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natailiatulls07 · 6 months

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He doesn’t want any other nurse

Charles Leclerc x female!nurse!reader

Summary - Charles has a habit of hurting himself so he visits the medical bay quite a lot which he doesn’t mind because his favourite nurse is there

Warning - Cuts, Crash, tripping over, medical centres, bruising

A/n - This was inspired by a character ai bot lmao

This was becoming a regular routine. And it’s not like no noticed, everyone noticed. Every other race, Charles would have to be taken to the medical centre in the paddock, why?

Because of her; one of the nurses who would travel around with the FIA as a nurse.

Like Zandvoort, Charles had crashed his SF-23 into the first corner.

“Charles, are you okay? Are you okay?” Xavier voiced through the radio, the race engineer could see Charles moving in his car.

“Yeah I’m good…I think I’ll go to medical just in case…” Surprisingly he sounded somewhat excited to be visiting medical, it was usually dreaded by the drivers.

So that’s what he did. He took himself all the way back to the paddock and through the paddock to medical. There’s was a small waiting room, Charles sat himself down excitedly.

One of the other nurses had come out to the waiting room. “Charles, I can see you now” she offered but he quickly turned her down.

“No thank you, um is Y/n here today?” The Monégasque asked eagerly. The nurse looked back through to the medical bay, and saw that Y/n was in fact treating someone who had fallen in the paddock.

“Uh she’s a bit busy at the moment…please I can help you” The nurse tried again to which Charles just shook his head again.

“I’ll wait…” His tone was blunt and straight to the point. The nurse just sighed, knowing there was nothing she could do to change his mind, before walking back into the medical bay.

I was just finishing up cleaning up a small cut on someone’s knee as they fell in the paddock. “There you go ma’am…take it easy on your feet” Smiling softly I walk the women out through the medical bay carefully.

I walk into the medical bay as one of the other nurse told me that a certain Ferrari driver was waiting on me and only me.

Knowing of his refusal of any other nurse here, I strike up a conversation with him “I heard you’ve been waiting for me”

His response is quick and almost impatient “Too long” I look him over and notice a few cuts but other than that he seems okay.

“Why?” I ask in defeat. The driver just stares me down.

“Because I wanted you…” Charles just picks at the skin around his cuts, going silent again.

“You do realise that there are more qualified nurses than me…right?”

Glancing away from his cuts up at me, Charles continues “Yes and I rejected them” He looks around the medical bay before meeting my eyes again. “Your qualifications don’t matter to me, I still want you”

As I treat his cuts, cleaning them up and putting some plasters on, I continue the conversation “I don’t understand…why me?”

He remains still allowing me to treat him correctly “Why not you?” Charles’ green eyes follow my hands as I work.

“Whatever you say…” Chucklibg softly before move to grab the plasters. After I finish fixing him up, I pat his shoulder “You’re all done…”

“Thank you” He mumbles before making his way to the media tent, feeling that bit more excited.

The two Ferrari drivers were in their teams hospitality filming a challenge video for the Ferrari YouTube channel. However, Carlos had accidentally tripped up Charles.

That’s how Charles ended up back in the medical bay waiting room, rejecting away any nurse until his favourite arrived in the waiting room. Y/n.

“Back again so soon Charles” I teased as I walked over to him, he was sat clutching his head.

Charles just offered me a tired smile. “Why are you so busy when I come in?” He asks with a grumble.

“Because…this is my job, I have to treat other people as well” I smile softly, laughing slightly. Reaching over, I inspect his head.

“What happened?” Asking him, I notice some bruising on his head just before the forehead.

“Carlos, le moromi, tripped me up” Laughing softly as Charles curses in his mother tongue. I move to the medical fridge, picking up a small ice pack wrapping it in a blue paper towel.

Holding to the bruising, I take one of his hand before putting it in place of mine. “Hold this here…” Once Charles is holding onto the ice pack, I take my clipboard “Do you feel dizzy, nauseous?”

Nodding his head, I start to worry before Charles speaks up “Only because of you…”

Crimson blush covers my cheeks, my face feeling flustered. “Okay Charles that’s not what I mean…I uh meant the bruising”

“Oh no but…can I ask you a question?” He looks up at me from his seat. I nod politely. “Are you single?”

Taken back, I am instantly taken back by his confidence. “Uh um yeah…being a nurse and travelling around the world with f1 is that ideal when it comes to relationships…” Once again chuckling quietly.

Despite his injury, Charles laughs along with me before speaking again “Can I ask you another question?”

Nodding my head again, I let me continue. “Are you busy tonight?”

My laughter continues with his questions. “No not really…I was probably order room service and then fall asleep to a chick flick…the usual” I blush at my obvious loneliness.

“That’s cute” My blush on deepens “Do you…um doyouwanttogoonadatewithme?…tonight” Charles just quickly mumbles, this makes it hard for me to hear his question.

“Pardon?” I ask politely and patiently.

The Monégasque breaths in hesitate before speak again, this time more slowly and clearly “Do you…want to go on a date with me?”

I just smile softly, yeah my blush is still there but I don’t care really. “Of course…”

“Oh perfect…I’ll pick you up around seven tonight” Charles is evidently more confident now that I agree to the date.

“I’ll see you then” Walking off to another patient, I feel his green eyes staring at me.

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ma1dita · 24 days

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love me dry

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 4.5k

summary: (post-TLT) The one where he meets you at his mother’s house, though both of you didn’t expect the other to be there. A glimpse into May Castellan’s perfect day (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: sorry for the hiatus! been on the study grind and didn’t even notice, but i’ve been working on this for a bit! macbeth references (comment if you catch them/or ask and i’ll yap) and slight suggestive stuff under the cut—but anyways let’s just say the prophecy by taylor swift came out at the right time.

(posted 4/19/24, semi-edited)

—

The drive to Westport has become almost an afterthought in these past few years— in the way you unconsciously reach for your favorite hoodie on the way out the door or tuck in your chair before you leave a table, almost automatic but ingrained with a touch of care. With letters to May Castellan occupying your passenger seat instead of the boy who wrote them, you’d make the drive multiple times but stop short just before the property line. It took months of parking at the bottom of the hill and just watching the sun set on the little house, so clearly being able to imagine a smaller version of him running around and wreaking havoc.

Little Luke, with bandaged knees and feet that move as fast as his motor mouth, amber eyes glinting like windchimes in the summer breeze. His mom must’ve watched him play by himself through the bay window before calling him home when the clouds covered the horizon, wispy tendrils stretching over the rain gutter like how lovers hold hands. It must’ve reminded her a lot of his father, leaving nothing but the open air in his wake. Still, all of this was familiar to you too—despite having never stepped foot in the white house.

But knowing Luke meant knowing his home like it was a part of you.

The old hatchback’s engine gently rumbled against the quiet of the property each time you visited, and May would wait for you to come near— waiting for you to be ready to walk into a mausoleum of the boy you both once knew. You were familiar to her too, even as a blurry figure hunched over the steering wheel. She’s seen your face in the small glimpses between the shattering earth of her reality and the hazy foresight she lets herself succumb to remember what her son looks like. In every vision of him since he’s left, you’ve been there; and something about that quells the pain and anguish that it brings to her body when she sees it. But May Castellan is ever an observant woman, gift of prophecy aside. A mother always knows.

It also turns out that she makes excellent conversation over a plate of slightly singed chocolate chip cookies.

—

Luke Castellan is years older than the version of him that last sat at this kitchen table. He doesn’t know if he’s any wiser for it—wondering if he’s made a mistake in coming back here after all this time as he watches his mom hustle around the kitchen that’s suspiciously sparkling clean. A silver spoon clinks against the glass pitcher that May stirs mixed berry Kool-Aid in, his favorite, he remembers, and it makes him squint against the light that filters through the gauzy curtains of the windowpane above the sink. Luke could’ve sworn that there used to be badly patched rips in the fabric, but he attributes it to the dark corner of his memory he still hides away like a secret. Sitting there and taking it all in, he wonders what it would’ve been like to actually grow up here—to stay, for once.

But that’s something he doesn’t have the privilege of knowing. When his mom turns to hand him a glass with her shaking hands, wrinkles and laugh lines are mapped across the expanse of her face. He’ll never know how they got there. The wooden chair creaks under him, groaning under the weight that he carries and Luke once again feels uncomfortable in a place he once called home.

“Knew you’d come back. A mother always knows,” May mutters, voice disembodied like she’s floating just out of reach. Her hands clasped over his, rubbing her thumbs over the veins as if she’s checking his pulse (or the possibility of him being an apparition) and the crack in her smile mirrors his. But this isn’t the home he remembers—his frontal lobe was underdeveloped back then and the only plan it could form was the one to get him the hell out of Westport, there’s something different in the details. Tiny things, like the patio swing chain reattached to its post, a mended table leg, and ceramic tiles on the countertop unbroken and smooth. This is a home and a mother he once longed for as a kid, along with the feeling of comfort and safety you can only attribute to a place like this. Calculating eyes scan the perimeter of the kitchen, but no one knows he’s made the trip to Westport, not even his own crew. Surely nothing could mess this up for him, not here. This was his last step before his quest for redemption eats away at his physical body, and then it will all be out of his hands.

There’s not much left for me here, he thinks— there’s not much of me left here, either.

Then Luke hears you before he sees you—the sound of you humming under your breath mixed with the jingle of keys turning in the front door. With bags of groceries leaving marks on your arms and a soft smile he hasn’t seen you wear in ages, for once you look lighter again. For a moment, the thought crosses his mind that this must be what you look like when he’s not around. Nonetheless, he breathes easier when you’re near. Of course, you’re here, and the irony grips him by the neck almost as if to make it known why his home feels like home again.

“Yeah hon, I’ll have to call you back,” you laugh into your headphones before tapping them with one free finger to end the call. In a split second, your eyes meet. Staggering back at the sight of him sitting at the table and the absolute grin on May’s face, you decide to continue into the space ahead and start putting the groceries away like nothing is out of sorts.

“I see you have a visitor, Miss May. Is he staying long?”

Luke sips at his glass, juice extra tart just how he likes it. His lips pucker at the taste it leaves in his mouth and when he opens his mouth there’s a hint of blue. You try not to look too long.

“For the night,” he answers, even if you weren’t talking to him, but it makes May so vibrant with the notion of him not running again that she instantly hops to her feet and rushes to make the bed in his old room. “I won’t be in your way,” he swallows. You gravitate towards him like a moth to a flame, but move around his chair without touching him—further proving that Luke is, in fact, an obstacle you must overcome. He’s a stranger in his own home and you’ve found yourself at ease in it. You wonder if any of that will make a difference in the long run.

“She’s…”

“More peaceful. I’ve been practicing with my dad, so I do what I can to ease her fits but I’m not exactly equipped to lift a curse from Hades,” you mutter through a bitten lip. Luke stares at you but it feels nostalgic, like someone on the outside looking in. Well, shit. He’s been leading demigods to their deaths every summer and you’ve been trying to cure his mentally ill mother in the time you don’t spend trying to stop him.

“I don’t think I even remember the last time she made sense while talking to me,” he laughs hollowly. You purse your lips and shrug, “I visit her every two weeks. She still has her triggers, and she gets confused but she’s not in pain. Your letters helped.”

“Is that why you came here then?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” you joke feebly. It falls flat and yet he still smiles, even when you say, “They weren’t for me.”

“They were about you. All of them were.”

You know that too. May makes you read them to her before bedtime as you stroke her hair and send her off to Hypnos. You’ve relived your relationship with Luke a million little times, and he’s written about you and all of your yesterdays like it was the only glimpse of Elysium he’d ever reach. In those letters, you get to remember the good parts of being in love—laughing in the empty amphitheater, holding hands under the dining table, sneaking kisses in the strawberry fields.

You used to understand each other so well: every dream, every feeling. But there is nothing you understand about the man sitting across from you now. The both of you sit at the kitchen table and there is nothing more to say.

Luke doesn’t have to stay. While you were at the supermarket, he spent an hour trying to explain to his mother that he needed her blessing to swim in the River Styx. Through nuances and veiled simplicity in the words he weaved to convince her, there wasn’t much opposition in her half-empty, half-prophetic mind. May always knew that Luke loved to swim when she took him to the beach, and that was that.

There was nothing more to say.

—

He knows it’s too good to be true when moments later May’s screams carry through the halls of the little house, down the stairway you’re currently clambering up to reach her. By the time his boots reach the second landing, he finds the two women he loves most in a huddle against the linen closet, his mother’s glowing green eyes and empty groans rattling him to the bone. If he were any smaller, he’d be shaking. Even now he doesn’t know what to do— feet frozen as he watches you brush her curls away from her face and lull her to solace.

“Can’t find Luke’s sheets—he needs the Toy Story ones…” May mutters as she rocks on her heels, “My boy needs to be home…He’s meant to be home!” Her fingernails are cutting into your wrists and then she silences with a wave of your hand.

“He’s home, Miss May. He’s right there,” you whisper. When your eyes look at Luke, you watch him crumble—the cracks in his fortitude tumbling like fallen rocks at the sight of the two of you and then you see him. The boy you met at 14 who was angry at the world for making him run away from his mother and the hands of fate until it crept up to snuff him out for the sake of a prophecy foretold by deities who will never understand what it’s like to be human. But there are no second chances, and there is nowhere left to run. “He’s here for you. I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.”

“I see it, the two of you together. The worst will be over soon, and then it’ll all make sense,” she says breathily, licking her lips and straightening herself like nothing happened. Even after you send her off to prepare a basket for the beach, Luke doesn’t move when his mother pats his arm and walks around his body and towards the stairs. Neither of you speak until your fingers touch his jaw lightly, and Luke doesn’t know if you’re trying to help him or inspect him. He tilts down to look at you anyway.

“She thinks we’re still together.”

He blinks. Somehow that’s the most shocking thing he’s heard today. Fate is most definitely cruel and fucked up because he never expected it to be like this—once upon a time he hoped he could take you home to meet his mother when everything was said and done; no shackles from Titans or pressure from the gods. It was supposed to be different.

“The letters probably didn’t help as much as you thought they would then,” he mumbles, calloused hands guiding your hands over to his swiftly beating heart. You scoff, “Neither does bringing up my boyfriend. She thinks it’s you.” He’d believe anyone who’d say they watched you yank his heart out of his chest with that statement, everything bloody in your hands. It’s still yours, even if you don’t want it.

“Kit?”

You shake your head and shrug, “That was forever ago. But he treats me well.”

Luke wants to ask more but by the tension in your shoulders, he knows not to push. He’s not entitled to know anything more than what you give him. It’s not his place anymore. So his brow furrows at your next suggestion.

“Just pretend, Luke. For the day, so your mom doesn’t get agitated. I’m not asking for much here.”

It’s a terrible, terrible idea—even you know that. But you both have always been good pretenders. Liars, a voice corrects in the back of your mind. You reason that it’s for May and insist upon that fact, even if the heartbroken girl you left at Camp Half-Blood is raging at you from deep inside the recesses of your mind that you hide her in. What’s one day with him compared to the many you’ve gone without? You don’t need to know the rest of why he’s here, or what more he’s going to do— and you don’t ask.

Not knowing has always hurt less.

—

You’ve forgotten how good Luke is at playing the part of a good boyfriend. He offers to drive to the beach, carries the picnic basket and blanket for you all to sit on, and listens intently when May asks about your college classes. There’s no discomfort in the way he holds your hand as you walk in the sand or dusts your feet off before laying them across his lap. It’s easy to laugh at his bad jokes, it’s easy to act like the boyfriend you describe is anything like him (even if he’s the complete opposite), and it’s too damn easy to fall into the familiar rhythm that is you and Luke. The three of you lay down as the spring breeze covers you from the rest of reality, hiding away from the truth of a broken woman and two ex-lovers. By late afternoon, you find yourself enjoying it, and it’s cruel how the guilt isn’t rolling off you in waves, instead longing for him to follow you anywhere.

He meets you by the shoreline with both of you waist-deep in the water. May’s collecting seashells but she turns to look at you two every so often like she’s framing this memory in her fragile mind. Without saying it out loud, the both of you hope it will hold.

“She always talks about you, you know? Even without trying,” you mutter as saltwater pours from your fingers to the valleys made by the veins in his forearms. It’s like initiating touch without the consequences of actually doing it, and he immerses himself in the feeling as it spills over him, feet rocking against the tide.

“I do too. Can’t help it.”

When the sea ripples once more pushing you against the wall of his body, you end up holding on, and he doesn’t let go. You both smell like salt and sunshine, pressed together and nothing has made more sense. The silence goes on for a beat too long—he whispers, “You still talk about me? Your boyfriend must hate that.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to talk about you? For anyone to get to know me, they have to know you.”

Your shirt is stuck to your skin in the surf and Luke’s hands brush over the waistline of your underwear, daring to reacquaint himself with your touch and spur a reaction from you. You may be the best actress he’s ever known but anything is better than watching you be complacent with the false niceties of the day.

“There isn’t much worth knowing.”

“I’d never say that, Luke,” jaw tensing, you let out a breath when his hands encircle your hips, hidden in plain sight in the deep of the ocean. He chuckles and the sound tickles your brain to remind you it's the type of laugh he spits out when he’s hiding his anger, “There’s a lot we’re both not saying.” Your name slips past his lips, sneaking past your defenses and hitting you head-on like a bullet.

“Why?”

Why are you doing this? Why are you helping his mother, why aren’t you actively fighting and turning him in, why are you letting him hold you if he’s only going to leave again—there are too many questions and only one clear answer.

“Because it’s out of our hands, isn’t it, Luke? You love your mother but you wouldn’t have come here unless it’s too late. Annie told me you went to see her in San Francisco.”

He was never here to make amends or save face. There was no version of him that was going to ask you to run away with him because he knows you deserve more than always running from fate. He’d do it all over again as long as you got this— the life you’re living with your college degree, your boyfriend, and your happy family— and Luke has no place in that.

A dry laugh bubbles from his throat, sticking like seafoam when he says, “You hate San Francisco.”

You wouldn’t have come.

—

By the time you get home for dinner, your skin is sensitive and tingly from the heat of the sun. May’s tracing circles into the back of your hand as she leads you up the patio steps. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach that makes you sway against the doorway.

“Too much time having fun,” she mumbles, patting your cheek, “Take a cold shower dear. Join us when you’re ready?” Luke’s eyes follow you all the way up the stairs and then again, he’s left to his own devices.

Most of the said shower was spent thinking about what your friends would say about you for playing house with the enemy. The guilt felt like ice along your spine, paralyzing you for wanting to be selfish, to choose what makes you happy even if it fucks the rest of the world. But looking in the mirror afterward was scarier—you recognized the girl that stared back at you as someone you thought you’d never see again. A version you left behind years ago, with her head held high and so sure of herself with your Luke by your side.

Surely, there’s no harm in indulging in this vice for the rest of the night. Not when you haven’t felt this relaxed in years.

Dinner is being served by the time you make your way back downstairs. It’s a simple dish you taught Luke how to make back at camp when you raided the kitchens at midnight. Nothing special, reminding you of your own home—but the fact that he remembered makes your smile widen as you take a seat and promise to wash the dishes. Luke chuckles the type that makes his eyes crinkle in mirth once he watches you dig into your meal, knees brushing under the table like old times.

Everything feels easier after that.

“Today was the best day,” his mother mutters as you tuck the covers under her chin. May kisses both of your cheeks before she shuts her eyes and you gently fold the letter she chose tonight back into her nightstand for safekeeping. This time, you read her the story of your first kiss with Luke sitting at the foot of her bed in the dim light of her room. It’s less scary here than he remembers, but maybe it’s because this time there’s no screaming and him running to hide in the closet. Your voice is much more pleasant than those suppressed memories, immersing you all in a more pleasant one— the both of you in the amphitheater kissing on the stage with his hands in your belt loops. Luke could recite every word on that page if it meant he could go back in time, not with Backbiter but with you, just to live through that moment again. I think I’m falling in love with her, is how the letter ended but by then he already knew. Writing it down to tell his mother always made it real.

This, you, right here—everything is real.

He’s silent even as he watches you smoke through the cracked window of his childhood bedroom, and you’re surprised when he steals a puff. His hands are shaking under the moonlight and suddenly it’s clear that he’s scared. Everyone feels fear, but in all the years that you’ve known him, Luke Castellan has never let you see it.

“Those things will kill you one day,” you mumble, watching him lean against the windowpane. It’s what he used to always tell you so that you’d quit, but old habits die screaming. It’s another vice you refuse to let go of.

“Wanted to try something new before I…” his voice drops off.

Lose myself.

Lose you.

Luke coughs as the smoke enters his lungs, a momentary rush hitting him brought by the nicotine. Your hands go to cup his jaw as you set your forehead against his, a silent plea for him to just be honest if there’s truly nothing left to lose.

“I’m out of time, trouble. It’s out of my hands.”

Shuddering at the feeling of him tracing every ridge of your spine, you think the way he says your nickname sounds like the way he used to say I love you. It’s raining outside now, the harsh pitter-patter of wet drops drowning out the sound of your voice, “What can I do? Is there anything left for me to do?” When his head shakes, your noses brush, and your breaths intermingle, almost magnetic. Perhaps the rain is getting in from the open window and you feel it hitting your cheek until you see the shine of his eyes.

“You think I did this because of you. I know you do, but you need to know I did all of this for you, trouble. I choose you and me. Every time,” Luke gasps, intertwining his fingers with yours, the both of you pushing and pulling in this embrace like the moon with the tide.

“Luke…”

You’re pressing yourself against him, face hidden in his shirt as your brain catches up to your heart, hasty breaths and every atom of your being screaming to be held together by him and then you’re on him, through tears and clenched fists tumbling towards the tiny twin bed. The only way he likens himself to his father is his yearning to be a true traveler, but what he knows best out of anything in this entire world is you. He knew this body once too— every birthmark, scar, and dimple. Who else has had the privilege to navigate the ridges of your spine, to know the pressure of your kiss? A tattoo peeks out to say hello at your hip bone. There are new stories and new marks, there are parts of you unknown to him now. Luke thinks that must be what hurts most about each time he leaves you.

But then why does this feel so good?

Warm palms caress your waist, nudging your shirt up in the hopes that this will be enough compensation for all his misdoings—the tears you’ve cried, the anger you’ve felt, the things you had to do and will have to do because of him. Luke is someone who’s gotten comfortable with manipulating time, but time has manipulated him and all of his plans for the both of you. Sleepy setback bedroom eyes meet his own that glow in the gentle light of the lamp on the nightstand. Maybe if you pretend again his childhood bedroom can turn into the star-speckled darkness of cabin 12. You can just lay down and tuck underneath his arms waiting for him to fall asleep. But he stays up this time, making you hiss at the feeling of his lips against your neck.

“We can’t… Angelface,” you say breathily, still leaning into the trail he marks across the valley of your collarbone, “We’re not together anymore.”

A kiss is placed on your pulsepoint, knocking against the cord of your necklace.

“We shouldn’t… I have a boyfriend.”

Another kiss rests against the warmth of your forehead.

“We’re on opposite sides of a war… You’re my enemy.”

Finally, his lips meet yours, for a moment as if to test the waters.

“Not tonight,” he says, and there is no other option but to agree. There is a lifetime to make up for in a night, and fuck it—they’ll crucify you anyway. You were never meant to be a hero, that’s what he always wanted. You just wanted him. Your head hits the pillow and he looms over you until you’re pulling him in for more than what’s necessary to accept an apology.

There’s nothing left to lose.

—

Before your mind can wake up dreading the consequences of last night, your socked feet take you to the kitchen to clean up the mess you’ve both left behind. The old floorboards creak underfoot and there’s a method in the way you’re washing the dishes, hot water and soap starting to seep through your shirt sleeve but you choose not to notice. Scrubbing at the dirt and grime left behind on the porcelain until your fingers start to prune, a lump forms in your throat before you can stop it. Maybe if you scrub hard enough at the glass that Luke drank out of last night it can eventually be clean. But it’s taking you longer than you thought, jaw tensing and fingers turning white at how hard you’re holding on. May appears behind you, guiding your hands away from the scalding water, and though you resist— the glass drops into the sink and shatters with a loud crack.

“Damn spot wouldn’t get out,” you sniff, turning away to look out the window and think of anything but him, but he’s everywhere even when he’s not here, so much so that it suffocates you. Guilt lines every shaking breath you take until lavender eyes meet amber at the sensation of her clasping your red and raw palms with a dishtowel.

You see him in her too.

“His fate is greater than the cards he’s been dealt with. You know that.”

It’s the clearest and most sensible May’s spoken in days. Perhaps when it comes to Luke, she’ll always know better. Eyes darting elsewhere to fight the tears that brim at your lash line, you look down at your swollen hands, palm up towards the heavens almost imploring, “Why couldn’t it be me?”

The question’s direction is unclear and you don’t expect to get an answer, turning away to grab some ice from the freezer and she remains standing there—staring at the windowsill at a compass that’s now found its home next to the faded picture of a man who’s left more times than there are reasons to stay. Just like his father, she thinks, a small smile quirking at the side of her lip where a scar would meet her son’s. Clicking it open delicately like how she used to hold his hand, there’s a photo of you and Luke resting against the cover ripped away from a memory frozen in time.

“It is you,” May says quietly, though you’ve already left the room.

A mother always knows, after all.

—

“Aphrodite,” I pleaded to the moon-drenched night sky. “Tell me; if love is meant to heal, then why does it destroy those who choose it?” From somewhere beyond the clouds, I heard the Goddess laugh. And I knew. -Nikita Gill

#made by ma1dita ♥︎#luke castellan x reader #pjo x reader #luke castellan fanfic #trouble!verse #percy jackon and the olympians

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marlynnofmany · 3 months

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Accidental Training

The animal cargo of the day was large and honking, but it seemed well-mannered enough. Picture a sea lion with tiny scales instead of fur, dark gray on top and speckled pale underneath. Bobbing its head in curiosity at the cargo bay and the people in it. The squid-shaped clients maneuvering the cage into place didn’t rate a second look, but they were probably familiar and boring.

Captain Sunlight, with her lemon-yellow scales and dignified lizardperson demeanor, got a lot of attention. She ignored the honks as she finished business with the clients.

Then I stepped up to see what kind of creature I’d be in charge of for this trip, and it exploded in excitement like a 500-pound puppy, dancing in place on its flippers and honking up a storm.

One of the clients said, “It does that sometimes. Have a good flight,” then waved a tentacle and left.

Captain Sunlight squinted at the cage like she would have liked to cover her earholes but wanted to put on a strong front. Instead she looked up at me and said, “Good thing this is a short journey. It seems to like you, though.”

“I see that,” I said, waggling my fingers at it, which just made it honk louder. “Did they tell us a name for it?”

She consulted the information on her tablet while the excitable creature continued to hop around. “Looks like his name is Freckles.”

“That’s adorable,” I said. “Hi, Freckles! Are you a good boy? Yes? Are you so excited that you could break a weaker travel cage than this? Yes you are!” I pressed my hands to my knees in classic talking-to-puppy fashion, which did nothing for the noise levels in the room.

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Captain Sunlight told me. “The hover setting for the cage is turned off; it’s clamped in place; the food and supplies are here; we’ll take off shortly.”

“Got it,” I said with a wave as she left. There was a chance that Freckles would calm down if I left too, but he seemed equally likely to make lonely wails if left alone, and anyways this was the reason I’d been hired in the first place. Nobody else on the courier ship knew the first thing about animals. “All right, Freckles, are you ready to travel through space? Is that new for you? You look like you’re in good shape. Let’s aim for no medical emergencies on this trip.”

Freckles honked once, which I took for a yes. He bobbed up and down like a dog inviting another to play.

I copied the move, and he did it again. I lifted one foot, and he did the same, honking happily.

“Good boy! I’ll bet you make your people proud by holding still for tooth-brushing, don’t you? Lemme see your teeth. Ahhh.” I opened my mouth as an example.

With a similar noise, the clever animal copied the motion. His teeth looked clean enough, with none discolored or missing, and he even stuck his tongue out for a good look when prompted. I found a nearly-empty container of treats among the supplies, and rewarded him for good behavior.

“Good job. What else should we check? Can you show me your flipper? And turn like this? Very good. And like that?”

He could and did, visibly happy with the praise and treats. He was a little calmer now that there was something specific to do.

The engines started up with a quiet rumble, which caused him a moment of anxiety, but he was happily distracted when I started echoing his honks back at him.

If this had been an inanimate cargo, I would have left the cargo bay already, but I had nothing more important to do. My job today was to keep an eye on this guy. So I prompted him to do more beneficial tricks, then when the treats ran out, I decided the container made a fine toy.

“Hey look, a hat,” I told him as I put the lid on my head. The container was a mostly-round thing that twisted apart into two equal halves. That meant Freckles got a hat too. And he was so happy about it when I stuck it between the bars.

Only one coworker walked past the door while I was entertaining the cargo: Mur the Strongarm, who looked much like the people who’d brought Freckles onboard. Mur paused, saying nothing. Freckles ignored him, dancing from side to side while wearing his jaunty new hat.

I held my own pose, one foot in the air, arms spread. “Yes?”

“Nothing,” Mur said. “Nothing at all.” He continued on his way.

“You’re welcome to join us!” I called after him.

“No thanks. I’m good.”

The short trip was pretty fun. Freckles was particularly taken by the discovery that his honks echoed when the container covered his snout. He could even balance it on his flipper like a hand, taking it on and off to test the difference in sounds. When I did the same and then gave him another treat from a fresh container, he pranced in place and slapped his flippers together.

As it turned out, he was good at repeating patterns too. We did some clapping games of the sort that human toddlers love, then I found a ball among the supplies and we were all set for the rest of the trip. It was even the squishy kind that glorped between the bars instead of bouncing off, which was perfect. We played an entertaining game of catch until the engine noises changed into landing sounds.

I was honestly surprised the trip was over. The captain came back in to meet the clients who were here for pickup, and I made sure to pack away everything into the supplies. Freckles made a sad honk when I took the container back, but I gave him one last treat, and that made up for it.

These two clients looked much like the last, though one was carrying a bag from the shopping trip they’d done on the way here. They were also more talkative than the other ones.

“…Had to stop by the battery shop for three different kinds of chargers, then the feed store for more of the special diet that our oldest animal takes, and there was so much traffic!” The one typing information into the payment screen didn’t stop for breath, waving several tentacles as she talked.

“I’m just glad there was a mask attachment of the right size in stock,” said the one with the bag. “Getting Freckles his air vitamins is going to be hard enough as it is.” He pulled something from the bag: a long tube with a concave shape at one end. “What do you think, Freckles? Can this be easy for once?”

Freckles honked, which could have meant anything.

I looked at the mask. “What does he usually do when you have to give him air vitamins?”

The Strongarm sighed like a deflating balloon. “He just doesn’t want it anywhere near his face. He seems to think it’s a game to avoid it, which is fun for him but incredibly tiresome for everyone else.”

“Have you tried making it a different game?” I asked, starting to smile.

“Like what?”

“Can I see that for a moment?” When he passed it over, I got the container of treats and rattled it for Freckles’ attention, then took a position in front of the cage. I held the mask in front of my own face. “Hey Freckles. Honk honk.”

He of course honked happily and shoved his nose through the bars, eager for his turn. I settled it against his snout — perfect fit — and he honked away. I pulled the mask back and gave him a treat, then turned to beam at the clients.

“What! He’s never done that!” said the one.

“How did you train him to do that?” demanded the other.

“Honestly, I wasn’t trying to,” I admitted. “But he’s very smart. He seems to like copying motions, and he’s definitely food-motivated.”

“Oh yes, those are the good treats,” said the client with the bag. “The new kind that my cousin’s book club host recommended.”

I handed back the mask. “Then you might keep these in reserve for important things, like rewarding him for taking his air vitamins. Though given how much he’s enjoying the new game, you might not even need to.”

The clients were overjoyed. They thanked me, thanked Captain Sunlight, and showered Freckles with praise as they unclamped the cage and started up its hover function. We helped them down the ramp, then they waved off any further assistance on the way to a flatbed skimmer with a loading arm. The guy with the bag of shopping struggled just a bit managing all the supplies too, but neither Captain Sunlight nor I were about to insult a Strongarm by suggesting they needed help carrying something. So we just waved our goodbyes and made sure they got everything loaded onto the skimmer before we closed the cargo bay door.

“Bye, Freckles!” I called as it closed. I heard one last honk, which I decided sounded excited about the skimmer ride to come.

“Well,” said Captain Sunlight. “That was fortunate. Good job.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I think they’ll all enjoy the vitamin process more now, especially Freckles.”

We walked through the empty cargo bay to the hall, where Paint met us, with confusion on her scaly orange face and a jar lid in her hands.

“Mur said to give this to you?” she said, holding it out to me.

I laughed. “Mur thinks he’s very funny.” I dutifully set it on my head. “Yes, the height of fashion. But I think it would look better on him. You can tell him I said so.”

“Okay,” Paint said, taking the lid back. “Why?”

Captain Sunlight huffed a laugh and headed off to the cockpit while I began the explanation of how I’d spent the recent flight.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

#simple one this time #sometimes the job is just Dealing With Animals #and all that that may entail #my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs

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freesia-writes · 2 months

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Bad Batch Prompt Event #1

Much love to @arctrooper69 for making this official, and I can't wait to see what anyone else has written for these prompts! I'm gonna post the SFW part one here and NSFW part two over on @spicy-clones.

Hunter x F!Reader WORD COUNT 3000 my bad! Content: some basic medical descriptions, reader gets her butt smacked at 79s, and a wee bit o kissin. GONNA USE MY SEXY DIVIDERS WITH @pinkiemme's art since it's HUNTER! :D

“Seriously?” you sighed. “This again?”

“This is completely different than last time,” came the smooth reply, earning both a snort and an eyeroll from you.

“It’s almost exactly the same.”

“Different arm.”

“Oh my gosh.” Your almost-laugh was overshadowed by concern and frustration as you made quick work of the injury and carefully wrapped the gauze around his bicep, trying not to pay too close attention to the gentle curves of the muscles and tendons, the light dusting of hair, the scars and bruises… You cleared your throat, shaking your head minutely and looking back up to his face. That wasn’t any better. His sharp eyes gazed steadily at you, framed by his distinctive nose and the strands of hair that brushed the sides of his face.

“Well thanks as always,” he said quietly, the hint of a rare smile touching the corner of his lips, which were almost always curved in the ghost of a frown from the burdens he carried. You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest, instead nodding and picking up your datapad abruptly to see what else was on the agenda for the Kamino medical bay that day. You looked back to him, offering a small smile and an honest exhortation.

“Take care of yourself, Hunter.”

* * *

You were surprised to see him only a week later, stepping into line behind you in the mess hall with the rest of his squad. They were normally a boisterous bunch, but there seemed to be a heaviness upon them as they moved rather listlessly. Perhaps a mission gone awry, perhaps the regular wear and tear of being mere property in a seemingly endless war. You caught Hunter’s eye as he moved to the front of his group, setting his tray on the shelf beside yours as you slid down the food line.

“You alright?” you asked softly, startling yourself with the gentleness and vulnerability in your own voice and cringing at the fact that you didn’t even lead with a “hello”.

“Yeah,” he said automatically, his flat affect provoking more anxiety than you’d like. You left it at that, unable to stifle the simultaneous warmth and concern emanating from you. You didn’t know what it was about his mere presence, but he exuded both competence and compassion, intelligence and wit, and you perceived the weight of responsibility that hung over his head, both a gift and a curse of his engineered fate.

You’d come to enjoy his med bay visits more and more, although it was never the ideal circumstances to meet. The elaborate fantasies you concocted as you drifted off to sleep were far more appealing, consisting of stargazing cuddles, fancy galas, coffee shop chats, and many other situations you’d want to share with him. As corny as it seemed, more than all of it, you simply wanted to know him, to know the inner workings of his mind, his joys and worries, the things that made him laugh, the way he liked his caf… It wasn’t the first time in your life that you’d harbored a crush for someone who was as unattainable as they were oblivious of your affections, so you settled to daydream and enjoy the times you did get to share.

It helped that your occupation allowed you some quiet moments and gentle touches here and there. Although, perhaps “helped” was the wrong word.

* * *

“We need you in room 6 immediately,” crackled the voice on your commlink, and you set aside the instruments you’d been cleaning and adjusting, heading that way with urgency. When the door slid open, you felt a jolt of electricity run through your body at the sight of a hulking clone on the exam table, covered in dried blood and haphazardly-wrapped bandages. You knew who it was without seeing his face, which was almost entirely obscured, and before your emotions could catch up, you snapped into work mode.

“What are we dealing with?” you asked the others, who were moving in smooth synchronization to free his head and scan him head to toe.

“CT-9903. Explosion and shrapnel, blunt force trauma, multiple lacerations…” your assistant reported, eyes flitting across the scanner screen.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” your other colleague said, stuffing the wads of bandages into the garbage and pulling on a fresh set of gloves.

“Let’s get to work,” you muttered.

A few hours later, he was cleaned up and sleeping comfortably, one eye closed serenely beneath a spiral of neatly-wrapped gauze that covered the rest of his head. You slipped into the room and tapped the screens, confirming the notes your assistant had entered, then rested a hand on his broad forearm, watching his chest rise and fall and sending out all the comforting and healing vibes you could muster.

“He seems alright,” came a smooth, low voice from behind you, making you jump and emit the tiniest squawk. You whirled around to see Hunter in a chair in the corner, reclining with his legs crossed out in front of him. He’d phrased it as a statement but the inflection of his voice indicated a question, and you exhaled in an attempt to regain your composure.

“First of all, hi. Next time, can you greet me when I come into the room instead of scaring the crap out of me?” you said, accompanied with a little laugh that sounded forced.

“We’ll see,” he returned evenly, keeping his face straight despite your smirk.

“That’s an order, Sergeant,” you attempted, delighting in the slight spark in his eyes as he raised his eyebrows.

“Oh really,” he said, lowering his chin just enough to bring some hair across his forehead as he regarded you with a stare that you could have sworn held a hint of smolder. But perhaps you were seeing what you wanted to see. Your fingers twitched at your sides, yearning to stroke the tufts back from his face… and other stuff…

“Yeah, anyway…” you said suddenly, clearing your throat and turning businesslike all of a sudden. “He should be fine. We’ll run some more tests when he wakes up to check on his hearing. The lacerations should heal easily, and he was lucky enough to avoid any serious contusions, somehow. I don’t know what you all were doing out there but this guy needs a thicker helmet.”

“I’ll make sure to request that from the armory.”

“I’m sure they’ll be wildly helpful and accommodating.”

“Always.”

A silence fell for a moment, then he rose to his feet, stretching to his full height and picking up his backpack. He slung it across his shoulders, along with the concerns and duties that awaited him, and gave you a cordial nod.

“Thanks for taking care of him,” he said with genuine sincerity, regarding you with fondness as he stepped closer. Your heart skipped a beat and you felt frozen to the spot, mind racing with a million scenarios you’d envisioned that started out just like this.

“Just doing my job… sir,” you said feebly, swallowing hard as he moved the tiniest bit nearer. You gazed at his eyes, brown at first glance but peppered with pale green and gray upon closer inspection. You could swear you felt the sparks flying between the two of you… until he spoke, shifting slightly to your side.

“Gotta… head out…” he muttered, and you suddenly realized he had actually been trying to get past you. Flushed with hot embarrassment, you moved aside in a flash, turning away to hide your reddening cheeks.

“Sorry, I didn’t sleep too much last night,” you explained quickly, trying not to stutter. “The old brain isn’t working quite so well today.”

“I’m glad you performed cranial surgery on Wrecker, then,” Hunter observed, and you buried your face in a hand.

“I mean, it wasn’t really surgery, but good point,” you laughed, thoroughly mortified now.

You didn’t see the pursed lips hiding his smile as he turned and disappeared out the door.

* * *

You were deeply saddened at first when you were transferred from the Kamino medical bay to the general medical center on Coruscant. But, as your fellow clone-obsessed friend reminded you, you would be able to go with her to 79s on your nights off, where you could enjoy the company of the types of men you’d come to prefer. It had been a hellish week, with too many patients and too few staff members, and you had worked yourself to the bone. It was as good a time as any to blow off some steam, so it took only a little urging from your friend for you to change into some going out clothes, fix up your hair a bit, and hit the town with her.

Typically one for softness and gentleness, you felt an edge to yourself that night. Perhaps it was the build up of all of the frustrating situations at work, but whatever the cause, you didn’t feel like putting up with any kind of BS. So when the first trooper you walked past tried to smack your butt, you turned on him with the raging fury of a thousand suns and gave him a piece of your mind. Your friend stared at you, dumbfounded, and you heard some chuckles and comments from the crowd. Turning away before you melted into an apology, you stalked off to the corner booth you had left your stuff in.

“That was brutal,” a smoky voice said, and you were floored at the sight of Hunter sliding into the booth next to you. Your friend winked at you from where she stood at the bar, still flirting with a couple of troopers. You stared at him, speechless, and he held his hands up in surrender. “I’ll clear out if you’re going to chew me out like that guy. Just wanted to say hi. Haven’t seen you in the med bay in a while.“

“No, stay!“ You said, more eagerness in your voice than you would like to admit. “They transferred me here…”

“And you just had to get your clone fix?”

You blushed, palming your face before taking a long swig of your drink. It was a stiff one, and a fitting way to end your week.

“Just kidding,” he continued, “We both know you just miss yelling at people.”

“Oh, I’m such a yeller,” you rolled your eyes. You had never been anything but gentle and kind with him and the other patients. And he knew it.

Before long, you both found yourselves lost in conversation, and it felt as though your dreams were coming true. Details of his life and thoughts were flowing freely, well, as freely as possible considering the covert nature of most of his experiences, and the two of you settled into a comfortable rhythm as you nursed your drinks and regarded one another. You shared about your training days, mishaps and mayhem, and your goals for the future. He was happy to listen, answering questions but also content to simply sit. You didn’t want to admit just how much you were thrilled by the entire situation.

“Refills?” You asked, gesturing to the empty glasses on the table. He nodded, but then followed you out of the booth. As the two of you leaned against the bar, waiting to be acknowledged, you tilted your head at him, feeling slightly emboldened for a moment, but it quickly melted when his eyes met yours.

“Yes?” He asked, a smirk on his own face.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he teased. “Looks like you’ve got something you want to say.”

“Maybe there’s lots I want to say,” you clapped back, putting your hand on your hip. “But I don’t think I’m going to.” You gave him a sassy smile in an attempt to hide the complete and total whirlwind of thoughts raging for consideration within you.

He took a step closer, coming into your personal space, and his hand that rested on the bar counter was dangerously close to your waist. You could almost feel his touch, without any contact being made at all. His eyes were dark beneath his brows, his sharp profile illuminated by the colorful lights all around, and your heart skipped a beat.

“You sure?” he purred, a smug look on his face as though he knew the effect he had on you. “Nothing at all?”

“You’re the worst,” you stammered, dropping your chin and fixing your stair on the ground beside you.

“Yeah,” he conceded with a snort. “Well, you still like me.”

Your head flew up faster than a ship jumping into hyperspace, and you stared at him in utter shock as your stomach plunged. Your mouth fell open a little bit as you frantically searched for words, coming up with none and snapping it shut again. He shifted the tiniest fraction closer, looming over you now in a way that would be intimidating if your veins weren’t coursing with adrenaline and the sheer desire to grab his shirt and show him all that you couldn’t say.

“Thought so,” he said with a satisfied rumble of laughter that made your knees weak.

“I don’t… I mean, I couldn’t…” You fumbled hopelessly, turning away a tiny bit as you grappled for any kind of response.

“Hey lady,” a clone voice said from behind you. “ This guy bothering you?” You turned around to see a trooper with his head closely shaved except for some intricate designs along the sides. He was standing tall, an inch or two over Hunter, and had a warm intensity to his gaze that showed genuine concern more than creepiness or bravado.

You looked back to Hunter, who was still leaning on the bar, relaxed and unbothered. He lifted his eyebrows at you, uncharacteristically playful, and said, “Well?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” you said to the blue-armored clone, who gave you a polite nod before leaving with one last suspicious glare at Hunter.

“So… you were saying?” Hunter poked, tilting his head at you and fanning the flame. Was he flirting? For real? Or just trying to make you flustered, for his own fun and entertainment?

“Now you’re just being cruel,” you whined, and he laughed, an authentic, deep sound that made you swoon.

“I would never.”

“Hunter, we’ve got to go,” a pert voice broke through your fantasy, and you turned to see a bespectacled man with a serious face standing beside Hunter, who looked at you with an unreadable expression as your heart sank and disappointment lay heavy over the two of you.

“Well. Hope I see you again,” he admitted, a wistful tone to his voice as he brushed his fingers across the back of your hand, sending a jolt of electricity through you, and dipped his head in goodbye before disappearing out the front door.

You went home to your “personal massager” that night.

* * *

You were finishing the patient notes for the day as you bent over your screen at work, tapping away with diligence as you looked forward to freedom for the evening. It had been nearly a week since you’d seen Hunter at 79s, and you’d been kicking yourself for not speaking up more, or flirting more, or making a move, or something. You doubted your paths would cross again, as your friend shared that she’d only seen Clone Force 99 at the bar once before, and she was quite the regular. Bringing your thoughts back to the present, you groaned inwardly as your comm pinged with an incoming message, and you considered not looking at it to avoid any calls to stay late. But curiosity got the better of you, and you took a look at the screen.

//18:42//-ENCRYPTED- {Chewed out any regs lately?}

Your mouth fell open, brow furrowed, as you studied the message. It wasn’t an internal memo, nor was it from any sort of source you’d seen before. It couldn't be… Could it? You smirked, curious to try something that might seem inconspicuous if it were, in fact, an error, but might be playful if it were him.

//18:43// - {Unfamiliar source number, identification needed.}

The response seemed to take ages.

//18:47//-ENCRYPTED- {Identification can be provided in the maintenance alleyway of the med center.}

You were embarrassed how quickly you got there.

The door swung open into a long, narrow gap between the large hospital buildings, filled with random parts and trash chutes, and your heart leapt in your chest when you saw his gray and red armor.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, positively thrilled and unable to hide it.

“I… Well… I don’t know,” Hunter admitted with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I haven’t been able to get you off my mind since we had to leave… So I thought it might need some medical attention.”

Now it was your turn to laugh, the sheer delight of it all cascading over you. “Oh, and a crusty alleyway seems like a very sterile environment.” He grinned, shaking his head, and you caught a glimpse of his own vulnerability, realizing that he, too, was fairly out of sorts when it came to smooth talk and flirtation. Somehow, that made you feel better, and all the regrets and “what ifs” of the last number of days began a relentless protest in your mind. “Well, let’s see what I can do,” you murmured, stepping closer to where he leaned against the wall. His eyebrows climbed up his head, giving away his utter surprise, and the sight gave you tingles.

“I… ah…” he began, but you leaned into him a little, fueled by months of daydreams and a lifetime of self-loathing for all the opportunities you were too cowardly to take hold of. Plus, his sheepishness and his admission were all you’d needed to hear, and there was an undeniable affection in his eyes that melted you to the core.

“Let’s see if we can help you out a bit?” you offered, simultaneously cringing and delighting at the complete and total ridiculousness of it all. But then he tilted his head and lifted a single, curled finger to your chin, tipping it up toward his face and sealing your fate as hopelessly enthralled. His dark eyes glittered with warmth and trepidation, and the next thing you knew, your lips were pressed against his, eyes closed, arms around his neck.

It was so soft, so absolutely mind-blowingly perfect; your entire body was electrified as his own arms wrapped around you. You felt him exhale, his nose against your cheek, and you were overwhelmed with joy at his closeness, his vulnerability, his all-consuming presence that filled your senses. His body formed around yours, his mouth still gently nestled against your own, and you melted a little further into him, wishing that it would never end.

When you finally did separate with a soft smack of the lips, you left your faces close, your eyes darting to his, which remained closed for an extra second before slowly opening with a relaxed warmth that had you feeling weak all over again. You couldn’t resist leaning your forehead against his own, reaching a hand up to caress his cheek for a moment before begrudgingly pulling back a bit.

“Thank you,” you whispered lamely, and he exhaled through his nose.

“Thank you,” he echoed, sheepish and disarmed.

“Please contact me anytime you need any sort of medical attention,” you continued, wrinkling your nose at just how terrible it all sounded, but he snickered, slowly releasing you with a nod.

“My job is quite harmful.”

Are you 18+? Interested in a smutty part two? Click here. ;)

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#the bad batch #tbb #bad batch #star wars the bad batch #tbb fanfic #tbb one shot #romantic one shot #tbb hunter #hunter x reader #x reader #tbbpromptevent #tbb prompt event

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shootingstarpilot · 5 months

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In Which Obi-Wan Meets Stitch Properly

Happy Friday! Today's been A Day, so to make myself feel better, I wrote a lil scene referenced in Chapter 11 of how to bring him home:

Stupid.

It wasn’t even during a battle. Not on the ground, where the noise is everywhere all the time and where he tucks himself back and away and pulls on ‘81 for a bit, because ‘81 knows not to flinch at loud noises and or tap his fingers and Stitch can keep being a good medic while ‘81 takes the brunt of the noise and the darkness and everything else.

It’s effective. ‘81 had gotten him out of Kamino. ‘81 keeps him and his brothers alive on the battlefield. But being ‘81 is exhausting. So he stops being ‘81 on the ship once he realizes he doesn’t have to be. Because no one tells him that he’s tapping too much or talking too fast or being too stupid, and he can walk up to Helix or Needle and ask for a hug and get one.

(‘81 doesn’t get hugs.)

So he’s not prepared at all when he wanders into the engineering bay just in time for the sharp snap of a backfiring engine to crack his brain open like an egg.

He backpedals instinctively, all thoughts of routine physicals dropped along with his composure on the engineering bay’s floor, and the whole world goes snapshot-blurry.

Boots skidding across the floor.

A door that won’t open.

His own breathing, too loud.

A door that won’t open.

His own heartbeat, too fast.

A door that won’t open.

Voices approaching–

And then, finally, a door that does.

He flings himself in– glimpses a bucket, a mop, cleaning supplies– yanks the door shut behind him, and tries to fold down onto the floor. If his head’s between his knees, then that’s a few more layers between him and everything that’s too loud. But the engine’s vibrations tear all the way through him and splinter him all apart into a hundred thousand million tiny pieces–

He tries to back into a corner but the vibrations are in the walls too and hit right behind his shoulder blades–

He skitters into the middle of the room but the noise sneaks in through his feet and crawls all the way up and empties him out until there’s no room for shame or embarrassment or anything of himself at all, so he stands in the middle of the room with his hands over his ears and his eyes squeezed shut and tries to pretend he doesn’t have feet because eventually things go quiet again, they do, it’s just a question of how long it takes and how much of him gets peeled away in the meantime–

A different kind of quiet settles over him.

Not the raw type of quiet that usually arrives after the noise has worn itself out.

This is a solid quiet. As if someone has built a wall between him and the noise and has told it very sternly to stay out.

The vibrating roar of the engines has dulled into an almost imperceptible hum. Like how it should be.

He can’t hear his hammering heartbeat anymore, and his breathing is comfortably muffled.

He pries his eyes open carefully, in case someone actually managed to put a blanket over his head.

No one has.

But there’s a blanket on the floor in front of him.

He bends down and picks it up.

It’s brown. Brown is a quiet color. And it feels nice on his hands.

He considers it for a moment, and then drapes it carefully over his head.

Oh. That’s much better.

In the dark and quiet, he has enough room to breathe properly.

And as he works on that, a slow, simmering shame begins to kindle uncomfortably behind his ribs.

That–

That wasn’t good.

The last time he’d let that happen had been on Kamino. An alarm had gone off in the barracks. A false alarm– the announcement came over the comms, calling off evacuation protocols– but the shrieking whine hadn’t shut up, and Stitch hadn’t been very big then so he’d opened his mouth to drown it out himself, and then Fractal had tackled him and dragged him under the bunk and pressed his face into his shirt so he could scream quietly and he’d squeezed him tight enough to force out all the noise that was trying to fill him up and–

He cuts the rest of that thought off, and breathes it out.

Then he breathes out the hiccups, and the ache behind his eyes, and the prickling numbness in his feet.

This time, when he peels the blanket off his head, the lights don’t hurt anymore.

He stares at the wall.

Then he shakes out the blanket, intending to fold it up, until he sees something that stops him short.

The blanket has a hood.

He stares.

Sleeves, too.

Then he remembers–

They don’t have brown blankets on the ship.

He looks down.

The thin line of light under the door is partially blocked.

Someone is sitting outside.

He looks again at the blanket-that-is-not-a-blanket.

At the blanket that is a cloak.

Clone troopers do not wear cloaks.

After a moment, he gives up on trying to fold it, and wraps it around his shoulders instead.

Helix says that General Kenobi can be trusted. Helix says to stay with General Kenobi because he brought troopers home safe. Helix says that General Kenobi stopped the decommissionings and that he wouldn’t ever send anyone back to Kamino, not even if they were–

Not even if there was something really wrong with them.

(Helix says that General Kenobi is kind.)

Stitch takes a deep breath.

“We are learning,” he tells himself sternly, “how to be more than afraid.”

He opens the door before he can think better of it.

General Kenobi looks up.

Stitch hesitates before settling down cross-legged onto the floor next to him.

“Hello, sir.”

“Hello, Stitch.”

His voice is very gentle. Not loud at all.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better, sir.”

Then, belatedly–

“How are you feeling?”

The General smiles, and Stitch relaxes. “Quite all right, Stitch. Thank you for asking.”

“You’re welcome,” he says quietly.

They sit in silence for a long moment until something occurs to him.

“Did you make it quiet?”

“I did.”

“Oh. How?”

“Nothing in your head, if that’s what you’re worried about,” General Kenobi says easily, and Stitch hastily remembers to worry about that and then remembers to be relieved that he doesn’t have to. “I have a friend who gets… overstimulated. Have you heard the term psychometry before?”

Stitch shakes his head.

“It is, in essence, the ability to read impressions by touch. Very useful, when used carefully, but occasionally he will glean something by accident, and sometimes those things are… overwhelming. We– myself and my friends– learned when we were much younger what would help. Creating a bubble of sorts would muffle other stimuli and give him time to reorient himself.”

He gives Stitch a sideways look, and says pointedly, “He’s quite the fierce fighter, and I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

Stitch ducks his head, feeling a burning flush crawl up the back of his neck.

“The– the bubble,” he says haltingly. “Did you– when you make it– with the Force?”

The General lets it slide. “I did.”

Stitch makes a face, and General Kenobi laughs.

He can’t help it. The Force doesn’t make sense, especially not General Kenobi’s, and it bothers him. Helix too, he knows.

He doesn’t think it bothers Needle.

(But then again, he doesn’t think anything manages to bother Needle.)

The General shifts up onto his knees and closes his eyes, and the world–

Stitch doesn’t know how to describe it.

It settles back into place. Quietly. With no itching. And the noise makes sense again.

“Thank you,” he says, remembering, and really means it. “And– here–”

He pulls the cloak off his back and offers it up.

General Kenobi gives him a considering look.

“You could keep it, if you like,” he says. “I have more.”

“It’s not mine, sir.”

“What if I gave it to you?”

Stitch opens his mouth, and then pauses, scowling. Technically, it would be his, he knows, but not– not in the right way–

The weight vanishes from his hand.

“You don’t have to,” General Kenobi informs him gently, slipping his arms into the sleeves. “It was just an offer. But thank you for giving it back.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

“Would you like me to comm someone?”

“No thank you, sir.”

“All right,” the General accedes easily. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“Please don’t be bleeding,” Stitch ventures, and feels immensely pleased with himself when General Kenobi lets out a sudden bark of laughter.

“I’ll try my best.”

Stitch stays sitting against the wall for some time after General Kenobi leaves.

Thinking.

It’s only when voices approach from down the hallway that he levers himself to his feet and makes his way back to the medbay.

One week later, Needle comes in with their deliveries from the recent requisitions order and gleefully informs Stitch that there is something in it for him.

Stitch, bewildered, accepts the package.

After some unsubtle encouragement from Needle, he opens it carefully.

Headphones.

Good headphones.

And the tag–

The tag says his name.

They’re his.

(Properly.)

Later, Stitch concludes that General Kenobi sees the whole galaxy the way Helix sees him.

He thinks that’s a lot of people to love quite so much.

#shoulder the sky #anyway being '81 is 100% stitch's way of describing masking #i have strong feelings about masking-related trauma #also known as “in which i bully stitch to make myself feel better”

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andydrysdalerogers · 8 months

Text

Under the Hood

Dark! Mechanic Steve Rogers x F!Reader

A broken car, a handsome hero. Nothing but a spark between you. If only you knew...

Song: Tainted Love by Soft Cell

Word Count: ~ 2.7K

Warning: 18+ only! SMUT!, drugging, dub-con, degradation, oral (f-receiving), dark! Steve Rogers

Mood board by: @georgiapeach30513

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

A/N: This came from the mood board challenge game that @georgiapeach30513 hosted a few weeks ago. I spun the wheels and have been pushed out of my comfort zone. My spins were Mechanic Steve Rogers, degradation and drugging. Please heed the warnings below.

As this is an out of my comfort zone fic, feedback would be appreciated but being mean or rude comments will not be tolerated and you will be promptly blocked.

Doing my normal taglist at the bottom. Please let me know if you want to be removed.

Main Master List

Climbing down the steps of your building, your smile is big as you look forward to your day. Being an art teacher was fun, especially with the younger children. As you climbed in your vehicle, you couldn’t help but sigh. Today was going to be a great day.

But then, your car wouldn’t start.

“C’mon,” you muttered. Your smile fell. This was an older car for sure, but it wasn’t that old. You got out and popped the hood. Not seeing anything out of place. You tossed your head back and sighed. So much for it being a great day.

“Need some help?”

You jumped and whipped around to the voice behind you. A man, a gorgeous man stood behind you, a rag wiping grease from his hands. You eyed him, up and down. Blonde hair, blue eyes, scruff around his chiseled jaw, white, dirty shirt that was fitted to a narrow waist and tone legs wrapped in jeans. Motorcycle boots finished the look and you managed to look back up at the Adonis standing in front of you. You swallow, “my car won’t start.”

“I can see that. Can I look?” He smiled but you hesitated. “My name is Steve and I work at the garage.” He pointed to the garage, Barnes Automotive. It had been a staple in the neighborhood for years.

“Sure.” You stepped aside, smoothing out your dress as Steve ducked his head under the hood. You chewed your lip as he fiddled with the engine.

“Looks like there are a couple of problems, sweetheart. Gonna take a few weeks to repair.” He looked at you as he cleaned his hands.

“No,” you whispered. Tears began to flood your eyes. What were you going to do? You had to get to work and now you were stuck.

“You ok?”

“No,” you repeated, louder this time. “I don’t know a lot of people in this town and I’m not sure how I’ll get to work and stuff.” You sniffed, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“Well, I can give you a ride,” Steve offered. “I’m at the garage early and I can step out to take you and pick you up. We’re neighbors after all.”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose.”

“My mama would whoop my ass if I left a lady all alone, stranded. Promise, I don’t bite.” He smiled again and you melted. There was nothing wrong with accepting help. “C’mon sweetheart, what do say?”

And it started. Every day, Steve would give you a ride in his classic black Mustang and pick you up every night. You would chat the five or so miles every day. He had coffee ready for you, once he learned of your preferences. He was charming and sweet.

And every day, you fell, more and more.

Steve was falling in love.

Well, to be honest, he had been in love with you for months. When he first saw you, you were moving into the neighborhood. You were beautiful, your hair swept up in a bun at the top of your head with a glitter headband that made him think you had a halo. Jean short that hugged your ass as your shirt was knotted at the waist. Just the sight of you made his dick twitch, your hair, skin, clothes, everything made his blood sing.

“I need to know her,” he told his best friend, Bucky.

Bucky whistled, “she is a dime. What’s your plan?”

“Get to know her. However way I can.” Steve smirked and walked away, putting his plan into motion.

About six weeks into the repairs, you needed a mental health day. You sent a text to Steve to let him know that you were staying home.

You: I’m sorry, I need a rest day, not going to work

Steve: everything ok?

You: yeah, I'm just needed a break. Going to veg on the couch

You: I’ll miss your coffee tho

You got no response to that last message. Frowning, you went to make your own cup when there was a knock on the door. Curious, you looked through the peephole and smiled. “Steve, what are you doing here?”

“I didn’t want you to miss your cup of coffee.” He held out the travel mug to you, the special one he bought especially after mixing up the cups once before.

“Oh, you didn’t have to be so sweet,” you swooned. You took the cup and took a sip. “So good.”

Steve grinned; “I added some cinnamon to the coffee.”

“God, my own personal barista.” You gave him a big smile. “You want to come in?”

“Sure, if that’s ok.”

“It is. I’m just taking a me day today. Veg out, you know.”

Steve frowned. “Veg out?”

“Lay like broccoli.” You giggled. “It's from a movie. Pretty Woman?”

“Never seen it.”

Your jaw dropped. “Steve! How could you have gone through life without seeing Pretty Woman. Rich guy meets hooker, and they make an arrangement to help him. But before she gets paid, she falls in love.” You clutch your hands to your chest. “And then the guy chases after her to tell her he loves her too.”

“Sweetheart, I’m a guy. We don’t watch movies like that.”

“Well, you will today.” You took his hand and tugged him to the couch. You sat down next to him and pulled your blanket over your legs.

“Sweetheart...”

“Nope. I need to educate you.” You flipped on the movie and reached for your coffee to sip. As the movie started, you snuggled closer to Steve, the warmth of his body drawing you in. The smell of the coffee, his cologne mixed with his natural scent was an aphrodisiac. You sighed when he put his arm around behind you.

Steve ran his long fingers over your skin, fluttering along the now sensitive flesh on your arm. Suddenly, you wanted to be closer. You scooted right next to him and laid your head on his shoulder as he dropped his arm around your waist. His fingers now played with the strip of flesh that was exposed from your shirt riding up.

“Steve,” you whispered.

“Yeah baby, this ok?”

You turned your head up to look up at him. He could see your pupils were blown, desire and lust filled them that all he could see was black. He smirks as he trails his finger down your cheek and watches as your eyes close from the sensation. “Open them,” he growls. You blink your eyes open to see the positively feral look in his eyes. “Mine.” And he kisses you.

It’s everything you didn’t expect but everything you dreamed of. His lips are soft, but they kiss you rough and needy. You’re needy. You shift or he shifts you, you’re not exactly sure but now you’re in his lap, straddling him, your hands on his face to hold him to you, his arms around your hips. You pulled back to breathe. “Steve,” you mumbled.

“You like this, don’t you baby girl. Rubbing yourself on me like a little slut.” He pulled you back in and rocked your hips back and forth on his lap. Your thin cotton shorts allowed him to feel how hot your pussy was, and it left nothing to the imagination. The friction on your pussy from his erection pushing up through his jeans was mind-blowing.

Desire flooded your blood, his words setting you on fire. “Fuck, Steve,” you moaned as your hips began to move on their own.

“That’s it, grind on my cock. Fucking slut.” Steve assaulted your neck and shoulders, moving your shirt out of the way. “Fuck this,” he yanked the shirt off of your body, grinning at the fact that you had no bra on. “God damn, these tits are just made to be sucked on.”

“Yes, please,” you moaned. Your mind was spiraling; you’ve never been so turned on. It borderline hurt, the need to have Steve touch you, taste you, fill you. God, you needed Steve to fuck you, like yesterday.

Steve chuckles darkly at your neediness. “I’m going to destroy this pussy soon enough baby.” When you whined louder, he grinned. “You like that, don’t you, you dirty whore. You want me to wreck this body.” You nodded and Steve flipped you onto the couch, so he hovered on top. He rolled his hips against you, and you shuddered at his hard length pressing into you. “How long has it been, hmm?”

You went silent, embarrassed at how long it had been since you had been with a man. Lust was overcoming your senses, but you resisted answering him.

“It's been that long, huh?” Steve chuckled as he took a nipple into his mouth. Your back arched, relishing the feeling of his hot mouth on you.

“S-steve, fuck, please!”

“Oh, beg for me, slut, beg for what you want. Fucking brat can’t wait, can she? Maybe I’ll choke you on my cock so I can see your lips wrapped around me.” You keened at the suggestion and Steve’s jaw dropped for a second before pulling himself off of you and moving you to your knees. “Open, fucking cock tease and choke on me.”

You didn’t hesitate, wait, why didn’t you hesitate? Your mind was in a daze of lust and yearning.

And Steve knew.

He knew why you didn’t hesitate. For once, John Walker had been proven useful. “Just a drop,” he said, “in her drink and she becomes putty in your hands.” And the six weeks of spending time together in the car had put your guard down. So trusting, so innocent, so … his.

The first touch of your lips on his cock was like lighting up his spine. “Fuck, that mouth is hot,” he moaned as you bobbed on the tip. You weren't sure if you could take all of Steve. He was the largest you had ever seen or been with. Steve threaded his hand into your hair and pushed you deeper onto him. “I said to choke, you stupid slut. I want my dick to be imprinted on your throat.” His other hand grabbed at your neck and squeezed just enough to feel his cock. “That’s it, my little slut.”

You gagged as his cock punched your throat. Tears mixed your saliva as you took as much of Steve as you could. The man was at least nine inches of solid, velveting man and just feeling every ridge made yor core tingle in delight.

Before Steve could release, he pulled back. “No, I want to cum inside this pussy.” He lifted you off the floor and into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist. His cock was nestled in between you and you could feel it pulsing, wanting to release and fill you with his warmth. “I wanna watch my cum leak out of your gaping, stretched out hole so I can push it back into it.” You shuddered at his words. Steve chuckled. You like that, hmm? He throws you on the bed and reaches for your sleep shorts. Not even fighting me. Horny bitch. He rips the rest of your clothes away and you squeak at the force.

He latches on to a nipple and your back arches as he bites and tugs on the peak. “St-st-steve,” you wail as he continues to lavish attention.

“Beg for it, slut. Beg me to fuck you hard. Beg for my cock to fill you up and leave my seed I your womb, fucking cock drunk whore.” You cry as he sinks down as pulls your clit between his teeth. “Knew you were cock drunk when you can’t even beg. Beg, dammit! Beg or I won’t give you want you want! God damn slut! Bet you just prance around like a goddam tease for all of the other guys in the neighborhood. Bet you have a line so they can just use you.” His big hand covered your throat.

This snaps you out of your daze, grabbing onto his wrist. “No! No I don’t. I’m not a whore!”

“Yes, you are, slut. Wasted no time letting me in here. Am I the first?” He scoffed. “I doubt it.”

“No! No! Just you, only you, Stevie, just you!” You cried as Steve held your throat tighter. “Only want you,” you whispered as the air flow began to dwindle.

Steve felt your hand begin to loosen from his wrist and he let go of the pressure. You gasped and he pushed hard into your tight heat. “Fuuuuuck,” he moaned, feeling you wrapped around him.

You tried to make a noise at the intrusion, pain screaming through your body. But your brain, well your brain enjoyed the pain. It wanted to Steve’s cock to wreck your body but had no idea why. You just needed him and the pain was worth the pleasure you were feeling now. Steve withdrew and you whimpered at the slight loss. He chuckled. “Needy cock slut.” He slammed back into you, and you found your voice, screaming.

He kept the pace, pounding into you as his filthy words penetrating the air. His cock was so deep, you swore it was in your stomach at this point. His pubic hair was brushing along your clit, sending zings through your core, causing you to clench around him.

“Oh fuck, this pussy is gripping me so tight. Wanna cum, slut? Use your words.”

“Pl-please!”

“Words, fucking cunt. Use. Your. WORDS!” He punctuated each word with a thrust into you.

“Please let me cum!” You screamed as the pleasure was reaching its point.

“CUM!”

He roared as he pinched your clit.

It was like lighting through you. You pulsed and exploded, squeezing his cock so hard, he couldn’t move. “That’s it, fuck, Such a good little whore.” The tension in your body eased and you were pliant under Steve. He continued to move, thrusting to meet his end. You cried out from oversensitivity.

“Can’t,” you cried.

“Oh yes you can.” Steve kissed you hard until you were bubbling underneath him, your body climbing again. “I need to fill this body with my cum. Fuck, gonna make you a mommy, little whore.”

Why would he say that? You thanked God that you were on birth control but still his words, shit, his words were bringing your body to the brink again. “Steve,” you moaned.

“Ready for another? Wanna be my cum drop, hmm? Let me fuck my baby into you?” Steve thrusted harder and harder. You cried out, his hips slamming into you. “That’s it, cum again. Let me fill this slutty pussy up.” One, two and you were gone, eyes rolling back as your body arched from the third explosive orgasm of the day. “Fuck! Yes!” And with a thrust, Steve flooded your womb with his warmth. He slowed his hips, dumping everything he had into you.

He lay on top, his head in the crook of your neck, catching his breath. You didn’t move and when he lifted his head, he smirked as he realized you were passed out under him. He pulled out and saw his cum starting to seep out. “Whoops, gotta keep the good stuff in there.” He pushed his cum back into you.

After grabbing a towel from your bathroom and cleaning you up, he went back to the living room and saw a couple of things had fallen from his jacket. He saw the packet of pills, snorting at the thought of him switching out your birth control for the last few weeks. “A necessary evil,” he said to himself. Honestly, he wanted a family as soon as possible with you and hopefully this session took.

The second item was more unusual, but it was the catalysis to start his dreams. The saying was that you just need a spark to start something wonderful. But really, you just needed a spark plug to get our engine going. Not that you were going to be going anywhere other than to his apartment to start your new life.

He tsk at the thought. If only she knew to check under the hood more often.

Ah well. Lesson learned. Future planned. Girl secured.

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@jennmurawski13-writes

@firephotogrl74

@tinkerbelle67

@before-we-get-started

@bunnyforhim

@alexakeyloveloki

@amiquette

#andy's shenanigans #Andy's dark place #Steve rogers #steve rogers smut #mechanic Steve rogers #steve rogers au #steve rogers x reader #chris evans smut #chris evans #under the hood #steve rogers one shot #chris evans fanfiction

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sunshinesdaydream · 1 month

Note

Hello there! I have a request from your Clones Ice Cream page :) Can it please be with Kix and he helps the reader after they fall (reader is clumsy) with the blushing prompt?

Thank you for the ask! I had to take some inspiration from my own situation with being clumsy though.

And thanks to everyone so far for the asks sent in! I'm looking forward to everyone of them.

Hope you enjoy this!

Falling for You

Pairing: Kix x Reader Event: Sunshine's Follower Milestone Graphic dividers and Event graphics: by myself @sunshinesdaydream Rating: SFW WARNINGS: Mentioned spatial awareness deficiency, is referred to as clumsiness. Word count: 487

You had been seen to by the medics many times. The GAR frowned on even basic bacta bandages without “medical supervision”. So the scrapes you usually would have attended to on your own with a cleaning, ointment, and bandage became a trip to the medbay full of medics and Jedi Service Corp healers.

Being a mechanic with poor spatial awareness was one thing when you overstepped a rung on a loading ladder and simply went home that night, took some pain meds for your bruised “ego” and went on with life. Now it would call for a scan to make sure you hadn’t fractured your tailbone and one of the medic troopers fussing over you. It didn’t matter who was there, you were always approached by the same trooper. Kix.

Kix, probably the prettiest trooper in the GAR, the 501st for sure. He was kind and witty and you could probably go on all day about him. You absolutely did not want him to know exactly how clumsy you were.

So far you had been able to play off every injury as something that happened while you worked. Cuts and scrapes were easily explained as typical to a mechanic’s day.

“And how did you manage to get this?” He asked as he sprayed an antibiotic on your scraped knuckles. It was an odd time, he was alone in the med bay when you had arrived with your hand wrapped in a clean shop towel.

The lie came easily as you focused on breathing and staying calm as he held your hand gently. “Busted them on an engine compartment,” not that you had busted them when you had stumbled into a bulkhead with your hands full.

“Hmmm” he hums, smoothing healing gel into your injuries. He wraps your hand in a bandage. “Try to be more careful,” he said. You nod, inwardly cringing, as you stand up to leave.

Then the inevitable happens. You make it all of four steps and your foot catches on a cart you had accidentally veered towards. You expected to hit the floor, but you didn’t. Kix catches you before you hit, pulling you upright with his arms wrapped around you.

“So what would have been this time? Malfunctioning hatch?” Kix teases.

“I…” you were at a loss for words.

“It’s cute when you blush,” he continues, still holding you in his arms.

“I’m not blushing!” You insist even as your cheeks blaze.

“Yes you are!” He says with a low chuckle. But his expression fell, “Will you tell me now what really happened? I don’t like to see you hurt,”

“I tripped into a bulkhead while I was carrying engine parts,” you answer quietly, your cheeks still on fire.

With a warm smile he gently kisses your forehead. “There, that wasn’t so bad. Was it?” He asks. “Will you let me walk with you to the mess and have dinner with you?”

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#Sunshine's Ice Cream Truck #Sunshine Follower Milestone #Sunshine Follower Event #fan fiction #rare clones #rare clone fics #sunshine writes #star wars #the clone wars #the bad batch #clone wars #clone medic kix #clone trooper kix #rare clone x reader #kix x reader #clone medic Kix x Reader

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wolven91 · 1 month

Text

Drifting - Part 4

Casper felt *strong*.

He felt like until now, there had been a fear in the back of his mind. A fear that one day his body would fail him.

But as he reached for the metal shutter door, several meters wide and taller than him, his muscles pulled without hesitation. There was no pain, no pressure as his arms engaged and tore the metal upwards with the ease of lifting a single petal that had fallen from a delicate flower.

Once the shutter was mostly up, it stopped and dented, jammed at an angle, Casper considered it for a moment and mentally shrugged, his arms not being able to make that gesture at the moment.

Ducking under and through the shutter door, the man looked out across a great landscape. Turning to peer left and right, the building he had been in was a featureless concrete slab that showed signs of scorch marks and lumps of the solid material broken and pitted as if shot with a gun.

There were no windows or doors all along the space with the exception of the series of hanger bay doors. But Casper had no interest in those, he was staring at the odd shapes and objects in the distance partially hidden by huge rolling hills and dunes.

Who could stop him now from taking a quick look? He felt *free*. What would have caused him pause before was no longer a concern.

The moment he stepped from the safety of the shutter door, he felt his foot sink into the earth, unsteadying him, making him look down. Casper watched as great mounds of dirt built up around his metal foot, as if he was far heavier than normal. He *was* heavier. Why was he..?

It came rushing back. He was piloting a mech. It was an odd sensation to remember such an important and obvious concept. How could he forget such a thing?

The man straightened and took a breath.

Breathing in the alien world's clean air it satisfied him. It was cool and rich with untainted oxygen. He could taste that there were very few particulates to damage him. He knew information this on a factual level.

The young man breathed in again; he could feel his lungs fill and his heart sing for it. He touched a hand to his chest over his heart, only for a 'clang' to draw his head down.

A metal hand, against a metal chest.

If he could frown, he would have. He settled for his optics to click shut, clean themselves, then click open again.

Why was it so hard to remember who he was inside the machine?

"Casper! You having fun there?" Demanded Zeet inside Casper's head.

[I think I broke the door. Sorry about that.]

A moment's pause.

"Ha! Break all the doors you like, it appears like you're already, ready to go for a stroll?" He sounded completely unfazed by the human's destruction; almost giddy even.

[The air out here is... I don't know how to describe it. Cleaner?]

"Your generator needs oxygen to burn, the one in your chest is only a basic model. Barely enough power to run your current rig, although I have tinkered with it, so it should suffice for what we have planned." Came a smug response from Zeet.

"I suspect the air out there is a better quality than the hanger, what with the enclosed space and multiple generators running." The head engineer explained, again, unbothered by the idea of generators running without significant air flow in an enclosed space.

[I think you're right.]

Casper took another step, for the second time finding his footing unstable. Zeet seemed to anticipate Casper's next question.

"We deliberately use loose dirt in the starting area, the idea is to force new pilots to learn how to adjust and fall without fear of being at the top of a hill or a distance away from rescue."

[I think I'm alright.]

As Casper took more steps, they became more confident. He stopped looking down and looked up, to the horizon where the strange square shapes peeked over the hills.

[What's that?] The human asked, while the mech briefly lifted one of its arms and pointed at the structures before dropping it back down to its side. Why did it move so organically?

"An assault course of sorts, although this would be far into your future as a pilot before you'd go over there. That said, I feel that it would be rather pointless to have you make such progress without letting you find your limits. Why not head over and see what you do?" Suggested the voice.

"This is ill advised. We haven't got nearly enough sensors or monitors to keep track of the relevant information." Came Wren's voice, quiet until now.

"You're telling me you don't have his readouts?"

"Not nearly as many as I'd like or choose! This was meant to be a proof of concept! Not a full-scale exercise!"

"Then you will take a page out of our books and plan for any eventuality in future. Casper! Onwards!" Zeet demanded, dismissing the doctor's comments with an almost audible flick of his hand.

Casper urged himself out into the open fields and over the green grass covered dunes. He wandered over to the distant objects without issue, merely walking up then down the rough terrain without delay. By the time he began to near the objects, the human inside the towering machine had long forgotten that he existed once more. Once he arrived at the strange shapes, the young man discovered that he found that they made up a replica of a large town, or centre of a city.

As he walking amongst the buildings, choosing the centre of a street, he noted there were no vehicles, the shop fronts weren't hollow and the buildings themselves; solid blocks without features. It was strange to be reminded of what the world was supposed to somewhat look like now, as he strolled down the main road of the faux town.

[I thought you said this was an assault course?] Casper sent back to the hanger, not seeing the drones overhead, watching his every move. He gingerly laid a hand on the top of what could have been a low corner shop as he reached a intersection of four roads.

"Well we can certainly put you through your paces if you like?" Came a flat tone. Gone was the confidence or giddy vibe to his words. Casper's optics clicked as he felt a strange sensation of danger creep over him. He looked down at one of his hands and made a fist before relaxing. Unlike his own hands, that had a constant tremble since the loss of Earth, these metal hands were perfectly still. Casper never noticed this however.

Casper had done assault courses on Earth. 'Team building' exercises. He wasn't brawny or even particularly fast. He was clever, but powerful wasn't a word he'd use in any self description.

Until today...

He *felt* powerful. He could trust his legs, trust his arms.

To the camera drones overhead, the basic mech, one that was designed to take punishment, but not excel at much else, tilted its reconnaissance unit that sat atop its shoulders as if to crack it's neck. If it were organic, of course.

[Go for it.]

"Understood." Came the immediate reply before Casper got the profound feeling that his next words were not address to the human. "Qik? You're up."

[Qik?]

"Defend yourself Casper." Came a dispassionate response.

[Wait, what? I thought this was an assault course?]

"Defeat the aggressor. No further communication will be acknowledged or sent." Zeet stated, before the human felt whatever connection that was within Casper's head, closedoff.

'Defend' himself? 'Defeat the aggressor'?!

Was he expected to fight? Casper couldn't fight! He'd never been in anymore more than a scuffle when he was twelve! He stepped away from the corner building and into the centre of the intersection, looking around himself for a threat. There were alleys and smaller roads he could duck down to break line of sight, but he need to know *where* the 'aggressor' was coming from!

Casper blinked, and in his panic, his need to find the threat, he felt his mind suddenly expand past what he could see.

It was as if a new sense had just opened up to him. Like he'd lived his life with his eyes closed and was blind, only to discover now; that he could see. This new sensation was not sight, but Casper could *feel* movement of something large and fast approaching him from the hangers to the south, where he had been only a few minutes before.

Whatever it was, it was big and fast. He could sense it was as big as he was. Nothing like the tiny dots that floated harmlessly above.

Aware of the direction of the threat, Casper ducked, dropping his head low and ensuring he himself couldn't be seen over the tops of any of the lower buildings. Quickly shuffling, the man got off the street and ducked down a side road, scooting further down, almost leaning against the building with his back. He paid no attention to the scrapes and loose concrete dust the metal of his back scratched off the structures.

{What idiot did that moron trick into this game this time?}

It was a genderless statement, devoid of emotion. It wasn't talking, like Zeet over the radio. It was text, and an image of a command line and the words filled in at the front of Casper's mind. The man could feel that he could respond.

[I'm the new guy.]

{Cute. Come out and I'll make this quick.}

[Sure, where are you?]

{Finally, a smart one, I'm coming up the main ingress.}

The young man had no interest in revealing himself. Just because the words carried no tone or emotion did not mean that he was a fool. He could sense the threat, it had crossed the distance from the hangers to the fake-town in a matter of less than a minute, whereas it took him substantially longer. Now though, he could see the pulsing 'blip' in his mind's eye. It was slowly making its way up the centre of the town, truthfully being exactly where it had told him it would be.

{I'm starting to suspect you're thinking you're clever...}

[Why's that?]

{You're hiding.}

[I'm struggling to work the controls. Only just started piloting.]

{I don't like liars 'new guy'}

As he crept around the main road, quickly tip toing across the intersecting main road, and using the alleys and smaller side roads to move around, Casper caught his first glimpse of the threat. It was a mech, but unlike his own; blocky, thick with exposed metal, pistons and wires. This one was sleek, designed for speed, but no less deadly. It reminded him of a sword. The sharp angles, the pointed feet that stabbed into the ground. It had a series of spikes along it's back like boney wings.

The whole thing screamed 'professional', all wrapped up in a red and silver paint job. It was the mech of a main character to Casper's eyes.

It didnt so much as walk or move either, the word that sprang to Casper's mind was 'stalking'. It stalked forwards, it's 'head' a pointed eagle-like structure, turning left to right, obviously scanning for him.

[What makes you think I'm a liar?]

{This is just getting insulting now. I'm the final test 'new guy'. You think they'd put you against me? Before you can even move?}

[Stranger things have happened.]

Casper got no response to his last message, but watched as the pointed head, ducked low and out of sight. He was positioned behind her now, closer to the south, nearer the hangers where she had entered, but he now lost track of her. Casper wasn't a fighter, he had no intention of getting into a brawl and made his way to the edge of the town fully intending on running back to the hangers.

The young man wasn't without some knowledge of how to throw a punch. After a physical altercation in his younger school years, his overly dramatic mother had sent him to self defence classes to stand up to the bullies. Instead of being beaten up in just a school setting, he was summarily beaten up in an official setting instead.

All he'd learnt was howto roll with the punches, literally. Casper never stayed on the ground, that was where 'bad' always ended up 'worse'.

Still crouched, sometimes using his hands against the hardtop of the fake roads to help him move, Casper finally made it to the edge of the town and learnt that it wasn't going to be that easy.

The second part of his mech broke the edge boundary of the faux town, a klaxon sounded along with one of the annoying drones swooping down with a red, flashing light directly over his head.

Casper bolted across the road and practically dived into an alleyway, into the town and away from the alarm, which remained in place. His head poked out from around a corner further into the town to see if the mysterious mech had approached to investigate.

The pointed leg that swung at Casper's head missed by what felt like mere inches, saved only because he flinched at something moving fast and fell backwards, deeper into the alleyway. The assaulting red and silver mech obliterated the plain wall with its kick in a shower of destroyed concrete and rebar; bent and demolished at the sheer force of its strike.

{You're fast.} Came a message.

Casper was up, his fists raised, elbows in. He was in his pocket and ready to protect his head.

The heel kick to his solar plexus sent him backwards, arms outstretched by the sheer force as he flew out of the other end of the alleyway and rolling head over heels into the main road again.

{Not fast enough.}

Casper backward rolled onto his feet, one of the buildings arresting his movement in a jarring thud that stuttered his vision. He didn't think, merely moved as he dived to his left down the main road. The besieged building that he'd lent against only moments ago was already buckled, but the rocket propelled mech that slammed into it with its shoulder, destroyed it in a shower of crumbling dust and materials.

The assaulting mech stomped from the cloud of debris and glared down the main road; its own optic sensors scanning for the new pilot.

The road was empty.

{You know I would have already won this right?} The red and silver mech taunted, stalking forwards, looking left and right, clearing buildings. It was sending the message over an open band, so anyone with ears on could hear it.

[I'm still standing.] Came a similar open frequency message. Qik snarled. She couldn't track or know where the new pilot was, she was working on visuals only.

{They disable my tracking system. To give you the tinest of a chance.}

She was crouched low, clearing corners, making sure the 'new guy' didn't try what she had and kick her recon unit in. Without eyes, it was an automatic win for whoever could see.

[If it's any consolation, I don't think this has a tracking system.]

Qik smirked, cocky son of a bitch. She was going to enjoy breaking him down, bit by-

[Heads up!]

A shadow flickered across the street and Qik span on one foot, swinging her leg round in a perfect roundhouse kick that would cut any mech that was in range behind her in half.

But despite her aiming high, looking to destroy an arm or even knock off the head of the opponent, her kick was too low.

From atop a building, the new mech was halfway through a jump and falling rapidly towards Qik. It was a terrible, stupid idea. Gravity was not friendly with anything as big and heavy as a mech. Only those rigs with jump packs and boosters could consider leaving the ground. But this idiot had climbed a building and had launched itself at her?!

So shocked was she, that this idiot would try such an insane and self-destructive move, Qik couldn't decide how to react. She had literally never seen this before.

That delay was enough.

On his way past, Casper grabbed a hold of the eagle-esque head and held on tight, his metal fingers denting the recon unit casing.

Gravity grabbed him and threw him against her, flipping him over her while he hurtled towards the ground in a mulit-ton mech that landed squarely on its recon unit, destroying into a million tiny, expensive pieces. Qik landed on her back, but immediately lost all visual read outs as her own unit was partislly torn from its housing.

{*What?!*} Qik demanded, unbelieving this idiot could succeed in such a stupid move! This was squidgit-shit!

"What?!" Blurted Zeet, blinking as the human had just defeated, the undefeated mercenary; Qik on his very first jaunt within a single hour of his first mech startup.

[What?] Asked Casper, also blinded and unable to move, but wholly unaware of the shitstorm he had just started.

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #hfy #haso #humans are space orcs #furry #human x furry #geckin #lizard #mecha

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ohtobeleah · 1 year

Note

Please do more for the Rooster concept where the reader has a daughter! Step!dad Rooster x reader is such a great one.

Alright here we go. Another series. But honestly down bad for this one. Only fluff ahead. Based off this concept

***~***~***~

“There’s no way a bird did this—“ You huffed as you practically hung half your body over into Jake Seresins Super Hornet right engine bay. This was the last thing you wanted to be looking at at three thirty in the afternoon. “You idiot—!” Shaking your head in disbelief as you pulled feathers from the rotors. Watching as they fell from your grapes, floating down to where Jake stood below you.

“Well it’s not like I could really control it now could I?” Jake groaned in response to your dismay as he stood holding the bottom of the ladder for you. He’d been able to manage a controlled landing with one engine. Most pilots couldn’t even imagine having to do that on their best day, but Hangman? He remained as calm and as level headed as he could. “Reckon you can fix her up?”

“I mean I’ll give it my best shot, but I’m no miracle worker.” Climbing down the ladder a little before you jumped to the ground with a soft thud. Dusting the oil and gunk your gloves had collected on to your technician suit before pulling them off and pocketing them. “I’d say about two, three days tops she’ll be out of action though—I dunno if I’ll need to order parts—“

“What can you do overnight?” Your eyes grew a little wider as you crossed your arms over your chest. Wondering just where the hell on god's green earth Jake Hangman Seresin had found the audacity to come into your workshop and demand you pull overtime just for him. “Please? come on it’s my baby—“

“Jake I gotta pick my daughter up this afternoon—“ You groaned in defiance. “How’s it fair you get to knock off early after wrecking a multi million-dollar fighter jet and I’ve gotta stay back and fix your mess?” You had known Jake pretty much your entire life. He was like a brother, well– he was more than a brother considering your actual brothers hadn’t spoken to you since you were sixteen.

“All I asked Fe, is what you could do for me overnight.�� Hangman smirked as he packed away the workshop ladder for you. “What can you do for me this afternoon at least?” It was almost comical just how much he really needed you from time to time. If you couldn't fix his F-18, he’d be grounded till someone else could figure it out.

“I can pick the feathers from the engine bay and clean out your intake but even that’s gonna take me like two, two and a half hours considering you missed your last service.” You said it with the deadest of deadpans you could give the blonde who had taxied into your workshop just as you were getting ready to shut up shop for the day. The old hangar had been turned into a workshop for the F-18’s on site in Miramar. “I might even be able to fix the combustion chamber—but I’ll need you to pick up Odette from after school care.”

“Yeah, I can't do that either–” Jake knew what would happen next, it had happened too many times for him to not be able to expect it. An open hand came his way, but he grabbed your wrist with just enough time to spare before it connected with his chest. “I have a date! I can't!”

“Then I can’t fix your dumb plane!” You counted as you ripped your wrist from Jake's grasp. “I have to pick my daughter up, Hangman– I can't just leave her there!”

“Bradshaw can pick her up!” It was a suggestion you couldn't even believe Jake was submitting into the conversation. “He’d be so down for that.”

“I am not asking Rooster to pick my daughter up from daycare.” You were quick to dismiss the idea from whatever reality Jake was trying to conjure up. He knew you and Bradley had a thing. Everyone did. But he also knew you were too stubborn for your own good. “Don't do this to me, Jake it's not fair, you know better than anyone Dot gets attached to people and if I–”

“If you let Bradshaw pick her up just this once.'' Jake reached out to hold your shoulders tenderly, shaking you gently as he smirked in front of your face. He knew exactly what he was doing. “The world will not stop spinning Fe.” Jake stood there for a moment with his hands still on your shoulders before he let go. Sauntering over to your workshop desk in search of your phone. He’d known for a while now just how down bad Rooster really was for you and if anyone was good enough for you it was Bradley ‘family means everything to me’ Bradshaw. “Call him, just see what he says.”

“What if he's got plans?” Jake caught the sudden nervousness coming through in your questioning before you had even noticed your exterior had changed. Dropping the independent single parent act you tried your best to display more often than not. But even you had to admit from time to time it took a village to raise a child, and you were certainly no tribe of your own. “What if he just doesn't want to?” Jake just raised a brow in response. See, it wasn’t that you didn't want to ask, it was that you were afraid of the answer.

With Jake it was a given–he had been there since the day Dot was born. He was her uncle, her godfather, her babysitter and best friend. Rooster? Well, he didn't sign up to be a father to another man's child just because he thought you were cute. You didn't want to push that narrative on him either.

“If Bradshaw generally can't, I will call and cancel my date.” Jake held your phone out to you, watching as you took it with hesitation and reluctancy. “But you have to call and ask him first.” If looks could kill Jake Seresin would be a dead man. He’d backed you into a corner you couldn't get out of. But for all it was worth, he watched as you unlocked your phone, stepping away as you held the phone up to your ear, biting your bottom lip as not one, not two, but three rings rang out against your eardrum before.

“Hey Fe, what's going on?” Oh if you could physically melt into a puddle at the sound of someone's voice, Badley would have that effect on you. Jake swore he saw your eyes light up as you turned to face him again. Only now instead of your lip you were chewing on the cuticles of your nails. Pacing back and forth like a madwoman.

“Hey Roos I uh, I need a favour–but please feel free to say no, I can always have Hangman–” Before you could finish your sentence Rooster was smirking as he packed his things away into his locker. Holding his phone between his shoulder and ear.

“Whatever you need.” Rooster let his gaze linger on the photo of you he had in his locker. Just a candid picture he'd taken of you working on something in your workshop. Mirimars resistance technician. “I'm just about to have a shower, but after that I'm free.” You usually would have made a comment about if there was any room in that shower for you, but with Jake still standing right in front of you waiting for you to ask the all important question, you didn't feel like now would be an appropriate time for you to stroke Bradleys ego. “Y/n you there?” Fuck. He said your name, your actual name. You only ever really heard mum or Fe these days. But Bradley, saying your name? Always got you far too good.

“Uh, yeah no no I'm here–I uh, I was just wondering if you'd be able to pick Dot up from daycare this afternoon?” The silence they came through from the other end of the line was deafening and for a moment you thought you'd crossed a line. “Rooster you can say no–”

“No, no ill uh, I’ll grab her.” Why would he ever say no? “I just wasn't expecting that to be the favour.”

“Yeah well, Hangman just taxied into my workshop after a bird strike, gonna try to get him up in the air again so he’ll stop pestering me.” You explained as you sent Jake a look—he had been lucky on two fronts this afternoon. You heard Roosters locker shut before he replied.

“He alright?” You caught the slight tone of concern flooding through the phone.

“Despite his best efforts, I think he’ll live.” You mumbled under your breath as Jake stood gloating. He knew Bradshaw would be down for a date with Dot. “Are you sure you’re okay to pick Odette up?”

“Consider it sorted.” Rooster still held his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he unbuttoned his flight suit. The warm water from the head of the shower could be heard through the phone as you imagined him standing before you. Exposed. “Besides, it gives me an in with the hot mum I’ve been trying to seduce for the past few months.” Rooster teased.

“Oh I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” You and Bradley Bradshaw had been in this situationship for a few months now. He’d flirt with you, you’d flirt back—but everytime you thought things were getting a little too much, you’d pump the breaks. Rooster knew why, he didn’t mind waiting. In fact he quite enjoyed the game of cat and mouse, convinced wholeheartedly that with enough persistence and sheer determination he’d win you and subsequently your daughter over too. “I’ll come by yours the second I’m finished here?”

“Yeah cool, I’ll uh, I’ll see you then.”

“Thanks Bradley.” You cooed, a bashful smile gleaming across your face as you turned on your heels. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s not a problem, honestly—anytime.” Rooster smiled to himself before he said his goodbyes. Sighing as he let his shoulders relax under the warm water with every intention of making sure his first little not so ‘daddy daughter date’ with your daughter would go as seamlessly as ever. Hanging up the phone Jake was quick to say he told you so.

“Told you he’d froth that shit up.”

“You are unbelievable, you know that?” You huffed as you dialled your daughter's day care. “I hope your date stands you up.”

“Oh I don’t have a date—“ You were about to lunge at his throat, claw deep enough so that his life would flash before his eyes. But as always, some divine intervention saved Jake Seresins life.

“Hello Sunny Side—“ The woman answered the phone.

“Hi, my names Y/n Y/l/n and I’d like to make an amendment to my daughter’s registered list of persons for pick up please?” You waited a few moments as the line went silent, only the sound of a computer keyboard being tapped away at filled the void.

“Who would you like to nominate?”

“Uh, his name is Bradley, Bradley Bradshaw.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x f!reader #top gun rooster #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley x y/n

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2frosty4you · 9 months

Note

Hello!! I'm the one who requested the reader getting hurt in battle haha, hope you don't mind me requesting again! Don't worry I won't be doing this too much lol. This one's probably a bit weird, so I completely understand if you don't wanna do it! I wanted to know if I could request the mercs comforting a teen reader who just got out of an unhealthy relationship? I just got out of a toxic relationship and it'll really make me feel better :,) Please and thank you!!

Mercs comforting teen reader after toxic relationship [Platonic]

Hi again anon! Hopefully you're feeling better now, it sucks horribly you had to go through that kind of relationship but at least you are out of it now <3

TW: Violence, blood n murder; the usual for ghosty's tf2 stuff

╔═════════════════╗

Scout

Big brother scout here is to kick ass for his younger sibling 💪💪💪

But honestly he doesn't know what do to, he offers to beat your ex's head in

Look its the scout way of showing his love, he's trying

Asks spy what to do, he doesn't help so he then goes to engie

He gives you some of his food, that being fried chicken of course

Soldier

"NO ONE HURTS A CADET UNDER THE WATCHFUL EYE OF AN AMERICAN SOLDIER"

He bellows down the hall when he sees you crying, look he cares about you. He just inst that bright

Already knows where your ex lives because he kept a close eye on them, more like stalked him but he's just being a good American dad

Beheads your ex and places it on a spike to use as target practice

Throughout the day he brings raccoons into your room, offers you guns and his American blankets

Pyro

>:(

Covers you in all their plushies and blankets, leaving you covered in soft pink balloonicorns and fluffy blankets

They roast marshmallows for you, and gets engineer to help make hot cocoa

They'll creep out of the base and hunt down your ex for hurting you.

Heavy

Russian man rise up 💪

He cooks you a nice traditional Russian soup

Keeps you on the couch and brings all the food to you, keeps scout far from you in this state

Will read some Russian fairy-tales or novels to you, with the lights dim and you covered in blankets

Gives you a giant bear hug

If he comes across your ex he will knock them out and give their body to medic

Engineer

Texan Father mode activated

The moment he finds you crying he is instantly ushering you to his workshop and offering to cook anything you wish.

He'll let you vent to him, but if you need silence he'll just work on his mechanics while in the room with you.

You are his child, no ifs or buts

and no one hurts his kid

but he'd get spy to give him your ex's address

then would absolutely strip your ex's car for bits and pieces, taking the wheels, engine, battery, steering wheel you name it

He'd bring soldier with him for optimal damage

Demoman

Drunk off his head (as usual)

Offers you his scrumpy

look he doesn't know what to do, like scout but he's trying to show you he cares

If you refuse the scrumpy he'd offer you to sit with him and just be in each others presence.

May or may not rig your ex's house with explosives

Medic

Where do they live, whats their phone number, whats their email, whats their blood type who do they live with and are they healthy?

You tell him any of that and he's instantly found your ex, kidnapped them, and while they're alive he takes all their organs and makes it as painful as possible

When you come for medic for some comfort he'll coo, patting your back while offering you a nice warm drink. draping his (CLEAN) lab coat over your back and letting you stay on his chair.

He's not good with comforting, but will let you vent to him and just stay within the med bay

Probably asks heavy to comfort you after a while

Sniper

Scraggly old man

Like most of the other mercs he has no clue how to comfort you during this time

I mean he lives out in his van and rather live in the bush than in a house

He'd take you out into the bush to get away from society, and keeps watch in-case you are anxious about your ex finding you

if you ex was extremely abusive sniper would kill them with no remorse, but ensure the bullet hits them where it would make their death slow and painful.

Spy

Spy comforting? lol no, sorry

He would pat your shoulder awkwardly

When you leave he's already tracked your ex down (not hard since he'd been keeping tabs on them ever since you two got together)

Blackmails your ex into the ground, forces them to make a video apology, give up their belongings and more. He sends the video and all his collected photos and videos of their abuse to your ex's family.

By family i mean everyone who is merely connected with them

Would throw his card at you, telling you nothing as he lets you go crazy with his money

He thinks retail therapy would help

If you thank him for anything he'd wave you off, saying "he deserved it" and lighting another cigarette.

╚═════════════════╝

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