Male Reader X 141 Boyfriends (individually) Where He Has A Pet Wolf And The Rest Of 141 Reacts To It

do you think we could get the 141 bois with a military!reader who had a guard/attack dog with them, and went out on missions with reader, and the dog got KIA’d, and reader is taking it harshly, because they grew attached to said dog?

My dog recently passed away and I kinda just.. need some 141 bois.

🥃-

✎ i'm so sorry to hear that honey :( losing an animal is a horrible pain and i hope you're doing okay!!

✎ tags : gender neutral!reader, angst but i tried to keep it vague, otherwise pretty much just platonic fluff, not proofread

♡ to put it mildly, the 141 guys thought you were a bit weird when you first joined, along with your dog. you spent more time with the animal than you did with humans, training, doting, just generally being in the same space.

♡ eventually the team came to understand your bond together, and who doesn't love dogs? while it was always yours, it also kind of became the team's dog.

♡ so when price had to haul you over his shoulder while you screamed at him to let you go, to let you back in that ruined building, they all felt it. they felt it the entire way back to base, the absence of the waging tail and you cooing at it on the entire helicopter ride back.

♡ you try to pretend like you're doing okay for a couple of days afterward. brief smiles that didn't fit right on your sunken face, exchanging polite greetings that sounded so dull. they walk on eggshells, always unsure of what to say to help you.

♡ they wait for you to break, and when you finally do, they send kyle in first. they figure he has the best shot of conveying their empathy to you (he's just as awkward as the rest of them, he just volunteered himself to try to help you first because they were all just staring at each other when soap brought it up).

♡ he brings you a case of bottles of your favorite drink and snacks, dropping them on your desk before sitting next to you on your bed. he asks you faintly if you want to talk about it.

♡ he lets you get it out, lets you cry and rant and whatever you need in that moment while he sits with you. when your tears finally run dry and the weight in your chest doesn't feel as empty, kyle gives you a hug and rubs your back for a few moments.

♡ the other three men are waiting when he comes out, and kyle shrugs and says he thinks he helped. soap snorted and asked him "what's that mean?" and kyle explains briefly what happened.

♡ they manage to coax you out of your room the next day. ghost and price were somewhere else on the base, and kyle had taken over soap's attempt at cooking eggs (i sincerely believe soap can only cook well enough to keep himself alive while kyle is actually pretty good). they sit you down and make you eat. soap takes the credit for the eggs even though you obviously saw kyle finishing them, and it makes you laugh a bit.

♡ they drag you to sparring practice, despite your many, many protests. you find that that's where ghost and price have been. they put you up against ghost first, and you're convinced that they're trying to make you more depressed now.

♡ as soon as he's coming at you, you're in "soldier mode" again and just focus on trying not to land on your ass too hard when he throws you down. usually you're a good sport and always shake hands after the rounds, but frustration was bubbling up quick today with every time you got pinned. you found yourself putting more and more into it, until you were actually fighting, clawing, biting, doing whatever you could. ghost let you and he took it easily. it was exactly what he would have needed if he were in your position; he still didn't just let you win, though.

♡ soap doesn't really know how to help you in a big way, so he just makes sure the little things are taken care of. he helps you clean your weapons and makes sure kyle buys the right drinks for you when he sends him out even though kyle knows what to get. he sticks around you but doesn't make it seem like you're on suicide watch or anything, just that you don't have to be alone for too long. he makes sure you eat, and you always answer "yes" because you don't even want him to offer to cook for you.

♡ it takes a couple of months before you're almost back to your normal self. there's always something missing, and you still reach down to your side on instinct, but the pit in your stomach stops opening quite as wide. you learn how to remember the happy memories again.

♡ when you're ready and if you feel like it, price is the one that takes you to start looking for a new furry friend. you know everything there is to know about dogs, and he knows you know it all, but you still get lectured about what to look for and what to avoid and not to get too close in case they try to bite. basically, he just becomes your father.

♡ "not that one, 's lookin' at me funny," he'll say once you start looking at them. "that one won't even make it through the heli ride!" basically, he thinks none of the dogs here are good enough for you, even though they're all wonderful in their own ways. he almost walks away when you kneel down and start giving scratches to a pomeranian that hadn't stopped yipping since you'd walked in.

♡ while they may all be emotionally-stunted men, they know what loss is like. they'll be there for you in the ways that matter.

drowning in sentiment

pairing: Severus Snape/Reader

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: Severus is quick to break the distance between you, as he kneels down next to you and places a hand over your forehead. “You’ve been dosed with Amortentia and you thought it pertinent to send a letter?" His voice possesses a confusing mix of irritation, fury, exasperation, and something surprisingly close to concern.

The following snippet is meant to serve as the sixth part to my ongoing series featuring Severus/Reader.

word count: 4k | ao3 version

Warnings: non-consensual drugging (amortentia), vomiting, nausea, unconsciousness, sickness, medical fare (think the infirmary, medical recovery processes, etc.)

Disclaimer: I do not support or condone the actions and beliefs of HP’s author in any way whatsoever. I thoroughly believe in fanfiction’s transformative, restorative, and healing power. Therefore, I write HP fanfiction not to encourage the author’s beliefs, but instead to directly challenge and disprove her prejudice; I write to further strengthen, validate, and support minority identities that are harmed by She Who Must Not be Named’s dangerous ideologies. I'm not taking any questions, comments, or criticisms regarding this. Don't like it? Don't read!

It all starts at lunch. At least, that’s your most educated guess. 

You ate your typical meal and drank from your goblet—just like every other lunch. None of these occurrences should’ve been indicative of future turmoil. Yet, hours later, when you find yourself hunched over your desk with tunneling vision, shaking hands, and sweat along your skin, you have to come to terms with the fact that something likely happened at lunch. You’re no Potions expert, but you know the telltale signs of an Amortentia dosage when you see them.

You summon a piece of parchment and grab your quill, writing a quick letter to Severus and handing it to your owl. Your owl lets out a weak chirp, pecking your forehead in evident concern before flying away. Severus will certainly be able to brew the necessary Potions to get the Amortentia out of your system. Ordinarily, you’d simply walk over to his office—but you’re not very confident in your ability to walk at the moment. Indeed, the moment you had gotten up from your desk, you were hit with such an intense wave of dizziness that you fell to the ground. You’ve since managed to move back to rest against the wall behind you, closing your eyes in a feeble attempt to distract yourself from the feverish sensation at your core and your blurring vision. 

Meanwhile, Severus is grading papers in his office when he hears an owl tapping at his closed window. He huffs and turns around, tempted to ignore the creature until he recognizes it as yours. The Potions master gets to his feet and opens the window, only for the owl to nearly collide with his chest as it frantically flies at him. Severus frowns and takes the parchment tied to its leg. The message only deepens his frown.

Severus, Apologies for disrupting you. When you get the chance, would you bring me some potions to treat Amortentia dosage? They’re for a student.

Severus stares down at the parchment for a moment longer, unease prickling along his skin. He wonders why you didn’t simply come to his office to ask him in person. Even more troubling is the uncharacteristic slant to your writing. He can’t seem to get rid of the unfounded feeling of dread settling in his chest as he looks at your message. It’s innocuous, and yet… he knows something is wrong. 

Furthermore, if the Potions were for a student, then you’d likely supply their name—after all, Hogwarts faculty are trained to practice ultimate discretion when it comes to the health of their students. Your messy writing and the omission of the student’s information aren’t significant on their own; together, however, they unsettle him. Your owl bats him with a wing, breaking him from his thoughts. Your owl—which is usually quite calm—seems to be stressed, too. Quickly coming to a decision, Severus heads for the door to his office.

And in the time since you first penned the letter, you found yourself falling to the floor. You’re now lying on the ground with your back to the wall—sweat dripping down the back of your neck. Your clothes feel extremely constricting and you want nothing more than to run out of your office and find the person who slipped you the potion, the object of your affections, the target of your obsession- 

Suddenly, your office door is nearly thrown off its hinges as it slams against the adjacent wall. You look up at the sudden noise, only to find Severus standing in the doorway, looking truly menacing as he wears a furious expression on his face. “Severus,” you say. You don’t think you manage to successfully hide the relief you feel from your voice, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You don’t have the energy —not when your skin feels like it’s oozing off of you into puddles on the ground. 

Severus is quick to break the distance between you, as he kneels down next to you and places a hand over your forehead. “You’re the one who needs the potion,” he states. His voice possesses a confusing mix of irritation, fury, exasperation, and something surprisingly close to concern. “You’ve been dosed with Amortentia and you thought it pertinent to send a letter?”

“It didn’t seem pressing at the time.” You choke out, shivering and sweating at the same time. You feel like you’re stuck in quicksand—even a small gesture with your hand feels like an uphill battle against a powerful current. 

“Merlin,” Severus mutters. 

There are tears sliding down your cheeks now. You wipe at your eyes, your hands trembling beyond belief as your vision tunnels and sways around you. The professor leans closer and you flinch, guilt flooding through you when you recognize the instinct.

But Severus doesn’t seem to take offense. He’s staring at you with a clinical gaze, taking in all of your symptoms and evidently developing a plan in his head. He opens the satchel at his side with nimble fingers, grabbing an unfamiliar vial. “Take this,” Severus implores. At your blank stare, he continues. “Don’t make me force you.” The dark expression on his face suggests that he will do exactly that, if necessary. Not wanting to approach death, you bring a shaking hand to the vial. Expecting him to relinquish his grip, you bring the vial to your lips and tilt it back—only to realize that Severus’ hand hasn’t left the vial either, instead moving it to your lips and ensuring you don’t drop it. The potion burns as you swallow it and you cough briefly, shuddering at the awful taste. 

Then a weak, utterly humiliating sound wrenches its way from your lips. Your skin feels like it’s on fire. “Severus-” You try to say. Your words are garbled and your tongue feels far too thick to create anything coherent. In one last burst of energy, you try to reach out to him—only to succumb to the darkness creeping along the edges of your vision. 

You wake up in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing and, at first, you feel as if you’re a student. Then, the memory of what happened rushes back to you and you’re forced to remember that you’re a professor who was poisoned by a student. The thought unsettles you, so you try to distract yourself by looking around the space. 

To your surprise, Severus is sitting at your bedside, looking entirely unimpressed. The pinched expression on his face looks somewhat painful to maintain, yet his scowl is so deeply-set that it doesn’t even flicker in intensity. You try to avert your eyes, but it’s too late—he’s noticed you’re awake.

“...Hello,” you try. Severus arches a brow. For a long moment, there is nothing but a horribly tense silence that descends across the space. You glance around the Hospital Wing, relieved to find that there aren’t any students present. It’s embarrassing enough for Severus to be here—the last thing you need is for one of your students to be seeing you like this. 

His form is strung together with a silent fury. “What could have possibly possessed you to consume a gift from a student?” Severus eventually seethes. It takes you a few moments to process that accusation. 

“A gift from a student?” You then ask, your voice a little hoarse. You clear your throat before continuing. “Do you really think so little of me? I’m not that foolish.”

Severus stills. “Where do you suspect the potion was, then?” He asks carefully, clearly sensing the implications of your confession. 

“It must’ve been in my goblet during lunch.” You answer. 

Severus’s expression morphs from vicious fury to calculating precision. “That is… even more concerning,” he admits with a stormy expression. “I will speak to the elves about this.” He resolves. 

“Severus, that’s not-” That’s not necessary, you want to say. Except it sort of is. You don’t want anything like this to happen again—you don’t want to feel doubtful or suspicious of the meals in the castle. Severus must sense your thought process, because he continues as if you hadn’t said anything at all. 

“The offender will be expelled,” he asserts easily. “Since they are likely a student.” 

“Expelled?” You choke out, suddenly feeling lightheaded. Sure, you’re unsettled by the whole situation, but you don’t want to completely ruin a child’s future. Preventing them from returning to Hogwarts seems a little extreme. “Severus, expulsion is a little extreme. I don’t want that to happen; we can negotiate something less severe-”

“I don’t remember inquiring about your desires,” Severus states coldly, bringing you back to reality. You once again feel like you’re a student, as you’re coming face to face with the professor’s unflinching authority. You resist the growing urge to shrink back against the pillows at your back. “And need I remind you that administering Amortentia without explicit consent is a felony?” 

“No,” you sigh resignedly. You bring a shaking hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose. You’re still struggling to get a handle on everything that happened. It all feels like a blur. “I just… I don’t want to make this a big deal.” 

“This became a big deal when a Hogwarts professor’s life was endangered by a student’s foolish actions,” Severus asserts, raising a brow and challenging you to argue. You remain silent and, once he senses that you won’t voice any dissent, he continues. “Now, tell me who it was.” 

Somehow, that statement is what makes the reality of it all set in. You were so distracted by your symptoms that you didn’t stop to think and internalize the fact that a student was likely the one to do this. Someone in the castle wanted this to happen to you. At the mention of the culprit, dull grey eyes unwittingly come to mind. You’re suddenly hit with a horrible wave of dread and infatuation all at once, as the student’s visage appears in your mind’s eye. Even the thought of uttering their name is enough to summon the taste of bile. Every time you close your eyes, you see their cool gaze and shimmering hair and- 

You’re vomiting into the bowl at your side. When you’re finished, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and place your hands on the mattress, feeling the need to brace yourself. Severus vanishes the evidence of your sickness, which you are thankful for—the smell would not have helped your persistent nausea. He’s patiently waiting for your explanation, and it’s abundantly clear that you’re not going to be able to escape this. 

“Just-” You choke, shaking your head. It all feels like far too much. You take a shuddering breath, pretending not to feel as helpless as you do. Their name feels caught in your throat. A verbal admission is too much for you to handle right now. “Look at me.” You implore the professor. Severus understands quickly, as his eye contact with you quickly turns probing. You try to drop your Occlumency shields and summon the student’s visage to mind, showing Severus rather than telling him. The effort isn’t exactly difficult, given the potion that’s coursing through your veins. If anything, it’s harder not to think about the culprit. 

“Legilimens,” Severus says quietly. For a moment, it feels as if you’ve been plunged into ice water. There’s the faintest sensation of a frigid breeze rifling through your mind. Then, within moments, the professor’s looking away with thinly-veiled fury in his eyes. He seems moments away from walking out the door and interrogating the student, until a cough rips its way out of your throat and his attention is evidently thwarted. 

Severus squints at you before getting to his feet and approaching your bed. He places a hand to your forehead before holding your jaw and looking into your eyes, tilting your head slightly as he evidently looks for lingering effects from the potion. His hands are cool; you have to resist the urge to keep them pressed to your skin, if only because of the boiling feeling running along your skin. “I’ve provided a strict Potions regimen to ensure the Amortentia leaves your system,” Severus explains, his gaze flitting to the parchment on the bedside table. Then he looks at you sternly. “It is imperative that you maintain this regimen.” 

“Okay,” you say, too tired to argue or question him any further. You blink at him dazedly, struggling to clear your vision. The air seems to fall still. “Thank you, Severus.” Severus just nods, his right hand still cradling your jaw. The infirmary descends into a tense—but not uncomfortable—silence. 

There’s some bustling in the corner of the room. “You have another visitor,” Madam Pomfrey says, promptly breaking the strange moment that had been created between Severus and you. Severus leans back and nods at you, before making his departure. You watch him leave with conflicting feelings. 

“Albus,” you greet the headmaster, who walks into the room with a concerned expression.

“How are you faring?” Albus asks, settling at your bedside. 

“I’m fine, thanks to Severus,” you respond honestly. You’ve been better, but without his help, you’d be feeling much worse. 

“He seems worried, the dear boy,” Albus says, leaning forward conspiratorially. “He has been on edge since you fell unconscious.” 

“Oh.” You’re not really sure what else to say. Judging by the way Albus is smiling, he’s trying to tell you something. You just don’t know what it is. 

Over the next few days, Severus accompanies you to every meal. He always performs spells to ensure nothing has been tampered with. You want to be thankful for the thought, but at this point, you’re just frustrated that you have to go to such lengths. 

You’re slowly starting to recover. The Potions regimen Severus left you is dwindling down, as you take lower doses with each passing day. But there are still lingering side effects. Your hands still have tremors; your vision still has brief bursts of painful clarity. You still feel a little nauseated when thinking about the student who constructed this charade.  

The paranoia has to be the most debilitating aftereffect of all, though. You’re sure it’s a logical response to a near-death experience, but it’s making things rather inconvenient. Despite all the reassurance you’ve been given—by practically every member of the Hogwarts staff and several Ministry officials—it still doesn’t feel like enough. You still have moments when you can’t even stomach the thought of eating—meal times spent huddled in a corner of your office, shaking as you’re assaulted with the prickling sensation you’ve grown to associate with Amortentia. 

You start to think you’re getting better. But then you get up from your desk late one night, only to crumple to the ground like a broken marionette. You can’t even push yourself up to your feet—instead left to slowly fade away on the floor of your office. You’re commanding your muscles to move but they’re ignoring your demands. Your skin is licked with flames and sweat. Suddenly, your throat feels extremely dry. Your office is spinning around you and, within seconds, you’re slipping into darkness once more. 

There is a cool cloth draped over your forehead when you wake. You stare up at the ceiling, your vision slowly returning to you. You attempt to push yourself up to a sitting position, but the effort is annoyingly difficult. There’s an almost imperceptibly quiet noise of frustration, before you’re being helped up with a hand on your forearm and another at your side. Your breaths are labored once you finally sit up. 

When your vision finally starts to calm down, you find yourself staring into familiar black eyes. “Severus,” you say. Your vision is spinning a little, but not enough for you to miss the irritated furrow to his brows. 

“I distinctly recall ordering you to notify me if any of your symptoms returned,” Severus states flatly. He looks entirely unimpressed. And damn it, now you’re feeling guilty again.

“…I didn’t want to bother you.” It sounds pathetic, even to your own ears. Severus briefly looks to the ceiling, as if wishing for it to swallow him whole and end his life. He seems to be exercising a nearly infinite amount of patience; you can tell by how much time he takes to respond.  

“This is the second time you’ve taken the liberty of making that decision for me,” he says coolly. It’s clear there’s a lot more he wants to say, but he holds his tongue. Instead, Severus scowls and casts a diagnostic spell. “No fever.”

“That’s good.” You say weakly. 

“The dosage must’ve been high,” Severus then says, his brows furrowed. You can’t tell if he’s speaking to you or himself, at this point. “It should be out of your system.” But it’s not, you think. It’s not out of my system, and I’m scared. 

“Severus-”  You try to say. 

“It will fade soon enough,” he states. That’s as close to reassurance as you’re going to get. “Rest. I’ll ensure you’re awake to take your next potion.” He says sincerely. 

And so you rest.

Seeing you in this state unsettles Severus far more than he’d like to admit. He tells himself his concern is of a professional nature and nothing more. He’s concerned for his colleague; and the implications of this Amortentia incident. After all, the bare facts still paint a startling picture: a Hogwarts professor drugged by a student, in the Great Hall during mealtime. The castle has always been regarded as one of the safest places in the wizarding world; yet a staff member has been harmed within its walls. 

Severus expected you to show resistance at the thought of seeking out the culprit; he was surprised, therefore, that you allowed him to sort through your mind in his search. No one has shown him that kind of trust before. Yet you unflinchingly met his eyes, and implored him to look into the depths of your mind. 

Severus did nothing of the sort, of course. He did not want to betray your trust, and so his perusal through your mind was quick and purposeful. The unusually tangled web that structured your thoughts did not escape his notice, of course. He knows you to be a rational person; such disorganization is an indicator of a deeper issue. In your case, it is a sign that the Amortentia hasn’t been completely removed from your system. 

Severus spends an immeasurable amount of time brewing the potions needed for your treatment. Brewing is usually a tranquil experience for him. Yet, today, he’s lost in his thoughts as he prepares ingredients. Fortunately, for a wizard of his expertise, distraction will not truly affect the result. He does seem to be in the lab for longer than usual, but then again, he doesn’t typically have occasion for brewing these particular potions. If everything goes according to plan, Severus will not need to brew any more potions like this for you. 

When he’s finished with the first few doses, Severus breaks away from the lab and returns to his personal quarters. You’re reclined on the sofa, looking exhausted and…vulnerable. Severus tears his eyes away. Truthfully, he has never allowed someone into his quarters before. It’s strange. Severus was convinced he would dislike it—that your presence would feel like an intrusion. But he knew he would be able to care for your symptoms much more effectively if you were near. And somehow, the sight of you manages to alleviate some of his prior concerns. He’d daresay your presence comforts him. 

…Maybe the Amortentia was transferred to him, too. He scoffs at the unlikely thought, but decides to subject himself to a quick diagnostic spell just in case. As Severus suspected, there is nothing wrong. These strange feelings are entirely of his own creation.

You’ve been looking at him with such a trusting gaze throughout this healing process that it makes Sevwerus want to vomit. He immediately wants to roll up his sleeve and force you to take in the warped mark across his forearm, if only to dispel you of the notion that he is in any way deserving of your trust. 

He only averts his eyes from your sleeping form instead, his throat feeling tight. What is it about you that provokes such sentiment within him? Severus shakes his head quickly. He doesn’t have the luxury to contemplate such things at the moment; right now, your health is the priority. 

When he has a moment to breathe, Severus informs Albus of the culprit. It slips his mind, for the briefest of moments, that the headmaster is stubbornly idealistic—and sees the best in everyone. Indeed, he should have expected Albus to provide an alternative method of disciplining the child. 

“Suspension.” Severus states blandly, glaring at the headmaster. “You believe suspension to be a suitable punishment for the unlawful administration of Amortentia.”

“And what would you suggest, Severus?” Albus asks, his eyes twinkling. He’s setting a trap for him. For some reason, unknown to Severus himself, the headmaster wants him to argue. 

“Expulsion, of course.” Severus scoffs. He isn’t sure what the old fool is trying to do here. 

“I can’t imagine your colleague was quite pleased with that suggestion.” Albus remarks, that damned twinkle in his eyes still taunting him. 

“Not at first,” Severus admits with a scoff. “Of course, upon discussing the likelihood of a similar incident occurring, the suggestion was better received.” He crosses his arms over his chest. 

“I see.” Albus responds. There’s a thin smile on his face. 

“What?” Severus nearly spits. “A professor has been drugged. This is no laughing matter, Albus.”

“Of course not.” Albus says sincerely. “Alas, I fear you are correct. Expulsion would be the wise choice. I shall inform the boy’s parents at once.”

Severus’s jaw clenches in irritation. That was far too easy. Albus is never so easily persuaded; and yet, he conceded without much argument. Just what does the old man have planned? The Potions professor regards him warily. 

“No need to be suspicious, dear boy.” Albus reassures him. The reassurance only makes Severus more suspicious. “I’m only thankful that you have found tolerable company here in the castle.”

Severus glares at him for several moments. His jaw is clenched and his teeth are gritted. “And how is this relevant, exactly?” He manages to spit out.

“It’s merely an observation.” Albus surrenders. He senses Severus is growing tired of this conversation. “And how is our young professor faring?”

“I’m developing an enhanced regimen to eradicate the Amortentia.” Severus responds, thankful for an excuse to talk about something else. “I brought my colleague,” he borrows the words of the headmaster, “to my quarters, to ensure proper adherence to the regimen.”

“Your quarters?” Albus asks lightly. He looks rather pleased with himself. The Potions professor’s wand hand twitches. “That’s rather forward of you, Severus.” Severus’s jaw nearly cracks with how hard he grits his teeth at the remark. Albus is wearing a victorious smile; the Potions professor immediately steels his composure and stares right back at the man. 

After what feels like far too long, the headmaster relents. “Keep me updated, Severus.” Albus remarks, his expression returning to an appropriate concern. 

Severus nods jerkily, before making his escape. He is never quite certain when a conversation with Albus will morph into an interrogation; this time was particularly catastrophic. He takes a few slow breaths as he returns to his quarters. 

Unsurprisingly, you are awake to greet him. Before either of you can descend into empty small talk, you’re breaking through the silence. “You… don’t mind me being here, do you?” You ask, glancing around the room as if realizing your surroundings for the first time. “I can return to my quarters, I’m sure.”

“Given the return of your symptoms, that would be unwise.” Severus says after a moment. It takes him longer than he’d like to formulate a response. “I’m afraid I will have to be… inconvenienced by your presence a bit longer.” Yes, it is truly inconvenient—because you provoke such unusual feelings in him. Every time he sees you in his quarters, he has these horrible urges to embrace… domesticity. It disgusts him. 

“If you insist.” You say hesitantly. Neither of you decide to acknowledge the tension that has settled in the air. Severus promptly returns to asking you about your symptoms, in an attempt to ward off these strange sentiments that spring to mind in your presence.

©2025, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

endnotes: I feel like Severus is in a perpetual state of disgust: with himself, with the world around him... sigh. he's very fun to write for, though.

I genuinely forgot I wrote this and was so happy to find it in my drafts again. And then a few weeks passed and I forgot about it *again.* When I stumbled upon it again, I was very surprised to find it 99% complete, bahaha.

anyways, thanks for reading! <3

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friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

I want to personally thank whoever makes all these Wesker GIFs on tenor.

Alrighty: no beta read we die like Horangi x König ship posts on Twitter

I made a story and for those who do not like small angst or are not comfortable with illness can read that lol

Warnings: Mention of schizophrenia, small angst

You cursed as you ran towards Price‘s office. Soap had pulled a prank on you by turning back your clock…by 3 fk hours. Price had been in a very bad mood lately Duo to you failing at a mission that had been very important. The entire task 141 hated you already and you cannot really say that anyone else liked you. Price had called you to their office today but ofc you were late. Your illness has been catching up on you.

schizophrenia

You got it diagnosed but refused to take your pills often since they were super expensive. You took one half a day ago and wanted to get this over with soon. You did not know how much longer it would work.

You knocked on the door only to be greeted with a stern voice. “Come in. Now.” That definitely was not a good way to start.

You entered making sure the door closed silent. You looked at price him only pulling up your file. Ghost was next to him he gave Price some more files. You could see others faces on it. _He is going to replace you_ You shrugged that one off hoping it was just your inner voice.

Before you could even say anything Price suddenly screamed at you, you even saw Ghost flinch a bit. ( you and ghost are neutral in this storyline bc I said so. Also the 141 does not actually hate you that is just c/n telling themselves)

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY PROBLEMS YOUR STUPIDITY CAUSED ALL OF US?!”

“I-“

“I AM GIVING YOU ONE LAST CHANCE! DO NOT DARE TO FACE ME AGAIN UNTIL YOU EITHER DECIDED I COULD BRING IN SOMEONE MORE USEFUL THAN YOU OR YOU BECAME USEFUL.”

You would have lied by saying that you were ok. Hell you were sure Ghost could see you shivering. You had to do smt so you just ran out. You just ran. As fast and as far as you could.

“Look who is running.” “The fuck.” “Hey what are you doing crybaby.” Suddenly 13-15 voices started talking in your head. You wanted to scream at them. You suddenly felt watched. “C/N wait!” You heard Price. “Soldier!” Ghost’s voice spoke.

No. Not now. You cannot face them. Stupid voices. It was all too loud and too scary. You wanted to take a step back only to noticed you were on the edge of a cliff.

A few minutes back into Price’s office:

“Fuck.” Price just said. He knew what he just did was terrible. He knew you were not useless but he was too stressed and was not thinking about what he was saying. “I will look for him.” Ghost said before making his way to the door. Price noticed a white box( package whatever you would keep pills in) on the ground. Ghost picked it up and read out loud- “schizophrenia- Price!” Never had the Captain ever jumped off his seat so fast. Chasing after you.

Now back to you

You heard every voice in your head telling you to still take that step. You started hallucinating. Small but duo to your situation convincing enough to make you step back. You already felt arms wrap around you, pulling onto safe grounds. The next pair of arms wrapped around you. They held you tight. So very tight. “Y/N…”

No words were needed that day.

141 took notice of your illness and made sure to help you out.

Price and Ghost would make sure there was always one person with you.

They also made sure you got more time of.

Or different scenario for people who are not comfy with small Angst:

You were new and small and ofc scared

Price trained some Rookies, you included

He was a rather rash teacher so when you failed at doing something duo to you being so small( or at least not a fk giraffe. ) he got mad

He screamed at you for not having trained enough

It would be no lie if you said you avoided him to your death

Even when you passed each other you would make sure there was a huge space between you two

Price would later realize why you avoided him and most definitely would give a flowers as an apology

Old man would scream at the others

Ghost would cover your ears and then calmly explain you how to do it right.

I love these 2

141 finest

Your daily dose of cat memes

Snipers In the Cold | platonic!Keegan P Russ x m!reader

@satan-incarnate-666 asked: “Look at you! You're fucking shivering!” for keegan & m!reader who's like a lil brother to him?

summary: you and Keegan get to spend some time together while on a sniper mission.

tws: swearing, guns

Snow in your mouth, you did your best not to shiver and shake as you steadied your rifle and tried to still your hands, able to feel the frost start to creep in through your clothes as you stayed flat against the ground; beside you, Keegan looked more than relaxed, stretched out in his white camoflauge suit as he adjusted his white mask so that it wouldn't slip too much.

Keegan had hand picked you from the SAS to help out his team, as he had met you when you had first started your career, and had kept a distant eye on you, making sure that you weren't in any trouble, and he had yet to be disappointed by you; he liked having you around anyway, it was like being with the little brother that he never wanted.

He always protected you, though, always kept you out of trouble when he could, and although he never said it, Keegan was actually proud of the sniper that you had become. Now that he was beside you, watching you work, Keegan knew that he needed to be more vigilant than ever; this wasn't some routine operation where it was just him and his gun, he had you with him, and he would be damned if he didn't protect you. He cocked a brow when he saw you tremble slightly, thinking nothing of it until he saw that it had not stopped; you were shivering.

"Here," he shrugged off his heavy coat, and laid it across your shoulders, tugging the hood up so that it covered your head as well. Patting your head to make sure that it was in place before he moved to lie on his stomach beside you, kicking his legs out and nearly burrowing in the snow, the crunch and crackle of it nearly deafening.

You shot him a look, raising a brow as you watched him for a moment. "What was that for?"

"Look at you! You're fucking shivering!" He scoffed with a laugh. "SAS clearly didn't teach you how to stay warm."

You huffed, glaring at him for a second before turning your eyes back to the scope on your rifle. "And the Ghosts taught you, did they?"

"Don't be a smart ass," he grumbled, shaking his head and pressing his body down against the snow a little harder, trying to gain as much camoflauge as he could. "I'm starting to regret asking you to join us."

"No, you're not," you shovelled a little more snow into your mouth, at the very least you knew you could prevent your breath from being seen by any enemies. "You're just upset that I've shown you up."

Keegan grumbled again, sparing a glare your way before he shook his head and lifted his mask just enough to shove some snow into his mouth; it was cold, and made his back teeth sting as he winced a little and gritted his teeth. He didn't actually regret getting you to join the Ghosts, in fact, he did enjoy the company when you went out with him on missions, but fuck, if you weren't the little brother he never wanted.

Sure, he would look after you and would protect you and keep you safe, but that didn't stop him from thinking that you were an annoying, smart mouthed, little bastard. He could live without the constant backchat, if he was honest, but he would always be the one to volunteer to move out with you when it came to it; in a way, he supposed that he thought of you like family, even if he would have preferred to die than to actually admit it.

Stretching, Keegan wriggled around in the snow to get more cover, and when you picked a fistful of it up, smashing it over his head with a soft laugh, he narrowed his eyes and glared at you. "Don't do that again."

"I didn't do nothing," you said innocently. "Absolutely nothing."

If you weren't such a damn good sniper, Keegan would have told you to go back to the others and let him finish the job; but he needed you there, even though now his neck was coated in little clumps of snow, and he wasn't stupid enough to let one of the best snipers he had ever admit walk away from him just yet.

"You're lucky you're a good shot."

"A better shot than you," you quipped, grinning when he glared at you again. Hardly able to bite back the laugh that was threatening to make its way up and through your throat, tickling the back of your mouth as you tried your best to squash the urge down when you looked at him.

Many people were scared and intimidated by Keegan, by his cold glares and by the fact that he wasn't very talkative, by the way that he was so dangerous and lethal, especially with a gun in his hands, but not you; to you, Keegan was the person you looked up to. You wanted to be as good at the job as he was, you wanted to be like him. You looked up to him more than anyone else in the world, and you trusted him to guide you in the right direction; Keegan was your mentor, but he was so much more than that. He was family.

You could never be scared of Keegan, not even if he had a gun pointed between your eyes and was demanding that you do as he say, you could never be scared of him; even if he wouldn't admit it or even dream of telling you, it made him want to keep you under his wing that little bit more. You weren't scared of him, in fact, you would try and goad him into losing his temper all the time - just because you thought it was funny.

Keegan mumbled something under his breath, wiping his nose on his sleeve before he leaned over and wiped it on your arm. "You wish you were a better shot, Sergeant."

"I don't need to wish for it," you nudged him gently. "I could out-shoot you with my hand tied behind my back and a blindfold on."

"Sure you could, kid," he scoffed, but in actuality, Keegan didn't doubt that for a second. You were a damn good shot, and he knew it, and he didn't doubt that you could have performed better than him with one hand behind your back and a blindfold on. "You keep telling yourself that."

You smiled when you looked over at him, moving to rest on your side as you rested your hand on your stomach. "Say... if we get the job done right... could we have a snowball fight?"

Keegan thought about it for a moment, but judging from the excited glint in your eyes and how you looked at him with such hope, he couldn't bring himself to say no. "Fine. Just don't be an annoying shit about it."

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