#tf2 darkfic

[respawned-dove]

hihi!! really excited to see the content u make. can i get headcanons for a yan!scout? pretty please?

1st requests, and it's one of my favourites! You didn't give particular specifications on the reader character, so the reader is neutral on every trait.

yan! Scout x gn! Reader Headcanons

CW/TW: obsessive behaviour, controlling behaviour, stalking, home invasion, inappropriate touching, dubcon, guilt-tripping, death threats, sex mentions, manipulation, forced isolation, physical threat, threatening of family members, death of family members and friends, lovebombing, guns

Both BLU and RED Scout's basic instincts are to run, hit, scare off, or cling very hard, and those traits leak into their ways of showing love and obsession.

Scout is actually quite impressive, outwardly. Even with his more annoying aspects, he's cool and charming, he's good with girls (even if not so with ladies), he has an athletic body and he's very funny. It's not hard for him to draw people into his circle initially. As long as you're there and willing to compliment him and build up his ego then you are exactly who he wants around him for a night. For most people he is flirtatious with, he keeps them around for one night stands and for sleeping with. Someone distant yet all over him is just what he's always wanted. But some people are different... They actually like him, and they actually seem to desire him in an intimate way. This treatment very easily translates into romantic affection, as his idea of what would be a good relationship is very shallow. "If that person genuinely enjoys being around me, then that must mean they want me bad."

The crush forms, and the fear sets in for him. Someone is getting close to him, and therefore might see through the dents in his ego and find out the 'truth' about him. (There is no underlying truth, but Scout believes he, deep down, does not live up to his place in this world, and therefore doesn't live up to even who he is as a person.) And he could never bear to lose the positive attention you give him. For a phase, he becomes very distant from you, not necessarily cold, but he definitely seems to be avoiding you, and there's an air of performance to all of your interactions. Scout considers it a test, quizzing you in a way you're not aware of. If you keep seeking him out when he pulls away, if you chase him and continue to want him around, then he will consider that a confirmation that you want him, just as much as he does you now.

Scout continues to keep a distance, but more like a 'walking twenty feet behind you everywhere you go" sort of distance. It's not stalking, he tells himself, he's just making sure he knows where you are that day, knows if you talked to anyone about him that day, to make sure he knows you have that gift he gave you in your room, and he knows you're getting home safe. Seeking validation that you like him even when he's 'not there' (he will be there). He has a weapon, but that's just in case any creeps tried to follow you home or something!

Speaking of gifts, Scout gives them pretty often. He actually found something to spend his massive income on besides Tom Jones merch, and that something is you. It's not his specific love language, but it is a way to make sure you stay there with him another hour or two, always waiting to get the gifts he pulls out. You start getting gifts in the mail too, marked as from Scout. You don't remember giving him your address... Eh, he probably used the yellow pages for it, is all.

His actual love language is physical touch and words of affirmation.

For one thing, he can't seem to keep his hands off of you, even if it's in subtle ways. Things that could still be considered friendly, like a hug that lasts slightly too long, or grabbing your hand when he's showing you something and 'forgetting' to let go. Slowly, they get less friendly, and it turns into things like holding your shoulders from behind you, getting caught eyeing you up, or 'accidentally' touching your hips and chest. It's easy enough to laugh it off, he's a silly guy who's most likely playing around with you. A lot of his playing around is annoying like that. But the more you let it go, the further he pushes your boundaries. Touching your chest without removing his hand for much longer, grabbing you by your hips to move you around, touching your face for far too long to be comfortable. You still don't feel comfortable calling him out for it, not when he's so friendly and nice to you the majority of the time. And hey, him being nice to you makes you feel special! He can be a dick to others, and right now, you get to laugh at it from the other side rather than be stuck in his ire.

For the other, his need for approval from you knows no bounds, and he puts himself in a lot of risky and stupid situations just to hear you praise or fawn over him and how cool he is. He wants to feel adored, admired, appreciated, valued. And if you can give that to him, then you will never get rid of him. Scout can become so compliment seeking that it's uncomfortable for you, begging non-verbally for your affection like you're his mother or something. Sometimes very demandingly forcing you to look at him while he does something 'cool', expecting heavy praise from you for it. Not giving him that praise is arguably the worse option, because he will get cold and angry at you, sometimes pouting or refusing contact for multiple days. Usually when he gets back and you apologize, it comes with what you think is a playful threat to kill you if you keep it up. You hope it's playful.

He's been stalking you for months as he pretends to be your friend, and he knows so much about you now. He knows exactly how to make you laugh and exactly what you like in a person. He knows what your closet draw full of underwear looks like and he knows that you sleep on your side with one leg placed higher than the other. He knows your typical meals for the day and sometimes buys them for you before you even ask for them. From your view, Scout starts to seem awkward around you. You can kind of guess why, seeing as he hardly leaves you alone for 24 full hours at this point.

He ends up asking you out, properly. Not just friends or even his usual FWB relationships. No, he wants to date you now! Forever, hopefully!

cont.

—

If you accept his request, you will be in for the sweetest honeymoon phase of your life, full of gifts and nonstop affection and a boyfriend that craves your approval like a puppy. But he won't remain that way forever. Scout's senses run on fear like a wild animal, and the longer he gets to keep you, the more he needs to cling, to keep you secured to him. He starts trying to have sex daily, just to confirm to himself that you desire him. Sex starts to become aggressive, grabby and demanding, gripping you by the hair and ordering praises from you.

Scout needs to be where you are at all times, he must control what you're saying about him and what you think about him by being near you no matter what.

He starts to do everything for you, from cooking to holding doors open to driving you everywhere to paying all of your bills. Slowly you begin to realize you aren't doing anything independently anymore. Scout makes enough money for the both of you, so his request to quit your job feels like a no-brainer by now. He can and does pay for everything you need, and if you didn't know before, you definitely know he's doing something illegal for a job now.

He eventually begins throwing out the idea of you not leaving the house all together. Just think about it, he offers, cleaning his guns off in a way that is definitely unrelated to this conversation. What's the point of it when you have everything you could ever want here? Why do your friends need to see you outside when they can visit us here? Are you saying things to them I can't hear? No, of course not. So start staying here all day, where it's safe and I can always get to you.

Scout comes home covered in blood sometimes. You would question why your friends stop calling after those days, but you're not stupid. He slowly narrows down your circle until you don't talk to anyone but him. Even your family no longer contacts you, and you don't blame them with how threatening Scout can be. Scout has an entire family of people that could 'take care' of them and he made sure they know it.

On the surface, he still is a very loving, doting boyfriend who hangs off your arm and fulfills almost any request you have. He can provide for you and he clearly adores you in the way he seeks your approval all the time. You really do have a great partner, at the end of the day, one who takes care of you so well. What do you deserve to complain about? Scout is everything anyone could want. Murder and control issues notwithstanding.

—

If you reject his request, he will take it as a huge blow to his ego. If you offer to still be his friend, that's an even bigger blow. He thought you liked him back just as much. How could he be wrong? No, he wasn't wrong. You're just confused, surely. He just needs to double down somehow, to remind you of what you want. People love it when you patiently wait for them to change their mind. As little patience as he even feels like he has at this point. He's still following you home, and this night, he waits until you're asleep, and then sneaks in through a window you left unlocked. Why would you have left it unlocked, every time he comes here. It must mean that you know he's been doing this. That you do want him like this, but you can't admit it to him. He watches you sleep. You're beautiful when you sleep.

He takes something from your clothing drawer that night. Something you wear all the time, something he can be certain you'll notice. If you bring it up to him in a certain way, then he can tell if you know that he's doing this. He can't sleep that night, staring at your clothes on his desk chair. He's certain it must smell like you. So he tests it. And it does. Not the proudest J.O. of his life, but definitely one of the best, with your smell right there with him, your clothes wrapped around his dick for him to thrust into.

Two days go by and you haven't noticed. He puts the soiled clothing back into your drawers. Now there's no way you won't notice. And you do, bringing it up as an oddity that only might be something creepy, and nothing more. He's left you no reason to be suspicious so far either way, so him as the culprit doesn't cross your mind. But to him, it's the sign he needs that you know it's him.

He breaks into your house again that night. And again the next. He starts to practically live inside your house at night. He's doing poorly on the battlefield, and no one on the team really talks to him anymore, because the only thing he talks about is you, your rejection, your 'secret' of still loving him. That's fine, fuck those guys. Why does he need their approval now when he has you? You're the only thing he can seem to care about since then.

Around then, he asked you out again. Though the circumstances may be a little different. He breaks into your house while you're awake this time. Not only are you shocked to see him, but he has a gun as well. A gun pointed right at the side of your head as he asks, moreso demands, that you date him. There's a shaky desperation to his words, and a look in his eye that glints with the intention to harm you if you act out of line. There isn't any choice but to say yes, really. And he makes sure you don't call to anyone for help, either, staying with you through the night with the phone lines to your house destroyed.

He keeps you in the house the entire weekend, but on Monday, you have to go to work. And you beg him to let you leave just to cover your shift. He paces as he thinks about it, tapping his gun in his hand with his face screwed up in consideration. "Alright, you can go. But you know good 'n well what I'm capable of. You tell anyone, and they won't be alive to do anything about it."

And he's there to make sure of it, too. At least once an hour you swear you see him come into your work and loiter, watching you. It seems like every time you look up he's there somehow. Yet, when you get home, he's on your couch eating like nothing ever happened.

You're his partner now, whether you like it or not, and you will be kept with him through any coercion or cruelness necessary. One or two of your family members do die before you learn to keep your mouth shut and give him what he wants. Attention, admiration, approval, value. You are what gives him value. You will adore him or you will die. You should know to be a good partner by now instead of pissing him off.

[the-uncanny-dag]

If anyone told me in like 2016 that 2 of the most well-made & interesting movies I will get to watch in my mid-twenties will be a feature-length Lynchian TF2 darkfic made in SFM & Under The Sea With Markiplier, I'd call them a crazy person & haul ass

[squipedmew]

if you had told me a year ago that one of the best examples of animated horror i’d ever seen would essentially be an animated tf2 darkfic i would have laughed

[aprofessionalwithoutstandards]

TF2 ‘darkfic’ where they don’t inexplicably remove the respawn function so it’s just like. Spy running around Jeff the Killing everybody but since everyone keeps coming back they’re like ‘what is your ISSUE you froggy FUCK’ and then he gets Batista bombed and it just ends

This is just regular tf2

[jameswrites]

Finally finished a brutal tf2 war story that helped me to get a nightmare that was recurring and destroying me for months out of my mind. I feel so relieved. This is the power of darkfic, this is what it means to me, what it does for me.

[tf2writingprompts]

TF2 Writing Prompt #1

(Dark/Comedy)

The opposite team has (unknowingly) taken Soldier’s bucket. Soldier decides to do what any normal person would do and go on a rescue mission/rampage to save his dear bucket.

[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."

[respawned-dove]

Are you comfortable writing yandere Heavy headcanons with a male reader whos the enemy's team Medic? 🏨

Of course, anon! Enjoy some BLU Heavy content, though you can read it as RED if you wish. This is somewhat a fic and somewhat headcanons, I lost the plot somewhere apparently.

yandere! Heavy x male! Medic! Reader

[CW: obsessive thoughts/behaviour, violence, drugging, rape, NSFW scenes, alcohol/drinking]

Heavy doesn't have interest in most people. He's quiet in the corner most times, uninvolved in the action. Though he usually has an amused smile to give his own team's antics, he prefers to keep his distance. He listens and watches as both teams move around him, in battle and out. But really, all he cares to note is whether they're alive or dead, and whether it's someone he's hired to enact violence on. And he loves violence. The battlefield is his zone, the one place he feels like he can do what he was made for. And the battlefield is also where he met you.

His owns team's Medic is someone who has his respect and his friendship, and he can instantly note the same traits in you. Violence, sadism, and the ability to outsmart even bullets. He doesn't get to actually examine you much, considering he's mostly focused on killing you. He starts to get... distracted. Which is confusing for him. Killing is one of his favourite things. Why would anything be more interesting during a fight? You are, nonetheless.

He's been watching you more than he has been killing you. He went to Ms. Pauling's office on the BLU base and looked at the files on you, only a few minutes of glancing lest it be suspicious. He's the only one who even knows the other team's files are in here. All the listening pays off once in a while. You have a nice face, he thinks. The thought warms him in a way that makes him set the file back in its place and leave it behind.

Seeking you out to kill becomes a fun hobby for him. He likes the way you flail. He likes the way you fight and fail. He likes the way you call for your team and no one comes for you. He likes the way you bleed. He likes the way you die. And honestly, he wishes that respawn would leave him with a scar or two from your bonesaw.

You're doing everything you can to avoid Heavy on the battlefield. You can't understand what's made him so aggressive towards you out of nowhere. Or why he smiles like- like that when he kills you. Basically everyone on that field is a sadist, true, but it looks a little too joyous. You don't like dying, who does, but it's not... terrible to be so easily manhandled like that.

It becomes more of a mutual game between you two. Cat and mouse, really. The mouse always loses in the end, and at this point you'd be lying if you said it wasn't exciting to lose. You can't help wondering if he's excited too, ripping you apart and throwing you around. His gun is barely involved anymore, he wants to have his bare hands on you when he hurts you.

You start finding gifts for you left at your base. Simple things that could be left by anyone - your favourite book or snack, a new set of expensive scalpels - yet no one on your team will admit to giving them. They joke about a secret admirer and try to get each other to fess up with playful violence. But nothing comes of it, you just grow accustomed to them

Heavy makes photocopies of your files. He reads and rereads them, no longer able to deny how obsessed with you he’s become. The photo of you sits hidden under his bedside lamp in his room on the base. He pulls it out at night to just stare at it in silence, contemplating. He plays the memories of you in his mind in the same way. Covered in blood, grinning as you kill or heal in the distance, beaten under his hands… He feels like his head will crack open if it becomes any more full of you.

You notice even more of an uptick in him hunting you down. Compensation for how distracting you've become to him. You can’t help but revel in the almost obsessive way you’ve begun fighting each other. Neither of you are helping your team properly like you should be. His touches as he holds you down become almost gentle before they rip you apart, touching you in places that would be inappropriate at best. You come out of respawn blushing and gasping, but you can’t see it being anything other than an accident, especially in this line of work.

Heavy can’t get rid of you. His mind is overtaken by thoughts of you. He can’t focus on his books and he’s lost all interest in his own team by now. Late at night, while failing to read, he pictures a life where you aren’t contracted into this job. Where he can have you without consequences and you want him the same. If he could have you, even just for a night, he thinks it might buff out the you-shaped hole in his brain. No, it can’t be real. If he has you it would have to be coerced out of you. It would need outside help, planning. If he wants to have you, it will have to be forced.

cont.

It's a seemingly genuine coincidence when you wind up at the same bar in town. You instantly see each other, and you both instantly go on guard. You hide in your drinks and try to look uninteresting. A strong hand taps you, gently, on the shoulder. You know it's him. Your mind replays every death at his hands at once for a moment, before you manage to turn around. Silent, he just looks at you. His lips are pursed as though deep in thought. He clears his throat but doesn't speak, instead holding out a drink to you. He bought two of the same one? As you stare at it blankly, he seems to become frustrated with your silence. "For you. Is just whiskey and coke." He sets it in front of you, and then he pulls out a chair at the bar beside you. With the amount of muscle and weight on him, you wonder for a moment how that stool can hold so much man. You ignore how it makes you sweat.

He's quiet. Doesn't even look at you, just swirls his drink in his glass. You swallow, dry mouthed, and look at him. "Why would I drink something you gave me?" you ask, suspicious. He smiles slightly, eyes closed as he lets out a small rumble of a laugh, pulling his fur lined vest closer to himself with his large hands. Just barely entertained. "Doctor," he says, "I am not paid to kill you right now. I do not like poison kill, anyway." You let out a nervous chuckle, because he's right. This isn't the battlefield. He doesn't have any reason to hurt you right now. You drink with him.

Actually, you maybe drink too much with him. But he's just as wasted, it seems. You both are loose lipped and talking far more than either of you do typically. Every team secret is fair game, it's like all the typical decorum between the teams falls away. Like you're normal people, meeting at a bar. He seems almost sleepy in his distance as the night goes on, soft and nervous expressions that look odd to you compared to the usual faces you've seen him make. He doesn't look harmful at all. A heavy haze of relaxation makes it all feel so nice. It makes your guard fall completely.

Heavy is watching you, even as he also drinks. He only has to drink for so long until the first drink's secret hits you. Flunitrazepam, as his own team's Medic recommended to him. Takes a minute, but you most likely won't even remember what happens to you. His own drinking is more to quell his nerves. He knows it's not practical to have your forever, as much as he finds himself wanting that, but this drug can give him the chance to have you for at least... one night.

The bar closes, and you try to stand up to head out, slurred voice trying to say farewell. Standing up out of your chair proves too challenging, and your legs are too weak to hold you, falling from under you as you gasp and get ready to hit the floor. Heavy catches you before you can, and you're limp against him for a moment as he sets you back on your feet with support of his heavy arm. "Doctor is too drunk," he says near your ear, a hot whisper. You blink to try and focus more, able to pull yourself to standing on your own with wobbling legs. "Ahah, a- a bit t-too drunk, yeah," you say, stumbling over your words. "I need to get- get back, now. I am... I am needed tomorrow o-on our base."

Heavy puts his arm back on you, under the guise of supporting you as you sway. His expression betrays nothing of how fast his heart is pounding. He's never been this close to you without killing you. You're more soft than he imagined, yet firm, and seem like you'd typically be very strong and steady. Right now you're weak, muscle tone basically at a zero, leaning directly against him like he's never hurt you in his life. "I get motel for you. Maybe... me too. Cannot drive." He says it so matter-of-factly that you find yourself nodding along. Your hands cling at the soft lined fur at the edges of his vest as he helps you get across the street. The walk is nothing but a blur of lights in your mind, neon to warm yellow to blips in darkness until your body hits a soft bed. You sigh dizzily, closing your eyes as your body sinks into the terrible motel bed. The overhead lights stay off above you, and everything is so... relaxing.

Heavy sits on the opposite bed for now, chin in his palm, watching you intensely. You're soft against the bed, doctor's coat splayed beneath you. He stands, the bed creaking enormously as his weight leaves it. Stepping over to you, his hand cups at your cheek, feeling your skin. Your eyes blearily open as he touches you. You manage a hum of confusion, trying and failing to sit up. "Shush," he mutters, pressing you back down with one hand. He squeezes your chest while it rests there, clenching his jaw as his eyes graze over you. His large fingers grasp at the buttons of your coat. You look down at him blearily, huffing out a heavy breath. You seem to at least be processing that something sensual is happening through the confusion.

Heavy carefully undoes the buttons. Your coat is maybe the one thing he won't rip apart. He wants your dignity in battle to remain in tact even if nothing else does. You're his favourite opponent. Pulling it off your arms, he touches the red insignia on the arm of the coat, smirking to himself. Your hand weakly comes up and grasps at his arm, barely certain if he's there, if this is a dream. Your touch is so weak he barely notices it.

The rest of your clothes are not as safe from his strength. He grips at your button up shirt and tears it open at the middle, the threads ripping slowly. He just wants to see your body. Feel your body. Maybe, just maybe, even see more of your blood. Heavy disposes of your pants in a similar way, the remains of them hanging on the ends of your legs. You definitely know something is happening, grunting at him and trying to turn yourself over. His hands hold you down as he gets onto the bed with you, your weights together on the cheap bed threatening to bend it in half. "Lay still, doctor," he orders. "Lay still." You breathe out shakily in your haze, teetering on unconsciousness as he gropes at your frame. His hand travels down to your crotch, large hands surrounding your soft cock. He just feels it, for a moment, breath deepening. You harden slightly in his hand, body responding naturally as it will. It makes his throat dry and his body hot. You're so small beneath him, and you aren't even a small person, really. You groan weakly, and the sound spurs him on further.

Heavy's hand surrounds your throat. At first, he massages at the delicate skin, feeling every muscle below roll under his finger pads. Then, he's squeezing. Too hard. You're too far from your team's respawn, and he can't kill you here. As he squeezes, you begin to wheeze, and your eyes open as much as they can. You try to speak to plead somehow, but it comes out as a breathy whimper. You claw at his arm, and even though you break his skin, it doesn't make him let go. His other hand grips both of your wrists and holds them above you. His eyes bore into yours for a moment as his hand squeezes the air from you. Just as you begin to turn red, he lets go. You draw in a weak, deep breath groaning. The now un-busy hand returns to your half hard cock, fondling it as he breathes heavily.

You're almost completely hard, even as out of it as you are, and that certainly doesn't help his own hard on. The haze over your vision makes everything that's happening confusing, but fingers that big inside you are not ignorable. Your slow breath hitches and your back bends upward. Heavy watches you through half lidded eyes, lips pressed together thinly. His free hand palms at the front of his pants and he grunts hotly. "Body," he mutters. "Doctor's body is perfect." His face is red as he runs his hand over your chest and arms, down your stomach to squeeze at your cock again. You're overwhelmed, panting slightly without fully understanding what's happening. But it feels good. You know that it feels good.

You can feel something wet press against your hole, dizzily raising your head to look down. Heavy brought lube. He isn't stupid, and he doesn't want to ruin your body too much. As he presses into you, his eyes won't leave your face. He strokes your cheek, pretending for a moment that this is consensual, real. That you're normal people already in a relationship with no contract work preventing you from being together like this. Moans that definitely sound consensual keep leaving your mouth as you writhe slightly under his grip. You're starting to slip out of the world, feeling warm, thick darkness overtaking your brain. The rest of the sex is a blur untouchable by your memory, except for how tight you're held as warmth floods inside of your body.

The next morning though, all of it is untouchable by your memory. You can remember going out drinking, and your clothes are half destroyed for a reason you can't place. Getting out of bed, your legs try to give out under you, deep pain from inside you causing them to shake. You can feel wetness on your thighs. You try to remember what happened. You can't remember what happened.

You're late to the base that day, and you get chewed out by basically everyone on your team. You can't take a day off for pain in a job like this, so to battle it is. Heavy watches you from a distance, trying to mentally be in the place where you were, the faux consensual situation that lived in his head. Nevertheless, he has to kill you. He kills you anyway, with bare hands, just to feel the touch of your skin. Just to let his obsession feel less real as you bleed under his fists.

[respawned-dove]

GOD your headcanons are so good... could i maybe get a short fic with a yandere sniper x transmasc reader.... doing gods work ouult here

I hope you don't mind it, anon, I heavily headcanon Sniper as transmasc as well, so this will be t4t.

yan! transmasc! Sniper x transmasc! Reader - NSFW

CW/TW: stalking, violence, noncon voyeurism, implied necrophilism (not descriptive, imagined by a character and not actually happening), marijuana & cigarette mentions, self loathing, sadism

Worn leather boots trudge up sandy dirt as Sniper steps out of his camper, shifting the strap of his gun as he looks up at the buildings above him. In the dark, the apartment blocks and houses loom overhead with darkened windows. He’s been here often enough that he knows exactly the fire escape to climb, and the exact ladder from there that takes him to the roof. Settling into the highest point, he sets up his gun in a makeshift nest. The only reason he brought it, really, is the scope. His scope is a fucking nice one, he doesn’t even hazard a guess at how much it cost the people he works for. It’s perfect for seeing long distances, for seeing into the crevices of every place he’s not meant to look.

Through the small lens, he focuses in on a seemingly random apartment, seeking the content within. The lights are still on, and being so high up, you never close your blinds. It gives him a view of your bedroom window, like a private theatre screen. He checks his watch, which reads 22:00, around the time you get into the shower every night. Annoyingly he has some time to kill before you’ll be there to watch. Grumbling to himself, he pulls out a cigarette to smoke. Lit, he pulls a puff of smoke in, eyes still focused through the scope.

Sniper has been watching you for a while now, though what started it he himself can hardly remember. A bit too much kindness shown to a stranger in a public place, being followed home without noticing, and now you have a gunman’s sights trained on you for life. He closes his eyes as he takes a particularly deep breath of nicotine, something itching in his mind. It bothers him often, the idea of approaching you again. You wouldn’t remember him, surely. It would just be an organic meeting, an organic going out for drinks.

With a grimace, he puts out the cigarette on his own hand, scoffing at himself. As if he feels at place enough in a bar to take you out, or could have a normal conversation for once in his life. It’s not worth the risk of ruining the chance. He prefers the fantasy of you. The idea of having you to himself, without any of the practice required to maintain a relationship with a human being.

Before he can dwell on his moping, there’s movement in your room. You step out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. His cheeks grow ruddy and his hands grip tighter to his gun as he watches you move. He remembers the first time he saw you like this, the brief confusion at the towel being over your middle and bottom at once. But it came off and showed him the stars. Thinking about it stirs him up, and as the towel falls from you in his scope, he tugs his own pants off a bit, unbuttoning them to reach his own tcock.

Touching himself slowly, firmly, he watches you move around the room naked. Dumb thing to do with your blinds open, he thinks. Like you want someone to bloody stare at you. He bites his lip, hard, breathing out heavily. The thought that you know somehow, that you would want him to be seeing you like this, it makes his whole body hot. You’ve laid out on your bed, naked. Innocently relaxing post-shower. All while giving him the perfect view of your entire form.

Your body is softer than his. You’ve definitely not been taking testosterone as long as he has. Eyes half closing he pictures how warm and gentle your flesh would be, yielding to his hands as they would squeeze and prod at you. In his mind he pictures what your moans might sound like. He imagines how easily you might get aroused with him touching you, how easily his fingers would fit into you. He curls two into himself, imagining it’s your body instead. It makes him shudder and groan, adjusting the scope to zoom in on you even further. God, it’s like he’s right there in bed with you.

He bites a tooth into his fresh cigarette burn, crying out and groaning quietly. Would you do things like that for him? Would you hurt him? Let him hurt you? In the hot night air he’s drenched in sweat, jerking himself off to the sight of you, the idea of you. He imagines putting on a harness and using a toy on you. He’s never done that before, but with you he wants it. He wants it, to feel you pinned under him like a caught animal. Crying under him as he bites and claws you.

You’ve rolled onto your stomach on your bed, and he wants to be there, on top of you, feeling you, hurting you. He strokes his tcock hurriedly, feeling his knife split your skin, feeling his hands hurt you even beyond the ways he’s hurt men before. Hitting you, carving into you, smashing your head onto the ground until you’re silent. Warm blood coming from your skin. And his hands the cause of it all, pleasure, pain. He feels you cum. He feels you die. And then he cums to the thought.

The clarity of what he just got off to hits him before he’s even done orgasming, and he reels his face away from his scope, panting hotly. The redness in his face becomes one of shame rather than arousal, and he clutches a hand into his shirt as he tries to calm himself down. What kind of sick freak is he, what was that? He knows what it was. He thinks these things often, no matter how much he pushes them back. Even on the battlefield he feels that excitement, the arousal of someone dying by his hand. Pleasure found in splattering brains. But, you? Did he just think that of you?

There’s a reason you’re better off as only an idea to him.

He wipes his hand on his own clothes and packs himself back up in his van as quickly as possible. Drives far away, even past his team’s base, out into the desert. Quiet. It’s quiet out there. He parks, and rests his head on the steering wheel. Nothing but the sounds of night out there now. And him panting.

Sleep doesn’t come for him that night, and instead he spends it trying to stop thinking about you and how you’re sleeping. He smokes, then smokes weed instead, and watches the sun rising while telling himself he can’t even go back and watch you again, that he can’t let himself indulge in the sadism he can never wash his brain from.

But he will go back. And he will watch you again. And of course, he’ll cum to those exact thoughts, again and again.

[respawned-dove]

darkfic and nsfw content will be featured, therefore minors are not allowed to interact and will be blocked if seen.

Archie / they/them / 22 years old

This is a writing blog centered around the Team Fortress 2 characters! I will take x Reader requests as well as character x character content (up to three characters for this type). I really love the BLU team please ask about them and request them! I do both headcanon lists and short fics.

Content I will do

sexual and wholesome fics alike, yandere, noncon, violence (torture, whump, murder, general gravel wars horrors), abusive dynamics, honestly most things, feel free to ask to be certain and keep in mind I have the right to deny anything I wish to. Please mind the tags and don't eat the dove if you don't want it.

About the Author

This blog is run by a system and multiple alters will write here. Archie is a collective nickname you can use for everyone for the simplicity! We are very passionate about writing and about exploring the darkest aspects of humanity through fiction. TF2 is a fairly new fandom to us, but there is so much untapped potential for dark content with these characters that I hope to dig into like an untouched goldmine. We've got some illnesses that affect energy levels, so there may be occasional necessary hiatuses. Otherwise we will be here having fun and doing what we love!

[tf2writingprompts]

TF2 Writing Prompt #8

(Dark/Comedy)

Medic goes to hell...

And has a great time!