#maybe that’s why he’s so good at being a sniper

[whippedcloudsofcream]

Crosshair is so mundanely evil during his scenes with Cody in this episode. Yes, he seeks companionship, a connection. He’s known Cody long enough to hold him in high regard and tbh he still does, mostly. Crosshair works with him, revels in the nostalgia, and they save each other’s lives. But he almost smiles knowing (thinking) Cody is still under mind control.

Even though he might not admit it, Crosshair shares the same reason that many Imperials have for joining the Empire. They like having power over people. And right now, even though they’re brothers, Crosshair likes having power over Cody. He knows that in reality, Cody would disapprove of their situation, be devastated by what was happening to their family and what they were forced to do to the Jedi, especially Obi-Wan. But he’s oblivious to the bigger picture. Crosshair had his chip removed, he still has his free will, his awareness, and his autonomy. He knows what’s going on. It makes him feel unique. And it also makes Crosshair a real piece of shit to keep it all a secret from Cody.

Which is why it’s so satisfying when Cody violently brings him back to reality with just a few sentences about how absolutely fucked they both are in this situation. All the clones are suffering. All of them. Crosshair, despite his drive and skill, is no exception. So Cody escapes and makes it very clear he wanted to take Crosshair with him, but chose not to because of his need for power over others. Left behind once again, for all the right reasons.

[simonsslut]

meeting simon in the army.

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

wc: around 4.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

a shared opinion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

sort of.

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

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

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

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

but that's probably because you were so oblivious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the hell does that even mean?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

silence.

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

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

the air is thick.

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

"may I?"

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

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

he's not wearing the glove.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

silence.

"simon." he stops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you gon' let me do this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he's close and so are you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you just fucked your lieutenant.

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

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

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

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

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

horny brain = ©simonsslut 2023 — do not steal!

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

[oblique-lane]

"Just a bunch more biblical paintings then I'll go back to drawing yaoi" Or you can do both, renaissance style, Michelangelo or Raphael I honestly forgot who drew those naked men on the Sistine Chapel's ceilings ok bad joke aside: I'd love hearing more about your headcannons, specifically about the childhoods of the characters (ranging from the mercs, to Miss pauling, the Administrator, hell anyone you have ideas about!)

Childhood headcanons... How did you know I've had something about that on my mind? Alright, let's talk about...

Little Sniper

(Lots of trigger warnings ahead, check tags!)

Mundy was obviously an unhappy child. When I imagine the surroundings he grew up in, I see miles and miles of empty landscapes, dry yellow grass, unkept barns destroyed by rust and a deep choking sense of loneliness.

The closest neighbour woul be so far away you better bring a bicycle with you if you want to visit. School and Church were the only places to go, which were also very far away. No kids his age nearby. And even if there were peers at school, no one wanted him anyway.

Mundy was "weird", he didn't quite understand other kids' jokes, didn't get what was so fun about what everyone else enjoying to do; he was weaker, always loosing in close fights; he didn't even look very local for whatever reason. Even if he tried to get along with someone, it either ended up with him being ostracized or with him experiencing the greatest boredom imaginable. And the kids quickly picked up on his "difference", making him an object of bullying.

It started with making fun of everything Mundy does, his habits and speech patterns, his morals and ideas... Which wasn't anything too big for him but it was still very annoying and upsetting, he grew to hate school very quickly.

Coming home being exhausted from this kind of socializing, no one would really comfort him. Being very little, he used to tell on his bullies to his parents, telling how hurt he was by their words... And it would only made a mess in his family.

Overreactive mother: "Poor baby, I'm so sorry, I'll tell their parents to stop being mean, my little little baby, maybe we can go homeschooling..."

And a strict father: "Are you a man or what? Yeah, he will end up a bloody baby if you keep spoiling him like that! Suck it up! Of you can't stand for yourself, no one will. At this pace you'll end up a nobody, with no home nor respect from the world".

Mundy didn't want to be neither a baby nor a disappointment. He figured that sharing his feelings with parents wouldn't be that good of an idea, they won't understand anyway. And also that he must fight somehow.

If he can't win in close fights, he thought, he could hit them from a distance: throwing small rocks at the bullies from up the tree...

–He was punished for that. For some reason, every time Mundy fought back, he was scolded by the elders, who for some reason always believed the bullies that HE was the one starting the fights. They forbid him to fight back. He closed his feelings shut and stopped paying attention to almost everything around him.

Why was it like that? Why was he so different from other kids, why couldn't he understand them? Why couldn't he understand anyone in this world? The world was a mess of unspoken rules and suffering, overcoming oneself, pain; he couldn't fit in. He was always on the wrong even if he didn't do anything. He felt like an outsider everywhere he went.

Sometimes he wondered if he was born into a wrong family or that he wasn't a human at all. Looking at the night sky, he was thinking about aliens, maybe they would come to him someday and take him to the planet he truly belongs, being accidentally swapped at birth. Maybe then he will be happy, he will leave this sickening place and finally start living. He thought about dying, too.

He started to spend a lot of time in the forest any chance he got. He was alone here, unwatched, somewhat free. It was easier to breathe here. He was alone but it didn't feel worse than being with those people. He played by himself. He started to believe that he actually liked loneliness.

As Mundy and his peers grew older, the kids started to become more and more savage, thanks to the hormones and age crisis. Bullying intensified as those kids started to feel the need to assert themselves. Mundy was maliciously beaten (he fought back as much as he could and even win sometimes, but the beating only got worse each time). They used any chance to humiliate him.

And each time after that Mundy would take the knife or his father's shotgun and go to the forest to take his anger on animals, "hunting", since he couldn't do anything to fix the root of the problem.

He would hunt for something small, like birds or feral rabbits so he could butcher them and cook on fire to eat. At moments like this he felt like a beast, and somehow it was the most pleasant state for him to be in.

There were no words available to form his pain into, so the pain came through violence. The more violent his abusers became, the more violent he was at his "hunting". The more he felt his father's gaze piercing him with disappointment, the sharper his knife movements would get. Sometimes he would let the bodies to just rot like that, completely butchered in a very non-culinary way.

(Maybe someday he would lure one of those bastards to the forest and kill him the same way and blame it on an animal attack)

And at some point... His classmates would came up with something that would cross all the lines of forgivable. Somewhere there was the peak of what they could do. Something beyond.

There wasn't a known way to him to deal with that. No known words. Everyone would be so grossed out of him if they knew. He was beyond disgusted with himself, too. What was the point of living now?

That day he would shot a wild boar, take his machete out and cut it open, butcher it the way his father would when they wanted a pork dinner for the night... And reached to its heart.

The heart is where the love is stored, right? That's what people say when referring to this "love" he'd never seem to know. A dark read bloody organ that feels like sponge inside of thin rubber. There's something about this that Mundy lacks. He has a heart too, it's pulsating inside him, but for some reason it was unable to produce the "love", a very necessary fluid for a human body. He wondered if it's sweet. He wondered if he was even able to taste it.

He took a bite... And realized what he was doing.

He was, indeed, a monster.

When he went back home, later than usual, he would be met with his father's gaze. He was always throwing gazes, for every occasion, Mundy was used to feel small and guilty under them. But this time... It felt somehow much more personal. More disturbing.

His father looked at him as if he was a dirty little creature, a rat, a maggot. He looked at him the way one would look at a criminal who wronged their whole family. He looked at him like he knew.

His father didn't say anything that day and it wasn't brought up ever again.

Mundy was indeed a monster who was utterly terrified of this though. He didn't want to be one. He made a promise to himself that everything he does will be morally justified, he promised himself to become a good... decent person. He would earn his place in the world, even if his father, everyone else denies it.

It gets blurry at this point. Sniper doesn't really remember his life before about 17, when he was finishing school and starting to work on his sniper licence. For some reason he always knew he would be good at shooting and killing. When remembering his home, Sniper would recall the smell of grass, mother's cooking, the warm sun, and a steady life he had. He knew it was boring, but it still somehow felt like home. Home he felt was lost somewhere he didn't remember.

Either way, he was always a loner.

[callsign-datura]

putrid pride

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader warnings: ghost being a dick, unrealistic character, sexual tension, oral (f receiving), ghost not fucking you as a punishment for you being a little brat a/n: he's had me in a chokehold for the past year. i kinda want to do a character analysis series not gonna lie song: get stoned ~ hinder

Sometimes you wondered why Price assigned you to be his partner. He thought it'd be a good learning experience for the both of you. Since you were a sergeant you were bossed around by everyone else already, and you've only been there for a few weeks. In most missions you've been assigned, Ghost has been part of it one way or another and you noticed that he treated you differently than his mates. Whether it was the fact you were a woman or the fact you were a talented sniper, or what, you didn't know. He always made these little jabs at you that could be passed off as light teasing or playful banter. You felt a bit crazy for thinking he was being rude to you because he wasn't rude to anyone else; why you? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Damnit," he grunted, his back towards you. "You always fuckin' do this." His tone was laced with anger and venom, and your heart sunk. "You never fuckin' listen." he hisses, turning around and taking a few steps towards you. The look in his eyes pissed you off. You made the right decision, or so you thought. Sure, you disobeyed his direct orders and nearly got yourself killed, but you completed the objective and came back in one piece. You got the intel, confirmed the target's identity and best of all, did it quick and quiet. Why was he angry? You did everything you thought you were supposed to, but here he had you, in his office and standing in front of his desk and staring at him blankly.

"You never fuckin' listen, always disobey my orders despite th' fact your ass would be dead right now if it weren't f'me." His accent is thick, his voice steadily rising as he gets more pissed. "Jesus fuckin' Christ!" In truth, he didn't even know why he was so angry. Was it because you had disobeyed his orders again, or was it the fact you almost got yourself hurt? Or maybe it was the fact you did the mission better than he would have? "I don't know why you're so intent on breakin' the goddamn rules, but it's gettin' old." He snaps, brown eyes piercing yours as he splays his hands out on the surface of his desk, leaning forward so his face was inches from yours, his breath fanning over your face, hot and smelling faintly of alcohol.

"Look, Lieutenant. I may have disobeyed your orders but I saved lives in the process--" "Nearly losing your own." "But I completed the objective." "But you put yourself in danger." "I came back in one piece, didn't I?" "Barely. You escaped that goddamn explosion by a hair." He hisses through gritted teeth, leaning back and putting his hand in his pocket. "You're always so reckless. Do you have no sense of self-preservation?" "You're one to talk about self-preservation," you snort, your eyes widening slightly in disbelief at the mention. "Don't tell me you've already forgotten the time you hopped in front of a bullet to keep a sergeant from taking it?" His eyebrows knit together and his eyes narrowed. "I knew what I was doin', girl. Don't question me or my choices. It's not your fuckin' place to do so."

You snorted again. "Oh, yeah? Don't like it when I call you on your bullshit, huh? If you would have done this, we would have been expected to thank you and ignore the fact you could have been killed. But the moment I do it, you get on my ass."

"I am your lieutenant. I make decisions, you follow them. You don't question why I do what I do. When I tell you to do something, you do it without a second thought. When I order you to not engage, you do not engage." He spits, his eyes narrowing further and his chest tightening in barely contained anger. "You're lucky I don't fuckin' suspend you. The decision you made was a thoughtless, reckless and stupid one." "At least Price would understand where I'm coming from."

His eyes widen, and he laughs. "You think he'd take your side?"

"I think he'd understand why I did what I did. I think he wouldn't give me bullshit for making the right decision."

"Well, sweetheart, that's the thing. He isn't your CO, I am. So if I'm givin' you bullshit for makin' a decision, you stand there and take it and make a goddamn change." You shake your head and laugh. "I know what I did was right. I'm not going to stand down just because you think my execution wasn't proper." He's practically fuming now. He feels his chest tighten further, and he balls his hands into fists. "You're such a brat. For what? Just because you wanna be right?" He steps around the desk, moving and getting in front of you, his frame towering over yours. "You wanna be right so goddamn bad because you're new, huh? You don't want people to think you're weak, hm?" He leans in, his face inches from yours once again as his hands tremble at his sides. Your eyes focus on his brown ones, piercing with a newfound depth you haven't seen before. You take in a breath through your nose and against your will you take notice of his cologne; woody, citrusy. He's so close to you. You feel your body start to tingle a bit from the closeness and the tension.

"Oh, well, look at that..." His head tilts, his eyes softening for just a moment. "Now you've got nothin' to say?" He says, his tone faintly mocking as he backs you up against the wall. He's painfully aware of this situation and he's painfully aware of the source of these feelings, but he's refusing to see it. He's stubborn and he knows you are too. "Nothin' to fuckin' say cause I'm in your face?" He growls, his gaze burning holes into you. He brings his hands upwards and cages you against the wall, looking down at you with an intense mix of lust and anger. To him, it's just pure emotion and you feel slightly intimidated by this newfound situation. So, you do the only thing you know how to do. "Fuck you," you hiss, moving onto your tiptoes to get in his face in return. A chuckle leaves his throat in a growl and he doesn't back down. If anything, he finds this show of dominance to be... charming. Endlessly fucking irritating, but charming. Some twisted part of him wants to crush it; crush your insubordination, make you finally respect him. He takes in a breath and the hairs on his neck stand up as your scent wafts over his senses, and his eyes twitch briefly before he grunts and moves closer. "So fuckin' feisty. But we both know you've got nothin' more than bark." He murmurs, his voice raspy and low and with a tone that makes your heart thump in your chest and your cunt pulse between your legs. Despite yourself, you feel him leeching the fight from your body. You growl slightly. "You don't know what you're talking about," you grumble, your tone just as low as his as your gaze searches his for something other than this overwhelming lust.

"I think I do." He murmurs, tilting his head and leaning in so he's right near your ear. You ball your hands into fists. "I don't think you can fight me, cause you don't wanna. You like it when we get into this, don't you?" He questions, one of his hands coming up and cupping your cheek. "I think you like seein' me pissed. I think you like bein' a fuckin' brat 'cause you know it irritates me, an' you wanna see what I'll do..." He smirks, and you can hear it in the way he talks. "Well, I think I know how to solve your little problem now, eh?" He moves, his hand coming down and cupping your throat, applying gentle pressure to keep you against the wall as he moves back, pulling his mask over his nose and leaning back in to nip at your earlobe. You grunt and you feel yourself melting in his grasp. His other hand comes and holds your hips, his fingers slipping underneath the hem of your shirt as he tilts his head and kisses at the flesh of your neck his hand doesn't engulf. Your body heats up and you suck in a gasp, tilting your head back slightly and unintentionally revealing more of your neck to him. "Mm-hmm." He murmurs. "Yeah, all bark, no fuckin' bite. You wanna be all tough? Takes more than just an act, sweetheart," he grumbles, words punctuated by rough little nips to the flesh of your throat as he withdraws his hand and slides it down your side and to your hips. He moves and lifts your shirt and once again, despite yourself, you lift your arms to make it easier for him. He throws it aside and his gaze travels over you hungrily, focusing on the curves of your chest and your waist, and the way your jeans sit on your hips. He grunts quietly and dives back into your neck, holding your hips and drawing you against him as he starts kissing and biting at your neck with renewed vigor. One of his hands slides to your ass, giving a little squeeze as he hoists you up, still assaulting your neck with kisses and bites. You whine out at him, the sensation making you shudder. He chuckles against your flesh and his other hand is already working at the button of your jeans.

He sets you down, working your pants and panties down your legs, tugging them off hastily before he's kneeling in front of you. A wave of embarrassment comes over you as he gazes up at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He grunts slightly and his gaze flickers to your cunt. He slides his hand up the back of your thigh and down before cupping your knee and pulling your leg up and to the side, humming in satisfaction at the way you follow suit and open yourself up for him. His gaze focuses on your cunt, glistening with your slick. You're soaked. He sees it, and he smirks and chuckles a bit when he sees your cheeks flush red. "Pretty fuckin' cunt," he murmurs, before leaning forward and letting his eyes flutter shut as he drags his tongue along your folds, letting out another hum as he tastes you. He grunts and his grip on your leg tightens, his free hand cupping your ass and squeezing as he slips his tongue between your folds and drags it upward along your clit. He swirls it with the tip of his tongue before closing his lips around it to suck gently, grunting as he tastes you and he feels you tremble. Your eyes roll back in your head and you tilt your head back against the wall, your hips arching forward in attempt to get more of that stimulation. He chuckles at your eagerness, giving your ass another squeeze. "Patience, dear." He murmurs against your cunt, before swirling his tongue over your clit with ease and pushing it down, teasing your hole with it before he pushes it inside briefly, moving back up to flick his tongue over your clit in a new pattern that has you trembling and whimpering in seconds. The hand gripping your ass comes to your cunt, and he rolls his pointer and middle fingertip against your hole, gathering your slick. You jolt at the feeling of his cool flesh and you whimper eagerly yet again, a harsh gasp leaving your lips as he pushes those fingers into you. Your walls make an embarrassingly wet noise as he sinks his fingers into your plush heat, and your face flushes and warms up. You're too distracted about how good it feels. He grunts in satisfaction once more, curling his fingers and brushing the tips against that spot along your walls that has your vision going white.

At the same time, he swirls his tongue a bit faster over your clit, using the opportunity of dual stimulation to send you spiraling. And he does, successfully. Your leg trembles and tenses, and your walls squeeze around his fingers as he laps at your cunt like a man starved. He grunts against you as you mewl and the coil in your belly tightens before releasing. Within seconds, you're coming undone on his fingers your back is arching, your hips are bucking, and your hands are pulling him closer. Your vision goes white and you throw your head back, your lips falling apart in a whine of his name, your fingers grasping at the fabric of his balaclava. Your walls tighten again on his fingers, and he helps you ride the orgasm out before he's gently pulling away and dragging his fingers out of your sensitive cunt. You pant and tilt your head forward, watching him withdraw his fingers from you. You whimper at the feeling and you tense up, your gaze flickering to his mouth. You're sensitive, but as you watch him kneeling under you, you find yourself wanting more. He smirks as he notes the way you're looking at him. It's taking a lot of restraint for him to not bend you over his desk and pound you senseless, but... he has a point to make here. He gets to his feet and he looks down at you, cupping your face and placing a chaste kiss to your forehead. "Get yourself dressed. Y've got some training to do." You swallow and blink up at him. "W-Wait... that's... it? You're not gonna--" "Fuck you?" He laughs, as if the suggestion is odd. Your face flushes in embarrassment. "Not after the way you've been actin', love." He murmurs, kissing your forehead. "If you start behavin', then maybe I'll consider givin' you what you really want, eh?"

[ivestas]

a good shot

Summary: König had a staring problem, so you confront him about it. 

Tags: sniper!fem!reader x konig, platonic!141 x reader, barely edited, awkward, unintentional confession(?)

Word count: 1.1k

Note: my mw2 obsession is real. been trying to deny it but its all that occupies my brain.... send some reqs?? i have such a bad habit of saying that then not following thru but i promise i will LMFAOOO (nah but fr tho im working on ur guys’ requests, just veryyyy slowly since, again, mw2 brainrot) also sorry if this seems rushed, i just wanted to get this idea out of my head hehe

König had a staring problem. 

You really didn’t know why, but whenever he was near, you could practically feel his gaze burn a hole through your skin. 

You weren’t one to care for stares—you were used to it, especially in your early years as a merc. Most would just be curious why a woman was wearing a bullet vest, especially civilians. 

But... König’s eyes were intense. Nothing like the curious—or even hateful—looks you were used to. 

You were sure you hadn’t done anything wrong; you barely spoke, never really caring too. You kept to yourself. You didn’t particularly stand out next to your flamboyant peers. 

So... why? 

You’d first asked Soap about it: he was a people person, always seemed to know someone’s intentions in an instant. 

However, he was confused. “He stares at you?” 

"You hadn’t noticed?” 

“No? I barely see the lad in general, always skulkin’ in some shadow.” 

“Seriously?” You frowned. “Then you think you’d know why?”

“Hmmm... here, maybe if I get my crystal ball and ponder for a bit I can find out!” 

"Shove the ball up your ass instead.” You snorted. Soap laughed, probably at his own joke than yours. 

Getting up, you headed to your next target: Ghost. 

You found him in the mess hall, taking apart his rifle on one of the cafeteria tables by himself. Without a second thought, you slid beside him. He didn’t acknowledge you.

Propping your head up with a hand, you look at him. Despite it being night, he’s still wearing his balaclava and shades. You decided it’s best not to make a comment about it since you’re trying to pry answers regarding the Austrian Colossus. 

“You’ve noticed König staring at me, right?” 

“Yeah. Why?” 

“Do you think you’d know why? I’m sure I hadn’t done anything to piss him off, but he’s always just... you know...” you widen your eyes, leaning in. “Doing this. I don’t know whether to be unsettled or flattered.” 

Ghost carefully puts two pieces of his rifle together, a satisfying click resonating in the air. “Maybe he’s surprised why the 141 got a clown for a sniper.” He intoned. 

“Says the guy wearing a skeleton balaclava and tinted shades—scared the enemies are gonna find out you’re actually just a loser with nothing to his name?” You said the words too quickly, and when Ghost looked at you, he probably knew the thought was bubbling in your head. 

"...” 

“...” 

You couldn’t help the laugh that crawled out your throat, and you noticed that the corners of Ghost’s eyes crinkled. 

“...So you don’t know?” 

He snorted. “I’m no psychic.” 

Sighing, you rose from your seat, leaving Ghost once more in his own bubble. 

You really didn’t want to, but you realized you were gonna have to ask from the source itself—König.  

Now, you didn’t consider yourself a shy or anxious person, but there was something so imposing about König; maybe it was the fact he literally towers over you like some Goliath, or maybe it’s the fact he only speaks in raspy monosyllables, or, maybe, it was the fact that he just always stares at you, but you couldn’t deny the nervousness that writhed in the pit of your stomach. 

But curiosity shined over it, because just why would he just stare? 

So, you decided to head to the shooting field: it was an open secret that König often lurked there at night, shooting away at the targets from the day. No one really complained since he’d replace the targets with new ones at the end of every session.

The walk was short; just a quick turn through some halls and out through a door and you’re in the range. 

König was some meters away, hunched over a stack of crates and a sniper under his arm. His back was to you. 

You stepped on a stray stick just beside your foot. His head shot up. 

He turned around in an instant, sniper tight in his hand. 

They were right. He’s antsy. 

“Hey, König.” 

“...” 

You slowly approached as though he were a frightful deer... but perhaps a cautious bear would be a more accurate descriptor. He could kill you in seconds. 

Like anyone can. It doesn’t scare you. 

Admittedly, it’s a little exciting.

“Can I talk to you about something?” 

“...yes.” 

 “Your eyes—uh, you stare. A lot.” 

His gaze flickered away. 

“Just wondering why you just... stare. I’m pretty sure we’ve never spoken, either—”

“We’ve spoken,” he cut in. Rough and light, as usual. “Mostly on missions though.” 

“Oh... well, I’m just wondering if I pissed you off, somehow? Earned your ire? I’m dumb, I forget and I can be socially unaware—”

“No, no, no!” His eyes rounded, the sniper loosened in his hands. “No, you didn’t! I just, well...”

“...well?” You echoed, prompting him to continue. 

He did. 

“You’re nice to look at.”

Your brain froze. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

“I’m sorry, is that weird?—it is, isn’t it? I apologize, I—”

“No, wait, I’m really flattered, I just—” you laugh breathlessly. In disbelief. “That’s just really fucking flattering.” You can feel your face light up with heat, and all the neat composure you’ve built wash away completely. 

Now, you’re reduced to a blushing schoolgirl at a complete loss for words. 

What were you supposed to say? What does that even mean? Is that an admission of some crush, or were you just eye candy to him?—and did you like that, like his attention or are you just that deprived of contact? 

You force your eyes to his, and you realize he’s hunched over, rubbing at the metal butt of his sniper with a thumb, eyes everywhere except on yours. 

"So...” you rubbed your wrist. “What now?”

He finally looked at you. “Huh?”

You were this far already, you weren’t gonna back down yet. Even if your heart was slamming against your chest. “You just called me pretty? And I have a feeling you’re easy on the eyes too—maybe this is too quick—but wanna hang out then? Like, talk and stuff... because... I’m pretty?”

König stared for a moment before breaking into a laugh. “It would be an honor.” 

“Then let’s hang out right now! Stay here, I’m gonna grab my sniper and we’re gonna shoot shit till bullets’re covering the ground!!” 

König extended his sniper. “Use mine. I want to see how you shoot.” His eyes fluttered, gaze awkwardly averting yet again. You were beginning to find it endearing. “You’re a good shot. And I’d like to get better.” 

“And watching me will help you?”

“Yes,” he said the word with earnest, eyes bright. 

A crooked smile pulled at your lips. Fuck, you weren’t used to this. 

But you liked it. You liked it a lot. You just hoped you could eventually make him feel the same. 

AO3

Masterlist

Requests are open

[gremlingottoosilly]

"If you need to be mean"

Konig just got his promotion to colonel. It also came with deployment in a terrorist-ridden country, but at least he would get an adorable, civilian you as a prize. TW: Konig being a huge pervert, Canon-Typical violence, Dub-Con, Innocence kink, Age difference(Konig in his yearly 40, Reader in young 20)

Pairing: Konig x fem!Reader Tags: Fluff, Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Size Kink, Possessive Konig, Yandere Konig, Creepy scary stalker Konig, written mostly from Konig perspective Word count: 5213 My AO3

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

König hates this fucking country.

Shithole in the middle of nowhere, with literally nothing going on – some border quarrels with some terrorists that are desperately trying to settle into the big war on terror that won’t achieve a thing and would be meaningless anyway. No one wanted to actually station here – this is why they promoted him so quickly, just so they could send him away like a pack of garbage they can’t give two shit about throwing out. 

He never even wanted this promotion. Too much work, too many people, never enough time to relax. Payment is sweet, of course – if he only had time to use any of this. He is too old for new titles, you can’t teach old dog new tricks – and, quite frankly, he does feel terribly old while doing nothing but pushing papers and listening to some useless fucking recruits with their reports. 

Job is simple – stay on the base, make sure that the locals won’t become too villifed to the soldiers that are supposed to protect them, even though he already knows how people would feel about the PMC stationed in their city. Fights with occasional resistance from the outsider force that decided “Hey, let’s just annex our neighbor, what could possibly happen?”. He doesn’t know a lot about this country – but if they have enough money to hire KorTac to help the local forces, he might be quite interested. If he only had energy for that anymore – between relentless paperwork and occasional yelling at his stupid fucking nonsense of rookie – seriously, it feels like they hired a bunch of edgy 12 year olds instead of normal soldiers. 

Job is simple and he finds himself bored to death because this isn’t what he enlisted for. He wanted to fight, to kill, to burden this urge to hurt people who once wronged him with someone who is – probably, maybe, somehow – deserve it. Not really a noble cause, but he stopped playing knight in shining armor once they used him as an infiltration weapon instead of what he actually wanted. All hopes and goals in his life were buried deep with his first sniper rifle – and rude comments about his inability to sit still, even though he is still as good at being a killing machine as a human being possibly can. 

— Sir! We, uh, have a problem to report. 

Gut. 

A problem – this sounds as exciting as it can be. Last time his brigade got a problem, it was about some new recruits falling down with stomach ache because of the forged alcohol they were drinking. Also that one time someone tried to burst their way into the base – not fun, since officers took care of him, but it was at least something to do except for reading and scrolling through various housing options like he actually has a use of buying something with more than one bedroom. Like someone would look at him and love him – enough to pass through some easy fling and start living with him. No one would do that – even his parents couldn’t. 

Still, the problem sounds exciting. Maybe, he could actually go on a mission instead of feeling useless. They promoted him just to pin on the wall like a trophy.

— Repost immediately, soldier. What is it? 

— A civilian, well…a civillina woman…lady, broke the curfew. 

And here it is. Not an unexpected attack from his enemies, not even a drunken fight that someone from his subordinates decided to join and ended up getting their asses kicked. Is this what years of service come to? Watching over some stupid club girls broking the easiest fucking rule to follow, like getting home at midnight is a completely alien experience for them. One of the things he hates about his rank – he is used like a public figure, giving speeches, trying so hard to come up with something other than “Ja, we will kick asses of everyone who tries to infiltrate your country, don’t worry” and then he has to act like he knows what he is doing. Which he obviously doesn’t. If there was a way to just give up his rank and become a shadow again, a monster under a terrorist’s bed, he would do it. Without even a second to think. 

— Send her to the police. We aren’t supposed to deal with…

Then comes the second guy – he doesn’t even remember his name, fuck this, he is supposed to be a father to his troops, or big brother at least, but he couldn’t give less of a fuck to someone weaker – inferior, smaller, someone who will die within a week or so in his first battle because apparently, higher-ups just love recruiting spineless teenagers now. 

Second guy comes to the room, holding someone very firmly by their hand – and König isn’t religious, he isn’t even sure when was the last time he was at any church, the little prayers his grandma used to sing is long forgotten for him, but he sees your face and almost believes in angels. 

König is too old for this shit, again, he hates this country, his team, his rank – then he looks at your face, the way it twists with fear and nervousness because of course, one of his dumb subordinates is holding you too tight and the softness of your flesh – why in the world you are wearing such light clothes, it’s night outside, you will catch a cold and he would give you his jacket, but that would drown you under the weight of it, and he don’t want you to smell the alcohol he has on his clothes, terrible coping mechanism with boredom, and he might just give you something else, maybe, like his shirt or a…

Wait a minute. 

He doesn’t even know your name, even though he is sure this is something gorgeous and would look perfect next to his last name, but he looks at your face and all the years of his military training is suddenly washed away because he can’t even muster a thing out of his mouth. Thank god no one is forcing him to stop wearing his hood – he wouldn’t be able to survive otherwise, not with how hot his face feels right now. You are nervous, this is obvious, since you broke the curfew and went on the streets past 11 pm. He should just bring you to the police, he isn’t even sure why his soldiers would bring some random civilian to the base. He immediately wants to give this private a raise – for bringing him a goddess walking on Earth. Angel, succubus, all of the fancy names and…it feels like he is going crazy. And he should compose himself. Be a good example of a rotten mercenary commander. 

— Why were you breaking the curfew, miss..?

He hates how squeaky his voice sounds, even after all the years in service he can’t get rid of that boyish tone and nervousness every time he is talking to women. All the fear is immediately washed away after you tell him your name – and it’s gorgeous, perfect, feels like something he can devour, something he can moan in the depth of the night while using his hand as a poor substitute for the warmth of your body. 

The pause lingers too much and he already suggests just…taking you. To further investigation. to see if you are really just an innocent person caught up in breaking the rules or an enemy spy – which would give him the perfect opportunity to interrogate you and hold you for a bit longer. He wants you to be a problem, actually – that would give him the authority to hold you here, to think about you in a way that won’t immediately make him a bad person. 

— Went to the pharmacy. Forgot about the time, I’m…I’m sorry. 

You look guilty and weak and nervous obviously – a good girl caught up in the reality of her home country now implementing new rules just so it won’t get annexed by their neighbor. He wants to protect you – or give you the real reason to be scared of him. He wants to be good, but you look too cold in those clothes and he wants to give you something more. Or warm you up in a different way – which makes him feel horrible, his skin crawls and hands are fidgeting again even though he is almost sure he forgot about that habit after a few trigger-happy moments with the enemies. 

— Pharmacies should be closed by this time. Why were you here so late? 

Soldier that brought you here left you with König – colonel, you saw him in the newspapers and on TV, some public speeches while concealing his face in various ways. You don’t trust him, don’t trust the mercenaries – how can you believe that they are going to save you if they don’t even dare to show their faces? He is even scarier in person – big, hulking, too muscular to feel safe, with something like a sack thrown over his head. You want to forget about the medicine you bought and just run away, but that would only mean outright saying that you are guilty. 

You brace yourself and try not to feel too small, but König just wants to wrap his hands around you and throw that weak body of yours on his shoulder. Not letting you go away. Ever.

— I…got lost. Sorry, I know what this looks like, but I just changed the apartment and…look, this is a bog misunderstanding. I have my documents, I’m local! Not some spy or anything, I promise. 

Too bad – you would have the opportunity to escape if you were an enemy. Some evil and wicked femme fattal that is here to seduce him and get the important information out of him – but if you are telling the truth and nothing, but a civilian, he isn’t sure that he could save you from…falling to his hands. It’s stupid, he should really just find someone to fuck, he is getting desperate over the first cute and gentle girl he saw in this place – but really, do he has a chance with a soldier if just a helpless weakling like you can make him kneel? He needs to compose himself. 

— You really shouldn’t be out so late. There is a reason the curfew is upheld. It saves you from the danger. 

— For now the only danger after midnight is your soldiers, apparently. 

Your breath hitches as you understand what you just said – god, who was holding your tongue and making you blurt this in front of the fucking commander? You might have had the chance of just escaping before, you weren’t doing anything wrong, you know that some of your friends were breaking the curfew after a party or late visits, but they were never held to the police or martial law – soldiers are understanding of the situation, no one from the young people actually wants to stay in their houses no matter the threats war can bring. You might have the chance of going out with nothing but some harsh words about those stupid younglings ignoring the rules – but now you insulted his men and this will probably bring you to jail for the night at least or something even more…

He laughs. And the sound of it makes your cheeks warm. 

— Ja, I can understand why you would say that. But you shouldn’t break the curfew. 

You feel like winning a lottery, but the prize isn’t money – it’s the chance of getting out of this creepy building and going home to your warm sheets and slight smells of devastation and loneliness. 

— I’m really sorry, sir, I won’t do this again. Promise. 

You look guilty, and König loves this expression. The softness of your face, the way your eyes are filled with tears when you think he would actually make you goto jail or do something even worse. He relishes in this power over you – even though he doesn’t mingle with civilians, always keeps a safe distance with women around him, never dares to even give them a careful look. He wants to take you away – protect from the world around you, from this fucking place, from all the dangers. The only thing that is dangerous to you seems like him – because he is the only one with power here, the only one who can decide whether he wants to behave like an asshole and lock you away or…

— I can’t just let you go. Let me…I can escort you to your residence so I can make sure you actually went home. And not somewhere else.

He looks at your pharmacy bag – it's a shitty plastic one, transparent and see-through. He understands immediately why you would decide to run to the pharmacy so abruptly even within the vicinity of the curfew – and the fact your bag contains pads and pain medicine only makes him want to scoop you in his arms and get you to his quarters. Government gave them a pretty nice location for the base and he, as the commander, got a bedroom that won’t even make you think about the military. Perks of quartering outside of base, even the barracks are nicer than the ones at home – and he would love to introduce your sore body to the comforts of warm sheets. 

You look at him, surprised and nervous, your adorable lips twists in a pout as you think about your options. You can’t really say no, this can make him angry and resentful – and these aren't emotions you want the local military personnel to feel about you. He is also scary, and stares too much – you don’t want him to look at you like this, both surprised and depraved, but something in his figure still makes you trust him. Maybe it’s that weird propaganda about them protecting your country – he is a public figure, he can’t be evil, right? Maybe it’s just the way his hands fidgets as if he is nervous about your answer – or little cracks in his voice that makes you blush just a little every time you hear it. Or you are simply too tired to not comply. 

— I, um…are you sure? You must have some other things to do. I don’t want to be a bother, really. 

— I want to protect you from harm. Nights are dangerous. 

You want to say that it’s okay, you spend more time in this country than he is – and you know every little corner of the city by this point, no matter the military outposts and destruction. You also want to say that this is creepy as fuck and you don’t want a random guy to just know where you live – but you can’t say that, you are already almost buried yourself with that long tongue of yours, and the only thing you want to do right now is just drink your ibuprofen in peace and get teleported to your bed. 

You want to say no, but it almost feels like something romantic and even though he isn’t showing his face, the view of his muscles, bursting out his clothes and body armor, enough to make you agree. You can regret that decisions later – but with the way his eyes light up like he is a puppy, you probably won’t. 

— Okay. I…I mean, if that’s okay with you, sir. 

— I live to serve. Und ich diene gerne jemanden, dir so bezaubernd ist wie du.

— Sorry?

It sounds like German, and the way he pronounces it makes you feel like it’s something important – but you don’t want to ask for translation, he mutters it under his breath, Maybe some curses about stupid girls getting caught by his soldiers and how he needs to escort them to make sure they are not enemy spies ready to put their knives in his back.

— Just show the way. 

He is awkward, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, he looks at you and fights the urge to just squish you with his hands. You are pouting, your hands are trembling, and you are shaking – maybe from the cold or just from fear. König hates himself for not understanding whether he wants you to be scared of him or not. There is something dark, predatory almost, in having someone as adorable as you shaking like a leaf – but he also wants to just scoop you in his hands and make sure you will never be afraid of him. 

He is awkward, silent, he goes on the open side of the sideroad like protecting you from any vehicles that may cross the road at this hour – even though the only ones who are allowed to move at this time of day are hospital workers and his soldiers. His hand looms over your side, like he is not sure whether he wants to just grab you by your shoulder or allow you to lead in a more simple way. You feel protected in a way – you can’t even read his expressions because of that weird mask he is wearing, but his eyes are strangely warm every time he looks at you and thinks you are not looking at him. 

König wants to talk, but he isn’t sure what he even can say to you. The weather is nice? It’s the night, a cold one, and he doesn’t want you to catch some weird illness, but he also doesn’t want to seem like a creep by giving you his jacket. He would do so in a blink of an eye, he would die seeing your smaller body wrapped in his clothes like a nice little gift – but he knows who he is. Monster, giant, always too much and never enough, zero experience with someone who is one his one night stand in some lousy pub when he hates himself a bit less than usual. And you smell clean, civilian, sweet almost, he feels like a dog by just looking at the way your cheeks are blushing from the cold weather. 

He wants to initiate the conversation, know what you like and dislike, maybe learn your opinion about the situation – many locals dislike military presence, he understands this, KorTac isn’t known for being the best guys around here, but they get the job done, however bloody this might be. He would give away anything to just be able to talk – to speak like a normal person, without scaring you or making you think that he is weird. It’s borderline embarrassing, over the many years of his life he was thinking that he would outgrow his anxiety somehow – and here he is, fidgeting with the stupid anti stress toy in his pocket that his therapist gave him, not knowing how to talk to a girl in his grown up years. 

— You’re local.

It doesn’t even sound like a genuine question, it’s more like a threatening statement and he doesn’t like the way it sounds. He can’t gave it back now, it would be even weirder, he just wants to calm down and breathe, but even this is fucking impossible when every time he looks at you, it seems like you are only getting prettier.

— Lived here all my life, sir. 

You’re nervous, and he at least finds some comfort in this – he is not the only one who is scared here, even though he understands that you will surely be more scared than him. But it still comforts him just a little, knowing that you are in roughly the same boat – he can smile under his hood and attempt to at least pretend to be normal. Even if this would be literally impossible for someone like him. 

— Where do you work? 

It sounds like an interrogation and you are not sure if you want to answer truthfully – he isn't trying to force you right now, he isn’t even touching you no matter how closely you are walking, but you are smart enough to understand why telling a random man you just met where you live and work is a bad idea. Even if the man itself is a prominent figure in protecting – or not – your country and literally walks you home because you got lucky to not be sent to the police for breaking the curfew. You would just lie to him about where you work and, hopefully, never see him again – but it’s not just a random guy you met on Tinder. He probably has the resources to check if you really work in said place and if you didn’t and just lied to him then, well…he isn’t threatening you, but your overthinking is enough to make you scared. 

— Just a waitress. Cafe I work at isn’t very far from my apartment. 

You even tell him the address, all while praying he won’t visit you at work. He has the right, of course, especially if he would leave a good tip, but military personnel staying at your cafe probably won’t be good for business. Clients may go away, and that would mean leaving you without tips – and then you can kiss your shitty apartment goodbye. He probably won’t visit you, he is just asking this to fill the awkward silence and check whether you are a spy or not – how confident your answers are, if your story checks out or not. He is a colonel, he must have a lot of other stuff to do instead of chasing over some rule breakers. 

— Hm. 

König already knows where he will be eating every day from now on. But…hell, can he do this, really? It would probably be very awkward for both of you, and you may think that is stalking you, which he definitely is, but doesn’t want to show it yet. He can give you a nice tip every time, he sure as hell has money for it, but then you would think that he is trying to buy you, which he would of course try to if you would be fine with it because honestly, girl as adorable as you should get all the nicest thing she wants to, and he can provide for it, but his damned awkwardness would never let him outright say this, which would lead to a very uncomfortable situation and…

— We might need someone local to help with operations. 

Nailed it. Right? 

— Wh…what do you mean, sir? 

You look scared, nervous, he doesn’t want you to be scared, you’re supposed to feel safe around him! He might hate higher ups for giving him this rank and sending him to this fucking country, but he will protect you no matter what. He wants to be useful, for people to stop being scared of him – to start liking him instead, even if some cold, dismissive way of just stopping bothering him with stupid stuff. He would allow you to bother him all the time, he would protect you and make sure you are alright – you just have to let him, that would be really easy and…

— We’re strangers here. Lots of operations crossed because locals refuse to cooperate. We might need a guide out here. 

He sounds nonchalant, like he doesn’t really care about your answer, but the grip of his hands is stating otherwise. He throws you nervous looks, cold eyes flickering with anxiety as you take your time to answer, secretly hoping that you would get home before you’d had to state this. It doesn’t feel like a genuine question, more like a statement again. More like you don’t really have an option to say no, since he still has the power over you. Since he still looks and sounds like someone who can and will throw you over his shoulder and use it as a cannon folder. 

— I…I’m not sure, sir. I have to work at my actual job. 

Can he blow up your cafe? That would greatly diminish the chances of bumping into you on a romantic Sunday morning, ordering coffee just the way you secretly like it, and then leaving you a very generous tip that would immediately show you what a sophisticated and loaded gentleman he is. He can say that enemies did it, and then he would execute those poor people for ever messing with civilians. He can also get some people from the government to close it, so you wouldn’t have any place to work and then you would be simply forced to work with him – and help him get out of this country as soon as possible. He would pay you well, of course, and being your boss would be a very…interesting experience for him. 

— Are you sure?

You bite your lips and it's proven to be a horrible idea in such terrible weather – your skin breaks easily and you feel the blood in your mouth. Nice – now you would have to invest in lip balms again even though you are sure as hell that even yesterday the weather was nice. Colonel – König, you remember his callsign, no names of course, some twisted secret identity over protecting people who can literally kill you and won’t have consequences – look at you and you can swear to god that his eyes are narrowed, studying your features a bit more. Is he going to kill you for refusing the…job offer? Demand of working with mercenaries to protect your country? 

— Sorry, I…I really need to think about this. And get at least two weeks notice from my job. 

He is too focused on the way blood is glistening on your lips. He wants to lift the lower half of his hood and lick every little drop lingering in your mouth. Kiss this little wound until you would turn into a moaning, crying mess under him. Hold you so tight, he would leave bruises in places his fingers were – all while you are allowing him to. He isn’t delusional enough to think you like him the way he adores you already, but he is delusional enough to imagine you would comply with him mostly – he is a great person. Except for almost everything, of course. 

The road to your home is lonely, no one around, obviously. People aren’t breaking the curfew on the main streets – except for you, apparently, they are tending to do stuff in the shadows if they need something to go out at night. He looks at every street light with suspicion, almost wanting for someone to try and attack you – that would allow him to be your hero, protector, to put out all of his pent-up aggression on someone else while being praised for it. He wants someone to try and kill him just to feel a bit more alive – but then you stop in front of the house, and it only takes one look for him to decide that no, he isn’t going to let you go that easily. He may not be a good or even decent person, but he is not allowing an adorable little thing like you to live in that fucking rathole. 

— You live here? 

— Yes. Thank you for, well, looking after me. I know that I broke rules, I won’t…won’t do that again. Sorry. 

— No. 

— What do you mean “No”?

Is he going to inspect your apartment? You are pretty sure that you left your bed in a very chaotic state and there is more than one pair of panties lying on the couch. Not even speaking about how horrible your living conditions are – tiny apartments, barely enough space for one person fitting in 20 square feet with all of their stuff inside, and an overwhelming desire to blow something up each morning when one of your neighbors is fighting again. 

You don’t have anything to hide, but you are getting pretty tired of people who just think that because they sold their bodies to the military, they can do what they want. 

— It’s a horrible place for a girl to live. 

Hey! You might hate your place, but even that rathole of an apartment doesn't deserve something like this. 

— Well, it’s not a castle, but…I manage. 

— Don’t you have another place to sleep? 

He is fighting with the urge to invite you to the base instead. Far greater place for a little goddess like you, much nicer than…this. He has to physically restrain himself from throwing a hand on your shoulder. He just stared, hoping that you would pull a prank on him and actually has some better living conditions – he can’t bear thinking about you in that kind of life instead. 

— It’s a nice one, really! At least I don’t have to live with roommates. 

He can be your roommate. No, not even like this. He can buy you a freaking house if you would want, just pick a place, preferably in Austria, and that would be easy. He would love to just provide for you, to get to live with someone as adorable – as in need of protection as you. He understands that being this delusional is off brand even to him and his wild fantasies, but he spends too much time hating his work lately, and he needs some outlets, breathing room to just drown himself in fantasies about a nice girl who can actually like him. Who can be his everything, a cure to fix him even though his therapist says such expectations from your partner are toxic and codependent. 

He knows that he can’t say anything to you right now. If anything, you would dismiss any of his worries and just call him a psycho – would be right, probably, he doesn’t even know why he is so obsessed with your safety all of a sudden. He is only self-reflective enough to understand that he can’t act right now, no matter how much he would want to. He can only sigh and let the situation go, for now. He can always just show up at the place you work at. Totally not creepy at all, definitely, completely. 

— Be safe, hase. This time is very dangerous for a girl like you. 

— It’s…okay, really. You don’t have to worry about me, sir. 

Oh, but he wants to. 

Oh, but you want to run up the stairs and close the door behind you as fast as you possibly can. And maybe, just maybe, give him your number – definitely for consultation about the safety and how you can forfeit from breaking the curfew later in life. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder, large fingers tracing over your thin shirt, and goosebumps that are running on your skin aren’t from just the cold weather. You feel ashamed for kinda liking the situation – you are creeped out by him, you are curious about him, and you kinda want him to do something else. But he squeezes the soft flesh of your shoulders, rolling a bit lower, to your back – and then lets go. You breath hitches as he takes a step back, clenching his hand as if fighting the urge to do something else. 

— We’ll meet again. 

You just nod, not sure if you want it or not. König makes a point to determine which apartment is yours based on the window placement and pay you a visit in his leave time. 

[etherealily]

​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇱​​🇮​​🇳​​🇪​ // 𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘪 𝘷𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘬𝘺

Alexei Vronsky + fem!reader

Warnings : Cuss words.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

'Cross that line for me, sweetheart?'

Desc. : You are not a temptress, but he is tempted.

══════════════════ ⋆🍷⋆ ══════════════════

It was curious, to say the least, how land was divided. The conch next to you was half your property and half the Vronsky estate's property. It had remained that way for ages.

The waves lapped up the sand, like a heart reaching desperately for its other half as you sat watching the entire ordeal.

The Line - one drawn up every morning and marked by tiny flags as placeholders - had always pissed you off. Intrigued you. What would happen if you were to... just a finger? The hem of your dress. Would you immediately be shot at by concealed snipers? Perhaps you'd have to be tried in court.

You had never really noticed much about this Vronsky character before. Another handsome, manipulative bastard. Nothing much.

In turn, he'd also never noticed you. A face. One of many. Beautiful, of course, he was not blind, but never seen as worthy of his efforts. You were not rebellious. You were not adorably innocent. He could not entice you. He could not corrupt you.

In theory, your paths were never to cross. Different lives, same circles.

The key word : theory.

Because there are moments in life when you know that nothing will ever be the same again, when you know that your proverbial pathway is forever skewed and rerouted. These may appear to you embossed in calamities such as loss and grief, or these may be whispered in your ear by silent smiles, lovestruck looks across a ballroom, or the simple offer of champagne.

Or, in the case of you and Alexei Vronsky, all of the above.

And this was one of those torturous, life-altering moments.

"-And that's when I said, it was just a bloody goat !"

Booming, drunken laughter ensued from your left - the other side of the Line. Fuck. Keep drawing, shut up, keep drawing, shut up.

Your pencil made unintelligible sounds as it scratched out a somewhat passable depiction of the moonlit waves. The screams and guffaws grew louder, but the issue was that if you moved, he'd assume you did it because you were on his side. You were not, but it would look highly suspicious if you fled.

No. They'd quietened down. Meaning either they left - highly unlikely - or, they'd noticed you.

"Oi!"

Don't respond, don't respond.

"You! Pretty girl!"

Drunk men are terrifying. How could such kind words be said in a way that made your skin crawl?

"Mate, maybe she's a mute. Or deaf. Or both."

"I know for a fact she's not. She's got quite a mouth on her, as I can remember from last year- HEY! LADY WITH THE SKETCHBOOK!"

And that was Alexei Vronsky. His story with the goat had ended, apparently. Ugh.

You turned. "Uh, hello."

"ARE YOU A MUTE?" his companion yelled.

"Are you daft? She just answered! How could she be mute?"

Drunk men are also idiotic.

"WHY DON'T YOU COME ON OVER HERE, WE'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO DRAW?"

Bellowing laughter followed.

For fuck's sake.

"I'm alright, THANKS!"

"OI, C'MON! WE DON'T BITE!"

From what you'd heard, he does.

"IS IT 'CAUSE OF THAT LINE?"

"Good night, Count Vronsky.", you called back, as you gathered up your things and stood, dusting the sand off your dress.

"HOLD ON! WAIT!"

"Let'r go, mate, c'mon, we've got a party to get back to."

"I WAS JUST BEING NEIGHBOURLY, YOU BITCH!"

FUCKING HELL.

"What did you just call me?!", you yelled, turning. He looked back at you in a swaying, inebriated haze, trying to focus those glaciers he called eyes on yours in the darkness.

"A witch. You've cast a spell on me, bewitched me, so to speak. You're magic."

Ugh. "Whatever."

"Just come over here, or I'll have to come there, and you wouldn't like that.", he slurred, his friends chortling and egging him on.

Buggering Christ.

"You can't. See?", you replied defiantly, pointing deliberately at the faint white outline of the line they renewed every morning with chalk powder. "That would be trespassing."

"I'm Alexei Vronsky."

What was that supposed to mean?

"So? It's still trespassing. My family's had it in for you for a long time - we'll take you to court."

"Then you come here.", he shrugged, taking an unstable stumble closer. "Cross that line for me, sweetheart? Yeah?"

"You're a creep. And you're drunk."

"You're a beauty. And you're technically trespassing, so I need to punish you."

"HOW am I-"

"Your pencil." Fuck. How is it he's sober enough to notice that, but not sober enough to know that his buddy said 'the coat storage' not 'the goat story'?

"It blew in the wind."

"Yes. To my estate."

"You can keep it."

"Are you sure? Isn't this your, uh, fabulous pencil from Paris you were talking of?"

"No." Yes.

"No?", he frowned, picking it up. NO! Not in his grimy, disgustingly delicate fingers. "Seems pretty French to me."

"Are you actually inebriated or do you simply enjoy pretending to be so that you can get away with things?"

He stopped swaying, pointing the pencil in your direction as he placed the other hand behind his back. "You're sharp."

"So you're sober?"

Drunk Vronsky could have been molded. Sober Vronsky was a cunt.

"More or less. My friends feel left out because they are unable to hold their liquor as well as I can, so I act for them.", he explained, with a small look behind him, at his comrades trying to jump over the waves as they came.

"You should be in theatre, then."

"Adding performer to my resume is just a smidge too over-accomplished.", he retorted, an amused glint in his eye.

Ugh.

"So you're going to hold on to my pencil, then, I'm guessing."

"What? No, I know how much this means to you."

Trap. You'd bet your entire estate it was a trap.

"I will give it back.", he continued as he paced, his hand still placed behind his back as though he were planning war strategies. "On one condition."

See? Trap.

"Dinner. With me. Tomorrow."

Did he think this was a smart way to secure an evening with a woman?

"I won't be here tomorrow." Bold-faced lie, and he could tell.

"Then tonight. Right now." You couldn't think of anything you were doing.

"And I'll get my pencil back."

"Yes."

"That can't be it. There's a catch."

"You are... remarkable. Yes. There is.", he whispered, softly, as though impressed that you caught on. "Champagne. I wish to see you drunk. Drunk, in denial and... ruined."

Lot of darkness for someone who'd just been talking about a goat.

"In denial?"

"Nothing. Just... join me for dinner and drink a little, and I promise you shall have your pencil back."

"I do not drink."

"Then I do not return fancy French pencils."

"I can always purchase another."

"You do not have sentimentality, then?"

"No." Yes.

"I see. Then you may be on your way."

"I don't have to go anywhere. I have every right to be here! This is still my side of The Line."

"Suit yourself, darling."

The silence that followed was torturous and unbearable. "I do not like steak."

"Then you shall have no steak."

══════════════════ ⋆🍷⋆ ══════════════════

His eyes focused on you from across the table, his spoon paused midway above his plate. Eyes like the ocean in a storm. Terrifying but alluring.

"Enjoying your not-steak?"

You hid a smile. "Yes, I am."

He nodded, bringing his spoon up to his lips as he watched you do the same.

"You've left your friends out there?"

"They know not to cross The Line. They will be alright."

"Why is it you wanted to have dinner with me? To trap me into trespassing?"

"I've wanted to speak with you since I first saw you." Lie.

"And I you." Lie.

"What was it you wished to say?"

"Simply a greeting. You?"

"The same."

He set down his spoon, scrunching up his napkin as he stood up and walked the short distance across the table to you, resting his hands on the back of your chair. "You promised you'd drink."

"I did?"

"You did.", he whispers, accepting the newly-uncorked bottle the servant handed him, and pouring it into the glass next to your plate, smoothly. "And you're a good girl who keeps promises, yes?"

You'd heard he loved using such degrading language, but this was the first time you'd seen it firsthand.

"What gave you that idea?"

"I just figured you were of proper breeding and were raised right."

Good answer.

"Well, the words 'I promise' never left my mouth."

"Well-bred women do not look for loopholes. And they most certainly do not argue."

Lord knows where he'd worked up the audacity to brush some hair off your shoulder, but perhaps he was born with it imbibed in his blood.

He narrowed his eyes at your unchanging expression. "Drink."

"I am not done with my food."

He breathes out loudly, taking your plate and thrusting it into the hands of the nearest servant. "Yes, you are."

"I still have dessert."

"No, you don't. Drink."

"This is not champagne. You said champagne."

"And you said you'd drink. We both have uttered falsities. Drink."

"I fear you may be trying to-"

"Poison you? I am not. I would not like to see you die."

Was that supposed to be some form of assurance? Romantic? Caring? That did not have the intended effect.

"Drink, lovely."

It irked you how invested he was to see you drunk.

You wrapped your fingers around the glass, bringing it to your lips. Tilting it upwards, you let the liquor cascade down your throat, and echoes of your sputtering filled the room - it burned.

He laughed heartily, shaking his head as he stroked your shoulder from behind you. "Do you know what that was?"

"No. But I do know I will not take another sip."

"It was vodka, my dear, and in a few moments, you will want more. Trust me."

"I'm not taking another sip of that ghastly liquid!"

"Not even for me? Not even if I begged?"

"You think your begging has any effect on me?"

"Doesn't it? I'm known to be quite persuasive, and- besides, aren't you supposed to be the empathetic one in the family?"

"And where did you hear that?"

"Just about everywhere, really.", he huffed, resting his elbow on the table as he knelt down by your side. "'Y/N is the nicest one. She cares the most. Empathetic.' Surely you are not telling me those are lies?"

"Not lies, but exaggerations, perhaps."

"I am quite literally on my knees, Y/N, and you should realize how rare that is. Drink more or I will have to force you."

You frowned at him.

"I will do it. Force you. Don't think that because I have let you in my house so courteously that I will continue to be a gentleman with you."

"How could you be? You're nothing but a cad.", you scoffed, as you took another stingingly painful gulp.

He watched the glass, your tongue, your throat, almost mesmerized as he replied. "A cad?", he questioned softly, amused but still fascinated by your every movement.

"A cad.", you nodded, trying not to show how much you were gasping for breath. It hurt, satisfyingly.

"That's a first. No one has ever said 'oh, Alexei Vronsky, that cad'.", he murmured against his palm as he observed you meticulously.

"Then they have met a different person."

"You say this out of personal experience, do you?"

"I've met him. The Alexei Vronsky. He only thinks of one thing."

A lilt of his lips. "And that is?"

"Himself."

He concealed a grin.

"Or perhaps...", he mused, fingertips on the back of your neck as though he were playing your skin as one would a piano. "He is one who shows different versions of himself to different people."

"So he is deceitful."

"I'd say careful."

"Would you, now?"

"I think we put up far too many false pretences anyway. No point in fighting it - it is necessary, to be part of society."

"And what false pretences am I putting up, in your expert opinion?"

He smiled, one too pure to match the description you had so harshly delivered a moment before, but you knew more than most that it was a ruse. "Drink more."

"You're an incredibly demanding man, aren't you? Dine with me. Drink more. Not a single please, nor thank you.", you retorted, as though that could take away from the fact that you obeyed.

"When you are incredibly in demand, you learn to be incredibly demanding."

If ever a smoother talker existed, you'd wager he'd simply be Alexei Vronsky in disguise.

"So tell me, then. Are you a gentleman, a cad, or an opportunist, Count Vronsky?"

You had to steer the conversation back to him, because whatever this vilely beguiling liquor was, it was shooting through your veins at a rate too fast to risk talking about yourself, lest any family secrets spilled out.

"I am whatever you want me to be. And you? Are the rumours true? Are you a virgin, a temptress, or a genius?"

"I am whatever I want to be. For tonight."

"Come morning?", he murmured against your neck as he slipped a finger under a loose strand of hair, and twirled it with such dedication you would think that were his only purpose in life.

"A memory."

"Well, we can't have that.", he pouted, as he stood up, gently taking the glass away from you and finishing the last of it. "What does it take for a memory to stay in the present?"

"Vronsky-"

"A dance, perhaps, as they say you enjoy?"

If you weren't unsure of the functionality of your motor skills in your drunken haze, you'd have punched him right then and there.

"The rumours aren't true, you know?"

"What rumours?", he asked, feigning obliviousness.

He'd just spoken of them, but you were quite sure if you reminded him, he'd attribute it to the vodka. Tell you you were 'surely imagining things, dear one'.

"The ones that led you to come and have a go at me."

"Those? Oh, I didn't believe them for a second.", he grinned, his eyes examining the filthiest, most remote parts of your soul - ones that even you had never been privy to.

A moment washed over the both of you, tauntingly. You looked for any secrets in his eyes, and he looked for any in yours, albeit, more calmly than you.

"Come.", he mumbled, finally, offering his hand for you to get up out of his disgustingly well-crafted chair. "Let's get you back on your side of The Line."

══════════════════ ⋆🍷⋆ ══════════════════

"There. Oh, and here. I am of proper manners.", he added after you'd leapt over The Line, handing your pencil back over to you.

It felt oddly anticlimactic after the events of the evening.

His icy blue eyes - striking, so striking that they pierced you - fell onto your lips for just a moment before landing on the pencil in your hand. "You don't want it back."

"What? Of course I do."

He had you. He was onto you.

"Let me rephrase. You don't need it back."

"Sentimentality. Of course I do."

"You really don't want it to stay in my possession, instead?"

"No."

"Liar.", he smirked, his lips curving deliciously, and you just about lost it. "You know I'll take very good care of it, no? Like I took care of you, tonight. No complaints, yes?"

"Besides the aggressive persuasion to drink a fiery liquid that most probably burnt my throat off, no."

"You exaggerate. Tell me tonight was just another of your dull nights. Tell me I haven't been a source of reprieve from your tedious, mundane days of fakeness and gossip."

You scoffed, refusing to dignify that with a reply, although you already knew that any response- or lack thereof - would be all too telling.

"You cannot, can you?"

There was nothing you hated more than when men were right.

Especially men who were as captivating as Vronsky. It was unnecessary and dangerous.

He beamed, clearly so fucking proud of himself, as he looked out at the waves. "It is a lovely dress you are wearing."

No, it wasn't. It was the most commonplace of dresses one could wear. But he'd say it anyway. Because that was his play.

"Thank you."

"It is disgusting, though."

"In what way? A disgusting display of my wealth, or disgustingly lovely?"

He knelt down next to you from the other side, on the sand. "It is disgusting that such beauty and purity like yours can exist and people continue to slander its name."

Had you been a lesser woman, you'd have fallen for it.

It seemed, however, that he knew you wouldn't. It was confusing, to say the least, whether he was being genuine or being genuinely fake.

"It is how I live."

If you'd read him right, he should say something along the lines of...

"It shouldn't be."

There.

"However... the dress in itself is not disgusting?"

"No, it is spectacular- although, I must say, the woman wearing it is far more ravishing."

Games get boring when they are predictable.

"So. What is it you normally do after parties, since you cannot get drunk? Unless blackmailing women to dine with you and drink your vodka is your usual pastime."

He snickered, although a slight maliciousness infiltrated his gaze for a moment. "It isn't so much a pastime as... an unfortunately common occurence. Perhaps that's why you've got an opinion of me as a - how'd you put it?"

"A cad."

"Ah, yes, a cad. I wonder if your opinion has changed."

That was not hope in his eyes, no. That was a challenge. 'Go ahead, Y/N, say no. If you dare.', his look said.

"I wonder that, too. Perhaps it will if you keep your promise."

"Promise?", he repeated, raising a brow. He knew. He knew all too well what you were saying.

"False pretences.", you reminded, watching him as he watched the waves distort the light of the moon. "You said you would tell me what false pretences you think I put up."

He was far too close. The incredibly fragile, entirely imaginary Line wouldn't be able to stop him from reaching over and touching your shoulder once more.

"I think... do you want to know what I think?"

"I might."

"I think that you're lying when you brush off the rumours."

"You think I am a slut? A temptress?" Now, suddenly, the monotonous nature of everyday seemed far more interesting than the thousandth iteration of the same conversation.

"No, I think you brushing them off is the lie. They affect you far too much." Alright. That was... progress.

"Do they, now?"

"Very much. And there is one more, as well, although I doubt you will like to hear it. You crave to prove them right."

Congratulations, Alexei Vronsky, you've caught my attention.

"That is an extremely, extremely bold suggestion."

"Yet you are not denying it."

"I do not wish to have my virtue questioned, Vronsky, and us having dinner does not change that."

"But it pokes at it, does it not? A slight scratch, an itch, asking if that is what you really want. It blurred the lines, did it not?"

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

"You're an incredibly delusional man, Count Vronsky."

"A delusional cad."

"Precisely."

You didn't miss the amusement in his tone, the laughter, the way he knew how perfectly right he was.

"Well, this delusional cad did not lie, earlier. You truly have bewitched me, my dear, and I do not think I shall ever turn you down."

He stood up, dusting the sand off his gloves and pants. You stood up too, not out of respect, but out of the desire to relish his face once more.

"Turn me down?"

"When you inevitably ask for me when your marriage is dry, lifeless and torturous."

Good lord. How long had he been- how far ahead was he thinking?

"I will be right here. On this side."

"Why are you so adamant that my marriage will be-"

"Because I'm the one you need. You've broken quite literally every rule tonight. Crossed the line, fraternized with the enemy, drank unfamiliar alcohol that could so easily have been poisoned or used against you."

"How does that make you the one I-"

"I'm taking you out of your comfort zone. Freeing you. What more would one want from a lover?"

So casual with that word. Lover. As though that was all you two had been, since the beginning.

"Have I mentioned that you're-"

"Delusional? Yes, you have. But you have also yet to mean it."

Who the hell allowed this man to be so confident?

His thumb rubbed against your cheek in pure tenderness that you are well-prepared for - you've learnt over the years he's unpredictable, and since his mercurial nature was the only predictable thing about him, it was easy for you to guess his next move.

Or at least, figure out that it would be the exact opposite of the tone of his words.

"I can help you, you see?", he said, words so faint they were almost whisked away in the sea breeze. "Honest."

"Was that the point of tonight?"

"No, the point of tonight was to get you so utterly inebriated that you would tell me your family's secrets, and hence, your own."

That was the only thing that had come out of his mouth all night that you could guarantee was the truth.

"And since that did not happen, you are doing this?"

"No, I couldn't let that happen. Unwrapping you, figuring you out, it is far too intriguing a task to complete with a glass of vodka and enticing words. I want to spend years, decades, the rest of my life, performing this task, revealing you slowly and addictively, until I have lost myself or driven myself crazy trying to reach the core of your soul."

The silence kissed you two over and over until you couldn't take it anymore. "You are terrifyingly good at this."

He almost looked like he was about to say 'at what', but it seemed his mood had turned too serious to coax a half-hearted insult out of you.

"And you are terrifying. You are like the eye of a storm, intricately, almost... sinisterly drawing me closer."

"I'm not sure what you want me to-"

His lips devoured your words, and you could not help but think that this night had progressed far too rapidly to your liking. He was a stranger, a random man who you shared nothing but a flimsy little line with, but here you were, letting him kiss you, letting him ruin you, letting him convince you with his words that this was a good idea.

"Come on, darling.", he murmured against your lips, his eyes still half-lidded in a triumphant haze. "Cross the line. I promise, I'll take care of you."

You surrendered, and all you could do was hope that his beauty was simply angelic in nature, and was not designed for the sole purpose of ruining you and every iota of self-respect you had.

Hard to tell, but perhaps he had meant it that way.

[slobber-teeth]

[trudges back into the sniper tag] hey guys. have you met my wife

this is lawry (she/he pronouns) i have been cooking up a lot of lore about him lately, mostly just trying to find a balance between canon and fanon sniper + my brain worms. trying to experiment with how i want her to look... (partial to change!)

rambling notes on his design, from top to bottom, left to right:

i think lawry hated getting her hair cut as a kid, to the point that her parents stopped worrying about it looking good and instead just getting it over with as painlessly as possible. as a kid she didn't like being looked at all that much, especially under scrutiny. this is the post-haircut regret of the first time lawry cut his own hair-- he never cut it this short again. lesson learned!

this is probably how she wears her hair during her time with the RED team. he just trims it every once in a while when it starts to annoy him or get in the way of his vision (when he doesn't have it slicked back, that is.) no hair product necessary, her hair is so sweaty and greasy it holds it's shape pretty well when lawry combs it back.

post-canon he lets his hair grow out longer (probably because solly is no longer around to threaten to shave it off, dirty hippie.) her acne gets worse as a result because she's not really used to dealing with so much hair, and isn't about to start caring about washing it daily.

just an extra of lawry's collar. i think he's got more than just this one, and maybe i'll draw them in the future and talk about when and why he wears them.

anyways please feel free to send me asks about her!! some of my answers might come with art!

[yandere-kokeshi]

Yandere König x Reader pls? Take all the time you need.

Warnings: yandere behavior and mention of murderer/violence.

A/N: Sorry, this took so long, I've been having writing block these past few days; hope you enjoy reading :].

Gif and icons belongs to bloodlst || NOT MINE

König as your obsessed beloved, is quite shy. Obsessive and heads-over-heels for you in every aspect possible. Massive stalker, and tends to cling to you like a koala whenever you’re around.

Whilst this giant isn’t the most sociable to be around, it’s likely that both of you met while connecting through the KorTac team, making you the new guy to the team. Which, at first, is awkward.

But the minute the team introduces you, König is immediately infatuated with you, head over heels for you; his hazel eyes throwing a rare connection as he follows your form, watching you do your work from afar/or close up.

You were absolutely a definition of a deity, maybe an angel in disguise– all he cared about was how different you were and how his eyes followed your trail like a dog.

Now, it’s possible that you were a medic. A kind and sweet doc that’s always made him blush with your gentle and scarred hands working on his wounds after missions or taking the chance to be shown around the campus; which, he’s grateful for.

Although, you might’ve been a good sniper too — an amazing eagle-eye soldier who knew what they were doing, something he admired. Though, something stood out for you.

Maybe it was the mask you wore, in and out of the battlefield, or possibly the fact you always went out of your way to talk with the Austrian giant; yelling across the field while jogging up to meet him.

At first, it was uncomfortable. He responds with too formal expressions and goes as far as not to look you in the eye. But, the more you spent time with him, he slowly opened up, allowing you to train with him, throwing glances your way, and partnering up on gunning away at the shooting range while the two of you talked about your past/or present.

His obsessiveness really starts to show the minute he sees you get a bit close with your other teammates, whether that’s Nikto, Zero, or his best mate, Horangi. In many sense, König is possessive, but in a sense of needing to keep you safe.

Jealousy lingered off of him, steaming smoke as if he were a dragon. Dark eyes are becoming murderous and intentionally ruin the conversation as soon as he sees them pat you on the back or give you a tightly-squeezed hug.

This would make your interactions more frequent— after every mission, he’s following you like a puppy following its parents until they agree to lay down with them. But, he’s awkwardly suggesting that the two of you should eat somewhere or go into the training grounds to work with each other.

Now, it’s likely you’re not a shy or anxious person, but that doesn't stop him from being with you 24/7, being glued to your side out in public. And he has his powers. His height and dangerous accent keep people away

König despises leaving you alone, even letting you use the bathroom; he has to follow you around, wait outside, and possibly lay against the wall as he stares down at people.

Now, König isn’t one to kidnap, not only is he a horrible liar, but he may fear you’ll hate him; no longer wanting to be around him or see him as a person you can go to if you have problems with.

Though, that doesn’t mean he will guilt-trip you into staying with him on a rare day off you have with him. Do you wanna leave and visit your family? Why should you? Don’t you think you should spend your time with him, lying on his chest while the two of you watch TV, no? You’re just breaking his heart, deary.

Heading to the coffee shop to meet up with a friend? Why don't you let him come, yeah? He only wants to make sure you are safe and okay!

But, if you insist on him not coming? That’s fine. This man is surprisingly stealthy, even with his size. Of course, not without your knowledge, he had put a tracking device on you, somewhere where you won’t find out.

He really tries going through the normal route, whisking you off your feet to fall in love with him. He wants you to be just as heart-eyed as he is to you. Which means he buys anything he believes you’ll love.

He takes you out on a few dates, trying to keep out of public ones. But every know and again, he will do so.

Finally, he confesses– showing his scarred face and pretty hazel eyes that make you feel more captured. He stutters, hands sweating and picking at his nails as he expresses he wants you by himself. And when you agree? He’s so thankful for you.

König rushes you to move into his apartment, ensuring he’ll take care of everything. Buying a large-king sized bed so it won’t break when you two sleep or going out of his way to get a guard dog for safety. He wants you safe. That’s all he wants, okay?

Speaking of severe safety, the shared home is littered with all kinds of cameras, including detection and listening devices. You won’t know about it until you really pay attention.

Affection with König is pretty touch-starved on his part; seeking the need to touch you, or have you touch him, no matter how small. But, he also feels and believes he’s a nuisance for asking for a hug or kiss, which leads to you dragging on most of the affection until he becomes comfortable.

König deeply appreciates when you give him back rubs. Feeling your fingers dragging along his back, massaging into his thick and tense muscles, it makes him re-love you all over again.

It’s no surprise that, despite his height, König with loved ones is a gentle giant. However, the minute he senses your safety is being threatened or visibly sees someone is making you uncomfortable, his social anxiety gets thrown out the window, and his instinct of finishing a mission kicks in.

Whether that’s willing to beat a drunkard, threaten someone to back off, or simply stand behind you; he makes sure you always feel safe and welcome in his presence.

—

My masterlist || Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!! Stay well!!

Do not plagiarize, repost, modify, translate or copy my work.

Content belongs to ©️ yandere-kokeshi only.

[ay0nha]

Lament of My Heart | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: “Tommy…”  Joel let out a breath of frustrated laughter. He disappointingly shook his head, leaning over you, “That boy doesn’t know what he’s lost.”

Set pre-episode four & post-episode five w/ moments of pre-outbreak

PAIRING: Joel Miller x femme!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.1K

WARNINGS: SMUT (hand job), mentions of blood, mutual pining/slow burnish, skinny dipping (of sorts), canon-typical things, mentions of Tommy x reader, etc.

A/N: Need to post this before it sits in the drafts to collect dust. Joel is just on my mind all the time, so this is the product of that. Thank you as always @from-the-clouds​ for listening to my blabbering and entertaining all my ideas! Much love.

“No more questions, Ellie,” You reprimanded her lightly, trying to cover the warmth she was discovering you felt. “Get some rest.”

Ellie was a hard-headed person with the responsibility of society on her shoulders. She carried the weight well, but she was still human, still young. But her questions revealed her growing creativity and sharp wit.

“Not tired.” She hated Joel’s coffee, but the stolen sips still coursed through her veins. You knew it was partly due to the anxiety ahead of them. They all felt it, that tense air of the unknown. “You two don’t seem to get along, though.”

Your eyes flashed to the rear view mirror on instinct. Settled on the truck’s dirty cushions and the supplies being used as a pillow, Joel was asleep. But you weren’t sure how long it would last.

“Ellie-

“It wasn’t a question!” She defended quickly, toying with the edge of her sleeve. She’d been dying to know just exactly why you got under Joel’s skin the way you did. “Tell me about Tommy, at least.”

“Ask Joel.” Your eyes were everywhere. You checked the mirror as if there was traffic, but it was the only thing that kept you occupied. She was making you squirm.

“C’mon, you know he won’t-” Ellie’s own frustrations were building up. In her shoes, you’d be just as curious. “Please.”

Through a thoughtful sigh, you resigned, “Before-We just- We’ve known each other for a long time.” You’d been intertwined with the Miller brothers since before everything. You rarely said it aloud, and now, you struggled to put all the history into something coherent. “I met Tommy when he returned from deployment-

“In Texas?” Ellie hung onto every word, mind spinning tales faster than you could keep up with. “Were you in the military too?”

“I said no questions.”

The comment made her smile. Ellie always appreciated a good game. Loopholes were her specialty.

“Fine, then.” She settled in the passenger seat, knees to her chest as she faced you, “You were discharged with Tommy with more medals than you could count!” Her posture then changed with inventive excitement, “Or maybe a bad-ass sniper with too many confirmed kills to count.” You wished your life was as exciting as she made it sound. “You’re going to have to stop me before I start thinking you led an elite hit squad.”

“Close.” You quipped, “I worked on the military base in town.” It was the first job that hired you and offered some stability for someone your age. “I’d help get soldiers back on their feet once they returned…”

“Then you became friends with Tommy,” Ellie encouraged you to continue. She couldn’t stand the lulls.

Too many years passed for you to remember clearly how you became close to Tommy, but at the time, he considered you his soulmate. Not that either of you really knew what that meant.

“Then I became friends with Tommy.” You nodded. You kept your eyes steady ahead, adding, “Joel, too.” Glancing at Ellie, you finished,  “Then we all just…stuck together.”

Separation wasn’t ever questioned, even on the eve of all the destruction. That memory was vivid; the way your bloodied body held onto Joel, dragging him away from it all, Tommy trailing behind, surveilling every move. It was how you moved together for years, protecting each other as much as possible.  

“He doesn’t talk about it; before,” Ellie commented lowly. You knew she wished for more from Joel. But she couldn’t see what you saw in the way he softened for her.

“That hasn’t changed with time.” Your words felt too bitter. This time you indulged in a glance at Joel. Still settled. “I’m surprised he’s even talking to me now.”

You always described the Miller brothers as a whirlwind. They may not have necessarily meant it, but they had a knack for sweeping you up and consuming you. When Joel came to you with Ellie, there was no question of whether you would help or not, just when and where you were needed.

He’d never leave without you.

“Tell me something about them...” Ellie pleaded. She was a clever girl who picked up on the weight of his misery. But it wasn’t yours to share. “Before they…before this.”

Your shoulders relaxed while your hands moved to the bottom of the steering wheel as you allowed yourself to filter through only the fond memories.

“Alright, well…” You hesitated with your words. Only because you knew, Joel would tell the story differently. “He and Tommy were wasted…I mean…Absolutely hammered that night.”

Your words had their desired effect, and Ellie’s giggles encouraged you to continue. But it felt strange to make Joel’s drinking habits sound so lighthearted when you know how the habit haunted him now.

“Tommy called me.” The phone in Joel’s kitchen woke you up that night well past the witching hour. “The brothers always got into all kinds of mischief, usually Tommy's fault.” You were typically by his side, provoking him. “Always Tommy’s fault.”

“He sounds fun.” Ellie joined in. You knew in another world, the two would get up to all kinds of mischief if they had the chance.

“He can be, when he wants.” You glanced at the map on your lap. With the sun getting low, it meant you needed to find a safe place to stop soon. “That night, though, the two of them had the bright idea to pretend to be bouncers, only to get into a fight with the actual ones.”

“I knew Joel wasn’t a total hard-ass.”

As you continued to retell the story, you hadn’t realized how much nostalgia you carried with you. Nor were you able to see how you talked so warmly of Joel. Ellie knew exactly what to say to get the information she wanted. But you waited a long time to reminisce freely.

“...When I finally got them home,” You blew a raspberry at the unforgettable effort it took. The stench of alcohol and smoke still made your nose scrunch. “Thank god Tommy had enough sense left to make it to the couch.”

Ellie loved how you teased Joel’s hiccuping that he blamed it on being over-served tequila. It was hard even to imagine he had any of that humor left in him. You embellished the story just enough to entertain yourself. But the story's core provided fertile ground for understanding that nothing you added was too far-fetched.

“They remembered nothing the next morning,” You said. “Tommy found all these numbers written on his arm, said he’d close his eyes and pick which to call.”

“....And Joel, he must have been so hungover…”

“You’d think…” You reflected flatly.  “He just got up and went to work.”

From your side, you knew Ellie could sense you holding back.  She’d gotten more than she asked for, so she left it. She could see how the echo of that night still felt fresh, doubting you provided her with the detailed ending you lived.

----

“You alright?” The question was slowly processed by Joel, who was trying to steady his breathing before the contents of his stomach came up.

“Yeah, yeah…” Joel held onto you every step, arm slung over your shoulders, making you sway with him with each step to his room.

He was mumbling while you settled him on the edge of his bed. You got every few words while focusing on preparing him for the next day. The brothers had work, and doing this would save you the headache of hearing their complaints.

“B-been thinkin’...” His Texan drawl was heightened as he slurred.

“That so?” You half-heartedly replied, rummaging through his medicine cabinet. You looked for something for the morning.

“Mhmm…”

You could hear him shuffling around in his room. Assuming he’d been pulling his boots off and discarding his jacket, you were surprised to find him leaning on the bathroom’s door frame.

“Then you’ve been hanging around Tommy too much.”

“Tommy…” Joel let out a breath of frustrated laughter. He disappointingly shook his head, leaning over you, “That boy doesn’t know what he’s lost.”

You still held love for Tommy, but you had mistaken it for something that it wasn’t. The two of you functioned better as friends; you were his confidant and partner in crime. Neither of you would change that for the world.

“And you do?”

Your relationship with Joel had a natural ebb and flow that could be but never got to the point of being volatile. But that didn't stop you from stepping on each other's toes, constantly being on the brink of an argument that neither of you knew the point of.

“Darlin’...” You melted his resolve, helping him the way you were. Joel’s eyes flickered down. Nothing about your outfit was seductive, but the way his eyes loitered told you maybe it had been. Covering his tracks seamlessly, Joel continued, “...The things you deserve.”

Your laugh bounced off the bathroom walls, resonating deep within Joel’s chest.

"What?" Joel asked lightly, his smile starting to mirror yours, but not understanding why, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

“Shit, Joel,” Your laughter lingered, “You must be really drunk.”

“C’mon now.” He tried to stop you. He wasn’t sure he could handle any level of ridicule from you.  

But you pushed passed him, drawing his sheets back for the night to be over, “Let’s just get you to bed.”

He stumbled to you willingly, but you could see his mind turning. There was something he wanted off his chest, but you knew you weren’t ready to hear it.

“Come on now, Miller,” You tried again. “We’ve both got work in the morning.”

“What is it you do again?” Joel’s words played with chords of tension. “Besides eat all my food and sleep on my couch.”

"Get by." You joked more for your sake than his.

Joel’s eyes shifted between your own, pupils entirely dilated.  Blaming it on the alcohol helped settle your stomach.

“I know y-you don’t stick around for my benefit.”

"God forbid we enjoy each other's company, Joel." Your eyes burned into his. You enjoyed your ability to make him bashful in his stupor. Just a look, and he was crumbling.

You saw it coming. You could have stopped it, but it wasn’t even the length of a decent kiss. It was soft and fleeting because you pulled back to never speak of it again. You doubted Joel remembered, but you could never be sure what he’d admit to.

----

“Did you ever-

“Ellie…” You said her name slowly in warning.

She retracted fast, “Joel and you-

“No.”

Your answer came off harshly. You knew where she wanted to go; she’d circled the topic for hours.

“Can I ask one question?”

“That was a question.” You looked at her again pointedly, “Shoot.”

“Why’d you stay in Boston?”

Sitting with the statement, you focused on the road. Most around you was barren and destroyed but offered an unconventional peacefulness. Sometimes you imagined if you’d be better off in isolation than in a QZ. But you could never bring yourself to just disappear like that.

“As hard as you might try,” You started, pulling the car to the side, “You can’t be alone in this world. With a purpose or not, it just doesn’t work.”

The sudden sway of the car disturbed the sleeping figure in the back. Joel attempted to hide his jolt as he sat up but was already looking out the window for trouble.

“We stoppin’?” Joel’s voice filled the car while the engine cooled.

Joel looked to you for reassurance. Ellie pointed that out to you, the way he valued you despite his resentment.

“We’ve gotten far enough today.” You tossed the keys back to him. “We need food and rest.”

“Alright.”

Your exchanges were clipped.

Yet, you valued the journey with Ellie. Selfishly, the task provided a reason to see Joel again. It had become easier to spend time apart. It became a habit. But even with a quiet meal shared and conversations led by Ellie, it felt good to be with him again.

The pressure shifted. No longer were ration cards on your mind, nor were the curfews you struggled to follow. Something about the night felt freeing despite the heavy responsibility that it meant. Maybe it was the privilege of feeling safe with Joel since he created a protective bubble, sacrificing his rest for yours.

You heard Joel get up when he thought yours and Ellie’s breathing steadied. You were going to leave it, but sleep was hard to come by with your mind racing.

Joel saw your shadow first. But the hand that brushed between his shoulder blades still made him flinch. He spoke in hushed tones, looking to ensure that Ellie was still asleep, “I hope you didn’t come over here to tell me we’re safe.”

“Didn’t say that.”  You frowned. He knew you well; you wore your concerns on your face. You just wished he didn’t hold such defiance for them.  “But we’ll be alright for the night-

“Don’t.”

Joel wanted to be in control of everything down to the smallest detail.

You knew it was a way of coping, his way, but it never sat right with you. Especially now, as you watched Joel scrutinize the area you chose, you could feel the criticism he was holding back from the moment you parked the car.

Did you even survey the terrain?

Too much open space. No clear route out.

You know better than this.  

“We’re the perfect targets.”

“Joel-

“We know how this works,” He voiced over you. Even with you there, his surveillance didn’t change as he remained on a swivel.  “It was exactly what we did.”

Joel’s emotions were catching up, but he still held onto a forced restraint. He was expecting resistance, an argument from you. But you heard what he said, how Ellie needed to hear it, to believe him.

No one’s gonna find us.

It was a promise. Something Joel was determined to control.

The wind was picking up the later the night became, and any rustle was faced with a gun barrel.  It caused chills to litter your arms out of apprehension. You tried to comfort yourself with your arms tucked to your chest, but it only shifted Joel’s attention.

If you tried hard enough, you could guess what he would say to you. We need to stay sharp. You could feel Joel’s hesitation, though. It happened every time he pushed you away.

There was merit to your diversion, but Joel only allowed it for so long.

“Get some rest.” He nodded toward his forgotten sleeping bag, “No good if both of us are tired.”

----

The car was gone. The brief companions too. Your heart felt permanently caught in your throat. Adrenaline replaced everything. But it was wearing you thin.

“Where are you going?” Respite clung to Joel’s question as his eyes followed your figure up from his crouched position.

Like a cat, you stretched until something deep within your spine popped. You moved towards the shore of the small body of water you all settled by.

Time was at the forefront of Joel’s mind. Time was no longer on your side, meaning the sooner, the better pressured every minute. Daylight became the most valuable thing. And by the looks of it, you were on your way to wasting it.

“We smell, Joel.” You state as you discard the knife strapped around your waist. You were meant to be cleaning them in the water, preparing them for the next fight the way he had.

But your body was sore. You could imagine the pain Joel felt was much worse, physical or not. He put his body first rather than having you or Ellie be the brunt of it all.

Mornings were sacred to you. It was when the birds sang at dawn because the crisp, moist air carried their songs and their meanings farther through the same air that filled your lungs in fluid refreshment.

 You pulled your shirt over your head and looped your thumbs in the waistband of your pants as you wiggled them over your thighs and down your legs.

For the moment, Joel’s eyes lingered. He looked for bites. He knew he wouldn’t find anything, but he had to be sure. Instead, Joel found deep hues of bruises still healing from Kansas City.

Almost wholly above the horizon, the sun highlighted the mist rising off the body of water. It veiled your body the closer you were to where the water and the rocks met. Yet, Joel watched on until your arms maneuvered behind your back, searching for the clasp of your bra.

As if the sun was directly in his eyes, Joel looked up, avoiding seeing something that wasn’t meant for him. Except, it didn’t stop him from passing along a warning, “Don’t go out far.”

The dirt from the past days felt like a second layer of skin had embedded into your own, suffocating you. You finally waded into the freezing water to rid yourself of it.

But not before throwing a comment over your shoulder, “Join me, then.”

Your words were like an idle threat that was only met with silence. You knew he was contemplating the offer. Always thinking.

The water was cold, goosebumps littering your skin within minutes and creating peaks where Joel refused to look. He scolded himself for the way his cock twitched at just the idea.

You leaned back so you were nearly floating on your back. Above, a bird glided hypnotically in a wide circle.  It seemed you weren’t the only one seeking to rid yourself of a sense of weariness. The cool water swallowed you whole, caressing your skin and relaxing your muscles.

“Someone’s gotta stay with Ellie.” Joel voiced his decision. It was an excuse, what he was supposed to say.

There was no point in fighting it. Instead, you submerged yourself completely; the water consumed you. The longer you stayed under, the closer Joel edged to the water, ensuring you’d come up for a breath.

When you finally reemerged, you held a wicked grin.

“Don’t do that.” Joel frowned at your teasing. His eyes remained downcast, avoiding your eye. The rocks seemed more fascinating than how you became more siren-like by the minute.  “I’m gonna find Ellie.”

“She deserves some privacy.” Despite her continuous puns, you were receptive to the fact that she was still impacted.

You all were.

Hyper vigilance became the enemy that threatened to consume Joel whole. Sleep was no longer negotiable. Every movement dragged worry, invited agitation, and controlled his violence. Joel’s chest was tight, and breathing felt hard to come by. He was moments away from unraveling.

“...There won’t be another invitation, Joel.”

Joel’s loaded gaze burned right through you as he took off his clothes. While he was busy shrugging out of his shirt, you took the opportunity to tread out further. Your back was to him, but you heard the swishing of disturbed water.

You reveled in the way your skin burned for him. He’d seen you naked years ago. But not like this, never like this.

----

Joel’s eyes followed the curve of your body. Your chest swayed as you moved around freely. His pounding heart clocked how too much time had passed for him to sneak out. He was frozen.

“You’re not Tommy.” You let out a breath of relief despite your surprise.

The lace rode high on your hips, accentuating your natural curve. Your chest was perked at the sudden attention of being caught so bare.   Regardless of the incessant ringing in your ears, you stayed stone still, giving him a chance to say something.

Yet, he shook his head, backing out the door he’d come through, mumbling expected apologies.  Joel used the key under the fern and let himself in.

For days he’d been asking Tommy for his tools back. And now, they were forgotten with each hurried step.

You threw on the closest shirt, chasing after him. “Wait!”

“I didn’t mean to-

“Joel, let me explain-

“No, I shouldn’t have-I-I’ll just-”

You found a way to stand before him, blocking his escape route perfectly. “Let’s just slow down…” Your hands were up in defense, mirroring his own. “It’s not what you think.”

Of all people, you wanted Joel to hear you. But the silence was heavy and lacked a proper explanation. You could see the flush that took over his coloring. It was sweet in a way, but you were too mortified to know what to make of it. It wasn’t exactly taught how to handle these sorts of things in school, so you stalled.

“Can I make you some coffee?” An invitation to linger.

Joel looked at you and saw your bare feet moving toward him with hope. He hadn’t meant to, but his eyes scanned your bare legs; the picture of the intricate fabric underneath the oversized shirt made his skin prick. It took him a moment to realize the shirt was his, one Tommy most likely nicked under his nose.

Doubting you knew what that did to him, Joel shook his head, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“One cup.” You promised.

The air was tense when you made it to the kitchen. You insisted on a fresh pot, but the drops felt like they took ages to fill it enough for its purpose. The hem of the shirt skirted the boundary of indecency, but you thought nothing of it. Your focus was on the longing stare Joel was giving you.

“Tommy and I…” You started with a shaky breath. You were sure Joel knew all about the drifting relationship. “I thought maybe this would…” It felt strange explaining yourself the way you had. But you wanted it to be known that even to you, it felt out of character. “He doesn’t look at me the same anymore…”

Your words feigned a sense of yearning. But neither you nor Tommy could keep up the act. Your words seemed heavy, but it was so alleviating to say aloud. To be listened to.

But the smell of coffee pulled you back, reminding you to be a good host. Filling the mugs just below the brim, you broke the small barrier of the kitchen island. You held the mug close to your chest, the warmth working as emotional support while Joel toyed with the ceramic handle.

You lifted the mug to your lips, blowing lightly over the piping-hot coffee, “...But neither do I.”

“I can talk to Tommy if you…” No matter how much it made Joel regret the offer, Joel said the right thing. He couldn’t meddle where he didn’t belong. “I’m sure he’d understand.”

You laughed into your mug. “I’d rather this stay our thing.”

“You say that like this is going to happen again.”

“Joel Miller.” You said his name after a pause. He looked like a child in trouble. “Are you flirting with me?”

“No, no, I-

“Joking.” You cut in just as awkwardly as he flushed.

You wanted the mood to lighten, needed it to.

But there was clumsiness in every movement, between your ongoing jitteriness and Joel’s restless fidgeting.  So, you moved to the window. On the sill held your half-empty carton of cigarettes, the ones you were trying hard not to touch these days.

With a soft glance back to Joel, you asked, “Mind if I?”

Joel could spot the influences of Tommy in you. Or maybe you had passed along your habits. Either way, it was your home of sorts. Who was he to tell you no?

You had such dexterity with the process. It was like a ritual how you rolled the cigarette over your lips before lighting it. Then after a deep exhale, you utilized the perpetually open window to tap the beginnings of ash.  

“I don’t mean to drag you into all of this…”  You trailed off through an exhale of smoke through your nose. Joel could see the appeal now. “I just don’t-…Tommy’s my friend, and if I…I don’t know what’ll happen if we’re not…”

The end of something always hurt everyone around you. You all were just playing your roles in delaying the inescapable. But the questions of the future haunted you. You weren’t sure if you were ready to let it all go.

“I’ll let you leave…” You toyed with the lit cigarette that was on its last limb as you spoke. Joel’s silence was becoming deafening. “Promise I won’t hold you up any longer.”

You were sure he had more pressing matters than to comfort you through an inevitable breakup.

“Tommy’ll get over it.” Joel sat back with more relaxation now that he spoke his mind. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

----

Joel kept his distance deliberately. He made the venture into the water seem like another task. In and out.

“I don’t bite, you know.”

He knew you wouldn’t be able to stay quiet for too long. He knew what it meant to join you, but he made an effort to seem detached.

“Just giving you some privacy.” Joel echoed your words.

“Right.”  Your frustration was clear. You carried it with you for the handful of days that passed. Your frustrations didn’t lie with him like Joel chose to believe.

Instead, guilt filled Joel’s chest. It had been gnawing at him since he left Boston. He should have left you there if he were as reliable as everyone claimed he was. You’d be without bruises. You’d be without his burden. Leaving without you meant there would be no return.

But you knew Joel. You had to remind yourself.  You knew what he was thinking, what he wanted. That’s how you knew moving towards him would benefit the both of you.

You moved gradually, leading the interaction by brushing his hair behind his ears. The greys of his hair darkened with the water you carried on your fingertips.  He looked younger. He looked like your Joel.

You reached for him, pulling him through the cool water to you. Joel was stiff when your chest met his warmly. He thought of pulling away, but you felt so peaceful that it swallowed him. Your arms wrapped around him with comfort. Your body settled in front of his, gently pressing your hips against him, giving him only an ounce of pressure to entice him.

He noted every twitch. Shyness wasn’t questioned; that barrier was broken years ago. It enabled you to trace his face. Every detail was already committed to memory.

You imagined what he’d say to you all those years ago—anything to make a smile crack.

Careful, now.

All you’re gonna find is a whole lot of ugly.

The scar above his eyebrow marked when your feelings for Joel first latched on. You were blinded by anger then, but the blood scared you. He promised you it was a graze and that he still had his life. But that wasn’t enough proof for you.

When your thumb traced over the faint line, Joel finally found his voice again, “Your shooting’s still sloppy.”

The look Joel held was intimidating, scrutinizing, but you knew he was trying to be witty.  

“See now, when you say things like that…” You whispered softly due to the proximity, “I don’t regret shooting you.”

He hummed, appreciating your touch that ventured to his shoulders. You could feel under your hands the tension he held. You wanted nothing more than to provide relief.

“Joel.”

Just his name made your desire clear. He wanted to touch you all those years ago, but he’d never betray his brother like that. But now you invited him to you without any barriers. There was hesitancy in the hold Joel found on your hips. His mind wandered; wavered between the need and the want.

Starting at the swirl of hair on his chest, you followed the trail down until Joel’s breath hitched. Joel felt like he was about to lose it when your hand wrapped around him.

“This feel okay?” You moved your hand against him, slow and soft.

Water dripped from his nose to your shoulder as he nodded eagerly.  His groan rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating against your own. You tread in dangerous territory but recognized the privilege of his trust.

This was for Joel. You needed this just as much as he did. You didn’t worry if it functioned as a thank you for keeping you alive, an apology for the trouble you’d caused him, or a confession of your own.

It didn’t matter when you indulged in your own lust.

“Do you think of me when you’re on your own?” You asked, fingers wrapped around his shaft, squeezing him until you felt his pulse in your grip.

“Oh- Fuck-” He cut himself off before he let a pet name slip. Joel’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, imprinting his touch into your skin, burned to your very bone.

“Hmm?” You edged him further. Gently, you continued to pump him and move your thumb over his tip.

Joel’s ragged breath fell on your pulse point with each moan as you continued to pump him rhythmically. His hand came up to your throat in a tender hold. His lips hover over yours but refrained from connecting.

It would be too intimate if you had.

“Do you want me to?” The hold gave him dominance even as he shuddered under your touch. Always desiring control.

The water around you rippled with your continued movements. With his free hand, his thumb rubbed gently at the sensitive skin that was near the pebbles of your breast, but he made no effort to touch it just yet.  His words and touch were a deadly combination, the kind that made you ache.

“Would that be so bad?” You spoke on his lips, feeling the tickle of his mustache. The more you worked on his release the more you felt his warm pants turn into deep moans. “Come on now, Miller,” You coaxed softly, moving up and down his length with a lively pattern, teasingly and tauntingly. “Tell me.”

Joel’s words were caught in his throat as ecstasy flowed through his veins as the pleasure crashed. His hips jerked against you as his breathing became ragged and his moans became filthy.

He sighed with relief, abandoning himself. He groaned into you, nuzzling his nose in your neck as the aftershocks made him tremble. He could feel your hand threading in his hair, keeping him in your tight embrace.

“Yes.”

[cheemscakecat]

Tf2 comic details I noticed

Heavy and Medic very much give me the vibe that they know each other better than the rest of the team knows either of them combined.

This is the first time Heavy is seeing Medic again after the team split, but he’s likely been briefed on the mission to rescue the others. So he’d know about Medic being with Classic team. I think he knows what game doktor is playing.

Medic warning his bestie that Classic has a gun as soon as he can breathe enough to get the words out.

And then heavy proceeded not to care about the immortality machine, because his friend died to a man with no honor.

2. Found some more pain again.

Scou no, hon-ey. [Cries]

3. Emesis Blue parallel/foil?

RED Sniper was locked out of the room, but he managed to get in through a window and saved Spy.

RED Spy tried to use stealth to defeat Classic Sniper, and it would have worked if the man wasn’t a dirty cheater with robo-eyes. He got shot in the leg.

Even if he’s grumpy and standoffish about it, Spy did in fact give his Sniper some credit. And a cigarette when he wanted one.

I’m assuming the suit argument comes from not wanting the man -who takes kidney enlarging pills to produce more pee- to use the drip like a diaper and lecture him about Classic’s soiled britches.

It’s actually BLU Soldier that wants RED Sniper to die slow this time. Maybe because he still believes in Archibald being a good man, and he’s angry about what happened to Scout.

Spy had a really good opportunity to shoot Butcher Pyro, but decided to try and threaten the man with a bigger, faster gun anyways. That’s crazy, talking about “Take off the mask” like he’s gonna be threatened.

He gets shot in the leg for it. Other side, but still near the knee.

Soldier has to run for cover [because powerful gun] and the door locks behind him. He isn’t able to open it after Butcher Pyro runs out of bullets, leaving BLU Spy on his own.

And then he does get tortured.

Also, it seems like BLU doesn’t know RED Sniper very well at all. Spy had to be reminded of his Sniping moral code, but he was still salty about the cheater and bleeding near the knee.

Sniper doesn’t monologue. He did talk to Pauling about his parent situation, but why would he talk to the enemy teammate who shot half his leg off and left him to bleed out? Doesn’t sound like him to me.

4. RED Medic brought Sniper back to life after 12 hours, and post-comics I feel like the BLU team found out. “I seen the other side”. And…

BLU Medic killed RED on sight. Either he assumed he was with the Bloody Engineers, or he knows that guy’s crazy and he’s not taking chances.

Also for all he knows, that’s undead RED Hoovy. Given the fact that RED Medic invented the ubercharge, and Heavy was the first teammate to demonstrate it. And this nightmare hoovy is against Builders League, so how would he know better?

[prettyboypistol]

TF2 Mercs x M!Shy!Reader

Scout

Honestly likes how shy and quiet you are because it makes him seem more macho (not just for that reason ofc but still)

Likes teasing you in public with whispers in your ear or sneaky PDA that makes you jump and squeak

Jeremy is very protective and possessive. Very "Is this guy bothering you? Nah, nah, I'll kill him for fucking with my boo!"

He shows off a lot to impress you, but also is fine with failing because you either laugh at the stupidity or fuss over him after.

Soldier

Jane is a little hard headed sometimes and sometimes gets frustrated about things he doesn't understand. Like at a restaurant, he has trouble really understanding why you have issues telling the waiter your order was wrong.

Talks for you a lot (/lovingly but ohhhh my goddd)

Soldier means well and loves your more reserved nature, but he also wants to show you the world! This causes some communication issues.

Pyro

Kind of babies you a little and loves being the leader and guiding you around places

Overprotective like Scout, but a lot more supporting rather than confronting.

Shares their balloonicorn with you 🥺🥺🥺

Pyro is fine with being an introvert lover, so absolutely is fine with cuddle dates and movie nights

Demoman

This man TEASES. Like, NEVER STOPS. Scout on steroids.

Whispers dirty things in your ear in public and adds a little "Aww, why are you so flustered? Only you heard the nasty things I wanna do to you."

His favorite thing to do to you in public is put his arm over your shoulders and pull you in close- maybe just a little too close for friendly PDA- but most people brush it off as "drunken balance issues"

Loves when you squeak and squirm behind closed doors, the way you shy away from even kisses.

Engineer

Doesn't push it in public and usually gives you your space. If people give you a hard time in public, he gets rather protective in that kind southern sternness.

In private, he's a lot more lovey and sweet on you. Pet names. Kisses. Teasing.

He's not too dirty minded about the teasings since he's a little worried about making you uncomfortable. Usually he lets you make the signals before he takes initiative.

Dell loves giving you knowing looks in public to make you blush, but that's the most he'll ever do in public.

Heavy

This man keeps you safe like a baby bunny in a big bear's arms. Any attempt to even look at you is met with a glare and an escort out of the room.

Scary dog privilege energy fr. As long as you're around you don't have to worry about your orders at restaurants being wrong or people looking at you! They're all busy staring at your man!

Heavy loves picking you up and carrying you around to keep you safe- but even that is embarrassing! As you cover your face, Heavy mumbles in your ear :

"Why so nervous? You like my strength when we're alone."

Medic

RIP man, this mf is ruthless. He loves to fluster you any and everywhere he can. Your shyness is a game to him and Medic is top of the leaderboard.

Somehow he's even able to sweettalk you when under the knife! You're not sure if it was out of genuine opportunity to flirt or to see your physical heart accelerate.

Has probably pavlov'd you into blushing whenever he speaks German let's be honest

The most out and proud about your relationship. What are they going to do, fire their only good Medic?

Sniper

Since he's rather introverted himself, he's not one for PDA or flustering you in public. In private he's a little more lovey-dovey.

Mans likes smacking your ass when you walk by or when you're turned away from him. He thinks it's funny when you cover your butt when you walk by him.

Mundy likes murmuring sweet nothings only occasionally, believing that sweet words matter most when the moment is right.

He is the resident "fine, I'll be the group extrovert" between you two and usually handles social situations and talking.

Spy

Oh he thinks your shyness is absolutely adorable. You know what you want, but just can't muster up the words out of mortification? It totally gets him going to give you exactly what you want.

Flowery words, actual flowers, and frequent date nights as "business partners". Of course business partners give brief kisses before a meal- it's a French thing! (jk jk)

Has an entire mental file on what flusters you the most in each situation. His favorite way is to sneak up behind you, put his hand on your shoulder, and whispering in your ear.

He has worried about you choking in his smoking area due to all your hyperventilation, so he makes a habit of airing out the smell of cigarettes and marijuana.

[dragoness05]

When I Think the Sbg Gang Will "Die"

these are just my headcanons for the order i think they'll die in, and why i think so

(also i would just like to say ahead of time that the lack of good colors for them sucks)

Tyler We saw this, it happened a while ago, but why was he the first? I could just be reading into this too much, but one of the things about Tyler that really stood out to me was how protective he is of the people he cares about. Being the first to "die" would make him feel weaker, which would also make him doubt whether he could really keep the others safe like he wanted.

Aiden Also happened already, but we've all seen that what made him so reckless (not necessarily when he died, just in general) is that he was clearly neglected as a child. Regardless of whether his parents cared about him or not, it feels like they didn't really know how to raise a child, and they ended up leaving him alone a lot. This made him reckless and borderline suicidal.

Taylor I'm not really sure if I think that her or Logan die next, so I just put her first because why not. Taylor is the most pacifistic out of all of them, but Tyler getting hurt made her reckless, which has been making her put herself into even more danger. She's become a lot more likely to charge into a fight without hesitation, and this means that she is a lot easier to hurt than before.

Logan Like I said, idk whether Logan or Taylor will die next, so this is just the order I put them in. Logan is their "sniper", so he's used to shooting from afar. Even in the facility, he had his guns, so he didn't have to fight them with close-range weapons, meaning that it would be harder for him to adjust to fighting them without a gun.

Ben He’s the caretaker of the group (yes I did write family by accident), so watching the others “die” and being unable to protect them would hurt him a lot more than dying first. Unlike Tyler, who was definitely shaken by the fact that he died first, meaning that maybe he couldn’t protect the others, Ben wouldn’t be as affected if he died earlier, as he wouldn’t really be using that to decide his strength. However, watching the others “die” would make him feel useless, as if he couldn’t help anyone. Also, I don’t think he’ll use his voice, unless someone is in grave danger and he has to warn them, but even then it’s not likely.

Ashlyn Okay this is just a given, as she’s definitely the biggest character out of all of them, but also, there’s the fact that she blames herself for everything that’s happened to the others, even if there wasn’t anything she could have done, so watching everyone “die” would make her suffer both mentally and emotionally. Personally, I think that there’s a chance that she’ll actually die, and not just in the phantom world, and tbh, I think it would be really interesting to see how the others would react to her permanent death.

okay i didn't really finish this (aiden, logan & taylor's are all incomplete) but i know that if i leave this in my drafts it's never gonna see the light of day so here

[the-kr8tor]

Sending a req for zombie apocalypse au like you asked!^^ (Crow anon but I aint signing hehe) I have two ideas for some fluffiness (if you wanna use em!) so I'll lay em out here- 1. As I mention in my daily hobie hc, you try to call his name but you can't get to him- maybe, we'll go 180 here and you manage to get to him/he remembers you, and its like a reunion sorta thing OR 2. You both are zombies and are maybe revisiting places you've had dates before- (wink wink abandoned building date wink wink) Silly fluffy zombie stuff

Yeess zombie au!! I chose the second one! And surprise surprise, it ended up being angstier than I thought it would be lol thank you for requesting! ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, CW gore, TW death, CW blood. Zombie AU, Angst.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Amidst the haze of death and the fog of rot, Yuri finally finds you. Her heart skips a beat at the sight of your sunken eyes and grotesque infected bite on your neck. Her trigger finger shakes as her scope roams around your bloodied clothes. Drying black splotches of blood marring the familiar jacket you always wore. A sob breaks through her body, tears blurring her vision, she finally found you but it's too late.

She's too late.

Yuri whispers your name, and you stumble out of the dilapidated record shop like you heard her. Out comes another familiar form after you, leather jacket all torn up, jaw unhinged and numerous bites along his leg. Yuri almost screams his name, Hobie. Her hopes are dashed at the sight of his undead body following you. She thought that he would be alive at least, that he's surviving somewhere, but she knows that he can't survive without you. That's probably why when Yuri moves the sniper scope downwards, she sees your hand bound with his. A rope around your wrist and Hobie's, tying you to him, tying him to you. It says everything, it tells a tragedy.

She hoped and wished that she would find her friends after the world ended, hell, she even readied herself that she would find them without a breath in their decaying lungs. But not like this, never like this.

You both shamble off into the streets, as if you're holding each other, as if you're both still breathing, hand in hand, like how she always sees you both. Yuri hesitates to pull the trigger. She remembers everything, from how you laughed at her joke, from how she met Hobie to the last gig with you two before the world went to shit. She misses you both, truly, she would always wake up wondering where you two ended up amidst the chaos. She even relished the thought of not knowing, her mind making up situations of where her friends would be.

Yuri has no idea how to tell Ned.

Her walkie-talkie cackles on her chest, the unmistakable voice of Ned sounds out on the roof she's perched on. “Yuri?” He asks, voice tired.

Yuri clears her throat but the tears still come. “I'm here.”

“Good, uh, I know we're looking for supplies but you know the drill. If you see any signs of Y/N and Hobie—”

“I'll tell you, I know.” She knows Ned's spiel already, it has been almost two years of trying to find you two, two years of Ned saying the exact same sentence. Two years of scavenging the city and the only sign you two have left was Hobie's guitar left on the floor of a pharmacy. That was six months ago. Two years of hope, two years of longing to find you both alive and well. And now that she has, she has no idea what to do now. Especially that you're husks what you and Hobie used to be.

The walkie-talkie cackles to life again. “...okay, thanks. No sign of them on my end.”

Yuri looks through her scope again, following you and Hobie shambles into the old pub where everyone in the band frequents before everyone got separated. Then she realizes, you were both going into places where you two used to go to. The record shop was where you met the rest of the band, where Hobie introduced you to them. She remembers how shy yet excited you were to meet them, and she remembers how Hobie held on to you like someone in the band would shoo you away. No one did, everyone else welcomed you with open arms. That was almost ten years ago now. Yuri wishes she could go back, but she can't.

Every place leads back to the past.

She weeps alone, gloved hand covering her mouth so the noise wouldn't attract the horde below.

Yuri has the urge to come down from her perch to take a good look at you and Hobie. But she knows that she wouldn't be able to pull the trigger once she sees your still intertwined hands closer. She hates herself for not being brave enough to come and say goodbye to her friends, she hates herself for not telling Ned the truth. She hates herself for not finding the both of you sooner.

As the sun sets and the undead below groans lowly, teeth clacking against the other, chomping into nothingness. The sobs Yuri let out has subsided, yet the heaviness in her chest stays. She wonders how long it'll stay.

Seeing movement inside the pub, she looks into her scope to spot you two walking out. For a moment her eyes betray her, she sees you both alive and well, clean clothes on your back, smiling at eachother and hands intertwined like always. Yuri blinks and all she sees is death.

With a deep inhale, she follows you and Hobie throughout your ‘day’. Ignoring James’ and Ned’s calls, she jumps from roof to roof, sniper tied on her back, and mind imagining that it's a regular day for you both. That maybe in your mind’s eye, that you're having a date with Hobie, that maybe in his mind's eye that he's taking you out for a nice day out after a hard week.

She hopes that's the case.

Yuri always thought that there's always a semblance of somebody's life left in them once they turn. You walking into the empty grocery store with Hobie in tow proves it. She wonders if there's a cure, she could possibly bring you both back to life. But the gaping hole in your neck and the angry wound on Hobie's leg says otherwise.

Jumping to another dusty roof, you and Hobie are a lot closer to her now. She could see you both clearly, she wishes she doesn't. From just one good look at the injuries littered around yours and Hobie's rotting flesh, she surmises that her friends have only been dead for two weeks.

Yuri fights a sob from breaking out of her aching chest. She was too late, her mind racing to all the what if’s. Shaking her head, she sees you two wander off to the pier. And she immediately knows where you're going. As you both disappear behind broken boats, Yuri jumps off the roof with a practiced landing. Barely making any sound or letting her knees take the brunt of the fall. A tear escapes when she remembers that she learned how to do that from Hobie.

Trainers thumping softly against the wooden dock. Yuri sees you and Hobie sitting at the end of it, barely moving, still not breathing as you two watch the sunset. Your backs are turned away from her, if you can even smell her from where you sat, you don't take notice of her. Milky white eyes glued at the orange sunset that slowly sinks down into the sea.

Yuri takes out her handgun, breath stuck in her throat as she aims shakily at your heads. Whispering your names, instead of looking over your shoulders to stare and lunge at her warm flesh, you place your heavy head on top of Hobie's shoulder.

Yuri shakes her head, exhaling, you both look so alive like this, peaceful, lives untouched by sorrow and death.

When Yuri returns back to base with Ned frantically running towards her, eyes full of worry, he knows immediately the reason why her eyes are red, and why there's tears flowing down her tear stained cheeks. He knows, and he crumbles to his feet.

[sovasleepy]

some things never change

[ iso x gn!reader ] - when iso sees the omega version of you, he lets himself take pity on you. his soft spot for you ends up being his downfall, leaving you to pick up the pieces for him.

tags: hurt/comfort, descriptions of blood and wounds, iso gets hurt, fluffy tho i promise, mild swearing, mentions of pain meds

notes: requested by anon i’m so sorry this took so long, but i hope you enjoy! it was super fun to write

lurking with a sniper wasn’t something iso was about to pride himself on, but he was doing it anyway.

the omega-earth agents knew he had a sniper, knew he would be perched in some high-up place, knew he would be watching an angle. so that’s why he wasn’t. he had wandered away from any obvious post he should be watching, opting instead to watch some ridiculous corner. it would catch them off-guard, he hoped.

“dammit— careful in kitchen, iso. lit up your twin good but he didn’t fall. last seen headed towards you.” brimstone’s voice came over the intercom.

“got it.” iso spoke back into his ear piece, voice a whisper.

the area they landed was code named icebox — the name was fit for the cold, snow-ridden biome. however, iso wasn’t outside right now. no, he was tucked into a corner down a hallway, scope of his sniper trained inside of a room that looked like it once served as a kitchen.

true to brim’s word, iso watched as his omega version stumbled in from the outside. limping, he held a hand over his side, blood coating the white material of his jacket. his finger was deadly close to squeezing the trigger when he heard your voice. almost your voice, anyway.

the voice sounded so dangerously close to your own, but it was foreign enough for him to know better. your omega version stumbled in behind him, his name falling off your tongue in a stage whisper.

maybe it was the cold environment. maybe it was the cold biting through his clothes, gnawing at him from the outside, the biting wind that had chapped his skin earlier, that was making it so damn hard for him to pull the trigger right now.

it had to be. it had to be, because if not, it was the way you held him. it was that desperate, shaking need in your voice as you begged omega-earth iso to stay with you. it was that pained look on your face as you held your hand to the wound on omega-iso’s side. it was the blood dripping over the ring on your hand, coloring the metal crimson.

the ring looked scarily accurate to his own.

he had gotten you matching rings for an anniversary a while back. it got in the way of working some times, but he would never admit that to you. you always looked so damn happy when he wore it, and he liked the feeling of having some part of you with him, so he wasn’t about to take it off.

he took a deep breath. he had to pull that trigger. he had to — it wasn’t his you. he knows how he would feel if the tables were turned, but he can’t help it, it’s his job.

before he can pull the trigger, a different loud crack echos through his ears. it takes him a few moments to register the burning hot pain throughout his body, but he’s passed out as soon as he does anyway.

he’s not quite sure how long it’s been when he wakes up again. to him, it felt almost as fast as blinking. he was there, and then everything was black. the first thing he can consciously recognize is your voice, shaky and cracking and clearly distressed, but it sounds almost like an echo, as though it was far away or he was underwater.

the next thing he can recognize is the feeling in his body. scratchy… sheets, maybe? he isn’t entirely sure. he’s trying to open his eyes, but it’s not quite working. the feeling has returned to his body, but the ability to control it hasn’t.

finally, the panic courses through him, and everything comes back all at once.

his eyes snap open and his hands move to the sides of the bed, sitting up. it’s in vain, apparently, as another jolt of pain shoots through his shoulder. he seethes and falls back against the bed.

his eyes snap open again though. almost on instinct, his gaze falls to your face. you look so worried, so concerned. your hands have blood on them and the once flawless ring has the crimson liquid now dried to it. still, you smile softly at him.

“hey…” your voice is quiet and still shaky, but there’s a level of comfort to it that iso can’t quite place. “you’re doing alright. do you remember what happened?”

iso swallows thickly before before giving a shaky almost-laugh. “i imagine i got hit.”

“yeah, that’s pretty accurate.” you reply. worry and sympathy is written clear across your expression. “uhm… look, you’re gonna be fine, but you’ve gotta be on bed rest for a little while.”

iso nods. “yeah… yeah i figured.”

there’s a short period of silence before you finally move. you turn toward the nightstand, where a bottle of water and a small container of pain pills sit. you open the pain pills first, dumping a few of them into your palm and holding your hand out. iso takes them from you.

you uncap the water bottle next. you wait as iso puts the pills in his mouth before you hold the water bottle up to his lips, letting him wash the medication down. you pull the bottle away, capping it again and setting it on the nightstand.

he clears his throat. “i could’ve- i could’ve done that myself, y’know.”

you smile softly at him as he speaks. he could’ve, you know he could’ve. “but you didn’t.”

a small smirk pulls at the corners of his lips. he doesn’t protest anymore, though, and lays his head back down against the pillow. his eyes slip closed for a moment, sleep already calling him again, but he forces himself awake. his body is tired, so so tired.

“you need to rest.” your voice cuts through the painful throb in the back of his head.

his eyes flick over to you. that worried look in your eyes is so, so close to the one that your omega version was giving the omega version of himself. he supposes it makes sense, the scenarios aren’t all that different.

“i know,” he finally responds. he’s uniquely aware of the scratch in his voice. “just… don’t want to quite yet.”

you hum thoughtfully as you move around the room. he’s not sure what you’re doing, but he couldn’t be bothered to sit up and check. a few moments later, you pad back over to his bedside.

“ok, well i need to change your bandages anyway,” your voice is soft still, but he doesn’t miss the worry in it.

“yeah, yeah…” he winces again as he moves to sit up. the pain is still in his shoulder, though he guesses he shouldn’t have assumed the pain meds would work so fast.

you take a deep breath before you move to unwrap the bandages against his shoulder. he doesn’t look down at it quite yet, but he can tell by the way your brows pin that he doesn’t look too good. his muscles are tense and he’s gripping the bed sheet a lot tighter than he’s even consciously aware of.

his breath hitches in his throat as you work, resisting the urge to pull away or tell you to stop. he knows that’s not really an option. he swallow thickly and takes a few more shaking breaths, before you smooth down the last of the bandages. you press a gentle kiss to the top of them when you’re done.

“how’s it look?” he asks as he lays down into the bed again.

you move to comb your hand through his hair almost subconsciously. “looks like a bullet wound.”

he gives you a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “i figured that much, smartass.” he replies, but his tone is playful.

“it looks fine. not great, obviously, but you’ll be fine.”

he nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer this time. he lays his head back against the pillow, and finally lets his eyes slipped closed again. you didn’t seem as distressed anymore, and he could let himself sleep with that knowledge.

[barefoothighlander]

Hi! I hope you're well.

I have a request that may not be achievable and thats okay! Really, its just a thought.

What if the reader is a new recruit to the team and has the nickname 'Reaper' due to her skull Balaclava and skill (https://www.tumblr.com/men-wearing-masks/652072573328392192/skull-mask-week-day-47?source=share) from her other teams.

They're mainly a sniper but are amazing at everything. They're smaller than the rest of the team (I'm picturing an afab) but they're silent and bring death with them.

For example; Ghost is noticeable by his naturally intimidating presence but Reaper cannot be noticed unless you're actually looking for them, and when they pass, it feels as if a cold shiver has gone down your spine.

I picture this being a Ghost x reader because they're just as good as ghost, if not better, and everyone teases him about that. Making jokes about how reader is on top because a Reaper is higher up the chain than a ghost. Then I feel like on a mission reader gets sick of it, but in an attempt to be 'part of the team' they make a joke that's sexual in nature about her being on top which just sets ghost off.

If you don't do anything with this, totally understand, hope this wasn't just a silly rant though 'xD

Much love,

🔳

ok, sorry this took me so long to respond to I was trying to flesh it out but I hope it fits what you imagined

warnings: typical violence, death

“Hostiles are taken care of, you’re clear for entry” You call it in through your comms, you’re sat high on a hill, hidden from view by the dark as the team infiltrates.

“Copy Reaper, moving in”

You walk as Ghost and Soap make their way into the building, changing your sight to check in on windows.

“I’ve got eyes on two, south east window”

No response

“Alpha team I’ve got eyes on two, how copy?”

The comms are silent, you don’t think you just move, sprinting down the hill before you’re in front of the target building, you can hear the echoes of gunshots.

“Soap I’m at the entrance, what’s going on in there”

You hear someone inside yell, deciding to rush in to cover, you make your way through the rooms, clearing them before heading up the stairs to follow the noise. You see muzzle flashes at the end of the hallway, you slowly make your way down before turning into a room, Soaps backed against a wall struggling with one of the men, you raise your gun to fire but your arms are quickly pushed away,

“Reaper, on your left”

You struggle against the man in front of you, using your foot you kick at his knee knocking him down, your knife raising to plant in his neck before you pull it out, throwing it across the room, it lands in the shoulder of the man strangling Soap, he screams in pain and Soap is able to push him off to kill him.

“Thanks”

You nod your head, “Where’s Ghost?”

“We split down a hallway, comms went dead a few seconds after”

“Why do these always turn into rescue missions”

“Maybe he likes being saves by you”

You roll your eyes at him, picking up your gun and advancing around the building, there’s no sign of Ghost in the rooms.

“Stay inside, I’ll search the perimeter” You say

“Stick to the shadows” Soap winks

You make your way outside, creeping around the dark spots of the yard as you slice through the few remaining hostiles, you come across Ghost in the garage, he’s focused on some computer as you approach.

“Thought you went missing”

Your presence surprises him,

“Clear the building?”

“No thanks to you”

“I did my part” He gestures towards the two dead men on the opposite side of the room, “Got what we came for, let’s go”

You meet back up with Soap at the front of the house, making your way to the rendezvous point,

"You better thank your God that Reaper was here to save your ass LT"

"I was fine"

"Not counting the hostiles swarming you" You jump in

Ghost glares at you as the three of you make your way onto the heli for evac. Arriving back at base Ghost is practically silent, sparing you few words during your ride while Soap talks your ear off, there's something off about Ghost but you can't place it, you decide to leave it be.

The base is bustling when you arrive, people running everywhere, your attention being drawn all around until Price shouts for you,

"Reaper, need you on the next car out"

"Just me Sir?"

"Just you, need the best" He nudges your shoulder, you turn to see Ghost standing behind you, fists clenched at his side,

"You've got competition LT" Soap jokes running past you, Ghost walks away without a word, leaving you standing alone.

Your mission was a success, in and out, just you with Price covering from the sky. You managed to clear the building without being detected, sticking to the shadows as you dropped hostiles one by one.

Your muscles ached arriving back, simply wanting to shower and sleep except Soap had forced you invited you to join the team for a drink, figuring it was an easy way to fit into the team you accepted.

The team was already a few drinks down when you arrived, Ghost catching your attention as he sat in the corner, leaned back in his chair.

"There ya are" Soap shouts from across the pub, hollering you over to their table, you sit and he hands you a beer, you feel the cool glass against your warm palm, eyes darting around the room.

"So is there something about the masks that the rest of us don't get?" Soap asked, pointing between you and Ghost, you tilt your head in question,

"No, no correlation"

"Just coincidence?"

"Just coincidence" You nod

"Well just seems that LT's been knocked down a peg since you showed up, no longer the scary lad in a mask compared to you"

You glare to your side, you can see how Ghost's face contorts under his mask, fumes practically coming from his face,

"Ghost is just as good as me"

"Ghost can't do what you can believe me," Soap laughs, taking another sip of his drink

"That'll do Johnny" His voice booms in your ears,

"You think you're better than me Ghost?" You say, suddenly filled with courage, he doesn't afford you a response, he simply stares back at your masked face.

"You do" Your words are cut off by Johnny

"Is it that mask?" He turns to Ghost,

"What?"

"S'that why you're always buggin' Reaper, you like them, some sort of mask kink?"

Your eyes go wide at his words, your chest suddenly feeling tight,

"You like a strong woman LT?" Soap laughs

Ghost's next movements are quick, he stands from the table practically knocking over everyone's drinks before his hands are at Soap's throat, Price jumps to pull him off but it's no use.

"Keep your fuckin mouth closed Sargeant"

Soap sobers up instantly, nodding under Ghost's grip before being released, there are murmurs around the pub as Ghost exits, the air is thick with tension.

The rest of the night was quiet, the men keeping their jokes to themselves out of fear of Ghost somehow hearing. The next day on base was even more awkward, strange tension between the team had unfolded as Ghost barely spoke a word to anyone all day.

A few hours later you make your way to the gym, completely surprised to see the Lieutenant there you eye him as you enter, setting up on the large mat in the centre of the room.

You watch as he moves to stand in front of you, his stare pinning you down,

"Ready?" He asks, you nod before lunging at him, your arms wrapping around his waist as you dig your feet into the mat trying to push him backward.

You grapple for a few minutes, both of you refusing to tap out, intent on proving you are better than the other, you manage to trip him and he falls with his back flat on the mat. Your legs move to straddle over his torso, your arms pinning him down as you cover his form, your heavy breaths filling the air.

"Guess I really am on top" You laugh

Without a second thought, he thrusts his hips, throwing you off him so he can flip your form, pinning you against the mat, you're caged under his form as he pins you flat, there's no chance of getting out. You writhe against his grip but he doesn't falter, simply staring you down,

"Give up?"

"Not a chance" You continue to struggle against his grip,

"You're just gonna tire yourself out"

"Using weight against your opponent is cheating"

"It's smart, you're small but quick, and I'm more than double your size"

"Get off" You huff

"Tap out"

"Admit I'm better than you"

He laughs at your words, releasing his grip before standing, he lets you get up, your hands rubbing at your wrists as you move across the room, you turn around and he's in front of you. He forces you back his strides pushing you back until you collide with the wall, you tilt your head from him, his mouth inches from your ear, you can feel his breath ghosting over your skin.

"You may be better in the field" He pulls back to face you, his dark eyes glued to yours as your body stands still, "But I'm always on top" You can see his smirk under his mask as he leaves, you're frozen in your spot, his words replaying in your head.