#Disturbed Doc (Medic)

[tf2-plus2]

Employee Profile #135

Employee Profile for; Dr (Formerly) Bernhard Ludwig Medic

Age; 40

Hair; Dark Brown/Black

Eyes; Gray Blue

Blood Type; AB Negative

Height; 6'1"/185.4 CM

Weight; 204 Lbs/92.5 kg

D.O.B.; Oct 30, 1921

P.O.B.; Stuttgart, Germany

Class; Medic

Job; Doctor Assisted Homicide

Background Information; Dr Ludwig has stated part of his inspiration for his practices was in seeing how people were affected by new and upcoming medical practices. His parents, so he has said, were alchemists who refused to touch the medical side of the practice, which he seems to have more than happily learned in their stead. Perhaps watching them is where his habit of mixing chemicals was learned? His combat practices he said were learned during WWII while fighting against certain German forces. Anyone who could be found and interviewed on his combat history said he was a, quote, "frightening devil in the field, wielding tool and concoction as easily as other men aimed bullets", end quote.

Weapons; Medic is primarily trained with various bone saws, some home augmented with needles, crossbows firing needles, and an odd concoction housed in a "medigun" that seems to be turned into vapor that can be concentrated on allies. While he might be able to train with other weapons, he seems to prefer wielding improvised medical tools.

Notes; While he is certainly loyal to the team, Dr Ludwig seems very... eager to subject the others to his "Lifegiving Surgeries". Thankfully, despite this, the team doesn't seem offput by him enough not to trust him in the field. If anything, after the incident in which his medigun gas was first created, they seem to rely heavily on his healing to keep from respawning. He has also greatly streamlined and improved this process. Perhaps a "mad scientist" isn't so bad to have around, and his talents could be directed towards other avenues with time...

Hiring Date; [REDACTED], 1961

[sunshinescribes]

Hi Sunny!! So I can’t get the idea of Trafalgar Law waking up in the arms of his female crush or s/o (early on in their relationship) with his face buried in her chest as the reader pulled him into her cleavage in her sleep! In my mind I can’t decide if Law is shy or lowkey perverted! It all suits him well to me, so you do with that what you want.

So may I get something like that? It could be either fluff or a starter for smut I just would love to read something like this 😍

I hope I made sense and thank you in advance 💓💓

ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE…

Law doesn’t recall his bed ever feeling this soft and warm.

He also doesn’t recall ever having such peaceful sleep. The dark circles under his eyes and his tendency to be irritable are a testament to how often sleep evades him.

His eyes are still closed, his mind groggy but very much alert, and his body has yet to catch up. His limbs feel heavy, as if the simple act of lifting his hand would take all the effort in the world. It’s a strange sensation—would be fucking terrifying if not for the warmth that radiates through his body, an unfamiliar comfort that tells him everything is alright—he’s safe.

Law groans softly as sleep finally releases its hold on him. He blinks slowly, eyes adjusting to the dim light the lamp on his desk casts over his room. He’d forgotten to turn it off last night, pulling his usual all-nighter. He had been flipping through a medical textbook, his eyes heavy, words blurring and blending, and yet he couldn’t compel himself to go to bed.

And then a soft knock sounded at his door, accompanied by your voice, softly asking if he was still awake. He’d let you in with little convincing, and then…and…then?

Law nearly chokes when his eyes fully adjust, realizing his face is buried in your chest. Your softness, your warmth—this is what he was feeling, what had helped him stay in sleep's warm embrace. The missing memory finally comes back to him—you slipping into his room, scantily dressed. You’d made a beeline to his bed, patting the empty space beside you as you called his name. Lay with me for a bit? You’d asked so sweetly, with those pretty eyes of yours watching him, waiting expectantly. He had been slow to comply, but soon his book was forgotten, his chair empty as he laid down beside you. You had rubbed soft circles against his back and tiredly whispered, You gotta get some sleep, Doc.

And so he did.

Law carefully stirs, tries not to disturb you as you continue to sleep restfully beneath him. He can’t be caught with his face between your breasts like some kind of demented, sex-crazed pervert—no matter how unbelievably soft they are (and maybe he finally understands Black Leg’s obsession). Not that he’s opposed to sex, especially the idea of having it with you, but that’s a line you two haven’t crossed yet, and he’ll be damned if he looks like he’s trying to take advantage of you in your sleep.

He turns his head, accidentally nosing your breast in his failed attempt to move away. Law stills as noise escapes your lips, light and airy, and one of the most beautiful sounds he thinks he’ll ever hear—your laughter.

Law glances up at you, finding your pretty, tired eyes already trained on him, and the corners of your lips pull upward as you chuckle. He feels heat flood his cheeks, not knowing how long you’ve been awake or what you must make of his head still being positioned between your tits.

“Mornin���,” you greet him with a smile. “I think? I can never tell in this damn tin can.”

The quickly formulated explanations catch in Law’s throat as he blinks up at you, surprised you aren’t offended or even a little shocked with his current placement.

Relief washes over him in waves.

“If this was a tin can, we’d be food for sea kings by now,” he retorts, his voice thick with sleep.

You playfully roll your eyes—he’s so sensitive about his metal deathtrap—before lifting your hand to thread through his thick, dark tresses. “You know what I mean…”

Law hums contentedly as you massage his scalp, turning him boneless with your touch. It’s moments like this that he swears you have devil fruit powers—some kind of supernatural ability to completely dismantle his defenses. His eyes flutter shut as he basks in your touch—the softness of your flesh beneath his face and the soft patter of your steady heartbeat. He wouldn’t mind staying in this moment forever, far away from the threats that plague him and his thoughts.  

“Mind if we stay like this a little longer?” he asks—murmurs, as sleep extends a welcoming hand to him once more.

He can’t see your face, but he hears the smile in your voice when you answer. “As long as you need, Captain.”

ONE THING Y’ALL ARE GONNA LEARN ABOUT ME IS THAT IF I HAVE THE CHANCE TO WRITE FLUFF I ABSOULTELY WILL.

Thanks for the request anon! I hope you enjoyed!

[fanaticsnail]

The government is running out of money?🤨🤔🤭

That must suck.😚🤧

I have a proposal!🤓☝️🤠

*grabs the "hey Doc" series by the throat"

I need Snail to make more of these. 👁👁

-V🌱

Thank you for your ask, V🌱. I love writing for this series, and I adore the fact that you like it too 🥹.

It's okay, Heat.

Hey Doc Masterlist

Word Count: 1,700+

Synopsis: After using his abilities as a fire breather to heal your injured leg, he is wracked with guilt over inflicting such pain onto you. You reassure him that you don't hate him for it, and share a moment of vulnerability with him.

Themes: platonic!Heat x gn!reader, injury, burn treatment, reassurance, swearing, wound dressing, medical practice, pain.

Notes: I feel like this will be the last of the serious ones for a little while. I need to get back to the sillies for these guys, but I couldn't leave you with your leg like that!

“Hey Doc.”

Having Bubblegum leave your side after spending time taking you in and ensuring you were comfortable made you feel almost lonely. His boisterous and insatiable appetite for ensuring your comfort was both endearing and obsessive. It was beginning to drive you a little bit crazy how much he was in your personal space, but you enjoyed how much he truly cared for you.

The crew had been silent, no murmur was heard as footsteps passed your bedroom doorway. None of them dared speak or breathe, as the Captain had barked that none should disturb your recovery.

As Heat moved through the doorway, his head hung low and his sunken eyes refused to meet with yours. This stance reminded you of his requests to aid you in his more intimate ailments, his sheepish behavior often bringing a great comfort to you. At this time, the air he breathed was as thick as concrete, and there was no bashfulness in his demeanor.

Before he had a moment to speak his confessions, asking for your forgiveness in his part in treating your wounds as best he could, you halted him with your palm extended in front of you. He shuddered out a shaken breath, the warmth rising in the room with his exhale.

“Come here,” you lower your voice to a soothing whisper and flicker your digits to beckon him to your side.

The weight in each of his heavy steps weighed far less than the guilt in his heart as he drew himself closer to you. Patting the bed twice, Heat’s eyes briefly drew themselves up to meet with yours before flickering away as quickly as he approached the bed. Turning to face away from you, he slunk down to sit on the mattress by your side and hung his head to the floor.

“Oh, Heat,” you scoff at him, giving his back a gentle tap to playfully nudge him, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and come here, would you?” He upturned his scarred lips in disdain for being scolded before turning to face you. Hanging his head low, he slowly drew his eyes up to meet with yours.

“I'm so s-.” Heat was cut off immediately by the look you shot at him. The dangerous warning in your searing gaze, the curl of your lips, and the low growl emitted from your throat had him halt his words.

After taking a moment to remain beside him and dwelling in the thick silence beside him, you cast aside the sheets from your waist and drew up your leg. Peeling the bandage away from the warmth of your thigh, Heat’s gaze was fixed on your every movement. As the material of the bandage became close to the gauze around the wound, you finally drew your eyes up to meet his.

“Who treated me for the burn?” You asked him, darting your eyes quickly down to the gauze and back up to his eyes. His lips curled downwards as he confessed lowly, “I did.” You nodded, peeling back the first wound at the top of your thigh and grimaced at the sight.

“The puss means it's healing,” you commented on the elevated skin and the crusting around the wound, “Did you use ice or water?” He turned from you, grabbing another large elastic plaster from the bench and passing it to you.

“Water,” he uttered his profession, “You said twenty minute intervals beneath cold running water, with ten minutes of rest between each session.” You took the clear elastic from him and flicked your hands to gesture to the aloe burn aid.

“In my lucidity?” you asked him with your brow raised. He nodded slowly, passing you the cream with his lips clamped shut in a tight line. You smirked playfully at him, scrunching your nose and teasing him with, “Fuck I'm good.”

He chuckled at that, the deep rumble of his voice falling from his nose with his dry laughter, his lips still clamped shut. You laughed along with him, taking an amount of cream in your hand and dabbing them over the scar tissue with a soft hiss. He winced empathetically at you, finally parting his lips to suck in a hiss.

Surging forward, he took the elastic from you and began dressing your wound as soon as you lifted your hands off the sensitive skin. Lulling your head back on your shoulders, you scrunch your eyes tightly shut as he pressed the stretched fabric over your skin. Reopening your eyes you stare off at the ceiling and inhale slowly.

“Make sure the plaster-.” You began your exhaled guide to the fire breather, halting as he spoke over you.

“-Has no bubbles or tears. Aye, Doc,” he nodded, continuing to guide the plaster over the top of your thigh. You scoff at him, shaking your head and furrowing your brows at his words.

“And don't have the tacky edges-.”

“-Stick to the aloe,” he again cut you off, using the pads of his thumbs to gently smooth over the borders, “I know, Doc. I have done this before. You've taught me well.” You snap your head down at him and glare at him, knowing the smirk that was awaiting you once you did so. He pursed his lips in a thin line, darting his sunken eyes up at you while giving your knee a gentle tap.

“Now the underside,” he gestured to beneath your thigh to replace the other gauze, “You can bend your knee up, lie on your stomach, or throw your leg over my shoulder so I can reach it. Choice is yours.” Your glare deepens, causing him to chuckle more at you.

“It is gonna take more than that to get me to throw my leg over your shoulder, Heat,” you huff towards him. Gently raising your knee, you peeled off the worn fabric beneath your thigh and threw it in the discard bin beside your bed. Repeating your motions with the aloe, Heat prepares the elastic gauze to glaze over your wound once your hands come away.

As soon as your hands leave the wound, he replaces them with his own to cover the burn. Taking a moment while placing the sheer gauze over your deep welt, he can see the injury he inflicted above the rod exit scar with the painful reminder of his actions. A heart-shaped kiss from him was permanently seared into your flesh from both sides. His quick thinking had caused your flesh to scorch and burn, bubbling and oozing while beginning the healing process.

Sensing his distress once he placed the gauze down, you arch forward and clasp your hand over his wrist. His eyes immediately snap up and meet with your serious expression.

“I don't blame you for this. You did nothing wrong,” you immediately reassure him, darting your eyes between his to brand in your words. “Your quick thinking saved my leg, and my life. The way you heard me without me speaking, effortlessly doing what I asked in my delirium, was flawless.” Leaning up closer, you remove your hands from his wrist and clap your hand on his shoulder.

“You are not at fault here. There is no-one to blame for my injury but myself,” you nod, hypnotizing him to nod with you by the bob of your head, “You acted exactly the way I needed you to, and I am in your debt. Thank you-.”

“-Don’t thank me,” he hushed his tone, scolding you with his haste, “Not for this. I hurt you-.”

“-You saved me,” you firmly growled at him, “You closed the wound, stopped the bleeding, and purified the poison with the power of your lips. You were perfect, and I am grateful for it.” Reaching up, you clap your hand over his scarred cheek and ensure his eyes never leave yours.

“I would rather heal a complex burn than rehabilitate after amputating my own leg,” you lower your tone and sharpen your tongue, “Not after Cap lost his arm and we dealt with the consequences thereafter. I-I-... -I am forever grateful to you, Heat. You've done so good by me,” you stutter, feeling your emotions overcome you as you drop your hand from Heat’s cheek and have your head sink lower.

Circling his arms around you, Heat draws you in close and embraces you against himself. He is not accustomed to witnessing you express weakness like this, nor confessing any trauma that came from your past in healing Kid. Feeling awkward and rigid with you in his arms, he attempted to soothe you by rubbing his thumbs over the back of your head.

“Want me to get Killer for you?” Heat whispered softly, the tone of his voice coming across as awkward as he attempted to hold back his own emotional experience at your words. You inhale deeply before exhaling with your emotional release.

“Not right now,” you whisper against his chest before pulling yourself away from his grip. “I think I need to rest a little on my own. Bubblegum was beginning to drive me up the fucking wall with his constant need to be near me,” you confess softly before adding, “Not that I'm not grateful. I love that purple-haired weirdo. It's a lot, is all. Just tell everyone I'm alive, and I'll be back on duty in a couple weeks while the muscles knit back together.”

“I'll let ‘em know, Doc. I promise,” Heat nods at you, offering you the softest of smiles as he rises back up to his feet and begins to walk towards the door.

“Try to let everyone know not to shove things in parts of their body that aren't easy to get out,” you call softly after him, “Can't really perform retrievals from my bedside. Nothing up or in, you got that?” Heat offered you a low chuckle in response, halting at your door and smirking at you.

“I will make no promises, Doc,” he called over to you before leaving to slink down the hallway, closing the door behind you.

With a small laugh of your own, you lie back town on your bed and attempt to get comfortable with the searing burn on the two sides of your leg. Seeing the expression on your attacker's face, the hate in his eyes, the snarl on his lips: you couldn't help but sigh out in sorrow at the whole situation.

The odds of a person from your hometown having the intent to kill you on sight, especially on an island so far away from your origins, was one in a million. Closing your eyes, you picture the faces you left behind while embarking on this journey. A home, a culture, a thesis based on your upbringing, a career in a reputable medical profession. You have it all up to serve Eustass Kid as your captain.

And you had never once regretted it.

You loved your life, your crew, your found family, and your job. Nothing could ever tear you away from them, not even a spear in the leg from an old ally turned enemy. You were a Kid Pirate for life, to whatever end found you.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @nerium-lil @sinning-23

[himbodruid]

A Kitten and A Crow

Part 2

Sylus x named!MC

Touch her and die vibes -:- possessive Sylus -:- soft Sylus

Pretty tame chapter but next part will have 🌶️🌶️🌶️

CW: descriptions of violence

Read part 1: Tumblr | Ao3

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Senses returned to Helene slowly, the first of which being the feel of cool satin beneath her, and a down-filled duvet covering her. Puzzled, she tried to focus her hearing, but the only sound she got was a ringing in her ears that seemed to coexist with the obnoxious headache.

Her body felt heavy and she was exhausted, but she felt like there was something she was forgetting. A thought niggling at the back of her mind. A warning that she was supposed to-

“Sylus!” She sat up far too quickly, pain lancing through her skull and side, causing her to cry out. Her hands clutched her head, willing the throbbing ache to stop.

A cool hand gently caressed her neck, and she shied away from the touch until she realized who it belonged to. She threw her arms around Sylus’s torso, all but clinging to him in a trembling embrace.

“Sylus, thank gods you’re okay,” she muttered into his shirt. He hesitated for a moment before letting his hands rest on her in a half-embrace as allowed by the position.

“You were the one abducted, and you’re glad I’m okay? Kitten, I worry about your priorities.”

Though he tried to keep his tone light, Helene could detect barely restrained rage trembling beneath his usual timbre. She pulled away from him and looked up at him.

“Of course I’m glad you’re okay, the plan was an attack on you, to lure you out and-“ her words choked off. It was unthinkable, the idea of losing him in such a way. Because of her, of all people. Sylus opened his mouth to say something, but a knock on the door interrupted him.

“Boss? Doc’s here,” came Kieran’s voice on the other side of the door. Helene’s brows drew down in confusion.

“You brought Doctor Zayne to the N109 Zone? Are you crazy?” Her whispered words were harsh and admonishing, but Sylus only chuckled darkly.

“I apologize if I’m currently not in a forgiving mood when it comes to any man being anywhere near you. I don’t even care if he happens to be a childhood friend and your primary care doctor,” he said, sauntering to the door and opening it. “This is Doctor Natalya.”

A gorgeous woman pushed her way into the room, carrying a case that was all but bursting at the seams. Helene assumed it was her medical supplies, having seen Zayne with a similar bag in the field. Natalya’s eyes were a bright blue, almost silver, that contrasted beautifully with the raven-black hair she had pulled into a braid. Her arched brows were sharp and accented her cheekbones in such a lovely way, giving her an ethereal aura. Helene felt a stab of jealousy that Sylus even knew a woman as breathtaking as this. But when Doctor Natalya didn’t even so much as give him a second glance, she felt foolish and eased her stiff posture.

Without a word, the doctor began her examination. Her mannerisms were so clinically similar to Doctor Zayne’s that it was incredibly uncanny, and she had to stop herself from laughing at the similarities. Helene flinched when the woman’s elegant fingers pressed on the knot at the back of her skull, and again when she pressed on the cheek that had been struck by the perpetrator. The examination went on for several more awkwardly silent minutes before Doctor Natalya nodded to herself.

“The laceration on her side will need to be redressed at least once a day for the next week, but it should heal without issue. She has a severe concussion, though, and possibly a fracture on her left zygomatic bone and maxilla from blunt force trauma. The resulting swelling may cause a disruption to her airflow, but I don’t believe it will be an issue.

“Rest will be the best course for the patient, away from disturbances such as bright lights and stress, along with limited activity. I will write a prescription for pain medication and sedatives- Mr. Sylus, I trust you will care for the patient?”

As Doctor Natalya rattled off her diagnoses, Helene became physically aware of every single thing as the pain began to register. Sylus’s low voice became a hum to her ears as he left the room with Doctor Natalya, continuing to discuss her course of treatment while he saw her to the door. Luke and Kieran made a quick peek into the room, waving to Helene and then fleeing the scene before Sylus could catch them snooping.

Tara was going to kill her when she returned to the Hunter’s Association. So would Jenna, probably. Helene had no idea how she was going to explain the bruises that were no doubt covering half her face. Not to mention why she was going to be out of work for however long it took to convince Sylus she was okay enough to return.

He came back into the room and paused by the doorway, just staring at her. His jaw visibly clenched as those crimson eyes roamed over her. Helene swore she could still feel waves of anger rolling off him, but he hid it well behind a calm façade. Once he was finished with his assessment, he strode forward again and sat in the chair beside her bed.

“I need you to tell me exactly what happened, as much as you can remember.” He leaned back in his chair, giving him an air of deadly grace. Any other time, it would’ve given Helene a titillating shiver, to see him stretched out with such feline poise. But not when that lethal calm was directed at her, the storm hiding just under the surface.

“I don’t really remember a lot,” she began, her brows drawing down as she struggled to remember the events leading to this moment. Gods, but her face hurt. “I was walking home from work in Linkon when I heard a weird noise in an alley. It sounded like someone was asking for help? So, I pulled my gun and went in. I swear I was being cautious, but the bastard must’ve struck me from behind because next thing I knew I woke in the N109 Zone to him slicing me to wake me up and then holding my phone to my face. I think he called you, trying to use me to lure you out. I was trying to tell you not to come, but I think he realized it and…well, everything goes blank from there.”

Sylus closed his eyes and breathed deep. Helene assumed he was trying to calm his temper, based on the muscle feathering at his jaw as he worked it. She relaxed back into the nest of pillows with a pained grunt. Her body ached like it’d been run over by a vehicle. She was scared to even see what she looked like in the mirror.

“You’ll stay here until you’ve made a full recovery,” he said in a voice that brokered no argument. “I will make your excuses to the Hunter's Association, but I would feel much better having you where I know you’re safe and where I can monitor your condition myself.”

She knew this was coming, but she still scowled at him. Unfortunately, she didn’t really have it in her to deny the request. She was in pain. And the heavy exhaustion, courtesy of the concussion, made her uncharacteristically compliant. Sylus held out his hand, wordlessly offering her pain medication and a glass of water. She took them gratefully and allowed him to fuss over her further to check the bandage that wrapped around her torso.

“Wait, who bandaged my side? And whose clothes am I wearing?” She finally realized she wore nothing more than a silk shirt that was far too big for her, and a pair of shorts that were cinched the furthest they could go and were still loose on her hips. Sylus snorted an amused chuff.

“Couldn’t have you bleeding all over the base now could we? Your clothes were, unfortunately, beyond repair. So, you are wearing an old set of my gym clothes for now.”

His words had heat rising to her face.

“So…you…undressed me?”

He quirked his brow at her, as if her question was appallingly absurd. “And bathed you. I wasn’t about to have anyone else do it, and Doctor Natalya took too long to get here. There are no other women here, Kitten, and I wasn’t about to let the twins do it.”

She could feel a mad blush blazing across her face at his words. All she could do was look down at the duvet that covered her, willing her pounding heart to quiet down while her fingers fidgeted and twisted the fabric. It wasn’t so much that she’d been seen naked and vulnerable by a man, it was that it was Sylus that had seen her naked and vulnerable.

The man may as well have been the personification of raw allure- from that chiseled body, to that angled jaw, to cat-like crimson eyes and silver hair, to his stupidly perfect cupid’s bow lips. Add to that his cocksure attitude and the way he carried himself, she was sure any woman that happened to be in the vicinity of him had wet dreams about him. Maybe even the men had wet dreams about him, too. Well, she sure as fuck did- when she’d experienced her first attempt at riding his prized Akhal-Teke stallion, she’d had the embarassing dream of “taming” him that night.

His chuckle pulled her from her mortified musings. “What’s with the look of sheer panic on your face right now, Kitten?”

“I can’t hear you, I’m sleeping,” she replied, slamming her eyes closed and turning her head away from him.

“Just what are you turning over in that pretty little head of yours,” he said, laughter infuriatingly evident in his voice.

“Nothing!” The reply came too quickly, but she kept her eyes clenched closed, hoping he wouldn’t tease her further. She felt a hand caress the bruised cheek with feather light touches. The mood in the room seemed to plummet once more as he took in her injuries.

“My only regret is having to kill that bastard too quickly. He deserved to suffer far more for what he’s done to you,” he said in a soft voice that was at odds with the violent words spoken. She turned back to look at him, watching as his gaze trailed the line of bruises that circled her neck like a macabre necklace. The corner of his mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed as he followed the shape of the man’s hands marring her skin.

“But you saved me, and I’m okay now,” she murmured, taking his large hand in both of hers. She pulled his hand to her mouth, and placed an uncharacteristically bold kiss on his knuckles to distract him. “I forgot to thank you. For ignoring me and coming to my rescue anyway.”

He sighed and leaned over the edge of the bed. His lips found her forehead in a tender kiss. “I’ve told you once, and I’ll tell you a thousand times more- I’d rather expose my weaknesses to protect you than see you injured. I would kill a thousand men if it meant keeping you safe.”

“Sy,” she muttered, trying to quell the rush of emotion that threatened to steamroll her. He placed another kiss on the crown of her head before standing and retreating.

“Rest,” he told her. “I will be here in case you need anything, all you have to do is call out to me through Mephisto.”

The mechanical crow squawked his confirmation from a perch in the corner. With a final tender caress, Sylus left the room and Helene let the exhaustion pull her into a deep slumber. As her thoughts faded to darkness, she had one final realization- she was in Sylus’s bed.

[mistyresolve]

| His Foresight - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Medic!Reader (Part 1)

Word Count - 3k 

Summary - Doc (y/n) is a medic at a base camp when they meet Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley, when they meet for a second time it is because he’s been injured. During the two weeks it takes him to fully recover they develop an unspoken friendship. Simon’s next assignment is to escort a convoy across enemy lines, which would have been a walk in the park if they weren’t a part of that convoy. Even worse is when his worries and fears become real. 

Tags/Warnings - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Trauma, Opioids (they’re prescribed but i just want to add this in case), Slow Burn, Eventual Smut  

A/N -  im working on part 2 rn but it may take a little time for me to finish and upload but im in the middle of finals and have been busy with studying so please forgive me  

Masterlist  ❤︎  Tag List Form

The first time Ghost came through your tent he was bringing in his comrade, Soap, for medical attention. It was a gunshot to the arm but nothing detrimental. A clean shot and the bullet had gone right through.

Ghost had remained quiet and observant but answered any questions you had about the wound. 

“When did this happen?” 

“Half an hour ago. Give or take.”  

“Any meds?” 

“Shot of adrenalin.” 

You had sewen up the gunshot and nursed Soap back to health. However, Mr.MacTavish had been a difficult patient and after a week you discharged him early just to get him out of your hair. On multiple occasions you caught him trying to escape, claiming he was fine and ready for combat at least once a day. Most special ops were deluded like that, most thought they were superhumans. In a way, they kind of were with the speed at which they recovered. You would never tell them that. It would just go to their head.   

Your tent has since been upgraded to a deployable field hospital. With a total of 50 beds and 15 staff members. 

The second time Ghost made his way your way was on a stretcher. It was a deep and disturbing stab wound to his side, and if it were even an inch deeper it would have punctured his lung. It took you the whole two weeks he needed for recovery to get the full story out of him. Apparently, it was a series of unfortunate events which resulted in a hand-to-hand scrabble. He’d dominated his opponent and came out victorious but not without injury. He’d been all on his own for hours before finally making it to Exfil. In those few hours, he lost a lot of blood and was without any sort of analgesic until he was in the helicopter on his way here. Whatever the field medic had given him for the pain was enough to completely incapacitate the beast of a man. All the same, it was doing its job and controlling the pain. Your team had to do an emergency surgery at the base camp because he wasn’t stable enough for a medivac to a major hospital. 

The man was in a foul mood when he awoke the next day. He wasn’t rude and uncivilized, but he made it clear the last place he wanted to be was bedbound in a field hospital. When it was mentioned he was going to be sent back home for recovery, he downright refused.  

Strangely enough, it was also the first time you saw his entire face. When he first came in you were so amped on adrenalin and stressed that you didn’t register that his mask had been removed. It was immediately established that no other personnel apart from the small 3-man team already working on him would be allowed to interact with him to ensure his identity remained confidential. It was more for their safety than his if everyone was being candid. Even in his charts any identifiers were redacted and replaced with “John Doe”. 

Two days post-op he insisted he be relocated to his barracks because he “could handle his own”. You compromised and told him you’d allow it under the one condition that he lets you come and check on him at least once a day. He did, but he didn’t exactly have a choice either because you would have shown up anyway. 

That was where you were right now. 

You knocked and waited for a response before letting yourself in, your supplies and kit in hand. It was just after noon when you arrived. You scanned his room. It was clean, almost barren. His blinds were half open, and the window cracked to let in the cool, fresh air. The clothes he was wearing when he came wounded were still in the biohazard bag we gave him when he left. The tray of food on the desk beside his bed was left untouched, and judging by the food variety it was from breakfast. 

Upon hearing your arrival Ghost had forced himself into a sitting position. His face flushed with the change of position. His dark eyes were rimmed red from a lack of sleep, and his facial hair was growing. He was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants with the insignia of his old company and a plain black shirt. The shirt was loose and thin, but it did nothing to hide the muscle hiding underneath.   

You rolled your eyes, blew out a breath, tossed your bag onto the bed beside him and pulled out the rolling chair at his desk to sit in front of him. 

“You look like shit,” you knocked his elbow in a silent demand to lift his arm. 

He grimaced but did it without complaint, “Ya, well I feel like shit.” 

You lifted his shirt to get a look at the bandage underneath. There wasn’t any shadowing or blood seeping through so you gave him a quick nod before dropping the shirt, “Have you taken anything?” 

He jerked his chin to the little orange bottle on his desk, “One of those.” 

You picked it up to read the label, Oxycodone 10 mg OD.  

“Nice, but you should be taking it with food,” you tilted your head in the direction of the untouched food. He merely shrugged, his eyes weary. His eyes turned the same golden brown of a whiskey glass in the sunlight.  

You discreetly took his respiratory rate before moving on, “Any side effects? Nausea? Headache? Upset stomach?”  

“Nope,” he said in exasperation. He leaned back onto his elbows, his long body stretching out across the width of the bed with his legs still hung over the side in preparation for you to change his dressings. 

You gave him an unimpressed look, before pointing to the garbage bin he had at his bedside. There wasn’t anything in it but it was placed here in preparation,  “If you aren’t going to be compliant I’m going to bring you back to the infirmary.”   

“It came and went already. I’m fine,” he moved to lift his shirt, hinting at you to hurry up get the dressing change done and leave. 

You scooted the chair closer, preparing your materials and supplies on his bedside table. When you removed the bandage and revealed the stitches you clicked your tongue, he hadn’t pulled any of them but the fact that it was still bleeding made it apparent he’d been more active than he should have been. 

“How’s it lookin’ down there, Doc?” He rolled, his gaze following your movements with predatory grace. You glowered at the nickname. 

You hummed, “Mhm.” and started cleansing the wound with saline before donning gloves and cleaning it more thoroughly. He hissed at the contact and you looked up, he had pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. His body tensed, and his muscles taut. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive. Alluring even. Especially when he was in this position, and had that look on his face.  

“Are you going to survive?” You asked pulling back slightly.

“Just cold s’all.” 

He made it through the rest of the dressing change without so much as a flinch. In fact, he might have fallen asleep near the end for a second. He didn’t open his eyes until you finished securing the gauze with the last piece of tape. His lids were heavy and his mouth was pulled down into a slight frown. 

“You going to eat lunch?” you tugged off your gloves and threw them into the bin beside you. 

He nodded sluggishly and laid back on the bed, folding his hands over his abdomen. Maybe the Oxycodone was making him drowsy, but he looked like he desperately needed rest. 

“Did you sleep well last night?” You rolled back on the chair, giving him space. He shook his head. You quickly finished cleaning up any remaining supplies or trash before filling out his chart, “Maybe if you didn’t keep reopening your wound you’d be healing faster and sleep better.”     

He replied with a quiet, almost boyish chuckle, “I’ve been behaving, don’t worry.” 

“You’ve been nothing but extra paperwork,” you retort, tapping his leg with your foot. You stood with a snap of your notebook. “What do you want to drink with your lunch?” 

“Just water,” his eyes remained closed and you made your way for the door, bringing his cold breakfast with you. 

You returned with a new tray of food, this time you picked foods that would be easy on the stomach. The damn fool must have smelt it as you walked down the hall with it because before you could knock he was opening the door and stepping aside to let you in. 

“Such a gentleman,” you tapped his shoulder as you passed. 

He seemed to perk up at the brief contact, “As always.” 

You placed his tray on the table before picking up your bag to get ready to leave for the day, “Any last request?” When you turned to face him your cheeks heated at the way he regarded you. His face softened, melting into something akin to respect. He was so expressive and you didn’t think he was aware. Perhaps it was because he had grown accustomed to the protection of his mask. You almost didn’t wait for his answer before taking your leave, making an excuse that you needed to report back. You did, but it wasn’t anything urgent, you just needed to get out of his room. Away from him. If only to remember how to breathe. 

The process for the following two weeks was the same, only each day you stayed a little longer. You talked a little more. Despite his reputation, he was… normal. He was a little aloof and standoffish at times, and horribly, criminally unfunny, but he grew on you. You were slightly upset and maybe even a little scared you’d never see him again when you officially discharged him. Even worse, you were scared to see him again. Only, every time he returned from a mission he would come to pay you a visit. You might have considered calling him a friend. Might have considered wanting more from him.  

Soap would sometimes occupy Simon, having made a connection with you of his own. A different type of connection, but a wholesome one. Soap had made a jest about just recruiting you as the 141’s personal field medic instead of bothering you at work every other week. Simon had shot the idea down like water on a fire, and the topic was never brought up again. He simply stated, “Never letting that happen.” 

He had his reservations about you entering an active warzone, let alone going on assignments with a squad like the 141. He’s never outright said it but he developed a soft spot for you. Over the months he had unintentionally carved a hole in his chest just for you; a place where he could protect and watch over you. His fondness for you only made it all the harder when he received the 141’s next assignment. It was a regular convoy escort but he felt sick when he read your name on the list. He even went so far as to double-check the itinerary with Captain Price. Went so far as to try and get you removed from the assignment. When you learnt of what he was doing you cornered him and chewed his head off. You understood his trepidations and his actions, but both of you knew he was out of line when he tried getting you booted from the mission. 

The convoy, mainly consisting of medical personnel, equipment, and supplies, would be moving right through enemy lines to get from your current base to a new one a few towns over. It would be dangerous, you weren’t naive, but you were your own person. You were simmering, but you couldn’t help the twinge of regret for yelling at him. 

In the days leading up to the mission Simon had grown distant, but remained watchful of you. He kept quiet, but you could see it in the shadow of his eyes, and in the muscles between his shoulders that he had a lot to say. 

There was a total of 5 medical personnel that were being transported, yourself included. You would be a vehicle with Butters, who was elected as the head medic for the new base, and your driver was going to be none other than Captain Price. 

As everyone was preparing to leave and loading up the last supplies, you caught Price and Simon in a quiet conversation, you couldn’t hear their exchange but you could tell it was heated. Price rolled back on his feet, fixing Simon with a tight-lipped smile before shaking his head. With that Simon backed away from him, pointed a finger at him saying one last thing before he turned and stalked towards the vehicle he would be in, obviously unsatisfied with Prices’ response.   

Butters sidled up next to you, his pack slung over his arm and offering you yours in his other hand, “There has been a slight change of plans,” he sighed, “Our voyage is now split into two days, we'll be staying overnight in a town in between. Our route hasn’t been completely cleared yet.” 

You turned your attention to him, your brows furrowing, “So they want us to have a sleepover behind enemy lines?” You almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it. 

Butters shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the turn of events. Butters always seemed to keep his thoughts and feelings close to his chest, but it was clear very little invoked thoughts and emotions out of him. He enlisted when he was 18 years old; he was 32 now with a wife, 3 kids, and another on the way. There was a high probability he would be asking for leave in the next couple of months so he could be there for his next child's birth. It sucked because he was the only other medic you were close with. You’d miss him. 

Butters and you jumped into the back seats of one car with Price, you’d be in the middle of the convoy, Ghost, Soap, and another medic in the other would take the rear, and Gaz and Roach would be in another vehicle at the front. There was also a total of five transport trucks. The convoy would be a giant target as we passed through, which is why the 141 was tasked with our protection.   

Price explained that the ride would be slow-moving and briefed the two of you on what to expect. He instructed you both to stay alert and that there was a chance of running into a hostile.   

The first couple hours were incredibly boring, but Butters alleviated some of it by tasking you with going over the manifestation of everything you guys were hauling with you. You also made conversation with Price about his last leave, he had returned home and “sat on the patio and smoked cigars” for two weeks.

 The sound was louder than anything you ever experienced in your life. You didn’t even have time to scream before the force of the detonation knocked you unconscious. 

It couldn’t have been longer than a couple of minutes when you finally regained consciousness. The vehicle was now completely upside down, the wheels still spinning as they faced the sky. The seatbelt was the only thing keeping you from landing face-first into shattered glass and rubble. 

In front of you, Price was already pulling himself out the window and onto the street. He looked back into the cab and for you and said something. 

Nothing was processing right. Not his words. Not your thoughts. Not the sight before you. Everything was foggy, as if it was a dream. 

Price reached back for you, bracing you with an arm before releasing your seatbelt. Your knees cracked as they hit the roof, the glass ripping through your uniform. The pain didn’t even register. Price hauled you out with him before going back in for Butters. 

Only he didn’t. 

Instead, he returned with his gun. Before he could stop you, you crawled back in for Butters to get him yourself. 

You froze. There was no saving him. There was almost nothing left. 

He was on the same side the anti-vehicle mine went off. 

You slowly backed out, shaking your head not believing your own eyes. 

Price was crouched beside you, his back to the vehicle, his eyes revealed no emotion. 

You looked back down the road you had just come down and the transport truck that was tailing you had stopped before entering the intersection. Beside them was the truck that Ghost and Soap were in. Ghost was jumping out, his gun drawn. Soap slid from the passenger seat to the driver's side. The medic they were escorting jumped out the back and ran for the transport truck. 

It was then you noticed that Price was shooting at something down the intersection. You could see the flash as the bullets left the barrel and smell the gunpowder, but you couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything. 

You brushed your fingers to your ear and when you looked at them they came away red. Blood.

The sheer force of the blast ruptured your eardrums. 

You watched as Ghost applied suppressing fire and sidestepped in time with the truck as Soap rolled it into the intersection.

Price looked over his shoulder at you, his mouth moving. You could see it in his eyes the moment he connected the dots and caught that you couldn’t hear he turned to Ghost. Who jerked his head towards you and met your gaze. His eyes were wide, panicked. He ditched the cover of the truck and sprinted over while Price took over the covering fire. He slid into you, his gloved finger coming up to grab the sides of your face. He was gentle but urgent as he turned your head from side to side to inspect the damage. 

You caught your reflection in one of the side mirrors, and couldn't recognize the person staring back at you. Their expression cataonic. Blood leaked out their ears, down their neck, and blood dripped out of their nose. Their teeth had gone through their bottom lip from the impact of the blast.  

A low ringing began as sounds started to come back to you. Then it turned into an agonizing peal like you had stuck your head in a fire alarm. Ghost didn’t give you a chance to cover your ears because he was already pulling you into his chest, pressing one ear into his chest, and covering the other with his free hand. Using his remaining hand he raised his gun and pulled the trigger. 

Soap pulled their truck up next to yours, making a barricade with them. He slid out, being careful to keep his head down and ready to join the fight. 

Ghost started walking back towards the buildings behind, using his body to shield you from stray bullets. He smelt of gunpowder, sweat, and dust. He smelt familiar. His hard body against yours felt familiar. You felt the reverberation of his voice in his chest as he yelled something. You stumbled back with him as he moved, but he was practically carrying you at this point so you wouldn’t fall. His gun dangled at his hip. Soap was at the door to the nearest building, kicking the door open, the lock shattering. 

The ringing in your ears was still present but you make out their muffled yelling as the rest of them filed in. Ghost sat you down at the far wall and behind rows of shelving units. Price and Soap guarded the entrance.

Price started talking into his radio, “Gaz! We got enemy fire coming from southwest of the fire hall. We’re down one and another has been wounded. We are fresh out of wheels, they planted fucking mines,” he yelled into his radio over the sound of oncoming and outgoing gunshots.  

“We’re on our way,” Gaz’s voice replied through the Ghost radio that was attached to his shoulder.  

Ghost then knelt back down in front of you and swore. His hands shook as he reached for a rectangular pack at his hip, a little red insignia printed on the front. A med-pack. He dumped its contents onto the floor, rummaging through it until he found what he was looking for. 

He lifted your leg and started wrapping your thigh, but not before you saw what he was swearing at. There was a two-inch gash in your leg exposing raw flesh and muscle underneath. 

“That’s not good,” you breathed. It felt like your throat was torn to shreds; as if you had inhaled the explosion itself. 

“You’re fine,” he didn’t look up as he wrapped. It was tight enough that it hurt and you could feel your heartbeat crashing against the pressure. Despite that, the bandage wasn’t going to last.

You choked a laugh, “You might want to get out your, ‘I told you so’s’ while you still can,” You meant for it to come off as nonchalant but your voice quivered. 

“You’re fine,” he repeated. 

“I left a kit in the back seat,” You sucked in a sharp breath when he pulled the gauze one last time to tie a knot, “I don’t know if it survived though.” 

Because it was right next to Butters before the mine tore through the side SUV he was on.

Before I could say another word, Ghost was moving towards the door. Requested for an update, then asked for covering fire before exiting the door. He returned moments later with the kit. When he brought it over he made sure to place it behind him so you couldn’t see the condition of it. You imagined it to be macabre. 

As the adrenalin pumping through your body drained it began to tremble, cold rushing into your bones. Blood was already starting to dot the surface of the bandage. 

“Powder,” You instructed Ghost. He moved fast, cutting the bandage away with the blade he pulled from its sheath at his thigh, and tearing open the packaging. It was a quick-clotting powder used to stop the bleeding. 

You were no doubt in shock because you couldn’t feel the pain anymore. He rewrapped your leg; somehow, it was even tighter than before. You heard Gaz give an update over the radio, asking for more details and you could hear Price relaying the plan. 

Your breaths became shallow and sedated, your strength ebbing away. You fought the urge to close your eyes in fear of never opening them again. 

Ghost tapped a hand on your cheek, “Don’t be falling asleep on me, now Doc.” 

You were barely able to ground out a “Sir, yes, sir,” before your chin hit the front of your chest and succumbed to the darkness pulling at you.

Part 2 

Masterlist  ❤︎ 

[msriri030]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Medic Reader

Ghost didn’t want to admit to himself that he had fallen for you—not because he was some immature kid, but because he was terrified. Terrified of dying before he could tell you, lacking the courage he needed. Emotions weren’t his strong suit. He could go on any high-stakes mission, but telling the person who took his breath away? That gave him goosebumps.

“Lieutenant? Are you okay?” you asked while checking his blood pressure. He had come to you, hoping to finally confess his feelings, but instead, he sat there frozen, doubts racing through his mind. Thoughts like, She probably doesn’t even like me. I’m not the kind of man who could make her happy. I’m just a monster, undeserving of her affection or time…

You gently flicked his forehead, snapping him out of his self-loathing thoughts. Ghost looked up at you, and you smiled at him, teasing,

“Welcome back to the battlefield, soldier. Glad you decided to stay with us.”

As you turned to jot down his blood pressure, he found himself watching the way you moved in your lab coat. He quickly shook his head, realizing he was being a bit of a creep, and scoffed softly.

“You know, you could get in trouble for assaulting a high-ranking officer, right?” he joked.

“If that’s true, Lieutenant, then I might ask you not to daydream in my office. I can’t help but bring people back to their senses,” you replied, smirking. “Now, back to business—can you go over the symptoms once more?” You pulled up a chair, clipboard and pen ready.

Ghost blushed under his mask, his heart racing. He cursed himself quietly. Here he was, a lieutenant who had taken countless lives, yet he felt as flustered as a high schooler. Noticing the concern in your eyes, he took a deep breath and replied, “I don’t know, Doc. My stomach aches, I feel nauseous, sometimes I want to throw up. It’s hard to focus, and sometimes I can’t even breathe—like my chest is tightening. And I keep thinking I’m catching a fever. It just gets worse the longer it goes on.”

“Hmm…do you have any idea what might be causing it?” You frowned in thought, scribbling notes. Ghost chuckled slightly, amused by your expression.

“Yeah, it’s… someone. Or at least, it happens when they’re around.”

You looked up, alarmed, and slid your chair closer. Placing a hand on his knee, you asked, “What? Is someone poisoning you? We have to report this—”

“It’s you, Doc.” His words stopped you mid-sentence. “I… I’ve fallen for you. I didn’t expect you to feel the same, but I thought I should tell you before my deployment.”

You sat there, stunned by his confession. Taking your silence as his cue to leave, Ghost stood. “I’ll take my leave now, Doc. Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

As he turned toward the door, you grabbed his sleeve, stopping him. Ghost looked down at you, surprised, as you stared ahead, too shy to meet his gaze.

“My name isn’t ‘Doc’… it’s (Your Name),” you murmured, cheeks flushed. Ghost’s eyes softened as he lifted a gloved hand to cup your cheek.

“Alright, (Your Name),” he whispered, but before either of you could say more, Price’s voice echoed through the hall, calling Ghost to deployment. You both chuckled.

Ghost leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “Looks like it’s time to go. I’ll see you when I get back.”

You nodded, watching him leave. Just as he reached the end of the hallway, you called out, “Ghost! You better make it back, or I’ll never get to confess over one of my famous home-cooked meals, okay?” You smiled, waving him off.

Ghost nodded, a rare warmth in his eyes, before he continued on his way. Now, he couldn’t wait to come back to you.

[cherry-romper]

gen narumi x medic reader, where his vice-captain and platoon suddenly realizes why he gets injured so often (to see reader)

Gen Narumi X Medic!Reader

Warnings; Mentions of blood and injury

Contains; fluff, angst(?), GN!Reader

Word count; 936

For a guy who classes himself as “the best”, he sure gets injured a lot.

He was never grievously wounded, but he’s always need stitches – this just so happened to be your department.

His platoon often made fun of him, jesting at how he’d “fallen off”

It got so bad that he’d been called into the Director’s office, many were concerned as to why he was suddenly getting injured so often. 

No matter how small the cut, he'd always end up at your door. His platoon teased him relentlessly.

Ignoring them, he waltz into your office and man-spread in your chair.

He'd stare you down as you worked, unflinching as you cleaned and dressed his wounds. 

You’d shift uncomfortably under his gaze, looking up to him a couple times, irritated. 

You felt very judged, like he was scrutinizing your every move.

Even if the gash was on his back, he’d crank his neck round to watch you while you work. 

After the first few times, you got used to it and voiced your irritation: “Stop watching me while I work.”

“Why should I?” you didn’t even have to look at him to hear the smirk that tugged at his lips.

Frustrated, you set down your needle and thread with a clank. “You make me nervous; my hands shake the more you stare. I could hurt you more.”

“I can handle it.”

“Or stop getting injured, then we won’t have anything to worry about, would we?” you counted, sarcastically. 

He scoffed as you got up, shifting his weight in the chair. 

For the third time this week, you bandaged another part of his body. 

He’s gonna run out of limbs to injure soon, you thought to yourself.

He didn’t say thank you as he left your office. 

You tried to not let it get to you, he had a reputation for being rude. 

It was only two days till he was back again, some pathetic cut on his pinky finger. 

You were a professional, to laugh in his face wouldn’t be right, but it was hard not to with him stood there, cradling his hand like it had been cut off. At 2 am no less.

“Bandage,” was all he said, almost demanding.

Cocking a brow at him, you looked from his face to his hand. There was barely any blood, you couldn’t even see the cut.

“What did you do?”

“Papercut.”

“Narumi…go to bed.” You turned to close your door, but his foot stopped it.

Using just he leg his pushed your door open again, making his way over to his usual spot and held out his hand for you to examine.

You were shocked but thought it best to entertain him. Quicker you gave him a plaster, the faster you could get back to sleep. 

Grabbing what you needed from your cabinet, sat across from him. Taking his hand in your own, you can feel his familiar gaze on you. 

Wiping it down and wrapping a plaster round it, you tapped on the back of his hand, “there you go, now can I go back to bed?”

“No,” 

Puzzled, you looked back to him.

“I actually have this weird mark on my ass,” without hesitation, he shifted in the seat onto his knees.

“WOAH!! Not my department, buddy!” you scrambled to stop him moving any further. 

He laughed, “I’m just joking”

You didn’t know if you should laugh or cry, you were too tired for this. 

He saw himself to the door, “thank you…and goodnight, Doc.”

A week had passed since you’d last saw your favourite patient. Until your peace was disturbed on a Wednesday afternoon. 

Once again, Narumi had some meek slash on his abdomen. Not deep enough to cause issue, but enough to warrant stitches. 

Conveniently, his suit didn’t complete the healing process, again.

Your usual routine unfolded. Him staring and you just trying to work.

However, for the first time, he flinched. Not at the needle, but at your touch.

Taking a step back, you asked if he was okay. No matter who your patient was, their comfort and health were your top priority. 

He just nodded, nervously biting his lip. Unable to meet your gaze.

You made sure he was okay as you continued to weave the thread in and out of his flesh. 

He winced a couple times, jolting as your hand grazed over his bruised torso. 

His body temperature had risen, and you could feel the sweat forming on his body. 

Looking to his face, you could see the beads glistening on his forehead and the blood pooling in his cheeks.

“God, Gen. You’re burning up.”

He shook his head and cleared his throat, “don’t worry about it, I’m fine.”

“Of course I’m worried about it!” You knew form your years of experience it was best to finish one task before starting another.

Completing the last few stitches, you pulled them tight. 

A gasp escaped Gen’s lips. He launched forward, grabbing a hold of your wrist. 

He was hunched over in the chair, his hair covering his eyes. You couldn’t make out the expression on his face. 

“Are you okay? Talk to me, Narumi!”

He let out a weak chuckled, “you’re really loud, Doc,” 

His hand still gripping your wrist tight, he meets your eyes. 

His lips were pale and his eyes sunken. 

Panic immediately washed over you.

“God, you’re bleeding internally,”

Calling for extra nurses to assist you, he slumped against you.

“This is what I get for wanting to see you, huh?”

Perplexed, you try to lift his weight off you and move him into a safer position, but he wouldn’t budge. 

Resting his head on yours, he whispered in your ear “I’m sorry, Doc. I just didn’t know how else I’d get to see you.”

“Gen Narumi, you idiot.”

[multiheadcanons]

TF2 MERCS BEING CHARMING

scout: scout is a tryhard; which makes it very difficult for him to come off as charming in an effortless sense. he’s particularly charming when he drops that facade. a hand on the back of his head, an inability to meet your eyes, a nervous laugh and a crooked smile… he’s a cutie then.

soldier: opposite of scout; soldier is at his most charming when he tries his absolute hardest to be charming. he’s gotta make that effort to be gentlemanly, because you get what he’s advertising, so if he’s giving the effort it’s a genuine act. it’s what makes him endearing. and any favorable inclination towards him will carry his efforts to the finish line.

pyro: pyro isn’t charming unless they’re on your side. before then they’re a faceless sight with many unsettling actions under their belt. if you know them, though, it’s a lot easier to see when they’re joking and— more importantly— know when they’re about to take a joke “too far”. but in their lightheartedness they are fairly charming in their own sense

engineer: engie is only charming because he wears goggles all the time. it is much easier to hide what he’s thinking when all he has to do is smile and smooth talk. when his goggles are off, you can read him easier; and it’s easier to determine whether you should be taking what he’s saying at face value or not. without that, though, it’s hard to not at least be flattered by the texan, who can and will insult you and make it sound like a compliment.

heavy: heavy doesn’t try often to come across as charming. he does not need to. and he doesn’t need to because he is charming in his most candid moments. in times where he’s listening to what’s going on around him and makes humorous remarks that will stop whoever hears him, never failing to get a smile or a snort of shock. he’s charming when his face lights up as he gets a joke. when he’s caring for sascha tenderly and you think “damn what i wouldn’t give to be a gun rn” he’s funny, with a generous sense of humor and a quicker wit than people would think, and most people don’t know that until he enters a battle of wits and wins.

demo: demo is a silver tongued devil who will charm the clothes off someone in minutes… when he’s sober. even then, you can’t escape his natural effervescence. he’s a good hearted man with a need to laugh, and isn’t afraid to make the joke himself to get the energy up in a room. his confidence is infectious, and will naturally open you up to him. his charm lies in making every offer and idea sound like good ones, being just as shocked as you when things go awry, and laughing it off just as quickly. being a silver tongued devil also required experience in yapping, so if you let him talk long enough he’ll hook you on his stories alone. he’s got a wonderful way with words.

medic: like pyro, medic isn’t charming unless he’s on your side. until then, he’s a disturbing man with bright blue eyes and many unsettling things to say. past that, doc is a professional yapper. if you don’t like listening to multi hours long podcasts consisting of one person, you will probably never like medic. but if you like a chatterbox, then there will be times where medic will have gone on a tangent of a tangent, and as you watch his eyes gleam with newfound knowledge to dump on you, and his teeth bare in a crazed, no, excited smile, as he makes unyielding eye contact behind his glasses, waiting with baited breath for your response… you can’t help but notice how someone could find him charming, even cute. though, also like pyro, but worse, you will never know when he is going to take a joke too far, or when a bad idea will become a series of bad decisions. when everything he says comes with a large, bordering animalistic smile… he’s at his best when he’s yapping, truly.

sniper: sniper is at his most charming when he’s most comfortable, and he’s most comfortable at work. there’s a reason his standards begin with “be polite”. he’s got a reputation for being a good natured guy with efficient and effective methods of a necessary service, and days on the job with him are usually filled with quiet chuckles and smart ass remarks under his breath. but it’s not shit talking if he’s hitting the targets. and it’s the cockiness that makes him come off as charming. it’s another sense of an inverse of scout, as to where scout can talk the shit and back it up, because he’s just cocky in general it can never come off as charming; meanwhile sniper, who goes out of his way to be professional in his job and generally doesn’t interact with people by choice past that, the confidence and results that come with the confidence are charming. everyone loves a man who can get the job done.

spy: spy is effortlessly charming. he doesn’t need to do anything to make himself more charming, and when he does try it’s annoying to anyone involved. why would he go out of his way to get someone flowers, or butter someone up in compliments, when he can smile and smoke his cigarette. he’s a handsome guy with a nice accent; the less he plays it up the better it works for him, because when he tries too hard it does come off as a scam. however. there is a time. a time where spy gets drunk. and turns into a professional yapper. he, medic, and demo turn into hens with how much they chirp and crow and gasp and screech laughter, and in these moments of decomposure… what a cutie. really. where he’s not thinking about being professional and it’s him and his “friends” chatting over a beer…. or two… or five. and with demo’s effortless ability to make any idea sound like a good idea, he’s been on the unfortunate side of a scandal before. but even as he plays angry and bitter; you see the smile he’s fighting. and when he and his gal pals get to hanging around again…. they can’t contain their chuckles. he’s even more charming then. when he’s done playing professional.

[rust-bearer]

The prisoner screamed in their cell, as First Aid watched through the window. Their servo, previously their pride of trade, had been cut off right where the nerve endings started; it looked fairly painful, and judging by the screaming, it was.

First Aid made a note of it, typing on his keypad.

“Hey doc. Fancy seeing you here,” Vortex purred from First Aid’s left, standing obtrusively in the doorway. First Aid spared him a glance, then return to the prisoner.

“Standard response of sudden amputation. Patient underwent a below-the-wrist amputation following extensive ischemic damage and necrosis of the servo due to unintended infection…” First Aid looked up again at the ‘prisoner’, before returning to his notes, continuing to speak aloud as he typed. “Preoperative imaging revealed critical tissue loss, with no viable circulation distal to the wrist. Procedure was uncomplicated and patient is expected to make a full recovery.”

Vortex made an interested noise, deciding to lean into First Aid’s personal space. “Sounds like you had some fun without me.”

First Aid set the tablet down with a small noise of dissatisfaction. Then, he spoke into a microphone, directed to the diminutive medical drones, currently puttering around the operating room. “Physician consent obtained for patient termination.”

As one, the drones all jolted to life. The prisoner strapped to the operating table barely had time to scream before the drones began to gouge him apart. First Aid shook his head, and made yet another mental note to recalibrate the drones. Always so messy. Never enough time to fix it, though. Especially not with…

Well, Vortex. Vortex, who was currently staring in disbelief. “Yknow, I was joking when I said you should lighten up. Isn’t this a little extreme? I mean, Primus, Aid, aren’t you supposed to be a medic-”

“What is it you want, Vortex?” First Aid sighed. He shouldn’t be even indulging this. “I wouldn’t have to kill so many patients if you left me alone.”

“Me? What did I do!” Vortex looks wounded, and maybe it’s an act. “You’re the one who chopped off his wrist, then, well… the rest of him too. Say, doesn’t he look a lot like your old coworker?” Vortex flashes a deep grin, unobstructed by any mask.

First Aid ignores him. Looks back to his notes. “Attending physician visual disturbance noted. Accompanied by auditory disturbances as well. Patient log closed for the day.”

“Hallucination?” Vortex makes to snatch away the data pad, but his clawed servo goes through it. “Wh- hey! First Aid, what did you-”

“You’re DEAD, Vortex!” First Aid finally snaps. “We have this conversation every other day! You’re- not real, and I shouldn’t even be talking to you…” Inhale, exhale. “I’ve been awake too long. This always happens, and I keep telling myself not to let it happen, and it always happens…”

Muttering to himself, First Aid stands up and leaves the room. Vortex, or what thinks it’s Vortex, stands over the data pad. Watches the text scroll automatically until it reaches today’s date.

Fifty thousand years after the end of the War. After Vortex’s last, hazy memory of… something, and then nothing at all. The room dims; the room goes black.

Nothing but a pair of red optics, staring out of the dark.

[kult-of-s4lvia]

heyy hey))) just want to ask you, did the other mercs know about Salvia? and if they did, how would they react?

(also, i love your art, ill be waiting for more lore cause i’m sure the lore is deep…)

Thank you!!<3 <3

And yeah, here is this information, i was about to post this until i saw your ask!

—♡—

🪱"Well, Medic was so proud of his creation that he showed her to his teammates when she was just a newborn.

🕊"Many were somewhat disturbed by her appearance, but not enough to be afraid of the poor little Salvia (the truly terrifying thing is Medic's god complex)..."

🎀 "Scout thought she was a pretty creepy baby, but Heavy elbowed him to make him stop talking."

"Uh, hey doc, ya know, ya did somethin' there. She's, uh, interestin' lookin', but, uh, hey, she's... adorable, I guess? Yeah, kinda odd, but, uh, heh, definitely somethin'..."

🐇 "Heavy and Engineer liked to carry her sometimes, but Medic didn't let Pyro do it for safety reasons, though they would've loved to. Spy kept pondering the consequences of this..."

🧸 "Engineer gave her a porcelain doll as gift."

🪶 "Salvia doesn't remember this times, so, she stay hidden and feels afraid of show herself to them."

[judasrpc]

TIPS FOR WRITING COMBAT, TACTICS, AND / OR FIELD MEDICINE SCENARIOS

Saw a post that made me think about this, so I wanted to share some resources and online profiles I had around writing things such as combat, tactical operations, and / or field medicine! Plus my Call of Duty fixation is in full swing fjslfjdslfj

Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional, nor am I someone who has served in the military or law enforcement in any capacity. Some topics may be unsettling/disturbing, so please take care in reading.

This isn't as organized as I'd like it to be, but I did my best to make it fairly easy to navigate.

Doc Combat [TikTok] - A collection of videos focused around administering Tactical Combat Casualty Care (TCCC).

Tactical Combat Casualty Care Quick Reference Guide, First Edition (2017) [PDF] - A handbook published by the U.S. Government and military detailing basic management, what to do in scenarios, and how to address varying types of wounds.

Protocols for Common Injuries from Police Weapons [Archive] - A guide detailing various injuries that can be collected from police/military weapons and how to attend to them.

Organizing Armed Defense in America [Archive] - A guide on how to establish security and defense measures, as well as a list of equipment often used in militia groups.

FEMA Independent Study Courses [Website] - An extensive collection of free (yes, free) courses provided by the Federal Emergency Management Agency, which covers so many topics, such as Hazardous Materials, Active Shooting, Community Emergency Response, Fire Safety, and more! You can save any information provided in the course(s) you choose, as it's all public access.

Writing (US) Government Clearances [Tumblr] - A small guide on how to navigate government clearances.

TM 31-210 Improvised Munitions Handbook [Archive] - Pretty self-explanatory, but an archive of documents showing how improvised munitions are made.

The US Military Manual Collection [Archive] - A collection of US manuals published by the United States Army's Army Publishing Directorate.

Remember, all of this information is publicly accessible! I seriously cannot recommend using archival websites enough, especially since Google (and other search engines) manipulate what appears first with every search.

Also, I am not responsible for what y'all do with this info. Read responsibly, and stay frosty!

[tf2-plus2]

RED Team all lounged outside in lighter combat clothing, waiting for the next mission or wave of BLU attacks. It was still summer, still hot.

"Ach... We need a break from this heat..." Medic whined.

"Ice cream," Soldier nodded, "Good, American, ice cream."

"I rather agree. A nice cold treat on such a hot day after fighting sounds perfect."

"There's a shoppe on the edge of Teufort that also has sodas."

Everyone turned back to look at Assassin, who hardly ever spoke up. She had her mask down for once, and raised an eyebrow at everyone before they looked away.

"What?"

"Well. Ya never really. Talk much," Engineer murmured, "Ya just sorta... stand there and add to the strategy or nod."

"...... You keep telling me I need to open up more. Don't act so shocked when it finally starts working."

Everyone shrugged and nodded and Sniper stood up, "Right. Pre'-y sure I'm th' only one with a truck big enough for all us. Pile in, an' let's get a treat."

The team followed him with a small chorus of agreement and debates on which flavor was better.

[jermer10]

hi! Would it be okay if you did a weapon kink scenario with medic like the other ones? If you're okay with requests right now! /nf

TF2 medic having a male s/o with a weapon kink

18+ only, male reader | i actually intended for medic to be apart of the original post, so here's what i had written for him! thanks for the ask anon!!

tw: sexual content, weapon play kink, implied necrophilia, murder

drabbles under the cut :P

- anyone with a brain and one eye could tell Medic had unconventional kinks - most were disturbed by this, resulting in his sexual encounters becoming very unsatisfying, and very limited - until he met you. the way you gasped and groped at the operating table as he attempted to extract a stray bullet hole in your chest was....distracting.. - distracting enough that he had to adjust his painfully stiff cock each time he looked at you, never mind the whorish noises you were producing - it all became too much when he had stabbed a bit too deep with the scalpel and you had mewled his name. not 'Medic', not 'doc', 'Ludwig.' - that was all it took for him to climb onto the operating table, dropping his equipment onto the white linoleum floors in the process - he was on top of you, holding the instrument to your neck with a crazed look in his eyes - "i apologize, meine liebe, but you vere teasing me too much. let me do zhis, please." you could feel blood dribbling down your neck, and something stirred in you. the knife was a threat, sure, but the unbearable feeling of fear was more of a turn on - "fuck, Medic, i'm sorry, i didn't mean to turn you on, i just- i-" he shushed you by pulling your pants down, your half chub disappearing and leaving an erection in it's place - he grasped at your left side, his right hand occupied with maintaining a strong grip on the scalpel, unrelenting and violently, he lifted you by your hips, lining his dick with your entrance - waves of pleasure washed over you both as he entered, the blade slowly cutting into your skin, beads of red dripping onto the infirmary's bed, Medic lapping up the sweat and blood coating your neck - your throat was hoarse, you were a slut, bouncing on Medic's cock like a good boy, a string of precum leaked from your length onto your stomach - he grew close, embarrassingly quickly, and with one swift movement he plunged the knife into your right carotid artery, you flailed around in distress, struggling to breathe, bringing Medic to climax from the sensation - you awoke in the respawn machine three minutes later, naked, confused, and covered in blood "what happened?"

[hellcifrogs]

There is the trope with doctors being the scariest thing if they get angry. Because of all the knowledge they have about the body.

What are your medic OCs like when they are pissed off and where would you put them in a 1-10 scale where 1 "Eh... ok doc..." and 10 is "Holy shit! I'm gonna die..."?

How convenient that I have (currently) exactly 10 official medic ocs in the Junko AU (these ones). I ranked them by imagining how they'd deal with troublesome patients.

The nice doctors:

1 - Petro is the least scary and most patient of the bunch, you'd need to break serious hospital safety rules, disturb the staff AND insult his sister to actually get him angry enough to be scary.

2 - Dante is also very very calm and controlled most of the time, but can also be strict in making sure his patients are safe and well cared.

3 - Kyouharu learned everything from Dante, he's so pleasant and kind to everyone that most people forget he's also a taijutsu master, and will use force to get things in order. He'll just go back to smiling right away so usually people only get shocked and confused, but not really scared.

4 - Diane tries not to scare people and be very gentle, but they're not exactly a trained doctor and will remind anyone that they're doing them a favor by helping treat them and can stop and leave anytime (Most likely won't, but activating the byakugan doesn't help soften the threat).

5 - Yuriko doesn't care about being sweet and polite to her patients, she's used to healing people in the battlefield and will get straight to the point when needed. She can be quite forceful and intimidating if anyone gets in the way of her work.

The scary doctors:

6 - Irene has a temper and her being scary when angry is just who she is. The fact that she does have medical knowledge without being properly trained only adds to it, but not many people actually know about that.

7 - Junko is not a doctor, she was introduced to the basics of it by Kyouharu, but overall she's not the best option to heal someone. And that's probably what makes her scarier, because if she's using what she knows, she's not using it to heal you.

8 - Suzuyasu is naturally intimidating, the rumors and gossip don't help his case. He can be scary on purpose and, like Yuriko, has been in far too many battlefields to know when to be forceful. All that aside he's a skilled doctor and is even great with children.

9 - Neno is neither a doctor nor here to treat you. She's only interested in poisons and if someone decided you're her patient, then you're in for some uncomfortable time, at best. She might actually get hired by the torture and interrogation team one day.

10 - Vera is probably the last person you'd want to find strapping you to a hospital bed. She doesn't need to get angry to be scary, much less if you know who she is. Traitor, assassin, crazy doctor... basically, you'll need to be tied down not to run away.

[mail-me-a-snail]

do you think red and blu teams prefer different weapons? ive been thinking about how red demo probably has the eyelander but blu doesnt, and stuff like that. It seems like their preferred playstyle would probably differ over time? like I think the red medic would stay very pocket medic while blu medic might pick up the quick fix or kritzkrieg and spread heals around more

also like. the two teams starting identical but changing more and more. i think it’d make some people on red uncomfortable on a subconcious level to realize that their counterparts aren’t fighting like them anymore

oh definitely i agree! personally, im of the mind that both demos use the eyelander and often get into duels (they have a rather friendly rivalry with one another, compared to other reds with their blus)

i also agree with red being more of a pocket! he pockets heavy, mostly, unsurprisingly ehe. blu and scout are a common pair you can spot on the battlefield as scout frequently lets the doc latch onto him to get out of tight situations.

it is a given that blu team would be becoming different people in their own rights considering that the circumstances of their being together are wildly different than that of red team's; some people on red were disturbed by this progress, others are more delighted. a very rare few saw this coming--that same rare few that knows that blu team is made of people who can grow like they can

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

Fit for a King - WIP - "Let me patch you up"

Fit for a King - Masterlist

König and FMC just came back from a mission that went well, but FMC got hurt as they were trying to help one of the other operators. (random chapter in the König x FMC fanfiction, not chronological)

CW: bullet wound, some medical stuff, NSFW, explicit scenes 18+, slight tension & angst

a/n: I just keep writing, we'll see what will come out of it (this got way more angsty than I anticipated it to be)

(NSFW - explicit sex scenes - later in the chapter)

Medic ward:

"Are you sure, you're okay?" I can hear the worry in his voice, even if he seems to try and hold back. "Yes, I already said it thrice. ‘T’is but a scratch." I smile up at him hesitatingly, ignoring the pulsating pain in my thigh. The Monty Python quote is lost on him anyways. His brows are furrowed as he's looking down at me. He doesn't believe me. I sigh when he suddenly whips his head to the side.

"Doktor*, can I patch her up?" Before I can protest, Doc already put the first aid case in his hand. "Knock yourself out, as long as you do it somewhere else, Colonel." He looks at him like a father who has a child with bad temper tantrums on his hands, but König – as always – is oblivious to that. "Thanks, Herr Doktor*.", he says with a pep in his tone. Then he picks me up and carries me out the medic ward. "König, I can walk. The others are gonna see…", I protest, weakly, but I do protest. "Shut it, Mauserl**.", he throws back at me, clipped. "You should have never been there." I sulk a bit, but I know he’s right. "Should have, would have. How do you say? Hätte hätte Fahrradkette***?", I say between clenched teeth. My wound is still seeping blood into the fabric of my pants and now on König's shirt.

He carries me with ease in just one hand, with the other still holding the case. His long legs make huge strides down the hall, heading to the dorms, but as we pass my room, I get that he’s carrying me to his. “König…” He doesn’t look at me, just shakes his head. “Don’t.” I know him well enough already, that I can sense the distress emanating off him. Making it hard for him to say what he’s really feeling. He opens up the door to his room. I mean, it’s smart, we’ll be alone here, but it might also raise suspicions if the team gets wind of it. He sets me down on his bed and turns on the bedside lamp. “Hold still.”, he says and gets all the stuff out to dress my wound. Before I even see what he’s doing, he’s already cut my pants off. “What are you doing?!”, I scream at him. “That’s how you do this. Stop fretting.” His Austrian accent is as strong as ever. I don’t listen to what he’s saying, everything being too much. “You didn’t need to cut it off, we could’ve just-“ I move again, I can’t even sit-

“STAY STILL.”, he shouts and his hands grip me, gripping my waist, almost reaching around, as he pushes me down on the bed. I still because he never – NEVER – shouted at me like that before. My mouth stands open, I look up at him. He sighs, deep and desperate, and I hear his voice wavering as he puts his forehead against mine and says: “Please… just let me patch you up.” I feel his hood falling against my face and his warm and comforting smell cuts through the stench of blood and sweat. “Okay”, I breathe. His hand caresses over my cheek as he nods. “Gut****” He sits back on his knees and the room is immersed in silence.

He takes the disinfectant and cleans the area around the wound of the graze shot. The small noises and our intermingled breaths are all I hear. I feel his hands on my naked legs and the pulse in my wound quickens. “It didn’t stop bleeding.”, I whisper as I don’t want to disturb the quiet we’ve sunk into. “Hmm.”, is all he says before he presses a bandage against it. The bloods seeps through again and stains his fingers even more. “I’m gonna have to give you stitches, Liebes*****.”, he murmurs. I nod and he gets the needle and thread ready. “You have to stay still, okay?”, he orders me. “Hold onto me.” I grab his arm, the one not stitching me up, and as the needle sinks into my skin, I gasp dragging my nails into his muscles. “Yes, you’re doing so well for me.”, he whispers as he caresses my other thigh, preparing for the next stitch. I press my lips together, not to make any sounds. When he’s done, he puts a bandage over it to secure the stitched-up wound.

König sighs like there’s a huge weight falling off him and he meets my eyes again. The raw emotions in them scare me a bit. “Are you okay?”, I ask him as I put my hand on his cheek. He doesn’t answer my question but pulls me to the edge of the bed. “I need to be inside you. Please.” His hands trail up my inner thigh until he reaches my panties. The surprise hits me as he leans forward, his hood brushes over my skin and then I feel his lips on my neck. Soft kisses trail up to my ear and need settles in, low in my belly. “I need to feel you.”, he whispers, his hot breath skitting over the wet patches of his open-mouthed kisses, as he carefully pulls down my undies. He holds me close to him which gives me the opportunity to undo his belt. He nibbles at my neck and sucks on the sensitive spot, right below my ear, as I take out his dick and position him at my wetness. He doesn’t hesitate one bit, pushing into me slowly. A soft moan falls from my lips as I stretch around him. “Fuck.”, he mutters, burying himself in me. He’s still holding me close, not moving at all for a few seconds. I grip his sides, letting my nails sink into his back, as I adjust to his size and wonder if I’ll ever get used to it.

All the other times it had been fast. Passionate. Entangled limbs and hard thrusts until my legs gave out and I couldn’t move anymore. The other kind of human battering ram, if you catch my drift, because König fucks just like he fights. Putting the ‘insertion’ and the ‘specialist’ into ‘insertion specialist’. I was used to him jerking me on his cock how he liked it and me just taking it like a good girl, that I was completely… at a loss for words. Seeing him kneel before me, buried deep inside me, fucking me with lazy, languid strokes, while his hands are caressing my back, stroking over my sides softly. This is different. Slow, tender. Almost lovingly.

“You feel so good.”, he tells me. “But…” I halt. “But what?” – “I want to kiss you.”, he whispers. Okay, so this is definitely different from all the hasty stolen moments we had together so far. Even when he ate me out, he didn’t remove his cover, so I actually never saw his face before, except for his eyes. “We can do that.” I swallow down my nerves. “Should I lift your… mask?”, I ask him. He nods and my shaky hands reach for the hem of the hood, slowly pulling up, stopping right over his mouth. I look down, seeing the curve of his lips beneath the fabric as he leans forward. My hand cups his right cheek and I feel his stubble against my fingertips when he kisses me for the first time. His lips press against mine. Soft, so soft, in contrast to his big burly figure. He breaks away for just a moment, his eyes searching mine. König sees something in them that seems to satisfy him and he leans down again. I answer his kiss as a moan slips over my lips, giving him the chance to deepen it.

When his tongue moves against mine, he starts to push into me again. Tingles erupt all over my body and even if it’s not hard and fast like I’d normally prefer, the way he’s holding me, kissing me, fucking me is building up my arousal with every languid roll of his hips. I don’t think I had somebody ever do me like this before and I feel a pang of… some kind of emotion in my chest that I’d rather not dwell on right now. I push it away and concentrate on König again.

I want to feel him close, closer, my other hand, currently not on his face, is trailing up his back, feeling his warm body beneath my fingertips. He pulls me flush against him, picking up a little bit in tempo. Our movements are getting needier and I grind against him, not breaking the kiss, so he swallows up all my sounds and sighs. “Please, Liebes*****.”, he whispers against my lips. “Come for me.” His fingers trail down, finding my clit, stroking at the same pace, repeating his plea. The flood of arousal washes over me as he fills me up again and I can’t hold back the soft scream that escapes me as I come around his dick. I feel him tremble beneath me, coming inside me as the waves of my orgasm subside. All I hear are our intertwined heavy breaths as I still try to grasp what just really happened.

König pulls back, kissing me one more time, then the hood falls back down again. He puts his dick away and buckles his belt before he raises his hand one more time. His thumbs caresses over my cheek, I can feel his fingers on the side of my face. “For a second today, I was afraid that I lost you.” His voice is a whisper, almost soundless. His words hit me, like a punch to the stomach, I didn’t expect him to say anything about it, to feel this way. Before I can answer, he gets up and for the first time I register that he is still fully clothed, stains of blood all over his shirt, mine and the enemies. His tattooed forearms and hands are bloody. We didn’t even wash off the remnants of the fight before we fucked. The tender moments form a stark contrast against the blood and violence. The 6’10’’ killing machine standing in front of me whose hands can rip enemies apart, but I only know the pleasure they give me, how they caress me, how they patched me up today,

“Where are you going?”, I ask him as I look up at him. He looks down on the floor and I can see him shutting down a bit. “I just wanna get some workout done.”, he says finally. “You can stay here, get some rest.” With long strides he’s at the door. “I’m gonna be back… soon. Okay, Mauserl**?” I nod as light from the hallway streams into the room, then the door closes, he’s gone and I’m alone in his bed. I lie down, ignoring the wet sensation between my legs of our combined fluids. I grab the covers and pull them over me. The soft light still illuminates the room and I bask in König’s smell, the blanket and the warm glow giving me the comfort that the man himself couldn’t right now.

Translations: *Herr Doktor: 'Mister doctor', polite salutation for a doctor in german **Mauserl: more austrian version of small mouse ***Hätte hätte, Fahrradkette: a silly german way to say 'what happened, happened, can't do nothing about it now' ****gut: 'good' *****Liebes: 'my love'