|1||Adult Request Thread Pre-emptive Strike||701||23 November 2011 03:52|
|2||Efficient German You-Know-What/My Other NSFW Fics||2||18 September 2015 06:22|
|3||Scout/Scoutma for super-perverse little deviants||1||13 September 2015 04:59|
|4||Class & You: Request Thread, Name-Your-Kink||62||27 August 2015 03:39|
|5||Pauling harem||22||20 August 2015 02:00|
|6||Null Our Boor; or: Taco Run||38||14 August 2015 13:33|
|7||Has anyone seen this fic? (Engineer/Scout)||1||12 August 2015 11:24|
|8||AND THEN THIS! (Engineer x Sentry Disguised Spy) - FIXED FORMATTING||3||26 July 2015 23:51|
|9||Any, and I mean any, Quick-Fix/Blunt Force Trauma (aka Medic/Scout) fics||5||13 July 2015 07:33|
|10||Southern Hospitality||19||5 June 2015 00:56|
|11||Learning to love (HeavyxMedic)||2||28 May 2015 03:41|
|12||It Takes Three to Tango||28||2 April 2015 11:22|
|13||Any class and you?||229||18 March 2015 06:42|
|14||Faded colours (RED Sniper x RED Spy, RED Sniper x BLU Spy)||4||12 March 2015 02:07|
|15||In My Sights--Sni/Spy/Eng (Sniper POV)||5||2 March 2015 18:07|
|New Thread | All Threads|
Okay, the newer one has already started to auto-sage. It's currently still on the front page but it has fallen past the line where we'll have to start clicking All Threads in order to see it.
Here is the link to it and the ones before it. Lots of great requests still in these!
I'm going to repost the two most recent ones from the most recent thread.
I know this is mostly requests for new stuff, but I haven't been here in a while and I'm having trouble finding an old fanfic. It was Engie x You, started with ambiguous-gender-ness and then had two endings, one for M and one for F.
Okay, so I've started fleshing it out a bit. I want, for a change, for everyone else on the team to have turned Medic down for sex. They think he's creepy and unattractive. Heavy's the only one who likes him, and Medic takes advantage of this. Also hacking a few limbs off in the process, because he's a terrible person.
Either that, or a similar idea with Classic Heavy x Modern Heavy, because I see Classic Heavy as someone who would only have sex with someone who would challenge him (i.e. Modern Heavy).
Heavy x Medic medical kink.
Heavy had always had an appreciation for science. As one of four members of the team with a degree, and the only one lacking one in the area of “hard science”, he often listened in on what Medic, Engineer, and Demoman were saying, nodding even if it wasn’t his area of expertise. He at least understood that they did what they did for the betterment of mankind, the team, and for the pursuit of knowledge. And Medic knew that he knew this; he smiled a little over the rims of his spectacles as he watched the Russian listening intently from the corner. It was at that moment that he began making plans.
Medic called Heavy in, as soon as the daily battles had finished, and asked him to remove his trousers. Heavy agreed, pulling them down a bit skeptically, and the doctor nodded and asked him to follow with his underwear. Heavy did as he was asked - he was no stranger to health checks and medical exams - and Medic tried to feign disinterest as best he could as he took the tape measure from his pocket. He first noted down each measurement of the Russian’s penis - impressive in length and girth - then tested his body temperature, heart rate, and so on. And while Heavy was still perched there, half naked on the examination table, Medic had to turn his back as he asked him to masturbate until he was at full erection, so he could compare notes on the before-and-after. Ever the co-operative patient, Heavy simply shrugged. Anything for science.
Heavy was given a chair to sit down on, to make it easier. Medic wasn’t that cruel, to force a man to pleasure himself on that cold table, but he couldn’t help but smirk a little as he… observed. After all, it wasn’t perverse if you took notes. And right now he was noting every detail in the Russian’s face; every gathering bead of sweat, every bite of his lip. Heavy’s hands moved slowly and deliberately, running his thumb and forefinger down the length of his shaft, tugging gently and carefully running his calloused thumb across the tip. But research demanded professionalism. So he quickly proceeded with the rest of the measurements, noting the change in size and curvature, as well as elevated body hea
Pairings: Heavy x Medic, Heavy x Classic Heavy, implied Classic Heavy x Medic
Warnings: Non-con, albeit portrayed more in a dramatic manner instead of a fetishistic one, a bit of voyeurism, violence (sexual and regular violence), some fluff at the end
“Heard your daddy died, little boy. You lookin’ for another one?”
Classic sneered, tracing the line of Misha’s jawline with an ominous smile. His hands snaked down towards that thick, muscular neck, the broad chest, the padded belly over a muscular core. God, he wanted to rip that flak vest off with his fucking teeth. Misha winced, his shoulders tensing, eyebrows furrowed. He was starting to sweat now, but he tried to remain steadfast. He refused to let himself be intimidated– he’d lived through Hell once before. This should be nothing.
Classic knew it’d be a close fight if he used guns or fists. But he’d read up on Misha’s dossier, and knew every button to push, every little tiny insignificant thing that riled him up. And man, wouldn’t it be great to reduce the largest man he knew to a submissive, powerless little thing? Pair of panties with a great big cock straining against them, so turned on but so ashamed of how much he loved his predecessor spanking his ass, crying because he found the one pair of handcuffs he couldn’t break. Inch by inch, Classic cornered Misha against the wall, hissing as he ran his hand up against the Russian’s cock.
“You big baby.”
(includes voyeurism, Scoutma/other, being-drugged-with-prior-consent-established, and all the obvious reasons not to read this filth)
When he looked back on that night later, he couldn't remember what he'd needed from her room, that had had him searching her closet. He'd been too old to be trying to get a peek at Christmas presents, and anyway, it had been spring.
It was before RED, before he'd made the decision to leave home like that, and all he can really remember was that he'd been far enough in her closet when he heard her come home, that it seemed like hiding there was the best plan.
She didn't stumble in alone, though he hadn't been able to see much of her date. Tall, broad-shouldered... well, not too broad-shouldered, but when he compared the man to himself, or to pictures around the house of his father, that was how he seemed, broad-shouldered. Dressed like any man might be for a night out, in a dark suit, but with the lights out, he was swallowed in shadow.
He kissed at her neck, and he seemed to stay in shadow even when the streetlight out her window bathed her in warm, soft light. Like she was in a spotlight, always, and the Scout knew then he should have looked away, stuck his fingers in his ears or something and closed his eyes, and waited it out. But it was the closest he'd ever been to a naked girl, watching a pair of big, square hands strip away her flimsy dress. It was such a warm spring night, and the dress looked like nothing in the man's hands, like he could have torn it off, torn it to pieces.
He'd whispered questions that the Scout didn't understand, about whether or not 'it' was kicking in, and he watched, his Ma's skin glowing in the hazy light, as she slowly went limp as a doll in the man's arms.
He didn't have much of a view, when the man laid her on the bed, the shadows fell in such a way that the Scout couldn't see much, hard as he tried to focus. He could see her breasts move when she breathed deep, and the way she was sprawled out, but not half the things he wanted to see. The shame of it burned, but not
Hello tf2chan, new here. I'm a fanfiction writer looking to expand my horizons, and since I've been on a tf2 fanfiction kick lately I'm opening up for anon requests. But this time, I'd like to go beyond typical vanilla NSFW and open myself up to other types of kinks/fetishes/forms of sexual expression in literature.
Long story short, tell me what you wanna see. I predominantly lean towards Medic and Sniper stuff, but can certainly expand beyond those characters if need be.
I do draw the lines at underage things/or anything with legality issues. But you all already know that. I may be reluctant to go for requests involving scat or water sports, as I don't necessarily have a propensity for that kind of fetish either.
But forget that. I'll write what inspires me, so let's see what you lot can come up with. You can also suggest possible story lines as well, which can be incorporated into your anon request.
Ready, set-- request!
Think you could try some male!reader x soldier? Or anything with male!reader.
Dub-con domming/topping the merc? I have a huge "Bottom's first time" kink
I really do love your writing
She didn't think the Administrator knew. She hoped she didn't know...
After her ad in the paper failed to bring in any remotely suitable lovers, Miss Pauling was starting to feel desperate. There was only so much she could do for herself-- orgasms, sure, but it would have been nice to get some foreplay with someone. It would have been nice to get held after. It would be nice to just let loose with another human being for once instead of taking a glass of wine into the bathtub and going to bed alone with an old issue of Guns and Haircuts for Women.
She considers herself a modern woman. An independent woman. She doesn't mind the idea of dying alone and unwed, with or without a cat or twelve, as long as the ride there is fulfilling. She just needs a dose of that fulfillment.
When her job takes her back to the bases and the RED Scout offers to take his shirt off for her, the desperation has set in. He's not her type, but he's willing, and he's not bad to look at... and she knows not a single soul will believe him if he does go blabbing.
She lets him fuck her in an outbuilding, glad that the teams have been moved away from Teufort-- a move initially made because the townsfolk were complaining, but the new bases they occupy have so many more little places to get away to, places where no one goes looking.
His kisses are sloppy, but she doesn't mind. It's passion, at least, and he's a fast learner. She has condoms in her purse, and his eyes widen at that, but he doesn't say a word. He had grown used to the brush-off, and she offers a whole new world. There's an old bench, and she pushes him to lie on his back, lets him paw at her breasts while she rides him, her dress rucked up but never removed. There is no clean place for it.
Her panties she tucks in her purse, puts them back on after, after cleaning off with a wad of tissues-- also in her purse, along with a compact mirror, a coin purse, a checkbook, a pen, her driver's license, and a very large handgun.
As far as sex goes, it's unsatisfying, though she doesn't say as much. She doesn't know if she
Miss Pauling has no idea where the Spy found his 'venue', but she's impressed. The room he shows her to is comfortable, nicely-if-minimally appointed. It's dominated by two things-- a bed large enough for maybe five people, and a mirror that stretches across the wall.
The Scout's mother is already there, lounging on the bed in a flimsy negligee-- shocking pink, and Pauling thinks it suits her just as well as the blue dress she'd seen her in before.
The Spy can't help himself. When they enter the room, he goes straight to the woman's side, for a brief, gentle kiss and a caress to match. But he doesn't undress. He's just as buttoned-up and crisp as ever when he pulls away.
"Make yourself comfortable." He flashes Miss Pauling a smile. "And I'll bring in your first guests..."
She's pleased to see Tavish come in, when the Spy returns, and with him the RED Engineer.
"I will be right here." The Spy says, his attention largely on the Scout's mother. "If anything is too much, you say one word, and it stops. I will bring you a bathrobe, and a drink, and then I will show you the bath, and send the others to a place where they can pay someone to take care of them."
"Shush." She pats his cheek, smiling over at the two newcomers. "I'll be just fine. How about you, hon?"
"I'll be fine." Miss Pauling nods. "I do know everyone, I think?"
My On the Road/TF2 pastiche.
I first startarted bumming around with Scout a few years after the war ended and a few before war ended which was never a war, , and this was long before I realised that neither war really had a beginning or an end and that all of them just ran into eachother, willrun into each other til the end of time, but more about that later. Scout had decided that night he was “just stahvin for a taco” and I had to reflect that sentiment. We were both coming down and Scout was certain that he was the fitter of the two of us to drive, I could not object. He had only done “just a little speed and some mescaline.” “Where'd you get mescaline?” “Where I get mescaline.” That's when I knew I would never get a straight answer out of him for anything, as if I ever wanted one. We left and very shortly I knew we wouldn't just be getting tacos. “I need to see the Medic,” he said and gave me a cheeky bloody wink and while we were driving he told me about his awesome life: running, literally, from one girl to the next high, to the next girl to the next high, to a few men in between, mostly for the money. “I'm the fastest hand in Boston!” I believed him about that mostly business and I didn't question him further on it. We arrived at Medic's place and before the engine stopped, Scout had bounded over the carhood and was screaming into the building's intercom, “I'M HYEAH TA BUY!” We were buzzed in. While dazed and lumbering halfway up the steps, he'd already reached his destination but immediately raced back down to intercept me, “Come on, old man, you're holding up the mission!” “Gwaawn, I'm not that much older than you!” “You are.” “You just seem young cause you still act like a teenager.” The door opened. “Aw, gawddammit!” “C'est le plus plaisir de vous-rencontre, aussi. You've brought another friend, I see.” “Saloooo!” I called out. A plain, unmasked face suddenly appeared and I was taken aback, we
Admittedly, any biped with a marginally acceptable sense of ethics could have done that job. At this thought, the medic mused at the irony of how stressful and simultaneously simple the task of keeping everyone alive actually was; it was easier to decide on whom to take a bonesaw, to be utterly, gracelessly honest. Musing further, he concluded that this conflict encompassed the ultimate endgame of evolution; save the world at the pull of a lever, and pull enough times to nearly kill you. Forever.
It used to be that a life could be measured by the scars incurred, a document of times passing, but now everything can so easily be smoothed over. Each little meaningless resurrection. The first law of thermodynamics. All that can be is either being or becoming and it's all mostly emptiness; each unique arrangement of particles determines what bounces, bends, breaks or binds; all of it waiting for oblivion. I v prakh vozvratish'sya. “Knives, knives to grind,” he hummed.
The sniper quit the loo to stumble upon a line, the faces of those waiting ranged from dismay to bemusement. Well, I am allowed to use a toilet, aren't I? Even if, admittedly, at this point using a jar feels more natural. Reflecting further, he discovered a bizarre conjunction (and where it became a schism) between a duty (ignore the pun, s'il vous plait) and a right. The definition, the difference, depended purely on context and temperament. These are the choices: inside the tent, outside the tent; kindness or cruelty.
Spy felt an intrusion as he entered the bathroom. “Qu'est-ce que ça?”
“Himmy uh mah.”
“D'accord,” he complied giving the proposition only a brief thought. Before he could fulfill the request himself, a bare hand reached into the opening designated for his mouth, and feeling a strange, bare hand where any such contact had previously been infrequent generally, absent recently, his body involuntarily tried to graft itself onto the pyro's, commencing at the hips. He found it difficult to recover from this dizzying imbalance.
Even with the corporeal engulfment
Continued [please, masturbate gloomily as needed]:
Heavy felt the most trepidation at what he was about to do in how the rest would receive the event, that it is derivative and obvious. We know how much you love Tolstoy, but is this the best way to show it? He calculated and tried to merge the deceleration of the train and his body's acceleration. Witness this, everyone: the trite and sentimental escape no one. Cliches tie all the absurdities between breaths together. All else is pornography.
The resulting red cloud made Mundy grip his kukri handle so firmly that it should have bonded to his hand. This is what it feels like to faint, he thought as his balance faltered. His personal dignity was undiminished since he was not the focus of anyone's attention presently. Shock melted into pure emotional anguish; this sensation made itself felt as a burning that emanated from his soft palate and radiated through to his forehead.
Spy's thoughts turned to religion: how the ones of eastern origin generally concluded that this experience—what we tether ourselves to and label physical reality—is all illusion; still, this is too much reality for some people. These are the ones who are blessed more than they can stand until it becomes a burden. You come to a choice: abandon reality, abandon meaning, or abandon the self. This is how Nihilism becomes a luxury.
Pyro knew exactly what was meant by the explosion of glitter and gears and, having long since lost the capacity to experience shock, ran toward it, fully aware of the futility in the gesture. This is what it means to be human: find the hopeless moments react against it, extract meaning and amplify. Delusion doesn't change reality, it merely favors one louder, brighter set of noise over another.
Scout, Spy and Tavish were the three men who had the wherewithal to go after the Pyro; Scout was the only one fast enough to make the interception. The rolling around that followed was hard enough to take, but it was all of this misery and drama mashed together that made him gasp for air, a remarkably rare event indeed though obviously overshadowed by a few others. My catching the vapors i
Mundy thought it natural that he should accept the callousness prize and be the first to embark. Honestly, there was no more anyone could do outside of the train except enter it—there wasn’t even a vest to collect as sentiment. Still, the weight of the situation seemed to manifest itself physically in that getting into the car felt like stepping out of (or into) a jelly made with Fanta. He wouldn’t mention this to the others for fear of being accused of using psychotropics.
It was only the “Please” that came after the phrase “ONE AT A TIME” that compelled the Spy to release the Pyro’s hand. Gentility could survive anything, he thought as he stepped into what can only be described as the Charmat method: a brief, tingling thrill at first but—and this is where the comparison was most apt—followed by a lingering, dull confusion. His legs (his body, entire) behaved in a corresponding fashion until he managed to find a seat.
As the PyroVision goggles melted away, the pyro sighed. This clearly wasn’t the worst thing to happen today but an appropriate reaction to this loss could be expressed immediately and completely. Most trauma has to be handled like a receding tide, and make no mistake, the goggles functioned to distort reality both ways, the first obvious way for the viewer but there was also the second subtler distortion of the viewer. Though, what exactly could be discerned under everything else?
By Scout’s summation, the sight of Pyro’s hair and eyes was only a novelty especially since the rest of the ensemble—coveralls, t-shirt—was practically more formless than the fire retardant suit. Scout had imagined Pyro’s human form (surely, there was a better way to phrase that) so frequently that its presence finally made manifest was no cause for alarm. At this point he was even desensitised to spychecks which actually in a way were affectionate.
There were enough seats for everyone without the need to negotiate between a window or an aisle which seemed to encourage an antisocial arrangement to the delight of mostly everyone present. As Doe (the Vicar) would often tell us, this isn’t a tea party; he’s a doc
8:05 PM - Contra: I mean, on the bright side, hell yeah, money
8:05 PM - Contra: but if I woke up this morning
8:05 PM - Contra: knowing I was going to meet a zombie fetishist
8:06 PM - Contra: who would commission me to write a fic about the engineer molesting a spy he thinks is his sentry
8:06 PM - Contra: I dunno
8:06 PM - Contra: if I've learned anything about life today is that you never know where it takes you
8:07 PM - Contra: and today it's taken me into the arena of "writing horrible porn for money"
Story idea is from this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8A-3i1NqsA
Every now and then, Dell Conagher, the BLU Engineer, takes it upon himself to work on his various sentry "base models". These base models are fully-functional prototypes of sorts that are used as a baseline for the toolboxes the Engie manufactures to create his sentries on the field. The modifications he makes to these are used by the sentries that both he and his RED clone use on a daily basis, fighting in the Badlands. He's heard whispers around that soon the Spy was acquiring new models of his various guns and watches, which were likely to provide a significant upgrade to his capabilities. Not to mention the Demoman's drunken screaming about losing the proper casing for his Loch-n-Load grenades, which would apparently make them less effective on enemies?
Dell shrugged. He never really understood how that worked or why people's weapons seemed to all start functioning radically differently at around the same times, and he thought it best not to think too far into it. Whatever balancing act was at play must have been a coincidence, and even if it wasn't, it was hardly a practical problem a lone Engineer could get to the bottom of- so he chose to disregard it and keep at work on his machines.
Dell opened the door to his garage, flipping a light switch to his left, which illuminated the place, revealing his four base model sentries, neatly assembled in a line in the middle of the room. From left to right was the Mini Sentry
Oh my god. I didn't know something like this could be done, but you did it. I salute you, Contra.
As the title says, looking for any recs of Medic/Scout. I've never used tf2chan before and I don't know if there's a tag search or anything.
I don't care what the fic is about. All kinks welcome(except necrophilia). No holds barred. Looking for fics that make /afanfic/ live up to its name.
Quick-Fix is such a rare pairing that I've read all the ones on ao3 and ffn, as well as dA.
I like using Achievement names for ship nicknames. So Medic/Scout (either way) is "You'll Feel a Little Prick".
Ship names I remember offhand, but am not really a huge fan of (in terms of what they're called):
Science Party (Medic x Engineer-- I don't think it fits)
Fruit Scones (Soldier x Medic-- I don't get it)
Helmet Party (Soldier x Engineer-- every class has a helmet at this point)
Soldier x Zhanna, only because it's not called 'Jane Doe and Dem Tits Doe'
Ship names I actually really like:
Swordvan (Demo x Sniper)
Trucks and Vans (Sniper x Engineer, though Engie rarely drives a truck in canon, if at all)
Birds and Bears/Red Oktoberfest (Heavy x Medic)
Swing and A Miss (Scout x Miss Pauling)
Russian Violet (Pauling/Heavy)
A few other ship names I've stumbled across:
Engineer x Scout - Texan Two-Step
Soldier x Spy - Freedom Fries
Merasmus x Soldier - Magic Missiles
Cute and fitting.
A few ship names I just made up:
Soldier x Heavy - Stars and Sickles
Soldier x Medic - Bad Bedside Manner, Brute Head Trauma
Scout x Soldier - Rocket Double Jump, Long Way Down, Helmets n' Headsets
Blu Engineer/Red Spy rape fic
Unfinished as of yet.
(Corrected with Canadian spelling)
You know the cruelty of human nature better than most; you have an intimate relationship with the type of brutality that greed and desperation breed. You have travelled far and wide and have concluded that, no matter where you go, you can never out run the waves of regret that follow.
The men at 2Fort are a prime example of this.
Take, for instance, the Engineer.
In battle he could be described as a frantic war machine, building his own small army of death and rebirth. He is the king to his own little kingdom, and trespassers are never welcome. He can be seen setting up teleport machines, turrets and dispensers where ever he sees most fit, weaving in and out of battle and dodging projectiles while lugging the heavy burdens. His methods are never fully explained but always effective.
He isn’t just for defence either; with that new arm of his, he can also be seen darting to the front lines with a mini sentry - even during the small respites of battle he could be seen doing something, and it is usually done with the intention of killing you and your teammates.
Oh my goodness. It's been 3 years since this was updated but holy crap is it good. I don't know if you will continue this but I really hope you.
I don't even know if they're in the fandom anymore. Please don't bump dead fics.
( Written by http://mortalanonymous.deviantart.com/ )
Ch 1 - Orientation
"...aaand that's what that was. Like I just finished explaining, yesterday was to make sure those 'respawn' dealies we put in your brains worked. Your real jobs start tomorrow. If you have any problems about this, please direct your concerns directly to my fists! If you have questions, direct them to your administrator's version of Bidwell here because I don't care. That is all. Welcome to Mann Co!"
The burly Australian wrestling seven cougars on the small television set became a wall of static and the mousy woman in the purple dress next to it pushed a button to eject the tape. Also turning off the set she then turned from the wooden table against the far wall of a somewhat shoddy war room, facing nine rather unimpressed-looking mercenary men.
Her hands modestly clasped a clipboard before her, but her smile was friendly as she informed, "My name would be Miss Pauling. I work mostly behind-the-scenes with Administrator, but I'm also here to handle all your problems. Did anyone have questions?"
No one had any real ones, simply being miffed about finding out the hard way that their mirroring kill targets kept coming back and that they were suddenly unable to stay dead as well. The only one who raised his hand to speak was the youngest man, sporting a red t-shirt, dogtags and a cocky smirk. "Yeah, I got a question: you single? Cuz I noticed you haven't been able to take them pretty eyes off-a dis." His fingers all spread as they indicated his smooth, boyish face.
"If there's nothing, then I guess I'll leave you to get acquainted," Miss Pauling continued to smile, adjusting her horn-rimmed glasses and ignoring Scout. She hadn't looked at him once since shaking his hand. "You can kill each other while in the base, so be careful please. Leaving base property will mean you're outside the respawn censor and only have one life again. Other than that, pick a room for yourself if you haven’t yet and be ready to report t
Next morning half of the men looked exhausted as they met in the mess hall. They sat down around the long table and waited for breakfast. They were quiet, half of them hardly having slept well. Pyro, Soldier, Medic and Spy seemed to be perfectly fine, but the rest of them had had their share of dreams filled with nightmares. Getting used to the concept of dying repeatedly was taking some time. Even with a briefing day where they could rest and wrap their heads around it, that first day had been harsh on all of them and it was showing. Pyro was wondering why everyone was so quiet. To him death was nothing but a fun game, rainbows and lollipops. Spy was rather unflappable and Soldier and Medic were just insane in their own ways. Some blood and spilling body parts wasn't enough to make them lose their good night sleep.
Heavy walked in and took his seat. It was right next to the German, but he doubted the man was going to try anything with him anymore. He had made it perfectly clear he wasn't interested, no matter what the doctor had in his twisted little mind.
Soldier scanned the eating selections with a certain level of poutiness. "You call this military grade? Where's the canned rations? Where's the gruel?" He seemed to be the only one upset with the arrangement. Scout tucked right in when he arrived, and since his mouth was unable to stay closed, instantly brought life to the room while he struck up some conversation. "Aw yeah, grub time! Hey, speakin'-a food, that Miss Pauling's a real dish, eh? I am so her type. Prince Charmin'-the-heck-outta-chicks ovah here." His dreams had involved a lot of pretty females.
Demo scoffed. "Och, boyo, if you ever land that lass Ah'll stab oot me other eye. Yer as blind as Ah'd be in thaht situation if ya cahn't see when a girl's got taste." Others nodded, some looked amused. Miss Pauling had been so unresponsive to the boy it was like he hadn't even existed. That was quite impressive from the little lady considering how insistently Scout had pressed his "awesomeness".
"Alright, what is this? He puts the moves on you and y
This is a Spy/Engie/Spy porn fic. Very little plot, less dialogue. Concrit welcomed.
Requested (and betaed) by jeffian
Friday’s battle looked like it was going to end in a stalemate. Neither team had managed to capture the other’s intelligence even once. The Engineers had been extremely aggressive and creative with their placement of sentries and teleporters. Whenever a Spy or Scout managed to get to the briefcase, a Soldier or Demoman seemed to come from nowhere to shut them down completely. And it seemed like you couldn’t take a step without running face first into a minigun or flamethrower.
RED Engineer chanced a glance at his watch. There were less than ten minutes to go in the day’s battle. He had spent the last half hour or so planted behind his level 3 sentry in the Intelligence Room, guarding the briefcase. If he could hold out for a few more minutes, at least his team wouldn’t lose. He slipped his pocket watch back into the bib pocket on his overalls and waited, counting down the last few minutes in his head. With the exception of a BLU Scout that managed to get halfway across the Intelligence Room, Engie didn’t see anyone from the BLU team as he set himself up to run out the rest of the clock...
He was drumming his fingers idly on the back of his sentry when RED Spy darted in slightly injured, with the BLU Pyro in hot pursuit. Spy dove behind the Engineer just as a rocket made quick work of the Pyro. “What happened, Spah? Ah thought you were making one last run for BLU’s briefcase.”
“I was,” Spy said bitterly, brushing dust off of his suit. “I would ‘ave gotten it too if ze boy hadn’t run directly into a sentry just as I was sneaking into zeir intelligence room. A stray bullet decloaked me and I retreated, right into ze waiting arms of zat mumbling abomination. I barely got away with my life and most of my suit intact.” Spy lit a cigarette to calm his nerves. “Hopefully ze boy and ze Soldier ‘ave better luck than I did.” As the Spy exhaled smoke through his nose, the telltale sound of electricity crackling filled the air as
I am in love with the way the both spies are fighting over Engie. I've missed this fic and I'm always welcoming more from you.
I've been a thread stalker for a couple of months for a fanfic and I was wondering if there is anyone who can still make those kinds of fics now these days? If so, feel free to put it here.
Some general pointers. Please don't take this the wrong way. Your story wasn't bad.
1. There are places where you shift tenses in the middle of sentences.
2. As you've pointed out in your author's note, the accents might be a bit hard to read, especially for those who don't have English as their first language.
3. When a different character starts to speak, please use a new paragraph.
4. I believe I've spotted some run-on sentences.
5. As anon >>226 mentioned, the flashbacks kind of disrupt the story flow.
Please do keep posting, though.
Thank you guys for the feedback, it's the first story I've completed solo (these tend to run better when I work with someone else, as a collaboration effort through RP) but my best writing comes with help. These are insightful tips, I hope future posts will be found more entertaining (and less lengthy in context).
RED Sniper is having problems with his relationship with RED Spy - and then what do you know, BLU Spy arrives to the stage.
Greetings everyone! I've been thinking about writing a Sniper/Spy fan fiction for a long time and now I've finally decided to do so! There might be some typos, I'm sorry about that (English ain't my mother language). Enjoy!
It was quiet. The battle had come to an end. Once again RED team had taken its victory and send every single member of the enemy team back to the BLU’s base (by killing them). The winner team had turned back to their own base to celebrate their victory – but no-one seemed to notice that a few members were missing.
In the highest floor of a little wooden tower two silhouettes slowly melt together when Sniper pressed his warm dry lips against the Spy’s. The Australian pressed the shorter man against the wall by his body and slid both of his hands on his partner’s chest to unbutton his shirt. Spy’s suit jacket had already taken care of and the clothing was lying on the floor – keeping company to the taller man’s hat and sleeve. Sniper kissed his way down to his partner’s neck receiving a low moan as a response.
“Attendre... mon ami”, Spy mumbled. The taller man stopped his doings and let a growl escape from his lips. Sniper didn’t speak French that well, but this repartee was way too familiar for him. He leaned back separating him and Spy and starter the shorter man deep into his eyes, “What is it now, spook? Did you change your mind again?”. The Frenchman frowned and let out a long tired sigh, “Oui”, he repeated shortly, pushed the bushman aside and took his suit jacket from the floor. Sniper sighed as well and crossed his arms with an unpleased face, “Y’now – if my kisses are that bad you can tell me”. Spy gave a small humph to his partner’s comment and put his jacket on.
“I’m just not on the mood”.
... He leaned back separating him and Spy and __starter__ the shorter man deep into his eyes...
it's supposed to be STARED -.-" dunno how it ended up like that, srry
I'm interested to see where this will go. Love triangles between spies and snipers are always tasty and I'm looking forward to read more in the near future. However, to make the experience little more pleasant for the readers, I would suggest you to find yourself a beta reader. There are some typos and stuff in your text and having a good beta will definitely get it flowing.
So, eighty years ago, or six, or whatever, I wrote In My Sights in response to a request, I think. And I was asked to write Sniper's POV, and I was sure I put it here, but I couldn't find it, so if anyone wants it, here it is. IMS and Engie POV is with it in the afic archives. Hope you enjoy.
In My Sights (Sniper POV)
It was dusty in the air ducts. I wonder if the Spy was used to this. I couldn't help but think of how the storms used to settle a blanket of dust over the houses in old 'down-under' towns. I looked over my Kukri, unusually distracted. It wasn't the plan; that was the easy part, but something kept bugging me. Maybe it was the plan. It wasn't right, but I bet it would be fun. Not much left between right and wrong out here anymore. Everybody's mission objective was make sure you kill everyone else before they kill you.
I sat up from hunching back against the duct wall, a tapping noise and a beep making me flinch. Took the wanker long enough. I was beginning to think this wasn't turning out, but he didn't disappoint. Our Pyro came prowling around the corner, or, someone who looked like our Pyro, but I knew our flamethrower was busy cooking, despite the alarms not sounding yet.
I waited for the metal box to come out before I jumped down out of the open vent, landing on top of the Spy. He let out an expected grunt as I kneed him into the floor and kneeled down over his lower back. He reached for his balisong, but I took his hand, snorting out a laugh. "Hey there, wanker. You feeling lucky tonight or did ya take a blow to the head?"
He started thrashing after my comment, but I was ready for the struggle and put my steel to his neck. I palmed his forehead and pulled his head back to make the point clearer. "Nah don't struggle. I need that pretty neck of yours," I chuckled, bowing his body back until he started complying. "To your knees." He obeyed quite nicely and I walked him past the decoy sentry, a small grin finding me as we walked. He smelled like a good catch. The faint trace of tobacco, Jasmine cologne, and adrenaline filling my nostrils as w
Sure. I've been contemplating writing the Spy returns fic, but wanted to know if there was still interest first. And thank you for the compliments.