Okay guys a very important question. I have several ideas in mind (Hyperactive and overthinking girl). Sorry cause no-one said that I will write them or at least write them quickly =_
So please if it's not so hard for you, vote there please, I would be really thankful 🥹🙏
Which ship to write next?
Bloody suit (again, yes, I feed the lovers of this ship)
Speeding bullet (shocked? I'm shocked too)
Spy and Scout's Ma
Spy, Sniper and Scout's Ma (Poly probably)
Female speeding bullet or Bloody suit ( Specify in the comments please)
Voting ended onApr 24
Later I publish another poll but on the rating)
For Scout's Ma and Spy I was thinking about a small one-shot of their early days as a couple or maybe another universe where Spy didn't leave and was raising Scout with his loved woman.
Also if you have any songs suggestions which have this vibe of the couples which I wrote, especially Bloody suit, then please share 🙏
It's easier for me to write with music, so anything, cause with SniperSpy's vibe I only have a song which I pinned in my latest post. 🥹
Okay, so a bit of a present for TF2 lovers, like my friend)
Inspiration was from these two amazing pictures: this and this
@greyty - wonderful artist, give them a lot of love and appreciation :)
Hope you will like it, it's a bit rushed 🥹🙏
Merry Swissmas!
It's been three years since all the Mercs retired and started their own life. Spy and sniper were happily married for a year and a half.
It was a shock to other Mercs, cause Spy? This smartass French man? Fallen in love with Mick? With this hermit, who spends all his life alone on the cliff with only his rifle? Wow, unexpected.
Anyway, Spy and Sniper were really good at hiding their relationship, because no-one suspected a thing until both guys broke the news that they're a couple. Reactions were... Quite different to say at least... While Scout was teasing as always and Demo was drunk without any worries, Heavy was kinda conservative and most sceptical about this whole relationship thing, but anyway kept all his worries to himself and just silently accepted all of this.
Back to today. Both men were decorating the house for Christmas. Well, better to say that Sniper was decorating the Christmas tree, cause their house was already decorated by Spy, who was now cooking Christmas dinner.
– Hey, Spook, come 'ere, need ya help, – Mick called out from the living room, struggling to reach for the small golden ornament, holding the falling Christmas Star on top of the tree.
– Spook! – The Aussie called out again for his husband, because he didn't answer and didn't come, while still praying that the Christmas tree won't fall right on him, as it was shaking threateningly.
– Spy! Fuck, mate! – Mick called out annoyed now, where was this annoying man when he's needed the most?! When you don't need him, he's here, but when you need him he's nowhere near, how cute!
– Sp..! – Sniper turned, still holding the Christmas tree, struggling to stand on the chair, which started shaking threateningly too, when he saw his husband with his usual shit-eating grin all across his face, while he was leaning his side on the doorway with crossed arms over his chest in a matching sweater, which Australian practically begged older man to put on. – Fuck, Spook! Dontcha know it's creepy to watch people like that?!
– It's my job and natural talent to go undetected, ma chérie, you should've known that, –The older smirked playfully, coming closer to his struggling spouse, – Move, mon petit désastre, Spy's coming to help, – The French man squatted down and fixed the stand, which wasn't placed properly, making the tree finally stand securely, which made Mick lose balance from sudden security and stability and fall back, poor man closed his eyes in horror, ready to meet the floor with his back, but instead he felt familiar cold hands on his side.
Sniper opened his eyes carefully and unsure, seeing the familiar teasing smug smirk on the older's face, who was holding Aussie in bridal style.
– Bonjour, mon amour, – the French man winked at the man in his arms, who rolled his eyes annoyed and hit other man's chest.
– Lemme go, Spook,– once these words came out of Mundy's mouth, Spy literally dropped the poor guy on the floor. – Ouch, mate, you could be more gentle!
– You're welcome, mon chéri, – Spy blew a kiss with a playful smile to his husband receiving a middle finger from Australian.
The rest of the evening goes smoothly, well... Not really, as Mick still needed help with ornaments while finally placing a Star on the top of the tree securely, but leaning a bit too hard on the tree, which shook cautiously.
– When you drop the tree I will laugh, – The French man said matter of fact, holding a small golden ornament to finish the decorations of Christmas tree.
– Don't you dare! – Sniper replied annoyed, not in the mood for teasing, cause this Christmas tree was testing his patience.
– Sorry, sorry, mon amour, – The older smiled, wrapping his arms around his spouse's thin waist tugging him away from the tree carefully, which was standing securely with a big shiny star on top.
– Wow, you have moments when you're not an ass, Spook, – Aussie laughed, when his husband placed the final golden ornament in his hands.
– Tais-toi, Mick. Think of it like a Christmas present, – Spy answered, going to change into one of his favorite suits, as time was closer and closer to the magic time.
Married couple met each other in the living room, where Spy quickly placed some dishes, which he cooked and poor himself a glass of his favorite red wine, holding the glass, a bit disappointed when the Australian denied the alcohol, but wasn't surprised, cause Mick rarely drank wine, he preferred beer or vodka.
The hand of the clock was pointing at twelve o'clock when the joyful cries of children and colorful fireworks began outside, informing that it was Christmas. The older haven't even had time to realise, when he was tugged into the sweet kiss by his husband, which slowly turned heated with the playful rivalry between the couple's tongues.
Mundy pulled away first, trying to catch his breath, while his fingers were still clutching the collar of Spy's dress shirt beneath his favorite pinstripe suit.
– Merry Swissmas, Spook, – Sniper laughed softly, looking at his husband with sparkling happy eyes, which the French man loved so much, but no-one will find this out, only over his dead body.
– Merry Swissmas, mon amour, – The older one replied with happy smile, pulling away quickly, pretending to hate all this touching. Only now Spook paid attention to his spouse's attire – one of Aussie's favorite green sweater and a leather waistcoat on top.
The French man took a small sip from his glass, closing his eyes in bliss, as a soft slightly sweet drink touched his tongue finally. The man was so concentrated on the fireworks outside, that he almost didn't hear the sound of approaching footsteps, when familiar arms wrapped themselves around his waist from the side.
– What a good way to start Christmas with a French kiss with your dear French husband? - Mundy chuckled nuzzling into Spy's neck, who's growled quietly in protest, as he was sensitive there.
Sniper raised his eyes from the other man's neck, leaving a teasing brush of lips here, meeting the French man's eyes with soft smile.
– Love ya, Spook, – Mick breathes out a confession into pale skin, noticing how Spy's grey eyes sparkled happily and excitedly.
– Je t'aime aussi, mon chéri – The older man answered, pressing his lips against other man's in another sweet kiss, pulling away quickly and placing the glass of wine on the table, placing his arms on top of Sniper's on his waist, relaxing in familiar arms, placing his head on top of Mick's and watching the fireworks outside excited and finally happy with his soulmate for life.
This story was heavily inspired by "Bad Girl" by AND ONE. The song's atmosphere fits these two far too well.
TW: Playful tension ahead. You've been warned. Proceed with caution. :)
Word Count: 2,677
Cold hands, warm hearts and a cherry smoke – unspoken art of staying.
Sniper had no idea what the hell was wrong with him.
Really.
He'd been fine. More than fine, if he was being honest. So why was he sitting alone in his van, staring blankly at the floor like the world had just ended?
It was ridiculous.
His teammates were out there fighting for their lives, waiting for him to do his damn job, and yet here he was feeling sorry for himself.
───
Mick let out what had to be his millionth sigh of the morning, absentmindedly stirring the coffee in front of him.
"Bushman, I swear to God, if you sigh one more time, je vais t'étrangler, putain."
RED Spy didn't even bother looking up as he prepared his own cup.
"Sorry, mate." Mundy rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't know what's wrong with me. Found this photo in my van and I..." The words died in his throat.
"And you what, bushman?" Spy finally glanced at him over his shoulder.
He took a sip from Scout's latest attempt at coffee and immediately grimaced. "Mon Dieu. This is horrible." The cup was abandoned without hesitation.
"It's nothin'." Mundy stood before the conversation could continue. "Just nothin'." Leaving his half-finished coffee behind, he headed for the door.
Spy watched him leave, cigarette already between his fingers.
Strange.
The sniper usually wasn't this quiet.
───
Mick barely remembered making it back to his van. One moment he'd been standing in the kitchen. The next, he was sitting on the floor with an old photograph in his hands.
His only photograph.
A faded picture from Australia. A little boy smiling at the camera. His parents standing beside him.
No war.
No contracts.
No rifles.
Just home.
For some reason, looking at it now felt almost unbearable.
The edges of the photograph were worn from years of handling. The paper was soft where his fingers had touched it countless times.
It was the only piece of his old life he still had. And nobody knew about it.
Slowly, Mick slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. The photo disappeared back into his vest pocket. His face vanished into his hands. He wasn't tired.
He was exhausted.
God, he missed home.
He missed Australia.
But most of all—
He missed his parents.
People rarely expected that from him. At first glance, Sniper didn't exactly seem like the sentimental type. He spent most of his life alone. He preferred the company of his rifle to people.
Yet somehow, despite years spent on the other side of the world, he still missed them. Still wondered how they were doing. Still remembered every goodbye.
Mick laughed bitterly under his breath. What happened? He'd spent years distracting himself. Years convincing himself that none of it mattered. So why now? Why was one stupid photograph suddenly enough to crack him open?
He wasn't the kind of man who cried.
But right now he wished the entire world would disappear and leave him alone in the safety of his van.
A sharp burst of arguing from his radio shattered the silence. Sniper flinched. "Bloody hell..." The device clipped to his belt crackled with overlapping voices and insults. "Stop screamin', ya pack of maggots," he growled, pressing the button. "Or I'll shoot every single one of ya myself. Whatcha need?"
"Bring ya ass over here or I'll drag ya here myself!"
Scout.
Of course it was Scout.
Mundy closed his eyes for a second. God help him, but that kid was a real pain in the ass sometimes.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm comin'."
He lowered the radio volume and pushed himself to his feet. The photograph remained safely tucked away inside his vest.
Unfortunately, the feeling it left behind didn't.
───
Sniper adjusted the scope with practiced ease, settling into position. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.
The battlefield stretched out beneath him.
BLU Soldier. Perfect target. Easy shot.
His finger tightened slightly around the trigger.
Then his mind betrayed him.
For a split second, instead of the Soldier's helmet, he saw a faded photograph. His mother's smile. His father's hand resting on his shoulder. Home.
The shot rang out.
The bullet missed.
Only barely.
But it missed.
Soldier's head snapped toward the sound immediately. "Bloody hell." Mundy cursed under his breath.
That should've been an easy kill. A guaranteed one.
He shifted the rifle back into position. Focus. Just focus.
The radio on his belt exploded with noise. "SNIPER!" "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?" "YA MISSED!"
"SHUT UP!" Mundy barked.
The voices quieted for approximately half a second. Then they started yelling again.
Wonderful. Just wonderful.
The Soldier was already moving now, searching for the sniper nest.
Mundy steadied his breathing.
The photograph. The coffee. The strange ache in his chest.
None of it mattered right now. He had a job to do.
The crosshairs settled over Soldier's forehead. This time the shot landed exactly where it belonged.
The body hit the ground. Finally. "About time," he muttered. A sudden rustle sounded somewhere behind him.
Mundy spun around instantly, rifle raised. Nothing. No movement. No enemy.
Just trees. Wind. Silence.
His jaw tightened. He could've sworn someone had been there. Watching. The feeling lingered for only a moment before another wave of screaming came through the radio.
Apparently his teammates had discovered a brand new reason to argue.
───
By evening the entire RED team was crowded around the table in the common room. Beer bottles. Empty plates. Loud voices. Nothing unusual.
The mission, however, had not gone particularly well.
And everyone knew why.
Mundy sat quietly with a half-empty glass in his hand, hoping nobody would bring it up. That hope lasted less than five minutes.
"You missed." Scout pointed at him immediately.
"There it is," Sniper sighed.
"You missed one shot and it cost us fifteen minutes of fighting for that position!"
"Jeremy—"
"No, Engie, let me finish!" Scout jabbed a finger toward the sniper. "We lost the point. We lost the position. We lost an Engineer because somebody couldn't hit one bloody target."
The room fell noticeably quieter. Mundy stared into his beer. He didn't answer.
That alone was enough to make Engineer nervous.
"Son," Engineer started carefully, "everybody has bad days."
"Bad days?" Scout nearly choked. "That's what we're callin' it now?"
"Jeremy."
"No! Seriously, what was his problem out there?" The youngest mercenary threw his hands into the air. "Personal stuff stays off the battlefield!"
The words hit harder than they should have. Much harder. Mundy's grip tightened around the glass. Maybe because Scout wasn't entirely wrong.
"Jeremy." Engineer sounded less patient now.
Still, Scout pushed forward. "We lost to those BLU idiots because of—"
"Enough."
The room froze.
Spy hadn't raised his voice.
He hadn't needed to.
The single word cut through the conversation like a knife.
Slowly, he lowered his cigarette. Cold blue eyes settled on Scout. "Tais-toi."
Scout immediately remembered that self-preservation was, in fact, a useful skill.
Silence followed. A long one.
Mundy let out a quiet breath. "Thanks, mate."
Spy only waved a hand dismissively. As if it was nothing. As if he hadn't just saved Scout from becoming the next victim of a mysterious smoking accident.
The sniper stood. The beer suddenly tasted bitter. "I'm headin' out."
Nobody stopped him. Not even Scout.
───
The night air was cool. Finally. After a day of shouting, gunfire, and headaches, the silence felt almost sacred.
Mundy lowered himself onto the grass beside his van. His glasses disappeared into his vest pocket. His hat followed shortly after.
For a while he simply sat there. Listening. Wind moving through the trees. Distant insects. The occasional voice drifting from the base.
Anything was better than his own thoughts.
Unfortunately, his thoughts refused to cooperate. The missed shot. The photograph. The argument. And one more thing.
That rustle.
That strange feeling someone had been standing behind him.
He'd asked RED Spy about it earlier. The Frenchman had looked at him like he'd suddenly grown a second head. Apparently he'd been nowhere near the sniper nest.
Which left only one explanation. Mundy was losing his mind. "Fantastic." He dropped backward onto the grass. The stars stared back.
For a moment he closed his eyes. The scent of rain-soaked earth lingered in the air.
Then another smell reached him. Smoke. Cherry tobacco. Something warm beneath it. Something familiar.
Mundy's eyes opened immediately. "...No way."
A pair of gloved hands suddenly wrapped around his shoulders. Mundy barely had time to react before a hand covered his mouth. "Tsk." A familiar voice brushed against his ear. "Quiet, bushman. You'll wake the entire forest."
The sniper immediately relaxed. "Bloody hell, Spook."
The hand disappeared.
Mundy leaned back against the other man's chest without even thinking about it. "You tryin' to give me a heart attack?"
"I was aiming for mild irritation." Spy sounded entirely too pleased with himself.
The Australian rolled his eyes. "Mission accomplished."
A soft chuckle rumbled somewhere behind him.
For a while neither of them spoke. The wind rustled through the trees. The smell of cherry tobacco lingered in the air.
Comfortable silence settled between them. One of the few things both men genuinely appreciated.
Eventually Spy spoke first. "You look terrible."
"Cheers, mate."
"I mean it."
Mundy snorted. "So do you."
"That is impossible." The response came so quickly that Sniper actually laughed.
A real laugh.
Not a forced one.
Not the bitter thing he'd been doing all day.
Spy noticed. Of course he noticed. The Frenchman always noticed.
The assassin moved around and lowered himself onto the grass beside him. The mask concealed most of his expression, but not the concern in his eyes.
"Now." Spy brushed a speck of dirt from his sleeve. "Would you care to explain what has been haunting you all day?"
"Nothin'."
"Bushman."
"Spook."
The Frenchman sighed dramatically. "One day I shall ask you a simple question and receive a simple answer."
"Keep dreamin'."
The corner of Spy's mouth twitched. For a second the familiar banter returned. Then it disappeared again. The silence stretched.
Mundy looked away.
Spy watched him carefully. The sniper's shoulders seemed lower than usual. His eyes looked tired. Not physically tired. Something worse. The kind of exhaustion sleep couldn't fix. The realization made the assassin frown.
"Did someone die?"
"No."
"Are you injured?"
"No."
"Did one of your teammates finally succeed in driving you insane?"
"Close."
That earned another small smile. Progress.
Spy leaned back on his hands. "Then tell me."
The Australian swallowed. The words felt stupid. Embarrassing. Childish, even. But keeping them inside wasn't helping either. "I found an old photograph."
The Frenchman blinked. That wasn't what he'd expected. "A photograph."
"Yeah." The sniper picked at a blade of grass. "My parents."
The joke forming on Spy's tongue died immediately. "Oh." That explained a lot. More than he wanted to admit.
Mundy stared out at the dark field. "I haven't seen 'em in years." The words came quietly. Almost reluctantly.
"I know."
"I know they're fine." A pause. "I think." Another pause. "I just..." His voice cracked slightly. The sniper immediately looked annoyed with himself. "Forget it."
Spy didn't move. Didn't joke. Didn't interrupt. For once he simply waited.
Mundy let out a slow breath. "I miss 'em."
The confession hung in the air. Simple. Honest. Painfully so.
Spy stared. Of all the things he expected to hear tonight, that had not been one of them. Not because it was strange. Because it was human. And sometimes he forgot how human Mick Mundy actually was.
The sniper laughed once. Humorless. "Sounds stupid when I say it out loud."
"No."
The response came immediately.
Mundy looked up.
Spy was still watching him. Quietly. Carefully.
"No, bushman." The assassin reached over and nudged his shoulder. "It doesn't."
For the first time that evening, the tight knot in Mick's chest loosened slightly. Only slightly. But enough. Enough to breathe. Enough to stay. Enough to let the silence return.
And this time neither of them minded it.
For a while neither of them spoke. The forest remained quiet. The wind moved lazily through the trees. Somewhere far away, someone was probably getting blown up. A normal evening.
Mundy stared at the grass beneath his boots. Spy pretended not to watch him. Neither of them was particularly convincing.
Finally the sniper spoke. "Scout was right, y'know."
The Frenchman sighed immediately. "God help me."
"No, listen."
"I am already regretting this conversation."
Mundy ignored him. "I screwed up today."
"One missed shot."
"It cost us the point."
"It happens."
"Not to me."
The answer came too quickly. Too sharply.
And suddenly Spy understood. This wasn't about the photograph anymore. Not entirely.
The missed shot had simply given every ugly thought in Mick's head a target.
The assassin leaned back slightly. "You are impossible."
"Cheers."
"I mean it."
Mundy huffed.
Spy shook his head. "You miss one shot and suddenly you behave as though the world is ending."
"Easy for you to say."
"Of course it is."
The sniper finally looked at him.
The Frenchman met his gaze without hesitation. "You know what I see?"
"What?"
"A stubborn Australian with terrible social skills."
"Oi."
"An alarming amount of emotional repression."
"Spy."
"And a sniper who remains painfully good at his job."
The protest died before it could leave Mundy's mouth.
Spy continued. "You had one bad day." The assassin shrugged. "I've seen you survive worse."
The Australian looked away. His throat suddenly felt tight. Again. Damn it.
"Bushman."
Mundy swallowed. "Yeah?" The voice came out rougher than intended.
The Frenchman hesitated. Only for a second. Then he reached forward and took one of the sniper's hands.
The Australian froze.
Cold. The man's hands were freezing. Even in summer.
"Mon Dieu." Spy frowned. "How are you alive?"
Mundy laughed weakly. "There he is."
"There who is?"
"The dramatic Frenchman."
Spy rolled his eyes. "Be quiet."
But he didn't let go. Instead his thumb brushed across Mick's knuckles. Slowly. Carefully.
The gesture felt oddly intimate. Far more intimate than either of them wanted to acknowledge.
The sniper's ears immediately started turning red.
Spy noticed. Naturally. "You are blushing."
"Am not."
"You are."
"Shut up."
The Frenchman smiled. A small one. Rare. Genuine. And dangerous.
Because suddenly neither of them was talking about parents. Or missed shots. Or bad days.
The silence changed. Mundy could feel it. So could Spy.
Neither seemed particularly eager to address it.
For the first time in years, the assassin found himself struggling to find the right words. A ridiculous situation. Then again—
Mick Mundy had always been a ridiculous man. The sniper looked down at their joined hands. "So..."
"So?"
"You really don't think I'm a disaster?"
The question came out quieter than intended. The smile disappeared from Spy's face.
"Oh, bushman." The response was almost a sigh. Almost. The assassin lifted their hands slightly. Just enough to press a brief kiss against Mick's knuckles. Nothing dramatic.Nothing theatrical. Just one small gesture. One moment. One truth. "No."
Mundy forgot how to breathe.
Spy immediately looked far too pleased with himself. "See?"
The sniper stared. "Spook."
"Yes?"
"What was that?"
The Frenchman smirked. The kind of smirk that should probably be classified as a weapon. "French medicine."
"You're an idiot."
"And yet you keep coming back."
The Australian laughed despite himself. The knot in his chest loosened for the first time all day. The ache remained. But it felt lighter now. Manageable.
Spy stood first, dusting grass from his suit. "Come."
"Where?"
"We are returning before your team sends a search party."
"They won't."
"They absolutely will."
Mundy snorted. The Frenchman offered him a hand. The sniper looked at it. Then at him. Then took it.
Neither let go immediately. Neither commented on it. And somehow that made it worse. Or better. Possibly both.
As they walked back toward the distant lights of the RED base, the summer breeze followed quietly behind them.
For once, neither man seemed in a hurry to break the silence. And for once—
...Spy loosened his tie, tossing it onto one of the armchairs before glancing over at his colleague.
Sniper was in the middle of practicing close combat with his Kukri — or at least attempting to — which immediately earned an irritated sigh from the Frenchman.
– Bushman, qu'est-ce que tu fous?
– Mate, you'd be shocked, but I didn’t understand a bloody thing ya just said.
Mick answered with a smug grin.
Spy rolled his eyes and stepped closer.
–Your posture is awful. Who taught you how to hold a knife?
He moved behind the sniper, one hand pressing lightly against his lower back while the other adjusted the angle of his wrist.
– And this? – Spy scoffed softly. – You call this a knife? Mon dieu… this is an insult to the weapon.
Leaning over Mundy’s shoulder, the assassin plucked the Kukri from his hand and tossed it carelessly onto the armchair beside his tie before slipping one of his own knives into the sniper’s palm.
– Now, – he murmured near Mick’s ear, – we can practice properly.
Sniper swallowed sharply.
He could swear he felt a shiver run down his spine...
