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.
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.
