#but sniper is terrified of being dropped

[number1yisuchongfan]

It’s difficult to carry humans with such small wings… 🪽

[simonsslut]

meeting simon in the army.

18+ MDNI || nsfw || f!reader || oneshot/drabble || masterlist

wc: around 4.8k

cw: eventual smut, unprotected p in v, lil massage trope, spit kink, simon being his own enemy, reader being oblivious, simon loves tits, simon’s kinda mean at first but sweet at the end-ish, not proofread.

Lieutenant Riley is familiar with the process of adding a new addition to their little task force. but just because he's familiar with it, doesn't mean he's a fan of it.

a new member, a new person means that he has to most likely deal with another soap of sorts. don't get it wrong, he's okay with soap, but that doesn't mean he enjoys the constant questions soap seems to ask about him, even when he knows they irritate him, but that won't stop his curiosity.

you're confident when you show up to the meeting room, nothing new. recruits are either confident in themselves or they're completely terrified and it'll be written all over their faces.

soap is quick to befriend you, both of you snipers and demolition experts after all. it gives him a whole new buddy to talk with. simon takes this as a good sign, maybe he won't have to spend much time showing your around and telling you about the team and how things work here if soap is gonna spend all his time with you. right? wrong.

Price assigns soap on a mission with another task force soap had recently worked with before TF141. meaning that Simon is going to have to spend every free waking moment he has with you. and for a guy like Simon, this is hell. but don't take it the wrong way, he's like this with everyone.

you're quick to find the large man rude, dismissive. you'll ask barely personal questions and he'll shrug it off and blatantly ignore you. will roll his eyes or just walk away mid-conversation (which was one-sided anyway).

maybe you talked too much? had you asked him too many questions? maybe he just didn't like you for absolutely zero reason. you decided to stop thinking too much about it. you didn't do anything wrong, maybe he's just a natural-born asshole.

Soap had mentioned something about the lieutenant having a stick somewhere deep up his ass and to not worry too much about how he treats you.

however, after telling yourself you'd stop losing sleep over it, you continued.

maybe he just wasn't used to having a woman on his team. They are all men after all. but that wouldn't be professional, plus the others aren't like that with you. they kinda just treat you like their own. they knew about your background, and what you have done, and they respected you for it, so why couldn't he?

simon knows better than most about your background, he had to study your file after Price mentioned your recruitment.

"weapons of choice - melee; knives, axe."

a shared opinion.

he trains with you to see how advanced you really are. weapon training and all that is fine, but sparring? this has to be a joke. that mountain of a man versus you? you've got muscle to you, yeah, but even soap going against simon is an evident loss. and soap is a big guy.

you start off with Gaz. he's also tall and well built, but he's the more common build of soldiers. you guys spar for an hour, or two, and then you take a break.

you don't think much about who your next spar round will be with, so the anxiousness doesn't begin to settle in until ghost's rough voice calls you over to the mat. he's the only one there. and it settles in.

you look over at Gaz and the look on his face is one of pity, your face drops.

it's not even 30 seconds into the round when you're already dropped to the ground. the mat feels like concrete when you hit your back on it.

"c'mon, get up." ghost says in an almost pissed off way.

you groan and roll over, quickly getting back up on your feet. "no mercy?" you ask in a huff. "you won't get mercy when you're fighting for your life in the field, you should know this, sergeant." he states dryly, but the way he said 'sergeant' sounded like an insult rolling off his tongue.

after 30 minutes of repeatedly losing, you admit defeat. but at least he stays with you after hours when the others have left, leaving you both alone so you don't have to keep losing in front of a crowd.

3 months of dry responses, frequent scoldings, straight-up constant attitude from the man and not many interactions besides from when he was ordering you around or lecturing you about a fuck up in training or on a mission.

and even though he wouldn't interact with you much, it somehow seemed that he was always on your ass, always watching to see what your next fuck up would be, always so observant. because why the hell were his eyes always on you? every time you'd glance over at him, he'd already be looking at you with that dark 1000-yard stare, arms crossed and sitting across any room you were in at the moment.

3 months is what it takes for him to not act like a complete brooding asshole towards you even for just a moment. reason? you saved his life.

sort of.

simon was clearing a wide area in a warehouse on a mission and it seems one of the men there seemed to blend in far better than anyone else could. Simon was almost too late, almost the one standing at the receiving end of a bullet to the head, but you had him. and you saved him.

neither of you thought too much about it though, after all, it is your job to have each other's backs in the field. he only gave you a gruff "thank you" when he brushed passed you towards the exit. but you took that thank you as a sign that he didn't absolutely despise you like you had thought he did for the past 3 months.

or so you thought. not much changed afterwards. but at least whenever you'd start a conversation, he'd just stare at you instead of walking off. but he'd always stay quiet. you wanted to give up, you should've given up. but something deep inside you had you pushing.

what it was wasn't so obvious at the time.

but that's probably because you were so oblivious.

you didn't know him like the boys did, you were new. so no one could've blamed you for not seeing the obvious frustration you caused him. soap on the other hand thought it was bloody comedic.

you always assumed the triple checks on your comms and positions were just because he didn't trust you enough to know what you were doing. because why would you think anything else with the way he behaved towards you?

the way he'd suddenly appear when a private was up and flirting with you. he'd come and scold you for having chitchat when you should've been doing paperwork, his jaw tensed. he'd look behind you to give the private a glare that you would've assumed was a 'get back to work' glare and not the threatening glare it actually was, because why would you think otherwise?

when you all went out to the pub for a drink after a long exhausting mission to relax a bit, but you hadn't had alcohol in so long so you didn't think to slow down, eventually blacking out on Simon's shoulder, and ending up in your quarters at the end of the night, boots off and snuggly tucked in under your sheets.

what you did notice is that you'd never be assigned to missions that ghost wasn't on. you caught on eventually but you never mentioned it, too annoyed with him to start an argument you knew you'd lose.

but when you're all at the pub on another night, soap and gaz over by the pool table, drunkenly betting against each other, and price long gone back to the base and having called it an early night, leaving the two of you at the table alone, it slips out.

he's been ignoring your attempted starts of a conversation all night, the alcohol had given you the motivation you needed to try again, but you've had enough of the silent treatment.

"hey, i've noticed I only go on missions that you're on.." he tenses. "'s that because you don't trust me? or somethin?"

he doesn't respond as per usual, and you know he's already annoyed with you but you keep pushing.

"you can be a real prick, y'know?" you mumble out, earning a side glance from him, his hand on the table, fingers tapping on his empty glass. he stays quiet.

"I just don't understand why you dislike me or whatever. I haven't done anything to you personally, I don't think.." you trail off, furrowing your brows as if in thought. he just stares down at you.

"you're a real pain in my ass" you then state rather confidently. he raises his brow at this before looking down at his empty glass and muttering a "Seems we've got that in common."

you roll your eyes and groan, moving to grab your beer but he moves it further up the table before you can reach it.

"hey-" you start but he interrupts, "you've 'ad enough." he grumbles out and you scoff, standing up from the chair and walking over to where Soap and Gaz are laughing it up with each other.

but maybe he's had a bit too much to drink too.

because the moment a man starts flirting with you at the bar, his hand just a bit too touchy, Simon appears, his hand is gripping the man's shoulder and pulling him back with an angered "back off."

you can't even manage out a "what the hell-?" before he's grabbing your bicep and dragging you out of the pub. you stop protesting rather quickly, too tired to continue. you just let him drag you all the way back to the base where he only lets go of you when he reaches the doorstep of your barracks building.

"sleep. now. don't wanna deal with your lazy tired ass tomorrow when you're moping around because you didn't get enough rest." he grunts out before abruptly turning in his place and leaving.

it's the next week when you're in the break room sitting across from Soap who's on his phone and drinking his coffee when you voice your troubles. "I can't deal with him anymore, Soap, really. he gives me such a hard time and I don't understand why," you practically whine to him.

"bloke doesn't know what to do with you when you practically give him a hard on all the time." he says it so plainly. as if it's a common fact, no big deal.

though you, of course, take it as a joke.

"Oh shut up, I'm serious." you groan through a chuckle and he just looks up at you and smirks before excusing himself to go back to his duties, leaving you there to mope at the wall.

the hell does that even mean?

luckily for you, you forget all about your short conversion in the break room, your mind too occupied from the busy week to care about a little dumb joke that soap told.

maybe you should've sat to think about said joke for longer.

you zone out while you do paperwork, your mind running on autopilot so that you don't pay attention to the time on the clock running past 11:30pm.

you hands hurt. your wrists hurt. and your back is sore from uncomfortably hunching over this old desk in this dinky chair that doesn't even spin properly.

you're too tired and too caught up in mentally complaining about everything to notice the tall figure standing in the doorway of the office you're working.

so when he speaks, voice baritone and accent thick, it scares the absolute living shit out of you. letting out a short yell and flinging your pen across the room, you look over at him.

you roll your eyes, too tired to even deal with him right now, preparing for him to lecture you about how sleeping late is bad for you even though literally everyone on base knows that he has the most fucked schedule of them all.

"I know it's late, I don't wanna hear it. this is the only free time I had to do this." you explain, your voice low and tired.

"didn't say anything." he responds and you glare up at him, and he knows.

he walks across the room and picks up the pen that you flung, his heavy steps making their way over to you and handing you back your pen.

he hasn't done or said anything threatening, so then why does it feel like he did?

you whisper a small 'thank you' before looking back down at your sheet and writing a few things down. he just stands there, staring down at your with crossed arms, observing. always observing. that's all he does. all he ever does.

you try to not let it get to you but he's just so intimidating.

you clench your jaw and breathe for a moment before focusing back on your paper. but just as you do that, he rounds the desk and stands behind your chair.

he grabs the chair, pulling it back a bit before his voice demands out, "stand,". you don't hesitate a moment before standing up quickly.

silence.

why does it feel like ages before he finally speaks??

"you're tense." he states and you furrow your brows because what the hell is happening. "y-yeah, I guess?"

the air is thick.

you're so caught up in empty thoughts that you don't hear what he says. "sorry, what'd you say?" you ask but it comes out a whisper without you intending for it to.

"may I?"

you're not sure what he means but you still slowly nod.

you suddenly freeze and your eyes go wide when you feel his palm wrap around your hair and move it to the side, his other hand resting in the crevice between your shoulder and neck, bare.

he's not wearing the glove.

his hand is warm when he suddenly squeezes you there, checking to see just how tense you are and your mind is blank. your thoughts have evaporated and you can't fucking move, because what the hell is happening!?

"why're you so bloody tense?" he asks, his voice so fucking deep that it makes your skin warm up. you've always hated the effect that his voice alone has on you.

'maybe because you're touching me?' is what you think to yourself.

"I don't know? work?" you sound so unsure of yourself that it feels embarrassing.

he mutters a quiet "yeah." while he continues to massage the area.

you wouldn't say this is a complete 180º from the way he's been treating you for the past couple months, but... this is a complete fucking 180º from the way he's been treating you these past couple months.

but you can't deny how fucking good it feels. his hands are so big and warm. the roughness of them surprisingly adding so much more to the massage and it feels so. good.

you can't help the slight moan that escapes your lips when you dip your head forward, giving him more space to work with.

ghost would halt his movements but that would only make you suspicious of what's happening to him behind you he clenches his jaw hard, his entire body tensing as he feels his pants grow tight and fuck is he fighting back a groan.

he did this to himself. he should've just minded his business and muttered an order to you like he usually would. he should've put up the asshole act instead of strolling in and offering a goddamn massage because he would never in his right mind actually do this.

he's barely slept for the past three days, so he doesn't really have control over his own actions, especially when it comes to you. it's always you that gets him like this, only you.

it's quiet for so long while he just massages your shoulders. usually It would be awkward, but this time it's just comfortable.

when he finishes, his hands remain and you start to actually snap back to reality on where you are, who's behind you, and what's going on. you don't move, hell you barely breathe. how could you when you could feel every breath he takes hit the skin on the back of your neck or how you can feel the heat radiating off of him while he stands behind you as if he's a human furnace or something.

there's always been tension. whether it was negative or positive, you were never completely 100% sure which. but it was always there. and it bothered the fuck out of the both of you.

you feel his thumb caress your nape. just a small movement. you wouldn't've noticed if you weren't hyper focused on every fibre of his being standing right behind you, not caring for your personal space despite him always getting pissed about not having enough of his own.

you don't know how to move on from this moment. there're no words in your mouth, your body frozen still under his gaze, under his touch.

you want to say something, anything. but you don't know what.

"ghost," you start, but he doesn't answer, he just rubs his thumb over again. "ghost." you try again.

silence.

"simon." he stops.

"what are you doing?" you turn your head to the side when you whisper this, looking at him stand behind you out the corner of your eye, and he stares right back.

after his silence, you go to move but he stops you, his hands grabbing your arms and keeping you in place. you go to shake him off but when you lean your body back, you feel something against your ass and your breath hitches.

he shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw, he knows you felt it, and he knows he's fucked when he lets out a quiet groan.

"it seems you’ve been stressed too..." you mumble out and his grip on you only tightens. you don't think before you nudge your ass against him again but with purpose and his breathing stutters.

"Don't." he demands through gritted teeth, but you only do it again and he doesn't stop you.

he then pushes you forward and you gasp, your crotch hitting the desk edge as you bend over the desk.

he doesn't do anything for a few moments as he thinks over what he's doing. he's your superior. this is wrong. so why does it feel so good to drag his hand down your back.

he then suddenly lets go of you and backs up, confusing you in the process. you stand back up and turn to stare at him, your brows furrowed and you open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

the way you look at him, it's as if there's hope in your eyes and that only spurs him on to do what he does next. he moves his hand up to raise the bottom of his mask up to rest just over his nose. he then quickly loops his arm around your waist and pulls you in for your lips to meet his in a kiss born off of sexual frustration.

you're quick to wrap one of your arms around his neck, not caring at all for what this means because god it feels so good.

he groans against your lips and pushes you back against the desk, lifting you a bit to sit you down on it before he mumbles against your lips.

"you gon' let me do this?"

the man, your lieutenant, your superior who you thought hated you so damn much for the longest time, is asking for your permission as his hand squeezes your thigh.

this is crazy. all of this is crazy. yet you nod.

he spreads your thighs with his hands and stands between them while his mouth moves from your lips down to your jaw and then to your neck, his lips hot and wet against you.

you let him push you back until your back is flat against the desk, his hand moving to grab your hip to keep you in place just as he likes while his other hand loops under the waist band of your pants and palms you over your panties.

you can't help but whimper when he does this which only turns him on more. and he grunts against your neck when he removes his hand only to grind his covered bulge against you.

you huff out as he continues to grind against you, growing in need when heat begins to pool in your core while his hands grip at you tightly as if you'd disappear if he let go. and he's not about to risk that when he finally has you right where he wants you.

you pull at his clothes, a whine slipping from your lips and he knows what you want. one of his hands moves to slide your shirt up your stomach and you let him. when he does get the shirt off of you, he doesn't even go to unclip your bra, instead his hand moves to grab the front of your bra and drags it down, your tits falling out.

he grabs one of your tits and mouths it, sucking, while his other hand moves to pull your pants down.

he backs up and fully pulls your pants off before he's back on you, mouth on your tit while his left hand plays with the other and his right hand slips under the fabric of your panties, feeling how soaked you are.

his thumb applies pressure on your clit which has you already gasping and arching into his touch.

he teases you a bit, wanting to see how desperate you'd get before he actually fucks you with his cock. he slips a digit in and groans against your nipple when he feels how your wet warmth clenches around just his finger.

he adds another and then another, wanting to stretch you out enough for him to squeeze in.

he curls and thrusts his fingers in you, getting to that spongey spot in you that has you moaning and throwing your head back against the desk, whining fro him to finally put it in.

"y'want me?" he asks but you can't even reply.

"I asked if y'want me, love." his voice is gravel when he repeats himself, wanting an answer out of you before he takes this further.

you nod, frantic and and grinding against his palm for more friction against your clit. "y-yes, yes sir, please-" you answer and he feels his cock twitch in his pants.

he moves his lips back up to your neck and removes his hands from you, undoing his pants and pulling himself out, precum beading at his red tip.

you whimper at the sight of it. it's obvious to see how big of a man simon is in general, he's huge. and it seems that so is everything else about him.

he doesn't bother to remove your panties as he's too impatient. instead he just moves them to the side, his finger running down your slit before he brings it to his mouth to get a taste of you, letting out a satisfied hum.

he then brings his hand up to you and orders, "spit", and you do.

he pumps himself a few times to wet it before he aligns with your slit and you inhale when he starts to push in, stretching you out so perfectly for him. so fucking big.

he takes his time pushing into you, his warm breath against your neck when he groans as he bottoms out, deep inside you. “so fucking tight…” he groans through gritted teeth.

you clench around him, your hands slipping under the fabric of his shirt and your nails clawing at the skin on his back, wanting him to move already as you grow impatient and needy.

he does just that, drawing his hips back before thrusting back into you resulting in a yelp from you. and he doesn't stop.

his pace is already above slow and picking up with each time he hammers back into you, curses and moans falling from his lips like he's in heaven, because he is.

your lips meet his again and you moan into his mouth with each thrust. he makes out with you like a man starved, like he's been wanting this for so long…you under him while he fucks into you like it's the last thing he'll ever do.

the only sounds in the room being the squelching of your pussy as he thrusts into you and both of your moans. if anyone was walking down the hallway at this hour which is unlikely, they'd most definitely hear what you two are doing.

he moves his hand down and presses his thumb to your clit while he continues to fuck into you, rubbing it in circles which has you crying out through moans, tears of pleasure threatening to spill out the corners of your eyes.

your breathing becomes ragged as your back arches deeper into him, your hips bucking against his to meet his pace while he groans and nips at the skin on your neck, “takin’ me so well… s’ fuckin good f’me…” he moans and it sets your skin on fire.

he's close and so are you.

your fingers move under the back of the mask to pull at his short hair and he let's you do it, trusting you to not pull the mask off.

your lips against his ear, letting him hear all your pretty sounds and it only drives him further, his pace keeping steady, knowing just what you need when you moan out "i'm close..so close.." and he knows it too as he feels you clench tightly around him.

he surprises you when he places his thumb in your mouth when you moan, flattening it against your tongue and grunting a “open f’me, yeah?” and you do without hesitation, opening your mouth nice and wide enough for him to spit on your tongue. he doesn’t even have to tell you to swallow before you do it automatically, earning a smirk from him before he kisses you again.

the combination of his thumb rubbing in circles against your clit and him hammering into you has your body stuttering and spasming, feeling like you're getting possessed as you let out a strangled and broken quiet scream as you finally come undone beneath him, your vision going for a few moments while he fucks you through your orgasm.

you continue to moan when he keeps pumping into you after your orgasm, chasing his own high while he grunts out "'m gonna come... gonna come on your tummy, love.." before he quickly pulls out of you, leaning back up and pumping his cock a few times before he releases his load on your stomach followed by his heavy breaths.

he stares at you for a moment, his chest rising and lowering in heavy breaths before he leans over you to grab the tissue box in the corner of the desk and wipes his cum off of you.

he puts your panties back in place and steps back, handing you your pants. he shoves his cock back into his pants and then watches you pull yours back on, his arms crossed.

now that the foggy feeling in your mind is gone, you're shy as you stand under his gaze.

you just fucked your lieutenant.

he licks his lip before pulling the mask back down and sitting back onto the chair. you're confused for a moment before he nods his head in the direction of the door and mutters a "go t'sleep. it's late."

you look at the door and then back at him, furrowing your brows in confusion. "but my paperwork-" he interrupts you before you can finish your sentence. "I'll do your paperwork. now go to bed. tha's an order." he instructs and you stand there absolutely dumbfounded before you actually register his words.

you slowly nod and he clenches his jaw before he looks at the short stack of paperwork on the side of the desk, grabbing one and beginning to work on it, but you're still there.

"thought I told you t-" he pauses when you lean down to place a kiss on the fabric over where his temple is, taking him by surprise as it shuts him up.

you then give him a sweet smile, your hand sliding down his muscular arm before you turn around and walk out the small office, leaving him to do your paperwork after he fucked you so well just a moment ago on that very desk.

horny brain = ©simonsslut 2023 — do not steal!

simon experiencing blue balls too many times in secret bc he's stubborn.

[hussyknee]

Ayat Khaddura, 27, was a digital content and podcast presenter in North Gaza. She was one of the five journalists murdered by Israel's targeted air strike on Nov 20, along with her sister and grandmother in her home. She posted this video in the knowledge that these were probably her last moments.

Video description:

A young Arab woman in a hijab and abaya speaks into her camera in Arabic in a high, frightened voice. The subtitles read: "This might be the last video from me. Today the Occupation Forces dropped phosphorus bombs on the Beit Lahia residential area, and frightening sound bombs. And uhm, they dropped letters from the sky ordering us to evacuate. So of course nearly everyone evacuated for the most part. Everyone ran into the streets in a crazy way. No one knows where they're coming or going. Uhm, we're all split up and around. Me and some others stayed at home. The others evacuated and left. We don't know where they've gone, that's for sure. The situation is terrifying, the scenes are horrifying [voice breaking as she starts to cry], the situation is extremely difficult. May God have mercy on us." [She closes her eyes as she starts to cry openly. End clip.]

[New clip.] The same young woman is seated on a desk in front of a world map wearing a jacket over a t-shirt and her hijab. Large video caption reads "Message from Ayat Khaddura who was martyred yesterday". Her voice is sad and resigned, and her face is tired and tear-stained as she speaks in Arabic. Subtitles read:

"We are human beings, just like other human beings around the world. We had many big dreams, but unfortunately today our dreams are that if we are killed we will be martyred in one piece, one body (not torn to pieces) so that people can recognise us, and we will not be cut off in pieces and put in a bag. [struggles not to cry.] When we are martyred there will be a shroud for us and we will be buried in a grave. Our dreams have become that the war will stop, that we stop hearing the sound of bombing. We never imagined we would reach such a stage and live such a life that does not have the lowest basic necessities. [Blinks back tears.] There are things we can't talk about, there are things that people photographed and did not document. When the war will end, who will continue to talk to people? What happened to us, how we lived, what we saw. Everything is being destroyed before our eyes." [Looks down with a sob. End video.]

Israel dropping leaflets onto trapped and hiding people minutes before bombing them is nothing but a sick PR exercise— there's nowhere safe to go, no telling where the bombs will drop, no way to not leave family members behind while fleeing. Many people in North Gaza decided not to evacuate to the South, not only because similar calls to go South have ended in Israeli airstrikes massacring the refugees, but the possibility of being killed while trying to make the journey, the lack of food and water to sustain them, and inability to leave old and disabled family members behind. Some like Hind Khaudary, who had the opportunity to leave the Gaza strip entirely through foreign embassies, stayed behind to continue reporting the situation unfolding in the North. Meanwhile, Israel is continuing to bomb the South, despite their own evacuation orders.

Ayat is one of the fifty-three Middle Eastern journalists killed since Oct. 7. Forty-six of them were Palestinian, most massacred along with their families. Air strikes on other journalists managed to kill only their families instead. This is the deadliest period for journalists recorded by the Committee to Protect Journalists in its thirty years of existence. In fact, Israel killed one of the CPJ's own journalists documenting the murders around the same time as Ayat.

Nearly all these are targeted strikes. Israel controls the census in Gaza and therefore has information on where everyone lives. They also track journalists cellphones and use surveillance drones and quadcopters (drone snipers). Journalists and their families are known to receive threatening phone calls from unknown numbers before they're eventually attacked.

As to why Israel is so concerned about journalists? For the same reason the Biden Administration has stated openly.

But the administration remains wary about Netanyahu’s endgame and seeming lack of a plan for what to do once Hamas is defeated. There was no sense that the pause would turn into a lengthier cease-fire, a senior administration official said. And there was some concern in the administration about an unintended consequence of the pause: that it would allow journalists broader access to Gaza and the opportunity to further illuminate the devastation there and turn public opinion on Israel.

Please spread news of these journalists' murders, show their faces, say their names. While Western journalists from CNN and BCC are embedded with IOF teams to safely "report" on Gaza, Palestinian journalists who have been reporting there for years, wearing a press jacket and helmet they know won't protect them, are documenting and broadcasting the situation on the ground, watching their colleagues being picked off one by one for the last month and half, not knowing when it will be their turn. Ayat was not a combatant. She was a young woman a lot like most on this site, young and angry at injustice, armed with only a degree and internet connection to fight for her people. She wanted the world to witness her last moments: documenting the situation till the end, her terror of dying, how she clung to her faith and wanted to live. Hers and her compatriots work is to resist letting their people disappear among the vast uncounted; she resisted it to her last breath.

Empires and colonizers win wars by reducing people to numbers. When people become numbers they become collateral, cattle, "unavoidable casualties". This is what Palestinians have fought for decades to show: "We Are Not Numbers". If the West wants to kill human beings with impunity, everyone gets to see exactly which lives and loves and hopes it's snuffing out forever.

[cod-fishing]

When the 141 finally gets some leave, or even just a few days at one base, Ghost can sometimes go a little…overboard…during sex.

He just so rarely gets the chance to truly be alone with Soap. So often it’s quick kisses exchanged before they drop into a mission, good luck wishes from his lover pressed against the seam of his mask, or spit-lubed jerk off sessions while waiting in a shitty bunker for exfil. It’s not even that Ghost dislikes their messy, incredibly unprofessionally little tristes - quite the opposite. But Soap’s tongue on his balls while he stays in perfect sniper position doesn’t exactly inspire relaxation.

And so when he can relax - truly relax, with miles between him and the enemy, a secure enough lock to take his mask off, and access to real lube - he sometimes looses control.

It always starts with Soap below him.

And isn’t that alone just ecstasy. Johnny MacTavish, all his. Splayed out underneath him, strung out on pleasure and sweat and spit, moaning like he’s being payed for it. Soap’s voice, god, he’s always had a mouth on him, and when they’ve got the luxury of a door he doesn’t hold back. Ghost drinks it up, lapping his gasps and hitched breath out of the air, licking them from between his lips. He keeps his hands busy, running across sensitive ribs and over nipples, or notched up to the joint in Soap’s delicious little hole.

And Ghost has so much patience. So god damn much, he doesn’t even know where it comes from, some endless well in his soul that only Johnny can tap. He keeps him like that for what feels like days, floating in a little pool of pleasure.

Until he just snaps.

Fingers are ripped free of his lover, murmurs of praise traded for wordless growls. Suddenly, Soap is gasping for a new reason as Ghost flips him over, pulling his ass up and planting a crushing hand on his spine to keep him in place. He barely had the forethought to slick his cock before he’s forcing his way into Johnny’s slick, gummy heat. Arms come up around his chest to hold him in place, teeth sink into his vulnerable neck, and he sets about thoroughly ruining Johnny on his cock.

It’s not that he means to be so harsh to his lover. Despite his reputation, he never wants to harm Johnny, could never imagine it. But in these moments…it’s like his patience implodes and he just needs him.

All of him. Needs to be in him, surrounded by him, needs Johnny in every cell. It's an itch under his skin, a thrum of incesant desire, a fucking addiction.

When he feels Johnny clench around his cock, he can't even hear him anymore. All he can do is chase it, mixing their bodies and soul, licking Soap into his mouth, crushing him to his chest. It doesn't take long until finally, finally he releases into his lover, and whatever insanity that takes him is broken.

As he drifts back into the present, Johnny panting against his chest, he's always terrified. Terrified that he has hurt his Johnny, his sunshine. Short of breath himself, he runs his hands over him, grimacing at scratches and softly blooming bruises, but every time, Johnny just catches his hand.

Shut that brain off, Johnny slurs, half-way to sleep already. I loved it, I always do. Now turn the light off.

And Ghost is brought right back out of his over-active thoughts. He has plenty of time to worry about Soap being hurt. He doens't need to do it now, in the little haven of their love.

[circe69]

I Wanna Hear You Say Something

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem! Reader

summary: ghost really likes your accent, and you really like his.

cw: fluff galore.

A/N: I have ideas for a part two. Lemme know if you want it sooner than anything else.

Edit: Part two is here:)

——————————————————————————-

Tonight, was your first mission ever. You were terrified, seeing as though the only people surrounding you were huge, loud, and dangerous men. They had been in this field forever, and you had only shot maybe a few targets on the head. You weren't met for this type of work, but your new general said you had a knack for sniping.

It was pouring rain, perfect, you thought. You pulled together some sort of outfit, grabbing a pair of heavy cargo pants that just hung off your hips, and a turtleneck t-shirt. They didn't offer much else.

All the sudden, you heard consistent honking outside your dorm. It was the boss, and the rest of your new companions in a large truck. You quickly grabbed your rifle, water, put on your combat boots and ran outside.

The rain kept getting in your eyes, making it hard to see, and you almost ran into the car door. Opening it with force, you jumped in the truck and landed on your hands and knees.

Wonderful. What a nice entry! is all you could think.

The man in the front seat turned around, trying to ignore your faceplant, and said, "Boys, welcome Y/N. She's a sharpshooter. Treat her like one of your own."

You stood up, face red, and dusted off the mud on your pants. You smiled at the general, silently thanking him for the introduction. As you took a seat in between men twice your size, you quietly said,

"Hello."

A few snickers from across the truck caught your attention, and the man sitting to your right said with his booming voice, "Oh great, we've got a clumsy sniper." He looked at you, and met your eyes with such sarcasm, all you wanted to do was roll your eyes, but his mask drew your attention away from your brewing anger.

A skull? Ah, so this must be the infamous Ghost.

You stared for a little bit, then dropped your head to your lap and started fiddling with your hands.

Your anxiety was probably visible from miles away. You never wanted to mess up, but you definitely didn't want to screw up in front of a bunch of men who already are skeptical of you. Men are terrifying.

Army men are even more so.

You started to mess with the gold ring on your middle finger, sliding it on and off, until a large hand abruptly grabbed it from you.

What is his proble-?

"Is it real?" Ghost leaned down and whispered in your ear. His voice. It was too sexy for his own good.

He messed around with it in the palm of his hand, being sure not to drop it. You said back, "No, but don't tell anyone." You winked as he looked up into your eyes.

"Ahh. I see", he whispered once again. You couldn't help but keep eye contact, even when softly grabbed your hand and slid the ring back on your middle finger.

Might as well exchange vows already, you smiled to yourself, and he noticed.

"You wanna know somethin'?" He said gruffly.

You hummed in response, awaiting his fun fact.

"I really like your accent."

Something about that made your heart jump. It jumped even higher when he rested his gloved palm on your knee.

"And you're gonna be fine. Tonight, I mean."

He spoke with such sincerity, it almost seemed natural to him, but he would probably cringe if you said that to him.

His fingers didn't move from your leg, in fact, if anything they were almost impossible to move. You smiled at him and put your hand over his, when suddenly the truck rolled to a stop, and you had arrived at your destination.

A few of the men had jumped out before you, including Ghost. As you neared the car door, Ghost grabbed your hips and pulled you out of the car. You gasped as he carefully let you down, and he yelled to be heard over the rain, "I didn't want you to fall again." You slapped his arm playfully and kept walking in front of him. He belly laughed behind you, and it made your stomach flood with butterflies.

You started jogging to take cover, and get a break from the rain, and followed close behind you. You had come across an old shack, the windows were busted, and doors unhinged, but it was enough to keep you dry.

Ghost took a seat on the floor behind you, resting his head on the wall.

"I'm tired of running in the rain, Y/N", he said sighing.

You giggled and nodded in agreement.

"I wanna hear you say something," he whispered in a low voice. He was a little out of breath, and you could physically see his chest rise and fall.

You took a few steps closer and kneeled down in front of him. You decided to tease him a little bit, so you covered your mouth with your hands and shook your head no.

He reached out and pulled your hands away from your mouth. He started spinning your ring around your finger as he gestured you to come closer.

"Please."

You were now straddling him, sitting directly on his lap and your hands were still enclosed in his, dropped down to his sides.

"What should I say?" you whispered, tauntingly.

He scoffed in annoyance. Right when he was about to say something, you snuck your hands up his torso, chest, and finally lifted his mask just enough for you to see his jawline.

You kissed his jaw lightly on one side, then breathed on his skin, "Oh, I know what to say." You kissed the other side of his jawline, and whispered, "I really really like your accent."

He grabbed your waist and started tickling you while laughing himself. He pulled you underneath him, so your back was on the wet floor, and he was caging you in.

"Good, well I'm glad we're on the same page."

[srslyscary]

gone

contents/warnings: SFW, slightly ooc, lowercase intended, angst, graphic scenery of death, just too graphic, mafia!ateez

including: ateez x reader

w.c: 2.5k

note: let’s bfr… I went all out with this. while I was gone I was coming up with stuff to write and lately I’ve been stuck on ateez sooo… ya! you a bad mf in this YUH! we eating ts up! also just to be clear.. you’re the oldest in this. I love making the oc the oldest when I write abt groups, it’s just bc I see the oc either being in the middle or the youngest. I’m holding out on the yunho fic rn bc this idea popped up . this is like SUPER long. but anyway enjoy!

_

the moon hung high in the night sky, casting an eerie glow over the city. the wind whispered through the abandoned buildings, carrying with it the tension that filled the air.

"everyone in position?" hongjoong’s voice crackled through the earpiece, his tone commanding and calm. "affirmative," YN responded, her voice clipped and focused as she settled into her sniper's nest on the rooftop of an old slanted building. her eyes scanned the horizon, the heavy sniper rifle steady in her hands. "i’ve got eyes on the target."

"yeosang, san, jongho?" hongjoong’s voice continued.

"we’re in position," yeosang replied. his voice was soft but laced with a dangerous edge as he and the other two infiltrated the rival group's headquarters. their mission was simple: ambush and neutralize the enemy soldiers inside while YN took out their boss from a distance.

"remember, this has to be clean and quick," seonghwa, the second in command, reminded them, his voice firm. "no mistakes."

a chorus of affirmatives followed, and the operation began in earnest. YN's breathing slowed as she focused on the distant figure of the rival boss, a man who had caused them endless trouble. her finger hovered over the trigger, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

as the minutes ticked by, the tension grew thicker. the team communicated in short bursts, updating each other on their progress. YN's eyes never left her target, but something about the situation didn't sit right with her.

the rival boss was too calm, too collected, as if he was waiting for something-or someone.

"everything okay, YN? eun-hyuk is right in your view." yunho’s voice crackled through her earpiece, a slight hint of concern in his tone.

"yeah, just a feeling, I got him though." she muttered back, her instincts screaming that something was wrong. her finger twitched on the trigger, but she held back, waiting.

suddenly, the feeling of something cold pressed against the back of her head made her freeze. the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked echoed in her ear, and a voice, low and menacing, whispered, "drop your weapons, or I'll blow your brains out."

silence fell over the communication line as YN remained perfectly still, her mind racing. she was trained for moments like these, but that didn't make them any less terrifying. her breathing hitched as she assessed her options, knowing that time was not on her side.

"YN? YN, what's going on? why haven’t you taken the shot yet?" seonghwa’s voice came through the earpiece, laced with urgency and concern.

but she couldn't respond. instead, she acted. with a sharp twist of her body, she slammed her elbow into the gunman's side, knocking him off balance. the gun went off, the bullet whizzing past her ear, and she quickly slapped the weapon out of his hand. in one fluid motion, she pulled out a knife from her boot and thrust it into his neck. the man gurgled, his hands clawing at the blade as he collapsed to the ground, blood pooling around him.

panting, YN grabbed her rifle and slung it over her shoulder. she needed to move, and fast. her cover was blown. she bolted toward the edge of the building, heart pounding in her chest. the boys were calling out to her through the earpiece, frantic, but she couldn't answer them. she needed to focus.

without hesitation, she jumped out of the broken window, plummeting toward the construction site below. her body hit the sand-filled truck with a heavy thud, the impact jarring her bones, but she forced herself to move. she rolled off the truck, hitting the ground and sprinting toward cover as bullets rained down around her.

"i’m surrounded," she finally managed to gasp into the earpiece, her voice strained. "I need to get out quickly."

"YN, what the hell are you doing?" wooyoung’s voice was sharp, but there was a hint of fear behind his words.

"i’m improvising," she snapped back, her temper flaring as she fired back at her pursuers. she ducked behind a stack of crates, reloading her weapon with practiced ease. her mind raced, trying to figure out her next move.

the enemy soldiers were closing in, their footsteps echoing in the night. she couldn't stay here. she had to keep moving. but the realization that she was drawing further away from her team gnawed at her. she was getting too far away, too isolated.

and then, they were on her. a group of men with blades, their eyes gleaming with malice, rushed at her. YN didn't hesitate. she fired, taking down the first few, but then her gun clicked empty. “shit. i’m fucking out!”

she huffed, no time to reload. she dropped it and pulled out her throwing knives, launching them with deadly precision.

the men fell one by one, but more kept coming. she fought like a demon, her body a whirlwind of violence, but they overwhelmed her. blades sliced into her skin, drawing blood, but she didn't stop. she couldn't stop.

finally, with a desperate lunge, she broke through their ranks, barely escaping with her life. her body screamed in pain, but she forced herself to keep going. she needed to get inside the headquarters. she needed to finish the mission.

staggering, she made her way to the building, using every ounce of strength she had left. when she finally reached the entrance, she paused, leaning heavily against the wall, trying to catch her breath. blood dripped from her wounds, staining the ground beneath her.

"i’m inside," she whispered into the earpiece, her voice barely audible.

"YN, what happened to you?" san’s voice was filled with worry, and she could hear the panic in the background as the others tried to make sense of the situation.

but she ignored them. there was no time for explanations. she needed to find the boss and end this.

the corridors of the rival headquarters were dimly lit, the shadows playing tricks on YN's vision as she stumbled through the halls. her blood left a trail behind her, marking her path. she clutched a gun she had picked up from a fallen henchman, her grip tight despite the pain coursing through her body.

she pushed open a door, revealing a lavish office. and there he was, the rival boss, sitting calmly at his desk as if he had been expecting her all along. his lips curled into a smirk as he saw her, his eyes gleaming with malice.

"you look worse for wear, YN," he sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. "I must admit, i’m impressed you made it this far. but it ends here."

"shut the hell up," YN growled, raising her gun. but before she could pull the trigger, her eyes caught something on his desk—a bomb, its timer ticking down with only five minutes left.

she cursed under her breath. this was a trap, and she had walked right into it.

the boss chuckled, clearly amused by her predicament. "you really thought you could take me down? you’re just a pawn in this game. and in every life, i’ll enjoy killing you and your pathetic friends."

the timer ticked down ominously, each second feeling like an eternity. YN's mind raced, trying to figure out how to defuse the bomb, but she wasn't a demolitions expert. wooyoung was. but he was outside watching with mingi. there was no way she could stop the bomb in time.

but she could still save her team.

without a word, she grabbed the bomb and ran, bursting out of the office and down the hallway. "get out of the building!" she screamed into the earpiece, her voice frantic.

"there’s a bomb! you need to get out now!"

"what the hell!? no! we’re not leaving you behind!" san’s voice was filled with desperation, but YN couldn't afford to let them stay.

"go!" she yelled, her voice breaking. "that’s an order!"

she could hear their protests, their refusal to abandon her, but there was no time to argue. she knew what she had to do. she reached the exit, her hand hovering over the door handle. for a brief moment, she hesitated, her heart aching at the thought of leaving her family behind.

but then she remembered their faces, their smiles, their laughter.

and she knew she couldn't let them die. anyone of them.

-

meeting hongjoong was the best thing that ever happened to me. he made all of this happen. he made us a family. he made me feel welcomed. he made all of us feel welcomed.

“yah! hong! smile for the camera you big idiot!” she called to her younger brother, ruffling his hair. “quit touching my head!” he huffed, before chuckling.

“i’ll take the picture. give it here.”

*snap*

“i’m gonna keep this—“

“no. I want it. give it here!”

“nuh uh it’s mine!”

-

meeting seonghwa meant the world to me. he cared for me. he loved me. he made me feel at home, even when I knew I didn’t belong. he made things we wouldn’t do, normal activities.

“hwa, I know you said you don’t do this type of stuff.. but I got a lego set to build. I was hoping maybe you would build one with me?”

“let me think— sure, cmon silly.”

“sweet! it’s star wars themed! with the little lightsabers and everything!”

“you’re too cute. alright it’s a pretty big box so let’s start.”

“yeah!”

-

meeting yunho was exciting, it was a fresh start to my boring and sad life. he taught me to be sneaky, smart, and he cared for me. he made me laugh everyday.

“okay but check this out!”

“PFFT- IS THAT HONGJOONG?“

“sure is!”

“yunho how did you even take this picture without waking him up?!”

“I have my ways..”

“JEONG YUNHO!”

“you fucking-“

“time to go!”

“WAIT FOR ME!”

-

meeting yeosang felt refreshing, he gave me a whole new perspective on life, on the decisions I should make, on being a better person to myself, even if our work was the most horrible thing ever. he always made sure I was taken care of and wasn’t going overboard.

“you know you don’t have to stay up so late researching about those guys. I already got that covered..”

“I just feel like I should help you out. my only job is to kill and clean. I hate it sometimes.”

“listen sis. I promise you I have it under control. just relax. you went on a mission today and none of us need our best asset to crumble into herself.”

“you’re right. sorry yeosang.”

“you’re lucky I caught you. if it was hwa or joong they would have lectured you until you died.”

“pfft- yeah I know.”

-

meeting san was special, I always felt I had a special connection with him. i treated him like blood from day one, as did he with me. he followed me everywhere and always protected me no matter the costs.

“san have you seen my drink?”

I threw it out. someone put something in it.

“no, but I can get you a new one if you want it.”

“please? I swear I just had the drink on the table.”

i’m gonna kill that guy.

“i’ll go get you a new one sis.”

-

meeting wooyoung was fun, he always did the silliest things to brighten my mood. he bothered me on a daily basis just to see how I was feeling. and although he was horrible on the field, he was the sweetest when it came to affection.

“knock knock, are you busy?”

“a little. i’m working on some reports for the captain. why what’s up?”

“im bored. cuddle sesh?”

“woo I have to finish this..”

“you’ve been doing that for hours. I’m pretty sure he would care less. you’re always up to par with your work anyway.”

“okay fine.. just an hour.”

“make it two and we have a deal!”

“fine…”

-

meeting jongho was the greatest gift I could ever receive. he made me feel worthy for the team, even more than seonghwa and hongjoong did. he quietly cared, he nudged me to keep going, kept me from falling back.

“y’know.. sometimes I wonder where the rest of us would be if you weren’t here.”

“what does that mean?”

“I guess what i’m saying is… like.. what if it was just the eight of us? what if we weren’t nine?”

“I’m pretty sure if it was only the eight of you, you’d go on just the same without me.”

“it wouldn’t feel the same though. we’ve always been nine, no matter how you look at it.”

“hey.. if anything happened to me, I don’t want you to think of what it would be like if I was there. I want you to keep going with the boys.”

“yeah. but still. I care too much to let something actually happen to you. so we’ll be nine forever.”

“nine forever.”

-

nine forever.

nine forever.

nine forever.

nineeight forever

nineforevernineforevernineeightforever—

eight forever.

"i’m sorry," she whispered, her voice filled with regret. "take care of each other. I love you all."

and with that, she turned and ran back into the building, determined to get the bomb as far away from them as possible. she sprinted down the hallway, ignoring the pain in her body, ignoring the fear gnawing at her heart.

but she knew it was too late. the timer ticked down, the seconds slipping away like sand through her fingers. she reached the last hallway just as the timer hit zero, far away from the boys. and with a deafening roar, the world exploded around her.

the explosion rocked the entire block, sending debris flying into the night sky. the rival headquarters crumbled to the ground, reduced to a smoking pile of rubble in an instant. the shockwave knocked the boys off their feet as they stumbled out of the building, the force of the blast ringing in their ears.

"YN!" jongho screamed, his voice raw with anguish as he struggled to get back on his feet. but the building was gone, and with it, YN.

"no... no..." san muttered, his hands shaking as he clutched his head, tears streaming down his face. "this is my fault... I should have been there... I should have protected her..."

seonghwa stood frozen, his mind unable to process what had just happened. his sister, the one he had sworn to protect, was gone.

he had failed her. he had failed them all.

hongjoong’s face was pale, his eyes hollow as he stared at the smoking ruins. from a few feet away. the weight of his responsibilities crushed him, the guilt tearing at his soul. this was his fault. He had sent her in there.

he had let her die.

yunho, yeosang, mingi, and wooyoung were in shock, unable to move, unable to speak. the reality of what had just happened was too much to bear. their sister, their best friend, was gone. and there was nothing they could do to bring her back.

as the dust settled, the full extent of their loss began to sink in. YN was gone. the one who had always protected them, always been there for them, was no more. they had lost their best asset, and with her, they had lost a part of themselves.

_

days passed, but the pain didn't lessen. the members of ateez were a shell of their former selves, each one consumed by their grief and guilt.

san was the most affected, his mind replaying the events of that night over and over again. he couldn't forgive himself. he couldn't accept that she was gone. every night, he would sit by her empty bed, clutching her belongings, tears streaming down his face. he had loved her more than anyone, and now she was gone.

seonghwa withdrew into himself, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he had failed her. he avoided the others, unable to face them, unable to bear the weight of their shared loss. he had always been the strong one, the reliable one, but now he felt like a fraud, a failure.

hongjoong buried himself in work, trying to numb the pain, but it was no use. everytime he closed his eyes, he saw her face, heard her voice, remembered her smile. and it broke him.

yunho, yeosang, mingi, and wooyoung struggled to keep the group together, but it was an uphill battle. the bond that had held them together was fractured, and no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't fix it.

the world felt emptier without her, the light that she had brought into their lives snuffed out forever. and the knowledge that they could do nothing to bring her back was a torment they couldn't escape. they visited her grave often, each time bringing flowers, each time hoping that it would somehow make the pain go away. but it never did.

as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the members of ateez slowly began to piece themselves back together. they knew they couldn't stay broken forever. YN wouldn't have wanted that. she would have wanted them to keep fighting, to keep living.

but the pain never really went away. It lingered, a constant reminder of what they had lost.

and it fueled them, drove them to become stronger, to honor her memory.

they knew they couldn't undo the past, but they could make sure that her sacrifice wasn't in vain.

they would take down every rival group, every enemy, and they would make them pay for what they had done.

for YN.

the team came together, their bond stronger than ever, forged in the fires of loss and pain.

seonghwa stepped up, taking on more responsibilities, guiding the group with a steady hand.

san became a force of nature, his grief turning into a cold fury that he unleashed on their enemies. he trained harder than ever before, pushing himself to the brink, determined to never let anyone else he loved die.

yunho, yeosang, mingi, wooyoung, and jongho each found their own ways to cope, their own ways to honor YN's memory. they worked together, fought together, and slowly but surely, they began to heal.

but they never forgot. they carried her with them, in their hearts, in their minds, in every mission they undertook. and as they stood on the precipice of their next battle, they knew that they were not alone.

she was with them, watching over them, guiding them.

and they would make sure that her legacy lived on, no matter what.

_

a small, unmarked grave stood in a secluded part of the city, a single white flower resting on the cold stone. the members of ateez gathered around it, their faces solemn as they paid their respects.

"YN," seonghwa whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "we miss you."

san knelt down, placing his hand on the grave, his eyes wet with tears. "i’m sorry... I should have been there... I should have protected you..."

hongjoong placed a hand on san’s shoulder, his own eyes filled with sadness. "she knew the risks, san. she made her choice. we have to honor that."

yunho, yeosang, mingi, wooyoung, and jongho stood in silence, their hearts heavy as they remembered the one they had lost. the one who had been their strength, their protector, their sister.

but as they stood there, they knew that she was still with them.

in their hearts, in their memories, in everything they did.

and they would never forget.

YN was more than just a member of ateez. she was their family.

and she would always be a part of them, forever and always.

[the-laughing-lunatic]

OH MY GOD TF2 WRITER!!! You are my savior.

ANYWAYS I WAS THINKING ABOUT THE MERCS (more specifically Scout, Spy, Sniper & Engineer if you don’t wanna do them all) WITH A MALE S/O WHO IS CONSTANTLY DYING OR GETTING INJURED DUE TO BADLUCK?

(Of course! Hope you enjoy, thx for reqesting!)

Scout, Spy, Sniper & Engineer x a m!s/o with bad luck (ROMANTIC)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

☆Scout☆

Holy cow is it hard for him to get used to

You die at least once a day but he still cries like a baby whenever it happens

Denies it every time though

“Oh god, it never takes this long, what if my baby’s gone for good? That ain’t gonna happen, you’re bein’ stupid Jeremy. But what if it does? *sniffle* I mean, I- I dunno what I’d do, an just—”

“Hey babe! I grabbed some sodas for us on the way back from respawn, the vending machine was being a pain though. …you alright?

He’d immediately hug you and wipe away his tears. “ ‘m fine. Just glad you’re back, doll. Missed ya.”

Though this guy knows nothing about first aid, he’ll do what his ma always did when he got injured:

“Prince, stop freakin’ out and let me kiss your boo-boo better, kay?”

“Jeremy, I’m not ten, I can handle a tiny bullet wound.”

“Don’t care, c'mere sweetheart. You need some kisses from your hot-ass boyfriend to feel better.”

“What I need is a Medic.”

“C’mon, please?”

“...fine.”

☆Spy☆

Like Scout he’s also dramatic as fuck when you die

Falls to his knees and cries silently over your dead body kind of dramatic

He’s lost one of his lovers before, and it kills him to see it happen in front of him everyday

He’s absolutely terrified that one day you won’t respawn

Doesn’t like to talk about how he feels though, he wants to be strong for his lover

He will require a lot of quality time after you get respawned to calm his mind down that you’re okay

Cuddling, holding your hand in his smoking room, he just needs to be close to you

Helps you when you’re injured, though he does chastise you

(cue homoerotic fixing injuries scene)

“Mon amour, it was simply irresponsible of you to go into the sewers with your luck, it was reckless,” he’d say as he patched you up.

“But you dropped your watch down there, I had to get it back for you.”

“You are insufferably eager, my beau…but it is sweet. Never do anything like that again, though, I worry about you enough as is.”

“Awww, you worry about me?”

“Of course I do, je t'aime. Now shut up and let me help you.”

☆Sniper☆

We all know this guy is hella protective, so of course he’ll protect you even more with how much you get injured.

He’d want nothing more than to keep you in a locked room with nothing to hurt yourself with all day so no harm could ever come to you, but unfortunately that’s “weird” and “illegal”

He constantly wants to be around you to at least try to prevent the inevitable

Even during battles, he tends to double-check where you are on the map to make sure you’re okay, and if you’re not, see who hurt you so he could kill them

He may not have the most traditional sense of first aid training, he mostly knows natural tricks when you’re injured to help you. 

“Love, love, calm down, I got some razor strop for your cut there, ‘s like a bandaid. Fix you up real quick, spunk.”

He wants to take you camping but he knows he’d just be anxious about his boyfriend the entire time

“Mick, c’mon, I can handle one tiny camping trip.”

“You burnt yourself on the coffee kettle twice today. It was unplugged.”

“No coffee kettles in the forest though.”

“Can we just stay here where I know you’ll be okay, love?”

“But you wante—”

“I know, but anytime I spend with you makes me happy, okay? If you’re safe and with me, I’m grand.”

☆Engineer☆

This poor man

He’s worried sick about you all the time

You’re not allowed into his workshop anymore after a few too many incidents with the machinery

During battle he’ll constantly do what you want if it’ll keep you safer

You need a dispenser by you even if the rest of the team needs it somewhere else? He’s putting it by you

He makes you wear a spare hardhat of his in case an anvil falls on you or some shit (with your luck it probably would happen) 

Since you’re not allowed in his workshop it kind of forces him to be less of a workaholic so he can hang out with his boyfriend

Will stay by your side when you’re injured

“Dell, it’s sweet of you to stay while I have a broken leg, but wouldn’t you rather hang out with the rest of the team instead of here? I mean, it’s gonna be really boring.”

“Darling, I’m staying. I’d rather be here with you than at the snazziest rodeo out there.”

“Ach, young love. Now my patient, here is your paste you must eat. It is good for you, it has plenty of nutrients in it, and definitely not drugs you need to take. And your straw, now tschüss!”

“.....are you still sure you wanna stay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else, sugar.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[ladyelissarose]

‘Your Touch’

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x female solider reader 

- Callsign; Taryn (meaning Thunder)

Summary; Who knew that the soldier with the callsign Taryn was actually afraid of the thunder? Maybe it’s loud claps shook her to her core instead of speaking to her? Ghost notices this, and decides to make a move on it.

Warnings: it’s really short but it’s lovely believe me. I’m terrified of thunderstorms so I thought I’d do something about it as I’m going through one right now! It’s mostly fluffy.. enjoy ;)🌻

‘CLAP!!.. BOOM!!’

You lost your breath while your brain short circuited, causing you to almost drop your heavy rifle to the ground. You unfortunately got jump-scared by nature’s screams; Thunder. Loud, screaming thunder, the one that could kill you and wake up the dead at once. It made your heart beat faster and your bones tremble deep in your core. The clouds cried rivers as you did your best to lift every foot completely off the ground as your stepped deeper into her puddles of tears. Thinking about the sun or sunshine didn’t help take your mind off of what scared you the most. Thunderstorms. Yeah, perhaps you were part of the most lethal group in the world as known as the 141 Task Force, but you still had fears. But you didn’t fear what others did, like chains, blood, needles, or even death. 

  No no... what terrified you to the point of tears and wrecking sobs begging to be released from the cages in your throat, was the sound of thunderstorms. It sounded like screams of a mourning mother and worse than the earth-shaking bombs of the military. Ever sense you were a little girl they scared you, it’s sound terrified your little heart until your mother came to embrace you through the night to sleep. But now without your mother and out in the field as a tough soldier, you did your very best to cover it up and handle it like a champ, though there were occasions that the tears would slip, and your lips would quiver, but you blamed it on the cold-chilly rain to be the reason to your reactions.

   So no one in your teamed didn’t know about this this fear of yours... plus, your call-sign or nickname per say was ‘Taryn’, meaning ‘thunder’. But that was only because you had a loud presence, a voice that spoke over others with reason and power. There had never been one to shut you up for they feared being swallowed by your thunderous words. (And those that did- well let’s just say they never did it again:)

Anyways, you’re on night watch with Ghost, he was your sniper, you were his eyes. In complete stillness almost being unseen as the ghost he was, Lieutenant Ghost laid on his tummy beside you as you stood next to him with your special night binoculars, looking for any sight of unwanted intruders. Your eyes kept strong and open, making sure you saw past the rain to catch lingering figures, Ghost’s hands rested on the handle on the rifle as his finger laid delicately on the trigger, he was in position to be ready to aim where you told him too, then he’d snipe them out on your call. 

  But as your were busy you didn’t realize that Ghost had caught onto you almost dropping you gun seconds ago and how your legs were trembling beside his head, but he knew it was not from the cold- no no no... from fear. He had felt and trembled to that fear before, when he was beat by his father, witnessed the sight of his family’s dead bodies, being tortured closely to death and even buried alive- so yes... he knew fear. 

  Ghost knew you had a fear, but thunderstorms? Who would of thought? So to keep you calm and steady, as he wished you to be, he tried to call you back to reality. After clearing his throat and noticing the way his balaclava stuck to his skin, he asked softly but still with that deep, British voice,

“Sarge? You good?”

You snapped for a second and stayed still as you replied as calmly as you could, not wanting to give off how on the edge of fall apart you were,

“Yes sir. All good.”

“Hmm... don’t let the rain make you drop your weapon, you could damage a piece then it won’t work properly.”

“Oh. Yes sir. Apologies.”

“No need, just be careful eh?”

“Affirmative.”

“Hmm.. Hmm...”

‘Oh boy...’

Ghost’s ‘hmm hmm’s’ were sounding a little off today, they didn’t sound like of approval or satisfaction, but more like he didn’t believe you. 

*bright ass lightning*

It was so bright you could see Ghost so clearly that you even saw the way his black paint around his coffee colored eyes was wearing off. Nonetheless you still thought of the future,

‘Oh fuck no... incoming bitch-‘

‘CLAP!!...’

‘no no no-‘

‘BOOOOM!!!’

“Shit!”

Your whole body jolted like if you had been electrocuted. Now streaks of warm tears fell down your face and blended with the cold ones from the rain, even a soft and small sob left your lips, Jesus it was really getting to you now. But you believed your cries were all blocked off or blended well by the sound of the raging storm. Oh it all just ripped you apart from the insides, your inner child was screaming for mama to embrace you and keep you close, away from all the danger. You didn’t feel like a brave, combat soldier who was like the thunderstorm herself... you felt like kid, a kid who needed a hug, and saving. Your hands trembled slightly as you lifted the binoculars to scan again, and thankfully nothing was out, so you put them back down for now, that’s when you felt a soft tug on your pant leg. Your heart skipped a beat with panic of who it was considering you were already traumatized, but your mind reminded you that it was Simon Riley by your leg, seeking your attention. You blinked away the tears and looked down, as you unintentionally whimpered,

“yeah Simon?”

“C’mere.”

“m?”

“down here. come.”

You right away knelt to the ground and felt the cold rain quickly soak your pants on the knees, but weren’t bothered by it as Simon’s words clouded those thoughts,

“Want to hide under my cape?” 

You frowned and pointed at his large Grim Reaper cape cover him nicely, signifying that if that was what he was talking about. He leaned onto one elbow to look up at you as he nodded and repeated,

“So you’re going to come?”

‘Oh ok I’m not crazy he actually wants to share his cape!!’

“oh! You sure-“

He grunted and got back on his tummy,

“Don’t make me change my mind pussy-“

“Ok ok!”

With a short giggle at his choice of words which were usually saved for Soap, you then found refuge on your tummy too but with security under Ghost’s large cape, almost feeling untouchable by what’s out there as you huddled close to him and held your binoculars tightly. You left an inch between him and yourself for respect of course, though you wish that didn’t exist so you could be almost glued to him. Ghost was such a strong, bulky man, a human bear that was both cuddly and deadly, and Damn you were addicted to that combination. Simon then nudge your arm with his elbow as he suggested,

“Come closer Tar.. I don’t bite dove.”

‘No fucking way!! Sweet!’

Of course, you didn’t have to be told twice, in milliseconds you were pressed up against him, propped on your elbows mirroring his position, but what warmed and exploded your heart with awe, love, warmth and lust- ehem.. well what really got your broken and scared to death heart was the feeling of Simon’s hand wrapping around yours tightly. You gasp lowly at his action but nonetheless acted upon it when you cuddled his hand closer to you, relishing in the comfort of the smallest touch he could ever give. You always believed that under all of Simon’s deadly facade as Ghost, he had a soft spot... somewhere inside where he tried to be soulless like a Ghost.. he was still human with a good heart... and this just proved you right as he warned you,

“Never tell a soul about this or I’ll tell them your fear and give them the right to haunt you with it. Understood?”

You nodded quickly and leaned your cheek on your clasped hands as you promised,

“I won’t... thank you Si.”

“It feels nice.”

“It does... should we-“

He locked eyes with you and finished your suggestion with his words,

“Every time. When we feel scared. We can hold one another’s hands dove. If we’re together nothing can touch us. that’s what my mum used to do...”

He ended the last part with sadness in his tone, which you caught and squeezed his hand for extra comfort as you smiled sweetly, but it faded quickly when you saw it,

*deadly ass lightning strike*

Instinctively Simon pulled you practically under his chest with your ear pressed against him where his heart would be. He then covered the side that was opened, but not before saying into them kindly,

“It can’t touch you remember? I got you.”

*.... thump.. thump.. thump.. thump..*

The beyond, calming heart of Simon soothed your troubled soul, and also joyed you when you didn’t hear the terrifying sound of Mother Nature but instead the gift of life in Simon’s body. When it had passed Simon kissed your head through his mask and let you go to get back in position, which you did but still found his hand again without skipping a beat. 

“Mm mmm.”

Now that, sounded like the delightful humming of Simon, he was pleased, and peaceful... you too were now. You took a quick glance at him but saw how his eyes were on yours first before he looked away shyly. You blushed a little and looked ahead feeling better, and so secure with him. It was probably the beginning of the best night watches and life you were going to have.. as long as you had Simon Ghost Riley by you.... and Simon believed the same thing, when he felt his heart beat differently but nicely at the touch of your hand in his, and also how you reminded him of his loving mother, who with just touch... he was a healed and protected kid. You both healed your inner child at one another’s touch.

[cynicalrosebud]

Rumor Has It (6)

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

CW: Betrayal, blood, canon-typical violence

Rumor sat on the edge of the cot in the team's temporary safehouse, staring at his Glock 19 resting on the small metal table beside him. His reflection in the dark window was a ghost of someone who had been through hell and come out the other side, though not entirely unscathed. The past month had been a whirlwind of chaos, betrayal, and bloodshed—more than he'd seen in all his years of operating on the fringes. He had a lot of experience with morally gray areas, but what had gone down over the last few weeks had pushed the boundaries of everything he thought he knew.

Graves' betrayal had hit the hardest. It wasn’t like Rumor trusted the man—he never had—but there was a certain level of professionalism you expected from a team leader. Watching Graves flip, aligning with Shepherd and turning Shadow Company against them, was something he hadn’t seen coming. The missions had turned from taking down cartels and terrorists to cleaning up a mess left behind by those who were supposed to be on their side. And then Shepherd…

Rumor rubbed his temples, the memory of Price’s cold stare as he pulled the trigger replaying in his mind. He didn’t feel any pity for Shepherd—not after the missiles, the lies, and nearly losing their lives chasing down Hassan. Hassan… Rumor's hand tensed into a fist as he remembered their showdown. Killing him hadn’t been satisfying, not like he thought it would be. Just one more name on a list of people who made things worse.

Then there was Makarov.

Rumor’s heart tightened, his thoughts darkening as he replayed that moment. The sniper shot, Soap dropping like a stone, blood pouring from a graze along his head. For a terrifying few seconds, Rumor thought he'd lost him. Soap had survived, sure, but seeing the Scot nearly taken out had shaken him in a way nothing else had. And it wasn’t just him. Price, Ghost, Gaz—all of them had a moment where they thought Soap was gone. That day had left them all on edge.

Price killing Shepherd had been brutal, efficient, and—more than anything—quiet. Rumor doubted Shepherd had seen it coming, but Price hadn’t cared. Shepherd had crossed a line. Price had made sure there were no loose ends, no trails. He wouldn’t be caught for this, not unless someone dug too deep. But who would? There were so many bodies piling up in the wake of Shepherd’s lies that no one would bat an eye if one more disappeared in the chaos.

Laswell had taken charge of Task Force 141 after that. It made sense. She had always been the real backbone of the team. Rumor respected her, though it felt like something had shifted in the team. Shepherd’s betrayal had taken more than just their trust in their chain of command—it had left a scar.

Rumor let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. He’d been promoted to Sergeant and officially brought into the 141. It wasn’t how he imagined joining the team, but then again, nothing about the last month had gone according to plan. He was part of the 141 now—officially. No more hanging around the edges, no more being a wildcard. He was in it, for better or worse.

And yet, despite everything, they were still standing. The 141 was battered but unbroken, moving forward, mission after mission. They had to. There was no time to rest, no time to dwell on the betrayals, the close calls. There were always more enemies, more threats. And as long as they stood together, Rumor knew they could handle it.

But the weight of it all still clung to him. He glanced back at the Glock, then at his reflection, whispering to himself, “Bloody month, huh?”

The door to the safehouse creaked open, and Soap stepped in, rubbing his head where the graze had left a thin scar. "Rumor," he said with a half-smile. "Ye ready? Price says we’ve got a briefing in five."

Rumor gave a small nod, standing up and grabbing his gear. "Aye, I’m ready. Just—" He hesitated for a split second, looking at Soap with a tired smile. "Glad you're still here, Albannaidd."

Soap grinned. "Takes more than Makarov to put me down."

Rumor chuckled, feeling a little lighter. "Good. Because I think I’d go mad without your constant yammering."

Soap slapped him on the back, laughing as they walked out of the room together. For a moment, things felt almost normal—just two soldiers, brothers-in-arms, facing whatever came next.

As they joined the rest of the team in the briefing room, Rumor’s mind shifted to the next mission. He wasn’t just Rumor anymore—he was 141, through and through.

And no matter what came next, he was ready.

[jamisonwritestf2trash]

hiiii hiiii!!! was curious :3 how's it gooinnnng?? uh, feeling booooooorooooooored got any fun headcanons you have floating around the space station?? :3

It's going well enough, Anon! I finally got around to this! Sorry it took me so long, I've been having a hard time doing things. But never mind that! Here's a mixed bag of headcanons!

————————————————————

Medic can make a killer hot chocolate. The only issue being, he will NOT elaborate on why he's so happy and eager to make you one.. He'll hand you the most beautifully decorated hot chocolate, but he stares at you with the most terrifying smile, staring through your soul. You should drink it, though, what's the worst that can happen.

————————————————————

Speaking of Medic. This man would be a menace at Diner Dash. I can not explain. He'd just be so good at it. Put him in endless mode, and he'd play it for hours, you could not get him to put it down.

————————————————————

Speaking of video games, Scout is insane at Mario Kart. He will kill you on Rainbow Road, you will not win against him, he's a maniac. He mains Peach. Also, funny enough, even though he has so many siblings, none of them would play Mario Kart with him. He may have teared up because Pyro asked to play with him.

————————————————————

You know what, I'll just drop everyone's Mario Kart mains and their second option with no explanations!

Demo would main Yoshi, Dry Bones being his second

Engie would pick Daisy, dying on this kill. Um, as a second pick I get Lakitu vibes.

Heavy would choose Bowser, Luigi being his second

Medic switches between the princesses, but mainly Rosalina, King Boo being his second.

Scout is a Peach main ONLY, if he is alone! (One time, he messed up and picked Peach before anyone else could and was very embarrassed.) If he's playing with others, he picks Mario, Larry being his second.

Sniper doesn't care. He'd probably let someone else pick for him. He normally gets a princess character, but he doesn't mind.

Spy is always picking rose gold Peach, regardless of Scout's mocking. He doesn't need a second pick because he'll get pissy about it.

Soldier doesn't have a set main, but I feel like he'd pick any of Bowser's kids.

Pyro is a Shy Guy main, and I am so normal about it, Bowser Jr. Is its second pick.

None of them really fight over mains though, the all normally get the character they want.

————————————————————

Totally away from all of that. I think Spy listens to classical music, and Scout also likes classical music so one time, Scout heard it from Spy's room and just came in, starting to make fun of him, but ended up just... sitting with Spy. I think a lot of their bonding is nonverbal.

————————————————————

Hey, I'm doing another speaking of bit, Spy has a habit of showing up at the exact moment someone needs something, with the item. Medic needs a coffee? Oh well, Spy just happened to be there with one. Scout's looking for something? Spy just found it! How strange. He always acts like its such an inconvenience, this is the only way he can show love.

————————————————————

Scout, Sniper, Medic, and Soldier all have sensory and texture issues.

Scout will gag at the thought of eating puddings and jellos and can't stand flashing lights. Sniper hates bright lights and hates the texture of anything slimy. Medic is overwhelmed by noises in crowds and can't stand sticky foods. Soldier has issues with fabrics and tags and can't stand soft/smooth.

————————————————————

Back to Spy again, I think he really likes the smell of lilacs and vanilla, I don't know why.

————————————————————

Scout once ran out of Bonk, Medic offered him a tea. Medic and Scout drink tea together when one of them has a bad day.

————————————————————

Engie collects rocks. He's just always been a fan. Sometimes, he'll sit outside the base, looking at the ground just searching for pretty rocks. He's given some to Pyro before, and now Pyro goes and sits with him sometimes.

————————————————————

Sniper's happiest moments in life are genuinely sitting in a dark room, not talking, just sitting with someone he cares about. He finds the presence of someone more comforting than words.

————————————————————

You know those gimmick blogs that can identify something from one picture? Heavy can tell you exactly what book any quote is from.

————————————————————

————————————————————

Pyro, Demo, and Soldier collect fireflies together sometimes.

Anyways! That's all I have for now. Sorry, they aren't anything major or great. But writing them made me smile, so thank you for that, anon!

I'm hoping I'm finally back to writing because this reminded me how fun it is.

[artoatsblog]

:Waiter voice: would you like some more vaguely spooky's house of jumpscares inspired TF2 au? No? Well too bad.

Scout- the first specimen and a reverse weeping angel, a creature of contradictions simultaneously arrogant and self-hating, both dangerous and pathetic, sympathetic and hateable all-in-one.

Soldier- a violent, animalistic, feral silly little guy who may or may not be a fallen god who used to be worshiped by a cult.

Pyro- pyro, No seriously you don't need to do anything, You don't even need to draw them in the spooky's art style just drop a PNG of them in the game.

Demo- looks like this

Heavy-the only one who I based on a specimen from spooky's instead of just using the vibes TM, that specimen being the deer Lord, objectively terrifying but slow as molasses.

Engineer- a robot who likes stealing people's organs to fill the hole inside him.

Medic- biblically accurate Angel that's been sent to the human realm to punish us for our sins.

Sniper- honestly I see him as just a creature who's terrified of you, the player, the closer he gets the most distorted he looks.

Spy- weeping angel, the face stealer, but only their faces so imagine a human head on a Eldredge abominations body and you'll get the gist.

[captain-pheonix]

Blu scout and red sniper getting into a fight on the battlefield, but its just insanely homosexual?

A/N: Yes!!! Thank you sending this in 🤣 also sorry it took so long life has been busy plus I got a million bouts of writers block trying to finish this 😞

Caught ya.

Sniperscout/speeding bullet Oneshot (Scout x Sniper)

Warnings: Maybe a teeny eeny bit suggestive? Blood, knives, death before respawn, yelling if that’s triggering, Scout and Sniper beating each other up

Sniper could hear bullets firing and loud screams from every direction. He had just respawned from the other Soldier killing him for the fourth time. He seemed to have been getting targeted recently.

“Bugger.” He grumbled under his breath. He stepped out of spawn and he heard calls for help coming from the right of him. Sniper ran and started fumbling down the staircase to intel as fast as he could. He lifted his rifle to his face and looked out the scope rounding the corner, but his field of view was instantly splattered with red. He could hear blood-curdling screams of pain and familiar laughter. Sniper froze up. The Scout had been cackling like a hyena, dominating him at least once in every battle for the past week. What did he find so funny? Whatever the reason for this sudden interest, Sniper wanted to know before he personally assassinated him when the battle was over.

The Australian threw his gun to the ground, but he couldn’t manage to get his Kukri before the Scout knocked him hard against the back wall, aiming straight at his head.

“Ha. Maybe I should be your new Sniper. Your aim is TERRIBLE!” The Scout chuckled, then everything faded to black.

The familiar clicking noise, and Sniper was thrown back into spawn once again. He had to come up with a strategy, or nothing would get done this battle.

He began thinking before leaving spawn. The administrator sounded over the speakers: “Your intelligence has been dropped.” Sniper knew one thing: the Scout was going to come back to get the case when he respawned. If he could ambush him before he got there, he might have a chance.

Sniper headed to the intel room and waited around the corner.

Some time had passed and he was starting to wonder if he should just give up sitting there. Then, he heard the fast pattering of footsteps echo through the rock and concrete walls.

Sniper pounced at the Scout’s legs as soon as he rounded the corner, intel falling off his back and knocking them both to the cold floor.

“CAUGHT YA, YA LIL’ PRUDE!” Sniper shouted aggressively. He looked at the scout squirm for a moment caught under his grip like a wild animal. Then he just stopped.

“Fine, hot stuff, you win.” The Bostonian looked at Sniper and made eye contact. His face had a cheeky and sly expression on it, despite him being extremely red in the face. Was that just Exertion? What was going on? It seemed like he wanted to be caught.

“What’d’ya want from me!?” Sniper asked him. “Because I’m gonna—“ Scout cut him off with a sharp blow to the face. Sniper was knocked into the ground in pain, and Scout was kneeling over him, giving him several more weaker punches. His blue shirt getting slowly more painted in Sniper’s blood.

Sniper snatched his Kukri and slashed it across the BLU Scout’s face. He let out a high pitched yell, and Sniper took the chance to push him into the wall, pinning the smaller man down again.

Scout opened his eyes to find Sniper’s sweltering angry face, which he only smiled back at.

“Oh, you’re smilin’ now? Think that’s funny?” Sniper muttered.

“Nope. I think it’s super terrifying…in a hot way.”

“WHAT!? WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

Scout managed to shimmy his hand out of Sniper’s, and he brushed it under his chin before kangaroo punching the Australian down to the ground with his leg. Now it was Scout’s turn to pin him down. His Kukri was just out of reach, but it didn’t stop Sniper from trying to grab it.

“Quit wigglin’, already.” Scout smiled down at him.

“Agh. You bloody—“ Sniper was cut off by Scout leaning down to kiss him on the cheek.

“Been trying ‘ta get your attention all week. Don’t lie, I’ve seen how you look when you’re about to shoot me. You get all red and you have a hard time aiming for me? Sound familiar?”

Sniper broke eye contact, embarrassed.

“An’ when my other teammates a’ there, you always go for them first. I’ve noticed a little pattern with you, Snipes.”

Sniper was dead silent. Now it was his turn to become beat red. “…fine. Maybe I don’t wanna shoot someone who isn’t as much of a maniac as everyone else in this dump.”

“When we met at the bar, I might’ve got a tiny hallway crush too…” Scout looked at him, confident but red enough to explode.

Sniper pulled him into a kiss. Something Sniper could’ve only dreamed of. He reached up to hold his waist. Scout’s hand drifted up to rest on Sniper’s face.

A gunshot shot out one of the security cameras from their right, breaking the kiss.

One of the team’s spies re-cloaked and ran out of the room.

————————

Haha hopefully that was gay enough. I do in fact love writing gay little men. Thanks for sending this in! 😂 and thanks for reading, dear viewer!

[badolmen]

Maybe Next Time

Inspired by @reds-skull's Revenant AU - please go check out their art its so goddamn cool.

He feels alive.

Which is a frighteningly alien sensation.

At first, Soap kept the caution of a living man, as though the next blast would kill him for good this time. The first suicide mission he bears with a grin – who else but him could survive it? It’s practically his obligation to die in the stead of soldiers who have no guarantee of getting up again.

The second suicide mission, the third, the fourth…he lost count of the times he felt shrapnel bite his bones and fire sear through his flesh. He bears it with a grin and a joke that no one laughs at – who else but him could survive it? He is a Revenant after all. It’s what he’s still here for.

Isn’t it?

Because if that’s all he lives for, to die for men who see him as a cheap flesh alternative to bomb robots, a tool to be used, bloodied, cleaned, then used again…

Then why does this mission make him feel alive?

In all his time with the SAS, Soap never met another Revenant. They are rare, and thus closely guarded. This one – only called “Ghost,” with not a picture in his file – doesn’t even have a description of his abilities. All Soap can glean from the single page file is that he’s a Lieutenant of a taskforce – the 141. Who they are and what they do is a mystery to him, but it’s not like he’s being recruited.

This is a joint mission, acquiring intel for the 141. He’s on loan, his abilities coveted for this mission given its circumstances. Who the hell guards intel with explosives? (Someone who would rather destroy it than let it fall into enemy hands.) The nature of the intel is kept from him, but he doesn’t mind. This is the most he’s known about a mission outside of ‘there’s a bomb’ in a long time.

He tries not to get his hopes up; this job is the same suicide mission he’s done a thousand times before. Infiltrate, locate intel, disarm or detonate the explosives, crawl back with whatever is left. But this time, he isn’t alone.

And that’s as terrifying as it is thrilling.

He feels alive for the first time since he died.

--

Soap decides he likes Ghost, even if the feelings aren’t mutual. The Sargeant’s attempt at levity during on-boarding is met with a muttered curse. (“Save you a seat, LT.” Ironic considering this is a two man mission and most of the helo is unoccupied.) The two review their mission brief on the flight to the drop location: three buildings to clear, intel in two. Enemy presence is shockingly low, but that’s to be expected considering they don’t know what’s coming. Besides, who needs soldiers when you have enough explosives to level a city block?

Drop off goes off without a hitch and immediately any expectations for a standard mission (as standard as Soap knows it) is chased away. Ghost uses the comms actively, almost to the point where Soap wonders for a moment if there are normal soldiers on this mission that he doesn’t know about. But he’s making call outs for Soap, letting Soap know when he clears a sniper, muttering what one might construe to be praise when Soap cleans out an entire level of a building while Ghost picked off the patrols.

“For an explosives expert you’re one hell of a shot.”

“Aye, glad to see I’m not too rusty. Used to clean up like this back in the day; why do you think they call me Soap?”

“Perhaps you need some.”

“Was that a joke LT?”

A flashbang catches the Sargent off guard, a quick curse and crack shot clearing the final enemy.

“Keep it tactical, MacTavish.” The words sting, but the faintest shimmer of amusement that crackles over the comm static has Soap sweeping to the second floor with a grin.

“Movin’ up, second floor Bravo-7.”

“Solid copy. I’m moving to building C.”

“Copy. Let me know if you need me.” To die for you the mission.

The sudden lack of response is almost deafening.

Soap knows when he isn’t wanted.

He knows well the pointed silence on comms, the curt order to keep it tactical when he tries to joke with the others on a mission. He has a keen eye for cold shoulders and stolen glances. The others on a mission know what he’s there to do. They know he will be torn apart, bloodied and burned so that their mission is successful. Something between a sacrificial lamb and Frankenstein’s monster. Something that isn’t spoken to, either out of pity or of fear.

There’s the rank difference, sure, but they’re from separate operations, so even if Soap is only a Sargent, the usual power dynamics aren’t at play. Part of him wants to indulge, to push and grab at whatever scraps of humanity he can get from the guy. Part of him is too scared there isn’t any left, not for him.

There is only grim silence as he takes down the final two enemies on the second floor. No intel on the second floor. Sweeping the first reveals a basement hatch, and Soap can feel his heart sink with every step into that dank cellar. The air is thick with the tang of gunpowder and practically humming with primed charges.

Soap suddenly feels out of place, creeping slowly, smoke grenade highlighting trip lines that he follows to disengage explosives. Most missions didn’t care how messy things got, so long as no one but him and the enemy got hurt. Going loud was less an option and more a standard he had gotten a bit too comfortable with. Here, taking it slow, focusing on every breath and movement, Soap is alive. There is a heady rush of adrenaline in his blood as he cuts wires and pries primed mechanisms to safety.

Between clearing tangos with a voice in his ear and setting aside disarmed charges, Soap is holding that bittersweet nostalgia of Before with both hands. Because if he fucks this up, it’s going to hurt. A lot.

Not to mention Ghost would see his fuck up. Soap isn’t sure why that idea bothers him so much, but he has a job to do, so he pushes it aside to focus on the frankly overcompensating amount of explosives.

(What was this, some comic book supervillain storage lair?)

(Well, maybe it kind of is – his own fingers are aflame, sparking against the metal housings of the laser projectors. What was that character called again? The human torch? Soap can’t remember if he merely burst into flames or exploded –)

Focus, MacTavish.

He’s half tempted to comm Ghost, just to see if the other will answer, just to see if he will be ignored. He can’t hear gunfire or explosions here in the cellar, but Soap assumes Ghost is having a bit more excitement than he is right now, taking care of tedious and boring bomb disarming.

He hisses, holding a housing too-tight in his palm as the metal warms and warps against his powers. He nearly dropped the red hot shell right on top of a charge. He needs to focus. This isn’t a loud mission and Reapers knew if Ghost realizes he would have to drag what was left of Soap back to base if things went tits up. The last thing they need is a Revenant falling into enemy hands.

(How would they use him? There’s no point killing such a powerful asset. Would he still be a glorified one-man bomb squad? Or would they put his powers to more sinister use -?)

Fucking focus, MacTavish. Ghost has probably finished clearing the other two buildings while you’re down here faffing about.

There are boots on the stairs. His hands are full of primed explosives.

“Freeze!” His heart sinks, the fire at his fingertips licking against the charges in hand. “Hands up, slowly.”

“Easy boys…” Soap hums, not moving his hands. If he drops the charge it will go off. If he raises his hands the tangos will see his fire and shoot for fear of him accidentally setting off the charge. Better to draw this out and maximize the casualties.

They filter into the cramped basement, weapons aimed at his head and flashlights sweeping the disarmed charges on the floor. Four tangos. Someone must have reported their earlier kills – no other reason for a full patrol unit to be walking around weapons primed.

Ghost is definitely having more fun than Soap is at the moment.

“Let’s be reasonable –”

“Shut up.” The order is punctuated with the muzzle of a rifle pressed under Soap’s chin. The adrenaline kicks in, thrill and terror mixing in crystallized euphoria. He could die here. Again, for good this time. His conditional immortality did not include point blank bullets to the face.

His Reaper wouldn’t be too happy about that.

The memory of fluttering insects and light so bright it burned and why he was sent back is like swallowing sun-warmed honey, sweet but cloying. He will not die here. It will hurt. But he’ll live. He always does.

“Bravo-2 how copy?” Ghost’s voice is sharp as it crackles from his radio. Before the tangos around him can use their own comms, Soap takes a step back, hands burning hot against the fragile charge as he pulls it to his chest. The swansong of igniting thermite and roaring fire is all he hears before the world around him is torn to shreds.

--

His Reaper hovers nearby, a buzz under his skin, buffering him against fire and shrapnel and rubble. If he doesn’t look too closely, he can see them in the cinders and smoke. Warm, golden insects the same color and temperature as the fire sparking at his fingertips. They flutter past, carried on the fumes and swirling air currents, fading out of view as his vision darkens.

Soap’s consciousness rises and falls like a weak tide, a few seconds of painful clarity defeated as blood loss and agony blur his thoughts and catch in his blood filled lungs. For so long it is awfully quiet. He can feel the slick of blood from burst eardrums running down his neck, but soon enough he can hear his gargled breathing and knows they’ve heal.

He can hear footsteps, or at least, he thinks they are footsteps. A voice – no, probably not a voice. Why would they be calling to him? They’re probably talking to someone else. They will pick him up when the mission is done. However long that took.

Christ, he is so fucking tired – he can feel his Reaper’s power surging through his body, coalescing around what he knows to be a bad puncture wound too adrenaline numbed to be felt. He just needs to clear it, at least enough to start healing, because replacing all of this blood is going to take weeks at this point.

Hands. Right, he has hands, he just needs to –

Feeling rushes back into his blood like a tidal wave, a full body shudder as his nerves burn back to life. His eyes snap open, burning in the smoke and welling with tears.

Steamin’ Jesus, he is going to be sick. And even though he hopes to pass out again, he knows he won’t.

Soap thought he would get used to it by now, the almost-death, the not-death he died when his heart stopped beating but his soul couldn’t leave. Dying the first time had been easy, practically painless. It’s the coming back that seems to get worse with every mission.

The strangled sound in his throat seems to garner some attention, footsteps echoing in the shadows – are his eyes still getting reconnected to his briefly deceased brain or is the smoke still that heavy?

“Ghost?” The name is garbled, croaking from his spasming throat. He can’t seem to get enough air, one lung collapsed and the other fighting remember how to breathe. His vision tunnels, a skull mask hovering in the near distance. It has to be Ghost – or maybe Soap is dead-dead this time, and death happens to have a sick sense of humor.

“Soap? Johnny where – oh fuckin’ hell.”

Soap writhes, trying to push himself off the rebar stake through his chest. He’s holding up the operation – Ghost probably needs him to take care of some other explosives –

He can’t fucking heal like this.

“Could – could use a – a – a hand here, LT.” Soap forces the words through gritted teeth. No use being a whiny cunt when it’s his own damn fault for taking so long with the charges.

“How can I help?”

Soap wants to laugh – he almost does, the muscles in his abdomen clenching and making the rebar impaling him burn hotter than any thermite. The whimper that crawls up his throat in response is strangled into a growl.

“Gettin’ me off this fuckin’ spike would be nice.” The frustration in his chipped voice is undercut by an apologetic warble as his breathing hitches. “Please, I cannae – I can’t heal like this.” He swallows back another mouthful of blood, the pressure of Ghost’s hands on his shoulders gentle compared to the fracturing agony pulsing from his injuries.

Part of him is glad there isn’t a countdown, the blinding pain forcing a pathetic whine from the back of his throat while he clamps his jaw shut hard enough for it to ache. The world fades gray, his vision blacking out as he feels Ghost set him down, a slab of cold concrete to his back. His Reaper’s power flushes into the gaping wound, a sob shuddering through him as he feels a bloom of healing fire flush through the injury.

He just needs to get his breathing under control; he needs to get it under control faster before Ghost – is Ghost already pissed at him? He’s at the very least annoyed – he sounded annoyed on the comms – his own comms were probably broken in the explosion. Fuckin’ hell he just got them replaced…

Christ, focus, MacTavish – quit being a little bitch and breathe and get up and –

“How long do you need?”

Soap cracks his eyes open, vision still spotted with stars but he focuses on the mask in front of him. Those coal brown eyes are...warm. Ghost is crouching in front of him, still waiting for his blood starved brain to string together a coherent response.

“Just – just a few more...a few more breaths. Dinnae worry I –” He winces, something in his chest snapping. He can feel bone fragments wriggling free from mangled flesh, piecing back together ribs. It takes a few quick breaths for him to work through the pain enough to continue speaking. “I’m fine. Not that bad – had worse. Really.”

Ghost doesn’t look convinced, but he turns to sit next to MacTavish, rifle across his lap.

“Take your time. Don’t have to worry about tangos for now.”

Soap finds himself staring and he can’t quite look away for fear that he is, actually, dead-dead and death just happens to have a sick sense of humor. But Ghost doesn’t fade away or explode into a swarm of golden butterflies dancing with the acidic warmth of his Reaper’s disappointment. Ghost just sits there, close enough to brush shoulders with as he scans the rubble around them.

Soap’s thoughts are swirling; he’s desperate to push his luck and lean against that steady presence, and frustrated that he is too distracted to focus on getting his breathing back. If this was a normal mission they would need him on his feet by now – if he wasn’t diffusing bombs, someone who could actually die, dead-dead, would be.

It’s almost a relief when Ghost rises to his feet, stalking across the crater’s debris. Almost. A selfish part of Soap wants to reach out and grab him back, just to know he’s still there.

“We – we can get going. Sorry for holding this up.” Soap pitches forward to follow, shaking hands braced against the ground with a groan as his vision swims. He needs to get up, follow Ghost, get to exfil, get back to base, and sleep for a fucking week.

The first step is always the hardest, right? Bracing against the concrete slab, he’s able to slide to his feet, shaky legs wobbling like a newborn deer as his vision flashes white with pain.

Get up. Check.

He waits a few breaths for his vision to come back, the bloody spoke of rebar he had been impaled on the first thing he sees. His halfhearted glare shifts, Ghost’s silhouette in the distance.

Follow Ghost. Check.

He could do that. One foot in front of the other. Don’t stop moving – except Ghost has stopped moving. Soap blinks down at the warped frame of a safe. Right. He has a job to do outside of blowing himself up.

“I got it.” He bites back sob as he drops back to the ground, the pain of rubble under his knees a grounding distraction. Soap holds his fingertips to the thick wall of the safe, metal sparking red then white under the intensity of his powers. Rotating his hand slowly, he’s able to create a near perfect circle, pulling away a chunk of the molten metal to open a window to the safe’s contents.

Soap sits back on his heels, melted iron running off his fingers as his powers dim. Blood is puddling below him, the wound in his side still gushing. If only he had been able to pull himself free before Ghost showed up, just a few extra minutes to heal.

“Good work.” He looks up at Ghost, who briefly inspects the hard drive he had fished from the safe’s interior. Soap blinks up at him as Ghost straightens where he knelt, silhouetted in starlight and lingering smoke. He blames blood loss for the bloom of warmth in his chest and the giddy smile sliding onto his face. Ghost’s eyes narrow, head nodding to his injury. “You need something for that?”

Soap opens and closes his mouth, choking on whatever he was going to say and exchanging it for a shaky laugh.

“Nah, nah – it’ll be fine. Eventually. Just – just gotta get back to base and rest up.” He rises to an unsteady half kneel, breathing too hard and too fast. The world spins, his vision graying out for a few faltering breaths.

Why did he laugh? It hurt so much worse now – was it bleeding more? As his nausea passes, Soap spots Ghost fishing a medkit from his pack. He halfheartedly swats it away.

“No – no, that’s for you. I’ll heal up without anything.”

“I’m stopping the bleeding and giving you some stims. I don’t feel like carrying your ass to exfil.” Soap slumps under Ghost’s unwavering stare, dropping back to the ground like a kicked dog. Ghost isn’t his CO – hell, he isn’t even sure if Ghost can pull rank seeing as they’re from separate operations – but he isn’t going to argue. Not with that tone; he’s already a burden to the mission as it is.

“Right...right, yeah. That – yeah.” His words are slurred, accent thickening as he mutters curses to himself. Pull it together MacTavish, you’ve had worse, you’ve walked through a minefield with worse, crawled to exfil without your legs with worse.

“Bloody hell MacTavish…” Ghost’s growl is almost a whisper as he lifts the hem of Soap’s shirt, baring the gory wound. He isn’t sure what stung more – the thread of disappointment in Ghost’s voice or the hemostatic bandages now secured on either side of his torso.

“Sorry.” His apology croaks unbidden from his throat. It isn’t like an apology will speed this up.

“Choices have consequences.” Ghost huffs as he wipes his bloodied gloves on his pants. “Don’t blow yourself up next time.”

For a split second he latches onto that. ‘Next time.’ He wouldn’t mind a next time. Or maybe he would – working with Ghost is…different than being assigned to various crews as the de facto bomb robot. He isn’t sure yet if different is better. Soap hums in agreement, wincing as a stimpack bites into his shoulder and a rush of wakefulness stirs in his blood.

“I was taking too damn long. Got caught.” He shrugs, either a flush of embarrassment or some color finally warming its way onto his cheeks. “Easier to take them down with me, seeing as I’m the one that can get back up.”

“Easier than waiting for me to help?”

“I’m an impatient guy.” Soap hisses, the injury still stinging as he pushes back to his feet. “Can we go now? I’m right as rain.” He wobbles on his feet, not impressing Ghost as he holds an arm to his side, keeping pressure on the wound. Ghost heaves a sigh, starting towards exfil without another word.

Climbing out of the crater is the hard part, but Soap can bite his tongue and push through the blinding white hot agony of reaching and climbing over debris. The bandages are soaked through in minutes, seals broken by the agitating movements. He makes sure to keep behind Ghost, partly to keep the still substantial blood trail he’s leaving out of sight and out of mind.

That doesn’t mean his too-loud, hollow breathing is something the other soldier will continue to ignore.

“Do you need a break?” The question is paired with a gentle glance, so foreign to Soap after so long on the receiving end of snappy COs and stressed soldiers. He doesn’t respond, wide eyed and panting with a hand on the wall for stability. The softness in Ghost’s eyes flickers, something shadowy in their depths.

“…‘m fine.” Soap finally manages to grit out, breaking eye contact and stumbling forward. He nearly yelps when Ghost snags his right arm, powers flickering from his fingertips as the Ghost pulls the arm over his shoulder. “Careful – I’ll – my hand…”

“I’m not afraid of a little fire, MacTavish.”

The Ghost straightens, helping support Soap’s weight as the pair shamble forward. This close there’s no hiding his pained breathing, the way every other step sends stars sparking behind his eyelids as the agony ripples through him like a wave. They’re moving even slower now, the empty compound eerily silent and still save for their limping procession toward the exfil point.

“What’s got two legs and bleeds?” Soap almost doesn’t realize the question is meant for him, blinking blearily up at the Ghost.

“Me?” He isn’t sure if it’s a joke at first, blood starved brain struggling to parse the tone of the question. But Ghost glances down at him, eyes crinkled to crescents. Is he smiling?

“Half a dog.”

Soap’s bark of laughter tapers with a groan, a fresh flush of blood as his wound wept from the outburst.

“I hate dogs, but that’s fuckin’ brutal.”

“What you have against dogs?”

“Rabid bitch bit me.” Soap tilts his head up, baring the pale pink scar under his chin. A scar from when his body remembered every near-death experience. Now he’s had too many to count and nothing to show for them. “Rabies shots fuckin’ suck.”

“So I’ve heard.” Ghost’s voice rumbles like thunder, a hum of contemplation in his chest. “That before or after?” The event in reference is left unsaid, a haunting shimmer of his Reaper’s golden glow still mending his broken flesh.

“Before.” Soap bites out the word, hissing in pain as he trips, Ghost keeping him from falling flat on his face as they keep moving forward. “Since you’re learnin’ so much about me, I’ve got a question for you: what’s with the mask?”

Ghost stiffens, almost imperceptibly under Soap’s arm, but his silence as they continue walking speaks volumes. Something in Soap’s chest aches at the lack of response, aside from the still reorganizing lung tissue and rib bones. It’s too much like being ignored on comms on normal missions.

“Bet you’re ugly.” He bites his tongue hard enough to taste fresh blood the second after the words fall from his lips.

“Quite the opposite actually.” Ghost’s response is smooth, a hum of amusement loosening his tensed shoulders. What has Soap done to deserve this stranger’s good graces? He’s tempted to push, to take all he can before it inevitably blows up in his face. It isn’t like they’re going to be seeing each other anytime soon; he can risk burning a bridge built to be temporary.

“Prove it.” Soap’s voice lilts with a friendly challenge. “Take off the mask.”

“For you, MacTavish…” Ghost pauses, reaching towards his face and – playfully tapping the hard shell skull of his mask. “Not a chance. Maybe next time.”

Next time. Soap would like a next time. But as helo blades drone overhead and Ghost’s comms crackle to life with two separate COs asking for sitreps, he sighs and sags against his fellow Revenant.

Reapers knew if their teams would ever work together again, let alone have the two pair up as they had for this mission. But there’s a spark of something other than power and fire in his chest. For the first time in a very long time, he feels he has something to hope for.

Next time.

[sardonic-the-writer]

You van now marry me because I am interested in your tf2 headcanons

Tell me more please

so happy someone asked for this. giving your forhead a big fat smooch. also, i would habe included tracker in these, but i feel like that would have been a bit self pretentious

scout

• good artist. has drawn tom jones fanart before

• knows a little bit of french; his mom made him learn. also knows a few french songs because of this

• bisexual but battles with it a lot

• really appreciates his teammates and conciders all of them—except for maybe spy—to be his best friends

• terrified of medical procedures and terrible at hiding it

soldier

• brightest blue eyes you've ever seen

• wears underwear with the pattern of the american flag on them

• doesn't know it's not normal to have gay thoughts. literally would kiss a man sloppy style and then not understand why everyones looking at him. probably straight, but makes exceptions

• has had his hands cut off at least five times before. it's getting concerning at this point

pryo

• uses asl with their team and teaches those who don't know. they'll still use muffled sounds to communicate though

• has no gender actually. not trans, not cis, but a secret third thing

• aroace! latches so strongly onto platonic relationships though its actually insane

• attends bonfires with enigneer sometimes

• has a pair of onsie pajamas that they wear over their suit to bed at night

heavy

• is definitely in love with medic, no doubts to be had

• has a PHD in russian literature! a very smart fella, he just has trouble speaking his mind in english

• gay. so so gay. mlm all day

• the only merc to regularly check out books from teuforts library sans soldier. although he doesn't really check out books, he just yells at the librarian for not carrying sun tzu's the art of war

• sings little songs to sasha in russian

demomam

• has scars all over his chest from an accident with a grenade he had as a kid

• sends lots of post cards and souvenirs to his mom when he's on the job. he really loves her

• actually used to style his hair in dreads when he was a little bit younger, but just doesn't have time to do much with his hair anymore

• so casually bisexual; especially considering it's the sixties and seventies. takes interest in both men and women

• best friends with both his and the other teams soldier!

sniper

• his camper is such a mess all of the time. only ever cleans if he knows someone's going to be visiting, and even then there's a few stray piss bottles laying around

• plays poker & other card games with scout all the time. when they can't bet money, they'll end up using other things to play, like bullets or stray snacks

• thinks he likes both men and women. tries not to dwell on it too much since he gets anxious about it, but at the end of the day can't deny that he finds men attractive as well

• has a mug that says world's number one best sniper that miss pauling got him

engineer

• shortest mercenary r.i.p

• parental figure to pyro

• one of the only good cooks at the base. often ends up making dinner for everyone even if it's someone else's turn to cook that night

• has a prosthetic arm that he built from scratch & spends a lot of his time adding to/upgrading

• probably straight, but the biggest ally you'd ever meet

spy

• genderfluid. has a few lady disguises he's had to use before, and is just as comfortable in them as any other one of his disguises. definitely had gay sex with scouts mom before

• reverts to straight french when he gets irritated or upset

• heavily bisexual and very open about it with any of his partners. a man/womanizer

• the only merc with a sense of fashion to be frank. have you seen everyone else. soldier thinks being naked and covered in honey is the epitome of fashion for fucks sake

medic

• probably knows more about the medical field than any other doctor at the time. is actively dropping some medical talk & procedures that won't even be invented until a few decades later. he's fun like that

• owns one pair of regular clothes. everything else is lab coats and black pants. maybe a turtleneck or two if you're lucky

• super mega über gay for heavy. see what i did there

• also, i'd like to headcanon that he needs glasses because he's nearsighted of all things. it makes performing surgery hard without them

[avvail-whumps]

the sniper being a psychopathic (hot) masked man has me in a chokehold can we please see more of him? pretty please

Your hands shake as you try to reload the unfamiliar contraption, the metal of the gun biting into your skin. You didn’t know how you’d managed to slip away from your captors, but you’re somewhat pleased you did. 

Because there are other people here - other people slaughtering the men that took you, storming the building with ease and precision. You know it’s not the cops, and you know that they’re killing the civilians, too. Even with the gun in your hand, you know the only chance at escape is to slip away, undetected. 

Your breath hitches at another gunshot, almost dropping the magazine you had somehow managed to pry out of the pistol. You’re trying to replace it with another, just so you have the safety of a loaded gun in your hand, but you’ve never done this before. Your trembling hands make it hard to keep anything steady. 

A single tear slides down your cheek, paranoid eyes lifting up to peer around the room. You’re sandwiched between the wall and a few tall boxes, strapped down to the ground, keeping you concealed enough for now. It’s dark, almost pitch black, so you’re unable to tell if there’s someone else up there, stalking the catwalks or vigilantly searching the room. 

You feel your hairs prick on edge, holding your breath. 

It feels like there’s someone out there, but it’s so quiet, so still, that you’re not sure if you’re being paranoid. 

You slide the mag into the pistol, keeping your finger away from the trigger. You’re not sure how to tell if it’s on, but the moment your attention wavers, a bullet slams into the wall next to you. 

You can’t suppress the terrified scream, hands flying up to your ears to cover them, cowering away from the ear piercing noise. Your head whips around to eye the hole in the wall, a small flicker of blood speckled on the concrete. You lower your hand to see that it had grazed your ear, a small amount of blood on your palm. 

Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you stare into the darkness, your panicked eyes searching for the person who had shot at you. You scramble to grab the gun, holding it tight within your grasp, and as your eyes flicker up to the catwalks, you feel your muscles seize. 

All you can see are two neon green dots, like eyes, staring directly at you, and the glint of something. Maybe something like a rifle, and suddenly, the gunshot’s close graze made so much more sense. 

The eyes move, and you watch in horror as a hulking figure drops down from the catwalks, landing ontop of one of the boxes with a thud. You can see him now, just barely, armed to the teeth with weapons and a sniper rifle in his hands. The mask covering his face conceals all of his features, the glowing green goggles on his head staring straight at you. 

When he pries the goggles up, you desperately scramble to your feet.

You stagger away from your hiding place, gasping when he drops down effortlesly to the floor, advancing on you. Abysmal fear grips you as you desperately fire a round at him, the recoil jarring you. His shoulder jerks back from the impact, but his measured pace doesn’t falter for even a second. 

When you try to make a run for it, you feel fingers wind through your hair, jerking you back. A horrified sob tears from your throat, feeling the man pull you back towards him, the stinging pain tugging at your scalp. 

“No!” You plead, trying to untwist your tongue. “No, please. I’m not one of them! I’m just a civilian, please…” 

The words die on your tongue like a crippled flame, suppressing the pained gasp when he jerks your head back, forcing you to look at him. He’s so imposing, so much bigger than you, padded with dark gear and armed with weapons he probably knows how to kill you with three times over with. 

With the goggles up, you can just see his eyes in the slits of the mask, dark and hooded and staring at you coldly. You flinch when he slings the rifle across his shoulder by the strap, a gloved hand brushing against the blood dribbling down the shell of your ear. 

You supress the gasp, heart pounding in your chest, those eyes making you simply shudder. 

The sniper suddenly tugs you around, abruplty bending you over one of the boxes. His hand engulfs the back of your neck, keeping you firmly pinned there as your hands scramble for some sort of stability, your cheek numb from the impact.

“Please don’t kill me,” you beg shakily, the edge of the box digging uncomfortably into your stomach. He wrenches your arms behind your back, and you feel him securing your wrists together. “Please, please…” 

Your words fall on deaf ears, apparently. You wince when the restraints are pulled tight, tight enough to cut off your circulation, and he hurls you up by the shoulders. You’re dizzy from being shoved around everywhere, biting back the urge to thrash when he spins you around, this time shifting you up onto the box so you’re sat on it. He gives your face a brief wipe with a cloth, before he uses it to tie around your mouth, silencing your whispering pleas. 

You can taste the salt of your own tears on your tongue. 

When he’s done, those pointed eyes meet your own, and he lifts his hands, making short gestures. 

“Be obedient,” the sniper signs slowly, just to make sure you can process it. You whimper against the gag. “Don’t squirm.” 

You feel him effortlessly lift you off the box, as if you weigh nothing, slinging you over his shoulder. A part of you considers thrashing, wanting to kick and scream through the gag, but his tight grip around your waist makes you think differently. He nudges his goggles back down, and you can only do exactly as he says as he carries you through the complex.

[thezombieprostitute]

Changing Minds - Part 6

Summary: Your long time work acquaintance Nick Fowler offers to take you to a fancy fundraiser as a way of cheering you up. He insists it's only as friends but when he sees you falling into the grasp of someone he knows is no good, he might change his mind on that.

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: Implied violence and attempted murder. Please let me know if I missed any.

A/N: Reader is an older female (late 30's +). This is part of the Garbage Men AU.

Part 5 -- Part 7

Series Masterlist

You’re getting yourself ready to leave your apartment for the first time since the bomb scare. It’s been a few days and part of you chides yourself for the flash of fear that arises every time you consider going outside. It used to be so easy to just open the door and walk outside but now you shake every time you’re near your door. 

Nick has made no effort to hide that he’s noticed but he doesn’t say anything. He’s been letting you take the lead in everything, especially conversations. He’s gotten really good at predicting your wants and needs but still waits for you to actually say something. It’s the closest he gets to a conversation with you. He really misses when the two of you could just talk. 

Looking at the door you take a breath to steady yourself. “Nick?” He’s immediately at your side. “Nick, would you please…please walk with me to…to go get my mail?”

“Of course,” he whispers. 

You grab your keys and tell him, “I want to take the stairs. I haven’t been walking as much and I’m really feeling it.” He nods and follows you out the door. Even though you’re not leaving the building, you lock it behind you before heading to the stairs. 

Nick is the first on the stairwell but lets you set the pace. You notice how he’s able to keep himself alert while still being able to act casual. It’s a skill you’re envious of, especially as you feel terror with step away from the safety of your home. You fidget with your keys as you try not to think about potential snipers in the windows.

The mailroom for your building is in a windowed vestibule and you feel more exposed than ever. Nick does a quick look around before leaning against the boxes near yours. You feel a little easier knowing he’s got your back, though you’re still not yet ready to tell him that. 

You unlock your mailbox and it’s almost full. You also see a small key at the bottom, indicating you’ve received a package that had to be placed in one of the bigger mailboxes. You look at the key and your breathing goes shallow. What if it’s another bomb, you think. 

Nick sees you freeze and takes the key from your hand. “You’re okay,” he whispers, his hand gently rubbing your cheek. “I’ll make a call and we’ll let someone else take a look at the delivery, okay?” 

Nodding you wipe away the tears from your eyes that you didn’t realize had started forming. “Let’s take the elevator back up?” He nods and the two of you head back to your apartment. 

As soon as the apartment door closes you collapse into your favorite chair. It shouldn’t be so difficult to just get the mail, you chide yourself. The tears start pouring as you drop the mail on the ground.

Nick is immediately on his knees in front of you, gently telling you, “it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

“It’s not okay Nick,” you snap at him, pushing him away. “It’s just getting the mail! How can that be so draining? So terrifying?! What am I supposed to do about work?!” 

His face conveys his hurt and concern as takes your hands in his. He keeps his voice level as he tells you, “you’ve been through a major trauma, Lovely Lady. A trauma no one should have to go through. Your world has been seriously shaken up and nothing feels safe any more.” 

He kisses your hands, an act that surprises you so much you stop crying. “It’s completely understandable that you’re afraid,” he continues. “That, what used to be simple acts, are now draining. It’s also completely understandable that you’re so frustrated. Your sense of security has been taken from you. Through no fault of your own, at that.” His voice cracks a little at that. A small acknowledgement of his role in your current state. 

“I know I can’t always be with you,” he hesitates. “But I will choose to be with you whenever I have that option. I will help you every step I can to get you through this.”

“You can’t fix this, Nick,” you shake your head.

“Not gonna try to,” he assures. “It’s not a fix that’s needed here.”

“I’m broken,” you accuse. “You and your stupid investigation bullshit broke me!” You slap your hand against your mouth, regretting the words as soon as they’re out of your mouth. The hurt in his eyes is plain to see. “I’m sorry, Nick,” you whimper. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not your fault. I know it’s not you. I’m sorry. I'm so sorry.”

He leans closer to you and hugs you, letting you cry on his shoulder until you can’t cry anymore.

It’s a few hours before you finally get to opening the mail. Nick's people confirm the package is harmless; it was a book you'd forgotten you'd ordered. Several “thinking of you” cards from your coworkers. A letter from your mother expressing her disappointment at your reaction to your sister’s marriage. A few bills. And one envelope, too large to be a card, with gold trim. The return address isn’t one you recognize and slowly open it. It’s…an invitation? 

“Nick,” you call. He sets his phone down and you hand him the envelope. “Do you recognize that address?”

His breath catches, “it’s one of Kent’s buildings. Used for fancy dinner parties and the like.”

You read from the invite, “Dearest Lady Y/N, it is my sincerest hope that you are feeling better. If not, perhaps a tea time with good company will help.” You look up at Nick, “I don’t understand this move.”

Nick’s jaw tightens in anger, “he’s telling us he not only knows where you work but where you live as well.”

“Seriously,” you shake your head. “It would be obvious to anyone that he has the ability to know where I live. Is he that dumb or does he just not know what overkill is?”

Nick blinks a few times and then starts chuckling. You throw a confused look at him and he explains, “for so many years I've hated this man and his seemingly genius ways at avoiding consequences for his crimes. Meanwhile you're unironically calling him an idiot. It's…it's nice to get a different take.”

“Maybe that different take is what you need to catch him.”

“What?”

“Well, you've been so scared of him,” you hesitate, “so in awe of his methods. Maybe you need to dumb down your thinking about him?” Nick considers so you press on, “I've got an invite to one of his buildings, and I'm allowed a plus one. We're supposed to be pretending we're dating. What if, instead of waiting to see how he'll react to us being together, we push his buttons?”

“You want to purposely poke the bear?” Nick is both flabbergasted by your idea and further in awe of you. 

“It might just be what you need to see the cracks. Or find his weakness. If we go at the slower pace we were planning it'll give him time to think and plot. So we push hard and fast and keep him off-kilter.”

“If that is what my Lady wishes, I'll make sure it's done as safely as possible.”

Part 5 -- Part 7

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