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alexa-fika · 1 month ago

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Burning Protection ( Red haired pirates x Reader)

A/N YOOO ITS BEEN A LONG TIME, IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRYY, I came back but I dont think I came back cooking y’all, I swear im going to try to make a dent in the requests soon, I really miss writing but I just got the biggest block, but damn do I miss it.

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for Reader in japanese

Dividers by @/drinkthesky and @/firefly-graphics

Dokucha Stills at the powerful presence, turning around to spot a red-haired man with a serious expression on his scarred face, similar expressions mirrored on the men behind him.

"Rays of sunshine, the lot of you, aren't you?" They questioned nervously

"Did you burn the Flag?" The man questioned, ignoring their joking statement

"Flag? Buddy, I'm not sure what you're on about."

"That's not what the villagers seemed to say when asked. Everyone said the same thing 'It was the carrying a staff, one that fits the description of the one you are carrying," Hongo piped in, glancing at them and said items

"It could have been someone else carrying a staff. Did you think of that?" They frowned when their jest was received by the first mate pointing his riffle their way

"Stop messing around."

"Alright, Alright, gee, all this over a flag, was it?"

"It might seem like just a flag to you, but that flag provides safety to not only this village but others as well. If I let them get desecrated like this, allies and friends would become targets."

Their eyes harden at his words as they begin to understand the severity of the situation

"I apologize; I was not aware how important this flag was; regardless, I was not lying; I have not burned any flags."

"Are you saying that the dozens of people that pointed us your way are lying?"

"I'm saying that they were wrong, and you are fools to assume the first person to closely meet that description is the person you're looking for; I mean, all you got is the description of a staff, for all you know, someone could have borrowed-" they stopped their rambling as they purse their lips a realization hitting them ,something that was not lost to Shanks

"I didn't burn your flag," they repeated

"But you know who did."

"..."

"You can either tell us now, or we can drag you with us as we find out who It was; we will find eventually," Benn spoke as he lowered his rifle

Dokucha sent a scowl their way, muttering curses under their breath, relaxing after a second and glancing at the men standing in front of them

"Just... a promise must be made that you will not harm them."

"I apologize, but given the circumstances, I cannot promise that; as I said, many people depend on that flag, and the act of burning it down is not only an act against me but of my allies."

"You will understand when you see them; you will also want to avoid violence."

"As I said, I cannot promise anything."

"Just follow me," they sighed, only to be stopped by the sniper as he extended his hands toward them

"We will hold onto that," he said, gesturing to their staff

"Absolutely not!" they growled, holding the staff away from him

"It wasn't a request," Shanks spoke as he approached the two

"We are giving you the benefit of the doubt and not treating you as the culprit of this, but we cannot leave you armed."

"There better not be a single splinter out of place when I get it back," they growl, shoving the staff on Yassop's awaiting hands, who just throws her a grin

"If you do get it back."

"Yo-

"Let's go." Shanks orders, grabbing them by the forearm and pulling them forward as they made their way farther from the village

"Why do you live so far from the village?" Hongo questioned after they had made their way closer to a cottage set apart from the rest of the village

"That's hardly any of your business," they mutter as they unlock the front door once Shanks released his grip on them

"Normally, I would say get comfortable, but I really don't ca-

Their words are promptly interrupted as crashing sounds echoe above them, a scowl growing on their face as the sounds continued

“What is that?” Questioned Limejuice

“That,” they began kicking a nearby bean chair forward

“Is the sound of me being wrong” they finished watching as a child fell seemingly out of nowhere and into the Bean chair

“Han,” they called with a frown on their face

“Hi…” she greeted, a nervous smile on her face

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything…”

“Don’t give me that,” they growled, pinching the child’s cheek

“Here I thought Holl was behind this, but it was you, wasn’t it?

“Ow! That hurts! Listen, I just wanted to practice. How was I supposed to know that it would fire like that?! Everyone started freaking out, so I started freaking out, and I ran!” She cried

They glare at her for a moment longer before they let out a sigh and ruffled her head

“Just tell me next time, yeah? I don’t mind teaching you a few spells; no need to steal my things and sneak out.”

She gives them a nod as she nervously glance at the pirates, who by now had stood and watched the exchange in silence

“Are they going to hurt me?” She whispers

“No, don’t worry about a thing. Your big sibling has this, okay? Can you go prepare Holl something to eat? I'm sure they are hungry.”

They watch the girl nod and scamper

“Well, looks like I am guilty after all,” they sigh

“Our problem is with the kid; she burned the flag; she is the one we have business with.”

“No, your business is with me. That child is under my care, so any kind of retaliation you have to make against the burning of a piece of cloth is done against me, not him.”

Shanks's eyes narrow at their words, the frown on his face growing deeper

“Oi, oi, piece of cloth?!” One of the officers growled

“Is that not what it is? Despite what it stands for, at the end of the day, it is a piece of cloth that just happened to be destroyed under the hands of a child.”

“Yo-

“Dokucha!!” The pirate’s response is quickly cut off as a new voice cuts in as they barge the way into the small cottage

“Dokucha! It’s Holl!”

“What happened?”

“They had another accident; we need your help; they are in a really bad state,” the young man pants out his breaths ragged due to what they could assume was a run all the way to the cottage

Dokucha’s eyes widen at the news

“Han! Come here! We need to go now!” They called As they make a move to follow the man out, only to be stopped by a scabbard; following it Dokucha finds the sheath to be from the Captain

“What the hell are you doing?! Move!” they cried, pushing against the weapon, surprised to find that they could not move it despite it being held by a single hand.

“This matter has not been resolved; the burning of the flag is not something I will take lightly.”

“We can resolve this once I ensure my siblings are alive and well!”

“Then we will go as well; I will not take the chance of you leaving without your comeuppance for what has happened here.”

“I can only transport myself and another person,” they said, gesturing to Little Han at their side

“Walking will take far too long. I‘m telling you, I just want to help my sibling. Once their safety is assured, then I will return. You have my word.”

“Your word hardly means anything to me.”

“Please,” they begged

Shanks watched as they lowered themselves to the ground in a kneel as they begged; the person who was making but a mockery of the flag and the meaning behind it mere seconds ago was now at his feet

“I am begging you, Red hair. My word might not mean anything, but it is all I have; allow me to save my sibling, and then I will return and receive any punishment you deem equal to the destruction of the flag. Just please let me go save them.”

Shanks remains quiet until he extends the staff to them

“She stays; one of my men will go with you instead,” he finally decides

“Tha-

“That is as far as I will go,” he said, interrupting what surely was an attempt to refuse

“Dokucha, it’s okay, I ‘ll stay,” Han speaks as she broke apart from them, taking a step back and closer to the Captain

“It’s my fault this is happening, so please let me do this.”

Dokucha stares at the girl with a frown on their face as they finally make a decision, turning toward her

“I‘ll be back okay? Everything will be okay,” they promise

“I know everything will be okay, because you are here.”

“Hongo, go with them,” Shanks calls

“Aye, Boss”

Shanks holds onto the staff tighter as they make a move to grab it

“Don’t do anything both of us will regret,” he warned as he released his grip, watching as they bowed their head and made their way out, watching as both them and his doctor disappeared before them

Sooo Hi guys 🙊

Yall its been so long I lowkey forgot I formatted these pieces

Taglist:

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

#shanks #shanks x gn!reader #shanks x you #shanks x oc #shanks x child!reader #shanks x reader #one piece shanks #red haired shanks #red haired pirates x reader #red haired pirates #red pirates #benn beckman x reader #benn x reader #benn beckman #akagami no shanks #hongo #hongo x reader

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splatsvilles-fashionista · 1 month ago

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Ranking the promotional inklings/octolings by how much I like their outfits: Splatoon 1

Kaori:

Studio Headphones / White Tee / Pink Trainers

A simple black/white t-shirt + headphones combo alongside some aggressively pink shoes

The neutral colors of the top half of the outfit work really well to let the shoes and hair pop, which is important given that she was our first introductions to the inklings as character designs.

The only thing I can dock this outfit points for is being pretty basic, but that's also kind of the point. I'd personally prefer something with a bit more pop, but it's kind of unassailable.

4/5. She's iconic for a reason.

John:

Pilot Goggles / Zink Layered LS / Purple Hi-Horses

Similar to Kaori this is primarily a neutral outfit that puts the emphasis on the colorful shoes.

That said I like this one less than Kaori's. It's a little bit busier and the shoes don't pop as much given their darker purple tone.

Also I just don't like the Hi-Horses very much, sorry.

3/5. I can't be too harsh on him because the fit is meant to be basic, but I don't think it comes together as anything more than just Kaori's outfit but worse.

Mizuho:

Bobble Hat / Green Zip Hoodie / Moto Boots

Nice natural colors give this 'fit am active, outdoorsy look.

I like the big boots on a sniper's outfit. It makes her feel grounded and stable.

The big bobble hat is also a slightly disarming feature, it makes a bit cute, and given that she's a sniper I think she'd read as a much more serious person if she wore something more self-serious like sunglasses.

4/5. I just think this one is really good.

Rui:

Retro Specs / Baby-Jelly Shirt / Blue Slip-Ons

This 'fit flips the script the promotional characters have followed so far, really drawing your eyes to the polka dot shirt compared to the glasses and the single-color shoes.

The combination of the patterned button-down, the big boxy glasses, and the shorts (not that you had any other legwear choices in Splatoon 1) gives the outfit a vibe that to me feels straight-laced and whimsical all at once.

He has the energy of a stoic office worker with some very eccentric fashion choices.

3/5. I don't think it's very cohesive, but I can't bring myself to dislike it. It's got a lot of charm.

Laura:

Takoroka Mesh / Black Squideye / White Kicks

Another really simple fit, just a cap, a t-shirt, and a pair of shoes.

The cap gives this outfit major tomboy energy to me, and I really quite enjoy that.

The little bits of red and pink on the otherwise solid white and black of the shoes and shirt actually do a lot of lifting here, providing the whole outfit a disproportionate amount of energy.

5/5. This one is really simple but I really think it has a ton of character.

Pit:

Paintball Mask / Gray College Sweat / Orange Arrows

Another primarily neutral outfit, though this time with a pretty ostentatious piece of headwear.

I actually kind of like the shirt and shoes together, but that's about it. I really feel like the mask clashes with the rest of the outfit here.

There is nothing intrinsically wrong with the mask, of course, but I simply don't think it does anything with the other clothing here.

2/5. It's honestly not all that bad, but it simply doesn't grab me very much. I don't get any sense of personality here, and that's one of the things I really look for in an outfit.

#splatoon #inkling

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sweatandwoe · 3 months ago

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Love Garrus' negative traits

Love that he embodies everything negative we usually associate positively with renegade Shepard. Love how it doesn't fit him, how it fails him each time he tries. Love that he tries to blind himself into a world where there's only good or bad people (like a cop). Love that he decides Omega, the greyest of grey places, is a place full of bad people. "All I have to do is point my gun and shoot" but not for the people he's trying to save, the peope who call him "Archangel". Who were they again? Does he even recognize them when he's aiming for criminals on the station?

Love that Garrus is forced to confront seeing the world this way in a paragon route, that he's forced to see grey, address the grey. Realizing that everyone has something, a cause, a reason and that his brand of justice may not be just.

Love that Garrus hates the rules that surround him but he is in fact the reason C-Sec has so much red tape, to try and stop injustice among their forces. That Turians aren't meant to question but he does so much but about the wrong things; he's too blind by hate to understand what he's doing. Garrus wants to take care of people and protect people like a good turian however he thinks the best way to help is killing the "bad people". He believes in eye for an eye but hasn't heard the full quote, doesn't know "An eye for an eye will make the world blind". Mercy for one person he despised, who he hated, causes him to rethink his whole character and his previous actions.

I just love this level of tragedy and self-evaluation to a dorky, alien sniper

#still hate the zero repercussions for Garrus renegade route #you gain his loyalty but I think Garrus veing meaner towards certain companiobs would've been insane #overprotective of ecen non-romanced shepard because theyre the only person he feels he can trust #maybe encouraging the salarian sabotage or shooting virmire survivor #maybe he gets angry if you dont shoot them because he shot his - what do you mean you wont shoot yours?#i know me3 had a lot of time constraints but this is like a big choice for his character and it sucks that it had little to no impact on him #garrus vakarian #mass effect #ive been thinking about him and I love that he can change #love the idea of Garrus post-war doing what he can just to take care of people and probably rarely picks up a gun again #his hands are still needed even when not on a rifle

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gnocchibabie · 1 year ago

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Target Practice

author's note: this is my first piece of writing I have ever put out into the world hahah ok bye <3

“600 yards out,” Price’s sudden words almost break your focus “3 notches up, about two to the left accounting for the wind.” he instructs as you stare down the scope of your rifle, looking for the next target. They’ve been getting smaller and smaller as your training progressed and you were struggling to find this last one. Finally, your eyes land on the red balloon.

It smiled back at you.

“Cute,” you chuckle at the poorly drawn smiley face decorating your unfortunate target, “Is that your handiwork or Gaz’s?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Price responds coyly.

You scoff, lining up the shot. The happy balloon swung right and left, fighting against the wind that was now picking up. “Might wanna go three to the left, love” Price suggested.

“Right,” you say, trying not to give much thought to the name - and how your captain had been using it more and more often.

You’re finally satisfied with how you’ve lined up your shot. Three up, three left.

You squeeze your finger and feel the butt of the gun kick into your shoulder.

The bullet hits the ground a foot away from the balloon, kicking dust into the wind. The balloon smiles back at you, taunting your marksmanship.

“Damn” you whisper.

“S’alright” Price says. It’s not, you scold yourself and line up your shot again. He hears this thought. “Really Y/N, take your time.”

The balloon’s bobbing slows and you feel the wind calm. Readjusting your shot, you feel more confident this bullet will land right between its squiggly sharpie black eyes. The pad of your pointer finger rubs the cold trigger.

Squeeze.

You see red rubber erupt and flitter off into the air, the wind once again picking up as if it had patiently waited for you to finish shooting the unsuspecting balloon in cold blood. “There you go, love - dropped ‘em!” you finally take your eyes away from the rifle and look at John, offering you a smile. “Or should I say “popped ‘em,” he jokes. Lame, you think to yourself; although you fight back a smile. You don’t miss the warmth that spreads throughout your chest, and fear it creeps into your cheeks. You shake your head, “Should’ve gotten it the first time,” you quip back and begin to stand. Rising, your legs ache from having been lying prone for so long.

Dismantling the rifle, you begin to return it to its case when you feel a hand land on your shoulder.

Squeeze.

“That’s what practice is for.” your captain reassures you. You knew you were being hard on yourself - in reality you were a great shot. Your skills and potential as a sniper are what had led Laswell to pick up your file months before. She had observed you in action before recommending you to Price, adamant that you would be a great fit on the team and prove to be a useful asset. Amazingly to you, he seemed to agree. It’s why you were receiving this extra training, courtesy of Price himself. You were only embarrassed because you had missed in front of your captain. Who definitely did not make you nervous.

“Yeah” you respond lamely, latching the case shut, throwing it over your shoulder, and turning to walk back to base. Price sighs, “Y/N.”

Oh no, you thought, he’s using his captain's voice.

You turn around to face him and your eyes meet. “What’s going on with you today? Been quiet. Been a bit off…” John trails off, unsure of how much he should say. “I know I was a little hard on you the other day-”

You cut him off before he can continue. The last thing you wanted was for him to believe that he had done something wrong - something to upset you. “No! No,” you respond quickly “you didn’t do anything - besides, I need to hear that stuff from you - during training. It’s what makes me better.” you see the corners of his mouth quirk up for a moment and you continue. “Sometimes…I just…wonder if I’m worthy of being on this team. I feel like I’m dragging behind. You’re all more experienced. You’ve all been doing this stuff longer…don’t wanna drag everyone down with me…” you finish your rant quietly. You don’t want to meet Price’s gaze and focus on a patch of dirt near your feet, convinced it’s suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world. His soft laughter breaks your concentration.

“You need to get out of that head of yours love - you are not dragging us - me, down,” it is not lost on you how Price made it a point to emphasize himself. Maybe you really were in your head too much. Price continues, “We help you because we want to. Help you because we have been doing this longer. We know what you’re about to deal with on this mission and want you to be as ready and prepared as you can be. Can’t have anything happening to you can we?” He grows more stern at the end of his explanation and you can’t help the smile forming on your face.

“Yeah, because I’m so valuable-”

“You are.”

Your laughter ceases and smile quickly leaves your face. Your eyes rake over Price’s face, serious as ever. Tension looms in the air over you two and your throat goes dry. “I mean it,” your captain doubles down. His eyes poured into yours. You were suddenly very aware of the flush spreading across your face and the way your mouth parted slightly at his words. “Understood,” you reply breathlessly, “...thank you, Captain.”

A beat of silence rings out between you two as you soak in each other’s words and stare into the other’s eyes.

“And don’t you forget it.” Price breaks the silence, his tone a bit more playful now as he takes the rifle case from your hands and begins down the path leading back to base. You jog after him, telling him you’re perfectly capable of carrying your own gun all while he chuckles.

#captain john price #john price #john price x reader #captain price x reader #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader

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snowed-leopard · 5 months ago

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TEAM BIRDTRESS 4/9: MEDIC!

(No archimedes’ we’re harmed in the making of this art!)

Medic: the bearded vulture. Okay I admit this one lives a little south of Germany but in my defense its traits fit medic so well I couldn’t resist. They’re one of the most likely vultures to actually hunt live prey, and also will drop them from great heights to stun them. They’re a white color initially (like a doctors coat anyone? Hello???) but will color themselves with red dust that looks stunningly like blood. They particularly like bones of animals the most and will drop them from great heights like their prey for the sake of their marrow, and the skills they have towards cracking them open takes years for chicks to master (he literally stole a man’s skeleton and medicine like that takes years to practice) also he’s a vulture and has all the premonitions of death and cleanliness that come with? Like helloooo so good. Yes he doesn’t have a tail visible from here but I gave him cool ass bearded vulture eyes.

Sniper is next! And past him I don’t have a planned order so please do ask for who should follow. Pyro has a finished sketch, and I know what demo’s sketch will be though.

More musings under the cut! And sources Ofc :3

I think I’m really leveling up my feather rendering game during this whole thing at least, but my hands hurt like a motherfucker. Fuck you rain.

I’ll be honest I kind of knew immediately what medic would be, the range wasn’t quite right but I just couldn’t imagine medic as another vulture. Also, he doesn’t have a tail visible in this image, but assume it’s behind his coat, because I didn’t want to figure out the pov logistics, and coat logistics, of having it in the coat. As a reparation, he does have the cool red and blue bearded vulture eyes bc I love them. I really don’t have a lot of musings on him this time. I had a less dramatic pose before this with a similar comp but I decided I wanted to up the drama and sinister ness and so I went for the dramatic perspective version. Sorry archimedes I pro is medic won’t eat u tho still <3

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #tf2 medic #medic tf2 #tf2 archimedes #team birdtress 2 #artists on tumblr

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kneelingshadowsalome · 2 years ago

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Scorpio Curse (König x F!OC)

Part 2/3 of Valkyrie

(Part 1 here)

Summary: König gets an order to make a female SpecGru sniper talk, but König doesn't want to hurt women.

Category: Smut 🔞, angst, fluff

Tags & warnings: Explicit mature content +18 audiences only, strangers to lovers (slight enemies to lovers), dubious consent, threats of rape, virgin!König, size kink, size difference, p in v, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, squirting, hugs and cuddles, super fluffy ending. König will be named in later chapters.

Part 2: Mostly König who is in desperate need of a hug (don't worry, he will get it soon enough :*)

A/N: KorTac and SpecGru are rivaling military contractors, Conor is König's superior (and a huge villain), and I just wanted to write angsty smut featuring our favourite Austrian boi.

"You should've come to me, König."

He was still here.

No one had told him to leave his stuff and sign the papers and get the fuck out.

He had been called to see the team leader, though.

Immediately.

"It's true that we don't do that shit. Especially with the SpecGru, not after everything that already went through."

He told his side of the story, and apparently, the command agreed that Conor had made a mistake.

"Your superior officer slipped, but that doesn't mean you have the right to do whatever the fuck you deem more appropriate."

The leader's cheeks were red, and his voice traveled from peaceful, tired account to a booming loud yell.

"To tell you the truth, König, you're good at what you do. But pull this kind of shit again, and the KorTac will ensure you lose your rifle for good. They'll make sure you'll get spat in the face in every fucking PMC on this fucking planet, you hear me?"

He was surprised he didn't catch spit flying right now.

"Sir."

"Now go fix that goddamn fence."

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

König, former weapons sergeant of the Jagdkommando and current operator of the special forces known as KorTac, felt like a fresh recruit when he turned heel and marched from the office. He thought about asking whether the surveillance tape would be destroyed or if it was already but sensed that this was not the best moment to ask questions. The leader's tired voice followed him as he walked away with cold sweat tingling down his back.

"Jesus. Where did you even get those bolt cutters.."

He worked half a day to get it right. Repairing the fence was easy, but fixing it so that it wasn't a weak spot in the area's defense was not. He had kneeled down in this exact same spot less than 24 hours ago, with a tense, silent cargo thrown on his back in a fireman's carry.

He had yanked the door to the surveillance room open to let the men know they could get a coffee break while he watched the prisoner — only to find that there was no one there. He had been played twice the fool, and she had paid the price. He wasn't man enough to tell her it had been all in vain when he went to get her.

He certainly wasn't going to tell her that he would still do it all again.

She stayed mute the whole journey to the fence, remained quiet even when he placed her gently on the ground and showed her the hole he had made on the chain link fence for her to crawl through.

"There you go, little Walküre."

She stared at his work for a while, sniffed, then looked up at him.

"You think you can fit through that?" He asked, although he had made sure the hole was big enough for even him to go through.

"Yeah…" she uttered her first words since forever before reaching for her road to freedom. Realizing she was still tied, she pivoted back.

"My hands.." she started, but he was already kneeling on the ground with his combat knife pulled out. With utter care, he cut her loose. She caught him after it was done, and he glanced at those tiny fingers that barely reached to close around his wrists.

"Thank you."

He raised his stare, and her eyes bored into his as she ensured her words had sunk in. Then she turned, dived for the hole… but turned back again.

"König."

He had enough time to discover that the naked pain in her eyes was of the exact same kind as the agony spreading in his heart before she leaped to him, threw her arms around him — and suddenly, he was home.

"Don't get yourself killed." Her voice was a muffled sob that hit his skin through the mask as she pressed her face against his neck and squeezed him with a surprising amount of strength. Dumbfounded, he raised his arms but wasn't sure if she would welcome the touch. He didn't want her to think he would seize her just when she had been offered a way out.

"Promise that you won't get killed."

He knew that he would probably get maimed for this. At the very least, he would lose his contract. But he hadn't even thought about it when he made that hole and carried her here.

She released him and pulled back. Her eyes were pure attention, a time-halting awareness that seized him without warning. It didn't matter that he was loaded with gear, that he had a helmet and a mask on. She could see him. All of him. And she smiled.

Then she reached for his mask.

He did nothing to stop her as she grabbed the hood and started to lift it. His vision went black with the ascending cloth for the longest second…

And then he could see again — see her wide eyes roam his face. The silence was pierced by a few raindrops, the first of an impending heavy rain. They landed on his helmet and on his arm guards, specked on her cheeks as they fell from the heavy clouds above them.

"Wow," she breathed, with parted lips and eyes that sparkled.

She grabbed his helmet through the cloth and pushed both the hood and the piece of metal away. The bundle landed somewhere next to him with a soft clunk a second before her lips pressed against his.

Rain fell, and with it, the paint from around his eyes — all the black he had surrounded himself with ran down his cheeks and neck, all the way under the collar of his shirt and over his heart that thumped like a maniac. They were in a warm August shower together, and she pulled him by his neck, threatened to swallow him, and he could do nothing but melt and surrender and answer with the same gentle hunger.

Her fingers swept across his chin; they caressed his temples, brushed his scalp, and tugged at his hair, not hindered by the fact that there wasn't much to grab hold of in the classic military undercut. They slid down his neck, grabbed his tactical vest, and pulled him deeper into the kiss. She sucked his lip, kissed the raindrops away, and he was hard as a rock even in the pants that were soaked and cool.

When she relented, all too soon, he would've given everything to freeze time and stay there. Under that hail, kneeled in that mud — with her, forever.

"I can't go through that fence unless you promise me," she panted in his mouth, and every single fiber in his body told him not to promise anything. He wanted to grab her instead, take her back, tuck her somewhere safe, and keep her as his own.

"Ok," he whispered.

A gush of hot air landed on his face as she gave a short laugh.

"Ok what?" She smiled against his mouth, her teeth colliding with his lips.

"I… promise."

"'Atta boy," he felt the words before he heard them, and she kissed him once more, and he could've drowned in that kiss. In those words.

"I'll never forget this," she said, lips wet with all that rain, eyes blinking through the drops that slithered down her face and got caught in her lashes.

I'll never forget you.

"No problem."

"No problem…? God. Could you get any more charming?"

She thought he was charming…

"Just one more thing, hero."

She bit her lip, looked down on the soaked grass, then up at him, and smiled.

“What’s with the hood? I really don’t get it. You look super nice.” She winked an eye at him. And then she turned and crawled through that hole and vanished into the darkness.

He was left alone in the descending rain, and there he had remained ever since.

He was convinced he still had her scent on him. He never washed that shirt he had been wearing the day he lifted her in his lap. He tried to catch her from it, and for a few days, he thought he actually did. But then that scent became only a memory.

Nevertheless, it followed him everywhere. No one knew that he was encompassed by it. That he was shrouded with her as he walked the base or rose on the plane.

Days passed by, and he still felt her lips on his own. Her taste in his mouth. Felt her legs around him, her soft walls surrounding him.

He replayed the frenzied vision over and over again in his head to remind himself that he had truly been inside her. That he had made her produce all those sounds. Made her clench around him and smell like honeydew and summers by the lake. He realized that he had started to truly live only after he had opened the door to that bleak room full of her. And then his life froze like a movie that was pressed on an eternal pause as he saw the soles of her boots push against the muddy ground to get her through that fence and away from him.

Three weeks passed — three weeks without her.

He did his job, went on missions, and executed orders to the letter.

But mostly, he was in his thoughts.

Mostly, he thought of her.

He thought of her when he had a rifle in his hand during ops. He thought of her during briefings, when he did deadlifts, racked a barbell after bench press, or sparred with training knives.

He thought of her in showers, in the mess hall, and most of all, in bed at night when he stroked himself to a release that eased his sleep.

He had never been so virile, not even as a teen. His libido was off the roof as the only thing he could think about was how he could get to jerk himself off in the shower stall or in his bunk after the day was done. Thoughts of her were his reward, the only thing that seemed to sustain him.

She was the most radiant thing in his life: everything else had faded away, turned to gray and black. Monotone, lifeless, empty. The pain faded for a while every time he came into his fist. Then it hit him with an even more crippling force as he realized that she wasn't real; she wasn't here.

Still, he fantasized what it would be like to hold her after, how they would drift off to sleep together. He envisioned her skin, her scent, her hair. The top of her head against his chin, her little hands around his neck, her laugh, all of it.

Sometimes when he had a hard day, he fantasized how her body would press softly against his back, and she would slide an arm around him, and it would disappear beneath his shirt. Her palm would come and rest right where his heart was, and she would just hold him.

On the worst days, he cried. He thought of the bullies and what they would say and how they would laugh if they saw him now, curled up in the soiled sheets with a cock in his hand, falling asleep on a tear-soaked pillow.

After a few months, he started to dissolve.

He got reckless on the field — jumped out of the helo before it had even landed properly, was all sloppy with his cover, wasted bullets, and revealed his position for the sake of getting up close and personal, for having the satisfaction of killing his opponents with a knife or with his bare hands.

People complained. Hutch complained, Fender complained — even Zero complained.

Some said it was just good old König, that he didn't care. Medics said he had a guardian angel with him when he never got hit, got barely even scratched when at the same time, some of the best operators were severely injured.

And some saw right through it.

"He fell in love with that sniper bitch. That's what's wrong with 'im," Conor had said.

He had nearly attacked the man for what he said — what he had called her. His angel.

But he knew that's what Conor wanted: to taunt him into making a mistake that would result in his dismissal from the force. Would probably destroy his chances to continue a career anywhere in the military. And then he would quickly find himself in civilian life, where he had never quite fit into.

"Promise me you won't get killed."

He had promised her to stay alive, and he couldn't disappoint her. So it became a prayer. Every night he made an offering to her, so she would keep him safe. No bullet could touch him. He knew that somehow she could feel his longing, the love he had for her. She would protect her like the war maiden that she was. And even if he caught that bullet, he knew it would only take him to heaven. She had already carried him there.

Six months without her, and people started to fear him.

His teammates looked at him with dread as he geared up for missions with the secret knowledge that he was practically immortal. The team leader said he resembled a machine, and he took it as a compliment. Even Lieutenant kept his mouth shut and looked at him with something akin to respect.

But he got even more time off when he wanted the exact opposite. He was pretty sure that there was a note in his file now. Right after the screaming red words released a prisoner without the requisite order from a superior officer. A comment that said he was behaving wrong, that he was unstable or something. They offered him cognitive therapy, sleeping pills, meditation groups, ice baths, even acupuncture. He turned it all down, knowing that it was no use.

And so they sent him home more and more often.

It was even worse there. He never wanted the leaves, but KorTac was firm in their protocol. Contract soldiers needed time off duty to prevent "substantial impairment concerning the operator's ability to work." Even if he wanted to, he couldn't stay in the barracks and get every mission he could get his hands on.

He sat in his apartment, slept late, went for a swim, went to the gym, and came back to sit and sleep. He thought of her when he walked the streets with a hole in his chest, a hole as deep as the Mariana Trench. He saw her in all the women of the same height and weight as her. At some point, he realized he had never paid so much attention to women as he did now.

"Go get a pint and a girl, König. Just get it out of your head."

Zero meant well, but he could've punched him too for saying that.

He didn't want a girl; he wanted her.

Pint sounded good, though. He had visited the nearest pub only a few times before, but the place had only reminded him that he was not home and that pubs were different from bierstubes. But right now, he didn't want to go back to that cold, dark flat to stare at the ceiling and wait till sleep would come.

He pushed the door open and stomped his feet on the mat even though it didn't rain outside. He walked further into the dimly lit hall and saw that early evening wasn't the busiest time in this place: more than half of the tables were empty.

And then he looked for the counter and saw her.

His Kriegsmädchen was there.

His Walküre was here.

She was here and looked just the way he remembered her — no, even more luminous. Glowing.

Perhaps he had finally lost it. But he kept looking, blinking, and saw her fingertips curl around a glass, saw the hair she had tied into a high ponytail, the smile that spread across her face just before she laughed.

The angelic sound went straight between his legs and stabbed a hole in his gut, and he was bleeding — months and months of pain, right there in the hallway of a quiet pub.

She was alive and safe, laughing, and so lovely that his hands started to tremble just as they had when his bullies approached him back in school. It was odd because she was everything but. He took a step, heart thumping and palms sweating, like he was approaching an enemy he knew he had to finish with his bare hands.

He walked to the counter in the eye of a storm, and she evaded his gaze and tried to act like she didn't even notice that some man was striding toward her.

Did men approach her often?

Of course they did. And she tried to look like an immovable stone, a prey that wouldn't draw attention.

"Walküre?"

And only then did she turn her gaze, eyes filled with both fear and hope.

Her mouth opened, and she drew a sharp breath, shoulders tense. He had to fight tooth and nail to not grab her and press her against that counter or kiss her, devour her while he carried her off out that door...

"... Valkyrie?" Her friend repeated sarcastically, with a birth of a laugh on her lips, staring at him like he was a circus attraction. He didn't spare even a glance her way.

Couldn't, because he was mesmerized by the most soothing gaze in the world.

"Hi," she breathed, voice almost breaking.

His eyes went straight to her lips as she said it, the sound far too similar in his mind to the breaths that had escaped her in that dull, grey room.

She cleared her throat and swallowed.

"Kate, this is… Siegfried. A friend from my old job."

He knew he should move, look to the side, and say hello. Act normal. But he couldn't move, couldn't even blink.

She pursed her lips and looked down at her drink, at her friend, and then back up at him.

"Nice to meet you," her friend spoke, and he finally managed to turn his eyes toward her and nod slowly.

“You must be the battering ram.” She took a sip of her drink with a flash of eyebrows.

He heard a sharp inhale from beside him and only wanted to ignore everything and everyone else in the room except for the one who gasped like that.

“You know, the one they send to charge through doors?”

“Done that too.”

The friend called Kate's eyes widened from the stare he knew made most people uncomfortable.

"What are you doing here?"

His angel spoke, and he turned. She was looking even more beautiful with flushed cheeks. It was strange to see her like this: sitting gracefully on that bar stool, wearing jeans and a bit of mascara. She wasn't covered in dirt and sleepless nights and fear, and he realized that he never wanted to see her like that again. He wanted her safe and sound, and happy; even if she had come on this earth to fight, just like he, even if she was deadly with a rifle. Even if she was a more able-bodied sniper than he ever could be.

"To get a lager."

"No, I mean," she laughed, sending warmth between his legs, "Why are you here, here?"

After a blink or two, he realized she meant the town.

"I'm on leave. I live here."

"Oh." She bit her lip. "Kate, um. Would you… Would you mind if we catch up a bit?"

He saw from the corner of his eye that the woman looked him up and down, and then a smile started to creep up her face.

"You know what June, I think I'm gonna head home. You two catch up for as long as you need and I'll see ya later, ok?"

Her name was June.

Like midsummer fests and seagulls and Radler.

Honey and raindrops…

"I'll go grab a table," he declared, thinking how odd that sounded, thinking whether his English was somehow off. As if he was going to physically grab a table and raise it in the air...

Kate chuckled behind his back as he turned and headed for a darker, more private corner.

"Jesus Christ, June… I knew you did some special commando shit, but that guy is -"

"Will you keep your voice down?"

"I mean… If you catch up all night, I doubt you'll be able to walk tomorrow."

"Kate…! "

The rest of the exchange of words faded as he reached the table and adjusted the chairs to be able to sit down.

Then he noticed that he was still wearing his jacket and got up to take it off. He saw her coming with her drink in hand, and she flashed a smile at him as he threw the leather bomber across the chair next to him.

"Nice jacket."

He looked down at the dark brown leather, worn and looking mostly what people called vintage or something.

"You gonna go get that beer, sweetie?"

Sweetie.

"Ja," he nodded, turned, and marched back to the counter.

He ordered a beer, then asked what the lady over there was having.

"I think she, ah… ordered a mojito." The bartender extended his neck to the side to glance at their table. "Yeah, that's a mojito."

"One of those as well."

The man gave him a look that distinctly said You really think you're gonna get some of that? He didn't know what it was in his aura that told people he was a loser. Or a menace. And he didn't know which of those looks made the pain worse. But all of it faded instantly as she greeted him with a shy smile when he returned to the table with the drinks.

"Oh, you shouldn't have… I haven't even finished this one." She raised those lovely eyes at him, smiling, smiling… "Thank you, König."

Her fingertips brushed his as he gave it to her, the glass sweating with tiny cold drops of condensed water. She had pale pink, almost nude nail polish that made her nails look shiny and pure, her hands even more delicate. She watched as he scoured through the chairs to take a seat, pick a coaster and place his own glass on the table.

"A big one."

She then turned those playful faerie eyes on him, and he was suddenly grateful that he had picked the loose, black cargo pants to wear today… and that he was sitting.

"This is considered a small beer where I come from."

"I'm sure it is," she chuckled. The tight, white t-shirt she wore reminded him of the first time he had seen her, even though it was not one of those heavy cotton, military shirts. He grabbed the beer to do something, anything, and raised it to his lips, almost pouring the liquid all over him when he took a sip. She watched him gulp and smiled even wider. He was half hard at that point and had to spread his legs to accommodate and conceal what was happening in his pants and under the table.

"What about you, Walküre? What are you doing here?"

"I'm helping a friend -uh, Kate. She had an awful breakup."

He nodded and kept picking up his beer, drinking a small sip and trying to hit the center of the coaster as he set the glass back down.

"You're not with SpecGru anymore?"

"I signed off one week after… After. You know."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, even though he wasn't sorry at all. At least, not for the fact that she was out of harm's way.

"Nah, don't be. It was for the best. I'm able to sleep at night and everything."

She had trouble sleeping? Maybe that's why she looked even more radiant than before. She had slept well.

"I was worried about you."

"Really?" she tilted her head to the side, and her eyes started to shine even brighter.

"... that you might not find your way home."

"I'm a big girl. Trained with the Green Berets and everything.. But it warms my heart to hear that. I worried about you, too."

"You did?"

"Yeah. Sure, I mean… I was afraid you'd get into some trouble because of me."

Someone laughed at the next table, but the unexpected sound reached him through a comfortable haze; like he was sitting underwater. The battlefield wasn't nearly as distressing an environment as this peaceful pub - or any other place he rarely visited. But this time, with her, it was not too bad. His senses were blown wide, but he wasn't afraid.

"Also ja… They did yell at me."

"That's horrible. I could never yell at you."

He felt himself nearly choke on the beer, tried to breathe through his nose, and forced the liquid down with an audible gulp.

"You kept your promise," she said in a low voice, her smile fading slightly. Her eyes locked with his, and he basked in the warmth.

"Natürlich."

I prayed for you every single night, Kriegsmädchen.

She gave him a small, sad smile and looked down, swirling her ice-filled glass.

"You know I…" she started, took a breath, then another. "I've missed you, König."

He squeezed the tall glass before realizing that it might actually break at some point.

"I've missed you too, Walküre."

He looked at his beer, still halfway full, and then at the completely untouched drink he had brought her.

"You want to go to my place?"

Part 3:

#könig fanfiction #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #call of duty #könig imagine #my fics #könig x oc #könig #könig x female oc

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starwolfskin · 2 months ago

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Time to share the Pokemon teams I made for Phel and Sett!

I based Phel's team a lot on his weapons, and for Sett I based it more on his colors, style and skins! More details on each below cause I love to explain things-

PHEL'S TEAM:

Severum (Shiny Absol): an easy choice, really. Absol fits his style imo, and the scythe theme + shiny color being red is perfect for Severum

Calibrum (Inteleon): sniper! It just had to be, coloring may not be perfect, but still fits the team's overall style.

Infernum (Chandelure): well, flamethrower. I picked it mostly for the colors and being fire-type, considered Ceruledge for it but its such a sharp pokemon it wouldnt fit the flamethrower theme much...

Crescendum (Shiny Bisharp): the blade shapes work to fit the chakram! I picked the shiny for the coloring as well, the blades are white anyway so it works!

Gravitum (Galarian Slowbro): my fave of the team, it has the poison type AND an arm cannon, plus it fits the weapon theme of slowing down the enemy! It was a match made in heaven, it was my friend's idea but it really is so good I had to adopt it.

Lunari (Umbreon): I missed the opportunity to make it shiny and name it after Phel's ult, as someone pointed out on twitter (rip), but I like it just being a little mascot for him.

----------------

SETT'S TEAM:

Firecracker (Typhlosion): badger pokemon, there's no wolverine so I'll make do with badgers. Fire type works for him, and the fire on its neck matches Sett's cape with all the fur!

Boss (Incineroar): I mostly think of Sett and relate him to dogs when not taking into account that he is a wolverine/badger, between cat and dog energy I think of him more of a dog, BUT! Incineroar is really good for him due to its style of being a fighter, a big show-off with a soft heart, it just had to be part of the team.

Heartsteel (Shiny Obstagoon): another badger!!!! When I saw the shiny colors matched Heartsteel Sett's hair and eyes I just had to include it on the team. A little rockstar buddy <3

Obsidian (Koraidon): wasn't gonna have legendaries on the teams but I just think it works. Koraidon is the only fighting type I managed to sneak into the team somehow, I wanted it to be his primary type but as it turns out I prefer the team matching in style than picking up random fighting-types to fill the gaps.... anyway, named and designed after Obsidian Dragon Sett!

Truffle & Southpaw (Shiny Lycanrocs): Spirit Blossom Sett has his little badgers, and here I translated it into 2 doggies! I think lycanrocs fit this duality idea well for having different forms, night and day, Akana and Kanmei... And the colors for the regular lycanrocs works too but to fit with the SB badgers I made them shiny!

I had abilities and movesets for all of them but I'm too lazy to detail them rn, just know I thought of them kfdnslgdk

#settphel #sett #aphelios #pokemon au #fanart #league of legends #sws art #I care deeply abt these lil guys #but gravitum is my fav no doubt #also big fan of obsidian #pls enjoy my lil ideas for them #also moon ball for phel is obvious #luxury ball for sett cause he wants the best for his partners #illegal money spent on quality pokeballs

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tf2thoughtdump · 1 month ago

Text

TF2 Thought of the Day

Headcanon? Yes.

Character(s)? All the mercs, team not specified but for simplicity’s sake, the red team

Long or Short? Long. This may take a while.

You're free to use any thoughts of mine in any form of media you make.

Thought

This one is real simple, it’s how I think the mercs would handle being given a baby. Enjoy!

Scout

Literally going crazy

Like, about to explode levels of crazy.

Gushing over every inch of this baby from her big eyes to her tiny nose and down to her chubby little hands and feet

Luckily, the little munchkin doesn’t seem to mind his intense energy so it works out

He does his best, but admittedly he is a bit… rusty

The first time he tried holding her, he wasn’t properly securing her head

The second him, he was just holding her upside down

He’s not the WORST merc to leave a baby with, but you have better options.

Soldier

Not really sure what to do with this….

Recruit.

He held her FAR from his body before opting to just tuck her under his arm like a loaf of bread

This didn’t last long though because he eventually found a way to keep her strapped to him with his belt

Uncomfortable, sure, but the baby could care less

She was more concerned with who gave her to this man in the first place

Soldier is your last resort

Pyro

Is most likely to set the baby’s diaper on fire when it gets full

He’s not BAD with a baby, it’s just…

There are so many better options!

They can hold the baby right, that’s not the problem, the problem is the outfit

The rubber, the material in general

Babies need skin-on-skin contact and Pyro.. doesn’t exactly fit the bill with that one

She’s definitely gonna make the baby uncomfortable but it’s nothing a good tickle won’t fix!

Demoman

Why?

Just….

Why?

Did you run out of options again?

Was Soldier too busy so you had to wake up Tavish?

What on Earth could be running through your mind to think leaving a baby with a drunk is a good thing?

He might rock it to sleep, but that’s about all you’re getting

Heavy

Your number 1 go to if you need a babysitter

He’s got three younger sisters! How hard can taking care of a baby be?

You’ll soon come to find out that with Heavy? Taking care of a baby is a piece of cake.

No complications, no fusses, no unchanged diapers

Just Heavy asleep on a couch too small for him, and a baby resting in his giant hands.

Engineer

Also another good one!

Doesn’t have much experience with REAL babies, just his mechanical babies, but he’s sure he can watch her for ya!

Don’t worry about a thing, buttercup, he’s got everything under control

Turns out, he kinda did?

In the time you were gone, he built her a rocking crib

Plus an automatic diaper changer

He’s just a little to busy with machines to be worrying about diapers

Relax though! If the baby cries, he’s putting down everything to figure out what’s wrong and how to solve the problem

Minus the guns in the equation

Medic

Well, uhm..

He’s not a bad baby-watcher!

He will keep that little rascal in his sights at all times! No doubt about it!

He could stare at that baby all day!

Best babywatcher in the world!

But…

This is Medic we’re talking about…

There’s no way this baby is coming back the same baby..

Sniper

Not.. sure what to do?

He’s a bit of a recluse, so he doesn’t hang around people that much

That also translates to him not really being able to understand what to do when given a baby and told to watch her

You know that TikTok audio?

“Your mom told me to watch you, but.. you don’t do anything.”

That’s him.

He takes “watch her” seriously

Now granted, Mick will let her play with his fingers occasionally but is really just staring at a baby in his lap for 2 hours straight and freaking out every time she cries or soils a diaper

Spy

Spy is a neglectful dad

We see that with Scout, so it’s no big surprise there

However, he’s not horrible with kids

He can take care of a baby just fine, change her diapers, feed her, burp her, lull her to sleep and the like

He just won’t be very enthusiastic about it!

If you want your baby to have a good time, pick Scout or Engineer

But if you want someone who actually has some idea what they’re doing, get Heavy or Spy for the job, okay?

#team fortress 2 #team fortress two #tf2 #tf2thoughtdump #random thoughts #tf2 headcanons #medic tf2 #tf2 medic #spy tf2 #tf2 spy #scout tf2 #pyro tf2 #engineer tf2 #tf2 pyro #tf2 demoman #tf2 scout #tf2 sniper #tf2 engineer #tf2 soldier

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zoeykallus · 1 year ago

Note

Hi Zoey! How are you? I know you are a Tech girl and so am I. I thought maybe you can give us Tech girls some fun and fluff? Any scenario you want. I'm aware that you work a lot these days and don't have much time for writing anymore, and you are still drowning in requests, but maybe some self indulging Tech Fluff makes your day? Maybe something related to any holidays coming up around the time you get to read this? Take care of yourself, don't let anybody or anything get you down 💕

Aloha!

You know, this requests dates back to July, and Halloween is coming up. Not sure if I should laugh or cry about that 😅 And yeah, it's still the same. I'm sorry I'm so late with this!

Okay, that's actually really sweat, some Halloween themed Tech Fluff 🧡 Thanks for this request 😊🧡

Tech x Fem!Reader One-Shot - A First Date With Tech On Halloween

First Date/Shy Tech/Fluff/Slightly Suggestive/Shy Idiots In Love

________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

________

>Master List<

He flinches as a hand lands heavily on his shoulder. Tech sighs softly and turns to face the owner of the hand. "Crosshair," Tech says, more or less surprised, pushing his goggles up the bridge of his nose with his index finger. "What are you wearing?" asks Crosshair who critically furrows his brows and gives his brother a questioning look. "A costume," Tech says matter-of-factly. "Yeah, I can see that, but why? Isn't tonight your first date with that chick you've had the hots for over months?" Tech looks at the Sniper and shakes his head, "Hots for her? I wouldn't call it that." Crosshair smirks, "What do you call it then?" Tech shrugs and says, "I admire her. I like her, her smile, the way she talks, her good heart." Crosshair laughs softly and says, "Oh, so you just so sneakily stole her shirt when we were all together at the beach, and regularly smelling it, hiding it under your pillow, because you totally just like her to a normal degree?" Tech freezes, blinks several times. He's an incredibly bad liar and when he answers his voice is way too high. "I don't know what you mean" Crosshair snickers. "Sure. Anyway," he says, pointing at Tech's outfit, "That still doesn't explain the costume"

Tech wears a black suit, cape and leather gloves, in his mouth a perfectly fitted, homemade set of fangs. "It's Halloween, when we were talking about it the other day she said she loves Halloween, the costumes, decorations, scary movies, well everything that goes with it." "And you're going as a vampire?" asks Crosshair critically. Tech smirks with one of the fangs briefly showing. "Not just any vampire," Tech says with a gloved, raised finger, "Dracula, the most powerful of all vampires." Crosshair crosses his slender arms in front of his chest and raises his brows. "Is there any particular reason for this choice?" Tech smiles dreamily and says, "The myth of the vampire is probably the most romanticized, I just hope she likes it." Crosshair laughs softly and says, "I think you mean sexualized." Techs ears turn red as he replies, "No, I didn't mean that at all" "Of course not" the Sniper replies sarcastically, shoving a couple of condoms into Tech's jacket pocket, "Anyway, just in case" Tech frowns, getting hot and cold. The thought alone makes him super nervous. He takes the condoms back out of his pocket and puts them on the shelf next to the sink. "I'm definitely not going to need these on a first date". Crosshair picks up the condoms and says, "Definitely not with that attitude. Either way, I wouldn't rule anything out if I were you, Dracula" and puts them back in Techs pocket again.

But Tech takes them out again and puts them back on the rack. "Don't do that. She's a decent woman, and I want to do this all right. No condoms on the first date," he grumbles, adjusting his goggles again. Crosshair rolls his eyes and says, "Let me guess, you've been reading another one of those guides that you're sticking to now?" Tech's ears turn red again, and he asks defiantly, "So what? I lack experience, what's wrong with getting some tips and information?" Crosshair grabs him by the shoulders and says emphatically, "Get it from me, not from the holonet" Tech sighs and says, "No offense, but your acquaintances rarely last longer than a weekend." "Because that's what I want," the Sniper grumbles. Tech sighs, "But I want... something real, lasting, something genuine, not a short adventure" Crosshair smiles and says, "She must be something special if she can coax uptight Tech out of his hiding place" Tech says indignantly, "I'm not uptight.... just a little shy and maybe a little picky" "And insecure, shy as a little baby and a virgin and-" Tech interrupts him angrily, "Stop it! You're making me more nervous than I already am!" Crosshair smiles mildly and says softly, "Sorry. Don't worry about it, you'll be fine, I'm sure the date will be great"

"You really think so?" asks Tech uncertainly, tugging at his clothes. "Yes, but only if you're on time for the date." Tech looks at his watch, startled. "Oh my gosh, I have to go!"

When Tech rings your doorbell, and you open the door for him, he looks breathless, as if he's been sprinting. He's a minute early, so he's not really late. You look him up and down. He looks great, his slender body in the black suit and cape. As he smiles at you, you also see the fangs. "What is this handsome vampire doing at my door?", you ask, playfully dramatic. You see his ears turn red and his smile widen a little. Then he shows his fangs for a second and says just as dramatically, "I came to have a taste of the supposedly sweetest blood there is, the blood of an angel"

You both chuckle and blush a little, while Tech nervously rubs the back of his neck.

Tech eyes you and your costume and smiles. "You look great," he says softly, "Very in character for you."

You wear a delicate white dress, little angel wings and a halo made of wire and gold foil. You have long thought about how you should dress up. Finally, you decided that you wanted to appear lovely and unobtrusive and chose this costume. "Thank you," you say, smiling broadly.

Tech wants to give you something.

At first, you think he's holding out a bouquet of flowers, but it's a lot of different Halloween candy, creatively arranged into a colorful bouquet that just looks like a bouquet of flowers. "Clever," you say delightedly, and accept the present with a smile on your face. "What a lovely idea!" Tech straightens, proud and pleased that both his costume and his token are well received by you. He enters the apartment after you invite him in. Your apartment is relatively dark, lit only by many small jack-o'-lanterns and a string of skeleton lights that snakes along the ceiling throughout the apartment. The whole apartment is decorated and the smell of a wonderful pumpkin soup wafts in from the kitchen. He follows you and can hardly believe his luck, his heart beating up to his neck as you grab his hand and gently pull him with you into the kitchen. You eat the soup together by candlelight and keep smiling at each other. Tech is unaccustomed to silence, but he smiles much more than usual, and your heart melts every time he shyly avoids your gaze only to look back at you. "This is delicious," he says, enthusiastically agreeing to a second serving. After dinner, you go into the living room where there are already two plates of cookies you baked yourself, in the shape of Halloween pumpkins with orange icing and in the shape of ghosts with white icing. Tech looks at your movie collection in amazement, you have tons of them on Holodisc, a huge shelf of them, most of them scary and horror movies from 'family friendly 'barely legally available'.

"You're really into Halloween and scary movies," he says with a smirk. "Do you want to pick the first movie?" you ask him. Tech spreads his arms and says, "If you'll bear with me, I'd love to. This is a huge collection, I'll have to take a closer look." Of course, he has his holopad with him and uses it to help him choose. He chooses an older film with practical effects. And during the movie, dear Tech slowly wakes up from his shy silence. He enthusiastically explains how most of the effects work and even bravely puts an arm around your shoulders when you get startled during one scene, not knowing you just played the scared girl. As Tech gestures wildly with his free arm to explain things, something falls out of his pocket and onto the floor. You both bend down and grab it at the same time. Three condoms. Tech's eyes are suddenly huge behind his goggles as you look at him. "Condoms?" you ask, surprised. "They're not mine," Tech blurts out in near panic. "You carry around other people's condoms?" you ask, raising an eyebrow in amusement. Tech hastily straightens up and puts the condoms back in his jacket pocket.

"Crosshair," he mumbles to himself, looks at you and says, "My brother must have slipped these into my pocket when I didn't notice. They're really not mine. I didn't have any ulterior motives, I promise. Except for the arm around your shoulders and maybe a chaste goodnight kiss, later." You smile, suppressing a grin. He was adorably cute looking at you, so nervous and shy. "Okay." "Okay?" he asks softly. " That means I believe you, Tech." He smiles in relief, leans back again and gently puts his arm around your shoulder once more. "Are you okay?" you ask quietly. "Of course, everything's fine," he says hastily, tightening his shoulders. A little calmer he adds, "You know, I want to do this right, our date, that thing between us. I'm not interested in rushing into anything or having a fleeting adventure." You lean against him and put your arms around him, whereupon he lets out a shaky breath.

He suddenly laughs softly, as if getting rid of some nervous tension. "I like that," you say quietly, leaning against his chest. "Very good," Tech says contentedly, "Then nothing can get in the way of that good night kiss later." You grin to yourself and say softly, "Perhaps even two kisses?". Tech clears his throat and says just as softly, "That's not really customary as far as I know, but we could make an exception"

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

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@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

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@either-madness-or-brilliance

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@hunterssecretrecipe

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@greaser-wolf

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@antishadow2021

@sleepycreativewriter

@projectdreamwalker

@1vlouds

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saltofmercury · 2 years ago

Note

Hello hello 👋🏻 new follower here but I love your work (the clumsy reader drabble was so cute I love our bbygirl in these “mundane” type of situations and you’ve written him into that setting so wonderfully 💕❤️) so I thought I’d shoot in a request, you can turn it into a drabble or something else of your choosing, that is of course if it appeals to you! But I thought it was a cute and funny moment which could fit well with your writing style! So I work in an office filled w a lot of men who are taller than me which means I have to crane up my neck 99% of the time to keep a conversation w them, but there’s this one coworker who has to courtesy to lean down/sit beside me and sometimes gets on his knees next to my desk on the floor whenever he comes around to talk, and the other day another coworker passed us by and he said “ [hisname], on your knees again, I see?” and he immediately clapped back w “I’ll always get down on my knees for a woman, you should try it out sometimes!” (now that I read this back it comes across as juvenile and borderline a HR nightmare but I promise it was harmless fun😭😭)

anyhoo since I have a very dirty mind in general and am currently battling a bad case of brainrot bc of a certain Austrian sniper who triggers all the kinks (size in particular🥴) I was thinking what if Konig would have a freudian slip like this around his crush and where it would lead the two of them 👀

Hope this fits the request!

"Friendship"

Small little hand touches, small flirty comments, stealing eye glances toward one another. You two had been dancing around one another. There was an obvious attraction toward one another, but afraid of overstepping your friendship boundary, you had left it kissing in the hallway, not wanting to get hurt.

König seemed like he liked to keep it as a friendship too. He would talk to you throughout the day, FaceTime at night, even sometimes making you lunch when you didn’t answer him. He knew you were busy so he tried to make your day a little easier.

He actually hated the kissing part because it left him wanting more.

“Come on one more kiss?”

He had been breathless, meeting you in the stairwell for your usual “afternoon delight.” A term he mixed up.

He pulled you in, craned his neck towards you, trapping you under his arms and lips.

“I’ve got — he kissed you

— reports to submit!”

“Last one until tomorrow,” he exhaled, rubbing your face with his thumbs, then embracing you, sticking his tongue in your mouth, you sucking it and making him moan.

You felt it. He was clearly hard against you, so you pulled away, not trying to make it worse for him.

“Hey, wait just for a minute more…” he attempted to pull you back but you dismissed him, telling him you need to get back to your report for Price.

Later that night, after you guys had FaceTimed each other, you two had been laughing at something he said.

“Ok ok, I need to go to sleep, I have to go to the gym tomorrow.” He said

“Alright, fine.” You whined. “Goodnight…”

“Okay goodnight —I love you!” He had heard what he said, wide eyed, his face turned red, and he fumbled his phone to end the call.

The next day, you hadn’t brought up the I love you, meeting with everyone to go over plans for the mission you were sending them on. You had briefed each and every member of KorTac, making sure they knew what they would be supplied with and how much time they had.

Once it was over, Horangi leaned over to König.

“God she’s strict but I like her! She’s all business. She even gave us timelines of when this should be completed.”

König stared at you standing in the hallway, fixing your jacket over your blouse.

He was never a boobs kind of guy, but he thinks you made him one. He wondered how they would feel in his mouth.

“Yeah she’s the breast… I mean best!” He stared at Horangi, who started laughing hysterically.

“Got your mind in the gutter König?”

At that moment you had turned towards them, wondering what Horangi was laughing about. You smiled, waving at them.

Two days later, you had a free afternoon, König had been talking to you about heading to the gym. You had told him you desperately wanted a shower and would skip the gym today. Not that you even went, you weren’t into fitness at all.

König had heard what you said, but insisted on having you there with him, to at least have company and sneak off to make out. But what had come out was —

“Hey wanna go shower with me?” He was stunned, you started laughing so hard you couldn’t stop. He was clearly flustered, he wasn’t sure if you had laughed it off as a joke or just merely embarrassed.

"I've got to go, i'm gonna be late." He practically gathered himself running away.

When he tried calling you that night, but you had been too preoccupied with something else. Wondering if his feelings secretly slipped a message out. Did he want more than just friends?

You touched yourself, imagining what it would feel to have his pouty lips in between your legs. What it would be like to have him moaning echoing throughout the four corners of your room. How it would be to sit on him, his thick sex entering you, stretching you out as you held onto him…

He didn't reach you, and left you a voicemail.

“Okay I know today was weird with the shower comment… if you get this call, give me a chance." It had slipped out again.

Once you heard that message it was clear. You knew he wanted it too.

You texted him to come over.

He had rushed over, sensing some priority in your message. The three knocks on your door had created an urgency inside you. You ran to the door, and grabbed him by the shirt. Pulled him into a kiss.

“I want you so bad König you don’t understand. I don’t want to be friends.”

He chuckled lightly, “I do understand…”

He picked you up and pressed you against the wall. Sucking on your neck and collarbone, leaving small bites, and hickeys in their place.

“You have no idea what you do to me, how badly I’ve wanted this.”

You grab a hold of his face in your hands, sloppily kissing him and arching your back from the wall, your breasts closer to his chest.

“Say you’ve wanted me too? Please baby.”

You pulled yourself from him, unlatching your legs around his waist, and pulling yourself down.

You proceed to undress yourself walking slowly to the bedroom.

He followed you into the room where you’ve already peeled off most of your clothes except your panties.

“I’ve wanted you so badly.”

You lay on the bed, and as his hands roam your breasts, squeezing, and fondling your nipples, he gently rubs down to your panties, his fingertips on the edge of them.

“No, König, take them off with your teeth.”

He looks at you for a second, the rush of blood going straight to his erection. He kisses you through your underwear, grabs a hold of your legs from underneath. Teeth nip lightly at your skin, grab a hold of the lace in-between and with one full motion, he’s taken them down to your knees. He rips them off your leg and puts them in his back pocket.

He looks at you, exposed, your legs wide open. Your cunt somewhat wet for him, and he’s got to taste just to be sure.

He places his tongue on you, gently flicks inside you, swirling and licking you at every inch.

He moans, nuzzling himself closer.

“ugh baby, you’ve got such a cute cunt.”

The heat rises from your stomach to your cheeks. He’s so gentle, sucking on your lips, teasing your clit.

“I’ve wanted to taste you since we’ve shared our first kiss.”

He speaks softly, placing small pecks on you. It bubbles small waves in you.

He wraps his hands around yours,

“Tell me baby, have you wondered what it’s like? What does my tongue feel like on your pretty little cunt?”

You’re overwhelmed, he’s so vocal but gentle, it makes you crazy. You let out a small moan.

“Breathe in through your nose baby, relax, I’m here.”

As soon as you take those deep breaths, it’s game over, like your body has its full attention on his tongue on your clit, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body.

He’s egging you on,

“You like it when I go fast?” He flicks your clit faster with his tongue,

then asks,

“Or slow like this?”

And proceeds to suck on your clit so gently, soft moans coming from his mouth.

“You taste so good, baby.”

Your brain can’t comprehend anything. The sounds you’re emitting, his tongue on you, how he expresses himself… you can feel how close you are.

“You’re gonna cum soon? I can feel it, you’re so wet. Cum for me.”

And it’s with those three words that send you over the edge. You arch your back, flares ripple through your body, and you moan his name.

He’s still sucking, making you jump slightly, pushing away from him.

He comes up towards your body, placing soft kisses on your legs, tummy, and breasts. He stops at the left one, sucking on it.

“I’ll get these next time.” He tells you, grabbing you for a deep kiss.

You stare up at him, wondering why it was ever such a bad thing to break your friendship. There was no doubt in your head you two were made for one another.

#könig #request #konig mw2 #könig x f!reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig x reader #König smut #call of duty mw2

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lyricalt · 2 months ago

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[tf2 mini fic] roll over

BLU and RED spies take a smoke break together.

(Implied R!Sniper/R!Spy, PG)

bonus scene: the sequel for all bite. There was no way to fit it neatly in the main fic so here it is.

---

There is something different about RED Sniper.

BLU Spy considers the body, slumped awkwardly in its seat. He taps his foot in contemplation.

Something is off. It bothers him that he cannot quite place it, but he has an instinct for this kind of thing. He remembers the way RED’s sniper had turned a little too late from the window. That flash of annoyance across his face had been fun to see, per usual, and he’d died quite appropriately to the butterfly knife.

At the risk of soiling his shoes with blood, BLU Spy kicks the body so that it falls to the floor, splayed out and arms akimbo. He cranes his neck and pulls out his disguise kit.

After a moment, he blinks. Ah-hah. He sees it now. The change. He snorts, flipping through his paper masks until he finds the one with RED Sniper’s face on it.

“How interesting,” he says with a laugh, and takes a pen out from his pocket to make the correction.

---

There is a secluded backdoor in one of the factories with an awning that hardly anyone uses. The spies tend to take their ten minute smoke break there, away from the main battle but still close enough to hear whatever’s going on. It’s irrelevant on when the daily smoke break occurs, but this time BLU Spy leaves a note for an early meeting.

They smoke in silence for a bit. Both are leaning against the wall with the locked door between them.

BLU Spy speaks up first, letting his arm fall back to his side, flicking ash from his cigarette. “There’s a possibility I had to update my disguise kit because of you.”

“Hm? Someone on my team wearing a new hat?” RED Spy asks.

They speak in the privacy of French, casual and pleasant, because it’s their only chance in the day to not be so secretive. A nice ten minutes to shoot the shit.

“No. It was something very subtle. But you know me, always obsessing over details.” BLU Spy pauses, just shy of being dramatic, because he can’t very well hold it in. He’s been waiting ages to speak to his counterpart today.

“You do have an eye for them, Bleu. Well?”

“Your sniper, Monsieur Rouge,” Bleu says, watching RED Spy very carefully. “The one with the, hm, ‘keen eyes’ and ‘fast trigger’.” After a moment, he gleefully punches RED’s arm. “You sly dog.”

For three seconds, Rouge’s expression is one of perfect blankness. Bleu is about to congratulate him on his poise when Rogue shoots up from the wall to grab Bleu’s upper arm, shaking it with such intensity that Bleu fears his arm might vibrate out of its socket.

“No. Don’t tell me he’s wearing that. Not in public,” RED Spy starts, so aghast he abandons his carefully cultivated European French and slips back into his natural Quebecois accent. “This can’t be. I didn’t think he would-”

“I saw it myself.” Bleu shuffles the paper masks in his kit and carefully removes Rouge’s grip off him when he almost drops the entire stack. “Would you like to see? I’ve already added it to my repertoire.”

Rouge has since launched into a litany of “no no no no no no no, he can’t do this to me-” while Bleu takes his time finding the right mask. A second cigarette makes an appearance in Rogue’s fingers. He begins to smoke both at the same time. It’s a nostalgic sight to see. Bleu has not seen Rouge double fist cigarettes since their days at the university during final exams.

Rouge hisses, “Please, M. Bleu, don’t put that o-”

Pleading hands grasp at his sleeve to no effect. Bleu slips on the disguise. Poor Rouge looks like he wants to perish on the spot from sheer mortification. His eyes dart to BLU Spy’s throat.

There is nothing at Bleu’s neck. Rouge would see his sniper’s RED uniform in perfect order, not a hair or button out of place.

BLU Spy lifts the kukri illusion, pointing to a very nice piece of strap fitted along the shoulder, a touch thicker than the rest of the sling. At first glance, it appears to be a nice lanyard to hang an extra carabiner on the shiny metal ring.

Or perhaps something else could be clipped on such a fine metal ring. Who could say.

“Quite subtle indeed,” Bleu says, imitating RED Sniper’s voice, though the intonation is entirely wrong. He smiles, serene, and doesn’t hesitate to deal a killing blow in the form of a head tilt and a playful, “Arf-arf.”

There is a third cigarette between Rouge’s fingers. He squats down and smokes them all in silence, sucking them down to the filter. He looks like he wishes for the ground to swallow him up.

They still have four minutes left of their break so Bleu takes pity on the man and pulls off the mask. The disguise fizzes away, leaving him back in his blue suit. He pats Rouge’s shoulder and joins him squating on the ground, forearms resting on his knees. There’s only so much aloof leaning against a wall that he can take in a day.

He nudges Rouge. “It’s going well, I take it?”

A sullen pause seems to be the only answer Rouge is willing to give until he finishes his cigarettes. After brushing off a credible amount of ash away, he grumbles, ”Yes.”

“Ah, my dear, so it really would’ve never worked out between us. How could I have competed with a piss-smelling hobo living in a dirty van? But don’t fret, sweet rival of mine, I still hold a special place in my heart from our delightful fraternity days-”

“Disgusting. Awful. Should you not wait to enact psychological warfare upon me until after our ten? At least you’ll be paid for the effort,” Rouge says stiffly. He sighs, rubbing his temples. “Take me back to Respawn. I need more ammo and cigarettes.”

Rouge hands him a blade. Bleu cackles, not minding that Rouge has somehow stolen his own butterfly knife off him. Quite talented at that, those quick hands, even amongst other spies.

“But of course,” he says, and slits RED Spy’s throat neatly.

For a very entertaining day ahead of him, it’s the least he can do

---

Sniper gets cornered on the way to supper after his shift. It’s Spy, who looks unusually harried.

“Promise me,” Spy says, serious, “Promise me you will not wear that thing around your neck in public.”

Sniper almost sputters. Awfully bold of Spy to bring it up in the middle of the hallway, in public, which seems like the opposite of what he wants. That thing could only mean one item in particular. Sniper puts up his hands, hissing softly, “There's a reason why I became a sniper, spook. I like hidin’ and stayin’ out of sight. You think, of all people, that I’d be an exhibitionist?”

He truly cannot think of a worst thing to do. It’s a hard pass, if Spy ever asks this sort of thing from him, and Sniper wonders if this is going to be some kind of boundary-setting conversation. He hopes it isn’t. Not in the middle of the hallway and not right before supper. He’ll have to take his meal up in a tree if the conversation goes poorly—he can already feel a haunting embarrassment creeping in.

“Are you?” Spy asks.

“No!”

-----------------------------

Note:

RED Spy = French Canadian

BLU Spy = Cajun

Neither are European French, though they both speak it professionally. (Professional Frenchmen.)

I suppose the reason Sniper thinks he sucks at learning French (on his own) is probably because Spy is speaking French Canadian in their private moments. Ah well!

#bloody suit #sniperspy #sniper x spy #tf2 #posting at 10pm pst on a work night we are ok

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jamisonwritestf2trash · 1 year ago

Note

[resting in bed, kicking their feet and slaying the fluffy pink pajamas as well as bright fluffy pink socks —for real—] Teehee, I have a writing prompt for you!

Which kind of pajamas the mercs use? How do they sleep with them?

Take care! ^-^

What Kind Of Pajamas Do The TF2 Mercs Wear?

————————————————————

Sometimes I forget people have nice pajamas, I wear a pair of thrifted men's pajama pants with holes and a hoodie 😭 (I love it dw)

Mutual appreciation comment time! Love seeing you pop up! I'm always like ❗️that's my mutual! They're so cool!!!

————————————————————

Demo- This man wears wine mom pj's and I will die on this hill. He wears a shirt that says "wine o'clock!" And has pajama pants with little wine glasses and bottles on them. Has multiple other wine pun-themed pajama shirts, each time he wears one you can feel Scout physically cringe. He's just so silly like that. But I don't think he sleeps in the wine shirts, he just wears them when he has to put a shirt on after he's ready for bed. Also has wine socks, to match his whole outfit ofc.

————————————————————

Engineer- Wears dad pajamas. I'm sorry. But like? He seems like the kind of guy to wear thick ass flannel pajama pants with an equally as thick matching button-up. He's got fuzzy slippers (also flannel). Wears socks with those silly dad socks. Wears the entire get up to bed every night. Such a silly goose!

————————————————————

Heavy- Genuinely wears old man pajamas. Wears a plain T-shirt, some warm pajama pants, and a robe. Has bunny slippers, please let me give this man bunny slippers. I don't know guys, in my head, he's so cartoonish. Sleeps in a bed with a patterned comforter has his slippers on and likes handing out the blanket bc it's too small. Ough, silly guy.

————————————————————

Medic- I'm frothing at the mouth. But I'm also torn. I want to say he dresses up in that goofy-looking "Christmas Carol" nightgown with a nightcap and everything but at the same time? I can imagine this man in either white, pink, or red, silk pajamas, you know the ones. In my mind, fits his whole teen girl vibe. This all implies he sleeps, which is a rarity, but when he does it is very glamorous.

————————————————————

Scout- Minecraft pajamas. Kidding! Half kidding? I think he sleeps in a t-shirt and boxers instead of actual pajamas. Minecraft t-shirts and themed boxers? Yeah. Has some thick pairs of clothes for colder nights. Mainly just some nice pajamas pants and a thick hoodie.

————————————————————

Sniper- No pajamas. Wears jeans and a tank top, and a T-shirt if it's chilly. I don't think this man has ever worn pajamas. But in fairness, I don't think he ever continuously falls asleep. Just works and works and ends up passing out in whatever he's wearing. If he ever does finally decide to actually get some rest he has been known to just sleep in boxers.

————————————————————

Spy- Old Hollywood robe. All I need to say. Has an intense sleep routine, wears an eye mask, puffs up all his pillows, and flops onto his bed dramatically with a sigh after a long day. Dramatic bitch. (loving) Sleeps with a blanket pulled up to his chin, and has like eight fans going. Has to have specific conditions to sleep. Crazy man.

————————————————————

Soldier- I can't tell if this man respects the flag code with every fiber of his being or if he'd wear an entire American flag-themed pajama set. I'll go with a mix of both. Wears sweatpants and one of those cliché 4th of July t-shirts that every beer drinking white dad wears. Or he doesn't wear anything, the TF2 fandom has seemed to deam this man someone who doesn't understand the importance of clothes.

————————————————————

Pyro- Unicorn onesie! Or some other form of onesie. They aren't particular. They like comfortable clothes and bonus points if it's really cute too. Has a collection of them. One time Pyro saw Ppy wearing an eye mask and bought one to try. Looks very silly on top of their gas mask. Overall, all these guys are really silly.

————————————————————

Used the word silly way to much. Probably used goofy too much too. I was in a mood you could say.

I hope you like this! This was a favorite to write:) Sorry it took so long, I got way too tired last night to finish this. Also, hope I answered the question right because I kept second-guessing myself halfway through each one 😭

————————————————————

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 headcanons #team fortress headcanons #tf2 hcs #tf2 demoman #tf2 engineer #tf2 heavy #tf2 medic #tf2 scout #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #tf2 soilder #tf2 pyro

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bandaged-writer · 2 years ago

Text

𝗔𝗞𝗥𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗔 [𝟬𝟯] ㅡ 𝗗𝗔𝗭𝗔𝗜 𝗢𝗦𝗔𝗠𝗨

pairing. mafia! dazai x executive! reader

genre. romance, mystery + smut

warnings. violence, murder, blood

words. 635

summary. had dazai drawn his gun earlier, he wouldn't be gazing upon your lifeless body.

note. have y'all seen dazai blindfolded like,,not even a guillotine can take away the head i'm about to give him

previous || next || masterlist || ao3

"I assume the one keeping watch outside is your subordinate," Dazai said as he entered the mansion of the killed executive with you by his side.

"Most correct," you responded. "He may not look like much, but he is of great assistance to ensure the success of our mission."

The living room was vast and certainly fitting for an executive. Pictures of his family decorated the space along with a carpet that was as red as the blood he lay in now. A fitting ending for someone who killed for a living, blackmailed and corrupted the economy of Yokohama.

Dazai was the first to approach the corpse in search of anything useful, but except for the lethal injuries and two bullets, everything seemed to be intact. No signs of breaking in, no signs of a fight. Thinking about it, Dazai couldn't recall anyone saying that a stranger entered or left the house.

As troublesome as it was, it excited him just as much.

“A fatal shot to the head and abdominal area. Rather than war, this is starting to look a lot like revenge.” A few photographs of another murdered executive were in his hands. Dazai skimmed through them, noticing that these two men were killed in the same way. One shot to the head, another one to the stomach.

This was calculated like a hunt and the Mafia still was the prey.

“Revenge, hm?,” you echoed his words. “I think I’ve got someone in mind, but..I can’t be too sure yet.” Picking up a freshly fired bullet, you stared at the piece of evidence until it was reflected in the abyss of your pupils.

Dazai looked at you with eyes that resembled the void. “Regardless.. Care to share your thoughts?”

You left the scene of crime as no insight was to be gained there. “A couple of years ago, a foreign organization settled down in Japan in search of someone worthy enough to wipe them all out," you explained as calmly as ever. "Mori ordered me to investigate the case and gave me a squad of my own. We managed to capture a good amount of members and I was to execute them.”

Although Dazai wasn't part of the squad assigned to you, he was certain that the Mafia would have taken severe hits if you hadn't handled the case. However, that was all he knew. “Let me take a guess. Someone managed to break free from your control?”

You nodded your head softly, sighing. “He got away and swore revenge. The organization is called—”

Two blasts sliced through the air and pierced the conversation. A dull thud followed. Your lifeless body dropped to Dazai’s feet. He whipped his head towards the source of the gunshots, but there was no one.

Had Dazai drawn his gun earlier, he wouldn't be gazing upon your lifeless body. Blood seeped from the center of your forehead, from your parted lips and your abdominal area. Eyes, still opened, stared at a shattered window up ahead. As he viewed your corpse, one question lingered in his mind.

If the sniper had managed to sneak up on the both of you without so much as a sound, then why did he kill only you and not Dazai when he was with you? According to your input, the motive of revenge seemed to be more and more plausible. So now that you lay dead at his feet, the organization should at least keep their feet still.

Regret was beyond a human such as himself. Dazai drew his phone from the pocket of his coat, wanting to call for reinforcements, to have someone examine your corpse. But no one ever picked up. All he heard was an eerie, never-ending beeping sound drumming into his ear.

"They're smart to jam the signal."

if you liked it, a comment or a rb is much appreciated! <3

taglist. @ashthemadwriter @96jnie @katatedge1

#fic: akrasia #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader

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hope-to-hell · 3 months ago

Text

If not for love of money. A.M. x Reader. Let’s suppose for a moment that he lived— such is our privilege. The story ends when we say it does. The epilogue for this man will be written in blood, but it will be written. Smut, angst, f!reader.

————

This isn’t a story, not really. Not when there are weeks and miles between you, not when secrets are nested within one another such that you’ll never reach their center. How could there be a story in this disconnect?

You’ve never heard his real name and anyway it doesn’t matter: you won’t find him until he wants to be found— or more precisely, until he wants to find you. It’ll be on a fine spring evening when he appears in the hallway of a far-too-expensive restaurant, steady and calm, eyes dark like wine.

Hey. I was in the middle of dinner. Which you won’t really say because he’s got a hand over your mouth and the other working its way down. He’s precise here as in all things, following the threads that connect people, places, (money, guns, silent deaths, and the way he simply has to look and there you are with your pretty cunt twitching in anticipation as your blood makes an about-face to pool, hotly thrumming, at the apex of your thighs).

He knows because he’s at the center of it all, cutting a thread here and tying off another there. Spider, you call him one evening at that villa by the sea. He presses you up against a marble column and nips his way sharply down your throat. Gonna bind me up and suck me dry? And of course there is no answer but his hand closing around your wrist, turning your palm up to bite down hard on the meat of it; when he presses your hand against his fly, the blooming bruise pulses nearly as hot and insistent as he.

And oh, his heavy hand upon you is a gift; his nails, though short, press aching crescents in your flesh; his teeth are so, so white against the endless night above. Don’t think. Just act. Let him do the thinking for you; let him pin you here between the ache of cold tile against your knees and the firebrand-heat of him as he feeds you his cock. There will be no trace, no evidence, nothing to bind him to this moment. He will give you his seed and then a sip of something strong to wash it down; the drink is bitter and pulls sleep swiftly in its wake, and when tomorrow comes he’s gone again.

You don’t call. You never write.

It’s not for love of money, not really; it’s for the love of being good at the job, for the satisfaction of seeing the exchange go off without a hitch (and— let’s be frank— for the hair-trigger moments when it’s just him and his wits against the impossible.

Improbable.

Whatever.)

It’s about knowing there’s no one else who can do this, not like he can; he follows the threads and cuts away anyone and anything that’s served their purpose. It’s never been you and him against the world— that’s some Bonnie and Clyde bullshit, silly little-girl dreams that have no hold here. It’s him at the helm, steering his way through a vast dark sea, cutting through the waves. This work is in his veins, flowing red and hot. How does a man like this come about? Is he born with an eye toward vicious cunning, winding himself about the bones of the world to take from it as he sees fit? Or is he made, through long years of learning how to bite and tear his way to some nebulous goal?

It’s not like you go to school for this stuff. I just want to understand a little. I’m not gonna ask, I just want—

Ah, ah. Hush, now. Be good for me and take it, won’t you, pretty thing. And so he turns your mind toward other things, to salt and skin and the gasps that catch thickly in your throat behind the heat of him.

Follow him into the house. Let him scent the air to his satisfaction before he gives you the key. No bugs, no hulking men hiding in the next room, no sniper’s scope watching from across the road. Welcome home, he says. Home— or at least as close to it as you can get— is a quiet place where he can find you when he pleases, with a high wall around the garden. But come next year, home might be grass grown strangely green under the open sky, at least til the dogs come digging ‘round to gnaw your bones. And it wouldn’t be anything personal— it never is.

Despite all this, you wait. Quietly, at first, days bleeding into one another until autumn comes calling again and brings with it an air of fuck it. Go and get him already. You find him in a hospital bed, face slack, seemingly more bandages than man. There is a sense of— not smallness, exactly; it’s more like seeing him from far away. I didn’t think anyone would come for him. It’s been so long. I wonder who he wa— who he is. Behind the nurse’s words are rumors and whispers, spinning stories about the nameless stranger, what he’d done, who hated him so much they’d torn him near to pieces.

And now here he is, at the end of a trail of crumbs (scraps of overheard conversation, speculation about a handsome John Doe who came in looking like hell and has thus far been too damned stubborn to die, calling all over— your call is important to us, please hold— until someone gives the answer you need and now you will forever hear smooth jazz in the depths of your nightmares). Here he waits inside a body that grows weaker by the day, the echoes of voices and mechanical pulsations filtering in until at last he tears his way up through layers of sleep to find you waiting.

Hey. I, uh. You wanna get out of here?

It’s just that this house wraps itself around him like a coat, like there’s no one else who could be sitting at the kitchen table with you, sipping coffee— cream and sugar, if you please. There’s no harm in a bit of pleasure— moving slowly like it pains him to lift his cup. Everything is temporary. The best you can hope for is to leave your ghost behind.

Huh?

There is something in him now, between serpent and wave, beneath skin that shines with the slick pink of new scars, something thick and hot and greedy. He paces the halls with a burner phone in one hand and a carven walking-stick in the other, picking up loose threads. He breaks, rebuilds, cuts, ties. The cat’s cradle he weaves grows ever stronger; these long months outside the game may have set him back, but he is clever and tenacious and—

He reclines against mounds of cushions, beckoning you to him with the barest motion of his hand. He is softer now, thinner, building himself back piece by piece, but still his sharp teeth shine in the lamplight. He strokes himself slowly, deliberately, eyes unblinking. He says ride me, then like it’s a gift, like he could roll you beneath him, like his body doesn’t begin to shake when he holds himself above you like some crumbling god. Don’t ask if I’m alright. I’ll tell you when I’m not.

Sure. Feel him there, deep in your guts. It’s been a while, hasn’t it, since you’ve had him. So take your time and savor this: heat and slippery wetness and the gut-punch oh when he strikes something incandescent inside you. He sees the tremble of your thighs and says nothing, but his fingers dig into your flesh: five bright points of pain that light your path to the edge.

Count his scars but do not pity him; he has a blade hidden in his walking-stick and even when it’s sheathed, it thrums silver-sharp under his hand. The work has waited for so long and he is aching to pick it up again. Some men are driven by the love of money, of power, or of exploration; but he— he hears the silky whisper of threads weaving together. Soon enough he’ll leave you cold and lonely. And you still don’t know his name.

#a.m.#a.m. (reacher)#a.m. (reacher) fic #a.m. (reacher) smut #a.m. x reader #a.m. x you #underappreciated villains club

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