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arknights-imagines · 4 months

Note

Tbh I was thinking of a scenario in my head about doktah (or U) being injured and Rico was taking care of U and U cupped his cheek and called him pretty, he was confused but flustered a bit (insert glitching computer sounds) anyway i luv u and anyone who’s reading this 😍

- 🐲 anon

Hiya there 🐲 anon! Tysm for your request (and I love you too sbsuwh 🥰!!)

I knew I wanted one of the first things I posted after being away for v long to be a request for Executor/'Rico, so your request was perfectly timed and I loved your idea lots aaa! It's v v cute and I feel it fits Executor/'Rico v well 🥺💕!!

I'm a li'l nervous since I feel I'm a bit rusty shiuhge 😭...! But, I had fun with this one and it feels good to be back aaa I hope I did Executor justice here 🙏

Anywho, to you and everyone else, I hope you all enjoy 🥰!!

Taglist for Executor/All Writing!:

@donsofwaste

@tiredstudents

@marahuyos

@vesvic

@cl3v-j

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Imagine format; mostly in the perspective of the reader, written in second person!

Contains: Executor, gender-neutral Operator as the reader, acquaintances to crushes relationship lolojshd, mentions of things and references to lots of from Executor's archive files, minor injuries and violence, the reader is one of Rhodes Island's Elite Operators, the reader is a li'l bit of a flirt lololsjs, nameless and gender-neutral Doctor as a background character, humour, fluff 💕!

Word count: a little over 2.7k!

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All Rhodes Island Operators were allowed to work alongside and be dispatched on Operations with each other. Such was a simple fact, and an obvious one; of course it would be bizarre for Rhodes Island, with their policy of levelling all who they employ as equal and for not tolerating discrimination irrespective of one’s reasons, to restrict certain Operators from being assigned into Squads together.

The case of Executor, however, was unavoidably more complicated different.

While all Rhodes Island Operators were allowed to be sent into combat with Executor - that didn’t mean all Rhodes Island Operators were willing to be sent into combat with Executor.

When you had approached the Doctor regarding the subject before boarding the transport that was to take you to the site of your next Operation - you had been assigned to an Operation, along with a party of other Elite Operators that included the Sankta in question, that was a hostage-rescue in Columbia -, they looked off to where Executor was stood counting his ammunition nearby then shrugged.

You had tilted your head to the side and so the Doctor elaborated, “He’s more than capable of handling the perimeter of the Operation ite by himself, and besides, no one on the Squad was agreed to being deployed with him. It’s not unusual, considering his… reputation.” A lift of one of your eyebrows was paired with a puzzled mutter, “But, it’d still be better for him to have some sort of back up. And, what ‘reputation’? Do you mean how he has those people from the Engineering Department always flirting with him?”

It was the Doctor’s turn to tilt their head to the side now, before their voice left them slowly, “No, that’s not what I was-…” They paused, studying your facial features then shifting their gaze from you to Executor, “I was referring to other...things…”

Be it his direct completion of any combat task assigned to him, the immense amount of collateral damage left in nearly all of his mission sites, or that account from the deeply-fazed Operator who was deployed as his partner once, of how Executor barehandedly tore out the heart of a beast directly from its chest - that last one had soon become a Rhodes Island horror story, reimagining Executor as some form of a boogieman impersonating as a Sankta -, majority of Operators had an excuse as to why they would prefer not to be near the ever-composed Sankta during Operations.

The Doctor had long observed a pattern in your behaviour when near Executor, that was in stark contrast to everyone else; though his presence caused most to snap their back straight and tighten the line of their shoulders, your posture when with him instead was always eased with not even the slightest indicator of tension.

Perhaps then, there was one Operator willing to be sent into combat with Executor, the Doctor reassessed.

Such reassessment is the reason as to why you and Executor were in the position you both were currently - together on a short rooftop in order to provide ranged support as the rest of the Squad rescued the hostages and subdued the hostiles.

The choice to deploy you with Executor was surprisingly beneficial, as two pairs of eyes are better at one pair in regards to surveying for threats. Despite that the rest of the Squad had initially looked at the Doctor as though they’d grown a pair of Sarkaz ears and gained a Phidian tail all at once, they now concluded yours and Executor’s position together for this Operator as all part of the Doctor’s plan.

However, you would’ve argued that your eyes slowly becoming more occupied with staring at the Sankta in wordless awe - those rumours about how his appearance was candy for one’s eyes were in fact not simple rumours at all, you realized - rather than your eyes being focused on the Operation site below and the surrounding area, was not part of the Doctor’s plan.

You would’ve argued again that your distracted state caused by Executor’s close proximity resulting in you failing to notice the hostile crossbowman a few rooftops away with you as his target, until his bolt was already fired and struck into your shoulder, was not part of the Doctor’s plan.

“Ghk!” You gulped down the pained yelp as the arrowhead suddenly pierced into your body, and instead a strained grunt of effort covered over it as you lifted the weapon-bearing arm upward in a swift movement; snapping your eyes off of their spot previously super-glued onto Executor’s face, you narrow your gaze and fix it onto the now-fleeing crossbowman. Trusting your own aim as an Elite Operator, you raise your weapon without much ceremony and fire.

A relieved huff leaves your lungs after the crossbowman crumbles to the ground after your weapon-fire hits him in a direct headshot. That relief was momentary, however, as the sharpened ache throughout your entire arm quickly reminded you of the crossbow bolt in your shoulder.

Executor’s attention was rapt on your form once gravity yanked your body downward and sent your knees to collide harshly with the concrete below you; immediately, he was across the rooftop and wrapping a secure arm around your waist to assist you in sitting onto the ground with your back leaning against the ledge of the rooftop.

“You have been hit with an enemy projectile. Do not move.” His voice left him in a stable tone as expected, while his eyes scanned over your body in search of any further harm, then lingering your injury, before they settled onto your face. Your mouth opened to speak, only to shut when his gaze fixed to yours; a hue of scarlet rose onto your cheeks and your eyes averted from his own, despite that they’d been firmly locked onto him just moments earlier. The heaviness of your embarrassment - you’d just been hit by an enemy, because you were too busy oogling your Squadmate - began to near-smother the ache from your injury.

With confidence, you expected the Sankta to flatly point out your blunder in a tone lowered slightly in disappointment, as he advised you to not repeat the same mistake in the future or remarked that he should’ve declined the Doctor’s suggestion to have you function as his partner for this operation. None of those came, however.

In contrast - stark contrast - to the scenarios you’d imagined, Executor’s facial expression became one of slightly furrowed brows with faint downturn of his lips, and then his voice left him in careful words, “I apologize for my lack of attention to our surroundings. I failed to notice and warn you of the threat in time.” A thoughtful pause, and his eyes flicked to your injury before returning to yours, “I will ensure I do not repeat this mistake on subsequent occasions.”

You blinked, and for a moment you wanted to ask him to repeat what he said because you were certain you must’ve heard it wrong. Your injury had been your own mistake, not his; despite, you had rarely ever heard the Sankta’s voice laced with the sincerity it was as his words of apology left him.

Finally, your voice escaped the grip of your previous embarrassment and you managed a reply, “I-It’s alright. It’s my fault, Executor, I wasn’t paying attention. You don’t have to be concerned about it-” His head tilted to the side, then shook it in a near imperceptible movement, “Negative. The safety of my partner for this Operation is a logical cause for my concern.”

Everyone who knew him would firmly agree that he was not a man who ever said things simply out of courtesy. Therefore, the genuinity of this concern - his concern over you - was undoubtable. He felt wholly and truly responsible, for your injury and for ensuring your safety.

“E-Executor-” Your words vanished from you and your thoughts scattered once more as Executor returned his attention to your injury, “The projectile is not an Originium product, there is no risk of Oripathy Infection.” He angled his head to inspect the site of the injury further, then he continued, “Resulted injury is a puncture wound, estimated to be a few inches in depth. Non-lifethreatening.”

The blue of his irises lost a fraction of its sharpness when his eyes left the arrow bolt in your shoulder to find your own eyes once more, “On-field medical treatment is advised. Rest assured that I am qualified to administer.” If they weren't before already, your eyes were widened incredulously now, “You want to…patch me up?” Executor nodded, “If you will allow me, yes.” Your own nod came in a slow reply, “Yes, I'm okay with that…” His gaze focused onto your injury, “Very well.”

With that, his hands placed, one cupped your shoulder and the other held your arm steady. You half-expected a firm grip, one not aware or not caring of the force it was exerting.

Instead, Executor’s hands were careful, only applying necessary pressure; the warmth of his palms seeped through the thin fabric of his gloves and offered some soothe to the ache of your injury. Were these really the forceful hands that tore the heart out of a beast? The unexpected gentleness of his touch caused heat to rise to your cheeks and your heartbeat to quicken within your ribcage.

This certainly couldn't be the same Executor whom even your fellow Elite Operators were uncomfortable working with because of his callousness. After all, this Executor’s concern for you was evident; in the way he had instantly been at your side the moment he noticed you’d been attacked, in the way he apologized for what he believed to be his failure in protecting you, and in the way was now tending to your injury. ‘Callous’ was antonymous with ‘concern’, it was impossible for him to encapsulate both. You had yet to witness a display of his supposed lack-of-a-heart, and all but witnessed his evidence of one - a heart misread by many and miscommunicated to many, a heart abstruse.

Yes, anyone with eyes could state with confidence that Executor was handsome; it seemed, however, that you were the only who was now being settled upon with the realization that, ‘and he’s a gentleman’.

Your heart was rapid within your chest, your cheeks flushed a pink hue, - and your eyes could not remove themselves from Executor. Any attempt you made to avert your attention failed, as whenever you flicked your gaze away, it still inevitably fixed onto his careful hands, or his assured movements, or his focus-sharpened face. He unearthed a tourniquet from the black bag he had slung around his shoulder, briefly explained to you that he would apply it in order to halt blood flow and limit excessive bleeding.

He carefully set the arm of your injured shoulder to rest across your stomach, a more comfortable position and one that supports the vulnerable limb enough for the time being, “Please maintain this position, and refrain from moving or attempting to use your arm until we rejoin our Squad. A Medic Operator is required to properly attend to your injury.”, All you managed is a high-pitched sound, a “mhm” in reply.

You silently said thank you to the fact that applying the tourniquet on your arm required majority of his focus, else you were aware he would’ve noticed you staring yet again.

Your eyes studied each of his facial features, each line of his face. His eyes didn’t display enough emotion to discern, as they never did, however your closeness allowed you to notice how concentration sharpened them as he twisted the tourniquet and how the city lights illuminated the light blue hue of his irises; the ivory strands of his hair fell slightly into his gaze as he tilted his head down to properly view your injury, and your hand twitched to tuck the straying pieces away back into their place; his pale skin on his face was without blemishes, and you silently argued with yourself over if his cheeks would be cool or warm to the touch.

You didn’t have to continue mentally debating with yourself over it for very long, as your arm not effected by your injury suddenly lifted to allow your hand to cradle his cheek. Warm; the surface of his skin is warm, and under the contact of your palm, you notice his cheek becomes warmer.

Executor stiffened completely to the point of being statuesque, from his hands ceasing their task of securing your tourniquet to his lungs failing to expand with air for a moment; the only movement was of his hair falling to obscure his eyes. You initially mistook his flinch for discomfort, and you almost pulled your hand away in worry that he would push it away himself.

Again, however, Executor averted your expectations.

He tilts his head in a slow and small movement towards your touch, then he slowly allowed his gaze to drift to yours. No words produced from his throat until after a small while, when your code name was uttered from his lips and he continued in words of question, “...What do you require? Is your injury causing you excessive pain, or do you feel abnormal symptoms?” You didn’t provide an answer to his queries, unless what you blurted out next could be called a sufficient answer.

“Executor, you're pretty.”

He did not reply to you, initially. The Sankta remained unmoving, not even a twitch of his fingers or a blink of his eyes, for a long moment; when he finally did move, it was in a series of slow blinks. Then, his lungs suddenly pulled in a curt inhale of air and his eyes widened, albeit so little you would've missed had you not been leaned in closer to him.

“I…” He cleared his throat, “I am unsure what you mean.”

His reply was near priceless, as you didn't think such a straightforward statement would require elaboration; the only other thing you couldn't possibly put a fitting price on was the near-imperceptibly stunned expression that had quickly fallen onto his face.

Chiming with a light giggle, you pressed your hand closer to his cheek and reiterated in a tone firm with insistence, “As in, you're attractive. No wonder everyone in that Engineering Dormitory insists on asking you out non-stop.” Your addendum to your original statement did little to relieve Executor of his puzzled state, and did everything to exacerbate it. “Pardon. I am afraid I do not understand your wording.” His voice was loyal to that which was typical of him, as it did not falter and remained cool as usual; it was his facial features, that betrayed him.

The size of his pupils shrunk as his eyes widened a fraction more, his jaw tightened visibly as he attempted to catch his lips from falling agape, and his eyebrows lowered to knit slightly in a confused furrow. All are changes you had never witnessed on his facial features before, and each new one you noticed began to cause your lips to upturn into a delighted grin. Most especially - the pink hue that faintly dusted his cheeks.

“Oh!” Your exclamation was raised in astonishment; you'd never once seen Executor’s pale cheeks saturated with any colour at all, not on any occasion, not to any person, not in reaction to anything. And yet, they were now flushed a rosy tint. The injury on your shoulder was forgotten completely; elation lifted your heart towards the sky and mirth played across on your facial features.

With glimmering eyes and an exultant smile, your voice melted out of you in a coo lifted with tease, “Now you look really pretty, blushing like that.”

Executor’s cheeks deepened in colour, however after that, you received no further reactions. You wondered if his brain abruptly quit functioning when it received your words, unfamiliar words that it failed to process; his gaze didn’t leave your face for even a glance, his facial expression froze in wide eyes and flushed cheeks, and he halted all his movement, somehow even including the natural movements of his blackened halo and wings.

Much to your even further amusement, you were reminded of when the Rhodes Island computer terminals displayed the error with the blue screen that instructed to restart the device.