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queenshelby · 8 months

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Business As Usual (Part Six)

Pairing: Dark!Thomas Shelby x Wife!Reader

Warning: Arranged Marriage, Angst, Cheating

NOTE: THIS IS MUCH DARKER THAN WHAT I USUALLY WRITE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

During the drive, you distracted yourself from the pain by discussing what happened and why. You wanted to know whether your family was working against you and Shelby Company Limited and, much to your surprise, your husband admitted that certain members of your family strayed from the original agreement between your respective families. They had put you and Tommy's family into grave danger and Tommy told you that he would not stand for it.

Then, after a short drive, you arrived at the hospital. The building was a maze of corridors and staircases, filled with medical staff bustling about their duties. Despite the circumstances, you found solace in the familiar smell of disinfectant that hung heavy in the air.

The doctor attending to you was a woman named Dr. Miller. She was kind and compassionate, offering small smiles of encouragement throughout the procedure. You winced as she removed the bullet from your arm, but her soothing voice kept you grounded, helping you endure the excruciating pain with Tommy by your side.

His presence brought comfort, yet it heightened the sense of betrayal that lingered between you, and you were unsure by this point as to whom you could trust.

He was there, yet he seemed miles away; distant, detached. You noticed that in his posture, his voice, his mannerisms—even his scent, masked by the sterile hospital environment.

"Considering the circumstances and the fact that you are currently with child, I recommend that you stay here for the night, Mrs Shelby," Dr. Miller suggested gently but you hesitated and shook your head.

"No, please, I want to go home," you insisted, your voice quivering with the weight of the events that had taken place. With everything that had transpired, you did not feel safe at a public place like this, but Tommy reassured you that he would arrange for appropriate security, even if you were to decide to stay at the hospital.

"You should stay here Love. You need to rest, and you most certainly need proper medical care, eh," he insisted, running a tender finger up and down your arm, a light touch that sent chills down your spine. His sudden tenderness surprised you as, ever since you were forced to marry one another, he had been rather cold towards you, and yet, you shook your head and pulled your arm away from him.

"As I said Thomas, I want to go home," you repeated, this time more sternly and with a glare thrown in his direction. "You either drive me back to Arrow House or I will make alternate arrangements," you said while watching as the muscles in Tommy's jaw visibly tensed and clenched, a sure sign that he was annoyed by your obstinacy.

"Fine," he grumbled reluctantly, casting a brief glance at the nurse stationed near the entrance to your room. "I'll take you home. But you must promise me to rest, eh?" Tommy demanded and you hesitated for a moment before nodding in agreement.

"Mr Shelby, with respect, I strongly advise that your wife stays overnight for observation," Dr. Miller reiterated her suggestion, a firm conviction echoing in her voice but Tommy explained to her that you were determined to leave.

"I will arrange for her to be monitored at home by one of your nurses," he told her before producing a bundle of cash from his pocket and placing it discreetly on the counter.

Dr. Miller casted a questioning glance at Tommy and then at her nurse, silently communicating the unspoken agreement.

"Very well, Mr Shelby," she conceded reluctantly while accepting the payment without batting an eyelid. "I will send Nurse Dawson over to administer medication and monitor your wife's condition. Please remember that she needs complete rest and should avoid stress at all costs."

"Thank you, Doctor," Tommy responded curtly before guiding you out of the ward.

You glanced back at the enigmatic doctor, who gave you a warm smile and a nod, wishing you a speedy recovery. Once you were seated in the car, Tommy fastened your seatbelt carefully, his expression softening as he studied your face. "Are you alright, Love?" he asked softly, concern evident in his voice.

You swallowed thickly, fighting back the tears welling up in your eyes. "I am fine," you croaked, raising a weak hand to wipe away the stinging wetness accumulating near your right eye.

You'd always been tough, steeling yourself against whatever life threw at you, but the relentless strain of recent months had worn you thin.

A gentle nod was your only response, the understanding in Thomas's eyes mirroring the pain in yours. It was difficult to believe that just hours earlier, you'd been embroiled in a dangerous standoff, armed with pistols and ready to strike down your enemies. Now, as you sat quietly in the passenger seat, your thoughts drifted back to the turbulent three months that had transformed your life irrevocably.

The car accelerated smoothly through the foggy streets of Birmingham, weaving effortlessly through patches of damp road. You stole a sideways glance at Tommy, only to find him gazing out onto the rain-slicked pavement, lost in his musings.

The tension between you was palpable, the air thick with unsaid words and pent-up emotions. A single tear trickled down your cheek, mingling with the sweat on your skin. You reached up and wiped it away with the back of your hand, hoping desperately that Tommy wouldn't notice your distress.

You wanted to seem strong and unbreakable, uncaring about what he had done to you, but holding up this kind of facade had become increasingly difficult.

Every time you blinked, you could see his betrayal staring back at you like a slap in the face. He slept with the enemy, cheating on you and you wished for things to go back to the way they used to be before you were thrown into this life. When the first few weeks had passed after your marriage, you thought that maybe things would change some day, but you had been foolish to think that someone like Tommy Shelby could ever change.

Just like you, he pretended to be invincible. The veneer that protected him from real feelings seemed cracked now though, and underneath lay raw nerves. His eyes flashed, and he gripped the steering wheel harder. The Bentley purred along the roads of Birmingham, cutting through the misty weather like a hot knife through butter. In the dim light, his profile was illuminated by the dashboard lights, showing a man wrestling with inner demons.

Then, suddenly, he pulled over at quiet intersection, near an abandoned estate before parking the Bentley under a tree.

You were startled, and your eyes widened as the engine cut off. You could feel the awkward silence filling the air between you. The wind whistled loudly, causing the trees to sway.

"We need to talk," Tommy said, his voice breaking the uncomfortable silence. He opened the car door and helped you step out. He guided you towards an old wooden bench sitting under the shelter of a sturdy oak tree.

The bench creaked under your weight as you sat down gingerly, wincing from the residual pain in your arm.

You glanced sideways at Tommy, noticing his troubled expression.

"What exactly did you mean by 'we need to talk'?" you asked cautiously, sensing the seriousness of the conversation to come. "And why here?" you wondered, and Tommy's shoulders stiffened visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he gathered his thoughts.

"Because I feel as though someone is listening to us, in my own fucking house," Tommy growled before offering you a cigarette, an offer which you declined. "Love, I know I have made mistakes..." he then trailed off, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt.

"You have. You betrayed me and you cheated on me," you interrupted bluntly, refusing to sugarcoat the truth.

Your tone was accusatory, carrying the weight of a betrayed spouse. The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but you refused to shy away from confronting the issue head-on.

Tommy flinched noticeably, his grip tightening on the armrest. He looked down, avoiding direct eye contact. "I know," he murmured quietly, shame coloring his cheeks. "I was...confused. Things got complicated and I..." he began to say before inhaling sharply. "You were forced to marry me, and I tried to honor our arrangement after the night we shared, but in order to protect you from your own fucking family, I couldn't. I had to ensure that you were not involved in any of my business deals knowing that you were pregnant with my child, and you hated me for that. So, tell me Y/N, how could you have possibly expected us to be anything other than fucking acquaintances, eh? You don't love me. You were forced to be with me and I was not going to live to honor my vows with a woman who shows no fucking interest in me and no fucking respect either," Tommy explained, his voice heavy with resentment, though his words carried a certain amount of justified bitterness. He had done everything he could to protect you from your own family's devious schemes. They were planning to sacrifice you for personal gain and screwing over the gang in which you were now involved. What more could you have possibly expected from him?

"As soon as I figured out your uncle's plan, I realized that you were a liability to me, and that fact alone made me distance myself from you, not out of hatred, but because I wanted to protect our child," Tommy continued, his voice softer now.

"So why did you sleep with Laura Manning then? What did she have to do with protecting our child?" you countered, still unconvinced that his intentions were pure. There was no denying that Tommy was a complex individual, capable of displaying immense kindness and compassion while simultaneously engaging in brutal acts of violence. You couldn't quite wrap your head around his motives, and it frustrated you to no end.

Tommy hesitated, his brow furrowed in concentration. "For the same reason I sleep with whores Y/N," he confessed, his voice strained and laden with regret. "To get some fucking release, after a long day of handling business" he added, before taking a deep breath and, immediately, you slapped him across the face.

The sound of flesh connecting with flesh echoed loudly in the chilly night air. He flinched, surprised by your sudden reaction but not entirely unprepared. The sting of your palm burned against yours, the intensity of your anger shocking even you but, what you did next, came more of a surprise to him than anything before.

"You are being selfish Thomas, seeking release outside your marriage after all you did to me," you told him while reaching for his belt buckle, you undid it swiftly, and then slid his zipper down, before he could utter a word.

"Fuck!" he gasped, his eyes wide in shock as you slid your hand beneath his briefs.

You leaned forward, wrapping your hands around his shaft and squeezing firmly. His cock throbbed in your grasp, swelling larger under your skilled fingers.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he stammered, struggling to form coherent sentences while being confused by your actions while trying to stop you.

"Quiet!" you snapped, squeezing him tighter. "I am your wife and I need you to remember exactly that," you spoke swiftly while his eyes went wide as saucers, mouth hanging open, but he bit down hard on his lip to suppress an audible groan when you stroked him expertly. Each stroke of your fingers teased his erection, causing it to grow thicker and longer. You knew how to handle a man, how to manipulate him, and how to please him in ways he hadn't experienced before.

"No more whores!" you shouted, grabbing Tommy's erection even tighter. "No more fucking other women!" you snarled, pumping his cock faster. "I'm it, Tommy! Only me!" you told him before adjusting your position in order to take off your undergarments.

"I am your fucking wife and I expect you to treat and respect me as such," you said angrily before reaching beneath your skirt and slipping your panties off.

You straddled Tommy, your knees pressing against his thighs and your moist pussy brushing against the head of his cock.

"Y/N," he protested feebly, his voice hoarse and trembling and, before he could say anything else, you pressed your index finger onto his lips.

"Ssh," you cooed seductively, grinding your hips against his groin, but Tommy would not relent.

"Please, Y/N," he pleaded weakly, trying to push you away. "You're too delicate to handle me right now. You are injured and traumatized," he reminded you calmly, but you shook your head.

"That's just it, Tommy," you purred, gripping his erection tightly before guiding it to your entrance. "I'm not delicate. Not anymore," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the rustling leaves overhead.

"I know what you want, Tommy. What you need," you told him, your voice husky with desire. You felt him squirm beneath you, his cock growing impossibly harder against your sensitive flesh.

"And I'm going to give it to you at my discretion," you moaned, grinding your pussy against his swollen member. "Understand?" you asked while Tommy whimpered softly, arching his neck to lick your lips hungrily, but you pulled away, leaving him wanting more.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice thick with lust and pleading. "Please..." he begged but you shook your head, teasing him with your eyes.

"You've got to prove yourself to me, Tommy," you smirked wickedly, rubbing your pelvis against his throbbing erection. "Show me that you're worth my time, effort, and affection."

He frowned, his brows knitting together in frustration. "How?" he asked, desperate for a way to appease you.

"Well," you purred, cupping his cheek. "First of all, you will give me authority to handle the liquor export division. I want you to give me full control over it and not interfere unless absolutely necessary."

Tommy stared at you in disbelief before heaving a sigh. "I'll consider it," he agreed reluctantly, following which he asked what else it was that you wanted.

The air between you crackled with tension, the scent of sex and desperation mingling to create an intoxicating blend. You knew that you had him hooked, and now it was time to reel him in.

"Secondly," you continued, leaning closer to his ear. "If, what you told me is true, I want you to help me get rid of my uncle and his acquaintances. They pose a threat to our family, and I won't tolerate it. Understand?" you asked, seeing that it was them who put you into harm's way and, without giving it a second thought, Tommy nodded. "Agreed," he muttered gruffly, his voice barely audible.

He was caught in your web, ensnared by your demands and desires and you licked your lips, savoring the taste of power and dominance before making your final demand.

"Finally, I want you to stop sleeping around," you stated bluntly. "From now on, you're mine and only mine. Agreed?" you asked and Tommy pursed his lips, contemplating your request.

After a few moments of silent deliberation, he nodded slowly. "Agreed," he said softly, his voice cracking slightly. "No more whores," he muttered, and you smiled triumphantly, feeling empowered by your newfound control over him.

"Good boy," you cooed, planting a fleeting kiss on his lips before, finally, lowering yourself on to his hardness.

"Oh, God, yes," he moaned, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. "I'm...I'm yours, Love," he gasped, his voice hoarse and broken as he felt your flesh surrounding his hardness.

You chuckled softly, feeling satisfied with your victory. "Yes, you are," you purred before you began to ride him.

You took his cock inside you with agonizing slowness, relishing the sensation of being filled by him. You let out a soft cry of pleasure as your walls tightened around his thickness.

"You feel so fucking good," Tommy moaned, thrusting his hips upward to meet each of your downward strokes. You reveled in the sensation of being impaled by him, his erection pulsating within you.

Each movement drove you wild, your juices flowing freely, lubricating your passage. You wrapped your arms around his neck, anchoring yourself as you bounced on top of him.

"You see, you could have had this all along, Thomas" you panted, your voice ragged and hoarse.

Tommy's eyes narrowed, his breathing becoming labored. "I promise to make it up to you Love," he murmured, his voice shaking slightly.

"We shall see," you replied coolly, your gaze locked on his.

With each stroke, you grew more confident, knowing that you held the reins.

"I am close," Tommy muttered, his voice strained and breathless.

You smirked, enjoying the power you wielded over him as, suddenly, you pulled away and slid off his lap.

"Well," you drawled, standing up and dusting off your skirt nonchalantly and picking up your panties from the dirty floor. "Maybe I will let you have your release later, if you behave yourself."

Your words hit him like a punch in the gut, and you saw the hunger in his eyes intensify tenfold.

Tommy simply sighed, his gaze fixated on your every move. You knew that you had him where you wanted him. His cock twitched impatiently, yearning for release, but you decided to tease him further.

"Get up," you command, and he does so immediately, his movements swift and obedient. "When we get back to Arrow House, you will call Boston and introduce me as the new export liaison. Then, after that, we will go to OUR bedroom and you will fuck me like a good husband fucks his wife. Understood?" you asked him, your voice low and seductive.

"Yes, Love," he breathed, his heart thumping wildly in his chest and you arched an eyebrow, your lips quirking upwards mischievously. "Do you?" you challenged, stepping closer to him.

The scent of your perfume wafted towards him, intoxicating and alluring.

"Let's go home, Tommy," you murmured, reaching out to trace your fingertips down his arm and he shivered, goosebumps erupting on his skin.

He had never seen you like this - commanding, dominant, and utterly fearless. You had somehow managed to turn your situation around, seizing control and positioning yourself as the puppet master. And he was your willing marionette, dancing to your tune.

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lvlyghost · 11 months

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In the Midst of War: III

PAIRINGS: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Shadow!Reader

SUMMARY: Home is no longer where it used to be. Left with no one else you wonder who your friends and foes are.

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

TW: blood, descriptions of wounds, an old friend shows up. feelings! attempted fluff. mind the english🐸!

A/N: this GIF is my new fixation and i will not stop posting it in a long time so be advised 🤩 things are hitting the fan next chapter💗as usual thx for reading 🍁🩵

Masterlist✨Masterpost

"𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔?"

Heavy boots, a ragged breathing caused by adrenaline and the sound of his heart thumping inside his ears, those are the things that Ghost can hear as he approaches the white van. Price shouts behind him but he can't make out what he's saying.

The blood... crimson blood that spills from her wounds is frightening. He's a man accustomed to witness horrible things. Seen the worst the world had to offer. Experienced in the flesh what evil can do to a human being. And simply because the woman that he holds in his arms is supposed to be his enemy that didn't mean he wanted to see her bleed out to death. Especially when they learned the truth.

Ghost had a moral code. Things he never wanted to see people go through despite being consequential to their own decisions. She had decided to join the army. She had decided to join the Shadow Company. It was bound to happen. Still it was hard for him.

That very moral code was to not hurt women nor children under any circumstances, and may God —if it even existed— help him when he'd have no other choice.

"Open the fucking door!" He yells, accent becoming more prominent; the door instantly sliding open, readjusting her near dead body in his arms to get them inside. "Gaz, give me everything you have." He commands the Sergeant, who's quick to open his medical pouches as well as the first aid kit they had loaded just in case someone needed it. The eyes of the woman flutter shut and then open slightly again, drifting back and forth between consciousness and the arms of the reaper. Ghost barks again at Gaz, so he helps him undoing the straps of her vest so he can check the wound properly.

"There's another one on her leg, Lt." he points out, moving around him as much as he can with the vehicle moving. With no time to waste he rips the lower part of his shirt, long and wide enough for his Sergeant to work. "Tourniquet , now." Gaz nods, at the harsh and cold commands of his superior. He then turns, lifting her shirt to inspect the wound. The bullet is still lodged inside her stomach, he notices sucking in a sharp breath; part of Ghost wonders who could've been the one who shot her? What if it was him? Taking the disinfectant from the kit he poured a generous amount on her wound. Her face scrunched, lips pouting and a low whine leaves her mouth. "Sorry about that, kid." He muttered, before pressing down on her wound every single gauze he found only to slowly start tainting red. He knew well she couldn't hear him her mind far away from where she physically was.

"We're back." one of the Vaqueros announced, as the van comes to an abrupt stop.

"We need to get her to the helo as soon as possible. She's lost too much blood." Price orders.

The three men get down, military doctors rush to them.

"We'll take it from here." One of them declares, patting Ghost on the shoulder, he nearly growls.

"Let's go. This isn't finished yet."

So Price dragged him in the opposite direction where they were taking her. He didn't know if she'll make it. But that was everything they'd do for her.

Stepping out of the room, showered and changed into comfortable sporting clothes you look around for Ghost. The safe house is silent. Deadly silent.

You wonder if he's even here, and you wonder if escaping would be a good idea. But as for now this was everything you had, at least a bed to sleep and a roof above your head. Sighing you walk to the kitchen just to find it as empty as the rest of the rooms.

The chilly air of late November causes your skin to erupt in goosebumps the moment you step outside, the backyard stretches farther away in the distance and as if on cue, the tall broad form of the Lieutenant appears walking through massive pines, wearing nothing but the jacket and his mask.

Ghost gradually stops when his eyes land on you standing still right outside the back door, arms crossed over your chest to protect you from the weather. He remains silent for a long minute before taking another

step closer.

"All set. Come with me." He orders you.

Biting on your lower lip, stopping your mouth from saying something you'll regret.

"Are you always this bossy?" Despite not liking his tone you oblige and begin to follow as he turns on his heels. If your question annoys him he doesn't let it show in fact he ignores you completely. "Where are we going, Ghost?"

Suddenly a wave of fear washes over you, steps faltering, hands shaking ever so slightly. What if this was it? The end of everything. You didn't want to believe Ghost could kill you like you were nothing you just don't do that to someone you've taken care of for the past month. Why bothering? Why tending to your wounds and worrying for your wellbeing, even if he was forced to do it. You wanted to believe that at least he didn't hate you. Not the way he hated your former Commander. You thought something had changed between the two. He had seemed more relaxed around you; like he somehow had lowered his defenses around you.

"Silence." he hushes you in a low mutter. "M'not gonna kill you if that's what you're worried about."

His words are cold and measured, as if he doesn't want to be here at all and the feeling, the knowledge that you're a burden to him makes your heart ache. A tiny pang of sadness that that's all you've ever been. All you could ever hope to be. So you ball your clench your hands, head hanging low when the so familiar lump in your throat becomes unbearable.

Both of you make it to a clearing, birds faintly chirping on the horizon. The sun no longer greets you, a storm announces itself with heavy clouds appearing in the sky above.

And then you're not alone. Another person stands in the middle. Hands clasped behind. Your heart skips a beat.

The only person that cares enough to save you. Blonde hair in a low tight bun.

Kate turns around, eyes going wide when she finally sees you. She's about to say something but words die because you're practically running to her, ignoring Ghost's warnings on being careful.

A smile appears on her face when you finally hug her and tears roll down your cheeks.

"What took you so long?" You sniffle. Kate's arms hold you tighter.

"I came as soon as I could. Forgive me, Vesper."

Shaking your head you try to stop the tears. It's honestly humiliating but she's known you since you joined the military. Kate Laswell was the closest thing you had to a family just like Graves. "I hope Lieutenant Riley has been good to you."

You huff, making her chuckle.

"He's taken care of me. For that I am grateful."

So now you knew more about him.

Riley.

Better than just a callsign. And it suited him.

Ghost stands a few feet away, despite this being a secure area he can't afford himself to relax. He can still hear everything you say to each other.

He can hear you crying on her shoulder and bloody hell if that didn't made him feel all sorts of distressed. It was a rare thing. Something he wouldn't have thought when he first scooped you up back on that forgotten highway.

But he guesses that happens when you spend too much time with someone you were supposed to look after. It didn't help that just last night you had asked him to stay the night in your room. All kinds of wrong.

Although he had refused he could sense what was happening and he needed to stop it. Getting attached wasn't part of the plan, and it would end terribly.

Deep in his thoughts he misses the look you send him.

"He really is something else." You murmur to Kate who keeps you know at arms length. "If it wasn't for you, I'm sure they'd have killed me." A sad smile appears on your lips.

"Let's not think about what happened darling, but rather what's gonna happen, yeah? Things have taken... a turn. No, hear me out." She says, interrupting you with a soft smile. "You're not alone. Never have been." Another quick glance at Ghost confirms the both of you that he's heard you.

"You know I don't like it when you say mysterious things, Kate." She sighs, giving you another hug although this one isn't as long as the first.

"Trust me. That's all I'm asking, and hey..." he levels you with a serious look. "Ghost may seem frightening but he's a good man." A low confession that doesn't reach his ears. Your cheeks turn red and you don't know why, leaving you mortified when she notices.

"Yeah..." you mumble.

"I don't have much more time. There's matters that require my attention but you'll hear from me again sooner than you think."

"What's that stance?" He gruffly asks as he stands next to you, eyes sliding up and down your body. His arms are tightly crossed over his broad chest. You turn to look up to him and away from the scope of your sniper rifle, blinking rapidly not understanding the disapproving look in his brown eyes.

"Uh, this is how I shoot Ghost." You answer like it was obvious what you were doing. You notice the way he furrow his brows beneath the balaclava.

"Bloody Christ." He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. He comes behind you. "Widen your stance." He kicks one of your foot so it slides along the dirty soil.

Yelping you lose balance for a second before he steadies you with a strong hand to your waist.

"Hey! What was that about?"

Ghost tilts his head eyes narrowing.

"That stance was utter shite. Your legs were not separated enough, you'd get knocked down easily by a waft of air."

"I've been doing it like this forever."

"Well you've been doing it wrong."

"But that's..." squinting your eyes you stare at him, fuming. "My legs are not as long as yours, they're like five damn kilometers long." Ghost snorts. "What's so funny?"

"Shocked you know what a kilometer is." Shaking your head you decide to ignore him and readjust the grip on the rifle. "One of his best soldiers, I heard." He points out. He returns to his spot next to you, trying not to think of how you felt under his touch.

"You've never seen someone like me, Lieutenant Riley."

Ghost freezes, heart skipping a beat at the way you say his name. It's soft and endearing. He watches you closely, you're focused on the target one eye closed and the other fixed on the green bottle.

Breathing slowly and steadily, the exact moment when the sky rumbles you press the trigger. The bullet sound echoes through the lone forest as it hits the target, sending birds flying away from their nests. A wide grin makes its way to your lips, turning to look a Ghost who remains silent merely watching the near-perfect shot, the average size bottle shattered in a thousands pieces.

"Bullseye." you comment in a casual tone. "Your turn."

Offering him the rifle you stare at each other for a long time before he shakes his head, refusing to take it.

"Mine's better." Unfazed by his refusal you wait as he goes to the black duffel bag that he previously placed on an old wooden table. He takes out his preferred weapon. Your was... lethal, but his own, the sheer size and way it was customized for him left you speechless. You even doubted you'd be able to hold it still. "And just so you know." coming back to where he was, Ghost readies himself but not before taking off his leather jacket. Only left with his black hoodie he offers you the jacket, eyes serious. Hesitating for a second before grabbing it and putting it on, it smells like him. It's soft and warm around your body. "We're going out tomorrow."

His body prepares to take the recoil of the gun. Yet another perfect shot is made that day; body barely moving, barely flinching when he fires. You hold your breath at the sound of shattering glass and then everything goes silent. Ghost turns to look you in the face, the way his clothes hang around your body swallowing you whole. A sight he finds himself liking too much for his own bloody good.

"Taking me out on a date I see." His lips twitch although you can't see it. "Where to?" You ask rolling your eyes.

Laying down the weapon he motions you to follow him back inside, he'd clean up afterwards.

"Your first mission. Laswell wants you back asap." The air gets stuck in your throat. "Don't look at me like that. We could use a good soldier. And don't worry too much. I'm coming with."

Teaming up with Ghost was the last thing you thought would happen in your lifetime, even if you had before needlessly to say not directly. For all you knew, they considered you a hostile for your connections with the Shadow Company. But your commander was off the equation. Gone forever.

With a final glance to your way he starts to cook dinner for two so you join him.

Your new life starts now.

"When does this end, Laswell?" He asks her, it's not that he doesn't want to be around the girl. That is exactly why he's desperate to put an end to this, enjoying her company wasn't a part of the plan.

She breathes the cool air, and tries to calm him.

"Don't tell me you've grown to care about her, Lieutenant."

Ghost doesn't answer but the CIA agent notices the way his shoulders tense.

Part 4

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flowering-thought · 2 years

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Finally I can get the man that has plagued my mind off my brain and into my OC's. He's been in there banging around my brain for a week now and I can't get him out <3

Though his name took me a while cause I kept changing my mind 🤡

Not edited

WARNING - MINORS DNI

AFAB reader and reader is described as feminine and chubby/plus sized.

Yandere themes, gore, descriptions of gore, shitty attempt at medical care,

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Dante Morelli

First Meeting + Headcannons

Dante Morelli is a man well-known and well sought after. Whether it's to fuck him or kill him that is. A major CEO of a tech company that's just a cover for the shady mob dealings they do.

Not even most of the employees know about it. It's well hidden and only known by the people apart of the mob itself.

Unfortunately, he doesn't keep anyone by his side. The way he was raised didn't allow for petty emotions and selfish thoughts. And even after the man, he calls his father passed he couldn't shake that at all.

But who knows what fate has in store for him huh?

Unfortunately, one late night after Dante wanders the streets after a dealing, he was caught by an enemy and gunned down. Luckily he managed to get away but barely by going down several back alleys and hiding near some old boxes and garbage left by neighbors.

He's bleeding out and he lost his phone while running. He should have installed a GPS in his watch but he didn't and he regrets it for sure.

His thoughts become mudded and cloudy, barely awake when he hears humming and what sounds like a bag dropping to the floor. He feels hands on his wound and his immediate response is, "Don't call anyone."

He can't risk the cops or anyone finding out about this. And he can hear the hesitation in the voice as what turns out to be you returning from a late-night trip to the grocery store.

You definitely weren't anticipating a man with a gun wound on his shoulder to even be conscious and when you heard his confession to not call anyone you didn't know if your conscious would let you leave him.

So despite the voice in your head screaming you to not drag him to your place, you did the opposite and used his other shoulder to prop him up and let his legs drag on the floor before you brought him up to your shady but cheap apartment.

Luckily no one saw you and you set him down on the floor of your living space before grabbing a med kit that totally wasn't stolen hospital supplies from your best friend...

But who cares cause stolen hospital supplies are helpful. But you look at the wound and grab a bottle of vodka you were saving for the same friend and poured it on the wound and your hands since you didn't have any gloves. You have decent medical knowledge and enough to know what to do and what not to do. So you look for a bullet and are glad to see it passed right through.

So you disinfect the wound further before attempting to stop the bleeding and closing the wound with a sewing kit you had in the kitchen for emergency fixes in your clothes.

You braced yourself for sewing into his skin and then tying it together to close his wound before wrapping it in gauze. There's only so much you could do so you got a spare blanket and pillow and got him comfortable on the floor. You didn't think it would be a good idea to move him too much.

You only knew that closing a wound and stopping it from getting infected and bleeding is the best option even if you have no fucking clue what you're doing.

And after a tiresome night, you pass out on the couch, wanting to make sure this stranger doesn't steal any of your stuff.

Surprised to say Dante was still alive after that. Seriously you fell asleep thinking about how to explain the dead body in your apartment. If things went south you were screwed.

Since you were finally off from work, as a daycare worker for children, you took the chance to make some tea for your extremely stressful night and now morning.

But as you poured the hot water into the mug and over the tea leaves you heard a groan and whisper of "what the fuck" coming from your living room.

"I take it my late-night patient is up?" You say jokingly, smiling softly as you decide to pour another cup of tea. You wait a couple of minutes for it to steep before taking the mugs and setting them on your coffee table where your "guest" sat up with an annoyed look on his face.

He wanted to ask what the hell he was doing here but when he noticed the pile of dishtowels and an empty bottle of vodka in a slightly bloody pile. You hummed the same tune as last night before handing him the mug of tea and sitting next to him.

"Stress release for a stressful night. If you want honey in yours I have some but I honestly hate honey so I'd suggest sugar." You said, making small talk like it was the most normal thing and you couldn't help but feel like this was a wattpad fanfiction you were living through right now.

Dante felt an unknown emotion rush through him before he took a sip of the tea silently. "Thank you for the uh, help.." He mumbled, taking the time to look at your small apartment, noticing some cracks and things that need to be fixed. He noticed the blood behind your fingernails and then looked at your face.

Something in him realized that instead of the awkward silence he should be compensating you for saving him and he felt guilt over giving you a hard time.

And it's rare for him to feel sympathy for anyone.

"May I use your phone?" He asked, looking right at you before you pulled it out of your pockets and handed it to him, "Just don't say I tried to murder you cause I swear I may have wanted to poke my finger in your wound but I didn't-".

He let out a light chuckle before turning his head and putting a number in to call. He heard his bodyguard answer the phone in a panicked tone and he told his bodyguard to come to pick him up.

After that time went by quickly and the tea was finished when there was a knock and a big buff man behind the door who looked like a kicked puppy who shat on the carpet...

When he left you felt like you could finally breathe. You sunk onto your couch and finally fell into a peaceful nap with sincere hopes to forget that you didn't just have tea with a man who you treated like a doll to sew up.

But unknowing to you, Dante felt a squeeze in his heart and a sure knowing that he had just fallen for a woman whose name he didn't even know.

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Regular Headcannons

• Dante is 29 and was born on April 2nd.

• He's part Italian and honestly quite tall.

• He's not entirely good at showing his emotions. He had a rough childhood due to how his father raised him so he'd be a cold and ruthless mob boss when his father stepped down. Sadly even after he passed he couldn't shake the stoic mask he showed.

• But when he fell for you something in him couldn't help but smile so when he meets you again he shows this charming and adorable image. But the moment you're gone from sight he can't find himself feeling as warm and safe as you make him feel. So his smile usually falls when you leave and his subordinates quickly realize it.

• While Dante does have experience with women, he doesn't have experience with love. The amount of Googled date spots and how to win a woman's heart in his search history is honestly getting out of hand...

• He doesn't have many hobbies. He's rich but never sure how to spend the money so most of the time it sits away and goes towards bills and expenses.

• He does like taking care of plants. It was something he picked up as a child to cope with. He would talk to them and tell them all the positive things that he wanted to hear as a child and they thrived under his care. So his hobby grew as he became an adult so his house is filled with dark wood furniture and plants littered around wherever.

• He even has a greenhouse and an indoor garden space in his living room where he grows a tree in his living room. Somehow it makes him feel safe.

• Dante doesn't enjoy growing flowers so sometimes he buys some for himself just cause he thought they were pretty and would look nice in a vase he had at home.

• Cook? Why would he cook when he can just order something? Seriously it's not that he's bad at cooking it's just that he sincerely doesn't know how-

• Doesn't mean he won't look up a recipe to try and make you something for a special dinner date

• And as busy as he can get? He always sets time aside for you. And if you come to visit him while he's doing the "normal" part of his job he'll let you stay in his office with him and maybe sit you on his lap as a lovely stress reliever.

• But if you head over while he's doing the part of his job that he keeps far away from you, he'll send one of his subordinates to make you wait in a better area of the building while he finishes up busting someone's hands.

• He always cleans off before seeing you. He can't just see you while he smells like blood or has the disheveled appearance he does after dealing with someone.

• He doesn't ever want you to have to deal with it. Even though he knows you helped him he'd rather his own blood be on your hands rather than anyone else's.

• If he sees something while out near a shop or just randomly while scrolling through social media that he thinks you would like he'll buy it immediately.

• He's got so much money why not spend a bit of it hm?

• Soon after he met you he actually decided to send you gifts.

• it started out small like some tea leaves and sometimes it would be something else. One time you jokingly said, "oh mystery gifter can you give me a gift for my students?" And then next thing you know a stack of stuffed toys for the kids at your daycare center arrived the next day.

• At first you were freaked out but you grew used to it until you left a note by your door hoping to see who it was.

• when you found out it was Dante, he gave you the most adorable smile and said it was thanks for saving his life. He said if he could get to know you better he would be really grateful. You could of course deny but he'll still try to worm his way in eventually.

• And he understands not to send too many gifts as well. He just doesn't know how to properly express how happy and safe you make him feel so he gives gifts as a form of "payment" in his mind.

Yandere Tendencies Headcannons

• Seriously the wrong person to fuck with. He knows how to manipulate and blackmail but prefers violence and threats above all else.

• He loves you too much and he can easily manipulate your surroundings if he has to. And just like another man, we know he has people watch over you. He only trusts the men close to him so he gets one of them to watch over you and report your actions to him.

• But he doesn't want photos of you taken that aren't by him. Somehow he doesn't feel like anyone has the right to.

• And if a subordinate of his ever had the gall to disrespect you? Their dead the moment that shit spewed from their mouth. After that everyone knows better than to mess with you. But you do become a target of some enemy dealers. But that's also why he has his men watch over you.

• And his business never deals with drugs. Maybe some weed but never anything hardcore. They deal mostly in money, loans, organ harvesting, and certain contracts.

• But his job as a CEO of a tech company also earns him lots of money and while he's not too close to those he employs for the company since they are in the dark about the company being a front, he pays them well and makes sure they have the right bonuses and doesn't allow any power harassment.

• He can and will bug your apartment. He can't have himself worrying about your well-being all the time so it gives him peace of mind. And he likes it when you start humming or singing or just talking to yourself as you pace around your home with whatever task you're doing ♡

• But he does get easily lonely without you around, so at some point, he may begin pressuring you to move in with him. He just wants you by his side. He needs you.

He would have no problem keeping you by his side. There's no way for you to ever possibly escape him. So don't make him doing anything too drastic okay? ♡

#.dante_morelli_♡#soft yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere hcs #yandere male x reader #yandere male #yandere headcanons #chubby reader

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liptonsbabe · 1 year

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Blood all along

Eugene Roe x fem! reader

Inktober "Snow"

Warnings: Mentions of death, blood, war, the usual in this fandom(?.

a/n: well hello! This is a little something that I did for the inktober! I'm not an artist but I thought it would be cute to write a few fics for our favorite boys on this month! Hope you like it!

Btw English is not my frst language so tell me if something's wrong

ofc this is based on the hbo series and the actors who portray the characters, no disrespect for the real heroes!

You hissed in pain as you disinfected the wound on your leg. You were lucky, the bullet had only grazed your skin and the only thing you had to deal with was trying to stop the bleeding that was staining the snow beneath you red.

Bastogne was being a complete nightmare, the air support that arrived a few days ago was not enough and the battalion's medical team was having serious problems helping all the wounded men.

Having to digging in right along the line and repel the German attacks was the worst moment of the war so far and having lost so many soldiers in such a short time was a very strong blow for everyone.

Malarkey, Muck, Penkala and you were inseparable since Toccoa and losing two of your best friends in the same night was so painful for you, especially cause you trained so hard to become a doctor and still couldn't do anything for them. Don talked to you right after what happened, making sure you were okay, but the truth was that he was just or worse affected than you were, and even if Donald Malarkey always knew what to say to lift others' spirits, at that moment the words were stuck on his lips. The only thing he could do was stay by your side, silent and holding your hand tightly.

Everyone in the company noticed your change in attitude after Muck and Penkala's death. Somehow you turned lonely, quiet, and your hands shook when you were near the soldiers' wounds, something that didn't go unnoticed by Eugene Roe, who asked you to step away from the line for a while and try to forget everything that had happened in the last few days.

But forgetting was impossible. Even if your friends hadn't died, you could never forget the warm, viscous feeling of blood on your hands, the smell of gunpowder filling the air or the screams of pain you heard every day, at every second. Now, every time you closed your eyes, the images of the wounded soldiers appeared among a dark cloud that slowly grew bigger and bigger, trying to choke you.

You hissed again, the cold making the wound on your exposed leg sting terribly. You took some alcohol from your backpack and soaked the gauze with it to disinfect the bullet graze. You smiled a little, remembering how you had gotten hurt.

If you had found the third battalion sooner, Babe wouldn't have fallen into that Kraut's foxhole and you wouldn't have to run through the woods with gunfire hot on your heels. It was kind of fun tho, but your leg was swollen like hell.

You heard footsteps approaching your position and without thinking twice you grabbed the knife that you always carried on your belt. You waited for the shadow to become clearer in the snow to attack, but then you recognized the silhouette and relaxed your body.

Eugene walked towards you slowly. His nose was red from the cold and his hands were hidden in the pockets of his uniform. You put the knife aside and continued cleaning the blood. Eugene sat in front of you, noticing the red snow under your feet.

“(Y/N), you're hurt.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“Wait, I'm gonna help you,” he said and rushed to examine the swelling on your leg. You pushed him away “You should've come to me sooner.”

"It wasn't necessary. Don't worry, the bullet didn't hit me. At least not completely. Plus, I'm a doctor too, remember? I can take care of this by myself.”

"Doesn't matter. I wish you'd let me check you properly. Edward told me what happened.”

"Who?" You frowned, not understanding who he was referring to. Then you remembered that Eugene never called anyone by his nickname “Uh, Babe.”

“Yeah.”

“I asked him not to do it, I didn't want you to worry.”

“Well, no matter what happens, I will always worry about you” then he removed your hands from the wound and took the gauze carefully. Roe cleaned your wound and took the time to check that it was indeed a simple bullet graze. He put some ointment on it and blew on your swollen leg for a couple of seconds. You sighed cause the air from his mouth felt like a kiss on your skin and relieved the burning momentarily. You admired the firmness of his hands and the way the blood no longer scared him. He pulled a bandage out of his jacket and started wrapping it around your leg.

“Eugene, how can you stand it?”

He looked up for a second while continuing to manipulate the bandage. “What d'you mean?”

"I mean this. Still standing after everything that has happened."

Eugene stopped. His fingers rested on your bandaged leg and he thought hard for several seconds. He looked at you and could see how broken and tired you were.

"I pray. Sometimes"

“There must be something else” You sniffled, wanting to stop the tears. Eugene sighed, “Something that makes you feel like it's worth staying here.”

“I think there is always something good at the end of the road. I think that… beyond this forest, beyond this frozen hell… there's something that gives purpose to what we are doing. And I hold on to the thought that everything I love will be there when I come back” he said and caressed your cheek “And maybe, with a little luck, I can convince you to come home with me” You laughed through your tears and Eugene squeezed your hand gently. “I'm sorry about Muck and Penkala. I know you feel guilty for not being able to help them, but I'm convinced that they believed firmly in you, and that if it had been different, you'd be there, trying 'til the very end.

Your tears were uncontrollable and Eugene hugged you tightly, he let your pain come out of your chest and let your tears be carried away by the heavy snow that fell from the sky. Roe stroked your hair and kissed the top of your head.

“Everything's gonna be okay and i promise you that I'm gonna take you home,” he whispered in your ear. “I promise, (Y/N), I do promise.”

#dick winters #band of brothers #eugene roe #hbo war #lewis nixon #bandofbrothersedit #carwood lipton #bill guarnere #bob #easy company

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starqueensthings · 1 year

Text

Dork Love: Part Three

Summary: Tech returns to Coruscant to take charge of the required repairs on the reader's electrical panel, and his anxiety is only intensified by the unexpected surprise waiting for him at your shop.

Rating/WC/POV: Teen 16+ for slight whumpage. 6161 words, 2nd POV (though this chapter follows Tech, and reader is only alluded to).

Warnings: casual conversations about anxiety, mentions of blood splatter, mentions of blood soaked objects (LOL this one took me down a weird path).

A/N: this one was a challenge and a half, my friends, so I apologize that it’s not up to my usual standard. I just need to finish it and move on before I pluck my eyebrows off my face. But pls enjoy! LMAO. And thanks to the queen of whump herself for proof reading @staycalmandhugaclone

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Four | ao3

As if it were funneling every effort in to soothing his nerves, the weather had fashioned itself significantly more pleasant than when he last traversed this pathway; the cool drizzle falling that day managed to dampen the typically unabsorbent collar of his blacks with an irksome ease, and had lingered unpleasantly against his skin for several hours afterward. Despite now being favourably warm and dry, elongated shadows cast by the sun’s obtuse position over the mouth of the underworld was making the screen of his datapad annoyingly difficult to discern, the intermittent bouts of intense glare blinding him to the articles that he was only absentmindedly scanning, yet relentlessly fetching.

Bemused that the apex of Tech’s affection had landed itself upon a person and not a superfluous piece of technology, Hunter was insistent that he accompany his brother on today’s voyage, though the guise he’d chosen to conceal his disbelief was a weak one. The coils of wire that he had absurdly deemed “too heavy” for one man to carry, swung daintily from the crooks of their elbows with every stride, and despite having bore witness to the innumerable sleepless nights that Tech had spent meticulously studying current commercial Electrical Code, Hunter remained unwavering in his adamance that his heightened senses may prove valuable – (“what if you need me to sense where the wires are in the wall?”)

‘If only the journey to Coruscant had been for a more inconsequential reason,’ Tech found himself longing as the armoured duo departed the ship. ‘Simply a mission to seek a replacement part, or a simple separatist data decryption.’ Had this been the case, his sergeant’s company would have been welcomed and even encouraged; independent as he was, Tech rarely declined an opportunity to be accompanied by a brother, particularly so if it meant freeing the cockpit of any officious, unsupervised visitation in his absence. Today on the other hand, as his mind continued to shirk his every offer of distraction, and perpetually whirred with cyclical, desultory thoughts, he would have much preferred to make the journey solo.

As they typically did to pacify his overactive mind, his fingers danced fervently across the illuminated buttons of the device clutched tightly in his left hand, the absentminded prods and swipes of his fingers triggering a near constant pull of new, yet continuously marginalized information. Most recently ignored was a collection of graphs depicting the primary effects of seasonal climate changes on the pollination schedule of Felucia’s native flora, though more imperative to Tech in that moment, was calculating the likelihood that you would notice the droplets of engine oil still splattered across the toes of his boots; the only remnants of a night spent repairing the damage that Wreckers most recent attempt at landing the ship had caused to the Marauder’s undercarriage.

Regrettably, the poor condition of his boots was only one of several trivial misgivings. In its company was the budding dread that his lenses had dirtied themselves again despite having mastered the disinfection process, and the fear that the callouses emerging on his palms from several hours of dismantling and reassembling the hyperdrive would deter you from initiating the contact that he’d found himself near-addicted to.

But anchoring all of the other menial anxieties, was the gnawing possibility that the entirety of this adventure could be naught but a misunderstanding; those were, admittedly, frequent occurrences for Tech. The disfigurement of his genetics had rendered him largely unable to accurately identify and categorize the infinite array of human behavior, particularly when expressed by those with whom he was unfamiliar.

What if this was one of those times? What if the request that he come find you was merely a parting statement made with the sole intent of being complaisant, and not one that you intended he act on? Much to his dismay, it was a hypothesis that warranted investigation; after all, you were quite polite… and intelligent… and munificent… and welcoming… and so very becoming to him. What if the profound sense of adoration that welled inside him at only the thought of you, was not a feeling mutually shared? What if the unrelenting desire to be back in your company, with your chilled yet capable hands curled around his, was simply unreciprocated? Could all of this be yet another miscategorization of body language, and was he presently walking toward a potentially crippling rejection? And why did Hunter have to insist that he come along?

Seeking any semblance of reprieve or solace from the advice of a brother was an idea banished from his mind almost as swiftly as it presented itself, as even the most casual, off-hand comments regarding a squad mate’s possible love interest typically had Wrecker jeering so extravagantly that even droids in the immediate vicinity saw their circuits overheating under a potent, secondhand indignity.

Crosshair’s passive yet targeted quip of being to spot “dorks in love” from a mile away had caught Tech entirely off guard as the squad marched otherwise silently through the arid and brittle forest abutting a Separatist ComHub on Sullust, yet the sardonic remark, while unprovoked and initially jarring, did succeed in diminishing a portion of Tech’s uncertainty, and he clung to it as if it were a talisman against the degenerative doubt.

That was until today. With boots clunking noisily along a familiar pathway now bathed in a radiant sunlight that in no way mirrored the turbulence in his mind, his every step toward the bright, yellow door of his emotional demise saw the protection of his brother’s sentiment almost entirely stripped of its integrity.

Tech swallowed heavily, stumbling over the fragmented motions of his feet, the fluidity of their typically athletic movements interrupted by the sudden and irrepressible urge to try and remove the oil from the toe of his left boot with the back of his right pant leg. Hunter, nostrils flared against the onslaught of foreign underworld aromas, remained tactfully blind to the uncharacteristic stumble on his right, only concealing the first signs of a smirk by shifting the coil of wire from the crook of his elbow to the ridge of his shoulder bell, and offering the tip of his nose an absentminded scratch.

“You, uh… excited?” the sergeant probed, waiting until the pair had fallen back into a casual cadence to cast an inquisitive glance toward his brother.

“I am most eager to begin the installation, yes,” Tech answered smartly, his response somehow void of the apprehension currently plaguing his thoughts. “I suspect this to be a multi-faceted problem requiring an equally detailed and well-planned solution. The existing circuitry was designed to house breakers of a 15-amperage allotment, and was thus outfitted with 14-gauge wiring throughout. The previous owner was, regrettably, an amateur in the field of electrical requirements and failed to investigate the symbiotic correlation of breaker-to-wiring before interchanging several breakers, thus rendering the preexisting wires incapable of transporting the increased charge and escalating the likelihood of an electrical fire. A complete overhaul of the electrical panel, including all new breakers of the correct specifications, paired with a 10-gauge wire that appropriately fulfills the demand of several different amperage allotments, would serve the in building’s best interests. Additionally, I will need to determine which of the machinery have a load requirement exceeding that of the common 20 amperages. I suspect both the generator and the lens polisher will both require a replacement breaker with a higher allotment, which may, in turn, require me to reconfigure neighbouring breaker requirements to accommoda—”

“That’s not what I was asking,” Hunter interrupted, the vocoder in his helmet failing to smother the exasperation that wreathed his words. “And I think you know that.”

Offering only a guilty glance toward his sergeant, Tech pursed his lips and refocused his gaze upon his datapad. All too aware of the heat surging to his cheeks, and the failure of his helmet to completely veil its presence from the attuned senses of his brother, he maintained a contemplative silence while earnestly scrolling back to the beginning of the article he’d been thoughtlessly skimming (an abstract on the ‘Primitive Parasocial Behavior Patterns of the Felucian Flying Manta’, a species they were likely to encounter during their next mission).

“You know, you don’t need to deflect, Tech.” Hunter finished the assertion by pulling his helmet from his head and shaking his long locks from his shoulders, an absentminded smile peeling across his lips as the radiant sunlight warmed his tattooed features. “I’ve been in your shoes before… I can help you sort out your feelings if you want.”

The gentle, yet, surveying gaze that his sergeant turned toward him while a discomfited silence expanded the space between them saw Tech nearly flinching; not entirely prepared to respond to his brother’s request for vulnerability, he inculpably reattuned his attention to his hands.

“The Felucian Flying Manta bears the ‘Repatavian’ genus, unlike its fellow Manta counterparts with the Reptaquatic subclassification, though socially maintains a similar hierarchy—” he read futilely for the ninth time. “—A lone alpha maintains a symbiotic and systematic breeding schedule with the females of the colony, and remains largely unchallenged for his position as protector and genetic contributor. Rival males must only challenge the alpha for authority during that of a waning gibbous moon, when shifts in the atmospheric currents bring forth—”

“Or… we don’t have to talk about it at all,” Hunter continued with a small shrug, noting both the redoubled avoidance and the subsequent microshift in Tech’s posture. “That’s cool too, but don’t feel like you need to suffer in silence. You know that I’m here for you.”

The likelihood of retaining any imperative information about the flying Manta continued to reduce at a rate that nearly matched the dwindling of Tech’s confidence; the source material slipping from the clutches of his mind as if both the memory of you (and the remnant oil on his boots) were expropriating any and all available cranial space.

Despite his sergeant’s head swiveling about next to him, eagerly taking in the domestic sights of the under-city and offering respectful nods to passing pedestrians, Tech could spare no consideration for the surroundings attempting to permeate his attention. It was likely that they’d already passed the seamstress’ shop that he knew to be only a dozen doors from yours, its impeccably maintained windows exposing the myriad of wealthy politicians pompously designing their senatorial wardrobe from scratch. And if that were true, then surely the cobbler’s shop would be approaching imminently, its windows nearly opaque under the duress of a hundred exuberantly colourful signs, all iterating the implausible claim that Mr. Purble’s shoe repairs were “out of this world!” Yet… despite the dwindling proximity, he still could not summon the resolve to lift his gaze and watch that jubilant yellow door draw nearer.

Tech cleared his throat quietly, nudging his goggles further against his brow in a motion as soothing as it was unnecessary, as he’d long since modified the bridge of his helmet to keep them securely in place on his nose. With time continuing to betray him, now seemed an appropriate opportunity as ever to seek a moment of private counsel.

“I… I am not sure how to quantify the nature of my feelings,” he admitted with a sigh, conceding to Hunter’s periodic glances of encouragement. “I am undeniably excited to be returning, as I have been anticipating this reunion for several weeks, yet I am unreasonably apprehensive. I fear that I may have misconstrued the entirety of this situation and am walking toward an… ignominious encounter.”

Hunter’s sharp eyes softened under the admission, lips momentarily compressing into an empathetic grimace before offering his reply. “I’d argue that’s a pretty normal emotional reaction,” he acknowledged with a reassuring nod, “though even normal is a spectrum from person to person. And some degree of insecurity is to be expected in a situation like this, especially when we’ve placed a high value on someone else’s opinion of us. But your actions speak volumes about how you feel if you take a step back and look at logically: for one, I couldn’t tell you the last time you put your datapad down and forgot about it, let alone for hours and immediately before a mission. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

A moment’s hesitation stilled Tech’s response on his tongue, his eyes narrowing against the embarrassment of his previous, neglectful mistake. Discarding both his datapad and the com system on his gauntlet had been a highly irresponsible oversight, but the hours hidden away in the blissful seclusion of your workshop had seen him too enraptured by your capabilities and intelligence to spare his squad even a transient thought.

“I suppose that is accurate,” he beseeched, apologetically glancing downward to the aforementioned device still encircled by his hands.

“And I have a scar on my wrist from the last time that I tried to touch your goggles. From the few details that you’ve agreed to share, you seem to have no issue letting this mysterious ‘labcoat’ completely dismantle them. Surely, that means something too?”

“Well… yes. Yes, I would agree.” He barely managed to get the words past his lips before they began to curl into a reminiscent smile; the petrification that had coursed through his veins upon hearing the audible snap of his lens unceremoniously snapped out of his goggles, now only a comical memory.

“And you tried every trick in your arsenal to keep me from joining you today,” the sergeant continued with an amused scoff. “So there is obviously an element of confidence here that you’re just overlooking in the shadow of nerves. Seems to me that you really like this person. As far as if the feelings are reciprocated or not? There’s no way of knowing until it plays out, but show me a person that holds hands with a stranger platonically and I’ll eat my fucking boots.”

A chuckle that perfectly matched the hoarse nature of his smoky voice, left lips now smirking under his feeble attempt at humour. “And speaking of boots,” he continued, the smile slipping from his features and replaced with the ghost of a mildly disgusted grimace. “You should have thought about giving yours a quick wipe before we lef— Tech?”

But the sage advice had utterly dissipated into that moment’s soft gust of summer wind; frozen mid step on the pathway, Tech had fallen long out of stride with his brother, the response stolen off his tongue by the peculiar and devastating sight that had finally torn his attention from his hands.

The vibrant entryway that he’d deliberately forestalled seeing was, quite frankly, nowhere near as welcoming as he’d remembered it to be, the joy of its vibrant colour almost entirely negated by a new and… obtrusive… addition.

A perplexity as dense as the furrow in his brow triggered those magnified eyes to fervently dart across the unexpected dereliction in front of him, and a prickle unrelated to the blissful daydream of which he’d just been yanked quickly raised the fine hairs along the back of his neck.

Hunter reappeared at his elbow a moment later, his posture quickly moving to mirror that of his brother with bewilderment knitting his brows, and his head tipping delicately toward one shoulder. “Is this the place?” he asked Tech, his query dripping in skepticism.

“Yes.” A solitary word was all that Tech could formulate, the shambolic disrepair having entirely robbed him of both breath and understanding, his mind whirring near frantically as he tried to make sense of the unheralded situation.

Almost every inch of glass had been opacified; the oversized windows spanning the entirety of the storefront, now completely obscured by the adherence of several, nondescript wood panels affixed into place from the interior of the store. They’d been hung somewhat impetuously; this was apparent on first glance with the lopsided positioning and the subsequent gaps created between panels intensifying the appearance of arrant abandonment. The smaller window inset into the entry door appeared to have been treated similarly, but it was the barrier hung hastily behind its panes that had seized Tech’s attention and refused to free it.

An untidy, scrawling note had been imprudently scrawled across the wood, the dark ink of each letter seeping into the surrounding fibers and ominously distorting the redundant message.

“Temporarily Closed.”

His lips wrapped their way around the pairing of words though no sound left them, his throat bobbing under the duress of a heavy swallow as his heart slipped unsettlingly from his chest to his stomach.

“Looks, er… welcoming…” Hunter chirruped from Tech’s left side, removing the thick loop of wire from his shoulder and tossing it unceremoniously to the ground at his feet.

Tech remained deaf to everything except the trepidation still tickling the hair on his neck. Even the dull ache radiating from his elbow as the joint began to mutiny against the prolonged oppression of its freight was rebuffed, disappointment and a puzzling sense of foreboding fighting for position at the forefront of his mind.

He stepped over Hunter’s abandoned cargo, deftly stowing his datapad away into its respective pouch as he neared the door. “Temporarily closed,” he repeated to himself, as if the act of voicing the phrase might provide some semblance of the understanding that he just couldn’t seem to excogitate.

‘This is highly nonsensical.’ The thought flashed like a warning across his mind as he cautiously pressed a palm to the glass. It was unsurprisingly warm to the touch, the heat of the sun trapped between the glass and the wood panel on its other side, radiating easily through the pliant yet protective Kevlar of his gloves; a sensation that entirely juxtaposed the blossoming dread prickling his skin.

“Safe to assume this isn’t what you expected?” Hunter mused, the soft chortle that encapsulated his words exposing his equanimity, but something sinister had caught Tech’s eye as he tipped his head back and reread the sloppy message. A smattering of red dots, soaked deeply into the fibers of the wood below the scrawling penmanship that he did not recognize to be yours…

Something near a gasp left his lips as he yanked his hand from the window, quickly jerking the wire from his arm and hurrying to engage the mechanical visor on his helmet. Hunter continued to mutter queries over his shoulder, but Tech remained incognizant to it all, too intent on initiating a scan of the liquid that he was praying he’d misidentified upon first glance.

“Sanguination: POSITIVE.” flashed devastatingly across his vision. “Origin: HUMAN- HS.”

“I… I do not like the looks of this.” He pushed the visor up and out of his line of sight, the presumption spoken lowly, and saturated in a sense of foreboding that could not be immediately rationalized.

“Talk to me, Tech,” Hunter probed, knotting his arms semi-impatiently over his chest. “What am I looking at? Other than a sign that looks like someone wrote it with their kriffing toes…”

“There… there are several things amiss,” Tech muttered unhelpfully, wrenching his gaze from the carnage only long enough to tug his helmet from his head and lower it sightlessly to the ground beside the abandoned wire. “I cannot make sense of this.”

“Sense of what, exactly?” Hunter urged through another infuriating chuckle.

But all desire to answer his brother had dissipated, its urgency overtaken by the dread surging through his veins and pounding heavily in his ears. He turned his attention toward the window on his right, eyeing the linear gap between the frayed edge of the wood board and the window frame. Desperate for a clue as to why there would be blood splattered ominously across a barrier hung where it shouldn’t be, he jammed his eye to the glass; the audible clunk of his goggles hitting the window went completely ignored, his attention funneled blindly toward only that which would provide him even an inkling of plausible reasoning. But the opacification of the boards had rendered the inside of the shop completely enshadowed, and the only detectable movement in the dim was the soft cycling orange glow of the sleep light on your computer monitor.

He affixed his gaze to it determinedly, squinting his eyes to near-closed in an effort to focus on anything in the area that its glow may illuminate, but the same irksome glare that had rendered the screen of his datapad nearly indiscernible minutes previously continued to rob his eyes of the clarity that he desperately sought, and while the cupping of his hands around his face helped marginally, he was soon wincing against the pain of his goggles digging forcefully into the side of his nose as he pressed his eyes ever further against the rigid glass.

“Anything?” Hunter probed curiously.

“No,” Tech lamented, shifting his feet below him to further alter his vantage. “It is too dark to differentiate anything.”

“Well, here…” the sergeant chuckled. “Here, Tech… Tech!… Maker, will you just take the damn flashlight?”

Tech permitted his gaze to depart the shadows for only long enough to snatch the offering from his brother’s outstretched hand, igniting it with a deft flick of the switch and aiming at as precisely as he could through the infuriatingly small gap, but the presence of any obvious clues remained shrouded in darkness… evading him, and every panicked exhale accumulating like a cloud on the glass in front of him, saw the simmering panic in his chest continue to boil until even the innate act of swallowing became a challenge.

“Well… I don’t sense anything weird,” Hunter offered, his voice perfectly pairing the phlegmatic way he stepped backward and looked casually toward the direction they’d come from. “I thought I could smell blaster fire a few minutes ago, but it might have been that pair of shifty looking Rodian’s we passed. And, if I’m being honest, it’s hard to smell anything over the rank trash scattered everywhere in his hell of a hole-in-the-ground. How does anyone even bre—”

“There is a mug,” Tech interrupted gravely, his gauntlet clunking against the glass as he impatiently moved to wipe away the condensation collecting in his line of sight again.

“A what?” Hunter chirruped, cocking an eyebrow.

“A mug,” Tech repeated, stepping away from the window and pointing uselessly at the gap he’d been peering through. “On the counter nearest to us. During my last visit, the sullied dishes had been collected and arranged in the sink in preparation for washing. I– I cannot fathom that someone partaking in a planned, prolonged absence would abandon dishes to garner bacteria.”

But those lips, pressed thin with worry, relaxed only long enough to shift into an indignant frown at the nature of his sergeant’s suceeding reaction; Hunter’s long hair brushing gently atop worn, painted shoulder bells as his head tipped back, and his chest heaved beneath uninhibited laughter.

“Come on, Tech,” the sergeant chuckled. “You’ve lived with Wrecker your whole life. You’ve seen how he leaves his bunk on Kamino… wrappers everywhere… used spoons hiding under his pillow… dirty socks crammed at the bottom of the bed…”

Growing increasingly inexorable, and frustrated that his brother continued to make light of a clearly ominous situation, Tech shook his head. “The Fichus is limp, Hunter,” he spoke intently, jabbing his finger toward the narrow space between wood boards.

“The what-now is limp?”

“The fichus,” he repeated unhelpfully. “The potted plant beside the computer. It appears as if it’s been severely neglected in my absence.”

“Probably,” Hunter agreed, his shoulders jerking lightly in motion of delicate frustration. “It’s dark as hell in there. It’s likely starving for sunlight.”

“Precisely.”

Tech disengaged the flashlight and held it loosely at his side, jamming his goggles back up his nose as he turned pleadingly to his brother. “That is precisely my concern, Hunter. During my last visitation, I observed several written reminders. There was every intention to ensure that all the soiled dishes were sanitized, that each of the various plants were watered, and that the electrical panel was urgently cared for. It was written in ink clearer than this foreign writing. I saw it; I kissed it.”

Hunter’s eyes shifted behind a lagging, unhurried blink, the weight of his skepticism apparent as he looked doubtfully back at the anguished hitch in his brother’s eyebrows, those large brown eyes peering at him in something near a plea behind now crooked goggles. “I don’t know, Tech,” the sergeant sighed, tightening the fold of his arms across his chest and dropping his gaze to the small pebble below his boot. “I’ll agree it’s unusual that someone would board the windows for a temporary closure, but it probably has a valid explanation. I hate to say it because you’re usually not one to jump to conclusions, but… I think you might be overreacting on this.”

“I’m going inside.”

It was not a question nor a request, and Tech didn’t spare his brother even a glance before pocketing the flashlight and stooping to collect both his helmet and the coils of wire from the pathway at his feet.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Hunter protested immediately, unknotting his arms and extending a hand to still his brother’s seemingly impulsive movements. “I can see you’re a little worried, Tech, but this isn’t a separatist stronghold. It’s a private place of business, and we can’t just break our way in and sniff around. It’s an invasion of property and privacy.”

“I familiarized myself with the locking mechanism during my last visit,” Tech answered smartly, throwing a heavy coil over each shoulder. “So nothing is required to be broken for me to gain entry, and my scanners will ensure that neither of us are required to make determinations based on the evidence gathered by the use of our respective olfactory systems.”

“Tech…”

But Hunter’s impatience was matched by only that of the man in front of him now jamming his helmet back onto his head and reengaging his visor.

“I will not cause a disturbance of any kind, I assure you,” Tech continued, dropping to a knee in front of the door and examining the keyhole with narrowed eyes. “My objective is simply to gather the evidence capable of disproving my emerging theory that a perilous, possibly life-threatening event has taken place.”

“Perilous and life threatening?” Hunter repeated after an indignant scoff left his lips. “What in Maker’s name do you think happened here? It’s likely this is just a planned vacation and the topic just didn’t come up in conversation last time. Let’s just take a deep breath and head back to the ship for now. If everything goes to plan on Felucia, we can stop back here on the way to Kaliida Sho—”

“Hunter,” Tech interrupted, pivoting on a knee to look upward at his brother. “My feelings on this are clear and unclouded. I– I feel an admittedly unprecedented yet intense sense of unease, and I am confident neither will subside until I am able to disprove my suspicions. Several aspects of the present situation do not stand to reason. Our final conversation, while frenzied by the urgency of my departure, left me with the premise that I was to return here at my earliest convenience. There is no mistaking the task list that I observed: ‘wash mugs, water plants, call electrician.’ And– and my scanner indicates that there is substantial sanguineous residue embedded into that sign. I suspect the source of the blood is inside, so I must go in and investig—”

“Okay okay okay,” Hunter appeased, his dark eyes thankfully beginning to soften again as he acceded to his brother’s concern. “I don’t necessarily understand your fear, but it’s very unlike you to lose your cool so I’ll heed your curiousity. But make it quick; this walkway is a little too crowded for my liking and we’re already turning heads by loitering.”

Anything even resembling an argumentative retaliation didn’t dare depart Tech’s tongue, the risk of Hunter redacting his already precariously offered blessing was simply too probable, and this was too important. It was imperative that he gain entry.

“I’ll go up top and keep a lookout,” Hunter continued, gesturing with a nod to the roofline above them. “Poke around, but don't linger. Can you get in there without making a mess?”

“Well, of course I can,” Tech answered immediately. “The door is equipped with a primitive deadbolt system; one easily disengaged with the right leverage of a micro tool similar to that of—”

“Okay, do it.” Hunter waved away the unnecessarily lengthy explanation, impatience and regret beginning to ghost across his features. “If you’re interrupted for whatever reason, Plan-11.”

Tech signaled his understanding with an appreciative nod and a heavy swallow, returning his attention to the door while Hunter’s heavy footsteps vanished amongst the crowd of passing children, their raucous screeches and laughter echoing tauntingly into Tech’s ears.

His composure began to dwindle, adrenaline inciting a tremble in his fingers as he retrieved the soldering needle from his belt, sitting back on his heel to reevaluate the best method for a clean and concise entry. Overriding a lock system with his datapad was child’s play, but manually disengaging a deadbolt was not something he practiced regularly. After a deliberative pause, he jabbed the fine tip into the keyhole and began to methodically maneuver it around. With ears attuned for the nearly inaudible clicks that would affirm his success, he redirected his efforts into preventing the simmering panic from permitting his mind to wander; concerns for what potentially lay on the other side of the door pulling droplets of sweat to his furrowed brow. Fear was not a commonplace emotion for soldiers, particularly not for a squad of enhanced commando’s with a 100% mission success rate, but fear for the safety of someone else… a civilian… was both a foreign and a potent feeling, and not one that he was eager to reexperience.

The deadbolt released with a click audible enough to warrant Tech quickly glancing over his shoulder for prying eyes. When satisfied that he hadn’t garnered any unwanted attention, he quickly turned the handle and pushed the door ajar. Long stagnant dust particles danced about in the beam of stark luminescence as the disturbance imbued them with new life, yet Tech observed them for only moments before hurriedly shutting the door behind him; he could not risk a pedestrian risking the open door as an invitation to enter.

He reactivated the borrowed flashlight, his eyes hungrily following the beam as it darted toward the darkened corners. Was it worth calling for you? Making his presence known before clearing the area of perpetrators seemed a foolhardy action given your obvious incapacitation, but his frantic need to establish any semblance of your safety, paired with Hunter’s request for efficiency, demanded that he at least try. The echoing silence in response to his call only succeeded in inflating the now undeniable dread sending his blood pounding heavily through his veins.

He engaged the visor over his eyes again, ignoring the strobing alert in the upper corner warning him of his increased heart rate, and directed both the beam of light and his line of sight toward the floor beneath his boots. Despite having anticipated its presence, the blood splattered amongst the floorboards threatened to tear the breath from his lungs.

Sporadically smattered like a trail of morbid breadcrumbs, he followed the droplets into the open space of your shop, peering around in the oppressive darkness. The familiar orange glow from the computer stole his attention almost immediately, and after casting a final glimpse at the gruesome implications dotted across the floor, he departed their path and made for the counter. The dilapidated ficus was offered only a fleeting glance as he passed, as was its equally dehydrated fern counterpart and the ivy trailing down the wall, their dilapidation having already been registered. No, he was more interested in the mug; the second clue.

The degradation of its contents became obvious within seconds of stepping into its proximity, yet despite the aroma of its putrefaction forcing his top lip to flatten, Tech continued toward it without hesitation. Milk had coagulated densely in the center of the unfinished liquid, and a quick activation of his scanner indicated a bacteria progression only achievable by several weeks in an undisturbed environment.

“Unusual,” he mumbled to himself, stooping to observe the sparse layer of crystallization forming around the rim where the anemic looking liquid met the white ceramic.

A sudden, booming thud against the window sent his shoulders jerking in alarm; his datapad stowed deftly into its pocket and his pistol departing its holster in the span of a blink, but the ringing laughter and jeers of the passing children outside quickly exposed the intrusion as nothing more than an inopportune distraction, and a reminder that time was of the essence.

Tech cast one last surveying look at the mold festering in its unmolested paradise before departing the area and retracing his steps back toward the droplets of blood scattered atop the floor. Like the worn footpath that his own boots had traversed during his last visit, the red blemishes formed a direct path toward the back room, scattered at near precise intervals as if a gruesomely soiled object had been dripping as its holder tread across the store, yet the macabre trail was but a walk in the park compared to the door to which it led. He stared, horrified to the point of immobility at the once glimmering gold knob that would permit his entry, its radiance hidden by a crusted, red handprint.

The grip around his pistol tightened until his hand began to tremble, yet despite its demand for absolute security, he longed to simply drop it and reach instead for his datapad, his always reliable source of information… his comfort, but too much unknown still lingered in the air; too many enshadowed spaces still to explore. A horrifyingly developing theory needed disproving if he were to be able to leave this place with his heart intact.

He dared not disturb the third clue lest it be scanned at a later time and tested for identification purposes, so an assertive kick of his boot saw the door swinging ajar, the hallway opposite as hauntingly enshadowed as the one in which he stood. A seemingly endless trail of blood lay on the floor in front of him, nearly stealing what was left of his resolve; the droplets increasing in frequency and size before diverging into a small room on the left that he knew to be the kitchenette.

His fear only intensified at the sight of another morbid handprint, this one smeared across the faucet of the sink where… in the depths of the aluminum basin, was a soiled hammer.

The threat of suffocation encompassed him as a sinister realization began to fit puzzle pieces into place, but he was robbed of the opportunity to process the additions by the chirp of his comm.

“Tech,” Hunter urged. “I think you may have a visitor inbound. Someone is hovering by the door but I can’t get a clear line of sight through the crowd.”

Plan-11: The Perceiver. Hide and observe; do not engage until you’ve established a visual on your approaching backup.

A degree of focus that only imminent danger could provide saw his jaw tensing beneath his helmet, his gaze darting from the bloody tool in the sink toward the door in which he’d just passed through. He raised his pistol, crossing one wrist over the other so that blanching beam of light may guide him back through the din.

Your workshop, the haven in which he’d mentally prepared himself to spend the next several hours in, was as dark as it was silent, and for the first time hesitation stilled his steps from exploring the the uncharacteristically lifeless space, as there were numerous shadowed corners in which further clues, or dare he think it, your body might be found.

But time had seemingly diminished, and every extended blink into the darkness was a moment wasted; a moment he needed to enact Plan-11 while he still could. He disengaged his flashlight, and a quick nudge of the door with his knee saw him reentering the retail space, his eyes immediately darting around to search for any semblance of cover; somewhere he could stoop and watch until Hunter appeared in the doorway to flank the intruder, but his moment of hesitation had cost him.

Poised to welcome the perpetrator who’d likely come to clean up their mess, he refused to squint against the onslaught of sunlight as the door creaked slowly open and exposed the intruder.

Final Chapter coming soon!

taglist: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @starrylothcat @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @dystopicjumpsuit @freesia-writes @blueink-bluesoul @littlemissmanga @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @drafthorsemath @jediknightjana

**if you are on my taglist but were not tagged, it's because you indicated whump is a no for you**

#bad batch fan fic #tech x reader #tech x gn!reader #tech bad batch #bad batch tech #gn!reader x tech #queued

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dubaicleaners-ae · 3 months

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elenavr13 · 2 years

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Phantom

Engineer Mark x Captain

Warning: None

*a week after ISWM*

*Despite the crystal being removed from the Captain’s hand, they can still feel it.*

Y/N’S POV

Needles poke & jab at my skin under the thick, protective gloves. Pushing the tingling feeling to the back of my mind, I refocus my attention on the mission: return to my tent to retrieve some spare technical equipment to repair some of the damages the last electrical storm caused.

“Theses aren’t second chances. Every mistake has cost the lives of people who have trusted you.” Lady’s words ring in my head again. Like I had all the previous times today, I push the memories to the back of my mind & bottle up my anxiety so I don’t break.

Once in my tent, I head towards the boxes of spare parts that are temporarily residing in the corner of my quarters. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a blue light shining on the boxes. I follow the hue to the source. “Couldn’t afford to let you make another mistake.” Stinging pain spikes through my palm & wrist.

“No, no, no…” I screw my eyes shut yet when I open them again, the crystal is still embedded in my hand. My fingers rip my glove off of my left hand. To my dismay, the blue shard remains. Guilt burns in my chest as my head pounds hard against my skull. Warm streaks cascade down my cheeks, turning ice cold once they reach my jaw line.

“I don’t know if you’re evil or just stupid!” There is that voice. “How could you do this to us? We trusted you. I trusted you, Captain!” Betrayal stings my ears, burrowing into my heart.

“I’m sorry.” I whimper.

“It all comes down to bad leadership.” My palm throbs from the heat the crystal is generating. “You’ve let down your crew, friends…all of these people trusted you with their lives, gone…all because of you.” The voices back me into a corner of the room. Pain floods my hand from the crystal corroding my skin. I pry at the blue stone with my other hand.

“I can’t go back, please not again, not now.” My pleas are futile. I desperately try to remove the crystal but my suffering only worsens –just like whenever I tried to shut down the wormhole. Skin cells collect under my nails but still no progress. Red mixes with the blue light.

“You reckless, careless, idiotic monster!”

“Stop!” I can’t take it anymore. My knees collide with the floor before my back hunches over. Spasms wrack my body from me holding in any & all sound while I sob.

“Captain!” The voice frets. Suddenly two hands grasp my shoulders. “Captain, it’s okay. I’m here. What’s wrong?” Worry reflects off Mark’s eyes.

“I-I can’t go back, please.” I glance at my hand to see…no crystal. My tears stop from shock. It was just there.

Mark takes notice of my palm as well. “Captain, wh-what happened?” His fingers delicately cup my hand for a second before he dashes to the med kit near the entrance. He returns with a disinfecting wipe & gauze. “How did this happen?” I watch as he carefully holds my hand again to clean my scratches.

“I…it…the crystal, it…”

“Shh, it’s okay. Just breathe. You’re safe now.” I scrunch my nose while he dabs the little blood away. Then gently, he wraps the gauze around my hand, hiding the large scar from where the crystal previously resided. “Better?” I nod. His thumbs brush the remaining tears off my cheeks. We remain in each other’s company in silence for a minute before Mark’s thoughts get the best of him. “Why didn’t you tell me the crystal left a scar?”

“Because I didn’t want to make you feel worse. You’re already going through too much as is. I didn’t want to rub it in that…it left a permanent mark.” His eyes fixate on my bandaged hand as memories most likely run through his head. “You don’t have to worry. It doesn’t really hurt.”

“Captain, don’t lie to me. I can’t help you if I don’t know what you’re going through.”

Reluctantly, I loosely admit what occurred. “It occasionally burns like it would right before it would teleport me somewhere new & I…got scared that it would send me back.”

“Is it still burning?” I nod. Gently, his hand clasps around mine with a light squeeze. The throbbing gradually dissipates. “How about now?” A small smile pulls at my lips. With another squeeze the pain nearly subsides fully.

“It helps. Thank you.”

#iswm head engineer #iswm captain #iswm #in space with markiplier #markiplier ego x reader #youtuber ego #reader insert #space mark #markiplier

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apompkwrites · 2 years

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Roacher Vanrouge brainrot part ??? frfr

Ok, so thinking about this again with Vanrouge(name) getting sick frequently as a child to a severe point, but imagine Lilia wasn't precisely aware of how bad it was.

He knew that his little sibling got sick often, and because of that, they weren't able to go out often, but that's pretty much the extent of it; he wasn't aware of the multiple near-death experiences they had, and the nights their doctors were literally doing everything they could to try and calm down the fever that they had acquired.

I imagine that Lil's bat's caretakers probably kept Lilia away from (name) for like two main reasons

Paranoia; He was known for going headfirst into battles without much thought and fighting anyone; what if he fought someone that had an illness or something, and while his body could fight it off, if he went near (name) and gave it to them by accident they probably wouldn't be able to do it.

They weren't precisely presentable, pale from lack of sunlight and illness, dark circles and bags under their eyes from lack of sleep, flushed face, and cold sweat, not to mention the smell of sickness that occupied their room, along with the fact that they always were wearing their nightwear.

If Lilia did manage to interact with (name), it was heavily supervised by (Name)'s nanny. If he wanted to touch them, he was made to heavily disinfect his whole body. Yes, it's extreme, but they can't risk it; if they did and something happened, then none of the caretakers would be able to forgive themselves.

The caretakers probably didn't bother to tell Lilia why he couldn't see his sibling much, probably leading him to think that they just didn't want to see him, so he just stopped trying; however, that wasn't really the case (Name) longed for a relationship with their brother circumstances just prevented it, and if the caretakers didn't tell Lilia the reason why he couldn't see his sibling what the chance that they would tell (Name) that their brother was looking for them?

They didn't have any malicious intent; they really didn't; they just wanted to protect the fragile child as much as possible, and they were scared. Chances are that this is the first time the lot of them dealt with something like this. Sure they didn't go about it in a good way, but to them, they were doing their best to protect and care for their lady/lord.

When they got better and started traveling, they were aware of the possibility of things worsening again. after all, these things don't disappear, sure they get manageable over time however they don't just disappear. (Name) has to take medicine to boost their immune system so they don't get sick constantly.

That being said, I can see them becoming mildly germaphobic. The memories of their childhood still linger, and so their living space is ALWAYS clean.

hhhh imagine Lil Bat regularly asking if their brother asked for them or was looking for their company and their nanny just looked at them sympathetically before hugging them and saying, "I'm sorry, my lord/lady, he didn't" when he did, he really did. Still, he was told that he couldn't see his little sibling, and (name), not having anyone else, just believed what they said.

also, a few months after this, imagine Twin sliver getting sick (like the cold or smth), and upon hearing the news, Vanrouge just instinctively returns to check up on them. With the knowledge and experience they got as a child and some of their current research, they just take over caring for them like, "oh, Silver twin is not taking their medicine here let me try," using some weird ass bribing techniques their doctors used on them as a child and IT WORKS. "oh they're having problems falling asleep here let me try." and when they leave the room like 30 minutes later the child is fast asleep (they just read them a story like they did before and used a sleeping spell). If Lilia is taking care of Silver twin when they get back home, (Name) is correcting everything he is doing wrong. They don't mean to take over; they just remember how terrible they felt when they were ill and didn't want their niece/nephew to feel the same way, and so they try to do the things that worked for them, and they work most of the time.

(also, I imagine them learning about medicine because they were curious about why they were so ill, they didn't learn what they intended to, but they did now know about the differing species body structures and different illnesses they can get, so that was interesting)

hgnfhgjd wait imagine lil vanrouge in their bed, wondering with each passing day if they would die without seeing their brother again and thinking that they're a burden to him :(((

they never remember the instances when he visits because of their illness. its all a haze to them so they don't know that he's tried to see them. he's tried but the nurses are so fearful that anything will make their illness worse that they can't even trust lilia to be in the same room as them DD:

all of the nurses' habits stick with them when they get older. the monotonous routine of keeping things clean especially.

ugh and they begin taking care of twin!silver :((( they can't help but use their knowledge from the nurses and their knowledge from traveling to make sure their recovery process goes smoothly <33

#a pompk answers #black sheep #a randomeroacher's rambles

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ecoplusuae · 1 year

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Keeping Your Home Free from Spider & Lizard Control

When it comes to unwanted guests in our homes, spiders and lizards often top the list. These creepy crawlies can make even the bravest of us shudder with fear. While they play important roles in the ecosystem, we prefer to keep them out of our living spaces. Fortunately, there are effective methods for controlling and preventing Spider & Lizard Control infestations. Let's explore some of them.

Keep it clean : Spiders and lizards are attracted to clutter and hiding spots. Regularly clean and declutter your home, paying special attention to dark corners, basements, and attics. Vacuum frequently to remove any webs or eggs. Reduce their food source : Spiders and lizards feed on insects, so reducing the insect population in and around your home can help control their numbers. Ensure proper garbage disposal, fix any plumbing leaks, and seal food containers tightly. Additionally, consider using screens on windows and doors to prevent insects from entering. In conclusion , by adopting a proactive approach and implementing these control measures, you can keep your home free from unwanted spider and lizard intrusions. From regular cleaning and sealing entry points to using natural repellents and seeking professional help if needed, you can create a comfortable living space while maintaining harmony with the natural world. So say goodbye to those creepy crawlies and enjoy a peaceful, pest-free home.

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usmsgutterson · 2 years

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Oooh, with the medic one also. Could be half him watching her and her skills being impressed and in love, and the other half having her tell him what to do to treat her because she is deathly injured!!!!!!

Everything- Kaz Brekker

Hi! I'm going to hijack this ask to answer both this one, and the first part to it, which I used to ask if you'd be all right with me aging everyone up a little bit! This one is also a bit long, so apologies in advance!

You said that you were fine with it, so I did age everyone up a bit! Kaz, the crows, and the reader, are all around 25-27 years old.

Fic type- this one is fluff with some angst

Warnings- mentions of stab wounds, a punctured lung, chest tubes, lung fluid, treatment of a punctured lung that’s probably a little inaccurate (I googled how to treat it, google wasn’t very helpful) and kaz might be a little ooc

“You’re university trained?” Matthias asked as he watched you disinfect a wound on Inejs leg. “University, medical school, and you end up here?” He gestured around Fifth Harbor.

“As I’m sure you’ve come to understand, Mr. Helvar, the people are what makes this town a worth while one,” you said. You took a needle from your kit, grabbing a piece of thread with one hand as you held the needle steady with the other, blowing a speck of dust from it and wiping it over a clean area of your shirt before pulling the thread through the needle.

“Walking on it--”

“Matthias will carry you,” you glanced back at him, tilting your head as though you were waiting to hear his refusal. “Give it two hours of rest, at least. I know you’re the informant Kaz relies on the most, but an infection? The stitches opening? Not worth the risk.”

“How much time would be optimal?” Kaz asked. You didn’t need to look back to him to know he was watching you. You could feel his gaze, a burning but impressed look. It was one that seemed to be reserved for you, specifically, a gaze that communicated both that he was impressed and in love with you for the skill and ease with which you worked.

“Any jobs in the next few days?”

“You would know if there were any,” Kaz said. “You’re the one who reviews the plans, triple checks for any fatal risks, but if you need a reminder, no. No jobs until the one near the financial district in two weeks time.”

“That’s perfect,” you said, not grimacing as you brought the needle through one end of the wound, stitching into the other. “Rest, Inej. Take at least a week.”

Inej nodded, not saying a word or moving a muscle as you worked. The next ten minutes were quiet, ones where you were focused on getting Inejs wound stitched, Kaz was heading to the Slat to make sure a path was cleared, Nina was getting Inej some tea and Wylan, Jesper, and Matthias were keeping good company.

“All of the people in Ketterdam, and Brekker ends up with the medic. I kind of love it,” Nina said with a laugh about five minutes after you’d finished stitching Inejs leg, applying the pain relievant cream you kept in your kit and taping gauze over it in case of bleeding. You were all headed back to the Slat, Inej leaning on Matthias as she held the tea Nina had grabbed for her.

“I don’t mind it myself,” you said. “When Kaz gets himself in a bind, I’m there to make sure he lives through it. I’d call it a nice arrangement, the one we’ve got.”

You and your incredible wit could smooth talk anyone Kaz had pissed off, stitch the wounds he got from doing so, and Kaz had given you the job you had, one of the few medics working on the staff of the Dregs.

You’d known him since you were teens, Kaz having often seen you in the Barrel, stitching the wounds of the ones dumb enough to get hurt, using the minimal knowledge given to you by the medicine classes offered to Ketterdam University first years in order to do such a thing. You’d been running with the Dregs that long, too, having not been able to resist the company offered by the one so many called Dirtyhands.

Ten years later, it seemed to have proven worth it, if the ring you’d placed on a chain and the one that Kaz kept in the pocket of whichever pair of trousers he’d chosen to wear that day were at all considerable indications.

“A match made by the matchmaker saint,” Nina said.

“I don’t think there is one,” you said as you arrived at the Slat. Nina opened the door for Inej and you watched as Matthias carried her to her room, Nina standing not far off and talking to Inej as though it were just another normal Tuesday.

You bid Wylan and Jesper your goodnights before heading to the third floor, opening the door to the floor that yourself and Kaz had shared for half a decade.

You saw Kaz at his desk, gloves over his hands as he read the plans for the heist to take place two weeks from then. You placed your kit where you’d always placed it--second drawer of the night stand that was to the left of the bed--and walked back through his office, heading for the kettle, which Kaz had placed on a nightstand that he’d repurposed.

“Coffee or tea?” You asked as you turned the kettle on, merely flicking a switch at the bottom of the long handle, grabbing a mug from the drawer he kept them in. To one side, there was twelve mugs--stacked in two doubled up columns of three--and to the other, there was boxes of tea bags, filtered, and ground coffee

“Earl gray tea, if there’s any left,” Kaz said. At that, you turned to look at him, casting a look of disbelief. He shrugged.

“For once in my life, I’m not striving to stay awake,” he said. “Drank too much coffee, stressed a bit too much. I haven’t slept in days.” You laughed as you grabbed another mug, placing it next to the one you’d grabbed for Kaz. You grabbed earl gray and the ingredients to make your hot drink of choice, the conversation between you and Kaz as you waited for the kettle to be ready nothing of much note.

“Even so long after you returned from Ravka, I still find myself impressed whenever I watch you work in the field,” he said. “I couldn’t stomach it. I can handle giving myself a stitch up, but having to do it for someone else? I could never.”

You laughed as you heard the little song--a simple few robotic tones--that the kettle sang to tell you it was done. You poured water into Kaz’s mug and then into yours, adding sugar and stirring it in as you thought on your next words.

“It’s always been about the fact that I’ve been able to help people,” you said, shrugging. “Living in the Barrel, you get used to blood. You get used to screams of pain and keeping kvas in a flask just in case. I’ve never much been bothered by any of it. I’ve just wanted to do some good. Going to uni and then medical school helped me with that process.”

“Have you paid off all of the loans?” University and medical school cost a pretty penny, that was certain. The loans were ones you’d had on your back since you were twenty-one, loans that were being paid off using half of your paycheck from seeing to Ketterdam citizens in the few hospitals they’d built around the wealthier areas, all of the money you got from heists, be it for the part you played in them or the fact that you stitched up plenty of wound in the aftermath.

“The money I’ll get tomorrow from two weeks working at the hospital will have them paid off entirely,” you said. “Y/N L/N, debt free. I love how that sounds.”

You passed him the tea you’d made and he gently clinked his mug against yours in favor of a cheers.

“To being debt free,” you said.

“To getting richer.” Kaz said. “And to being impressed by the work of your spouse.”

You both took sips of your drinks, neither of you staying awake much longer after that.

---

As Kazs eyes opened, the first thing he registered was the fact that he was laying on the ground. He could feel the stickiness of near-dry pebbles refusing to detach from the sweat that’d beaded on the back of his neck, the weight of the pavement beneath him that was the precise opposite of comforting. He was on his back, eyes blinking at a dark, dreary sky as they opened.

The next thing he registered was the complete absence of the gloves he always wore. They were gone, and as Kaz sat up, looked around with a keen eye as one hand reached up to finally rid the saints awful feeling of the pebbles sticking to his neck, he couldn’t find them, nor his cane.

He heard it when you woke up, though. He heard the intake of breath, watched you reach a hand up to your right side.

“Kaz?” You wheezed. “Ghezen, if I was left alone here, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Threatening a god isn’t the smartest choice you’ve made,” Kaz fired back. “We were jumped, Y/N. Are you all right?”

“Can you stand?” You wheezed again. Kaz shuffled to the wall to his left, brought himself onto his feet. “Kit. I need my kit, Kaz. It has--” you stopped, coughing before trying to inhale.

He found your medicine kit, two feet off from where you lay on the ground, blood blossoming around the white of your shirt. He went for it instantly.

“Are you okay?”

“I was stabbed in the lung, the bastards,” you said, managing a laugh. “I can stitch myself up provided that I’m able to sit the fuck up and see what I’m stitching. A punctured lung prevents me from that. Fuck.”

The realization dawned on him as he took the kit into his hands, bringing it to his lap as he unzipped it. If you couldn’t do the stitching yourself, it meant that Kaz had to.

You’d touched one another before. You were the only person with whom touch had become even a semi-regular thing in Kaz’s life. Hands that accidentally met when you passed one another a coffee or a tea, hands resting atop one another for a mere few seconds as you settled in for dinner at a restaurant along Fifth Harbor.

Touching was sort of common. But those touches had always been small. None of them were as it was then, the alarming sort of reality that Kaz would have to do what it took to get you well enough to function, the likelihood that it involved getting your blood on his hands.

“Kaz, if you can’t manage--”

“If I can’t manage, the only other option is that you die, or that you almost die. I refuse to allow either of those outcomes.”

“I’m half-dead as we speak.”

“Yes, but it’s not almost too late. If I save you right now, the fact that you survived may not count as a miracle. Tell me what I need to do to help you, Y/N. Please.”

“A chest tube should be in there,” you said. “It’s long, has a bit of a pump attachment taped to it for convenience? Theres a needle at one end. It’s also clear and made of plastic. Get that.” Kaz did as instructed, holding it in one hand as he watched you fumble with the buttons around your shirt.

He undid them up to the area of the wound, folding the excess fabric back and securing it with some tape he’d found in the kit so as to keep it from moving.

“Attach the pump to the open end of the chest tube. The pump will catch the fluid build up in my lungs, keep it from getting onto the ground. Once you’ve done that, insert the tube into the cut and watch me never take simply breathing for granted ever again.”

Kaz did as you’d told him, attaching the pump to the open end of the tube and inserting the tube into the cut, grimacing and looking away as he did it.

He heard you take a long inhale, looked over and caught you grinning.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I know its--unfortunate circumstances--”

“If you apologize for almost fucking dying, I’ll take the tube out of your lung and allow you to suffocate,” Kaz said. “We’ll wait ten minutes, I’ll stitch you up, and we’ll get home.”

You laughed. “Fine, Brekker,” you said. “Thank you.”

“I rather not live a life without you in it, is all,” he said, shrugging.

You waited ten minutes.

In those ten minutes, Nina came around with Kaz’s cane--the edge of which, it should be noted, was blood stained--and a vengeful smile. Inej wielded names and whereabouts. Jesper held the gloves Kaz kept in his office as back ups as Matthias explained that the gloves Kaz had been wearing hadn’t been found and Wylan checked the wound out for himself.

“You did good,” he said. “Even though you only followed the instructions given by a professional. A bit of a stitch up in two minutes and a trip to a hospital in the financial district if the pressure from the fluid hasn’t gone away are some good next steps.” As he spoke, Wylan helped you sit up halfly.

“Thank you, Brekker,” you said.

“You’re my partner in everything,” Kaz said. “I refuse to lose you, Y/N. I can’t even handle the idea.”

“I love you too,” you said. “Wylan, are you good with a needle?”

“I can stitch up the wound and Matthias can carry you back,” Wylan said with a nod. “I’ve never been too good with this sort of thing, but I can manage.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Kaz asked. You nodded.

“I’m okay, Kaz. You don’t need to worry about me, I’m fine. You’ve got names and whereabouts. Don’t go easy on the bastards.”

Kaz shook his head. “Going easy on them was never my intent,” he said.

“Good,” you grinned.

The seven of you made idle conversation as Kaz emptied the tube and waited an additional five minutes to be safe.

Upon the assurance that there was no more fluid left in your lung, he removed the chest tube completely, taking a bottle of water from Wylans satchel and cleaning it up so as to not have the fluid from your lung making a mess of the kit.

Wylan stitched the wound up and Matthias helped you off the ground, letting you lean against him as you walked back to the Slat. You and Kaz talked, pinkies interlaced as you spoke and moved.

“I need two weeks, Brekker,” you said. “I need the rest.”

“You’ll have three, then,” Kaz said, nodding as Matthias, Wylan, Jesper, Nina and Inej all went their separate ways, though you and Kaz stayed together. “Just to be safe, of course. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you admit that you need time off.”

“Can’t really work very well with a lung wound,” you shrugged. “Three weeks of rest sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

“You’re my partner in everything,” Kaz said again. “Whatever you need.”

The two of you walked up to the third floor, both of you feeling relieved that the day had ended on a decent note.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows

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