Hello, since I saw that your requests were open, I would like to ask you about a Forced Agere Sniper x Merc Baby Regressor Reader, thank you very much. ( ´∀`)
RED Sniper x MERC! GN! Reader - Platonic Forced Babyre
A/N: HIHIHI THIS IS MY FIRST REQUEST EVER EEEEEEE, also supes sorry if this is too long + spelling or grammar mistakes, i got an eeensie weensie bit carried away if you couldn't tell LOL
Can't exactly call em headcanons so bullet story thingy under cut!!!! HOPE YOU ENJOY HEHEHEH >:3c 🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵
Character: Sniper (RED) Fandom: Team Fortress 2 TW: Use of sedatives, kidnapping, minor violence, non graphic character death, forced agere, Yandere character (but it's like mostly just implied) Summary: A kid like you shouldn't be on a battle field like this, so your enemy Sniper takes matters into his own hands.
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Sniper knew that BLU team was training a new spy, but he definitely wasn't expecting you.
When he saw you for the first time you were backstabbing his team's Engineer. He had a clear shot of you- but he just couldn't pull the trigger.
You were just a kid! A baby even- the gravel war's no place for someone so... little, so fragile! You were going to get seriously hurt out here.
Sure, death is basically meaningless with the Mann CO. Respawner machine, but his point still stands!
He was so lost in thought, his scope swaying that he didn't even hear the rockets coming his way.
One startled awakening in resupply later and the battle was called- RED for the win and BLU for the loss. A wins a win- but he still feels this gnawing at his gut.
Sniper bites his fingernails in thought as everyone begins celebrating early. He packs his weapons up, silently planning his next moves in his head.
Back at base, everyone was to take shifts watching the intelligence. Engineer’s security systems and turrets could only do so much after all.
He volunteered for third watch, should give him enough time to prepare everything in advance if he acts fast.
Your mentor, BLU Spy, congratulates you on doing well for your first battle, he passes a glass of expensive looking wine your way.
“Chevreau, you did exemplary today- you took out their turrets with ease and without injury, no less.”
You light up at the praise and fiddle with the glass in your hands shyly, opening up your mouth to respond when he cuts you off sternly.
“You’re job isn’t finished yet, however.” He lights a cigarette up, taking a drag before continuing, “You must reclaim our intelligence from the hands of those buffoons.”
“It will not be easy, but I have my faith that you will do well.” He flicks his ashes into a nearby tray, before turning to look out the blinded windows.
“You will leave tonight, the folder on the desk has a map of their entrances and exits- as well as the probable area where they may be keeping it.”
A heavy quiet hangs over the room as you take the manila file from it’s resting place and thumb through the contents with one hand.
Circled in red on the floor plans is a lone room center of the lowest floor in the enemy base. You swallow thickly, mouth suddenly dry.
“Sir, this a lot to handle so early- I mean- uh, what if I get captured or... killed?” Your nervous thoughts leak into your voice.
Spy is silent, only turning to look at you over his shoulder.
“You will not let that happen.” He turns back to the window.
“Besides- if you’re captured, you’re already considered dead. Remember that.”
You tuck the folder into the inside of your jacket, before downing the rest of your wine.
“I’ll see to it that it’s done, sir.” With a front of determination, you set the glass on his desk, put on your mask and leave.
Night couldn’t have come any sooner, the shadows are where you belonged and that is where you will stay.
A drunken RED Demoman sings and sways as liquor spills from his bottle, the lone guardian to your golden entry ticket.
You watch with baited breath as the Demoman finally gives way and passes out, snoring peacefully in the dirt.
You quickly flip open your disguise kit and change your appearance to that of the Scotsman. You whisper to yourself to check and see if your voice has been properly changed- only to have your normal octave reach your ears. Dread twists your insides when you realize your modulator still isn’t working.
The damned thing almost cost you your life earlier today with that Engineer! Spy mentioned getting it replaced after the battle, but appears he had either forgotten or you got another dud.
You use your sapper to take out the security camera watching the door before dragging the sleeping guard into the bushes, making sure to pick up the bottle just in case you need to improv.
The door opens with ease, the light creak sounding like nails on a chalkboard. You push deeper into what’s supposed to be the medical wing, passing by supply closets and rooms filled with nothing but crates.
Your heart drops to your stomach as you hear the squeal of linoleum doors being opened and the chatter of voices.
Their Medic’s up late it seems, and he’s not alone.
You duck behind an abandoned medicine cart with bloody surgery tools on it. The whole thing reeks to high heavens, and you have to suppress a gag.
“I knew ya’d set me right doc! Dunno what happened to my shoulda’ but ya damn well fixed it!” Their Scout, brazen- loud, not much of a fighter but not to be underestimated. With his speed the whole base could be alerted in mere moments.
Panicking as you hear footsteps approaching behind, you shakily grab your wrist and click your watch. The quiet noise of your cloak thankfully masked by the two themselves.
“Nein, it was no problem at all, dear Scout. Archimedes and I always appreciate surprise visits, who knows you may walk away a kidney more!”
You press yourself against the wall as you move up and past the two standing in front of the med-bay. You manage to stop yourself just before you run into a waiting chair.
Slinking around it and down the hall, their voices fade and you finally come across the staircase you needed to take.
You let out a sigh of relief as your cloak drops. Iron grip on the bottle in your palm and the knife in your pocket as you descend the steps silently.
Slowly you make your way to the bottom floor, taking your time to knock out any cameras you come across. It feels like you’ve been here for days, when in reality it’s only been about 30 minutes or so.
Spy really should’ve mapped out an elevator for you to take, you’re going to be sore after this.
After ages of walking, you finally hit the last step. Silently cheering yourself on you cautiously make headway down the long hall.
According to what you know, the room should be-
BEEP... kurchuk…BEEP...kurchuk
The sound of sentries reaches your ears, they must be up on the right, the exact way you need to go. You pinch the bridge of your nose in annoyance.
“Of course they would have turrets, what would you expect?” You whisper bitterly to no one but yourself.
Creeping up to your destination you try and prick up your ears, listening for signs of others around, breathing, clanking, etc…
...but it’s much too hard to do with all the noise that sentry is making. You grit your teeth and take the risk, disguising yourself as an Engineer. You turn down the hall and approach the turret.
It takes very little work before the machine crumples to the floor, a little too loud for your tastes, but what’s done is done. You leave the bottle with the scrap and slink further in, fiddling with your butterfly knife as you go.
No more cameras it seems, no sentries either… this is oddly very little security for something so important.
Spy has mentioned that they’ve been dumb and careless before, maybe this is one of those instances and you’re just lucky?
The soft noises of servos and mega computers hits you as you push open the door to the debriefing room.
The room itself is huge, two stories at least, a long table sits in the middle with many chairs around it. A giant screen takes up almost the entire opposite wall, images and data (you wish you had the time to decipher) flash across it.
The air is still, your eyes finally land on your target- the cerulean briefcase sat with it’s red match perfectly in the middle of the table. You glance around, the upper floors are dark and quiet with no visible cameras, it seems you are truly alone.
Maybe Spy was right to put his faith in you, after all it seems you’re fortunate when it comes to this type of stuff.
You step closer to the table, eyes scanning for any hidden security systems, finding none your hand reaches for the cases…
C r e a k….
Your ears pick up on a soft sound from above and you lock eyes with the barrel of a rifle before you feel a sharp pain in your neck, and everything fades to black.
When you awake your eyelids are heavy lead shutters against your blurry vision, it takes so much to keep them open. Groggily you go to move your hands, half-expecting them to be tied or chained but find them...free?
You clench and un-clench your fists, only to notice that there’s some sort of glove around your hands and it’s surprisingly soft.
Confusion helps the fog ebb from your brain as you look down to find pastel mittens strapped to your hands by small belts. You also discover you’re no longer wearing your suit, either, instead sporting a loose baggy t-shirt and soft pajama shorts with fuzzy socks on.
Panic sets in when you realize a chain is cuffed around your ankle, you immediately go to pull on it recklessly. The iron doesn’t budge from it’s place in the wall and instead rattles loudly.
Only when you go to grind your teeth do you realize there’s something in your mouth. A… pacifier?!
You spit it out and drool dribbles down your chin. The offending plastic hangs off your shirt by a handmade clip of some-kind.
“I gotta get outta here, but where is here?!” You whisper to yourself as you wipe your mouth on your shoulder.
Looking around you get a sense that this isn’t apart of RED’s base, it’s way too “lived in.” A camper van perhaps?
The only person on RED you knew to own a van would be-
Squeak…thumpthumpthump…
The squeal of couch springs and heavy footsteps meet your ears as the door on the other side of the small room opens.
RED Sniper stands there, grinning like a devil as he looks at you.
“Figured you’d wake up soon, Roo.”
You glare up at him, hoping to burn a hole through his skull with your eyes alone.
“If you’re going to torture me- just get it over with. Humiliating me is a waste of your time.”
His smile drops at that, “Torture? Nah kiddo, no one’s gettin’ tortured, you’re too little to even be knowin’ about that.”
You stare incredulous, “How old do you think I am?!”
Sniper puts a hand on his chin for just a moment, “1 maybe 2 at the most?”
Enraged you try to stand to lunge for this guy, but your legs wobble and fold underneath you. You collapse forward and he swoops in to catch you.
“Easy there, Roo. Your legs ain’t meant to be walkin’ just yet.”
You pale as nausea sweeps over you, potentially a side effect from the sedative he used.
“There, there- Papa’s got ya.” He holds you in his arms for a minute or two before gently laying you back down onto the pillows on the floor.
“You must be peckish, s’why you’re chuckin’ a wobbly eh?” He grabs a soft blanket out of the dresser in the room and places it over you.
“You stay cozy, lil Roo and I’ll be back with some brekky.” He places the pacifier back into your mouth before he turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him.
You hear the rattling, then clinking of glass and what sounds like a jar being opened. You slowly shift your head, trying to properly take in your surroundings.
You appear to be in a bedroom, and judging by the state of it and who’s with you, it’s safe to say it’s his. With the shackle on your leg you can’t exactly go very far. Besides if you move too much right now you’ll probably faint or worse.
Maybe if you try hard enough he’ll see reason and just let you go?
What exactly do you have to lose? Your team probably already thinks you’re-
The door creaks open once more, Sniper strolls in, a bowl of something white in one hand and a baby bottle in the other.
“I’m ‘fraid yogurt and orange juice s’all I got at the moment.” He goes to sit down in front of you, momentarily setting the food down to help you sit up.
“Once we get ya’ settled, we’ll find out what foods ya’ like. Chokkie maybe?”
He plucks the pacifier from your lips before taking a spoonful of white yogurt and holding it out in front of your face.
“C’mon, Roo, say ‘ah’!”
You eye the food wearily, pushing the nausea and hunger down, keeping your mouth firmly shut.
“Hm.” His previous grin turns into a thin line, as he stares at you silently.
His left hand moves to your face before you can even flinch, his grip his white knuckled on your jaw.
“Say ‘ah’.”
The pain from his fingers forcing your jaw apart makes you yelp in pain, taking advantage of the moment he shoves the spoon of yogurt into your mouth. Using the same hand he keeps your lips shut, your mittens beat at his chest weakly, but he only lets go when you finally swallow.
The yogurt tastes sharp, tangy even- wrong.
“There, was that so hard?” He chuckles, but you sense a darkness to it. He lifts another spoonful up and waits a few seconds.
He’s gauging you.
You shakily open your mouth and allow him to feed you, he gives you a smile in return showing off his pearly whites.
“That’s a good rug rat.”
Sniper praises and coos at you after every bite until all of the food is gone. After the bowl is empty he puts the bottle of orange juice up to your lips.
You go to hold it, not wanting his hands near your face anymore, but he tuts you and pushes your mits back down.
“Ah ah- don’t worry I’ve got ya’ Roo.”
A veiled warning.
You swallow your pride and the juice as quickly as you can without getting sick. Once gone, he pats you on the back a couple times so you don’t “get a tummy ache.”
With your stomach full, the nausea slowly leaves your system but your head feels… light? Like your brain’s full of clouds and sheep.
“Feelin’ better now, ankle biter?”
Your eyes feel heavy again, yet you watch as he pulls a small kangaroo plushie out of his vest and places it in your arms.
“This is for bein’ a good kiddo and eatin’ everthin’.” The kangaroo is soft, and smells like lavender, you think. You feel the pacifier attached to your shirt being pushed gently back into your mouth without a struggle.
Instinctively you snuggle the toy as he cradles you against his chest, slowly rocking you. Sleep claws at the edges of your consciousness as he begins to gravelly hum a lullaby.
He’s good to you if you listen. Maybe if you play along, earn his trust, he’ll let you go...
...or maybe this isn’t so bad? Do you really wanna go back to the stress with the guns and grenades, the bloodshed?
“No more playin’ spook for ya anymore, lil Roo. You just have a nice nap, we’ll leave the fightin’ to the adults, hm?”
And with that you fall asleep.
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