siege imagines :)

hey anon! crawling out of my little pit to say: THANK YOU SO MUCH. this is genuinely one of the kindest messages ive ever gotten and it makes me very happy to see youre doing well enjoying what you do!

im also using this time to say that i havent played r6 in years, but i appreciate it still! havent played since aruni teehee

hello darlings :) i have some interesting developments!

for one, i'm back! my inbox is FLOODING with old requests i've yet to fulfill and id love to get those out for y'all over time!

where have i been? how have i been? great! i actually realized.. i'm a lesbian! LMAO

as i mentioned yesterday, i stopped playing siege when i stopped posting like 2 years ago. i just kinda... let this account simmer. but hey. i'm back :)

•••

MASTERLIST

warnings: swearing, light injuries, tiny bit of nsfw, makeout sesh

•••

summary: jackal needs more practice perfecting his appearance, and the organization pilot happy to provide assistance.

notes: LOL I STARTED WRITING AGAIN VINE BOOM

•••

your knees wobbled from the lack of movement as you stood from the foam pad on the pavement floor, wiping your forehead and leaving a thin streak of grime onto your skin. rainbow should invest more into their vehicle care than their damn firing range, you thought. what good is aim if you can’t take it anywhere? bias aside, your error report was due to the director and you felt your joints cry out as you took slow steps back into the facility.

the universe had oddly comedic timing, making you climb up three flights of stairs to get to the drop-off destination. your eyes traced the fine stripe running alongside the wall, catching each door label and looking for the right one.

having been employed there for a large part of your working age, the door placements were almost muscle memory. marius’s mechanics office was fourth door down the south wing. you’d been there a million times, and when you swore you hit the fourth door, you knocked once and looped your arm around the knob, swinging open the door.

“marius, i have the--”

“carajo!”

a whisper-yell violated your ears and you stumbled, spilling the documents across the floor. the lone wolf jackal was sitting at his desk, chip up toward the ceiling and a large weathered hand concealing his neck. quite literally being the last man you hoped to meet in your condition, your temperature flared up and you could feel your underarms dampening.

the spaniard's hair was slicked back with curly flyaways, water dripping down his thick neck. his facial hair seemed to be taking over his face, though not too unkempt. you always considered him a perfect specimen, from his stone-cold perspective on extractions to the way he'd rest against a wall during a business celebration. "perfect," in your mind, did not mean flawless. he's slipped up, missed meetings, sometimes even forgotten his helmet for a mission. he was your hot, imaginary disaster of a boyfriend. in your daydreams, at least.

to those besides yourself, to call specialist jackal a disaster would be a practical understatement. sure, you’d catch his passing glance in the transport helicopter or watch his back muscles flex as he shrugged on his vest, but that doesn’t mean his interior was stable.

ramírez was a man past his prime, yet not weathered to the extent of being “too old.” your trusted co-pilot, jäger, called him your salt and pepper crush (for unclear reasons to you) to the point of you threatening to send the copter straight into the ocean.

"ramírez," your voice cracked. "sorry for the interruption. it seems i entered the wrong door. have a good day."

"i- no- wait-" he huffed, lifting his hand from his neck. he glanced in the mirror which caused his eyes to widen. ramírez reached out to you, quickly yet tenderly taking hold of your forearm. "could you... help. really quick. please."

it seemed like a cruel setup to an evil prank. you were too old for games, but you could name a few other operators that would seem up for such a thing. he continued.

"could you get me some gauze, l/n? a cotton ball. something. anything, por favor."

"are you okay?"

"yes. i cut my neck shaving," he looked up to your panicked expression. "just a little nick, don't worry."

you scurried toward one of the many first aid kits nailed to the wall. you flipped it open, fumbling for some sort of bandage. you paused, gripping it in your palm.

now's your chance, mein frund, you could hear jäger in your head. you nodded to yourself and reentered his room. jackal had not moved from his position but was now standing an inch from his mirror.

"gracias," he thanked, reaching out to grab the gauze from your hand. your quick thinking caused you to pull back.

"let me help," you said, with a light smirk. it had been some time since you last had the chance to flirt, with work and all clouding your mind since you got out of college. "i can see it better. sit."

he sat down, legs wide. you shuffled between his left leg, practically sitting on it. he readjusted in his seat. without even thinking twice, you held his chin and turned it upward.

"i can't reach it, it's like.. right under your jaw-" you mumbled mostly to yourself. you watched his jaw clenched and eyes glue to the ceiling and said nothing about it. it's working. "where is it?"

"here," jackal whispered back, placing his hand over yours and moving your hand to his pulse. you began to wipe at the blood, yet it never seemed to stop. fighting the frustration, you furrowed your brow and continued cleaning his neck, when suddenly, you heard a low groaning noise.

"quit your squirming," you instructed, holding him down with more authority. he continued to breathe through his teeth, and you felt his body heat radiating despite the gap. you began to get worried.

"is this okay?" you asked, referring to the cut. his breathing became heavier and body stiffer.

"yes... hhh—stay like that."

you raised an eyebrow, checking your surroundings. during your frustrations, you seemed to have taken a seat on his lap, with your hand applying gentle pressure on the sides of his neck. you soon realized he was not talking about the blood.

"me encanta esto." it was almost inaudible, said barely above a whisper, but you heard it.

for a moment, time stopped. you pulled your gauze-hand back, and truly seizing this glorious opportunity, placed it on his chest. it was just as amazing as you pictured it felt. was this actually happening right now? is he just really into this, or is he so uncomfortable he can't even speak?

he lowered his chin, meeting your eyes once before glancing down at your lips. you couldn't help but admire his long, dark eyelashes. his lips parted.

"can i kiss you...?" ramírez asked, fixated on your mouth. you nodded, slowly.

as if waiting a million years, his instincts took over as he grabbed the back of your neck and waist, pulling you in and smashing your lips together. you kissed back feverishly, holding the sides of his face and starting to slowly grind against his thigh. he tasted like minty rain and you loved every bit of it. after nearly a minute straight, you pulled away, taking a deep catching breath. you were so caught up against his lips you didn't notice the small trail of blood soaking into his shirt collar.

"ramírez—" you began, but he kissed you once more, just as deeply but as quick as a peck.

"thank you for the help," he replied in a low rumble. "i think i've got it from here."

you jumped up, remembering the report. you started to apologize before he grabbed your hand, squeezing it once.

"i'll be here. don't worry, i'll wait for you."

tragically /j

hey anon! i actually don't post here a whole lot anymore (it's been about three years)! though i do occasionally lurk and wonder if my writing is still kicking, and surprisingly it is!

on the official siege website, all of the operators have their own bio, complete with name, age, country of origin, and other information about their history with the company! there are also small cutscenes available that siege posted to advertise their game, which gives insight into how the character moves. though they usually don't fill in a lot of info about the personalities themselves, a lot of fans simply assume or assign traits based on the backstories. for example, i assume jackal is playful, makes a lot of crude jokes, but is also quiet and reserved. i got this information from his bio and voice lines, just judging by his tone and choice of words. i also understand that in his bio, he lost someone dear to him and holds that trauma closely.

hi! i’m alive! i’m sorry for never posting after like february... imagines will be back up soon! in the meantime, i’m reopening requests and feel free to use these prompts (please include operator & additional information in your request)!

•••••

MASTERLIST

50 prompts to request #1

•••••

“why are you upside down?”

“have you got cotton in your ears? i said DO IT!”

“i’ve been doing this for years, yet nothing prepared me for this.”

“do not test me. i will bark at you.”

“no no no, i can’t die. i won’t die.”

“we did this... all for nothing...?”

“i thought i meant something to you.”

“it’s all fun and games until...”

“hold my beer.”

“get this damn pop-up off my computer!”

“wanna see a magic trick?”

“am i a himbo?”

“can’t you just pretend you like me for five minutes?”

“you’re a grown adult doing that?”

“let’s make purple.”

“you’re just copying my whole thing!”

“halloween is for children.”

“are you hot, or am i drunk?”

“you’re covered in marks.”

“...is it my fault?”

“i shouldn’t have said that.”

“i should have said that sooner.”

“this entire time...?”

“say that again, i dare you.”

“you belong here.”

“i see it now. how couldn’t i have seen it before?”

“of course the gun isn’t loaded!”

“watch your words around me.”

“good girl.”

“your presence offends me.”

“i don’t want my parents to meet you.”

“you have far too much free time.”

“i’m your partner, not your babysitter.”

“i suppose danger loves me.”

“you’re cooler than i thought.”

“this is a borderline addiction.”

“it has a NAME!”

“fuck me gently with a chainsaw.”

“it can’t be THAT hard.”

“if you didn’t love me, why’d you waste my time?”

“how can you look yourself in the mirror?”

“don’t play dumb with me.”

“i didn’t tell you to stop.”

“there really isn’t that much blood, right?”

“oh god, that’s a lot of blood.”

“just dance with me, you idiot.”

“you’re freezing.”

“you’re on fire.”

“i’m not gonna make it out alive.”

this is crazy, i didn’t think i’d hit another milestone for some time, and i’m forever grateful for the love i’ve received!

you’ve heard my excuses, my reasons why fics are being produced much slower than anticipated, but i still promise this account is active and i’m getting through every single request! it’s honestly my fault for letting the inbox messages pile up but it’s still very rewarding to see everyone genuinely interested in what i do for fun! expect a plethora of stuff very soon!

keep being good people, and have a good night!

i was waiting until someone picked that one tjekekkw

fun fact: i accidentally queued this up and i’ve no way to save this back into drafts so i had to write the whole thing within two hours

•••

maverick x reader >> mildly uncomfortable

•••

MASTERLIST

warnings: cursing

prompts:

#22: “you look at me like a sixth grader trying to confess their love by eye contact across the maths classroom.”

you can find the prompt list here

•••

summary: maverick isn’t very experienced at expressing his thoughts.

•••

was this all a sick game? perhaps specialist maverick discovered your affections and tested your sanity just enough for you to crack. he was doing a damn good job, you never ceased to peer over your shoulder or check yourself in the mirror to assure something wasn’t wrong with your face.

“have i something in my teeth?” you asked across the mess hall, temporarily snapping erik from his surprisingly vivid imagination. “because you’ve nothing but stared into my bones since i’ve walked in.” however, despite your incessant callouts, erik would never have an excuse, an explanation behind his motive. admittedly, it left you heated more often than you can count, unable to stop the beet red sides of your face as his frosty irises attempted to find the deepest secrets within your soul.

“am i perhaps too repulsive to tear one’s eyes away from?” you asked, crossing your arms with an exasperated sigh. “unless i’m looking too into this.”

“i believe it’s the latter,” doctor kateb applied his opinion, striding across his floor. “have you considered that it could be affection as opposed to seething hatred?”

“affection?” you mocked. “he looks as if he intends on eating me alive!”

“are you complaining?” doc quipped, turning with a smirk. “there’s yet to be an occasion where you turn him down.”

trusting the doctor too well, you nodded.

“sharp eye, you,” you teased, pointing. “in all seriousness, i haven’t found a reason to request him ceasing. i quite like it.”

“why?” gustave was closer to you now, watching your eyes flicker between his.

“because i seem to share potentially similar affections,” you admitted, suppressing a faltering gaze. “considering your psychological diagnosis is in the air, i also haven’t found a reason to kiss and tell.”

“that’s because i’m not a psychologist,” doc said. “specialist maverick doesn’t know the slightest thing about attraction. sure, he’ll perform a visual analysis of you, but i doubt anything verbal will come of it.”

you pursed your lips, spontaneously motivated. making your way to the doorframe, you grinned mischievously, fluttering your raised fingers at gustave.

“i know that look,” he wryly chuckled, facing you. “what have you got in mind?”

“oh, for heaven’s sake, i don’t see a reason to worry!” you sent yourself off with a wink, heading to the one place you’d find the source of the problems himself.

•••

“specialist thorn?” evans exasperatedly inquired. “why would his whereabouts concern you?”

“because he’s been a concern of mine,” you answered, impatient. “i have a few words to exchange.”

“you, of all people?” morowa delivered a scoffing laugh, pressing her shoulder against yours. “i doubt thorn will have any more than a passing glance to spare.”

“and you say that because...?”

“i know a thing or two because i’ve seen a thing or two, l/n. i’m attempting to save you from his own embarrassment. he won’t even tell you what he had for breakfast.”

“what room is he in, evans?” you pressed the question, having been done with the teasing.

“402-A.” you nodded to her answer, turning on your heel to head down the dorm hallways. as your destination number appeared closer, you felt the need to throw up. all bark and no bite, you laughed to yourself. however, against your wishes, you persisted, stopping in front of the bare white door, unmarked aside from the nametag beside it.

you clenched your fist and raised it, tapping your knuckle against the wood once.

twice.

thr—

“specialist l/n”, erik was at the door, holding it with a tensed grip. for the first time, he refused to meet your eyes, opting to stare at the wall behind you. your arm had still been raised, frozen in place as your strong desire to leave took over.

“funny how you won’t look at me now,” you suddenly observed, gaining a sudden boost of confidence and making your way into his room. “what’s the deal, thorn?”

his back was to you, the same way he was when he opened the door. slowly, his head tilted, giving you a view of his profile, ears noticeably pink.

“you’re quiet, too,” you continued, stepping closer. while your heights hadn’t matched, you were at a far enough distance to maintain level eye contact.

“why are you—“

“oh, you should know,” you snickered, your chest just barely against his. his breathing quickened as you trailed a finger from his collarbone to his navel. “tell me, erik, what’s got your eyes so glued to me?”

he snapped out of his trance, clearing his throat and turning away to hide his blush. you giggled and continued to press the matter.

“is it my eyes?” you leaned to get a view of his, fighting for dominance. “perhaps my hair? lips? what’s got you so captured by me?”

“i—i have nothing to say,” erik stammered. “can you... leave?”

“riddle me this,” you moved your lips slowly, getting on your tippy toes. his blond hair fell in front of his fluttering gaze, his own lips parted. “you look at me like a sixth grader trying to confess their love by eye contact across the maths classroom. why?”

“you like it,” maverick concluded, exhaling with a small smile. “don’t deny it.” he moved in for a kiss, desperate for your touch.

“i’m not giving you the satisfaction, thorn,” you flirted, brushing your side against his as you left without another word.

erik was left standing beside an open door, unsure if he should feel intimidated or turned on.

•••

thermite x reader >> that someone isn’t me

•••

MASTERLIST

warnings: angst, depression

•••

summary: thermite doesn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation.

•••

you slapped your hand against the bar counter, feeling the burn slip down your throat. hacking with your tongue out, you grinned.

“it couldn’t have been that bad!” jordan laughed, slapping your back. “you’re more of a lightweight than i thought!”

“don’t flatter yourself because you took a shot too,” you teased, waving a hand with a dry voice. “it’s not every day you’re downing a fireball.”

“oh, but it is, in a day in the life of jordan trace,” he quipped in response, reaching to pour himself another shot. you took your hand and placed it upon his, freezing his pouring motion.

“i think you’ve had well enough, you crippling alcoholic,” you insisted. “it’s late, and who knows what work has for us tomorrow.”

“and bring this beautiful night to an end, darlin’?”

“well, the fun won’t end, but the drinks certainly will. i’m not gonna hold your hair like the romcoms tomorrow morning.”

he turned to you with a smirk, running his tongue along his front teeth. it was rare you were able to watch him without a life threatening situation. a decade had passed since you met him and not one time did you catch him in a truly casual, comfortable setting. for once, his face wasn’t caked in dirt and his hands were properly healing. jordan’s eyes were soft, witnessing you take in his beauty in what felt like slow motion. once he noticed the extended experience, he stuck a pinky nail into his teeth, comically picking away.

“what are you doing?” you giggled, blushing at the realization.

“you’re staring through my skin, hun,” he replied. “figured there must’ve been something left from dinner that you were noticing.”

“i would’ve told you!” you chuckled again. “even though you’re ridiculously handsome, i’m still not afraid to tell you as it is.”

“you’re too kind,” he winked. “i’m glad i’ve got a friend like you, y/n.”

a friend like you.

“my room or yours?” you asked as he put a hand on your back.

“yours, please,” he concluded, finding his footing. “mine’s a nightmare. yours smells like vanilla.”

“thank you...?”

“the pleasure’s all mine.”

your head seemingly floated above your neck as you sat down too quickly, letting jordan flop onto the bed with his jacket still on. just before he entered a sleeping state, you reached around his body to remove it for him, placing it on your desk chair. he groaned, a barely audible “thank you” slipping from his lips. you wanted to laugh seeing his face entirely smushed against your pillow, his hair flying this way and that. through his graying hair, he was still a puppy at heart, and for that you couldn’t help but fall violently for him.

“why do you spend your time with me?” you quietly asked, laying on your back and looking to the white ceiling. just as you began to count the scuff marks above, jordan let out a whispered reply.

“i love you,” he murmured. “you’re pretty, you kick ass, and you keep me in check.” he moaned before going completely silent, a faint snore filling your ears. you exhaled, smiling widely.

“i love you too,” you announced, craning your head to see jordan entirely asleep, unaware of your words. “if only you knew.”

you couldn’t sleep, truthfully. every time you closed your eyes, you saw jordan, and you smiled like a dumbass every time. he loves you! do you know what kind of an accomplishment this is!? the moment he awakens, you’re gonna plant a kiss on his lips and he’ll hold you close, arms around you as he—

RING, RING!

“6am already?” you complained to yourself, leaning to slap your clock. the sudden movement caused jordan to snort awake, sitting up with an open mouth and squinted eyes. in an attempt to wake himself up, he rubbed his hands against his hair, shaking his head once.

“mornin’, pumpkin,” he groaned. “time?”

“six,” you could barely contain your excitement, grinning wildly and feeling hot.

“shit,” he bursted into action, completely ignoring your happiness and snatching his jacket. “i’ve got my examination in half an hour, i’m sorry to just bail like this.”

you kept your smile, yet your eyes seemed to show your dismay.

“it’s okay, jordan,” you assured, looking to the floor. “i’ll see you at lunch?”

he winced, inhaling through his teeth.

“no can do, y/n,” he apologized. “i’ve got a date.”

you would’ve suspected you were slapped in the face.

“a—a date?” you choked out.

“yep!”

“then what was yesterday to you?” you whispered.

“hm?”

“nothing,” you perked up, jaw clenching. he nodded hesitantly, stepping out without another word. slowly, silently, hot tears fell down your cheeks.

maybe he doesn’t remember anything from yesterday, you begged to believe. maybe it was just a test to see how i’d react.

but this isn’t high school. jordan is an adult, you are an adult, you work together. why did he say he loved you if—?

you whipped out your phone from under the sheets, typing frantically.

you: why didn’t you say you had a date?

you were debating on whether to ask more questions or drop it and wait for him to reply. almost instantly, he began typing back.

jordan: didn’t think it was important, why?

you: i thought i was important

you bit your tongue. perhaps you were too rude? did last night even happen? sure, you two have been close, but could you have overstepped your boundary as a friend?

jordan: you are.

he didn’t reply for a full minute.

jordan: are you okay y/n?

you: who are you going out with?

jordan: i thought i try some dating apps lol. her names charlotte.

you: what about me?

jordan: what about you?

you: do you remember what you told me last night?

please be drunk, you begged. please forget what you said so i can dismiss it and pretend it didn’t happen.

jordan: in your dorm? oh...

you cursed, time seeing to slow to a snail’s pace as he typed for several minutes.

jordan: you may have misunderstood me. yes, i love you, but not that way. you’re like a sibling to me, y/n, and i wouldn’t trade you for the world. we’re too close to risk our relationship by dating. you deserve the world, and someone to give it to you, but that someone isn’t me. i’ll always be here for you, but we’re friends and it’s best if it stays that way. i’m sorry.

you laughed to yourself, letting a spray of tears land onto the floor. feeling as if you’re going mad, you typed back, now sobbing.

you: it’s all good! thanks for clearing it up! let me know how the date goes haha :)

angrily, you whipped your phone at your bed, watching it launch into the air and land with a satisfying crack onto the floor.

“a fool, an idiot, a damn fool,” you called yourself over and over, gripping your hair. “why did i think it could work?” your phone buzzed, and you looked past the large shattered section of the screen to read your notification.

new message!

jordan: i’ll let you know! thanks for being so understanding!

the next day, you didn’t sit with jordan during a meeting.

the next week, you switched your workshop schedule.

the next month, you didn’t leave your room.

y’all really love spetsnaz huh

actually yknow what nevermind i understand the appeal

•••

spetsnaz preference >> prized possessions

•••

MASTERLIST

warnings: fluff, cursing

•••

summary: how do the members of spetsnaz react when you find their prized possessions?

•••

kapkan

you found it while looking for another item maxim requested for you to retrieve on his desk

the blade itself was still sharp, as if it was new

the handle had delicate carvings into the silver casing

it was clean, yet vintage. you never saw it in combat, and figured it was more of a decorative item.

it was too beautiful to handle, so you gestured to it which grabbed his attention.

“what’s this?”

without looking up from his book, he flatly replied.

“mine.”

displeased with the answer, you snapped to get his full attention, making him look up from the noise and trail his eyes to the weapon.

“oh.”

he closed his book slowly, sitting up from his bed.

as if you were his grandchild, he patted his leg, offering you enough space to comfortably lay on his thigh.

“let me tell you a story of a man.”

his story seemed infinite, starting at the beginning of his family timeline

you weren’t complaining, his stories were always intriguing and engaging, even if he wasn’t loud and wildly gesturing like another russian you knew

it was his father’s knife

“he escaped to the west. used this to get him out of some lethal situations. he wanted to help america during the cold war. i follow in his steps; fighting for what is right, not the most popular choice.”

maxim paused, watching you with a sincere look

he grabbed your waist and pulled you in, your face buried in his neck as he looked ahead.

“i wish to pass it to our children.”

you began to cry

glaz

you were flipping through his sketchbook while he was away (he gave you permission beforehand, don’t worry, fellow artists!)

the papers were yellowed, corners folded randomly

there were various pieces; landscapes, people, animals...

your eyes stopped at a page tucked between others, smaller and worn around the edges

paper clipped to the work was a photo, almost identical to the drawing

a woman not much older than timur looked into the camera with a straight face, posing as one usually would in the past

the sketch was textured and layered perfectly; you would have guessed it was a photo copy if you hadn’t known of your love’s hobby

you smile, assuming it’s someone he must have lost years ago

sure enough, glaz is against the doorframe, a small smile on his lips

he steps beside you, scratching his beard and sincerely grinning

“you two would have gotten along,” he said, peering past your shoulder to join you in admiring the work

you asked who it was, and you could see the pain in his eyes

“my mother.” his gaze drops, seemingly analyzing his shoelaces. timur said her first name as if she was an angel.

“she’s very beautiful,” you complimented softly. timur’s nose was pink as he stared ahead.

“yes,” he quietly replied. “she was.”

fuze

shuhrat never spoke of his family much

he didn’t speak about anything before rainbow, actually

no photos, no accessories, not a single piece of familial memorabilia.

you asked him about it, and he shrugged.

“nothing important happened before.”

there’s no way shuhrat only sticks close to his cluster charges, right?

of course, you were married to him, but you still worried about his social connections.

you decide to do some snooping

you slid open drawers, cabinets, anything that could keep something moderately important

sure enough, on his shelf was a spruce box, no larger than that used for jewelry

suspecting something significant, you removed the box from the shelf and unclamped the gold latch

piles upon piles of photos and documents were found

curious, you unfolded the paper on top

“ — y/n 2/14/19XX”

the signed letter you used to confess to him ages ago...!

you went for the second paper

“to my love, shuhrat,”

your one year anniversary card!

turning the photos right side up, you found them to be entirely of you

anything of you from your operator portrait to your wedding photo

you were his prized possession...?

you whip around at the sound of footsteps, watching fuze shrug off his coat without the knowledge of your presence.

in a panic, you shut the box and tried to shove it back where you found it

he reacted to the noise, whipping around.

he’s very red when he notices the box still in your hands

“y/n.”

“shuhrat.”

you had this knowing smirk on your face

you thought i wouldn’t find your soft spot, you teased internally.

tachanka

alex isn’t ancient, but he definitely has memories of an older world

he’s a prime example of “when i was your age—“

you were relatively younger than him, so you loved hearing his tales of a time before you

sure, sometimes they can be unwanted, but it was still fascinating to see what he went through

the most shocking interest of his was probably collecting vinyls

he takes great pride in his collection, taking every opportunity to give you facts about each record.

you more so listened to his music rather than finding it yourself

he was humming along in his office as he typed away, a slower song in a language you were not familiar with.

you paused as you walked along the hallway, seemingly entranced by the tune

alex paused as well, laughing at the sight of you silently jamming out

“you like this one?”

shocked, you attempt to play it off, blushing

“come here.”

alex reached out to you, grabbing your arm and pulling you inside

instinctively, you wrapped your hands around his neck and his around your waist

you rocked side to side as he began to speak.

“tchaikovsky,” he explained, chuckling. “one of my favorites too.”

he fluttered his eyes shut, taking in the sound waves with a peaceful smile

you’ve never seen tachanka, of all people, be genuinely at peace

for birthdays and anniversaries, you find vinyls to add

after you find out, he calls it “our collection.”

i never thought i’d reach such achievement that fast, and i want to thank everyone for spreading the word and requesting, without you all, i’d just be another account!

i’m currently the top user in siege imagines, as well as one of the top users for siege itself! this is such an accomplishment to me, and i can officially say i’m proud of what i’ve done, with your help!

this being said, i may soon add a tip jar to my writings. i’m just a student trying to get a stable job, so any future donations would be fantastic!

i’m sorry my requests are closed, i’ve got about twenty submissions and i’m doing my best to write what i can!

thank you again for helping me achieve my goals and dreams, and have a good day!

mozzie’s new skin has me feeling very attracted to aussies as of late, so why not?

ps: to make this easier, we’re gonna pretend that he doesn’t have an expecting wife because that’d be pretty fucked up if i included that

pps: i’m sorry i haven’t released much as of late, school hates me

•••

mozzie x reader >> photographs

•••

MASTERLIST

warnings: swearing, clownage, possible australian stereotyping

•••

summary: a vacation day did not end the way you thought it would.

•••

if you knew any better, you’d blame tori for the misfortune.

“you two need time to yourselves,” she suggested. “god knows when max’ll burst from boredom.”

sure, on paper, a day off sounds envigorating, liberating. nothing beats waking up in your love’s arms knowing there is truly nothing to be done. you already envisioned the day: breakfast in a cozy diner, an aquarium before a picnic, and a high-class dinner atop a skyscraper.

however, you knew max, and knew all of those things would never come to fruition.

the bed was cold as the morning breeze from the window shook you awake. you faced max’s side of the bed, expecting him to be asleep as he usually is: on his stomach, mouth open and one arm under your pillow, the other dangling off the mattress.

with this image never coming to a physical form, you sighed and put on one of max’s hoodies from the closet, throwing it over yourself and disregarding your absence of pants. once you shrugged it over your head, your eyes met a small note pasted onto the vanity mirror.

“outside —max xx”

“hello?” you called out, taking the steps into your living room. it was empty, and you could practically hear the dust accumulating from so many days away. the couch was stiff and the photos on the wall were smeared. even through the disarray, it was your home, and you decided to pay more attention to it in the future. if you and max were going to grow old, may as well keep the house young, right?

finally realizing the note was a direction, you made your way to the main entrance, peering through the glass of the door to see one of max’s motorcycles with him atop of it. he seemed to be sleeping, body leaning so far forward that his head rested on the steer. his arms were crossed and being used as a pillow, covering his face just enough for you to only catch a glimpse of his sandy hair. you chuckled to yourself.

padding your way across the hot pavement, you stopped in front of the bike, leaning forward to rev the engine once, sending max into a flurry. he snorted and tried playing it off, resting his head on one hand.

“shit — g’mornin’, love,” he groaned, running a hand along the top of his head.

“how long have you been out here?” you asked, smirking. he checked his phone.

“since ‘bout six.”

“it’s nine.”

“i wanted to surprise you!”

you raised an eyebrow.

“where we going?”

“get your helmet,” max looked down to your bare legs. “...and some pants, maybe.” you looked down, blushing from the public setting, and returned to grab a pair of jeans. once you put on a pair, you took a quick trip into the garage, snatching your helmet off of the shelf. it’s appearance was identical to mozzie’s, aside from the flag and name and instead an ash gray. when you returned, max traded out his hat for his own helmet and put on his signature shades.

“i always forget how damn hot you look with that on,” he teased, nodding towards your gear. “makes me almost wanna stay home.”

faintly, almost inaubdible, a click was heard from behind your back.

“oh, stop it,” you replied, swinging a leg around the bike and grabbing his waist. your heights were similar enough for you to rest your head on his shoulder, helmets clinking against each other with each bump or crack. the closeness never bothered either of you, it was in fact a comforting reminder of how affectionate you are for one another. max was a puppy, sure. every red light, he’d give your hand a squeeze. every turn, he’d place his hand behind him to make sure you don’t fall from the intensity of the movement. a few times, he joked about getting you a sidecar, so he could always catch a glimpse of you while he’s driving. you turned down this offer, of course, mostly because that would only raise the risk of him driving in general.

the roads were unfamiliar to you. it was only your second month moving in with max, despite the fact that you two have been together for years. never married due to work, but in love nonetheless. australia was a place you never thought you’d find yourself in, a world away from your original house. while you missed your hometown, you’ve come to realize that a real home is wherever max was, and the thought made you smile into his neck with a blush.

“you still haven’t given me a hint to where we’re goin’,” you pointed out. he craned his neck to look at you for a second, his smirk barely visible from the helmet.

“somewhere different,” he replied, shrugging. “you’ll like it.”

the bike turned a corner you’d never even noticed before, heading down a dark road. the building that came into view, a large white box with intricate pillars. there was no clear sign or indication of the type of business. as you got closer, however, the small gold lettering was legible.

“centermill art gallery?” you asked, baffled. max laughed, taking off your helmet for you and hanging it against the handles.

“charming, eh?” max replied, holding the door with a flourish. “it’s different from the dirt bikes and diners.”

“that’s one way to put it.”

the floors squeaked against your boots, the steps echoing along the nearly bare walls. a man not much older than you approached the both of you, his velvet suit shining in the light.

click.

“welcome,” he flatly said, adjusting his sleeve. “i’m toby. if you have any questions please find me.” he parted, sighing. max looked at you, holding two arms in the air as he shrugged. he grabbed your hand and led you down the first area of works. sculptures of all form and color came into view, scattered around the open room.

the first creation to greet you was a stone person, poised as if they were in their final moments, entirely nude. max let out a gasp, reaching behind you to place his hands over your eyes. his attention was ripped from the human when he moved into the next part of the room. as you trailed behind, you read a large, red sign.

DO NOT TOUCH THE ARTWORK!

“check this,” mozzie said, pointing to a life size sculpture of a lion. “tacky.” he let out a loud chuckle, running his hand across the beast’s back. you covered your mouth, trying your hardest to suppress a laugh that would have traveled in the air. max bared his teeth, letting out a snarl as if to impersonate the animal. noticing your struggle, max made it a challenge, daring you to laugh at him.

“what do you say we get one of these for the house?” he inquired, slapping a concrete horse head. “it’d be a fucking centerpiece and a half.”

“don’t be ridiculous!” you said through your teeth. “i have standards.”

“then how’d you end up with me?” he took a step closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. you exhaled with a smile, placing your head against his chest.

“let’s keep going, i wanna see if there’s anything that doesn’t look like it belongs in a retirement home.”

the path led you to the paintings, stuck to the wall and seemingly frozen in time. the frame looked centuries old and the velvet ropes told you it wasn’t something to mess with. the painting was a young woman, similar figure to your own, back facing the viewer. draped around her body was a white cloth, only exposing her arms and back as she held it against her chest with a doe-eyed look. you couldn’t take your eyes away from the piece, analyzing every brush stroke and bump of paint that was too thick upon application. you were only pulled from your trance by a flash, another clicking sound following. confused, you whip around to see max, polaroid camera in one hand and freshly printed photo in the other.

“what are you—?”

“takin’ some pictures,” he nonchalantly explained, putting the photo into his already suspiciously stuffed pocket. you nodded slowly, stepping in front of the next portrait. a ragged young man stood beside what was presumed to be his older, pristine self, embracing.

“what do you think it means?” you asked quietly, the breath taken from you to seemingly revitalize the frozen figures. max didn’t respond, sighing. slowly, he reached into his pocket and removed a handful of polaroids, to which you grabbed.

“that’s me,” you observed, feeling the sense of familiarity. “asleep this morning, on the driveway before we left, standing in the gallery doorway, me and the paintings...? isn’t it, like, bad to flash photograph the works?”

“that’s a myth, look closer,” his voice was low, ready to burst. you looked up at max, noticing his worried brows. you uneasily went through the photos again.

“is that a ring?” sure enough, in every photo, max’s two fingers held a ring up in the foreground, completely ignored by you. it was blurry considering the main focus to be on you, but you knew what it was anyway. “why’s there a—“

wordlessly, (for the first time in his life), he held out the ring for you to see in person. it was simple, classic, a silver band with various decals and gems. he was grinning under his moustache.

“i couldn’t wait,” he explained, laughing. “i wanted to wait until at least a year here, but you’re too fuckin’ irresistible.”

max got on one knee, ears red. you felt tears in your eyes.

“y/n, will you, uh—“

“no shit!”

his eyes widened, taking your hand and placing the ring on your finger. you grabbed his neck and pulled him in for a sweet kiss. he chuckled again as you peppered kisses along his jaw.

“i practiced this a million times in my head,” he admitted. “i wanted to wait by sundown.”

“anytime is the perfect time,” you replied. “but why the photos?”

“something different,” he repeated, the same tone as before the date. “we gotta update those pictures on the wall, babe.”

“but you’ll see me every day of your life,” you protested, wiping your cheek. “you don’t need the photographs.”

“but i do,” he lightly argued. “when we’re old and look like raisins, i wanna be able to look back at how drop-dead gorgeous i was.” you laughed, pushing his chest.

“you’ll always be drop-dead gorgeous,” you replied. “raisin or not.”

doc x lion was my first ship yes pls

side note: i was not around when the outbreak event was out, so i’ll be using what i know from cutscenes/op notes and create my own little mission & details.

•••

doc x lion >> what if?

•••

MASTERLIST

warnings: cursing, gore, angst

•••

summary: the ghost of lion’s mistakes still carry a heavy weight on his shoulders

•••

if he was just there.

at first, olivier was displeased with his newfound partner in the outbreak considering their clashing personalities.

it started when the two collided on site.

“haven’t you anything useful to do?” the darker man spat, a hand on the blond’s chest. “i’m working.”

“as am i,” olivier retorted, face neutral. “yet your presence seems to halt my progression.”

what if he hadn’t spoken back that day?

“progression? you charge in with your little drone and endanger everyone,” doc spat. “take your time, flament. maybe then you wouldn’t get in my way.” with a final shove in the shoulder, they parted ways, attempting whatever possible to save citizens from the virus. sure enough, lion froze, licking his teeth with a smile.

“it’s gonna be a long fucking operation,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. despite the disagreements, something came over flament, giving him a strong desire to spit on gustave’s grave.

what if he dropped out of the mission, then and there?

that exact moment approached olivier with open arms, much to his bittersweet delight. the situation was tight, with gustave on the ground hanging on by a thread. the bomb was planted, strong enough to kill whatever shouldn’t be alive. all they had to do was secure the point and ensure it will detonate. doc’s life was on its last moments, and the only available operator was flament. he sprinted over and leaned down, ready to fix whatever needed fixing.

“i’ve got you, mon amie,” lion insisted, grabbing the doctor’s hand. surprisingly, kateb pulled his arm away, wincing.

“non!” he cried, struggling. “je peux le faire!” he tried his damnest to reach for him stim, but was too weak in the position he was in.

“you fool,” lion chuckled uneasily, firmly holding his hand once again. “don’t be ridiculous.” against his wishes, olivier hoisted gustave up, providing him cover to stim himself. his tired eyes were once again filled with life and he sprang into action, taking down anything in his path while watching for his teammates.

“take your time, kateb!” he mocked, grinning through his mask. even through the doctor’s balaclava, he could sense the frown, making him smile even more.

what if he didn’t help him?

their interactions became more frequent, to their delight or displeasure.

lion would never admit it, of course, but watching doc’s dissatisfaction with his performance only drew olivier to impress him more, sometimes out of the job. while their views may contrast, there was something to intriguing about the french men being together. ash brought it up to gustave once, rendering him a red and stuttering mess.

“maybe you’re just flustered around him,” she joked. “you lose concentration.”

“perish the thought!” he replied, trying his hardest to sound disgusted. almost everyone could see through his façade, though, and lion was always lurking during doc’s confrontations, hoping one day he’ll outright admit his crush.

“unresolved animosity?” lion scoffed, feet up on the desk and he recalls a psychological analysis. “more so sexual tension.” the darker frenchman stopped his typing to stare.

“sexual tension?” doc repeated, eyes meeting the blond. “you want to have sex with me…?” it was a rhetorical question. his tone was flat, eyebrow raised, causing lion to let out a loud laugh.

“if you’re offering,” he teased, sitting straight, unlike his sexuality. “when are you available?”

“we’re professionals, and we need to maintain that,” doc concluded, hiding his mouth with his hand. “the feeling is not mutual.”

“bull~” lion hummed quietly, finally turning to attend to his own gadgets.

what if he kept his flirting to himself?

last came the catalyst to disaster.

the outbreak was just about contained and exterminated, all that was left was to administer an airborne immunity. all the team had to do was monitor the airlift and ensure it wasn’t knocked from the sky. their seats were beside each other, and when one was staring, the other was unaware, or so doc thought.

“have i something in my teeth?” lion teased, running a hand across his chin. “or am i just that pretty?”

“you’re an enigma,” doc replied, face pink. “so full of yourself.”

“nonsense,” olivier quipped. “our relationship is strictly professional, according to you.”

“right…”

a loud crash interrupted the conversation, shaking the helicopter and nearly sending everyone’s gear out the side.

“we’ve got a problem,” jäger announced, strained. “dropped one of the canisters.”

“someone’s going to have to retrieve it manually,” doc observed. “i can do it.”

“no!” lion protested, putting a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “i’ve seen you on the field alone, you’re a support.”

“what of it?”

“i can do it,” lion begged. “i’ve got the equipment, nothing can sneak up on me!”

“i’m more than just a doctor,” gustave fought back. “we can’t go together, someone’s gotta help lift the canister into the helicopter. i can bring myself back up if i come down. please.”

lion tried to read doc’s eyes, which were darting between his. his pleading gaze hit a soft spot in his heart, and he sighed.

“don’t get yourself killed out there.”

what if he volunteered to go anyway?

“merci,” gustave concluded, ready to jump from the copter. as jäger lowered to the ground, doc took a deep breath and hoisted himself onto the ground, weapon by his side. lion watched him walk into the hazy red air, snarling in the distance.

“he’ll be okay,” marius reassured, looking back to the worried blond. “doc sticks to his word, he’ll be back.”

one minute.

two.

three.

ten minutes.

“something’s wrong,” olivier nervously stated, looking down to the ground. “let me down.”

“no can do,” marius replied. “just give him time, we never saw where the canister landed.”

“if you’re not going to let me down, then give me a damn parachute!” his throat tightened as he desperately pleaded. the pilot groaned, finally lowering the vehicle enough for lion to hop out.

“if it gets bad…” streicher began. “use the flare. i’ll be over as soon as i can.”

as his boots made contact with the floor, an overwhelming sickening feeling brewed in his stomach. it was too quiet, and not a single gunshot rang out from the time his friend left.

“kateb?” he called out, watching his step. his cry echoed into the air, making him feel sicker than before.the echo of his footsteps over the bodies was unnerving, and finally, he kicked something that had still been moving.

“gustave?”

sure enough, beside his foot, was the man he’d grown to adore. his armor was ripped to shreds and any skin exposed was pouring out blood. disregarding the flare or any other precautions, lion dropped everything and knelt to doc’s side.his breathing was thin, almost inaudible unless he was against his face. tears pricked at his eyes as he watched doc’s dark irises lose the energy they once had. the situation was dangerous, sure, but time seemed to stop once olivier knew the extent of the damage.

“you’ll be okay,” he begged, trying to find a decent spot to lift gustave up. every attempt left him in a groaning, painful mess, yet olivier denied any type of inevitable consequence. “stay with me, please.”

doc laughed, sending a splatter of blood from his throat.

“where does it hurt the most?” lion asked, tears already slipping down his cheeks. “tell me what to do, i–i’m not a medic.”

weakly, doc responded with a gesture, moving a hand to his stomach, which seemed totally split open. there’s no coming back from that.

“you can come back from that,” lion exhaled with a panicked smile. “you come back from anything!” doc shook his head. olivier finally gave in to lifting up the doctor and placed his hands on his cheeks, wiping the blood from around his jaw.

what if he could save him?

gustave’s eyes continued to move despite the absence of breathing for a few moments, and lion placed his ear on doc’s chest to hear his heart slow to a stop. no matter how hard he pressed against him, the heartbeat was now entirely gone, just as his face paled and movements stopped.

flament reached for the flare gun he discarded and shot once into the air, now hearing an approaching helicopter above.as the wind from the blades weaved through their hair, lion now had gustave cradled in his grasp, his body heavier than it was when he was alive. marius sprinted from the vehicle and joined his partner’s side, removing his helmet and staring on in shock.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. lion never once looked up, instead studying doc’s still features. tears landed onto his pale cheeks, slipping down without a single muscle reaction.

“what if i was there for him?”

“there’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“but what if i was there for him?” lion repeated, voice filled with venom.

this has been requested a few times now, so here we go!

also, kink lists are getting a little tiring, so i may stop writing them for a bit, but i’ll keep the requests in my drafts!

•••

gign preference >> kinks

•••

MASTERLIST

warnings: SMUT, cursing

•••

summary: what are the members of gign’s nastiest kinks?

•••

rook

feet.

listen, you knew i had to say it at one point, someone’s gotta like the feet.

to him, there’s something so arousing about the thought of it

especially yours

perhaps it’s how soft your soles are

or maybe it’s how you wrap your toes around his cock just right

it’s not like he’ll stick his nose in your sock drawer, but sometimes, on your off days, he can’t take his eyes away from your feet as you lay on the couch

other than that, he’s a relatively vanilla man when it comes to sex

missionary, little foreplay, he’s about as textbook as you can get

except for his little fascination

i’m so sorry i didn’t know what to write for rook

montagne

size difference

more specifically, cock-stuffing

he’s a big guy, let’s be real

he adores anyone smaller than him, which is a pretty common occurrence.

regardless, he really enjoys being able to pound so far into your guts that he can see a slight bulge in your abdomen

gilles places his hand on your stomach, feeling his movements through your skin

“look at how much i’m filling you.”

he also gets a kick out of being able to carry you around; over the shoulder, bridal, even playfully dangling you by the ankles

the most awkward part is having people assume he’s your father

but nope

that’s your boyfriend

and your boyfriend loves manipulating your body with his dick.

twitch

massages

chances are that she’s sore from work and stress

and she loves physical affection

so some nights, she’ll come home exhausted, you’ve already run a bath and planned on joining her.

she’ll rest her head on your shoulder, with you holding her weight on your chest.

run your hands over her shoulders, trailing down to her hips

hold one there while the other gets to work below

you’ve got to be careful with your touches during work, she gets heated oddly quick.

just to fuck with her, you’d brush your hand against her thigh at the end of a successful mission

emmanuelle gives you a knowing look, as if to ask if you knew what you were doing

you always knew what you were doing

she melts at your touch

just looking at your hands...

doc

post-orgasm torture

the experience goes either way, depending on his mood

some days, he wants nothing more than to be held down by you as you endlessly jerk him off

his abdomen flexes as he’s squirming, begging to cum

once he begs, he knows he’s fucked, because you don’t stop

as his fluids are leaking out, you’re running your hand along his cock faster

he whines and giggles from the overstimulation

his favorite finish is when you’re riding him, semen leaking from your hole as you keep grinding

if it keeps the climax going, he’ll love it

“pl—please stop! no — keep g—going—“

he sounds like he’s on the fence, but he really can’t get enough of the pleasure

i really have fucked myself over haven’t i? but am i complaining….? ;)

•••

sas preference >> kinks

•••

MASTERLIST

warnings: SMUT, swearing

•••

summary: what are the members of sas’s nastiest kinks?

•••

sledge

spanking.

you knew it, i knew it, it’s practically canon

you dared to tease him during work?

“bend over and count.”

he’s got a strong arm, but he knows to take it gently

admittedly, though, he loves nothing more than seeing your ass red and your legs shake.

never any toys, assistance

seamus’s hands work just fine.

his preferred position is to have you on his leg, back facing him

in between spanks, he’d pleasure you, just enough to get you teetering over the edge before reeling back and taking another strike

something about the strength set you off, your thighs tighten just watching seamus wield his hammer.

your behind must be his favorite part of you

(aside from personality)

it’s just so round, and his hand cups it perfectly

when you’re alone, his hands are all over you

he’d grab a pinch or two in public, too, leaving you flustered

he loves feeling large

and you give him that exact sensation, towering over you as he does what he wants

smoke

exhibitionism.

he has shame, sure, but when you walk around, hips swaying this way and that, something comes over him

speaking of come

he won’t stop until he does.

dressing rooms, public restrooms, movie theaters

if you know it’s gonna be one of those nights on the town, you ditch the underwear

“why do you have to be such a tease, babe?”

james would catch a glimpse of your parts and immediately begin to drool

he’d stick a hand into your shorts just to get a feel of what’s to come

SPEAKING OF CO–

no, seriously. he’s dedicated to his kink. he’ll fuck you during a life-or-death situation

though that’s only happened once and the risk wasn’t that high

he dreams of it, though.

somehow, you two have never been caught

you know he’s in the mood when he pushes you somewhere semi-private, between cars in a parking lot for example, and press his lips aggressively against yours

admittedly, his horniness can get in the way of you two having a genuine date.

you’ll look down and notice his erection, sighing and shaking your head

“can’t we have just one nice date?” you’d begged. james chuckled, snaking an arm around your waist with a smirk.

thatcher

we all knew he has a daddy kink.

he just didn’t know it until you called him such.

he’s balls-deep inside of you, you’re barely able to get a single word out when something slips

“harder, daddy!”

his entire body pauses, and you look up at him with concern.

“call me that again.”

he growls before thrusting harder, a new motivation fueling his movements.

hearing that name from your lips gets him heated, regardless of the circumstance

if you fuck up pretty bad, you flutter your lashes and say his nickname in the innocent voice you learned.

“something wrong, daddy?”

it’s not too easy getting him hot, especially in work environments.

he’s an old dog who learns new tricks, and a perfect example is in the bedroom

you wanted to try so many things with him, and he was totally compliant. 

nothing hit harder than his newfound turn-on.

you make him feel young

he feels alive

he feels hard.

call him daddy again.

he’s close.

mute

cockwarming.

mark doesn’t know why, how, or when this kink arose.

if he could find a word to describe his sex life, “animalistic” is the opposite of his answer.

he’s quiet during intimacy, for sure.

maybe his kink began when you sat on his lap that one time?

you seemed to notice the arousal too and began to do it more often in private.

the contact wasn’t enough for mute, though, and he’d end up grinding against you, craving more.

it was cute, watching him muster up the courage to make a move.

finally, one day, you decided to unbuckle his pants while he sat at his dorm desk, exposing his cock and putting it in, taking a seat on his thighs

if only you saw his expression

shock, sure, but his eyes rolled back and he finally found what he desired.

he continues his work, trying to hide his red face

his head rests on your shoulder as his eyes struggle to follow the lines of text

and then you moved

it was a slight movement, no more than a twitch, but holy fuck.

“you’ve got no idea what you’re doing to me, love.”

this becomes a regular occurrence

sometimes, he’s not even in the mood