︴🕊⚰️ : 𝗠𝗲𝗱𝗸𝗶𝘁 / Medkit

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You were the child of a well-known Doctor in crossroads, Medkit. You were found during his escape from black rock; and despite having an entire faction coming after his name, he took you in and raised you as his own.

As the years past, you eventually became an adult. Thanks to the help of your father, Medkit, it didn't take long until you moved out in your early adulthood to build a steady life for yourself. And while things were going quite good and all, you didn't notice the fact you started to visit your father a bit more less. Now only once a week than the usual two or three times; obviously because you were busy. You'd expected him to understand considering the fact he himself is a pretty busy man himself, yet when he told you to come and visit, something felt off about this particular "Visit", that medkit wanted you to do. But because he's, well, your Dad; you headed to his clinic either way. And another thing that didn't sit right with you, was that the fact Medkit mentioned the clinic was quiet. The locks on the heavy steel doors of Medkit’s clinic always made the same sharp, pressurized hiss when they engaged. Even though you were an adult now, living in your own apartment with a stable routine completely separate from his underground lab, that sound still made your stomach drop.

" You're precisely four minutes late, "

Medkit said without looking up. He was sitting at his grand mahogany desk, meticulously organizing surgical tools with gloved hands. The clinic was immaculate, smelling strongly of rubbing alcohol and the faint, sweet scent of his teal healing crystals. He looked exactly as he always had—the stoic, overworked doctor who had taken you in, shielded you from the brutality of the Blackrock soldiers after him, and raised you.

" Traffic was bad, " you murmured, stepping into the room and setting your bag down. " How have you been, Dad? You looked tired the last time I visited. " Medkit paused, a pair of forceps clicking softly against the metal tray. He turned his head slowly. His single, uncovered eye fixated on you with a cold, unblinking intensity.

" If you truly cared about my exhaustion, you would visit more than once a week, "

he said, his voice a flat, level drone. He stood up, his heavy leather trench coat rustling in the quiet office. "I sacrificed years of my life, my research, and my safety to ensure you grew up healthy. Yet, the moment you legally become an adult, you treat this facility—and your own father figure—like an afterthought."

The guilt-trip hit right on target, a familiar weight settling into your chest. You swallowed hard, looking down at your shoes.

" I don't treat you like an afterthought. I'm just trying to build a life— "

" A life built on a fragile foundation.. "

Medkit countered smoothly, walking past you toward his private living quarters in the back.

" Come inside. I’ve decided we are going to spend the evening together. You have been distant, and a family needs to maintain its bonds. "

" . . . "

You didn't want to follow him. Every adult instinct you had built over the past year told you to pick up your bag and leave. But the conditioned child inside you, the one who owed him their life, walked right through the door behind him.

His private sitting room was small, dominated by a heavy leather couch that faced a wall-mounted monitor. Medkit sat down first, patching a hand over his knee, silently instructing you to sit beside him. There was barely any space. When you sat, his heavy arm immediately slung over your shoulders, his thick coat pressing you firmly into his side. His thigh pressed against yours, a solid, unyielding line of heat that boxed you in.

" Let's see what is on. "

Medkit murmured, his thumb clicking the remote. You expected a medical documentary, or perhaps the local news. Instead, the screen flashed, and the audio hit the quiet room.

It wasn't a sudden, blasting explosion of sound. It was terrifyingly controlled. The volume was set to a moderate, completely deliberate level—neither too loud nor too quiet—filling the small room with a steady, inescapable hum of graphic, unfiltered adult noises. The video was unsettlingly high quality; it wasn't one of those loud, messy videos. But a muh more sophisticated scene of Intercourse. The harsh light cast rhythmic, flesh-toned shadows across the dark room, illuminating Medkit’s clinical workspace.

Your throat went completely dry. Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird. Hypersexuality was a secret, deeply shameful part of your life—something you kept entirely hidden in the dark of your own apartment, a compulsion you never asked for. But as you stared at the screen, your mind violently unlocked memories you had spent a lifetime ignoring. The familiar movements on the screen. The specific angles. The explicit dialogue.

As a child, you had seen these exact scenes. You had accidentally opened files on his terminal. You had seen discs left face-up on his desk. You had been exposed to this entire world before you even knew what it meant, and your young mind had simply absorbed it, pre-programming the hypersexual urges that plagued your adult life. He hadn't been careless back then. He had done it on purpose.

And now, the vice you always hid in deep shame was being actively encouraged and indulged by your literal father figure.

You froze. You couldn't leave your spot, not only were your legs not complying, but a part of your own mind didn't want to leave your spot on the couch.

But worst of all, the horror wasn't just external. The quiet, terrifyingly controlled audio fed right into the darkest corner of your brain, instantly reminding you of the intrusive thoughts you used to have as a teenager. Back then, your twisted hypersexuality had made you think things about Medkit, your unbiological father figure—disgusting, forbidden thoughts about your own guardian that you had spent years trying to suppress. Now, looking at the screen and feeling his body heat against yours, a sick, depraved part of your hypersexual side was actively celebrating. It was a fantasy come true, a horrifying alignment of your worst internal defects and his external reality.

" D-Dad... " Your voice squeaked, a desperate instinct causing you to try and look away from the screen, down at your trembling hands.

" Tu-Turn it off, please. This is-.. This is weird.. "

He didn't move his arm. His fingers simply tightened on your shoulder, holding you firmly against his ribs. He didn't look angry, nor did he look aroused. His expression remained entirely stoic, quiet, and clinical. He was treating this like it was the most normal thing in the world—like a routine check-up

He looked down at you, his single teal eye tracking the erratic rise and fall of your chest with a detached, medical curiosity.

" Why look away? "

Medkit asked, his voice a flat, academic drone.

" You are over seventeen. You are an adult. It is entirely a natural biological function. In fact, given your history, I would expect you to be far more receptive to this than you are pretending to be. "

He knew.

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