unravel his traumatic memories.

“Why?” You asked. “Why did he hurt you?”

“I don’t -” he gasped for breath, trapped by his panic, “- I don’t know. I know that it was him, but I don’t feel it. In here, I don’t feel it...” He struck his chest above his heart. “My best friend. He was my best friend, my brother, but he was pointing a gun at me.”

“When? When did he point a gun at you?”

You knew that you were better off not knowing, that none of this was helping in your plan to get Billy out of your life, but seeing him standing there, in so much pain brought up your own painful memories.

“I’d give my life for him. My life!” he continued, seeming to ignore your question. “And he knows that. So why - why would he do this to me?”

His hand pressed against his head again, pain obvious on his face.

“Billy -” you tried again to snap him out of it.

“How did they make him hate me?” He said, every word sounding like it was agony to speak. “How can I trust anyone if I can’t trust Frank? He was family to me, all I had. Now there’s nothing, no one. I’m alone again.”

Without warning, he slammed the heel of his palm down against the side of his head, as if he was desperate to mute his emotional turmoil with physical pain. Again and again, he struck himself, seeming more fraught and more lost with every moment that passed.

“Billy, stop! You’re not alone,” you said before you could even stop to think about what you were saying. You just wanted him to stop, you wanted the whole fucking moment to stop. “You’re not alone, Billy. I’m right here.”

You dared to reach for him again, fingers wrapping tight around his wrist, pulling his arm towards you, finally managing to get his attention.

“You’re here?” He said with a shake of his head. “They were all here, but they were never really here. They let me in, but never all the way. They always left me on the outside. Don’t you understand?”

“I -”

Even though Billy was the one breaking down, his question left you feeling exposed. He always left you feeling exposed. It was the most terrifying thing about him. 

Your chest ached to see him in such pain because it was a pain you understood, albeit for entirely different reasons. You too had been betrayed by someone you cared about, someone you loved and, like Billy, you’d spent your life on the fringes, a perpetual outsider.

In the silence, he stared at you, desperate to hear your response. The only sound between you was his ragged breathing. It didn’t even occur to you that you were still holding his wrist, the perfect mirror of that night in your apartment weeks ago.

“You know I understand,” you said quietly. Another admission that you hadn’t ever wanted to make.

That was the problem with Billy; he saw too much. He saw you. And, finally you were starting to understand why. You were so alike in all the worst ways, and it was that thought that kept you with him, holding onto him despite everything he’d done because you knew how much it hurt to feel so lost and alone. After weeks of confusion, you were starting to understand him.

“You’re here?” He asked in little more than a whisper, the pain on his face easing a little.

“I’m here right now,” you said, knowing it was all you could offer him.

“Right now?” He repeated, a gut wrenching sadness in his voice.

“I can’t give you anymore than that,” you managed to force out, though your heart ached for this version of him. 

Billy just kept on staring at you with those dark eyes that betrayed so much of what he was feeling; the loneliness, the longing, the sorrow

When his hand found your cheek, you didn’t even think about pulling away, about putting up your guard and trying to keep him at a distance. You were lost in those eyes, staring into the void and watching it stare straight back. Finally, you could see him, and you knew that he could see you.

Then he started to lean and you felt your heart stutter, expecting things to rapidly escalate, for the strange bubble you found yourself in to be burst by wants and desires you knew you couldn’t reciprocate.

But his lips barely touched yours, the ghost of a touch, the promise of a kiss not realised. It was as if he was afraid, as if he now saw you as someone else who might betray or abandon him - and, what hurt most, was the thought that he was right.

Abandoning him was all you could do. It was the only certainty that you could offer him.

“Billy -” you whispered softly, your lips brushing against his as you spoke, finding yourself cut off by another gentle kiss.

“I can be gentle,” he said just as quietly, like that was the problem, like that was the reason you couldn’t be with him. “I can be anything you want, if you’d just want me...”

“That’s not -” you started to explain only to be interrupted by another tender kiss.

For a few sweet minutes, you lost yourself to him; to his gentle kisses and the way that he clung to you. It would have been a lie to say that some part of you didn’t want to surrender to him, to give in to the tenderness that you both seemed to need so desperately, but you knew it wouldn’t be fair. You couldn’t give Billy that and then walk away from him.

As much as he pissed you off, you didn’t want to hurt him like that.

“Billy, I can’t,” you finally managed, your free hand found his chest and gently pushed him back a step. “I’m sorry about whatever’s going on with you, but I can’t give you what you need - not because of you or how you are, but because of me and my issues.”

His hand remained stubbornly on your cheek, refusing to let you push him away completely. For a second he just looked at you, then he shook his head, unwilling to accept what you were telling him. His breathing still sounded forced, awkward, but not as bad as it had been.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he told you, “whatever you’re running from, I’ll protect you.”

With that, he moved forward again, kissing, though not softly like he had before, this time with more need, more urgency. And, oh, how you wanted to just give in to him, consequences be damned.

A shiver ran down your spine as his tongue slipped between your lips and his body pressed you back against the wall. The kiss silenced everything; your thoughts and doubts, the echo of your heartbeat, even the sounds of the noisy city. In that moment, you knew he was telling the truth, that he’d do whatever he could to keep you safe, but you also knew you couldn’t let him carry that burden.

“Billy -” you managed to gasp, gently pushing him back again, “- I can’t. We can’t.”

You braced yourself for more desperate pleas, for anger and upset. Instead, all you got was a shaky sigh and, when he closed the space between you, it was to rest his forehead against yours.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “I can’t stop. I won’t. Even if it takes the rest of my life to make you realise it, I’ll never let you go.”

And, then, he pulled away, turning and leaving you all alone on the dark, empty street. Your eyes followed him as your heart pounded wildly in your chest. When you found the strength to move, you found yourself thinking over what had happened and everything new that you’d learned, everything new that you’d felt.

He left you a wreck, unsure of yourself and what you wanted and, when you finally reached your apartment, you couldn’t help but feel angry at yourself for letting him confuse you. 

How could you want him? How could you feel anything for him after everything that he’d done? But, fuck, the way he’d kissed you, the tenderness that you hadn’t even realised that he possessed - you couldn’t help but wish your circumstances were different and that you’d met him somewhere else, and that your life wasn't so complicated.

End Note : I lost track of time so I'm posting this a bit late. I feel kind of dirty for repurposing a conversation that Billy had with Krista in the show but I really wanted to do something similar. Anyway, this was a little glimpse into Billy's side of things and I hope you enjoyed it!

As always your comments/likes/reblogs/asks/general screaming is always cherished and appreciated. I hope you all have an amazing weekend!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt (and on AO3 at some point in the hours after).

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