Due to spam comments and AI scraping I've locked my older fics. You'll need an AO3 account to view a majority of them but if you drop a DM I will be happy to provide an alternative link to DW or Ellipsus, which you don't need accts for.
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#tanyart fic - all fic
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#[fandom] headcanoning
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#writing rambles - god i will try to remember this one and be consistent
This is the first time Sniper has caught Spy wanking off alone without the motive of wanting to be found. He walks into their shared safehouse, setting his pack down, and hears quiet moaning from the bedroom. Sniper tilts his head, making sure he's heard right, and finds himself more puzzled and skeptical than intrigued. It sounds like Spy. And just Spy, hopefully. Sniper doesn't think Spy would bring someone else into the RED safehouse and neither does he think Spy could possibly be with another teammate.
Therefore, if Sniper is going to continue assuming things, those are the sounds of someone definitely jerking off without expecting company. Because Spy, when he wants to be caught, is loud and shameless, as if leaving seductive hints and a trail of insinuating breadcrumbs isn't enough to get his offer across. There's usually a throaty embellishment to his moans that are very much pornographic and, to be frank, performative in a way that amuses Sniper just as much as it turns him on.
Hell, Sniper had never given the serious thought of Spy needing to masturbate like any other ordinary bloke, on account of the bastard being charming and sleazy enough to easily tempt any poor bastard off the street if he wanted to get off.
Poor bastard like Sniper, on occasion. But that's beside the point.
This time, the grunts are subdued, the panting more natural, like when they're fucking on a schedule with no time to be complicated or dramatic. Sniper approaches the door, footsteps silent. He's still skeptical, especially when the door is ajar. It feels like a trap, and Sniper mentally braces himself for Spy to start laughing at him the moment he peers inside.
Rather than being posed on the bed in some lewd manner, Spy is hunched on the ground, fingering himself with one hand and jerking off with the other. He doesn't see Sniper at all, head bent to the edge of the mattress, grinding his forehead into the duvet in what Sniper can only assume is frustrated horniness.
It's so typical that Spy would rather not get the bed dirty, though the lack of a towel on the ground suggests that… it'd been a spur of the moment decision. Along with the door not being all the way shut, it's like Spy couldn't wait to have a private moment. Only his trousers and jacket are off, thrown over the bed. The rest of his clothes are rumpled, his gun holster dangling loosely off one shoulder.
"Please, please," Spy mutters, voice cracking as he hits some spot that makes him gasp, "Sniper, please-ah..fuck, more—" and the rest of his babbling dissolves into soft murmurs in French, pleading and cursing.
Heat floods to Sniper's face. He's heard Spy beg before, beg for him, but it always seems deliberate with the goal of working Sniper up into a horny frenzy. Spy isn't the type to be needy like this, low and growling, fumbling his words inelegantly without that conniving spark in his eye.
Sniper stares. The movements of Spy's hands are slow. Indulgent. Gentle. Whatever Spy's imagination wants, it's the fantasy of Sniper being languid and patient even if he's begging. Captivating enough, but Sniper averts his gaze to the floor, almost feeling like he should bolt to the exit when this ought to be any faggot's wet dream to have a man on the floor, begging for his cock.
But... it's begging in a sincere, private way that makes Sniper think he really shouldn't have seen this. Spy has teased and flirted, and has had meaningless sex with him so many times that Sniper can tell the difference when Spy wants to play, wants to be performing for an audience, and when he doesn't—and what that says about Sniper's feelings on the matter really isn't something he wants to get into.
Fuck. And he's got an erection now because it's still bloody sexy and also terrible and wildly unnerving, and so Sniper taps the door as politely as he can because it's too late to turn back now and he'd be an idiot to just leave.
Spy whirls around. As best as he can on his knees, anyway. One hand clenches into the bedsheet as his shoulders draw up. His other hand, the one around his cock, almost goes for his gun, clumsily missing where the holster should have been, now dangling around his elbow.
Sniper also feels like a different kind of idiot for not turning away. Spy seems too shocked and mortified to say anything.
Sniper doesn't blink. He raises an eyebrow.
"Don't wanna be presumptuous, but… you thinking 'bout me?" he asks, nudging the door a little wider so that he can lean against the doorframe.
There. A truce. Leave the question open to be treated like a casual joke. They both know he could have very well rubbed it in Spy's face, be so smug and insufferable that he'll never catch Spy desperately wanking off to him again.
Spy sits back, panting slightly. He shuts his eyes for a moment, wiping away a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his bare hand.
"Very irritating that I like to these days," Spy mutters, though he is blushing practically through his mask. Chest flushed, still erect, to which he purses his lips while glancing down at it in disappointment then back up at Sniper. "…You're here early."
About two days early. Hence Spy's decision to have a little session for himself. But Sniper is still stuck on Spy's sideways confession, matter-of-course and utterly wry; I like to these days.
Sniper's ears ring, blood rushing and pumping madly to his head, chest, cock, just about bloody everywhere, but he shrugs. "Contract cancelled. Asset couldn't front the cash so I walked."
"That's a shame," Spy says, getting slowly to his feet.
Spy's legs are shaky, knees carpet-burned, dress shirt disheveled. He finally gives up having his gun holster on him, letting it slip from his arm to the floor.
"Well. I'm hoping maybe not," Sniper says, stepping in the room when Spy beckons him closer.
Spy looks him in the eye, unflinching. He doesn't do his over-the-top sex-crazed voice, doesn't moan deliriously for Sniper.
He simply leans into Sniper and says, "Please fuck me. You already heard me begging."
And Sniper doesn't have it in him to keep Spy begging, which is a real problem. He's got all the patience in the world for shooting folks through the head but when it comes to letting Spy whine and become frantically desperate, Sniper can't do it for too long.
He caves, immediately, and barrels Spy into the bed.
Spy lets out a laugh, watching Sniper fumble with his belt.
"You need to work on this," he says, taking pity, and helps Sniper take off the rest of his clothes.
On the first real non-awkward morning they have together, Sniper wakes up to Blue's polite ruckus, clinking the kettle over the campfire and scuffing his boot against the pebbly ground. It's chilly. The first rays of sunlight are hitting against opening of Sniper's tent. It's barely dawn. Checking his watch for the actual time might make him depressed. Figures. Sniper sits up from his roll and peers blearily out his swag set up.
Rubbing the gunk from his eyes, he squints at Blue by the fire and grumbles, "Look at you with the coffee going already. Didn't peg you for an early riser."
Blue hitches his sunnies up to give him a long look in return. The weak horizon light hits the rim of his lens just right to show his tinted frown.
“Wasn't always a morning person,” says Blue, glancing to the side. “Started after I was stationed here.”
He jerks his head in the general direction of both their bases, some far off distance away where they can still see the smokestacks but no one can see them.
Thus far, Badlands has been the bane of Sniper’s entire RED career. He used to be a relatively early bird, just like Blue, until he was assigned a fucking base facing east where the morning guaranteed the sun in his eyes and a glare in his lens. Most of the REDs struggled in one way or another with the position of the sun during the first half of the day, and it's no fault of Blue's that he gladly takes every advantage of it.
“Haha. Fuck. Mr Sun-In-My-Eyes, you are,” Sniper says, still crouched and huddled in his tent. Unless there's a blessed cloud blocking the way, he’s usually forced concede the morning hours. He can hold his own fair enough shooting the other BLUs but Blue knows the trick of hiding in bright sunlight and cover his muzzle flashes.
Kind of like now. Staring at Blue against the early horizon reminds him of how the rays reflect off the cool-toned rooftops of the BLU base and into his scope. Smetimes, when Sniper tries to look for Blue before a match and clear his sightlines, he thinks he can see flashes of another laser flitting over the grounds. He'll focus on a spot with chilly glares of light beams mixing with the sun, and it's blinding.
There are only so many sniping spots to have when chasing after the right angles of sun. From morning to noon, Blue knows them all—in the same way that Sniper will have the sunlight on his side from noon to dusk.
With muted exasperation, Sniper realizes that he has set up his tent facing east anyway. It's habit now to try to look at Blue in the morning and expect the sun in his eyes.
Good, Sniper thinks. It should be hard to look at him.
He shouldn't be allowed to look too long anyway, through the scope or his own eyes.
A shadow falls over him as Blue's slim figure blocks the morning light. Sniper blinks, eyes adjusting, but he pats his pockets for his own pair of sunnies.
“Bugger off,” says Blue, offering out his hand while Sniper puts on the shades. “You're always a fuckin' pain in the arse at sunset. Who builds a base facing west?”
“Shoulda been south to north,” Sniper agrees with a wry laugh, noticing how Blue had set up his tent opposite of Sniper's—west facing. Habit again.
He grabs Blue's hand and lets Blue haul him to his feet.
At the airport with a fun little cocktail and time to kill and a flight to get through. Taking some small snprspy, spycest, or snipercest prompts.
Prompts must be less than 5 words. Pls reply to this post and not the askbox within the next hr before I board. I'll work on them on the plane. (Or maybe during my trip downtime.) Explicit ok.✌️
Thesis: you take some of the team's most genial, generally good-natured guys, and make them so fucking mad at each other by how the other person does science.
engie does get lowkey upset that demo and maybe medic have no college degrees. he's a higher education snob in crippling debt. his american student loans for all those degrees are biting him in the ass.
demo is entirely self taught and talented. he's making excellent beautiful bombs on a vibes based basis. medic can relate but this frankly drives engie insane with frustration (and envy)
medic will not say where his doctorate degree comes from. he has lost his certificate. supposedly.
my headcanon is that engie DOES have a medical degree (or has taken some college classes) tucked in the back of his head and whenever he tries to point this out to help medic, medic is like lmao stay in your lane while I pour blood back into scout's stomach danke 👍 (engie gritting his teeth and it's like "sure ok fine I need to remove myself from the room anyway.")
medic's beef with demo is that demo will not let him see his liver or kidneys, which by now should be so wonderfully preserved and wrinkled :(
demo is a man of science and the supernatural which, of course, makes both medic and engie kinda annoyed. That's double dipping, man. Again, demo is insanely talented and good with textbooks and magic tomes.
demo has never forgiven medic for visiting satan and not letting him tag along.
demo does think medic's a bit of a quack but he realizes he might be throwing stones in glass houses here. (due to his sexy hot crippling sense of self worth)
unfortunately for the rampant misogynistic tendencies of the 1960s and in-game taunts, demo calling medic a nursemaid does really grind medic's gears.
demo's blithe "it doesn't have to be exact it will all work out" vs engie's "measure twice cut once" vs medic's "measure once cut twice no prablam" approaches have, on occasion, led to fist fights in the rec room and the rest of the team (too dumb, too stupid to understand anything) just stand there, afraid of the scary nerds.
this is all compounded by the fact that they should in theory (lol) get along, and if it's not science related they find each other good company, but as it stands: their professional distaste for each other is funnier. to me.
I forgot to mention playing with the in-game meta of sniper and scout being bullies towards each other--in my iteration, bscout just kinda targets rsniper a lot, and it doesn't have much to do with sniper fooling around with rspy. it's just that snipers are easy victims once a scout sneaks behind enemy lines, and rsniper's a good shot but even he'll admit that scouts are just kinda hard to shoot accurately if they're running full tilt. and even if bscout does get shot, like maybe it's not as clean through the head, and maybe he ends up bleeding slowly from the neck or half his face, not fully dead--and that just pisses scout off so much, lmao.
i think the jist of the ship having separate opinions and interactions with other characters outside the relationship is fun to play around with--which is just me trying to say that bscout will always be a bully to rsniper and rsniper will always be annoyed with bscout, with or without spy involved, LOL.
outside of work, they're fine. i headcanon sniper and scout close in age so they tend to find the same jokes funny, have the same concerns and anxieties for their age group, or use similar 60s/70s slang & fashion on occasion, being within same generational culture.
What are your thoughts on sniperscout as a sniperspy shipper? Or alternatively what do you think about the fact that sniper is (possibly?) messing around with scout's dad?
(I'm your big fan btw, sending love and motivation💖)
Snsc isn't my thing but I can see how/why! I was a bit surprised coming back to TF2 how popular it became since 2009, but I'm a bit of a mono-focus type of shipper anyway so snsp is really all my brain has to offer.
For your second question, i mostly apply this to rspy being bscout's dad. I have two wips* that feature bscout within a rsnprspy context and it's mostly, like. Bscout doesn't care for Sniper due to being work enemies and bscout further doesn't care who his dad fucks. But. Bscout loves his mom and his mom still has a connection to rspy so I love both him and rspy feeling subconsciously obligated to bond (catholic nuclear family indoctrination, u hate to see it). And the whole father-son thing doesn't work out but a coworker-coworker thing does. So by extension rsniper is also a type of coworker that happens to be fucking his dad, and bscout just is weirdly Aware of the situation in a way most grown adults are when their divorced parents are dating other people.
Ironically, I like to write bscout being closer to rspy than rsniper is, in terms of personal life details.
*i have been working on this wip for 2 years very leisurely i'm not sure if it will ever be completed bc it's just my mess-around-and-see writings but here is the ellipsus link to some postable scenes if anyone wants to read and laugh at it.
Rating: E (nsfw)
Ship: RED Spy/BLU Sniper
Notes: pwp, enemies with benefits, invisible blowjob as requested on tumblr
"That Cloak and Dagger's a piece of shit, mate," Sniper says softly, bending his head to Spy's ear. His voice goes even lower, rumbling, "It's slowing you down. Liked it better with the old watch."
I'm not sure if sniperspy is still a relevant interest for you but.. uhhhhhh, thank you for your patience: here it is!
eta: I AM SO SORRY I FUCKED UP WITH THE CLASS COLORS. I copy/pasted the request into my doc file without the color formatting. It's still crossfx tho, pls forgive me.
the spy x spy x spy x spy fic teaser has me over the moon but it made me giggle. the future of tanyart fics is going to look like this
Lmaoooooo MAYBE?? I've written orgies before and ironically those are easier to write from a limited third person pov (a single character can only focus on so much) vs a 4some where it's just enough people you gotta do your due diligence to give appropriate amounts of focus to everyone. 🫠
Still. Daunting either way. Watch this space. (kidding) (maybe?) (maybe.)
I am not very good with writing long fics, and I'm not saying yarn theory was very long in the grand scheme of things, but my god. IT WAS DAMN LONG TO ME. My initial outline was three scenes based off an unposted pwp wip. It was supposed to be, like, a quick 2k oneshot to take a break from writing from Sniper's pov. Awful. I guess you can consider this a background fic to memory lane, as it does give some context to Spy's relationship with Sniper. (luxury yarn mention! blu scout in a sweater! I actually started writing yarn theory before the amnesia fic hence why the two fics sorta have callbacks to each other.) Hahah, there's a lot of unapologetic pedestal-setting and heavy-handed metaphors in this, but I wanted to focus on knitting and all its romanticized connotations but also make it clear that knitting wasn't Sniper's only hobby or interest, or that he was even very good at it. Just. You know. I had lots to say about Sniper knitting through Spy's eyes.
Because... like.. as untethered to the world as Spy is, there is…still…. there is still a red string of f-…… red string. of. connection. to everyone. people that he cares about. the world in general.
I do kinda laugh about how Sniper never actually knits in the fic, which was wholly on accident. like Spy, you just have to acknowledge the effort and impact a knit leaves behind, even if you never saw it being made. Or something like that. But mostly because I think having 20 tabs open about knitting was making me insane and there was no need to write all that without being pedantic in an already pedantic story. 👍
Anyway. Thanks for reading! Especially for those who take the time to comment, because.. god. They get me through some tough days. I really do mean it, bottom of my heart. Ass-showing fic. I try not to be too self conscious about writing schmoop. But I love Spy. I love Sniper.
and since i promised on bsky:
Bonus green yarn arc I cut out just bc it wasn't fitting right in the fic. I gave it an extra shake and shifted it to sniper's pov for fun.
"Why don't you ever make yourself something?" Spy asks, running a finger over the blue knit Sniper has left aside. He doesn't disturb the needles out of place, picking it up to check out the seed stitching.
Sniper glances up from cleaning his kukri. He's got dibs on the camper's dining table this time so Spy has to stand next to the sink with one hip leaning against the counter. Sniper used not have to worry too much about space, but now it's a near constant constraint whenever Spy visits.
"I do. Made meself this," Sniper replies, lifting his arms slightly to show the beige sweater that he's currently wearing. Ratty old thing, completely made of basic garter stitches, but it's comfortable and warm, fuzz balls and all. "Long time ago. Before I joined up with RED."
Spy's eyes narrow, looking none too impressed by it. Sniper shrugs. Spy doesn't have to know that garter stitching had been the first type of knitting that Sniper had learned, and that the sweater had been born out of sheer stubbornness and refusal to frog it, even when the mistakes started to pile up in the broken pattern.
Rip it, rip it—frog the bloody thing! He'd refused. Now he's got an ugly sweater to show for it, but Sniper fucking loves the piece of shit so here he is, wearing it in front of the most judgemental and stuck up bloke on base who he sometimes fucks and gets fucked in return. And then some. Sniper's not going to be embarrassed about it.
Spy pushes off from the counter, dipping into his coat pocket to pull out two hanks of dark forest green yarn. He holds them out.
Sniper gives them a look, cloth on the kukri stalling. Beautiful color. Reminds him of fresh pine needles in winter—probably how Spy got the notion. There's not much else going on in Coldfront besides snow and granite rock and a fuckload of flying bullets.
"You gotta tell me where the bloody hell you've been seein' green skies or green wine," he says.
Spy's mouth curves. Spy ain't a shy bloke, but there's a careful quality to how he pats the soft yarn against Sniper's chest, brushing under his chin. It curves along Sniper's collar, and he realizes that Spy is studying the color against his skin and face.
"That's classified," Spy says, pulling back to set the hanks down on the table.
Spy hasn't left the base in weeks. Maybe into town once or twice, but their scheduled battles against the BLUs haven't let up in a good long while to take any third party contracts outside the state.
The yarn isn't part of their cheeky little exchanges or trades. It's just a gift. Spy is thinking about him in a dark pine green knit, and since Spy is all stuck up and judgemental there's a high chance Sniper will look on the right side of decent wearing that color.
"Bullshit, Spy," Sniper says.
But he takes the hanks.
---
There's not enough green yarn to make much. Can't do a full sweater, and Sniper doesn't much like wearing caps. Could do socks, but Sniper has an inkling that Spy doesn't want to see expensive green yarn being trodden on by Sniper's feet.
Spy's really dogshit at knowing how much yarn makes any piece of clothing. A single skein really gets you nothing. Two hanks is barely any better.
Sniper presents the finished product to Spy; one slim green tube about the length of his forearm.
Spy stares at it. "…Is that a single sock?"
"Not a sock."
Spy gives it another look. Slowly, his eyebrows raise, conveying his skepticism and, frankly, worry.
"Don't you think it's a bit too skinny and long to be a cocksle-" he begins.
Sniper flings it at him. "Think again, spook."
Spy catches it. Praise be, he uses every ounce of his investigative spy skills to deduce that it's likely not for any part of the human body. There's the release center pull sticking out one end, and Spy is quick to notice the straggly thread hanging free. He gives it a small tug, unraveling a stitch, and stops.
After turning it over twice more, Spy then glances at Sniper's rifle leaning against the wall.
"Weren't you complaining 'bout that silencer not working?" Sniper asks as he watches Spy try his damnest to not laugh.
"Merde, you spent an entire month on this?" Spy says, going over to the rifle to try and fit the cozy over the barrel, knit snagging over the muzzle cover.
Ridiculous thing. Sniper takes the rifle away and slips the rest of it down snug. It fits perfect, of course. "On and off."
When he shoulders the rifle, pretending to aim, it finally gets a snorting laugh out of Spy.
"I can't believe this. Do you know how much that yarn costs?" Spy says, attempting to take the knit silencer off, and steps in front of the rifle with the nasty end pointed to his chest. Not that it matters. Respawn is on, and all Spy will have to suffer are questions about how he got shot during their off hours.
Still, Sniper snaps the bolt handle and empties the chamber, bullet dropping, and tries to keep the rifle upright as he pulls at the knit's end tail, unraveling stitch after stitch.
"What are you doing? No, don't—why are you-" Spy says, his laughter stopping as he wraps a protective hand over the barrel cozy, but Sniper grabs hold of his waist instead, reeling him in with a sudden grin.
Ah, even with a stupid thing like a knit silencer, the effort means something to Spy. Sniper laughs, giving Spy a kiss.
"I'm just takin' the piss, I'll make something better, I swear, I swear," Sniper croaks through his laughter, and just pulls and pulls the green knit apart so that he can wrap it up neatly again.
Rip it, rip it. Frog the bloody thing!
---
It takes ages to finish the scarf, but it's damn near perfect by the time Sniper is done with it. Neat little garter stitch knit. Nothing fancy. Took his time with it. Undid every mistake to make it nice, even if it meant unraveling entire rows.
Every day is a good day to wear it in Coldfront, but it's not really a part of the uniform so Sniper's forced to only wear it on his off hours.
Spy catches him wearing it the first time, looking out the window from inside while Sniper shovels out a snow path from his camper to the base. He taps the glass to get Sniper's attention, pointing to his own neck in question.
Sniper gives a nod and tip of the hat, breath puffing visible wisps in the frosty air. The dark green scarf is cozy around his neck, keeping his cheeks warm as he nuzzles the soft knit for Spy to see, just a little shake of his head against the fabric to show how comfy it is.
Spy's answering smile around his cigarette says more than it should; looks good.
He mimics nuzzling his own shoulder, rubbing his cheek against an invisible scarf, laughing silently behind the glass.
Sniper huffs, turning back to his task.
When he's done, he'll come up and let Spy feel it himself.
