ok so my friend (who doesnāt know tf2 at all) saw a picture of Sniper and said to me āhey his sunglasses are prescription! they fade in the darkā and i canāt get over it. so now im obsessed with bad eyesight Sniper. anyway hereās some headcanons then
SO EMBARRASSED ABOUT HIS POOR EYESIGHT. Sniper was so embarrassed about needing glasses that he got prescription sunglasses so nobody would know.
he tried on regular glasses, but he thought that they made him look so nerdy he threw them off and didnāt look back.
the only person who knows about his poor eyesight (other than his parents), is Spy. Spy had thieved the marksmanās sunglasses to inspect them, and noticed the extremely thick lenses of them.
With Shane dating Rose Landry, Ilya is forced to confront his childhood trauma.
(cross posted on ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/76921166)
hurt/comfort (very little comfort, a lot of hurt), referenced sa
otstalyy - retard
Ilyaās family was a sore spot of conversation. Ask anyone, and theyād say that. He gets defensive and puffs up like a stray cat whenever someone dares to try and prod at his past. To Ilya, his father was scarier than any local urban legend. In his father's eyes, there was a defining sense of right and wrong in the household. A right and wrong way to fold towels, to put mayonnaise on a sandwich, to put the silverware away. Every task in the house had a correct way to be completed. These ways were mostly gone unspoken, Ilya knew that early on, that you just had toĀ knowĀ if what you were doing was the right way. If it was wrong, all hell broke loose. It was horrifying.
Ilyaās now away from home, and his father is as good as dead, and Ilya knows this. So why canāt he shake his fatherās old habits? Even still, every towel has to be folded correctly, every sandwich has to have the mayonnaise slabbed on it correctly, and every piece of silverware has to be put away correctly, or else he fears his father will yell at him. His father will be waiting in the threshold to scream at him for being such an otstalyy. His dad canāt hurt him anymore. So why wonāt this feeling go away? Why does the shame of being such a fuck up in his fatherās eyes linger?
The shame only grew when he started the whole situation with Shane. When the burn of affection pitted his chest when he and Shane cuddled after eating tuna melts, Ilya repeated the words his father said to him as a kid, ābeing a faggot is what would make you dead to me.ā When Shane panics and leaves, all Ilya can think is that this is his father showing him that he doesnāt deserve love. He needs to shut up and play hockey. This is the life he chose for himself, so he needs to man up and take it. Just as he did with the coach's son.Ā
Guilt gnawed at Ilya whenever Shane started dating Rose. Was Ilya to Shane as Sasha was to him? Just a no strings attached person to fuck to cope with everything? Except, ā or at least, Ilya prayed āit was enjoyable for the other person involved. Ilya never enjoyed being with Sasha. It made him feel dirty. The feeling of the his on Ilyaās body never washed away in the shower, and he hated it. No matter how much soap he used, Sashaās handprints lingered. Was Ilya just a convenient fuck for Shane? Were they truly nothing, or was Ilyaās jealousy valid?Ā
Every new picture that was released of Shane and Rose drew Ilya a little closer to the edge. Ugly forms of rage gobbled at his heart. Heās suffered so much in his pathetic, despondent life, so why canāt Ilya get what he wants so badly forĀ once? The whole world could go to ruins, but the loneliest man of Russia wouldnāt ever be able to pull his eyes away from the mirror he was sulking into. Ilya was destined for fucking nothing. He was destined to be alone forever.Ā
He always fucked up to his dad, and now heād fucked up to Shane. Ilya had let himself get too comfortable to the only source of affection he craved, and now it was gone forever. As he came to grips with Shane being gone, he gave up on trying anymore. When he wasnāt at practice, or at a game, he laid in his bed and stared across the room. He barely ate. Ilya wanted to do nothing except wonder where he went wrong. He felt like his mother.
Irina was soĀ sad. Dad was always so hard on her, harder than he was to Alexei and Ilya. She had to be perfect all the time, and the boys only had to be perfect most of the time. Ilya felt as if his mother was the only person who understood him. She never called him weak whenever he broke into hysterics. Irina never called Ilya an otstalyy like father did when he messed up. One day, after being relentlessly belittled and abused for years, she died. It was an accident. Sheād never do that to Ilya on purpose. She wasnāt cruel.
Ilya had been dreading the All-Star game at the end of the week, because he and Shane were on the same team this year. Would Shane ignore Ilya? Tell him heās engaged to Rose? Tell Ilya what he truly thought, that he was useless and nothing to him?Ā
When Shane joined Ilya sitting at the Tampa resortās bar, Ilya was tense. He justĀ knewĀ Shane was going to tell him he and Rose were serious, and that he and Ilya were over. After Ilya decided to pry about Rose, expecting the worst, he found out that they werenāt ācompatibleā, and Ilya made a mental note to look that word up later. Shane didnāt seem too upset, and Ilya didnāt care enough about that. The love of his life turned down the worldās hottest movie star.Ā
Does that mean Ilya wasnāt good enough for Shane, either?Ā
That night, in Ilyaās hotel room, he hadnāt meant to break down crying, it just kind of happened. Ilya had felt so alone, with Shane being out of the picture and his father haunting him. Those two things mixed together made Ilya almost as sad as when Irina died. Shaneās comfort made all of it almost bearable.Ā
ok so my friend (who doesnāt know tf2 at all) saw a picture of Sniper and said to me āhey his sunglasses are prescription! they fade in the darkā and i canāt get over it. so now im obsessed with bad eyesight Sniper. anyway hereās some headcanons then
SO EMBARRASSED ABOUT HIS POOR EYESIGHT. Sniper was so embarrassed about needing glasses that he got prescription sunglasses so nobody would know.
he tried on regular glasses, but he thought that they made him look so nerdy he threw them off and didnāt look back.
the only person who knows about his poor eyesight (other than his parents), is Spy. Spy had thieved the marksmanās sunglasses to inspect them, and noticed the extremely thick lenses of them.
NOOOOOOIIRRRR COME BAAAAACK I CANT DEAL W THIS IMPOSTER EARVINGGGGG PLEASE UR TOO SWEET FOR THE SEVEN PLZ TELL ME THEY HID YOU IN VOUGHT TOWER SOMEWHERE I NEED YOU BACK MY POOR BABY
the agency of our love [medic x administrators agent!reader]
warnings - medic being medic, depictions of violence
<3
ā the second Ludwig saw you, suit and tie bloodied, bodies of BLU (and some RED) mercs littering the dirt ground, he immediately knew you must be his!
ā he would find every way possible to find you whenever you showed up to battles so he could heal you. āhallo, Miss [Y/N]!ā heād say before getting killed by the enemy Heavy.
ā the first time you popped around to the RED base was to retrieve your axe that Pyro had accidentally broken. you ended up attending Pyroās tea party, and when Medic passed by and saw you, he spontaneously joined in.
ā after the tea party and the retrieval of your axe, Ludwig decided to ask you if he could experiment on you. he promised it was just a small surgery, to enhance your brain function.
ā ādanke, Miss [Y/N]! iāll even use anesthesia.ā
ā he didnāt enhance your brain functions. he gave you something that would make you keep having to come see him for illnesses.
ā you grew fond of the doctor (thanks to your weekly check-ins with him for your sicknesses).
ā it seemed like everyone but you knew that Medic was obsessed with you. borderline crazed about you.
ā he kept a picture of you on his work desk, so he could look at you while he did paperwork : )
ā he finally grew a pair and kissed you after a year and a half of pining. all because he saw you DRENCHED in BLU merc blood after they tried to kill Medic <3
ā you two got married (much to the Administrators dismay) and you treat his birds and baboon child as your own!!
bonjour mes amis! Il est Spy. I finally caved and made a blog, because Scout wouldnāt stop bothering me. my asks are open, please feel free to pop a query into my inbox.
Haha, I hope you don't mind I sort of had this in my backpocket and it was going to stay unfinished forever but your prompt pinged some words I was finally able to connect. So thanks!
sniperspy - rated explicit (very nsfw lol)
(open prompt post HERE)
+++
Sniper thanks his lucky stars Spy doesnāt expect dirty talk from him. Heās more than happy to let Spy do all the flirtatious innuendo and filthy comments. Heās willing to listen to it all. In fact, if Sniper makes a conscious effort to make the attempt himself, it usually doesnāt work. Spy is typically immune to whatever Sniper has to say (dirty or not), likely because heās already heard everything in all his years of honeypot missions and the like. With the filthy shit Spy murmurs in his ear sometimes, Sniper is sure as hell he hasnāt even heard a quarter of it.Ā
Either way, Sniperās not much of a talker in bed, much like he isnāt much of one when not in bed, but especially when heās about to get railed six ways to Sunday. He makes noise, sure, but nothing too coherent. Curses, mostly. Obvious demands. He aināt dead silent. Spy seems to like it.Ā Ā
So Sniperās just carrying on babbling nonsense while getting plowed silly on his back, too far gone to care what comes out of his mouth. He vaguely remembers gasping please, please (normal, polite) and donāt stop (honest demand, if not obvious in hindsight), want you (intimate, perhaps, but not scandalous), and then, of course, Spyās name a couple of times.
Nothing out of the ordinary, except when Sniper is in the middle of gasping something unusually wordy, Spy suddenly tenses, lets out a short startled noise, and comes inside Sniper with such abruptness, it surprises them both.Ā
Spy slips himself out, still breathing harshly against Sniperās neck. Thereās a slight shake to his arms as he tries to sit up with Sniperās legs still wrapped around his waist. Sniper is more bummed about the loss in his bum, but it only takes Spy another moment to recoverāhe looks mortified, red from the neck and chest, and then thatās all the observation Sniper can gather before Spy quickly bends down and sucks him off until Sniperās mind does the equivalent of dropping a loose cartridge of SMG bullets all over the floor.
No more words, this time Sniper just moans through his orgasm, almost overwhelmed by how fast it hits like a train. His cock has never been so thoroughly swallowed down and cleaned up with speed. Heās still shuddering when Spy lets off, and he shudders again when he sees that Spy has to swallow twice.
Thereās an art to complimenting Spy. Say too much and heās going to get a big head about it. Say too little and heāll fish for an opinion. Say nothing and itās even worseāheāll not do it again and brush it off as something Sniper doesnāt want.
So, Sniper flops his legs back down from Spyās waist and lets out a very precise, very articulate, āNgh.ā
Spy doesn't say anything for the moment. He stumbles from the bed, off to fetch the washrag while Sniper tries to figure out what the hell happened.Ā
āThat was fast,ā Sniper says, since he knows itās best to just pull the trigger on these things; Spy has a habit of getting all caught up in his head otherwise. āGot somewhere to be?ā
It isnāt until Spy drops a damp cloth on his chest that Sniper sits up, letting it fall into his lap. He doesnāt pick it up. Instead, he sets his sights on Spy.
ā...Youāre quite the chattermouth in bed,ā Spy says, offhand, but he wonāt look at Sniper. Thereās a flush still lingering across his chest and shoulders.Ā
Sniper frowns. Heās sure he hasnāt said anything weird or off putting. Certainly nothing dirty since heās no good at it, and nothing too saccharine or sweet that would embarrass them, but then again, Spy wouldnāt have blown his bloody load so fast if itād been a turn off.
Sniper presses the washrag to his face, muttering, and tries to recall what heād said. If anything, heād like to use it again for leverage, but heās thinking on it now and itās nothing, absolutely nothing special. Just stuff about wanting, and wanting so badly in that desperate kind of sex-talk way. Honest, in-the-moment babble that Sniper canāt fake. Spy should be used to it, considering his past history.
Sniper lowers his hands slightly, peering over the top of the terrycloth at Spy.
āAh-ha,ā Sniper says. āāIām yoursā, is that it?ā
He might as well have shot Spy through the head with how accurate he hits the mark. Spyās body language is perfectly composed, but what little Sniper can see of his face goes up in flames, near bright enough to show through the mask, really.
āA little more than that,ā Spy says stiffly.
Sniper lets out a bark of laughter, not surprised in the least. Because, deep down under that cynical and wry exterior, he knows Spyās a romantic at heart. What, being so invested in Scoutās troubles with Miss Pauling, knowing how to wine and dine, and the finer ins and outs of courting, Spy seems to have a keen eye for reading peopleās heartsāmotives, reallyāso Sniper supposes itās not out of pocket for Spy to be partial to it himself. Sniper likens it to any other type of specialized mercenary skill.Ā
And also, when it comes down to it, Spy has a streak of kindness a klick wide. Heās just good at hiding it in most cases. Sniper guesses he should be flattered he isnāt most cases.
Spy is starting to dress himself. It might not be a good idea to mention that itās his own room heās trying to escape from. Sniper lays himself back into Spyās plush bed.Ā
āNo worries, Spy,ā he says, shrugging. āYouāre a sap. I know you like that kinda stuff. The sweet talkinā.ā
Spy slowly looks at him. He sounds mildly affronted by the accusation. āNot usually.ā
āFine, just with me then.ā
And now Spy looks less of a romantic and more like the proper murderer that he is. Sniper is surprised a knife isnāt buried into his throat yet.
Just in case, he holds one hand up and uses the other to wipe his bottom before Spy starts trying to switch the topic to clean sheets. āI ain't making fun. I think itās sweet as, mate. You get your rocks off however you want.ā
Spy sighs, embarrassed and exasperated, but heās slowed down in trying to dress himself. āYou make it sound like a fetish. It certainly isnāt.ā
āNah. I get that. You like me.ā Sniper rolls on his side, propping himself up with one elbow and his cheek in the palm of his hand. āYou like me heaps.ā
āCareful. That might change.ā
āOh, yeah, sure. Change into liking me more,ā Sniper says breezily.Ā
Spy buttons up his shirt, lightly stepping over Sniperās clothes on the floor so that he can loom over him. He puts fingers around Sniperās throat and at the first touch, Sniper finds himself easing back at the slightest pressure.
āYou would not be able to handle me liking you more,ā Spy says, deadpan. Only he could make something like that sound like a genuine threat. No kindness there at all.
And, since things tend to loop back in a circle with them, Sniper guesses itās only fair when itās his turn to feel a hot blush cross his face under Spyās weighted stare.
When Spyās fingers let up, Sniper drops back, covering his own face, and lets Spy finish dressing.
