Finally making an intro(???) post. Does it still count if I make it after like a month and a half of having a blog? Man. Anyways!!! About me:
I am an adult. Minors please go elsewhere! There is a beautiful world out there for you, but it is not on my blog
You can call me unfortunately, unfortunate, or honestly whatever you want as long as it’s not cruel. My pronouns are {information missing} and I am a slut for fictional freaks!
This is my main blog which I made for tf2 purposes but I’m also making a couple side blogs for my other interests like stardew valley and project Hail Mary
You’re always welcome to send me asks, thoughts, requests, DM’s, and the like but I am not always great about responding! This blog runs *mostly* on a queue but I do occasionally post a bunch in one go if I’m feeling so inclined.
I’ll put an updated list of personal tags I use here, plus tagging my intro post with them. The tags are mostly for me but if you’d like to use them to peruse my blog or avoid certain posts go ahead! I try and stay organized but I am NOT always great at it. Lemme know if you think something is tagged improperly!
Ok that’s about it my loves, hope you enjoy my fervent Reblogging and my few and far between personal writing posts!
#unfortunately chatting again - my tag for posts I make chatting random shit
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.
He'll have to work on it.
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