#the-fragile-sniper

[thatradfailure]

Hey chat, how come there's not that many anthro kiwi Sniper designs? Not like I looked for any but the kiwi Sniper tag is mainly just fuzzy orbs.

Anyway his parents are dingos in this specific furry AU-

[number1yisuchongfan]

Pls pls PLEASE tell us more about your prince sniper au!! I’m already obsessed bc him and scout look so handsome🥺

I’m happy to explain!

Okay some background information:

So it starts with the moment when Bill-Bel gets into an argument with the original (mostly white) ministers of New Zealand about how even though he, a Māori man, saved all of New Zealand from “magma and nuclear war” they refuse to let him join the council and make him a minister.

They tell him because they’re sick of living down there and that’s he’s not worthy of being on there.

In his frustration, he manages to rally up the Māori iwi (tribes) of New Zealand and many of the white New Zealanders, into making him into the king.

He changes everything once he’s in control. The white New Zealanders or Pākehā get sent off to live in their own space within Aotearoa and the Māori get to having the majority their land back.

The next 29 years is quite peaceful, the local nature and wildlife grow in population back to pre colonial times and so does the Māori people. They bring back old ways of life and traditions along with more high tech gadgets (because canonically New Zealand in tf2 was made of extremely smart people).

And now onto the Sniper and Scout part of your question:

And then coming Sniper or I should rather say Mun-Dee Taumata.

He’s next in line and has only really ever known of being a Royal and living like the way he does, in a giant palace with guards always protecting him making him extremely sheltered and honestly very calm person.

He isn’t allowed to go out alone, but Mum-Dee finds his ways, always sneaking out to visit his kiwi, who’s named after the Māori goddess of loyalty Hinekepea, in his family’s Royal Aviary. She tries to protect him and gets angry whenever he comes back smelling like one of the ladies that Bill-Bel set him up with.

Oh, I should mention that the minute he turned 18; Bill-Bel was trying to get him wife so he could make an heir (no matter how many times Mun-Dee explained he was gay)

Then in the summer of 1972, out appears Mann Co. reps (All of RED Team + Miss Pauling and Mr. Bidwell) to try to make an agreement with the Aotearoa government on if they can used some of the Australium they own.

They didn’t know of the change of the government and when they arrived they were shocked to say the least. Scout especially.

The Māori people held a welcoming ceremony or a pōwhiri for the first ever manuhiri (visitors) to their home in 40 years with gifts, dance, music food, and of course, get a personal welcome from the Royal family. Mun-Dee had been extremely excited, and when he was about to do a hongi (which is we’re you touch noses together and do a handshake in welcome) with Scout, he slapped him.

It was a misunderstanding, Scout thought Mun-Dee was going to kiss him so he did some unnecessary self defense.

And that was the exact moment Mun-Dee got his first ever real crush on anyone.

And they eventually get together, Spy tries to blackmail Scout into marrying him quickly so that if Bill-Bel died mysteriously; Scout can be married to a king for political reasons. Scout just wanted Mun-Dee for who he was.

Scout meets Hinekapea and she almost kills him, more like jumped onto his back when he had been trying to make out with Mun-Dee. He leapt off and as soon as he was off of him, Hinekapea got onto Mub-Dee’s chest and made some angry sneezes at him. Mun-Dee had just thought it was cute and apologized to her for bringing Scout without warning.

Here’s a lil comic for when Hinekapea, after having a specialized kiwi home (like a catio almost) put in Mun-Dee’s room so he could always see her, treats Scout:

[cuntyji]

friday night i came home drunk with no one to do this for me….that doesn’t mean i let my three fans on tumblr suffer 😙

there are nights when you come home with eyeliner smudged like war paint and lipstick somewhere up by your nose, which is impressive, considering your mouth isn’t located there. the heels come off by the door, the clutch gets tossed halfway across the living room (you’ll find it tomorrow, under the couch, somehow full of mints and regret), and you announce yourself with all the grace of a tornado.

“i’m home!” you declare. “someone left the world spinning. i’ll deal with them tomorrow.”

and then, like a summoned spirit, nanami appears from the hallway. robe on. sleeves rolled. hair slightly tousled like he ran a hand through it exactly once. jaw clenched in mild judgment, but eyes warm. concerned. so deeply, unfairly fond.

“you’ve been drinking,” he says, flatly.

“i’ve been possessed by a fun-loving ghost, actually,” you say, kicking off your last shoe with the precision of a sniper. it nearly decapitates a houseplant. “she likes cosmos. and bad decisions.”

he sighs. the way a saint sighs when faced with humanity. then crosses the room and catches you by the wrist before you can wander into the coffee table again. “sit. i’ll get the cotton pads.”

your butt is parked on the edge of the bed before you can protest. nanami is already crouched in front of you, all business, like you’re a project plan that needs reorganizing. makeup remover in hand. focused. deadly.

“close your eyes.”

“are you gonna kiss me?”

“no.”

“rude.”

he dabs gently at your face with a practiced hand, eyes narrowed in concentration. like he’s handling something fragile. sacred, even. the silence is soft, padded by the sound of a cotton pad swiping over your skin and the faint piano playlist playing from his phone on the nightstand.

“you got glitter on your temples again,” he murmurs. “why does it always end up here?”

“the ghost likes shimmer.”

another sigh. he presses a fresh pad to your cheek, hand warm under your jaw to steady you. the gentleness is unfair. he’s unfair. then comes the micellar water, the double cleanse, the toner. he pats your face dry with a towel you didn’t even see him grab. and then—

“essence, serum, moisturizer,” he mutters under his breath, unscrewing the caps with the reverence of someone defusing a bomb.

“you know the order,” you say, genuinely impressed, genuinely touched.

“of course. last time i mixed them up, you said your forehead ‘felt crunchy.’”

“it did.”

he dips his fingers into the moisturizer and begins to smooth it along your cheekbones in slow, upward strokes. thumb brushing the curve of your jaw. his face is close now. focused. devastating. god.

“if you keep this up, i might marry you,” you mumble.

he pauses. cocks an eyebrow. “i already submitted the paperwork. you signed it when you were half-asleep and thought it was a form to adopt a cat.”

“…oh. that explains the paw print.”

“it was cute. i kept it.”

you’re too tired and too full of him to even pretend to be mad. you lean forward until your forehead presses into his shoulder, breathing in the clean linen and sandalwood scent of him.

he presses a kiss to the top of your head and whispers, “next time, text me before the ghost starts drinking.”

“no promises.”

he sighs again. but he’s smiling now.

[xinganhao]

cherry on top 🍒 mafia boss!seungcheol x reader. (4)

stories like this always end with a damsel in distress. except—this time around—you’re not the one who needs saving. previous chapter + masterlist.

📄 Minutes of strategic information meeting, filed by Kim Mingyu (Mafia Soldier, Logistics & Recon)

Date: ██████████ Location: Safehouse Omega-9, Undisclosed City Perimeter Time: 03:17 HRS

ATTENDEES:

Yoon Jeonghan (Underboss)

Lee Chan (Combat Unit Leader)

Chwe Hansol (Surveillance Division)

Kim Mingyu (Logistics & Recon; Recording Officer)

Civilian Target [REDACTED] (Unauthorized Attendee)

AGENDA:

Contingency Plan for Retrieval of Boss (S.Coups)

Chain of Command During Absence

External Threat Assessment

[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

JEONGHAN: We go in through the east dock. Two snipers posted by 03:40. Chan leads breach. Hansol, your eyes stay on thermal—no improvisation this time.

HANSOL: I never improvise. My brilliance is structured.

CHAN: Can we not do this right now?

JEONGHAN: [ignoring them] Mingyu, once we get him out, you're on evac. Full blackout route. No trackers, no chatter.

MINGYU: Copy.

HANSOL: Any updates on who turned? Someone had to leak coordinates.

CHAN: There’s a list. We’ll handle it after we bring the boss home. One fire at a time.

[DOOR SLAMS OPEN. SOUND OF HIGH-HEELED FOOTSTEPS. SILENCE.]

CIVILIAN TARGET: You’re planning this without me?

JEONGHAN: [visibly tense] You weren’t invited.

CIVILIAN TARGET: He’s my belo—my boyfriend, Jeonghan. You think I’m just going to sit around while you play war games?

JEONGHAN: This isn’t a movie. You’re a civilian. You don’t belong in this room.

CIVILIAN TARGET: No, I’m the reason he still believes in soft things. I belong more than half the people at this table.

CHAN: She’s got a point.

JEONGHAN: Chan.

CHAN: I’m just saying. She’s not exactly fragile.

HANSOL: She did rewire one of my bugs with a paperclip. That was... not unimpressive.

JEONGHAN: [sighs] This isn’t about guts. It’s about blood.

CIVILIAN TARGET: Then you should know mine’s already on the line. Every second he’s gone, I feel it. And I’m done being sidelined. I’m not here to ask. I’m here to help.

[BEAT OF SILENCE. THEN—]

JEONGHAN: You get one job. And if you screw it up, I’ll personally drag you out.

CIVILIAN TARGET: Deal.

JEONGHAN: Hansol, give her the map. Mingyu, loop her in.

MINGYU: You’re going to need a comm. And a bulletproof vest.

CIVILIAN TARGET: Got both. And a knife in my boot.

CHAN: Okay, badass.

[MEETING CONTINUED UNDER LEVEL-2 SECRECY PROTOCOLS. TRANSCRIPT REDACTED. END OF MINUTES.]

FINAL NOTES:

Civilian Target formally added to Operation Homecoming roster.

Jeonghan authorized conditional field involvement.

Morale status: heightened.

Risk level: astronomically high.

🗂️ Operation Homecoming: Field Notes & Briefing Report, compiled by mafia underboss, Yoon Jeonghan

Clearance Level: Top Confidential Date Logged: ██████████ Location: Safehouse Omega-9

SUMMARY: Boss (S.Coups) was captured 48 hours ago following the receipt of a falsified emergency ping traced back to the civilian target’s encoded channel. The ping claimed she’d been injured and was en route to an undisclosed hospital in Sector D. According to surveillance logs, the Boss diverted course alone, abandoning standard security protocol. We believe he was intentionally isolated through signal jamming, then intercepted at the underpass beneath Route 14.

AUTOPSY OF THE TRAP:

Fake GPS tag mimicked civilian target’s bio-signal pattern

Voice distortion software replicated her distress call

EMP deployed upon vehicle arrival to disable tracking

Tactical unit waited with sedation-grade rounds

CURRENT LOCATION OF BOSS: Confirmed. Underground storage facility, formerly Syndicate-aligned. Defected cell now controls the zone. Reinforcements on site. Boss presumed alive—last thermal footage confirms faint movement.

INTERVENTION STRATEGY: OPERATION HOMECOMING

Phase One – Extraction:

Entry through east dock (03:40 HRS)

Chan leads breach unit, Hansol on thermal, Mingyu handling evac

All units silent channel only

Phase Two – Internal Sweep:

Civilian target assigned distraction and misdirection role (see below)

Two-minute window to locate and stabilize Boss

Phase Three – Extraction + Fade:

Mingyu initiates blackout route

Decoys deployed on west perimeter to delay pursuit

Rendezvous at Site Echo

CIVILIAN TARGET: PERFORMANCE LOG

Arrived wearing borrowed Kevlar and jeans tucked into combat boots. Asked if bulletproof vests same in women’s sizes. Did not wait for response.

Showed immediate enthusiasm, zero tactical finesse. Hansol gave her the map. She held it upside down. Twice.

Informed her she’d be working as the visual diversion. Her response: “Like bait?” Followed by: “Cool. I’m good at being annoying.”

Surprisingly effective. Created a loud enough ruckus on the perimeter to draw three guards off their posts. Managed to bluff her way past checkpoint by pretending to be a lost food delivery driver. Claimed she had gluten-free soba for a man named Kevin. There is no Kevin.

Still not sure how she pulled it off.

When Boss was found, he was semi-conscious but breathing. Whispered her name first.

END STATUS:

Boss retrieved.

Minimal casualties (1 injured – not fatal)

Facility compromised but not traced

Civilian target cried in the van. Then threatened to punch me for writing that down. I'm writing it down anyway.

FOOTNOTE — for Seungcheol’s eyes only: You’re reckless, stubborn, and impossible to reason with. But apparently, that’s your thing. You’re also luckier than most of us ever will be.

She didn’t sleep. Not once. Kept looking at every door like you might walk through it.

When you did, she didn’t even say anything. Just threw her arms around you like gravity stopped working.

Try not to make her go through that again.

– YJH

📱 Phone history log, filed by mafia soldier Chwe Hansol

Device: S.Coups' Personal Line (Encrypted Channel #017) Status: Outgoing Messages Only – Blocked by Signal Jammer Timestamp Range: ██:██–██:██ (Time of Abduction)

NOTE: Texts never reached intended recipient. Recovered during post-mission diagnostics. For archival purposes.

[01:12 AM] Where are you? They said you were hurt. I'm on my way.

[01:15 AM] Which hospital? No one's answering. This isn't funny. Call me.

[01:17 AM] Your signal keeps bouncing. Something's wrong. Stay where you are.

[01:21 AM] I swear to god if they laid a hand on you

[01:24 AM] No ambulance ever came.

[01:25 AM] This is a setup.

[01:27 AM] I'm so stupid. They used you. Fuck fuck fuck

[01:28 AM] I should've followed protocol. Should’ve sent Mingyu. Should’ve sent anyone but me.

[01:30 AM] If you get this, lock all the windows. Call Jeonghan. Stay put.

[01:34 AM] They knew I’d come for you.

[01:36 AM] This isn’t your fault.

[01:39 AM] Don’t come after me.

[01:41 AM] Love, beloved, please. Don’t try to save me.

[01:45 AM] You always do this—you throw yourself into fires you don't understand.

[01:49 AM] If they hurt you because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.

[01:52 AM] Tell Jeonghan to burn everything. Get out. Go far.

[01:54 AM] Forget me if you have to. Just live.

[02:01 AM] I love you. Please, please, please, don’t be stupid.

[END OF RECOVERED LOG]

📰 Excerpt from "The Ethics of Mafias: Love in the Line of Fire", a follow-up think piece by Xu Minghao

... If leadership within organized crime is already an ethical minefield, then love within it is something more volatile still: a paradox of vulnerability embedded in violence. New whispers surround the figure known only as S.Coups—the alleged mafia boss whose name, until recently, conjured images of discipline, domination, and an empire forged in precision.

Now, another narrative has emerged. One that reshapes how we understand not just the man, but the very myth he embodies.

According to rumors sourced from both within and outside the organization, S.Coups may have a romantic partner. Not a fellow operative, nor a political alliance. But a civilian. Someone unaffiliated and—crucially—untouched by the bloodied logic of the underworld.

If this is true, the implications are vast.

To love in his position is a risk. It is weakness, some would say. Yet others might argue that such love is the only thing capable of keeping a man like him from becoming monstrous. If the rumors are accurate, she is the reason he looks over his shoulder less. The reason he checks his own wrath. The reason his most trusted lieutenants have stopped fearing him and started worrying about him.

Love, here, is not a diversion. It is discipline.

And perhaps that is the most fascinating ethical twist of all: that this boss, so often theorized as either tyrant or savior, might be both—because of her.

Some say he texts her between assassinations. That he buys her gummy bears because she mentioned liking them once, months ago. That he has started folding her laundry and learning her aunt’s dietary restrictions. These are, of course, unconfirmed. They seem almost laughably mundane. But within the shadowed world of syndicates and secret wars, what could be more radical than tenderness?

Others claim that he was taken. There are now verified reports of a failed abduction and his eventual rescue. She was allegedly involved. They say she showed up unarmed, untrained, and utterly unafraid. They say she demanded to be part of the rescue mission. They say she was reckless, infuriating, and ultimately, instrumental.

And that when he saw her again, he wept.

To be loved, it turns out, is not always soft. Sometimes, it is brutal and inelegant and wildly inconvenient. But in the context of a life built on violence, to be loved is to be saved. Again and again. In the ways that matter.

Whether S.Coups is worthy of that love is not the question. The question is whether it has already changed him. Whether, in the end, the girl outside the syndicate might be the only thing real in a world made of smoke and mirrors.

And whether that, more than power or fear, will be his lasting legacy.

Mafia boss S.Coups is many things. Protector, manipulator. Brother, enemy, friend.

It seems we must add two more things:

Lover, and loved.

FIN. THANK YOU FOR READING CHERRY ON TOP!

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[aventurineswife]

HEYYYYYYY if I can may I ask for Aventurine, Sunday and Dan Hang protecting reader when they get badly injured protecting them please ( I’ve been desperate for some angst and comfort recently with them 😭😭 )

“If I Fall, Let It Be for You”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Protectiveness, Sacrifice, Vulnerability, Emotional Conflict, Guilt, Platonic or Romantic Love, Selflessness, Inner Struggles.

Warnings: Graphic injury, Blood, Violence, Desperation, Guilt, Emotional distress, Death-related themes.

A/N: Hope you like this!! 🫣

The battlefield stretched before you, a blur of smoke and chaos. You had acted on instinct—throwing yourself in front of Dan Heng to block a strike meant for him. The blade tore through your side, pain radiating through your body as you stumbled.

“[Name]!” Dan Heng’s voice, usually so calm and composed, cracked as he caught you in his arms. His eyes widened, a rare display of emotion breaking through his stoic mask.

You gave him a weak smile, your hand clutching the bleeding wound. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

His jaw tightened, and his grip on you was firm yet trembling. “You should never have done that.” There was an edge to his voice, sharp and laden with guilt.

You tried to speak, but the pain was overwhelming. Darkness crept at the edges of your vision, and you felt yourself fading.

“Stay with me,” Dan Heng ordered, his voice softer now but no less desperate. He cradled you closer, his usually steady hands pressing against your wound to stem the bleeding. “You can’t leave me. Not like this.”

He carried you swiftly to a safe spot behind the ruins, shielding you from the chaos. His spear, Cloud-Piercer, stood guard nearby, its sharp tip still dripping with the blood of your enemies. Dan Heng tore a strip of fabric from his coat, fashioning a makeshift bandage to stop the bleeding.

“Why?” he asked quietly, his gaze fixed on your pale face. “Why would you put yourself in harm’s way for me?”

You managed a weak chuckle despite the pain. “Because I care about you, Dan Heng. Even if you keep pushing people away, I won’t stop protecting you.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, his usual reserve cracked. “I don’t deserve it. Not after everything I’ve done… everything I’ve failed to prevent.”

“You’re wrong,” you whispered, your hand reaching up to brush against his cheek. “You’re worth it to me.”

Dan Heng’s eyes softened, guilt and sorrow mingling with something deeper—something he had tried so hard to suppress. He didn’t speak, but his actions spoke volumes. He leaned into your touch, his fingers brushing your hair as if trying to commit every detail of you to memory.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised, his voice low but resolute. “Not again.”

Dan Heng stayed by your side, his spear within reach, ready to defend you from any further threat. The battle raged on around you, but his focus never wavered. He wasn’t just protecting you now—he was protecting the fragile hope you had given him, the chance for something beyond the weight of his past.

And in his quiet way, Dan Heng vowed to repay the trust you had shown him, no matter the cost.

The echoes of the gunfire still reverberated in the empty corridors, a cruel reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded. Aventurine stood frozen for a moment, the world around him slowing to a crawl. The usually confident smirk plastered on his face had vanished, replaced by a rare expression of raw, unfiltered fear.

You lay crumpled on the ground, your blood pooling beneath you. You had thrown yourself in front of him, a human shield against the sniper's bullet that had been meant for his chest.

“Why?” Aventurine whispered, his voice trembling as he knelt beside you, his gloved hands hesitating before pressing against your wound. His pristine, gold-adorned sleeves soaked in crimson as he tried to stem the bleeding. "You absolute fool. What were you thinking?"

Your eyes fluttered open, a weak smile playing on your lips despite the pain. "Because I knew you'd never let yourself be hit," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're too important... too smart to take risks like that."

Aventurine let out a bitter laugh, one that sounded more like a sob. "And yet here you are, bleeding out because of me," he muttered, his tone laced with guilt and frustration. "You're supposed to stay out of the crossfire, not throw yourself into it like some kind of martyr."

The mask he wore so effortlessly in high-stakes games and political negotiations shattered in that moment. He was no longer the composed strategist, the man who always had a plan. He was just Kakavasha—terrified, helpless, and desperate to keep you alive.

“Stay with me,” he commanded, his voice shaking as he pulled out his communicator and barked orders for immediate medical assistance. “You don’t get to leave like this. Not here, not now.”

Your hand weakly reached up, brushing against his cheek. "I trust you, Aventurine," you whispered, your voice faltering. "You'll fix this... you always do."

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he pressed his forehead against yours. "I’m a gambler, not a miracle worker," he admitted softly, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. "But if there’s one thing I never bet against... it’s you."

The minutes felt like hours as he stayed by your side, murmuring reassurances that neither of you believed. His mind raced, calculating odds and outcomes, but none of his usual strategies could guarantee your survival. For the first time in years, Aventurine felt powerless.

When the medics finally arrived, he refused to leave your side, riding with you to the emergency unit despite their protests. As the doors closed behind them and the sterile lights flickered above, Aventurine made a silent vow.

No matter the cost, he would ensure you lived to see another gamble, another day by his side. Because without you, even victory would feel like defeat.

The clash of blades and the sound of explosions filled the air, but Sunday’s focus was solely on you. The two of you had been ambushed, and though he had held his ground, one stray attacker had slipped through his defenses, aiming for his unprotected flank.

You hadn’t hesitated. You’d stepped in without thinking, intercepting the blow meant for him. Now, you lay slumped against a ruined wall, clutching your side as blood seeped through your fingers.

“Why... why would you do that?” Sunday asked, his voice trembling as he knelt beside you. His eyes, usually so calm and composed, were wide with panic. He pressed his hands over yours, trying to stop the bleeding. The glow of his halo seemed dimmer, as if it mirrored the dread coursing through him.

“You needed protecting,” you gasped, a weak smile crossing your lips. “That’s what friends do, right?”

“Foolish,” Sunday whispered, his tone a mixture of frustration and anguish. "I am the one who should be protecting you." He gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his gloved hands trembling. “You shouldn’t have to suffer because of me.”

Your hand reached for his, squeezing weakly. "You’re worth it."

Sunday’s breath hitched, and for a moment, his dignified mask crumbled. "No one is worth losing you," he admitted, his voice barely audible. “Not even me.”

The world around the two of you seemed to fade away as Sunday focused solely on keeping you conscious. He whispered soft reassurances, his usually formal tone replaced with a raw, desperate plea. “Stay with me,” he urged. “I’ll fix this. I swear it.”

Using his limited healing abilities, Sunday poured his energy into stabilizing you. The effort left him visibly drained, his face pale and his breaths labored, but he refused to stop. "I’ve seen too much suffering," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "I won’t allow it to claim you."

As reinforcements arrived and medical aid was administered, Sunday stood by your side, his presence a steady anchor amidst the chaos. When you were finally safe, he let out a shaky breath, brushing his thumb across your knuckles.

"You risked yourself for me," he said quietly, his eyes softening. “But know this: I will never allow you to come to harm again. You are too precious to lose.”

In that moment, you saw a side of Sunday he rarely revealed—a man burdened by the weight of his ideals, yet willing to fight against them for the sake of someone he cherished.

[choslut]

˖ ࣪ ، ◞ せ⌇ SURVIVAL. featuring sniper mask.

↻ sniper mask is a good man… right?

tags : outdoor sex, misogyny, manipulation, creampie, spanking, fucking to survive (not really but he says it is), wall sex, orgasm delay, slight mask kink, god complex!sniper mask, implied dubcon // wc. 0.9k

author’s note : sighs and screams and sobs all over the place. i didn’t actually get down to watching high rise invasion until recently and now i suddenly need sniper mask everywhere and anywhere all at once. poor guy is SURROUNDED by women who he can’t have (and i could change that :p) i know we aren’t quite done with this event yet but i want to thank everyone for all the support i’ve received!! follower numbers have soared and i feel more motivation than ever <3 keep liking n reblogging to help a girl out, and enjoy this one !! i love you all and here’s to almost 800 followers !!

this work is NSFW. minors and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT.

ever heard of the saying ‘boys will be boys’? it’s massively toxic, and mostly used to excuse the inappropriate actions of boys (or more predominantly, men), especially in situations where said boy (or man) is deemed respectable for the most part. 

for the most part, SNIPER MASK is a respectable man. of all the girls he’s come across in this realm, he has made it his duty to protect them because he knows that as a man, it is up to him to ensure women’s safety. he may even call himself a feminist, but that may be a step too far. 

that’s because what sniper mask is doing now is very very far from what anyone would call feminism. in fact, he’s acting in accordance to the famed statement, ‘boys will be boys’, except he considers himself a man. and as a man, he has a right to feel manly urges. 

lying to a vulnerable girl such as yourself isn’t very respectable of him, but it’s been ages since he’s had a good fuck, and he can’t deny himself after everything he’s done for all the other ditzs in this realm. he’ll apologise after, he promises, but for now, he can only focus on the way your cunt has him in a death grip. 

“m-mr. mask…” you’re pathetic. he told you that you needed to do this to practise building stamina for future disputes, knowing full well that his stamina is fine, and you won’t be getting involved in combat if he had anything to do with it. you’re just such an airhead, so dainty and fragile and easily scared by the stupidest things, and it would pain him to leave you all alone by yourself. 

“i know, sweetheart, but we need to do this. it’s necessary to ensure your and my survival.” it absolutely isn’t, but he’s telling you that to keep himself warm and snug inside your cunt. he has you pressed up against the wall of one of the abandoned high rises, far away enough from the rest of the players to make sure he doesn’t get caught. 

your eyes flicker into the back of your head as your hands brace against the wall, bare nipples pressed into the brick through your torn shirt. “s-shit, ‘m gonna cum—“

sniper’s hands grip onto your hips hard, gloved fingers staining your flesh with fresh bruises as he pulls you back on his length repeatedly. “can’t have you cummin’ yet, angel. you have to hold it. stamina, remember?”

your eyes widen as you remember what he said. you have to hold out for as long as possible. do as he says because he’s a mask and you’re just a human, and a weak one at that. his experience surpasses yours tenfold, so he knows what’s best for your survival, right? 

so you hold it for him, cunt clenching down tightly and hands forming into fists as you squeeze your eyes shut. he isn’t making it very easy for you; his blunt cockhead hits your cervix head on with every thrust, and his hands periodically crawl around your torso to play with your nipples. to add on to the sensations, it’s beginning to get a little windy out, and the cool breeze brushes against your agitated clit, causing small streams of wetness to spurt from your depths with every thrust. 

you want to give up. you wish you could just give up on this whole stamina building exercise and let the masks kill you, but sniper’s cock feels so good, and if he doesn’t let you cum soon, you might lose what little brain cells you have left. 

“i know you want it, doll, but y’gonna have to be patient, okay?” his deep voice rattles through his mask. “gotta hold out f’me. gonna make you a great fighter, okay?”

“y-yes sir,” you whimper, gasping when his gloved hand comes down on your ass with a slap! 

“good girl. turn around f’me.” he unsheathes his cock and watches you struggle to turn around on shaky legs, back now pressed to the wall and thighs slightly parted as your tits spill out of your shirt. you look like a mess, eyelids drooping and lips parted gently, and he wonders why oh why you haven’t caught onto his scheme yet. 

you, on the other hand, are confused for different reasons. you can’t even see his face, for crying out loud, so why do you want him to keep fucking you so bad? thoughts of stamina building or whatever fly right out of the window as he presses your waist back up against the wall, pulling your leg around his waist before lining his tip up with your hole. 

“you can cum for me this time, doll. i think it’s about time you felt some real pleasure.” there he goes again, helping out poor little girls like you down on their luck. 

he even has the audacity to smile to himself under his mask as he watches you convulse from orgasm, your tiny hands squeezing his biceps and eyes rolling into the back of your head lewdly. he follows not too long after, his grunts as shallow as his thrusts as he spurts rope after rope into your twitching cunt. 

does he feel bad for cumming inside? not really. girls like you are only good for one thing in a place like this; to be good, compliant little cumdumps for respectable, hardworking men like himself. 

PREVIOUS : LUCKY GIRL ft. daichi sawamura NEXT : SWEET TALK ft. choso

liked that? check out the WE’RE SO BACK main masterlist.

© choslut 2024 — do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission.

[spurbleu]

oldman!price x reader angsty (?) drabble

‧︎✳︎༚︎‧︎⁎︎°︎

age leaves john price in tantrum.

he despises what it’s done to his body. the creak in his knees when he walks, the strain in his shoulder when he reaches across the table. steam engine, ironclad and coal hot, neglected the rust on the belly of its stirrups. adopted a sudden fragility he cannot stand.

takes a literal force of nature to get him to retire, and he grieves it like a father. it, in all honesty, was one. taught him how to shoot straight, how to hold his men, how to be without feeling like he’s an imposter in his own skin. forced him to grow up- which is ironically exactly what ended their alliance.

nursed whiskeys, fattened ice kissing the base. smoked like somehow- fossilized in ligero- he’d find his youth again. blistered under reluctant mortality, indulged in fatal vices because if anything is putting him in the grave it’s a gun or a cigar.

a pot never boils watched, yet you stay at your designated post by the doorway while he broods (he’s a dramatic at heart), storm clouds stamped on the collapse of his shoulders.

if you were one of his soldiers, you let him fester.

but you were his wife.

it wasn’t like you hadn’t aged yourself, silver linings sprouting from your scalp, sun spots and bleached knuckles. even so, you found time to pick up his medications, comb through amateur food blogs for gut health and bone pain, roll the aches out of his shoulder before bed. you were kind- and it was insulting.

spitfire catching on the burs of his muttonchops- unfamiliar with dependence. he was a captain for Christ’s sake- alloy lighthouse, built by cement and sheer fucking will. he didn’t need to be hand fed vitamin C and dragged to yoga class. he pitched barbed wire, dug his shallow trench and intended lay in it.

until, one evening, thunder strikes him out of dewy acrimony. he clambers up the stairs, musk of tobacco and spite plants a grimy boot in the oak. he glances over the railing, and stills.

bathroom door, cutting swaddled atmosphere with thin bisque, a pyramid down the center of the hall that created the illusion of darker corners. centered in the odd, domestic scaffolding was you- shower damp and concentrated.

it was like watching a bird preen feathers. tugging at the sags, yanking at the silvers, skin pitching at the nostril and eyes narrowing into thin keyways. and if he squinted, sniper accuracy rendered tears. sallow river bed on your flushed cheeks, clumped lashes, a frown that broke hearts.

“you’re never struggling alone, John,” you had said one evening, when he had been foolishly apathetic, “i’ll make sure of that.”

he hadn’t said anything.

guilt squirms at the base of his neck. the stranger named comfort that swelled within your embrace unnerved him so much he had forgotten to introduce himself. and now, milking moonlit lighting, with a wife who thought he was hiding from her, he called himself what he had never been as a soldier.

a coward.

you were making tea the next morning, windows surrendering a warmth when the day was still docile. it was while you were humming that your husband, sneaky bastard, folds you into the plush of his chest, drowsy lips dragging on the cusp of your shoulder.

“you always look so beautiful in the mornin, darlin.”

and it was true. you’ve never looked better to the old man.

[oblique-lane]

"I'm only valuable when..." of TF2 mercs

Personal mental stereotypes they follow, yet will never admit aloud. An analysis:

(Headcanons but I tried to be as compliant as possible)

Scout: I'm only valuable when people see me as cool and tell me that I'm cool... 'Cuz that means, it must be true...

(Constantly comparing himself to everyone, barely knows his true self, struggles to be alone)

Pyro: I'm only valuable when I have friends to care about! If there's none... It's so cold and lonely...

(Fear of abandonment? Fear of betrayal. Urges for revenge)

Soldier: I'm only valuable when my community needs me! I am all about loyalty and faith!

(Strongly identifies with the place or beliefs he belongs to, constantly feels threatened.)

Demo: I'm only valuable when people find me fun to be around. As soon as it gets sad, everyone leaves.

(Numbing his emotional pain in substances because he has no idea how to handle it, especially since these emotions push people away time and time again. Feelings of helplessness.)

Heavy: I am only valuable when I can protect people. Although I understand, when people are able to stand for themselves, it feels like my purpose is gone...

(Being protective is his identity. If he's not a big human shield for the people he cares about, who is he?)

Engineer: I'm only valuable when my ideas become reality. While I'm still alive, my mission in life is to make as many creations as I can.

(His work is more important than his personhood. He's the Engineer first, Connagher last)

Medic: I'm only valuable when people need very specific solutions to very specific situations. Let's say, some of these situations were also a work of mine.

(Too genius of a mind struggles to fit into the "normal" flow of things. Extending what's possible.)

Sniper: I'm only valuable when I'm useful. When my help is irreplaceable. Otherwise, why am I even here?

(Struggles with "fitting in" and finding a community/genuine connections. Doesn't believe there's anything to him besides his work)

Spy: I'm only valuable when people can look up on me, when they admire me and want to be like me. Or, otherwise, when they hate me and believe that I'm the only cause of their suffering. It's never too much when it comes to praise.

(Extremely fragile ego)

[padawan-snack-packer]

[You Give Them a Hug — Bad Batch (+ Omega!) Edition]

(aka: You broke them. And now they’re in love with you forever.)

So you peeps seemed to love the Clones Edition over here, so here is the Bad Batch version of it!!!

⚠️ TW: Not Canon. Just Vibes. ⚠️

This post contains: – Excessive hugging. – Deeply non-canon affection. – Clones feeling emotions they were not properly equipped to process. – A concerning lack of military professionalism. – Irreversible softness.

If you're looking for canon compliance, emotional restraint, or literally any kind of plot... you're in the wrong galaxy, sweetheart.

This is just me projecting unhinged love onto traumatized war orphans with muscles.

Proceed at your own risk. Hug responsibly. 💥🤗💥

Hunter

You hug Hunter and he just… stops functioning.

Like you initiated it mid-mission and this man has full-on emotion-induced lag.

“...Why’d you do that?”

“Because I wanted to.”

Loading Hunter.exe

He gives you this soft, stunned look like he didn’t know he needed physical affection until just now.

His return hug is slow, careful, warm. His arms wrap around your back and he doesn’t squeeze—he holds.

Stays silent for a moment. Then a low murmur: “...thanks. I needed that.”

From that point on, it’s Hunter Hug Radar Mode™.

You’re sad? He’s already moving.

You’re happy? Hug.

You yawned vaguely near him? “You look tired. C’mere.”

Somehow always smells like leather, dirt, and safety. It's like hugging your childhood treehouse and a protective panther.

Wrecker

OH.

OH YOU’RE IN FOR IT NOW.

You hug Wrecker and he goes FULL GOLDEN RETRIEVER MELTDOWN.

“AWwwwWWWWWWW!!! C’mere!!!”

Picks you up. Swings you. Spins you around until you’re dizzy and giggling and possibly concussed.

His hugs are LIFE-THREATENINGLY STRONG. Like being hit with a loving freight train.

“You’re the best! I’m gonna hug you every day forever now!!”

Immediately makes you a “You Hugged Wrecker” award out of scrap metal. It has glitter glue.

He initiates hugs constantly now. If you don’t hug him back fast enough, he starts whining like a sad bantha.

Tells Crosshair about the hug with tears in his eyes. Crosshair pretends not to care.

“They hugged me, man. Me!! WRECKER!!”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t start crying again.”

Tech

You hug Tech and it’s like hugging a 3D-printed anxiety machine.

Freezes.

“Wh—what are you doing? Is this…physical bonding? Are you malfunctioning? Am I??”

Absolutely stiff as a board. One arm hovers near your back like he's trying to remember what humans do.

You explain it’s just a hug. Tech mutters: “Hmmm. Fascinating. Increases oxytocin. Improves cardiovascular health. Reduces cortisol. Hm.”

But then you do it again.

And he goes quiet.

Softer.

Then his hands gently rest on your back and he melts like butter under a Tatooine sun.

You pull away and he clears his throat 14 times and then gives you a 12-slide presentation on “the measurable benefits of repeat physical affection among squadmates (with graphs).”

Secretly loves it. Won’t say it, but builds you a hug simulator in case he’s unavailable.

Crosshair

Oh.

OH YOU BRAVE, BRAVE FOOL.

You hug Crosshair and it’s like hugging a sniper rifle possessed by the ghost of unresolved trauma.

“...What the kriff are you doing?”

Arms at his sides. Staring down at you like you're a wild animal. Clearly thinking “kill or cuddle?”

You say “just hugging you.” And he just…blinks. Once. Twice.

Then you feel it: the tiniest shift. He leans in. One hand—just one—lands gently at your waist.

It’s not a full hug. It’s not even half a hug.

It’s 0.5 seconds of fragile vulnerability.

Then he pulls back and growls “Don’t make a big deal out of it.” …But his ears are pink. And he doesn’t move away from you for the rest of the day.

Later that week, you find a ration bar left on your bunk. It’s the good flavor.

Written in Sharpie on the wrapper: "Since you like touching people. Here's something to touch your mouth." (he tried)

Echo

Echo is a man held together by trauma, stubbornness, and like...two screws and a charging port.

You hug Echo and it’s like hugging a haunted vending machine with trust issues.

He doesn’t react at first. Just stiffens. Hard. Like his brain didn’t even register this as an available interaction option.

“...Why?” he asks, very quietly. Not suspicious. Not annoyed. Just… genuinely confused. Like he doesn’t think people do that to him anymore.

You say, “Because you deserve it.” And he. Short circuits.

It’s all in the eyes. That distant, shell-shocked clone stare goes soft. And sad. You get half a breath of “I don’t—” before his voice goes hoarse and he just leans in.

One arm—cold metal, whirring servos—wraps around you. The other presses tight, his hand fisting in the back of your shirt like he’s scared you’ll vanish.

His forehead rests on your shoulder. You feel him exhale. And it’s the sound of a man finally letting go of a weight he’s carried since the Citadel.

When he pulls back, his face is unreadable. But he says “...Thanks,” with such quiet, aching sincerity it wrecks you for 48 hours.

The next time you get hurt, Echo’s at your side before the medic droid.

He doesn’t hug you again right away. But he touches your shoulder now. Bumps your arm. Stays close.

Then one day—randomly, silently—he hugs you first. No words. Just that same warm, quiet grip. Like saying: I’m still here. And so are you.

Omega

YOU HUG OMEGA??

SHE SHRIEKS WITH GLEE AND TACKLES YOU LIKE A TINY STAR-WARS THEMED KOALA.

“HUG TIME!!!”

Wraps every limb around you like she’s a baby monkey and you’re a tree.

Refuses to let go for 10 minutes. It’s warm. It’s pure. It’s the most healing hug in galactic history.

Immediately declares you her “hug buddy.”

Makes you a friendship bracelet with “❤️ HUGS THUGS 4 LIFE ❤️” on it.

Tries to get the rest of the squad to join in. “Group hug! Come on! HUNTAH YOU’RE NOT TA COOL FOR LOVE.”

Eventually becomes hug ambassador. Sneak attacks everyone until the whole squad is touch-positive.

Hunter now does “the forehead touch.” Wrecker hugs everyone at breakfast. Tech nods politely and lets her sit in his lap. Crosshair lets her hug him while muttering “don’t tell anyone.”

🧸 BONUS: Bad Batch Group Hug™

You say “GROUP HUG” and Wrecker YEETS HIMSELF AT YOU FIRST.

Omega screams “YESSSS!!” and jumps on like a koala.

Tech mutters “Oh no it’s happening again” and gets absorbed into the chaos.

Crosshair stands two meters away looking like a feral cat. But you hold out your hand and he sighs, grumbles, and slinks in like he’s being drafted into a cult.

It’s warm. It’s slightly sweaty. Someone’s armor is digging into your hip. But everyone’s breathing slows down. There’s peace.

You say “I love you guys” and Hunter goes silent. Then softly replies: “Yeah. You too.”

[iinryer]

so. i have been saying since the top of the season that this feels like a reset, and a reintroduction to the characters (which makes sense for a new network!)—i know others have talked about to being a transitional and setup season as well, which i agree with.

ive been thinking about parallels and mirrors and what it might mean to overlay season seven over season four, the things that could possibly imply…

[ID under the cut for easier legibility than alt]

(self indulgent honorable mention parallel: eddie’s blood in buck’s mouth, tommy’s soot on buck’s lips)

season four is the only other non-pilot season to have less than the full 18 episodes. season four is also the only season that ends on a life-altering arc-beginning injury for a member of the 118 (which also makes sense for a shorter than usual season, big hook to make up for the fewer episodes).

at the end of season four, eddie and bobby both end up dramatically injured (sniper). the end of season four also has the first mention of the will. now, i cannot say for sure that either of these are going to be mirrored, BUT. looking at the roadmap they’ve already given us… i have some feelings and predictions :)

and i’m not even going to begin digging into the vertigo references, others have more eloquent things to say, but i wanted to at least mention it because i DO think it’s going to come into play…

(if you can think of any other 4/7 parallels i would LOVE to hear them)

EDIT: 5/8 parallels spreadsheet now exists as well

———

IMAGE ID: a three column spreadsheet with the categories “PLOT POINT” , “SEASON 4”, and “SEASON 7”. the text reads:

Buck learns something life-altering that makes things about the rest of his life make sense in hindsight

- S4: Daniel reveal

- S7: Bisexuality discovery

Eddie meets a woman and ends episode 7 of the season on a date with her

- S4: Ana

- S7: Kim

Maddie and Chimney have a major milestone in their relationship

- S4: Jee is born

- S7: They’re getting married

Something horrible happens right before they do

- S4: Albert’s accident

- S7: Chimney gets sick and goes missing

Buck makes a fool of himself on a first date

- S4: Veronica, and the “double date”

- S7: Tommy

Hen and Karen have struggles with the foster system and how to best protect and provide for their foster kids

- S4: Nia

- S7: Mara

Athena and Bobby have trouble communicating, putting their relationship in a rocky spot

- S4: Bobby sponsoring the woman from the pileup and hiding it, Athena telling Bobby that she had considered retirement but never talked to him

- S7: The cruise ship and Athena being unable to tell Bobbby why she's so uncomfortable with the prospect of down time together

Someone talks to Eddie about following his own desires in a relationship, not what's expected

- S4: Bobby about Ana, Carla about Ana

- S7: Bobby about Marisol

Buck has a heart to heart with Christopher about the anxiety he has towards the fragility of relationships with the people in his life

- S4: Shannon and people leaving him, feeling isolated during the pandemic

- S7: Shannon and the girls he's leading on

Hen and Karen meet another parent related to their foster children

- S4: Meeting Nia's mom in the park and having lunch with her and Nia

- S7: Finding Tyson and reconnecting him with Mara

Someone with the initials TK that Buck met in relation to a helicopter, kisses Buck in his kitchen after Eddie gets hurt and then has to leave

- S4: Taylor

- S7: Tommy

[diejager]

Hi! I'm not sure if you're still doing/taking requests for the monster!141 au anymore so feel free to just ignore this if you aren't! 😊

But if u are can I request a drabble/headcanon about venom!hunter? I'm curious about the dynamic between them (venom & hunter) and how they got along and worked together (i don't really know how to phrase it🥲) when they first met.

Also how did they first met? How does venom get along with 141? I'm not sure if u already wrote about it.

Venom!reader headcanon

Cw: blood, gore, cannibalism?, canon-typical violence, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 898

Your meeting with Venom was an accident, a coincidence culminated from horrible events, you weren’t supposed to separate from your squad and he wasn’t supposed to die in the body of an incompatible vessel. It was a moment of shame and disgrace, making the simplest mistake one could do in your positions, but everything had a reason, no? Because you found Venom and he found you, he was your way back and you were his compatible vessel.

It was… difficult at first, sharing one mind and body with someone else took some time. A lot of time. It was a struggle of push and pull, your calm waters and his violent storm. While you preferred to stray from trouble, Venom loved it, actively seeking it out whenever he had control of your body. There was a lot of fighting, internal struggles and bickering back and forth, but you eventually came to an understanding —common ground. 

If he let you live your life - a dangerous one filled with blood and violence, still a young private in the army without any achievements and with big dreams - have monopoly over your body whenever you were off the field, you’d relinquish your key on his cage whenever he was hungry while you were fighting, letting his loose to run his rampage and fill his stomach with the heads of enemies. 

It was a relationship built on mutual respect, you for his determination and him for you strength. You understood one another, so your occasional disagreement grew rarer and rarer. You didn’t fight about feeding him only chocolate because you couldn’t stomach the sight of bitten heads. You didn’t fight about wanting excitement when times were too quiet. You didn’t fight when you wanted a few moments of silence in your mind. And you didn’t fight whenever you felt him poke his head out of your sleeve.

This symbiotic relationship only meant that you;d grow closer to each other, he got to know you on a fundamental level and you got to discover more and more about his past and dreams —he had a few wild ones, but all attainable. You shared your fears, your secrets and your pains, you laughed when he stammered after your promise to protect him, his blubbering words and growls sent your way when he said that he would be the one to do the protecting. His reasoning being that he was bigger, stronger and more dangerous than you and your little explosive weapons. 

It was from then on that he called you Little One, a slip of his tongue while you laughed and kicked your legs at his flustered face, his head reaching from your shoulder to glare at you. He acted like a love sick puppy afterwards, often calling out to you when he was bored, nudging your arm while you worked, wanting pets and kisses, or would shower you with loud and boisterous affection. Though he always proclaimed it to be him providing for you, it wasn’t affection - no - it was him watching over you like a guardian —or so he mumbled. 

He would step in if he deemed a situation too dangerous for your fragile, fleshy body. He’d warn you, let you know where and who was coming for you, be it a sniper from a mile away or a group of armed soldiers sneaking around you. If you couldn’t deal with it in time, Venom would forcefully push his way out of you, covering you in a protective layer of his body, the mass of muscle and sinewy cords building a protective shell. And fortunately, it’s only happened when you were hidden away, the knowledge of Venom’s existence would bring unwanted attention to both you and him, none of which were good. 

You met Venom before your study and test for the rank of combat medic, getting his support and mind to help you through it all, his photogenic memory, his talented hands and strength. It was only after earning you new rank, did Laswell contact you for the position on the Task Force 141 since your record held no sign of hateful acts towards monsters and hybrids, and your high success score. 

You both vowed to keep Venom a secret from anyone, he was off the record in every sense, unknown and a mystery, a variant that you were adamant to keep a secret. Venom didn’t… hate the men, he might’ve had a small dislike for their attraction and affection towards you, he was a possessive and protective symbiote, but seeing how you were a permanent fixture in the TF, he was forced to tolerate them. He would let you know what he heard and sensed from them, small secrets he caught or fun, little pranks that he wanted to do, and occasionally protect them. Only because you cared for them, he’d hate to see you sad and worried, Venom preferred seeing you smile and laugh. 

And following these events, Venom could openly interact with the hybrids, unafraid since it wasn’t a secret anymore. He was a bit reluctant, but slipped from your collar whenever someone mentioned something he liked: chocolate, human meat, you or violence, grinning maniacally and flashing his big, white teeth. Despite his apprehension, Venom was a menace, to them as much as he was with you, and yet you still loved him so much. 

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-nooraa @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

"I hate you."

He's expressive around you, despite the mask that hides his face. The look of utter confusion and aching hurt that settles in his beautiful eyes nearly guts you.

"What is going on, love. Please. Talk to me." His voice is so soft it makes you want to crawl into his arms and kiss him until his eyes are happy and soft again.

"I don't ever want to see you again. I hate you. I hate you, Simon."

The words cut deep but he doesn't believe you. No yet. Simon knows you too well. You neet to hit harder. Where it hurts so he'll leave.

So your stomach doesn't have to turn with the knowledge that a sniper rifle is aimed at his head right now.

"I hate you. I only ever was with you to get a look behind your mask. See what you're hiding. And it's hideous. You're just like your father."

"Lovie, you... you can't mean that. Tell me what's going on... I need- " He's taking a desperate step towards you.

"Stop!", you shriek and he falters. "You scare me. I don't want you here. I don't want you. Never did, only pretended because I was scared of what you'd do if I didn't stay."

You never knew that you'd be the one breaking both your hearts. It seems wrong that you can't hear the deafing sound of them collampsing and crumbling to pieces.

The moment it hits him is unmistakable. Simons eyes harden and you see him fight himself. You know the hurt and doubt you just scratches open with your fingernails.

Old wounds that you spent hours stitching up, torn open at your words. And yet you dug your nails as deep as possible. Clawing at his tender and fragile until you turned it jagged and sharp through just one conversation.

You hit the one place that overrides his rationality with emotions. He holds up his hands. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Gentle, always gentle.

His eyes suddenly look ancient, haunted. Like an old house that was left empty for so long that it welcomes any spirits because at least they're company. Simon's eyes are looking through you, unfocused.

"I'll leave now."

You nod, the fear in your eyes not even part of the charade when he turns to leave.

The scream of agony that claws it's way up your throat with unyielding claws dies when you bite your own tongue hard enough to draw blood. Anything to stop yourself from calling out to him. To stop yourself from begging him to come back. From apologizing.

There's a faint click in your hidden earpiece. "That's a good girl, didn't even have to blow his brains out. But we all know I'm very trigger happy. You know what comes next."

[mandoalorian]

speak now [bucky barnes x f!reader]

horrified looks from everyone in the room but i’m only looking at you.

word count: 1,800

rating/warnings: 13+, angst, pre-established relationship with helmut zemo, hurt/comfort, happy ending (i imagined this with tfatws!bucky).

fic inspired by speak now by taylor swift ₊˚ෆ

: ̗̀➛ masterlist

The mirror felt cold beneath your fingertips.

“Are you okay?” one of your bridesmaids asked gently, fluffing the hem of your dress behind you.

You nodded, lips tugging upward into something that passed for a smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

But you weren’t thinking about vows or flower arrangements or the champagne toast.

You were thinking about Vienna.

It had rained that night. Not enough to soak the rooftop, just enough to leave the sky glistening and the air charged with the kind of electricity that makes people say things they normally wouldn’t.

It had been just the two of you — you and Bucky — standing at the edge of a building overlooking the Danube, your mission gear still clinging to your skin, both of you catching your breath from a close call in the shadows below.

He’d saved your life that night. Threw himself between you and a sniper’s bullet like it was instinct. Maybe it was.

“I told you not to run ahead,” he said, voice low, a smirk barely ghosting across his lips.

“And I told you I hate being told what to do,” you shot back, though your pulse hadn’t stopped racing.

You hadn’t thanked him.

Not with words.

Instead, you stepped closer to him, close enough to feel the heat coming off his chest, the way his shoulders tightened when you reached up to touch his jaw — a small scrape blooming red from the scuffle.

“You’re bleeding,” you said softly.

He didn’t move away.

“It’s fine,” he murmured. “You’ve seen me worse.”

Your thumb traced the edge of the wound, careful, lingering longer than necessary. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

The city lights stretched out behind him, but all you saw were his eyes. Tired. Guarded. Like he was holding in a war he didn’t trust anyone else to fight.

“I’m not going to stop worrying about you, you know,” you whispered. “No matter how many walls you put up.”

He swallowed hard. You felt it, saw it in the way his throat bobbed.

“I don’t want you to,” he said. “That’s the problem.”

You didn’t understand. Not right away. But then his hand came up — hesitating — until it hovered near your waist. Not touching. Just there.

And that’s when you felt it.

That aching, fragile almost.

He was close enough to kiss you. Close enough to ruin everything.

Your breath hitched.

“Say something,” he murmured. “Before I do something stupid.”

You stared at him.

“I can’t,” you whispered.

And he nodded. Just once. Like it was exactly what he expected.

You both stood there, in the middle of a storm that never broke, hearts full of things neither of you dared say.

Eventually, he stepped back. And that was the end of it. Or so you thought.

You never meant for it to end this way.

Not with lace trailing behind you. Not with trembling hands wrapped around a bouquet that didn’t mean anything. Not with Bucky Barnes watching you walk down an aisle meant for someone else.

But then again, you and Bucky had never done anything the way people expected.

It started simple. Late nights at the compound, sitting shoulder to shoulder in silence that felt warmer than words. Missions that turned into inside jokes. Gloved fingers brushing yours when he passed you a cup of coffee. The way his gaze lingered when he thought you weren’t looking.

You should’ve said something.

You should’ve asked him what he meant, that night on the rooftop in Vienna when he’d leaned in like he might kiss you but didn’t.

Instead, you let him pull away. And eventually, so did you.

Enter Helmut Zemo — elegant, composed, intelligent in a way that made you feel like you could finally breathe. He listened. He gave you space. And he didn’t come with ghosts clinging to his back like chains.

It was easier with Zemo. Simple. Predictable.

Bucky never was.

You and Bucky never even kissed. But, you never had to. The love was there in the way he always stood slightly too close. In the way his voice softened when he said your name. In the way he always watched you like he wasn’t sure he deserved to.

But he never said it.

And when Zemo did — when he got down on one knee with a vintage ring and a calm certainty Bucky never gave you — you said yes.

Not because it felt like fate.

Because it felt like a life raft.

You didn’t invite Bucky to the wedding. You couldn’t. Not after the way he looked at you when he found out. He didn’t say anything — just nodded, smiled like it didn’t kill him, and said he was happy for you.

You should’ve known that was a lie.

Now, you’re here. The aisle stretches endlessly before you. Guests turn in their seats. The quartet plays something soft and elegant. And at the end of the aisle, Zemo waits, handsome and steady.

But it’s not his eyes you look for.

It’s the man in the last row, sitting alone, head down.

Bucky Barnes.

His hair is shorter now, especially compared to the last time you’d seen him. You remembered one night at the compound, your fingers tangled in his hair, casually making a comment about how he’d look so good if he cut it. Either way, he looked good, but he had been complaining about maintaining it. And you liked the idea of seeing his face more, instead of it being hidden by unkempt bangs.

In spite of the changes, Bucky still had that same stubble grazing his jaw. And those same ocean blue eyes and pink lips.

He shouldn’t be here. But he came anyway.

He doesn’t smile. Just watches you like you’re walking toward your own execution.

You try not to cry.

The ceremony begins.

Zemo says his vows first. They’re poetic. Controlled. Exactly what you expected. Then it’s your turn. You open your mouth, but your throat feels dry, feeling Bucky’s gaze burn into you. You say your vows distracted, your eyes glazed with unshed tears. Everything about this felt wrong. And yet here you were, standing in front of your family and friends, about to be trapped forever.

You forced yourself to change your train of thought. This wasn’t fair on the man who stood at the altar, beside you.

No, nothing about this was fair.

Zemo was nice enough. He was intelligent and passionate and a good lover. He worked hard and earned enough money to take care of the both of you, and he always fought for what was important to him. Those were traits you could value in anyone.

He was handsome too. He dressed well, albeit not to everyone’s taste. He wouldn’t have dared to be seen in tactical gear. And you supposed you could admire that.

If you were to really force yourself.

Zemo was nice, but he wasn’t Bucky.

Every instinct told him to stay away. To let you be happy, even if that happiness was in someone else’s arms. Even if it killed him.

But Bucky Barnes had never been good at doing what he should.

So here he was. In the back row of a wedding he didn’t belong at, fists clenched in his lap, jaw locked so tight it ached. Sam had begged him not to go. “Move on,” he had told his friend with convict and care. But Bucky couldn’t. He’d tried and he couldn’t, and now he was running out of chances.

You looked like a dream.

No — not a dream. A punishment. A walking reminder of everything he wanted but never dared to take.

He’d lost you a long time ago.

That night on the rooftop in Vienna had been the closest he’d ever come to telling you the truth. The air had been damp with rain, the mission barely behind you. The city was still burning beneath your feet, but all he could think about was the way you’d looked at him — like you saw something in him worth saving.

You left the rooftop that night thinking nothing had changed.

He left knowing everything had.

And still… he stayed silent.

He watched you fall for someone else. Watched you laugh at another man’s jokes. Watched you wear a ring that wasn’t his. He convinced himself he was doing the right thing — staying away, keeping his distance, letting you be happy.

But when the music swelled and you walked down that aisle, he realised something.

He wasn’t protecting you.

He was just scared.

Scared you wouldn’t choose him back.

Scared he’d never be enough.

Bucky’s chest burned. Because he was back on that rooftop, rain in the air, the heat of your hand on his skin, and the weight of almosts on his tongue. Not this time.

“If anyone objects to this union,” the officiant says, his voice cutting through the hush, “speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Your palms were clammy. Your ears were cold.

And then—

“I do.”

It’s like a grenade goes off in your chest.

You whip around. Guests gasp. Zemo goes rigid beside you.

Bucky rises from his seat, face unreadable, hands clenched at his sides. But there’s no mistaking the tremor in his voice.

“I object.”

The room falls into stunned silence.

And you can barely breathe.

What is this feeling? Anger? Confusion? Relief?

“I know this isn’t fair,” Bucky says, stepping into the aisle, his voice raw. “And I know I should’ve said something sooner. But I can’t let you marry him without hearing this. Without knowing that I—”

He falters, then meets your eyes with everything he’s got left.

“I love you. I always have. I was just too scared to ruin what we had. I thought… maybe if I stayed quiet, you’d be happier. Safer. He can give you a stable life, and God knows you deserve that. But if there’s even a part of you that still wonders—still feels something when I walk into a room—then don’t do this.”

You can feel every eye on you. Zemo doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. His silence speaks volumes — he already knew.

Your throat tightens.

You’d convinced yourself you were over Bucky. That the softness in your chest whenever you heard his voice would fade with time. That marrying someone safe meant you were finally moving on.

But love was never supposed to feel safe.

It was supposed to feel like this.

Like heartbreak and hope, tangled into one.

You drop the bouquet and it hits the floor with a dull thud.

Then you run — past the flowers, past the altar, past everything that should’ve been enough but wasn’t. Bucky catches you like he always does, like he was built for it. You bury your face in his shoulder, breathing him in, shaking, laughing and crying at the same time.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers.

“You never did.”

And that was the truth.

Zemo doesn’t chase you. He just watches. Dignified. Quiet. Maybe he was never meant to be the villain of your story.

Just the man who helped you realize who the hero was.

“Bucky, I’m so mad at you.” you sobbed into his chest, tears dampening the material of his black shirt. He cradled the back of your head.

“I know,” he replied softly, regretting the time he’d lost with you. “And I deserve that. But please—“

You cut him off with a kiss. Hard, passionate, in love. The kiss you had deserved since Vienna. The kiss Bucky had dreamed of. Your lips taste like heaven against his, and you know now, that this was exactly where you needed to be.

You don’t look back.

You don’t need to.

Because Bucky was never behind you.

He was always the one waiting to be chosen.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world

[ukiiseikou]

these hands that saved me, they're so fragile.

tartaglia x gn! reader. when you take a hit for him. he's referred to by his real name here.

you wouldn't really call yourself a fighter per say, more of an scholar or explorer. but like everyone else in the village, you knew some basic self defense - like how to hold a bow properly and the best way to wield a knife and cut through flesh. when you finally started dating ajax, he taught you how to throw a punch properly, with your fist as tight as possible and not with your thumb tucked into your palm, "because it'll break that way".

he's brought you on several trips already - fatui missions, you know, but he swears he has the time to lounge around and accompany you on your survey of various local offerings, and he makes well on his promises, despite the bruises and extra cuts he has to go through to clean up in time. you always scold him - don't go into a battle without a clear head! - but he laughs and says that it'll be a waste to come all the way here with his favourite person and not enjoy it.

you know he has his fair share of enemies - people who would do anything to take his head off. ajax jumps at any chance to fight - like a wolf that just learnt to bare it's teeth and fight tooth and nail with reckless abandonment. he comes home bloodied and bruised nine times out of ten, always with an apology hanging by his lips as you sit him down and wipe away the splash of blood on his cheek.

you've had your own close run-ins with his foes - even after ajax made an example out of the first group that dared to touch a hair of you, the fatui's enemies pinpointed you as the weakness of the eleventh harbinger - a surefire way of getting under his skin and catching him by surprise.

"i'll protect you," he murmurs every so often in your ear at night, arms tightening around your waist as he buried his head in the crook of your shoulder, "i'll be your knight."

"i know, ajax," you've always whispered back, smoothing back ginger curls and leaving a tender kiss on his forehead.

so that's why you didn't second guess yourself and threw yourself in the line of an arrow heading towards him in his blind spot. a sniper perched in a tree that quickly slinked off when the arrowhead pierced the flesh of your shoulder and you cried out in pain.

the overwhelming sensation of pain overtakes all your senses, you can barely hear ajax call out your name and you don't register him catching you in his arms and frantically patting you on your cheek. the taste of blood fills your mouth and your eyes water at the sensation - and smell of iron in the air.

your vision fades to black.

"i'll keep an eye on them. thanks for coming around, doctor."

ajax's voice finally makes it over the noise and his face finally makes it into focus in your vision. you vaguely register that you're on a bed and you can't feel the entirety of your left side.

"ajax?" you manage to croak out. you hear frantic feet against the floor and his face pops into view, brows drawn together in worry. the bed creaks under his weight as he sits on the bed beside you, leaning over your body.

"the doctor said that most people usually take 3 hours to wake up," he mutters, and you manage to catch it as he scans over you with scrutiny.

"guess i'm not most people," you manage to raise your right arm to give him at quick tap on his hand, which immediately moves to grasps yours and give you squeeze.

"does it hurt?"

"not really. can't feel it at all, actually."

he lets out a satisfied hum, before his blue eyes turn steely again.

"what you did was stupid. why did you do that - for me?"

"hey," you muster enough strength to squeeze his hand back in response, "it goes both ways, ajax. if you were me, you would done the same."

he fumes, because he knows you're right. he would rather throw himself to the flames than to watch anyone hurt you, and he knows that if he starts scolding you all you would do is do the same thing back to him.

he settles for sighing, playing with your fingers.

"i only wish it didn't have to be that way. i'm sorry, it's all on me. i should've been better."

he places your hand on his cheek, feeling the warmth against his skin.

"ajax," you say softly as his eyes close, "i told you before - i chose to be with you. i knew what i was getting into. so don't say sorry, okay?"

you watch as he inhales, then exhales, again.

"you really are the best, you know?"

not my best work but i suddenly felt the urge. like or reblog if you enjoyed thank you~

[the-red-sniper]

So... uhm... does that mean you uhm... you don't like me?

bro has the weirdest kids

They’re all a bit odd, aren’t they?

[lunatic-pudge]

Scout, Pyro, Demo, Medic, Sniper, and Spy Relationship Headcanons

Can you tell which ones are my absolute favorite:')

Scout

• Unsurprisingly, it takes him a long time to get over his infatuation of Ms. Pauling (I'm 110% convinced she's a lesbian), so you must be basically a deity to be catching his attention (though he'd the type to flirt with EVERYONE)

• Golden retriever energy, also youngest child energy. Constantly wants to do everything for you but also needs constant attention. He's also used to be getting picked on by the other mercs and his older brothers so he'll be going to you for validation. But he also doesn't want to appear weak so it'll take some time to break through his (fragile) shell.

• Love language: physical touch and acts of services. Will be constantly trying to act like a macho man for you but will also beg to hold your hand. Cuddles are constant. He may not be good at being a handyman, but my gods he's gonna try his darndest. Plz tell him that he did a good job, he's trying his best.

• He's the best person to go to if you wanna go on randon and unexpected adventures. One minute you're both in Teufort, the next your across country at the beach up east coast. Poor thing gets yelled at a lot for just uping and leaving without notice.

• Local snack dealer. Ma is always making sure that he's got sweets on hand. His room has care packages from her with some of the most wholesome letters from her and the box if FILLED to the brim with sweets, treats, and soda

Pyro

• My little baby boo, a wholesome partner who would kill for you. Can get jealous very easily so you might have to hold them back from committing manslaughter.

• Love language: quality time and gift giving. Time with Pyro is time well spent. Constantly just wants to be in the same room with you. They don't do well when you're not around. Also loves to give gifts. Most of their gifts consit of stuffed animals and handmade drawings. Your room will be filled with gifts from this goofball.

• In my opinion, they're a lot more there than people realize. Some days are better than others though. They were literally CEO of an engeneering company! And I believe they made all their weapons to but I could be wrong on that. Homie is definitely reliable when they're having a good day, but on the bad days, just sit and spend time with them. You don't gotta say anything, just knowing your right there beside them is enough conformation to know you'll always be there no matter what.

• You two are little troublemakers. You'll constantly be up to no good with them. It seems like harmless fun, but you've both almost burnt down the base five times just this month!

Demoman

• Probably one of the best lovers you could have out of all the mercs (aside from Engie, they're competing for the number one spot). I'm deducting points cause of the nonstop alcohol consumpution. :(

• But he is a happy goofy dunk so thank gods for that. Always happy to be here. Very attentive, caring, cuddly, overall a good person to date or even just be friends with.

• Cause the constant alcohol ruined a good portion of his memory (and Medic as well), he writes down every little detail of you that he can in a little journal he secretly keeps on his person. Important dates, likes, dislikes, ect. The man has it on file in case of emergencies.

• Love language: gift giving and act of services. He works three jobs and makes over 5 mil a year, he's LOADED. He's gonna buy you the world if you ask. Definitely good at money managing so he never worried at how much gifts cost. He's also gonna try his darndest to help you out with any problems, though it can be a bit hard when you're constantly drunk. Hims trying his best, okay?

• Wants his mom to approve of you but knows how critical she is of him. Poor baby has some self-esteem issuses cause of her so please give him lots of love and support. It's hard when your mom never has anything nice to say about you and compares you to everyone else. It's a neverending struggle. :(

Medic

• You're definitley into weird and questionable people if you like this man, and that means we're best friends now. :D

• He will ask you to help him out with surgeries and organizing his lab. You're hims little nurse. He'd probably (absolutley) be getting you a nurse outfit with his symbol on it.

• He's very much the possessive type. What's his is HIS, no if, ands, buts, or questions about it. Would put a tracker in you so he knows where you are at all times, but someone would have to talk him out of doing it... for now...

• Constantly talks about you to his birds, if any on them ever have babies, he's naming one after you. Would get you a stuffed dove plushie to cuddle with at night when he can't be there with you

• Love language: physical touch and quality time, you're ALWAYS welcomed in his lab, in fact, he expects you to be there with him. Is the type to ask you to grab something and will graze his hands against yours when grabbing it from you. (then give a shit eating smirk afterwards) He'd also be the type to stand VERY close to you, and stand behind you in an intimidating way to keep others from talking to you.

Sniper

• This man is my all time baby boy so I have LOTS to say about him and how much I love him :')

• Is someone who takes a while to get close to, especially in a romantic way. He's just a shy little boy who's used to being alone. But isn't introverted, just has introverted tendencies (you literally see him hanging out with some of the other mercs in Expiration Date)

• Love language: words of affirmations and physical touch, he sucks at verbally saying how he feels about you but will leave cute little love notes around for you to find. He's also VERY touched-starved so he will just flat out lay on top of you if you let him. Loves hearing you say how much you love him, plz just hold his hands and say how much he means to you, he might just cry from it.

• Is also someone who goes on random adventures, but they're usually just out and away from everyone. But I could see him taking you to a zoo or aquarium to look at the animals. But you're not allowed to go to a Humane Society cause you'll be walking out with all the animals they have and raising them like they're your babies,

Spy

• Another gremlin who takes a long time to warm up to you. He's a grumpy old man who's never really been with someone in such a serious light (aside from Scout's Ma)

• Love language: gift giving and words of affirmation, another merc who would buy you the world if you asked. Will only buy you the best of the best and will throw hands with someone if it's not up to his standards. He could go on about his love for you. His words sound like poetry. You'd wake up with a bouquet of roses and one of the most beautiful love letters anyone has ever read.

• Is 50/50 on PDA, he'll wrap an arm around your waist, call you beautiful, and give you a peck on the cheek in front of others but that's about it. Any extreme PDA is to be in private or you're getting a scolding.

• Would definitely help you learn French. He's way more patient with you than anyone else. You've seen him yell and insult every merc a couple times (Scout getting the brunt of it), but he refuses to ever say anything negative about you

• Definitely the bragging type. He'll put you on a pedestal and go on about how gorgeous you are. How you were crafted by gods, and so on. He thinks he's better than everyone else so if you're with him, than you're right up there with him.