TF2 One Shots (Requests Closed)

Gasoline (Spy x Reader)

No one requested this, I just did it anyway. Slightly based off of the song Gasoline by Halsey.

    Green glass and amber liquid littered the kitchen floor. Moonlight drifted in through the window and reflected off of the tiles as the refrigerator hummed in the corner. You slowly sunk to floor, not caring about the shards or the tiny pricks of blood beading at your hands.

      How did this even happen?

        Back up.

        It was all his fault. That French prick hated everything you did. Nothing was good enough for him. You were too loud. Too slow. Too confident. Too coarse. Too reckless. At first you just thought it was just hostility towards a new recruit. But you'd been here for... a year now? Everything was blurred in the most awful way. The vicious cycle of dying and respawning, dying and respawning messed with your head. You were dimly aware of childhood memories beginning to slip away like crumbling dirt. Black holes where flashbacks should be. Your sanity, that was starting to leave too. But regardless, you stayed. And regardless of how long you'd been in Teufort, it was far long enough for Spy to finally accept you as an ally. Even Soldier had done so by now.

       You even began trying to impress him. Decapitating enemy pyros before they even came too close to him. Absentmindedly shooting at him when he was disguised as you ran past so the enemy would see him as one of their own since you were attacking him. Keeping Engineers down while his sappers did their work. And yet, he still had this cold, almost cruel attitude towards you.

      "Off to see the Medic, raton laveur?" He had said. Calling you a raccoon was a reference to the black eye you bore thanks to a Heavy. On the surface it might not seem like anything serious, but the sneer mixed with a scowl he gave you made it obvious. He saw you as nothing but a worthless failure.

       And the time you were ravenously eating up the soup Engineer had made that night. Coming by, you felt felt a gloved hand on the back of your head and the sting of hot liquid on your face but when you lifted your head up, he had cloaked himself and was gone, giving no evidence of pushing your head into the bowl.

        The time it was obvious your journal had been gone through. He didn't even bother to put it back where he found it or clean up the cigarette ashes.

        And that's when you stopped trying to impress him. Instead, you returned his antagonizations. Intentionally poking or running the side of your hand across his hand if you could get close enough to him, reminding the Frenchman painfully of the decapitation he'd suffered from the enemy Medic before his head was shoved in the fridge. Crushing his expensive cigarettes before he could smoke them. Putting all your teammates' pets into his smoking room and letting them run havoc. And of course, the ever petty spitting in his drink.

        But honestly that wasn't much compared what today had you do to each other. After a defeat he began to yell at you again. Not profanity but the more stinging insults. Worthless. A failure. You were done. Nothing could stop your rage. Like a child's science fair baking soda volcano, you were done with this pressure.

       Getting into his smoking room was surprisingly easy. Getting the almost one hundred dollar bottle of champagne he'd been saving for a special occasion was surprisingly easy. You hurried out and down to the kitchen to complete your revenge.

      Oh no, you weren't gonna drink it. That'd be too simple. No, you moved towards the sink with a deadly smirk on your face and raised the bottle over your head, bringing the neck of it down onto the edge of the sink instead of opening it the normal way. Laughing to yourself, you tipped it over and let every god damn drop spill out of the shattered top down the drain. That was your fuck you to Spy as you slammed the part of the bottle that was still unbroken down onto the tiles, sending more green glass everywhere.

       But somehow, seeing all those shards sent something through you and you sunk to the floor, not caring that the glass caused small cuts in your hands. It was too much. Your rage was gone but unlike your childhood memories, the stress was still there. It had built up and once again, like that baking soda volcano, you spilled over. Sadness mixed with the rage this time as you banged your fists on the ground and screamed and cried. You weren't moving. You had to get all the stress of being a mercenary out and it couldn't wait until you were in your room.

      Unfortunately, you forgot one part of the equation: Spy himself. The masked man heard the commotion loud and clear and came down the stairs, knife in one hand and revolver in the other. He stopped dead when he saw the scene. He didn't have to check the label to know it was his expensive champagne and he didn't have to ask you why you did it. He knew. He also knew now wasn't the time to approach you, since you were in such a hysterical state. He stood there, waiting.

    After a while you looked up, tears staining your face. A look of rage crossed your features. "You fucking asshole! I hate you so much! You're constantly yelling or insulting me! I'm never good enough for you, am I?" When he didn't respond you got up and grabbed him by the suit jacket, giving him a hard shake and getting up in his face. "Am I?!"

   Spy didn't respond and after a few moments you released him in exasperation, pushing him back and going to sit down again on the floor. A few more moments passed before he came and sat down near you. Even more passed before you heard him mumble something.

    "What." You said coldly.

     "You are more than enough," Spy murmured.

      You had to choke down the urge to slap him. "You sure as hell haven't been showing me you think that!"

       Spy didn't respond with some witty remake like he'd do if he knew he wasn't guilty as charged. He took a deep breath and said your name to get your attention. "Listen... I've been... forcing myself to realize..." it was taking a while for him to get this out. "I hurt you," he finally said. "And I am so sorry." You could sense genuine remorse in his voice but tried not to believe it. This was a master of deception after all.

     "I felt... affectionate for you," he continued. "But I knew for both of our sakes I had to keep this professional. It was to keep us both out of trouble. Mon dieu, I tried. But I couldn't stop the feelings I had for you. But I could cover them up. I-I disguised my own feelings and convinced myself to hate you. I can deceive others and I thought I could deceive myself. I even succeeded for a brief time but seeing you so upset made me realize, I couldn't cloak my own affections. Again, _____, I am so sorry." The Frenchman said.

    You were stunned. And in disbelief. Like you noted earlier, this was a man of deception.

    "Let me prove it to you," he suggested.

      You sighed and nodded, wondering what he'd do.

     The Spy advanced. He was no stranger to showing affection to a lover and with practiced ease he wrapped his arms around your neck, gently pulling you closer. The man reached up and slowly pulled the mask off, letting slick, gelled hair come free. You gasped at the show of trust; he never took his mask off. The gasp was taken as he pressed his lips to yours, the balaclava no longer obstructing them. You froze in astonishment at first before slowly hugging him close and returned the kiss. It was sweet and simple, no pushing or tongue, but still passionate. His hands roamed down your back, rubbing soothing circles through your shirt and you took advantage at the lack of his mask to gently tug at and play with his hair.

      Eventually, you had to break for air. Pulling away, you panted and stared into his bright blue eyes. "Oh my go- you took off your mask," you whispered. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "I told you I would prove it, amour. The kiss was just extra."

     You threw your arms around him and snuggled in close. He held you closed in response, resting his head on your shoulder. "I love you. I'm sorry," he said.

    "I love you too. I forgive you," you responded.

     He smiled again and broke the hug after a while. "Let me clean this up and we can get to bed." You nodded in agreement.

       You couldn't keep your hands off of each other as you cleaned up, hugging and giving each other little kisses in that kitchen. That night was like gasoline, the fuel that ignited the love between you and Spy, something entirely different from the gasoline you and him used to lay down when you fought before he confessed to you.