#reader x medic

[respawned-dove]

hi!! could I rq medic with an extremely masochistic reader? =^.^=

getting surgery with no anesthesia and having someone just touch and rearrange and just play with ur organs seems like the most intimate thing ever to me teehee

Medic time, oorah! Please enjoy, I love the chance to write gore.

Medic x gn! Reader, Erotic Surgery

CW/TW: medical horror, blood, organs, unsanitary, surgery, cannibalism, slight dehumanization, general medical talk CW, death mention, graphic descriptions of gore

The operating theatre is dimly lit by just the setting sun outside, and the room smells so soaked through with blood that a leech would turn up its nose. The sterile green and white tile around you is stark in contrast. Your breathing fills your own ears, slightly ragged. The IV in your arm pumps you full of drugs that keep you well awake and aware and the pain is all-consuming, even with the small amount of opiates in your bloodstream. Not that you mind that. Speaking of your IV, Medic pauses to check on it, pulling back from the single deep cut along your chest and stomach to ensure the line is seated deep inside the back of your hand.

He catches your gaze and tuts at you, his lips curling into a smile. "Ouwww, is the pain too much already? Your eyes are so wide." His gloved hand comes towards your eye and holds the lids open for him to gaze in to. "Your pupil too, for that matter." He checks the other one, his top lip protruding outward as he focuses. Your other pupil matches, so he sees no cause for concern, humming with interest. "Tell me, how do you feel?"

"G-good. Bad?" You pull in a breath and stare down at the glistening blood leaking from the wound in you, entranced. "I don't know."

"So much for being a masochist then!" he teases, tugging at your cheek, leaving blood stains in his wake. "Don't be such a baby. We have just started after all."

The blade touches your skin again, along the same lines, deeper now. A moan leaves your lips, pleasure blooming from every blood-soaked line he cuts through you. You can't help squirming underneath him, and his gloves pat your thigh.

"You must be still, mein Tier. I need to have a steady blade!" You squeak as he drags the blade along the underside of your flesh, a noise that quickly turns into a heated groan and blood wells up that he doesn't even bother to wipe away. Medic chuckles as his hand pulls away your layers of skin to expose your guts beneath. If the Medigun was not trained on you, you probably would be in much more pain, and even with the blinding white hot feeling filling your mind, you're tempted to beg him to move it away.

"More..." you beg, voice quiet.

"What was that?" he says, comically holding up a bloody hand to his ear as though trying to amplify your gasping voice. "I can't hear you, you are bleeding too loudly!" You're too lost in sensation to reply to his teasing, so he turns back to your open stomach cavity. "Mmm... so viele Goodies in here!" His hand plunges into the wet, warm innards of your body, his face flushing over top a wide grin of excitement. A loud, choked moan leaves you, your eyes snapping wide open as your body jolts, trying to reject the intrusion. But it can't, and he knows that, and it serves to make him more excited.

Medic's breath is heavy as he grasps your lower intestines, and all but rips through the membrane holding it together, pulling them out like a string of yarn. Bloody, gory yarn. "Holy shit," you cry, the feeling of your body cavity being emptied making you grit your teeth. You look down to him to find him staring down at your guts in his hands, eyes wide as his smile. More of a snarl actually. "Medic-?"

Before you can inquire properly, Medic's teeth sink into the disgusting organ in front of him, uncaring of cleanliness. You cry out, still able to feel it, the blinding sparks that it sends through your body. Fists gripping into your own hands so hard it leaves imprints of your nails, you shudder and slump onto the metal table.

"Sehr lecker..." Medic says, voice small and breathless, eyes wild. He pushes his glasses up and laughs. "Aheh. My apologies! I got carried away." He glances over your flushed face and aroused body, and smirks. "Not that you seem to care. Filthy thing."

That sentence overtakes your brain. Filthy. You are filthy, getting off on this. But the fact that Medic not only doesn't care, but is also into it, only makes the degradation hotter. You are both filthy, disgusting, and you are together.

Medic's hands wander to your liver and kidneys, groping the organs in a way that sends flashes of red across your whole being. Your kidney squishes in his hand, seeping gore around his fingers. The Medigun doesn't stop your body from feeling like it's dying, and as blood and viscera pours out of your crushed organs, you feel closer to death than even a respawn. In the haze of pain and chemicals overwhelming your brain you look down at his face, and only one thought crosses your half present mind. "You look so beautiful like that, doc."

Medic laughs, almost cooing like a dove in the sound of it. "Well thank you! You look very, very nice like this too, Tier." He reaches over and checks your IV again. "Hoo, you are running out of that fast! Your blood just eats up any drug I give you. Well, it may have to do with how much you are losing. Eh, no matter!" He adjusts his glasses again, blood smearing on his nose. "I need to get you new kidneys, aheh, I may have crushed yours too much."

That's the last sentence you properly process, as the drugs in you begin to wear off as they finally fully seep out with your blood, sending you slowly into unconsciousness.

You wake up to Medic tapping your cheeks, drawing you out of the blackness. Your body feels better, though it aches and feels wrong inside of you. Lord only knows what manner of organs are inside of you now, knowing how much Medic likes to experiment. He's saying something that you can't yet hear through the ringing in your ears. "What..?" you say dizzily.

"I said wie geht's, how are you feeling!"

You try to have the brain power to consider it, but you lost a lot of blood. "Tired," is all you can offer. Looking down, your stomach wound is closed up completely, with the help of both stitches and the Medigun. Looking slightly further down, you find one of Medic's birds picking at your stitches. Medic follows your gaze and shoos it away, a nettled scoff leaving him at its audacity.

"Birds," he laughs to you. "Here, komm hier." He holds out a hand to you, a strong arm helping you sit up. You groan in pain as your stomach bends. But it certainly isn't unattractive.

You grin at him with slightly gritted teeth, feeling warmth pooling inside you again as you think about what you just did. You wrap your arms around his shoulders flirtatiously, sighing. "Medic, you have got to hurt me like that more often."

He smiles at you, hands already grabbing at you again. "It would be not only my pleasue to, mein Schatz, but yours too."

[reaping-the-benefits]

Imagine you're the medic assigned to the task force. You're not some dainty little thing. You're snappy and will drag them by the ears if you have to. You're constantly getting into arguments with Price because he won't listen to you when all you're trying to do is help him.

Anyway, the rest of the team has bets on how long its going to take before you two finally fuck. Gaz gives y'all another month. Soap says two weeks. Ghost thinks that you've already done it.

Now, imagine how mad Gaz and Soap are, both giving Ghost 50 quid each when Price casually drops that not only do you have sex on the regular, but you've been married for the last five years.

[twistedgameswewrite]

I need to tear that man apart with my teeth(/pos)

[wh0re4elliewilliams]

WHY DID THEY CUT ME OUT OF THE FRAME?!

[kazumist]

HANDLE WITH CARE .ᐟ

✩ — in which soshiro hoshina finds himself getting treated by his favorite nurse, you.

✩ — includes: soshiro hoshina x gn!reader. fluff. cw: mentions of blood and injuries, inaccurate use of medical terms ?? sorry i just used google uhm. wc: 990. established (secret !!!) relationship. reblogs and feedback are much appreciated !!

✩ — note: i became obsessed with these two that i might just write a part two of reader treating him after the tachikawa base raid arc actually.

soshiro hoshina does not play favorites.

when it comes to his subordinates, at least.

when it comes to the medical team assigned to the tachikawa base, however, that is when he plays favorites (though you would never see the vice captain of the third division actually admit that; he prefers calling it his “preferences”). whenever he finds himself in the base’s infirmary, he will always look for you. and when he’s lucky, which on most occasions he is, then he’ll have you treat his wounds. it’s just something that hoshina has grown accustomed to whenever he finds himself there. nothing more, nothing less (a lie).

you were a special case for the vice captain. there was just something about the way you handled his wounds compared to others. call it picky, but he just prefers the gentle treatment that you give his wounds. (how come hoshina constantly prefers to be treated by you when others would treat him the same? isn't that part of your job in the first place?)

(the answer is simple—it’s simply an act of soshiro hoshina asking for some quality time, even if he’s all bruised and bloody.)

“i’m almost convinced that you do this on purpose sometimes.”

soshiro simply grins at you. you weren’t entirely wrong—but it’s not like hoshina asks himself to get hurt when he goes out on missions in the first place. he could handle himself pretty well; he has the high position of being the vice captain of the third division, for christ’s sake. but perhaps it is inevitable that even the vice captain would come out of a mission unscathed.

“i like the concern from you.”

you give him a lighthearted eyeroll, to which he only grins even wider. "i'm sure you do," yet that grin slowly dissipated as he winced slightly at the feeling of the alcohol touching the wound near his eyebrow. “sorry, did that hurt too much?” you asked him, worried that it might’ve stung too much for his liking. this type of close proximity was normal for you and him. after all, it’s not like this is the first time your face was this close to his—though those are times when hoshina feels rather affectionate with you rather than in pain due to some wound he got.

“nothing i can’t handle, love.” he says, recovering quite fast from the alcohol sting. he was then met with a gentle tap on the lips—hoshina knows it was a warning from you. “watch your words, vice captain.” you say, applying a small gauze pad to his wound and securing it with paper tape.

“can’t really help it when you look so pretty up close, sweetheart.”

you ignored his remark but soshiro could see the smile that tugged on your lips at the petname. you then moved on to his next wound, which is on his left shoulder. his expression softens as he watches you inspect his wound, a small amount of guilt bubbling up inside of him. “this is gonna need a little stitch,” you sighed, grabbing another cotton ball, pouring the right amount of alcohol on it, and preparing to gently dab it on the wound. “and this might hurt a bit again.” you give him a heads up.

“like i said, it’s nothing that i can’t handle,” he reassured. whether it’s you he’s reassuring or himself to convince himself, neither of you really know. he hissed slightly when the cotton ball came into contact with his skin; it was barely even heard that he hissed in the first place. but you noticed it; you always do. you would notice everything about the man before you and he would do the same.

after cleaning his shoulder wound, you proceeded to prepare to stitch it up. there was no one else in the infirmary at the moment; it was now only you and hoshina there. he silently watched you as you quickly arranged the surgical suture. and even when you started the stitching, the deafening silence was still comfortable. 

soshiro gently raised his right arm since it was uninjured and used his hand to smoothly tuck your other strands of hair behind your ear. you looked at him, raising an eyebrow at his gesture. he smiles at you in return. “your hair might get in the way. we don’t want my stitches to have your hair stuck in them now, don't we?”

you quickly finish up the stitch and put gauze on top as well. “i’m sorry.” soshiro’s apology is as genuine as it always is whenever he gets treated in this same room. “i’m starting to feel quite better now, though. couldn’t do it without my favorite nurse.” he continues, as he grabs ahold of your unoccupied hand.

he hears you chuckle at his words as you interlock your fingers together. “avoid arduous training or activities for a good one week and you’ll be good as new.” you said, sighing as now you’re finally done with treating your boyfriend. “eh? no fair. i have to go help the rookies train the day after tomorrow.”

“i’m sure captain ashiro would let you off the hook in the meantime, soshiro.”

“oh, we’re on a first name basis now?” he asks, and this time it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. you bring your other hand up to his cheek, caressing it as your thumb grazes his cheek bone. he leans into your palm as if it were a reflex. “we’ve always been on a first name basis, dummy.” you say.

“maybe all of my pain could go away if you just gave me a little kiss, you know, as your vice captain.”

“now that’s just abuse of authority. do you ask other nurses for a kiss too?” you pouted.

“that’s why your my favorite nurse.” he replies, clearly emphasizing the word “favorite” as he steals a kiss from you.

yeah, vice captain soshiro hoshina definitely does not play favorites.

[habitabel]

❗❗❗THIS ISNT HAPPENING ANYMORE IT ALL WENT TO SHIT❗❗❗

GUYS GUYS GUYS

what do I do with myself rn I'm tweaking out I'm gonna rip my skin off what THIS IS EVERYTHING TO ME

Edit❗❗❗ for more info, I have links to the discord, Twitter, and the official team lovetress website on my page! It's pinned at the top <3 the discord requires you to share a picture of your ID because I guess the game might have nsfw themes or maybe the discord does?? Not too sure but yeah just a warning!! Also, it's been brought to my attention that cabbage (the artist shown here) has stepped away from this project!! I'll share the tweet from cabbage here v

(ily @ncalabby )

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Short Stories: Not the Same

Yandere Surgeon x Ex-Fiancée Fem Reader

TW: medical malpractice, horror, obsession, yanderre themes, unhealthy behaviors, blood, gore, murder, etc.

A loud, frustrated scream ripped through Darius’s throat before various surgical instruments clattered to the floor. This experiment had been yet another failure…

“You’re supposed to sweetly ask me how my day is!” Darius screamed at his patient who held their arms over their head in a fetal position.

“I-I didn’t know-“ The patient screamed when Darius stomped his foot into their back side over the fresh incisions. Loud, pained wails left the patient’s throat as they crumbled to the floor. Apologies bubbled through their throat.

“She would have never made such a mistake…” Darius sighed as he turned to his scalpel. That’s right, his darling fiancée would have gave him a big smile and rushed into his arms… she’d never be so uncouth.

Darius grasped a scalpel from off the floor, his gray eyes reflected off the shiny surface. There was only one way to fix such a grave mistake he’s made…

Darius swung his fist into the patient, the scalpel now deeply imbedded into their eye socket. One last, pathetic wail left their lips before they laid in a pool of their own blood on the once pristine floor in a grotesque halo.

Darius rubbed the small bit of blood that splattered on his face with disgust. This wasn’t the same… it wasn’t her. This failure of an experiment could never compare to his perfect fiancée… his (your name).

“I wonder when you’ll come back to me…” Darius softly whispered to himself, his eyes studied the pool of blood in disinterest. “How many more of your little dates do I have to mutilate and dispose of until you become mine again?”

Darius thought for a moment before he studied the corpse’s ears in interest. Maybe he should send his beloved a little present? That should get the ball rolling.

Darius yanked the scalpel out of the patient’s eye before he sucked in a breath. This was all for her own good… he’d make her see that he was the best choice. By force.

[charliemwrites]

Guilty By Association Commission from the very sweet and patient @soleilak

You (Callsign: Giggles, Gigs for short) are a medic on temporary assignment with the 141. The only problem? You're a former member of Graves' Shadow Company.

Content: Injury, angst, power imbalance, fingering and oral (reader receiving)

“Get your arse in gear, Gigs!”

Already exhausted and aching, the rough bark of your temporary captain urges your heavy feet faster. Gunfire sprays all around – you’re so addled you can’t tell if it’s enemy or friendly. All you know are your orders, a cry of survival in the uneven pounding of your heart. A bullet plows into the ground dangerously close to your foot.

Just a few meters ahead, Gaz curses and tumbles to the ground, hat lost. It’s not even a decision to alter your course. You can’t tell instantly what the damage is; if he’s been hit or just tripped. So you tuck and dive, grabbing an arm and leg as your back rolls across his chest. The momentum gets the two of you up and moving again, adrenaline taking the edge off his weight.

“Get us to the trees and I can run again!” he shouts in your ear.

You settle your blurry vision on the forest line ahead. Blessed cover – and your extraction point just a mile further. Goal set, you push through the pain of bruised ribs, a wrenched arm, and the ricochet of a bullet across your thigh. You wheeze your way well past the tree line, weaving between trunks until Kyle’s palm smacks at your side.

“We’re good, we’re good,” he says.

You grunt as you set him down, give him the quickest onceover in the history of medics. His calf is bleeding, just above the tops of his boots. It’s an ugly wound; it’ll need packing – but he can survive until exfil.

“Where the fuck are you two?!” Price growls through your headset.

Kyle pats your shoulder and takes off again, only the slightest limp indicating his injury. You grit your teeth and try to follow his example.

No one helps you into the chopper when you’re the last on the ladder. You’re not surprised, but it still stings. Salt on the day’s wounds.

Once the heli is up in the air, you scoot over to help Kyle with the wound on his calf. It’s almost hypnotic, the press-wind-press-wind of packing the deep gouge. Almost like unspooling your own tension through the care of a teammate. Every inch of bandage seems to amplify your own pains, though, as the mission high ebbs.

You hurt.

When Kyle’s done, you sit back a bit to assess him for any other wounds. The twitch of his mouth and slight bob of his head tells you he’s sorted, though – and it’s more thanks than you usually get.

“Where the hell were you?” Price demands.

“I got held up, sir,” you admit. Had been ambushed by two men you thought were on another floor. Bad luck, that. Or just poor preparation on your part. Your side twinges as you ease yourself into a seat. “Won’t happen again.”

Price grunts, mollified. “See that it doesn’t.”

You get maybe thirty seconds of peace before Soap’s voice cuts through the tentative peace.

“Gonnae take care o’ that or keep bleedin’ all over Nik’s seat?” he teases. Or at least it would be, if not for the sharp glint in his eyes.

What’s that saying about sins of the father? Well, Phillip Graves was definitely not your father, nor was General Shepherd – though he was old enough to be. In their absence, it seems you’re paying for their crimes regardless.

“Right,” you sigh, tearing off the bottom of your shirt, “sorry, Nik.”

“Just stay alive to clean it up, eh?” he replies jovially.

It’s not much of a joke, but you laugh anyway. You don’t live up to your callsign much nowadays, so you’ll take the levity when you can.

You tie off the makeshift bandage with a grunt and lean your head back, too uncomfortable to doze off.

At least the infirmary is a friendly sight. The staff are always grateful for an extra set of hands – even if they once belonged to a Shadow. And you have a lot of time to help since you’re not encouraged (never mind invited) to any non-professional activities with the 141. Working with the nurses during all that extra time has gained you some friends at least.

Dana is on call when you limp in. She fusses about you looking like the walking dead – then goes on to tell regale you with details from her current first-time watch of the show. The stream of words soothes you in the quiet little treatment room.

“Think we need an x-ray, dove?” she asks, prodding at your already discolored ribs.

“Wouldn’t help,” you sigh, “we can just wrap ‘em and call it.”

“Alright, dear, but you know what to do if it gets worse.”

“’Course,” you answer, summoning a grin, “can’t be keelin’ over before your nephew leaves that tart.”

“Oh, don’t even get me started – you know what she said at Sunday dinner?”

You giggle through her undoubtedly embellished story until she gets to your thigh – and the terrible bandaging.

“A piece of your shirt,” she scolds.

“My bag was too far, and my ribs hurt,” you complain.

“And what are all those big burly men for then, eh?” she huffs.

You shake your head. “I can’t ask them to help.”

Dana scowls past your hip. “Just because you’re the medic—”

“Pardon.”

You jolt in surprise at Captain Price in the doorway. Christ, he takes up the breadth of it too, shoulders brushing the jamb on either side. Even mission-dirty and stern-looking, he’s a hell of a welcome sight – though an unexpected one.

You try to sit up at some semblance of attention, but he waves you off. Can’t say you’re not grateful, unable to help wincing as you lie back.

You don’t notice him pause as Dana washes the wound, too busy sucking air through your nose.

“What’s… the damage?” he asks carefully.

You open your mouth to answer, but Dana beats you to it.

“Contused ribs, sprained shoulder, and a bullet wound to the thigh,” she rattles off. You’re always impressed by the undercurrent of disapproval and accusation she manages to weave into each word. “Not to mention dehydration and sleep deprivation. You’ve been staying up again, haven’t you?”

You clear your throat and turn your eyes skywards. “Oh, look at the ceiling. What a lovely ceiling.”

She clicks her tongue and begins packing the wound as you had for Gaz.

“Bullet wound?” Price asks sharply. Your eyes flick guiltily to him. “Why the hell am I hearing about this now?”

“It’s just a graze, sir,” you reply. “Sergeant Garrick’s was worse.”

His jaw does that thing you secretly (ashamedly) drool over, where it tightens and jumps. You know it’s not good but hey, silver linings right?

He doesn’t ream you out though. Just crosses his burly arms and lets out a long, heavy breath. You’re… not really sure what that means.

“Debrief at 0700 tomorrow, Gigs,” he says, voice unusually subdued.

“Yessir,” you reply dutifully.

As always, a strange mix of relief and disappointment twists in your chest as he walks away. Talking to him is a bit like being under a microscope – if that microscope was ready to brand you a low-down, no-good, dirty, rotten traitor at the first hint of suspicious activity.

You get it, you do. Graves and Shadow Company tried to kill Soap and Ghost, Los Vaqueros, and committed unspeakable atrocities. As much history as you had with him, he deserved what came to him, and Shepherd will deserve the same when he’s found.

Not that your hands were clean before Las Almas, but you drew the line when the orders came. Couldn’t bear to detain or shoot the friends you’d made in Los Vaqueros, or join the hunting party for Soap and Ghost. You’d been labelled a turncoat by your own teammates, thrown into a cell to be “court-martialed.”

Kate Laswell coming to your rescue was a second chance, a small-time miracle that you’ve been determined to earn ever since. In your more pathetic moments, usually in the small, dark, lonely hours of sleepless nights, you wonder how much it will take. How long you’ll be guilty by association.

At least this isn’t shaping up to be one of those nights. You’re half asleep by the time Dana sends you off, arm chilly from the IV fluids she bullied you into. For once, you might get a few decent hours.

Your second surprise of the night comes just outside your barracks door. Soap is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, head back and eyes closed. Awake, though. His index finger is tapping a steady but rapid pace on his bicep.

“Soap?” you say, alerting him. “Did you… need me for something? You’re not injured, are you?”

He straightens up, drops his arms to his side. You pause a noticeable distance away, uncertainty leashing you to the safety of space. Not that you feel threatened. His posture is the loosest it’s been around you since… well, since before Las Almas went to hell.

“’Course no’, I woulda – tha’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh…” You process the strange wording. “Why are you here, then?”

He shifts his weight, a little line appearing between his brows as he seems to gather himself.

“I’m here to apologize.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Look, what I said during exfil – it was bang outta order. You’ve been nothin’ but good to us ‘n I’m still holdin’ on to old shite.”

You shift, adjust the stupid flimsy sling for your sore shoulder. “It’s… not that old,” you reason, “and I don’t blame you, either. Not after everything.”

“Still, ya did the right thing back then – and ya’ve proven yourself half a dozen times over, besides. I’ve got no reason to treat you like an enemy.”

You swallow past the lump in your throat. It feels like you’ve swallowed a grenade; any moment the pin is going to come out and an explosion of gory emotion will splatter the walls.

“Thanks, Soap.”

He grunts something about “not thanking him” and ducks his head, shuffling past you.

“Seriously,” you say, voice strained from keeping it even. “I really appreciate it.”

He pauses, gives you a genuinely kind look. “Rest up, lass.”

It’s the best you’ve slept in a long while – after you cry into your pillow, that is.

At 0700 the next day, you’re in Price’s office, sore but in high spirits. Gaz sat next to you and Soap said good morning at breakfast. Even Ghost seemed less frosty than usual, grunting at you in acknowledgement when you’d sat down.

Of course, the good luck couldn’t last.

The debrief itself is fine. You speak when it’s your turn, listen when it isn’t. About as normal as it gets for a special ops squad.

It’s as the rest of the task force is filing out the door that the other shoe drops.

“Gigs, a word,” Price calls.

You freeze mid-step, shoot Gaz a panicky glance. He glances over your shoulder, snorts, and pats your arm in solidarity. Not as helpful as he thinks.

With a deep breath, you pivot back around. The door closes behind you with a damning click. You can’t even hide your hands behind your back to fidget at parade rest – your arm needs to stay in the sling for the rest of the day.

“We need to discuss yesterday,” Price says, palms flat on his desk.

You tilt your head. Wasn’t that what the debrief was for?

“Sir?” you ask. “If I – did I do something wrong?”

He deflates a bit, big shoulders dropping before he pushes himself up and rounds the desk.

“No, you’re not in trouble,” he explains, “but I have concerns.”

When he gestures for you to take one of the visitor seats, you do. You’re a bit surprised when he takes the other – though you can’t help an appreciative glance while his attention is elsewhere. He practically dwarfs the stupid little chair, and the way he spreads his thighs trying to get comfortable…

“Concerns, sir?” you parrot, trying to corral your scrambled braincells.

“What you said in the infirmary,” he begins, expression solemn, “is that really how you feel?”

“What I said…?” You try to recall anything of note from last night, but most of what came out of your mouth is a blur at best. “What did I say?”

He leans forward, lacing his scarred fingers together. You try not to stare, though the way he rubs at the knuckle of one thumb with the other is distracting. It’s an unusual gesture for the disciplined, determined man you’ve been honored to call captain for months now.

“That you can’t ask us to help you.”

A block of ice drops into your stomach.

“That’s not – I know you guys would help me if I needed it,” you hurry to say.

He gives you a long look. “Then why don’t you ever ask? You were shot and didn’t say a bloody thing.”

You shift, unable to meet his eyes. Can’t find the words to answer. It’s not that you didn’t think you could ask. It just didn’t feel right with the bad blood between you, Soap, and Ghost. Besides, you’re the medic, you’re supposed to be the one fixing everyone else – not the other way around. What use are you otherwise?

You try to explain this to Price, but you sense (from the grim set to his handsome features) that it’s not helping.

“I’ve been a shite captain to you, haven’t I?” he sighs.

You jump. “No, sir! You’re a great captain. I trust you with my life.”

He chuckles, but it’s devoid of humor. Sounds almost self-deprecating.

“I’ve not done a bloody thing to earn it.”

You shake your head. “Sir, you’ve kept me alive for months now. That’s plenty.”

Beyond that, he’s always been fair with you. Doesn’t give you shit assignments or the most dangerous roles in missions. Always makes sure you’re alive and accounted for. Calls you out for mistakes and faults, sure, but it’s for the sake of you and everyone else. He’s been just as ready to pat your shoulder for a clever maneuver or praise a good shot.

“You know damn well it’s not,” he scolds.

You huff, almost amused. “Sir, with all due respect, get off the cross we need the wood.”

His eyebrows jump up nearly to his hairline. Normally, you wouldn’t dream of being so cavalier with Price of all people. Soap’s truce last night gives you the confidence to continue.

“I know you didn’t trust me as a former Shadow at first,” you say, “but you looked out for me anyway. After the first few missions… it seemed like things evened out.”

He sighs and sits back, running a hand down his face.

“Laswell vouched for you – it’s the only reason I didn’t send you right back on that plane,” he admits. A small but genuine smile curls his mouth. “And then you put your life on the line for my boys time and time again.”

You mirror him, the tension in your shoulders easing away with each word.

“I knew things weren’t great with the others, but I thought it was best if I kept out of it. Let you lot sort it out so long as you all cooperated when it mattered,” he continues. “I didn’t realize how bad it got, and that’s on me. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head and lightly tap your boot against his. “It wasn’t the wrong call, sir. I think things are going to get better from here on out.”

He hums, eyes searching your gentle smile for any hint of insincerity. But you believe it, and it must show, because his eyes crinkle as he smiles back.

“Speaking of better,” he says, clearing his throat. “Mind if I take a look at those ribs? Dana had some choice words for me this morning.”

You giggle and tug your shirt from your waistband, hiking the hem up high to show the reddish-purple mottling all over your left side. Price makes a noise of sympathy, easing out of his chair to the carpeted floor. On his knees, he inches closer, leaning in to inspect the damage.

“How’d this happen?” he asks, voice lowering.

His fingertips skim over the edges of the bruises, featherlight. Your voice gets strangled in your throat as tingles race across your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Um, hostile kicked me. A lot.”

His eyes flick up to yours, hard as ice. “Dead?”

“Yessir.”

His gaze softens, a proud, smug quirk to his lips. “Atta girl.”

You can’t fully suppress a shiver. It’s not just the gentle, considerate touches. It’s the purring praise from a man you’ve admired and harbored a sizeable crush on.

“Cold?” he asks.

This is your chance to wave it off. To pretend you are not so inappropriately infatuated with a man you thought only tolerated you until a minute ago. A little white lie, you could smooth your shirt back down, and be on your way.

But you don’t want to do that. Not really.

And from the way his pupils are slowly, steadily subsuming his irises, neither does he.

“No, sir,” you whisper.

His slow exhale caresses across your tender ribs.

“Then would you be comfortable if I checked on your ‘little graze’ as well?” It’s a tease, but also a genuine check of your boundaries. Another out, freely and openly given, that only solidifies your resolve to see where he’s going with this.

“Yessir,” you answer, shifting to get at your belt.

Price tsks, though, big hands spreading across each thigh and urging you down again.

“Now, now, don’t aggravate that shoulder,” he murmurs. “Let me help like a good captain.”

You swallow back an embarrassing noise as deft hands unbuckle your belt, thumb the button of your pants open, and drag the zipper down tooth by tooth. His thick, warm forearms rest on your thighs the entire time, keep them spread to accommodate his wide shoulders. He’s in no rush to continue his “checkup,” toying along the length of your waistband before easing it down.

“Lift up for me, darling, there we are,” he murmurs. You gasp softly as his palms brush your ass while sliding your pants down. Then outright squeak as he squeezes a cheek in each hand, a low noise of admiration rumbling in his throat.

“Gorgeous girl,” he chuckles. “Gorgeous arse.”

Your face feels hot as he tugs your pants down to your ankles, though the square of gauze and tape on the back of your thigh is long revealed. It takes conscious effort not to squirm under his hot gaze, praying a wet spot isn’t already visible on your panties.

“Let’s just get this one free…” He works the pantleg over your boot, leaving the other pooled around the laces. “Now then.”

You bite into your lip as he hauls your calf up into his shoulder, propping your leg up to get a clear view of your thigh.

“Not bled through,” he notes, tracing the neat edges of the medical tape. “You’ve been taking good care of it. Well done.”

You can’t help the little twitch that evokes, your whole body reacting to the deep timbre of his voice. He’s not oblivious to his effect on you, a glint in his eye as his bristly jaw brushes the inside of your knee.

“T-told you, it wasn’t too bad,” you manage weakly.

He hums and your pussy clenches helplessly around nothing. His eyes flick down and you know it’s all over.

“And what about this, hm?” he asks. You whimper as his thumb skims the lace edge of your panties. “Have you been taking care of this?”

Flustered and yet so, so turned on, you can only shake your head. He coos in mock disappointment, rubbing slow circles across your labia, closer and closer to where you’re aching and needy.

“It’s alright sergeant,” he soothes, “your captain will take care of you.”

Except he only rubs you through your panties A maddening pressure back and forth along the wet seam of your cunt, never delving deeper. You break down in hardly any time at all.

“Sir, please,” you whine, wriggling. He’s quick to brace you still again, leisurely movements never faltering.

“Please what, darling?” he teases.

“I-I need…” You whimper with embarrassment, squeezing your eyes shut. “I need you to take care of me, please, captain.”

He practically growls as he tears through the hip of your panties, tossing them aside in a sodden heap on the ground. With two fingers, he parts your labia, eyes hungrily drinking in the cream shimmering between them.

“All this and I’ve barely touched you,” he rasps, awed.

You nearly sob with desperation for something, anything. He shushes your fussy little noises with his thumb, dipping into the pool of slick at your entrance. Gets the pad soaked before drawing a line up to your swollen, sensitive clit. Your mouth falls open as he starts drawing tight, firm circles over that bundle of nerves.

He treats your body and your pleasure with all the confidence and competence you’ve come to expect of John Price. It takes shockingly little time for him to learn just how to press, how fast to rub, the patterns and circuits that get your legs shaking. And that’s before he twists his wrist and sinks a finger inside you.

“Practically sucking me in, love,” he murmurs, petting at your walls. You shudder and wordlessly beg for more, rocking your hips. “Need another already, greedy girl?”

He doesn’t even wait for your nod before stuffing you with another, curling and scissoring, exploring. You keen as he finds a sweet, sensitive spot inside you and begins toying with it, his thumb still swiping relentlessly at your clit.

He settles into a rhythm that has you moaning and keening, the heel of your boot digging into his shoulder blade. All the while he showers you in praise and encouragement, the dirtiest compliments that make you clench down tightly on his hand. Your body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve ending lit up with pleasure.

It’s builds and builds and builds, never quite cresting. You’re near tears when you moan his name, trying to find some leverage or angle to finally tip you over the edge.

“Do you need to cum, doll?”

“Yes, yes,” you cry, “please, sir, I wanna cum for you. Please, I’m s-so close.”

He hums, bracing your thigh with his free hand as he leans in. Your foggy brain doesn’t have enough time to process before he latches onto your clit and a third finger bullies into you. You wail. Your thigh twinges from the dull pressure of his shoulder, but the slight pain only adds a delicious edge to the pleasure.

His tongue swipes across your puffy clit once, twice, three times and you’re gone. You gush all over his hand, his beard, onto the chair. Your hips jerk as he works you over, fingers abusing your g-spot relentlessly despite how tightly you clamp down. Your body feels nuclear, nerves popping like firecrackers.

He only relents when the waves of ecstasy threaten to drown you in overstimulation. He eases his fingers from your twitchy hole, making room for him to lick you clean. It’s loud and obscene, yet there’s no room left for embarrassment anymore. You shiver and pant in the aftermath, your body unravelling into a puddle.

“Wh-what about you?” you ask as he begins straightening out your clothes. There’s an absolutely delectable-looking bulge in his fatigues that you’re dying to get your tongue on.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “If you want more –” (“I do.”) “- then you’ll have to wait until you’re healed up. Non-negotiable.”

You try to pout, but the effort is thwarted when he chucks you gently under the chin.

“C’mon, let’s have a lie down.”

He steadies you as you wobble to the couch off to the side, lying down first and letting you cuddle up between his legs. It’s a comfort more than you would have expected from a clandestine little triste, but you should know better than to doubt your captain. Head resting on his chest, you let yourself drift for a while, lulled by his fingers carding through your hair.

“Price…?” you ask after a while.

“Hm?”

“You didn’t do this just to… I dunno, make up for something, right?”

He huffs. “No, sweetheart. I’ve been arse over teakettle for a while. Staring like a complete muppet when you train.”

You hide a grin against his collarbone. “Good. I thought I’d have to start making things up for you to owe me.”

His chuckle rocks through you, and for the first time in a while, it feels a bit like home.

[cherry-pop-elf]

Kiss It Better

Curly (mouthwashing) x reader

AN: No one asked for this but CURLY DESERVED BETTER-!

Sum: You were taking care of Curly, your partner, when you just had to ask him a question that was burning you as much alive as the cockpit burned him. Did he actually crash the ship?

Warnings: 18+, gore, medical situations, Jimmy, violence, just mouthwashing in general, ablism, lots of medical stuff (from someone that knows way to much about medical shit because of being in and out of the hospital all her life)

“Morning honey.” You would force yourself to smile. You had to. You had to for him. To give him hope like he always gave you. To be a little bit of real sunshine through the day. Just wanted to take care of him. Give Anya some kind of break.

A wheeze was your greeting.

Wasn’t like it was his fault. He couldn’t really speak right now. You wondered if he would ever speak again. You would miss his voice but it’s worth it for him to live. He will live, you knew he would. You would make sure of it.

“Let’s have a look at you.” You would grab the clipboard that Anya left for you and took a look over. The small little list to help you understand how to care for his issues. When to wash him, what time his medications were, whatever routine was needed for that day. Was your Bible so to speak. You followed it to the last ink splotch.

“Your bandages don’t look to need to be changed yet, your IV bag needs to be changed, I’ll check your catheter, and yada yada yada. Wanna try and swallow today? Maybe if you can swallow some water I can grind up the pain pills into powder for you. Wanna try?”

He gave two distinct blinks for yes.

“Wonderful. Let me do this routine, so you can mentally prepare.” You would explain, as you went to slip on the latex gloves. Didn’t want to risk transferring some kind of infection. He’s already fighting for his life as it is. No need to make it harder.

You would first change out his IV bag, since he needed to stay as hydrated and fed nutrients as possible, before working on the awkward catheter. Luckily Anya made it very easy to use. She had opted for a condom catheter since she didn’t want to put himself at anymore risk to infections, and pain, as possible. Seemed the trauma made it rather impossible to control his bowls anyway so it worked out. All you had to do was drain the bag, wash it, and reattach it to the side of the table. Wasn’t like he was going to be moving around much anyway.

“So Daisuke was showing me his gameboy. Teaching me about how the lore works and all that. I really had no idea what he was talking about, but it’s better than Swansea snoring.” You laughed, and did your best to keep yourself peppy. To help Curly feel somewhat involved with society. To not just be trapped in the med bay alone. Daisuke and Swansea would visit, and Anya did what she could medically, but sometimes you just need someone to talk to.

“Think it’s a rouge like game. That’s nice. Helps keep you entertained with wanting to break through more and more dungeons in one session.” You rambled, before reattaching the bag. Had you sigh in relief to see you didn’t mess up the chord. Some urine had already started to fill the bag. Must have been triggered by the new IV. Good good. Everything was correct.

“You ready?” You asked, as this was always the hardest part. Getting medication in him. Anya would do her best but you couldn’t blame her for struggling. It’s such a mental tax to try and take care of someone but it results in more pain. You were willing to take that burden. You were his partner after all. You felt it’s only fair you take care of him. Gave Anya some breathing room to actually care for herself. She deserved to take care of herself to.

With two clear blinks you would get to work.

You would slip your hand under his back, and forced him to sit up. He groaned in pain, and tried his best to keep his head upright, as you two tried to work together. To survive this. To try and fight through.

“You are doing so well.” You reassured, as your brought the water bottle up to his open mouth. He was able to let his head hang back, and did what he could to open his throat. Was awkward, but he managed to do it. He took a proper swallow of water. You could hardly hide your excitement.

“You did it! Oh my god you did it!” You couldn’t help but kiss his cheek. It hurt, of course, but he very much felt it was worth it. He had his own pride in being able to do some kind of basic human function again.

You would lay him back down, and was quick to grind up medication to put in the water bottle. You couldn’t wait to tell Anya his progress. You were positive the rest of the crew would be happy to hear the progress.

Well…..Most of the crew.

You used your anger towards Jimmy to help you grind the pain killers into powder. Oh how you hated him. You knew deep down he was responsible for the crash. You knew he was. You weren’t sure why he would be, but you just knew that Curly would never. If he had to, for whatever reason, he would have come on to the intercom to inform everyone to prepare for a crash. He would have done something. Anything.

What purpose would there be in crashing the ship?

Jimmy was his copilot. He would be the only other person to have access to the cockpit. He had to have been involved somehow. There had to have been something going on. You just knew it.

You just wish you had proof.

You sighed, as you would shake up the powder in the bottle. Made sure it was fully dissolved to avoid any issues with it going down his throat.

You just couldn’t understand.

Why would Jimmy crash the ship?

You would return back to curly, and do the same routine again. Slow, and small, drips into his throat. Would take a while, and would make your arm beg for death, but this would make life easier for Curly. That’s all that mattered. A arm cramp is worth it to help Curly survive.

“Curly…..Since you are more lucid now I….I just gotta ask something.”

The way his eye darted towards you said he knew what you were going to ask. Knew that it’ll be asked. He knew, and he couldn’t help but try and look towards the door. As if afraid someone would walk in.

That had you very concerned.

“…..Jimmy crashed the ship, didn’t he?” You whispered. Tried to be as hush as possible, in case someone did overhear. Was just the slow drips of the water into his dry mouth, and you.

One blink.

Two blinks.

“I fucking knew it.” You gritted your teeth, as you felt stupid to ever even have the slightest doubt that any possible reality there would be that Curly would do such a thing.

“I wish I could ask you why. Do…Do you know why?” You had to ask. You just needed to know. Know if Jimmy was as dangerous as you thought.

One blink.

T-

“How’s the captain doing?”

You would turn your head sharply, and saw Jimmy. Just standing there. God you were terrified how long he had been there. Did he hear what you asked? Didn’t seem so. Jimmy was a very aggressive person. He snapped at the slightest tone shift. If he heard you ask a question like that you wouldn’t be talking now.

“He’s….Alive.” You were caught rather off guard. You didn’t know what to say. You were scared of him. You had to be brave, though. You had a better chance at defending yourself. Curly couldn’t.

You would hear his heavy foot steps come closer, and out right feel his body heat against yours. Just looking over your shoulder. Was like this burning shadow over you. Made you feel like you’ll be squashed like a bug.

“Has he been able to talk yet?”

That’s a weird question to ask. Why not ask how he’s feeling, what progress he’s made, how his vitals are. Why is him talking on the front of his mind?

Because Curly knew something he shouldn’t.

“No. I think he’s lost his voice for good. I don’t think he’s ever going to speak again.” You lied, as you finished the test of the bottle. Returned your partner back on the table, and spun around. Nose to chest to the man. Had you terrified, but you must be brave. For Curly.

“Damn. Rough for him. No more barking orders, huh?” Jimmy tried to joke, but you could only give an awkward laugh at. Mostly to keep from pissing him off.

If he’s willing to crash a ship what else is he willing to do?

“Did you need something?” You managed to force out, as you grabbed the clipboard. Just trying to find an excuse to not look directly at Jimmy. To have a motive as to why you would stay in the med bay longer than most. Just anything to get Jimmy to leave you two alone.

“Hey, I give a shit to about him. Is it criminal to care about my friend?” He snapped at you, and it made you grab your clipboard tighter. You swore he seemed to smirk at seeing you so startled. Like he got off to the idea that he got the captains sweetheart scared.

That he’s the new boss.

“Never said that. You are the co pilot and new captain. You-“ “Pilot now. As if he’s ever going to steer a ship again. Not even a wheelchair with those stumps.” He snorted, as you wanted to smack him across the face.

“Yes….As the new Pilot and Captain I would figure you would be swamped in work. Like finding a way for us to contact help. Kinda the biggest priority after Curly. Anya and I are busy with him. You, Daisuke, and Swansea can handle the rest.”

You noticed how he seemed to roll his eyes about Anya. As if he couldn’t care less about the woman. Made you curious on what kind of beef he would have with her. She’s Anya! Who hated her?

“Yeah. Guess you are right there.” He muttered, as if it was never on his mind. Never an option that they could escape. Oh how you were getting chills.

“Keep on trucken then. Take care of our Captain Cripple. His ass needs all the help his stumpy limbs can get.” He would give him a once over, before looking at you. You made sure to keep your eyes to the clipboard instead. All you did was nod in acknowledgment, before he left.

“What are we going to do, Curly?” You sighed, as you would just lay next to him in defeat. What can you do? You had no idea. Curly was always such a good captain. Made you regret never paying more attention to how he worked the cock pit. Maybe if you did you could be more useful.

As you were full of worry and regret, Curly would weakly try and turn his head. Naked teeth were against his cheek. A attempt to kiss your cheek the best he could.

You smiled at the gesture, and made sure to be careful with snuggling your face into his shoulder.

“I’ve got you, and you got me. We can do this. I know it.” You reassured you both, as you closed your eyes. There to wait until his pain medication kicked in, so he could sleep.

As you relaxed, you couldn’t help but swear something was strange about his breathing.

It was like….He was saying words.

You would focus as hard as you could on your ears, as he would drift in and out of his buzzed state. Fighting to stay awake, but sleep coming for him.

“A….a…n…ya…..Kn….ows……”

[bob-mirum]

cuddles with Medic please

Well it's kind of self-indulgent, but anyway-

[ellecdc]

okay but what about when a puck goes flying wild and hits medic!reader square in the face (talking concussion, wound, blood, bruise, whatever u feel like) and her whole team goes crazy both in terms of protectiveness of her but also confusion bc what do we do without our favourite medic??? (can be in the remus hockey player or pt universe, anything u feel like luv)

is there a bug in my wall? how do you know this is EXACTLY what I've been daydreaming about????? I demand answers! (thank youuuuu for the request)

hockey player!Remus Lupin x team medic!reader who's a real member of the team [2k words]

part 1 | part two | part 3

CW: injury, angry Swedes, writers distaste for her home team (of which she cheers for), Scandinavian's beefing with each other but it's in good fun

Remus was certain the game clock was moving in slow motion, or that whoever was in charge of it forgot to hit play a few times when the play would continue. He needed this game to be over. 

He needed to get you you.

The entire game had been frustratingly slow; both teams scored one goal in the first period, and then nothing happened in the entire second period. A fight broke out at the beginning of the third, but then it seemed like they were back to nothing happening.

That is, until the worst thing happened.

The Leafs were lining up for a goal in the Lion’s zone with a one man advantage due to Fenwick’s tripping penalty. Grönvall, Dearborn, Nadeau, and Potter were on the ice for the penalty kill, blocking shots for Krum with various parts of their bodies that Remus was sure was going to result in wicked bruises.

Matthews had the puck behind the net, sending it up the boards towards Nylander, Nylander passed it to Rielly who quickly tipped it to Marner, Marner passed it back to Matthews who was now in front of the net, back to Marner who went to pass it to Ekman-Larson, but Nylander reached forward with his stick at the last minute; the puck had been travelling too fast and simply tipped off of Nylander’s stick, ricocheting towards the Lion’s bench.

The Lions - who had been watching the puck - ducked. 

You - who had been watching Nadeau who was now limping after blocking a particularly nasty shot with his knee - didn’t see it coming. 

The puck hit you right in the face.

Your head whipped to the side in surprise before you all but fell from where you were standing on the bench. 

The play stopped, but that was on account of the puck being out of play and not on account that a member of the team - the most important member of the team, if you asked Remus - was down. 

“I’m fine.” You hissed at everybody - the players on the bench, the players on the ice, the coaching staff - who had called your name. But you had your face in your hands, were kneeling on the wet rubber floor, and your voice came out pinched.

“Y/N.” Remus barked, suddenly feeling breathless even though he’d not been on the ice, unable to push through the other players on the bench to get to you. 

Lars - the team's PT - placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and bent down beside you, and Remus was struck with how much this looked like how you cared for the players when you met them on the ice. Head low, soft murmurs so that no one else could hear, and a comforting hand. 

“Stay out here for the team, in case they need you.” Your response came muffled from behind your hands, and you quickly stood and took off down the tunnel towards the locker room alone. 

Remus only registered the sound of whistles being blown then, James having clearly chirped at one of the Toronto players, earning him a shove from Rielly before Grönvall, Nylander, Dearborn, and Marner paired off, too.

“That should be a fucking delay of game!” James barked at the ref who was shoving him towards the Lion’s bench (and away from Rielly’s jugular). 

“I heard ya the first time, Potter.” The referee grumbled as James got off the ice. 

“Fan har du glömt hur fan man siktar på det jävla nätet, Nylander?” (translation: did you fucking forget how to aim for the damn net) Remus spat as he watched number 88 skate towards the Toronto bench.

“Kukhuvud.” (translation: dickhead) Nylander muttered back as he stepped off the ice.

“That’s enough, number 10.” The ref barked warningly at Remus. 

Remus did not think that was enough, however, and looked over at the Toronto bench only to find the team medic giving some instruction to their PT before disappearing down their own tunnel, and Remus felt his heart unclench slightly. 

He sincerely hoped he was going to check on you.

Remus wondered if he should do the same.

“Lupin, Black, Trenholm; you’re on.” Coach barked, and Remus tried to breath around his panic as he pushed himself over the boards and lined up for the face off. 

“Loops, the more times the whistle needs to be blown, the longer it’s going to take to get back to the locker room.” James whispered to Remus as they repositioned for another face off.

“Unless you’re trying to get kicked out of the game for a misconduct.” Sirius added breezily from his other side. “Then you’re on the right track.” 

“Do not get any penalties or injuries.” James continued severely. “She cannot help you right now and you’ll be of no help to her.”

Remus let out a groan and playfully shoved his two line mates away from him. “Okay, Cap. Don’t have to be so damn reasonable all the time.” 

“Isn’t he the worst?” Sirius chuckled, though Remus knew he was likely glad James talked Remus down.  

And it was only once Remus stopped going for blood and focused more on ending the fucking game - which required one more goal so as not to go into overtime - did the clock finally start running down. 

Fenwick ended up tipping in a shot from Sirius with only 30 seconds left of the third, and since Remus was getting off and knew he wouldn’t be needed in the last 29 seconds of the game, he stepped off the ice and completely bypassed the bench as he made for the locker room. 

“Y/N?” Remus called as he made it to the empty locker room. “Doc?” 

He checked the exam room which was empty before checking the dark room next.

After knocking gently and without waiting for a response, Remus pushed the door open to find you sitting on the floor with your back against the wall, eyes closed and face pointed to the ceiling as you held an ice pack to your cheek. 

“Baby.” 

“Is the game over?” You asked then, turning to look at him and basically ripping his heart right out of his chest when he noticed the drying tear tracks on your face. 

Before Remus could respond, the sound of the arena horn blared signalling the end of the game. 

“Yes, the game is over.”

“Did we win?”

Remus forced a laugh out as he took off all the equipment he could manage; his gloves, helmet, his jersey, followed by his elbow pads and finally his shoulder pads, leaving him in only his underarmour on his top half. “Of course we won, lovie. Think we were gonna let them get away with that?”

You tried to smile at him, but the deep sigh that left your lungs told him it was just for show.

“My poor girl.” He cooed as he reached for the ice you were holding to your face. “What happened, hm? Let me see.”

You released your hold on the ice pack that Remus gently pulled away to expose your cheek; already mottled and blooming with deep, bruising colours. It had even broken the skin, though it seemed that it was shallow enough to only require a piece of medical tape slapped over it. 

“Den jävlan.” (translation: that fucker) Remus muttered under his breath. “I can’t believe he did this to you.”

Your brows furrowed at Remus’ words but you didn’t get a chance to respond when the sounds from the locker room permeated the dark room. 

“Loops, is doc-” ‘in here?’ was left unsaid when Remus turned to see Sirius standing in the doorway with Isak and Benjy behind him, exposing your form huddled on the ground. 

“Doc.” Benjy whined, earning him an elbow in the ribs from Isak and a reproachful shushing from Sirius. 

“Concussion protocol, Fenny.” Sirius hissed at him, earning him a quiet laugh from you which Remus was eternally grateful for.

“Does anyone need me?” You asked quietly, causing all four boys to shout (albeit quietly) various protests. 

“I think these fuckers can manage to tape up their own jammed fingers for one game, yeah?” Benjy offered. 

“Lars can help, too.” Isak agreed.

“There ya have it doc, your job has been made obsolete!” Sirius cheered. “You’re welcome.” 

“Alright, alright. Get out of here.” Remus grumbled with no real ire, letting out a breath of relief when the sounds from the locker room faded away when the door was shut behind them. 

“Were you looked at?” He asked you then, repositioning the ice to your cheek as he cupped the opposite side of your face with his free hand. 

“Yeah. The Toronto medic checked me out.”

“Concussion?”

“Probably.” 

Remus made a sympathetic tsking sound as he pulled the ice back from your face as if expecting the bruising to have gone down in the last 15 seconds. “I hate this.”

“What? My face?” You tried to tease. 

“No.” Remus denied, shooting you an exasperated look. “What he’s done to your face.” 

“It was a puck, Rem.” You chided. “It happens.”

“But not to you.”

“This is how I feel when you get hurt, you know.” You pointed out to him, even lifting one of your eyebrows expectantly at him.

Remus groaned. “But it’s supposed to happen to me.”

“It’s hockey. Now I’m just a real member of the team.”

Remus tilted his head as he smiled at you. “You’ve always been a member of the team, doc.” He assured you. “The prettiest member, at that.”

You hummed in appreciation as he moved his hand down the column of your neck; touch gentle and reverent as you tilted your head back against the wall.

“Don’t let Black hear you say that.” 

Remus tried to control his laughter, he really did, but he couldn’t help the surprised bark that bubbled up at your words. “You know, I think he may feel bad enough to bestow the title to you.”

“You think?” You asked then, tilting your head into his hand that was holding the ice pack. 

“Positive.” He promised, smiling at you in semi-content silence before tsking pathetically at you again. “My poor sweet girl; what do you need, hm? What can I do?” 

You looked at him for a long moment; eyes darting across his face and pupils perhaps a bit too wide considering what just happened that threatened to make Remus’ protective ire return to its former boil from its current simmer when you came to some decision.

“Can you go shower?”

“Shower?” He asked disbelievingly, noticing you turn somewhat bashful.

“Please?” 

“Yeah, you smell and you’re getting sweat all over our gorgeous medic.” James offered quietly as he slowly closed the door behind him; donned in his team hoodie and a pair of sweats, hair still dripping from the shower he just got out of and his contacts traded for his usual glasses as he moved across the room to sit beside you against the wall. “I’ve got it from here, Loops, but you’ll want to be quick; Grönvall knows doc has a thing for Swedes now, I may not be able to fight him off for long.”

James looked so earnest as he said it that the way his face melted at the sound of your laughter made Remus’ love for his teammate and captain increase tenfold; heart threatening to burst from his chest.

“Okay?” He asked you, pressing a kiss to your forehead and then to your uninjured cheek, and then to the tip of your nose before placing one on your lips. “You’ll be okay with Cap? Think you can manage?”

“I’ll do my best.” You responded, your soft smile growing cheeky at the sound of James’ scoff, though your one eye twitched as you winced. “Fuck my face hurts.”

“Get out of here, Loops. You’re making her smile and hurting her face.” James scolded. 

“Alright, alright. Just don’t leave me for Grönvall.” Remus insisted as he pressed one more kiss to your head before he stood and began walking towards the door. “I mean it; the only thing worse than a Norwegian or a Dane is another Swede.”

[vxsellie]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ THE UNITY IN PAIN

synopsis. soldier!ellie williams x field medic!reader. after being horribly wounded in battle, ellie is brought to you on a stretcher. she'd been blown up by a fucking landmine when her guard was down. however, for some reason, the agony in her mutilated leg instantly subsides as her gaze falls onto you. everything dulls in comparison to your vibrance.

notes. this is so random & probably won't even get that much attention bc of how sporadic the trope is, but! this thought came to me and i've been unable to rid my mind of it since i first imagined it also! yes, i changed the synopsis a bit from how it was originally posted when i asked about tagging. i just rewatched g.i. jane & was hungry for writing a war scene rather than just pure romance yk

warnings. descriptions of gore, war, corpses, death, and blood. unrealistic medical depictions.

wc. 3.6k

the sound of gunfire and screams fill ellie's ears as she runs across the battlefield. her thick combat boots kick up sand with each step she takes, gun clutched firmly against her chest just as she'd been taught. her comrades run alongside her, only a few hundred feet away from the helicopter waiting to take them back to safety a few miles out. her mouth nearly waters at the idea of a hot meal and cold shower. the dirt that clings to her skin is—

boom!

ellie's body suddenly goes flying up into the air, thudding against the ground a few feet away. she groans, ears ringing as she struggles to get onto her knees. as she attempts to move, a jolt of pain shoots up her left leg and agony grips her with an iron fist.

she squeezes her jaw shut. screaming past clenched teeth as she continues to move around, albeit fruitlessly. her body is on fire, every single nerve set aflame as her entire being protests the very notion of so much as breathing.

"williams is down!" she can hear someone shout through her earpiece, relaying the news back to those in the helicopter. she'd usually feel embarrassed at the declaration. but at the moment, she can hardly think straight enough to feel anything. "she must've triggered a landmine! her leg is— just— send a medic! over!"

a few more voices shout in her earpiece as thudding boots can be heard jogging toward her. she screams, continuing her futile attempts at reforming dignity. but all she manages to do is writhe around in pain.

hands are suddenly grabbing at her, comrades holding her under the arms and by the thighs as they haul her onto a stretcher. every movement sends her body into another wave of torment, leg numb as every muscle and nerve screams at her. as the soldiers jog with the stretcher in tow, she continues to groan and writhe, mind muddled by whatever injury she endured and blood loss.

a sudden flash of white can be seen moving in the corner of her eye. she lulls her head in the direction of the color, seeing a field medic rushing over to the stretcher. you walk in stride with the soldiers carrying her, speaking frantically as you assess the situation and how best to approach it.

and, instantly, all the pain in ellie's body vanishes. her mind focuses solely on you and the cloud of gentility you've placed over her without so much as a glance in her direction. her lips part as she pants, eye lidded as she stares up at you with blown pupils. whoever you are, she wishes to see more of you from now on.

you continue to bark orders at the soldiers and demand answers to questions. the sheer power you hold over these militia men is daunting and she loves it.

the thudding footstep sound suddenly shifts, boots no longer against hardened sand and now on thick metal. she looks away from you to blink at her surroundings. the interior of the helicopter spins as she glances around, nothing solid except for your face. so she turns back to you.

this time, however, you're looking right back at her. you're a mere inch from her face as you squint at her, taking in every detail of her. the soldiers ease the stretcher onto the floor as you take over the situation and the copter whirs into power and lifts into the air.

"what's your name, soldier?" you ask, crouching to one knee as you reach into your back pocket, still watching her closely.

"my—" she blinks, taken aback.

"you don't know your name?" you ask her before shaking your head and muttering under your breath, "oh, that's a bad bad sign."

"what? no. nonono, i know my name." she rushes out, words slurred as delirium is beginning to effect every action she takes. "it's— i'm ellie williams."

you raise a brow at her switch-up but say nothing. instead, you nod and pull out a rolled cloth. you shift lower on her body, now crouched at her hips rather than her face. she watches you with bright eyes despite the dullness of the rest of her.

"well, ellie williams." you say, unraveling the cloth to reveal a line of tools and blades to have been hidden within. you grab one of the scalpels. at least ellie thinks it's a scalpel. she's not the smartest at medical shit. you clutch the blade and turn to her. "this mangled leg of yours isn't making it back to base."

"it—" she stammers, voice scratchy and rough in her raw throat. "what's that mean?"

you give her a pitying look, "amputation."

"what're—"

her words are cut off by you driving a second blade into her uninjured leg. she screams out in pain, mind instantly made distracted by the knife in her right leg to pay any mind to the way you're severing off her already wounded one. seeing as it's already numb and almost completely removed at the knee, it makes it easy for you to remove. the issue, though, is your lack of access to sedatives at the moment. and if the blood loss didn't kill ellie, the pain surely would. so, the knife you'd just driven into her right thigh was for her sanity.

she throws her head back, screams tearing from her throat and bouncing off the metallic walls of the helicopter. you grit your teeth and continue, knowing you've ought to make this as quick as humanly possible to ensure ellie will be alive by the time you make it to base.

once you get to her bone and swap tools for a stronger ones, her deafening screams only grow in volume. while the rest of the crew covers their ears and winces at the sound of their comrade in such anguish, you know her screams are a good thing. they're a tell tale sign that she's alive and still feeling pain regularly.

her hands are clutching the edge of her stretcher, knuckles white with pressure applied to her grip. you finish the removal and replace the sharp tools with a roll of gauze. "shh. i know, i know. but look, we're almost done, just have to wrap it now." you mutter under your breath as you work. talking while working keeps you in order and ellie seems to appreciate it as well, her voice dying in her throat as she nods in a daze.

she pins her eyes to your face, watching you once again as you work. you can feel her gaze boring into your face as you tie off her leg at the knee, securing blood flow and bandaging the exposed flesh. afterward, you yank the knife from ellie's right thigh, sending her body to jolt as she yelps. you're quick to tend to her, though, wrapping her thigh alongside her left (half) leg.

you finish the job and almost collapse from your adrenaline rush crashing so fast. ellie's chest rises and falls as she huffs out heavy breaths of air, her eyes blinking slowly as her jaw hangs open. her auburn hair clings to her sweaty skin, the perfect depiction of what war and fatigue can do to a person. only a few minutes ago, she was unwounded and the entire crew was on their way back to base unscathed. in mere seconds, that was obliterated alongside ellie's leg. one misstep and she's lost a limb for the rest of her life.

but this is exactly why you're here; this is your purpose here. helping people the way nobody was able to help your father.

you know what it's like to lose a loved one. to wait at the front door as a child only for big militia men to appear in his stead with a triangularly folded flag to offer their condolences and apologies. the piece of fabric felt a pathetic replacement for your father — the one who taught you to talk, walk, eat, everything. but you still cherished it, promising your little adolescent self that you'd make sure no other family would go through this. not if you could help it, at least.

and now, thanks to you, whoever ellie's family is will be seeing her return. albeit a little less of her, but it'll be her nonetheless.

"what's your name?" she slurs from her spot on the stretcher, pulling your attention away from your thoughts and back down to her mangled form. her hands lay palm up as they release from their death grip on the edge of the stretcher.

"i don't think you should be the one asking the questions here, miss williams." you tell her with a glint of playfulness in your eye. ellie huffs out a laugh but ends up coughing, having to turn her head to the side in case of vomit. you look away, instead using this time to place your tools back into their sheath, mentally scolding yourself to remember to wash them off later.

"ask away," ellie roughs out, her voice still chalky and in desperate need of water.

"age? birthplace? mother's maiden name? any siblings? pets?" you list of questions as you slip the blades back into the fabric. these questions are the one regularly used when checking to be sure a patient's memory hasn't been impaired and their brains are screwed on correctly. if ellie can answer every single one without fail, she's perfect.

"woah woah," she says, "slow down."

"okay fine." you give in, rolling your fabric and slipping it into your medic coat pocket. you turn to her, shuffling close to her face as to be respectful. "what'd you eat for breakfast this morning?"

"mm, that's too easy." she smirks, though you can tell the action hurts her. her lips are split, causing the slightest quirk of her mouth to cause pain. despite this, she continues, likely unaware that you'd even noticed. "scrambled eggs, they were stale. master chief said they're all we had though, so i was smart enough t' not complain."

"smart girl." you chuckle. the blush that creeps to ellie's cheeks doesn't go unnoticed. but you say nothing, offhandedly deeming it to be all due to her wound-induced delirium.

"what'd you have?" she asks. "do medics get special treatment or what?"

you scoff, "oh i wish. unfortunately, i had the same shit as you, williams. master chief's stale eggs."

she laughs at this and you find yourself adoring the sound. the rest of the crew is talking and laughing with each other, a low hum of conversation filling the air. louder than that, the noisily whirring helicopter begins to lower to the ground, deafening in its boisterousness. despite all of that, ellie's laughter is what rings loudest in your ears. you ignore the full-body reaction and instead busy yourself with something else.

you stand from the floor, nodding toward the men seated opposite the helicopter from you and ellie. they notice your movement and instantly stand and jog over to you. there's five of them.

"when this thing lands, i want you five to haul her out of here." you demand, chin raised and shoulders set. the men nod, accepting their newly appointed roles. you're not done, though. "afterward, you'll bring her into the medical tent and lay her down on whichever cot i point out to you."

the men listen, not daring to argue with you. as someone who's worked for the military for three years now, you've managed to amass a rather impressive reputation for a medic. the higher ranked officers know you by name from your father and therefore respect your deeply. but it's not only your lineage that's got you to where you are. on top of your father's residual impact on your life, you're also the best medic this army has ever seen. they need you. due to this, the officers have driven it into the soldiers' minds that you're to be respected and listened to for fear that you'll leave if not. that's not true, of course, but you allow them to think it.

and when the time comes, the men hold their end of the deal. as soon as the helicopter lands against the grassy land of your militia base, the haul ellie's stretcher into the air and escort her off the machine and into the medical tent. you follow after them, hurrying in front of them when you get to the tent as to be there in order to point out which cot she's to be placed upon.

the tent is lined with wounded soldiers. most of them aren't freshly injured, instead in here to heal and recover from previously inflicted damage. some of them are mental while others are physical, calling for a colorful array of people packed into the tent.

"there," you say, gesturing toward the first empty cot you see. "lay her down gently, y' hear me?"

"yes ma'am." the reply in unison, placing her down onto the white sheets as softly as possible. then, they stand at ready for dismissal. when you're sure they hadn't somehow managed to injure ellie, you dismiss them and they're quick to rush out the tent and rejoin their crew.

ellie lies atop the cot, her severed leg looking shockingly well, all things considered. her breathing has evened out and her hands no longer yearn to grip the nearest thing to her. progress, you'd say.

"when dinner is served, i'll be sure to bring you a tray." you tell her, pulling your cloth from your coat and unraveling it over a nearby cart of medical supply. ellie's eyes are on you again. in the way that sends sparks through your nerves and hammering through your heart. you hate it. but you also think you'll live the rest of your life chasing this very feeling that ellie gives you. whatever that may be.

"y' don't have to." she mumbles, voice quiet and graveling with exhaustion. her eyelids are weighed with her being tired. you frown, wiping your tools clean as you look at her from over the cart.

"yes i do." you insist. "it's the least you deserve."

her brow knits at this, threaded with confusion. "wha'd'you mean?"

"you're a war soldier, williams." you tell her, finishing your tool tending and crossing your arms over your chest. "you and your crew put your life in danger every fucking day. the least i could do is get you a tray of damn food."

"y' say that like y' don't spend your life tendin' t' us." she slurs. "y' don't owe me anythin'."

"i watch you guys, y'know." you tell her. "when the medical work runs low and i run out of shit to do, i sit outside and watch the soldiers train. and let me tell you, just watching what you're put through is enough to never make me want to go anywhere near your job. you're forced to work through harsh weather and grave situations."

her eyes are pinned to you as you speak. and, for some reason, her gaze has a certain weight to it that makes you want to simultaneously cower from her and run at her. it's driving you mad. but you can't look away, your eyes staying trained on hers as you continue.

"all the while, i sit in some tent and stitch people up all day." you say. "so let me at least bring you some fucking dinner. and don't you dare tell me no, williams, because i won't listen."

she blinks, "now i see why y' scare the shit outta everyone."

"are you saying that you're scared of me?" you narrow your eyes at her, rounding the cart to approach her cot with a raised brow.

"i'd be a damn fool not t' be." she chuckles, shocking you both as she manages to not cough this time. "dunno how y' did it, but everyone know better than t' fuck with you."

"perfect." you grin at this. though, when you see the look on ellie's face, you shoot her a deep scowl. "don't you go ruining my reputation now, williams. when you leave this place, you better tell everyone i was a complete bitch to you."

"yes ma'am." she agrees with a wide smile. your heart nearly melts at the sight of it.

ellie looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, her eyes darting between each of yours as she continues to smile ever so slightly. in her gaze, you're literally perfect. a painting made by someone who'd experienced nothing but beauty and love in their life. and her delirium only adds onto this, making you out to be even more alluring and angelic than before.

i mean, who could blame her? she'd been dying in the sand, writhing and screaming. and suddenly, the most beautiful woman she'd ever laid her eyes on is walking onto the scene and taking the world by storm, voice strong and gaze even stronger. she was incapable of looking away the entire time you tended to her.

"oh!" you suddenly burst out, mind reminding her of something. you turn away from her to grab something and she instantly wants to force you to turn back toward her. you turn back around a moment later, orange bottle of pills in your hand. "want any painkillers?"

her eyes instantly light up, "please."

"don't sound so desperate now, williams." you tease, unscrewing the lid and pouring two of them into the palm of your hand. you pass them to her and she downs them instantly, no water needed. you smile, "not only will they lessen the pain, but they'll help you to fall asleep too. i know personally how hard it is to rest knowing that half your leg is missing, so.."

her gaze trail down your body, taking in your complete limbs. though, she ought to admit she allowed her eyes to wander a bit, taking in the curves and dips of your body as she imagines what it'd be like to memorize each feature with her mouth.

she looks back up at your face as though she weren't just imagining the most filthy things about you. "doesn't seem like you'd know personally. y' have all your legs."

"well, not personally, i suppose." you agree, waving a dismissive hand at her comment. "my father was missing an arm, a few fingers, and most of his ear. so i know more closely than most, but you're right it's not exactly personal."

"your father was in the military, right?" she questions, eyes drooping as the pills begin to kick in. "super high rank. i've heard his name 'round."

"yep," you nod pridefully.

"that's—" she blinks harshly, sleep wrapping its hands around her as it beckons her to give in to its taunting. "that's so awesome."

"do you even remember what we were talking about?" you laugh.

she sighs heavily, thinking hard. "uhh,"

"it's fine," you assure her, watching her with a fond smile. "go to sleep, now. you've deserved it."

"mm," she hums, seeming to be incapable of processing your words. she then reaches a hand toward you, fingertips brushing the coat of your white jacket stained with her blood. "wanna do me a favor?"

you raise a brow, "what type of favor?"

"t' help m' sleep." she murmurs. you take a step closer, barely able to hear her. a small smile tugs her lips at your proximity. "kiss me."

your eyes widen, "i can't—"

"pleaseee." she begs, voice rough with sleep.

"i'd feel guilty the rest of my life, williams." you struggle to explain. "you're in pain and on a heavy drug. plus, we've just met and i've never seen you without some sort of delirium effecting you. i can't kiss you or i'll feel like i took advantage of you."

"but 'm asking." she continues to plead with you, pale green eyes looking up at you through droopy eyes and filthy hair.

she looks so fucking perfect like this, her features rested and vulnerable. something about the sight of her feels intimate. you'd seen her before, of course. she's ellie williams. she's an absolute monster on the field. she's not super high ranking seeing as she's only been in for a year and a half, but she's well respected and liked among the men.

before this, you'd only ever seen her wrestling with big buff men and scaling walls in her uniform. but right now, she's anything but the woman you'd previously deemed her to be. and, oddly, you think you might like this better. like you're seeing as side of her that nobody else is allowed to see. like a secret.

"how about this," you say.

you then lean forward and press your lips to her forehead. she shuts her eyes, relaxing against the feel of the kiss. she hums lowly, shoulders drooping into the pillow. you pull back and her eyes remain closed. as though she's trying desperately to draw the moment out for as long as possible.

"that way," you tell her, "you get your kiss and i don't feel guilty about it."

"smart girl," she hums, mimicking the very words you'd said to her earlier. you smile, though she doesn't see her as her eyes remain closed. when she opens them, they're bloodshot from pure fatigue. "when 'm all better, will y' kiss me? like, a forreal kiss?"

you laugh, shaking your head fondly, "sure, ellie. why not?"

the sound of her name on your tongue and the promise of a possible future kiss is enough for her. she shuts her eyes and burrows deep into the pillow. the pain in her amputated leg remains long forgotten as her mind is far more interested in the memory of your smile and the sound of your voice, dreams full of naught but you all night long.

a kiss from an angel.

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist : @luvsturniolo @ilovewomenfr @zzombiegirl @elliessweetheart

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 fic taglist : @dinakisser @uselessnewt @mellifluousgirll @divinely-yourz @ladyofcain

[kissofmourningdeath]

I need to tear that man apart with my teeth(positive)

[prettyboypistol]

How to Seduce the TF2 Mercs

Scout

Pay attention to him. Give him genuine compliments and honest feedback. He wants to feel loved and like he's worth someone's time.

Kisses and physical affection. Mans thinks about the time you put your hand on his shoulder for weeks.

Just say you love him, man. He's been overlooked his whole life.

Soldier

Take him seriously- don't belittle him or make jokes about how he views the world. He knows he's a little crazy but he is genuinely trying his best to make the world a better place.

Defend him!!! If someone shit talks him, punch that motherfucker in the jaw!!

Honest discussions with you asking a lot of questions, take the time to get to know him and you'll have a defender for the rest of your life.

Pyro

Much like with Soldier, defend them and take the time to get to know them.

Gifts, gifts, gifts!!! Give them gifts!

Be a little flirty ;> don't baby them! Treat them like the adult they are!

Demoman

Bro just ask to fuck. He'll probably say yes.

He loves a bold mf that knows how to take what they want. Come on to him, buy him a drink, and ask if he's got any company for the night.

If you're going for something a little more long term, just remove the sleeping aspect. Just say you're interested in getting to know him you'll most likely get a date and see how things go.

Engineer

He's a sucker for practical use gifts (i.e. mechanical oil, a new wrench, etc) or sentimental gifts (photograph of you two, love letters)

Call him handsome! Call him pretty and a gentleman! Appeal to that cowboy energy and treat him all respectful like and you'll definitely catch his interest.

If you're not the type to do all that song and dance, go the opposite route. Stump him with a logistic problem and tease him about it. He'll nonstop think about you for months and bitch about you to his sentries.

Heavy

Mikhail likes hotheads and determined people, someone who's not afraid to fight if the situation comes to it.

Ask him about general things and slowburn that mf about nice conversations until you two can talk about personal things.

Ask him to help you clean your guns! Ask him weaponry questions about what would suit you better in the field!

Medic

GET THIS MAN SOME ORGANS. GET HIM SOME FUNDING!!!! get him a lil lovebirddddd

Take the time to get to know his birds and if the birds like you, Medic automatically likes you more.

Take an interest in his medical discoveries and his life! He's a prime yapper and wants to t a l k. That's why he never shuts up when doing surgery.

Spy

Romance him traditionally, to be honest. Keep it classy and court him like the romantic he is. Roses placed in his locker, prime dinners delivered to his door, BE A ROMANTIC ABOUT IT.

If you can't dance, ask him to teach you "for a mission" (He will know that you're the one behind all the flirtatious gestures bc he's SPY)

Butter up that man like he's a piece of toast. Handsome young man who captured your heart and holds it hostage. Classy gentleman that could get away with world domination with gorgeous eyes like that.

Sniper

Don't come on too strong, he's a bristly one. Be calm and casual. Hit him with that friends to lovers.

He's more of a tough nut to crack and insecure of if you actually like him, so be sure to flood his mind with ambiguous hints when you think you see signs of him showing interest in you.

To really seal yourself in his heart, spend a lot of quality time with him! Go camping, hunting, fishing, driving, anything that gets the both of you alone and quiet.

[idyllcy]

iced ankle - zayne x reader (nsfw warning)

You whimper at the coolness on your skin.

To be fair, it's supposed to be cold, and for a quicker recovery, your leg is lifted into the air, Zayne's palm wrapped around the sprain, evol cool against your ankle as his other hand presses down where you can feel him inside of you. It makes you squirm slightly, breathing labored as he tilts his head down at you.

"Are you alright? Should I stop?"

"Don't you dare." You manage, shifting slightly to adjust to his size, ice on his palm sliding up you as he pinches your nipple. You whimper.

"The patient looks uncomfortable."

"God, you're so work-brained." You groan, humming as Zayne moves your other ankle to his shoulder, pulling you close as he folds you onto his table, papers scattering as he does.

"If I were so work-brained, you would not be here getting railed in my office." He chuckles, humming as his hands grow colder to make a point, sliding down your waist just to see you squirm.

You let out a shaky breath as you hum. "You can move now."

"Good girl." He hums, finally moving as you cling onto his desk, head thrown back in pleasure as your head swirls. You wonder if he should start giving you treatment of this type more often.

[habitabel]

My favorite genre of TF2 fanart is EEPY SNIPER fanart, examples:

I have a link to my board full of napping sniper art on my Pinterest I'll link it below 😝 (SEND ME MORE IF YOU FIND ANY

❗❗❗THIS IS NOT MY ART BTW THE ORIGINAL ARTISTS SHOULD BE ON THE PINTEREST BOARD I LINKED❗❗❗