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whataperfectwasteoftime · 10 months

Text

Spilled Ink

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.

Warnings: Lots of tattoo talk, obviously, which includes needles, tattoo guns, pain, mention of bleeding, etc.; reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent because I said so; yearning; lots of kissing; Marcus Pike being a goddamn menace and he fucking knows it

A/N: @kedsandtubesocks made a post about Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike (original post HERE) and then I wrote 7.5k words in 12 hours, as one does. All credit for the idea goes to the amazing Erika who entrusted me with this idea and THANK GOD SHE DID because I don't think I could have gotten it out of my stupid brain otherwise. Header pics credit go to Erin @perotovar, who made these with Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike in mind and I'm just WOOFWOOFBARKBARKBARKBARKHOWL. Thanks also to @littlebirdsbookshelf who suffers through HOURS of me sending screenshots every time I write anything. Love you <3

Additional Note on Canon: I am pretending that we never got to see Marcus Pike in short sleeves in the show despite it happening twice. He has full sleeves on both his arms in this fic that he covered up during his time working at the FBI. Because sleeves are hot and I said so.

Masterlist

It’s not unusual, these days, to wander down the sidewalk staring at your phone. Some people are texting. Some people are reading the news–because hey, this is D.C. Others, like you on this brisk morning, are watching the little blue dot on a tiny representation of the city streets, trying to find the address you had typed into the search bar.

A text box pops up, informing you of your arrival, and you finally look up.

No wonder it took you so long to find the place–it’s hardly what you expected at all. You always picture tacky neon signs, bars on the windows, undesirables milling about on the street, smoking cigarettes.

Okay, so you admittedly don’t actually know much about tattoos.

All you know is that you want one–a fact you confessed to a friend over lunch the other week: a conversation that led you here.

“Okay, so get one,” she had said bluntly.

“It’s not all that simple,” you had protested.

“Why?”

“It’s just… it seems like a lot. Mentally. Physically. I’m not sure I have what it takes.”

“They don’t hurt that bad,” your friend had insisted.

“I’m not just talking about that, I’m talking about… y’know, just everything. The noise. New people. Strangers touching me. It just doesn’t seem like something I’ll be able to do.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Because of the… yep. Actually I might have something for you,” she said, taking out her phone and scrolling through that app that drives you crazy–it’s overstimulation in a convenient package–full of noise, chaos, and flashing lights.

She must have seen you pull a face, because she held out her hand placatingly.

“Just finding the name of the place, hang on. It’s a shop right here in DC that went ‘viral’ for this video of a guy with autism who wanted a tattoo to commemorate his dad, but he was only comfortable lying on the floor–so the tattoo artist just… got on the floor with him! It was really cute, and anyway I guess he caters to all sorts of people, so… I dunno. Check it out.”

And here you are. Checking it out.

The words “Government-Issued Ink” are spelled out on large windows, and the punny name–apt for its location not far from the Capitol–makes you snort.

The shop is bright, warm, and inviting–tearing down your outdated preconceptions that tattoo places must always be run-down, dark, and dingy. It’s also empty this early in the morning, save for a lone figure in the back, seated at a well-worn desk, his head pitched forward over his work.

He’s so enveloped in whatever he’s sketching that he must not have heard the light ringing of the bell as you had entered. You watch him for a few moments–taking in the graceful movements of his hand and the way his fingers grasp the pen. He’s dressed in a plain blue button-down dress shirt, which also doesn’t fit your assumed archetype of ‘Tattoo Artist.’ You can’t see his face; his head is leaning forward too much and a few short locks of dark brown hair obscure your view.

Suddenly wondering if you’re being incredibly rude, staring at someone without announcing your presence, you open your mouth to introduce yourself.

“Um.”

While not exactly eloquent, it serves its purpose. The man startles and looks up in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, jumping to his feet and letting the pen clatter carelessly to the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head rapidly. “I was, um…” You blink a few times, your nerves getting the better of you as the man comes around his desk to approach the front of the store.

“Interested in a walk-in consultation?” he offers, holding out his hands in a gesture that could either be an open invitation or a shrug.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I was thinking about getting, uh, a tattoo, and I was told this shop was… good. With tattoos. And other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” he chuckles, smiling warmly.

“You know… with people who… might not be good at getting tattoos.”

“What makes you think you aren’t ‘good at getting tattoos?’”

“A hunch,” you shrug, expelling a little huff of laughter through your nose. “I was told to ask for a Marcus Pike?”

The man’s smile widens. “You’re looking at him.”

Oh. You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Marcus Pike is well-dressed and clean-cut, almost startlingly so. You scan up and down, looking for any sign that this man could possibly be a tattoo artist, but the only evidence you can find is a small black target inked between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Don’t… tattoo artists usually have more ink? Of course, with him almost completely covered from head to toe, you obviously can’t create a full picture of Marcus’s skin, but the fact that he wouldn’t look out of place in one of the nearby government buildings still takes you by surprise.

You realize you haven’t said anything in response, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be bothered by your deer-in-headlights stare. Instead, he grins again and steps sideways, extending his arm in a silent invitation to come deeper into the shop.

“Come on in. If you’d like, go ahead and sit wherever you want, and we can talk about it. No pressure,” he promises. “I’m not here to push ink on you like a used car salesman; I’m here to collaborate with you. Figure out what you really want. And, if what you want ends up being ‘nothing,’ I totally support that, too.”

There’s something innate and intrinsic about Marcus Pike that sets you completely at-ease. You cast your eyes around, taking in the eclectic seating in the shop–all mismatched, all different colors, styles, and shapes, but all looking incredibly comfortable and inviting. You settle on a giant turquoise beanbag that seems to swallow you whole when you sink down into it, and Marcus grins and sits down in the bright yellow saucer chair beside it.

“So at the very least, you’re thinking about a tattoo,” Marcus leads. “Can you tell me about that?”

You nod, feeling encouraged by his openness. “Yeah, so… my mom, she passed away a couple of years ago, and it just seemed like I should… memorialize her in some way. Like, in a way that leaves its mark on me like she left a mark on me, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of getting some kind of permanent art that commemorates her.”

“That’s a great idea,” Marcus says softly. “Lots of people choose to do that after losing a loved one.”

“Yeah, the only problem is that I’m not good with um… noise, or people touching me, or… pain, really,” you confess. “I’m like, the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.”

Marcus chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Personally, I don’t believe that. I think anyone can get a tattoo done if they want it, provided they get it done in a way that feels safe and comfortable.”

“My friend, she uh, recommended your shop because apparently you’ve done some stuff for people with autism and it went viral on TikTok…” you ramble, “and I thought maybe that meant you’d be a good fit for… for me.”

Understanding flickers in Marcus’s expression, and he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so,” he says with quiet earnesty.

A beat passes–just a few seconds of silence–but something small and soft and warm settles down between the two of you, and the comforting feeling sinks down into the pit of your stomach and stays there, latent and waiting.

“So, let’s talk design,” Marcus announces. “Do you have anything in mind? Any images or ideas, however vague? I can do anything from replicating designs to building something completely from scratch for you.”

“I like the idea of it being a unique piece,” you tell him.

“I prefer original designs too,” he says. “Not to sound incredibly cheesy, but there’s no one like you, you know? In–In the general sense, of course.” He chuckles sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “I like knowing each person that comes in here leaves with something unique. Something all their own—I’m rambling,” he says quickly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “One thing about me is that I talk too much. Anyway–did you have any ideas you can share with me about what you’d like?”

“I don’t have a good image in my mind,” you confess anxiously. After all, how can he build a design based on the swirling, disjointed images in your brain? “I think I want it to be colorful, like she was. And… I keep getting thoughts about, I dunno, the cyclical nature of life, something corny like that.”

Marcus laughs. “Sometimes the corny stuff is what sticks with us. So, colorful and commenting on the cyclical nature of life,” he lists off on his fingers, still grinning. “Anything else?”

“I’ve looked through your galleries online,” you tell him. “You have a few that look like watercolor paintings, and I really love how they look.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m gonna throw out an idea—Feel free to tell me ‘no,’ because I’m just brainstorming here, but I keep thinking about a tree of life. The leaves could easily be done in watercolor and could be any combination of colors you want.” His right hand twitches–as if reaching for a phantom pen–as he speaks, and his gaze seems to be fixed on a spot on the wall, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as he starts to speak faster.

“You could have the leaves and the roots connecting on the sides, making a circle, maybe even having her birth date and death date embedded in the roots…” He blinks rapidly a few times, as if dispelling the image from his head. “Anyway. That’s a possibility.”

“I think that’s amazing,” you say softly, watching Marcus with something like amazement in your expression. “Actually… I really like that idea. It sounds… perfect.”

“Oh,” he intones softly, looking at you in surprise as a bright, toothy smile breaks across his face. “Oh. Well then, let’s do it, huh? One final question: where do you envision getting it?”

“I was thinking on my shoulder. Here,” you indicate, pressing your hand to the skin of your upper arm. “That way it’s visible when I want it to be, but easily hidden if for some reason it needs to be.”

“That’s perfect,” Marcus says. “Plus, the circular design will go really well there. Okay. Great. Um, some things to know about the process. We’ll exchange emails, and you can contact me at any time with any questions, concerns, ideas, changes, anything. In the meantime, I’ll get started on a design for you, and I’ll share initial sketches that you can give feedback on before I move to the final stages of the design. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maximum, depending on any changes you ask for. My only request is that you’re always honest with your feedback–don’t tell me you like something when you don’t. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.” He grins widely. “After that, you book an appointment on a day that works best for you. I almost always book the whole day for the appointment to factor in time for copious breaks and making sure you feel comfortable. Does that work for you?”

You nod eagerly.

“Last question,” Marcus says. “Is it okay if I get a close-up picture of your upper arm? That way I can make sure it fits the curvature of your arm, it’s the right size, stuff like that.”

“Mhmm,” you nod again, pressing your lips together and trying not to look nervous. Thank god you wore a sleeveless top under your sweater.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insists.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, removing just the one arm from your outer layer and pulling it aside.

You watch as Marcus grabs a little ‘point-and-shoot’ digital camera from his desk and comes back to your side.

“This is just used for design purposes,” he promises. “I delete them after the design is done.”

“I trust you.”

His resulting expression could light an entire room. “Thank you,” he answers quietly. “Okay. Super close-up, just your arm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you confirm, and you hear the camera click several times.

“Actually,” Marcus says, still staring thoughtfully at your bare shoulder. “Would it be okay if I made a couple of little marks–washable marker, of course–to make sure the dimensions are how you want them?”

Oh. You normally don’t like it when people touch you. You knew it was going to happen eventually, obviously, because how else was he going to get the design onto your skin? But it was something you had planned on working yourself up to, not something you had to do today. On the other hand, something about Marcus’s entire bearing makes you inexplicably ache to be touched by him.

“‘No’ is an acceptable response,” he interrupts your dithering with a quiet reassurance.

And actually, that works to seal the deal for you, and your decision is made in an instant.

“Yes. You can. That’s fine.” And, to your surprise, you mean it.

Marcus seems just as surprised at your answer–his eyebrows shoot upward almost comically at your response.

“Okay,” he says softly. “That’s perfect. Hang on.” He jumps up again to retrieve a black marker–from what was clearly a children’s set of washable markers. He meets your eyes, and again you take in that sincere, earnest, patient look that endeared you to this man from the moment you entered the little shop.

“Is it okay if I touch your arm?” he asks quietly, still watching you carefully as you nod.

“Tell me if that changes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to your shoulder again. His touch, when you feel it, is just as warm as you’d imagined. He’s gentle, cautious, and when he speaks again, his voice remains at that same, soft volume and tone. “I’m envisioning being from about here–” he makes a little black dot, “–to here. What do you think?”

You nod. It’s the perfect size–large enough to cover your shoulder but stopping just above the point where the sleeve of a regular t-shirt would hit.

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay, so that’s–” he tsks softly, measuring the distance with his finger, “–about four inches, so that same distance across, and–” he makes two more marks on either side of your shoulder. “About like that. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you answer, smiling with enthusiasm.

“Great! Let me just…” Marcus draws a few short lines denoting the proposed boundary of your design, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you at the cool tip of the marker on your skin.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “One more picture?”

At your nod, the camera clicks one last time.

“Like I said, that’ll wash off with soap, no problem,” he promises with a smile. “Thanks for that, makes it easier to scale.” He grabs two business cards off his desk and hands them to you. “Can you write your email on this one for me? And you can keep the other one. Like I said, anything you need, just email me. And uh, barring that, you’ll be hearing from me in a week or so with a rough sketch. Okay?”

You scribble down your email and hand the card back to Marcus before pulling your sweater back over your bare arm. You slip the other card into your purse and rise to your feet. “Thanks,” you say, nodding to him.

“Hey, no–thank you,” Marcus returns. “Thanks for entrusting me with this. I mean it.”

Surprising yourself, you extend your hand toward him, and, when he takes it, you feel enveloped with warmth again.

“Thanks,” repeat, a little bit more breathlessly this time, before turning and hurrying out of the shop before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Your shoulder still tingles from his touch hours later.

Rather than it being a week before you hear from him, you receive an email from Marcus Pike just three days later.

Subject: Initial Sketch

Hello,

Please see attached. It’s just pencil for now, but I made a note of the general blocks of color I was thinking for the leaves. You’ll see what I mean when you open the file. Sorry, I know it’s a pretty rough sketch, I was just excited to get this to you. I look forward to your feedback!

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Eagerly, you open the attachment. First of all, there’s nothing “rough” about the sketch other than the fact that it’s just penciled in. The details are already so intricate, and you find yourself smiling in amazement as you take in the design.

It’s beautiful.

Brackets, each labeled with a different color in Marcus’s neat, tidy handwriting, surround the top of the tree. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet.

At the bottom of the image is another handwritten note: *All the colors will blend together and the result should look like a rainbow.

Tears spring, unbidden, to your eyes, as you feverishly type out your response.

Subject: Re: Initial Sketch

Marcus,

I really don’t know what to say other than it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Made me tear up. Look forward to seeing it in color.

Thanks again!

Not even five minutes go by before your phone vibrates with another email.

Subject: Re: Re: Initial Sketch

I’m sorry if I made you cry! Obviously wasn’t my intention but I’m glad the design evokes emotion :) I’ll move forward with the design as-is and you should hear from me soon with a full-color image.

Marcus :)

You can’t wait. The next week and a half stretches out excruciatingly, but finally, on a Wednesday evening, you receive another email.

Subject: Final Design

Hey there!

Hope you’ve been doing well. Thought you might like to see the final design of your tattoo ;) See attached and let me know if anything needs to be changed. Be critical! Don’t hold anything back! Once we agree on a final piece, we’ll get you on the calendar.

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Your mind skims over the fact that Marcus used a winking-face emoji in your email, because you honestly aren’t equipped to process that right now, and open the attachment instead. This time, you start crying in earnest. It’s perfect. The colors are so vibrant, and they make the tree look as though it’s in a constant state of movement. Your mom’s birth and death dates are entwined seamlessly into the roots themselves, in a way that makes them not readily apparent at first glance, but seeming to just appear out of nowhere upon further inspection.

Subject: Re: Final Design

Marcus,

If I had any critical feedback, I would share it, I promise. But I have nothing. This is everything I’d imagined and more, and it means the world to me.

Thank you so much.

After a few more messages back and forth, you settle on a date one month out.

You can’t wait.

As excited as you’ve been for the past month, when you step foot back into Marcus’s little tattoo parlor, the air of finality makes your body thrum with anxiety.

You’re really doing this.

Marcus is at the back of the shop, busying himself with setting up his workspace when you enter. Today, he’s wearing a dark green henley that looks just as soft as he is, and seems to complement his features even more. As soon as he hears the chimes, his head snaps up, and he grins widely.

“Hey!” he calls out excitedly. “Just getting everything ready. Do you want something to drink before we get started? I’ve got water, juice, soda…” he trails off, waving his hand in the direction of a mini-fridge in the corner.

“I’m okay for now.”

“Sounds good, but when we take a break, you should have some juice or something else with a bit of sugar in it, okay?” You nod, and he continues. “Okay! Where do you want to sit?”

“Don’t I have to sit in the chair over there?” you ask, gesturing to the traditional chair and bench near Marcus’s work table.

“Not at all,” he protests. “The table is mobile, I bring it to wherever you feel comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I’ll go ahead and sit in the chair, though.” Of all the options, it looks like the easiest–you aren’t entirely sure how Marcus would be able to comfortably tattoo you whilst sitting on a bean bag chair.

“Your choice,” he insists, spreading his hands out in an open and unguarded stance.

You settle in the chair and he sits down on a rolling stool beside you.

“Okay, so I’ve got a stencil of your design here,” Marcus says, holding up a paper with an outline of the tree for you to see. “It’ll transfer onto your skin exactly how you want it to go, and I’ll just trace it. Make sense?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Before I do that, though, I have to make sure nothing interferes with the design, including tiny little hairs.” He holds up a pink safety razor. “Are you comfortable with me doing this for you?”

At your tentative nod of consent, Marcus leans forward and gently swipes the razor up and down your shoulder until he’s satisfied. His eyes dart between your skin and your face the entire time–making sure you’re still with him. After he’s done, he talks you through the stencil–confirming its location, gently applying it to your shoulder, and then holding up a mirror for you to approve.

“It’s great,” you whisper excitedly.

Marcus returns your smile and begins to absentmindedly roll up his sleeves in preparation to start working–-and the question about tattoos that you’d asked yourself upon first seeing the man is suddenly and unexpectedly answered.

You can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes from you when you catch the colorful patchwork of designs on both of his forearms, disappearing under the pushed-up henley and suggesting that they go all the way up.

Marcus catches you staring and grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I didn’t know,” you say softly. “You keep them covered up.”

“Force of habit,” Marcus shrugs. “I had a desk job for a long time.”

“Doing what?” you ask, curiously. You can’t see the man doing anything but this.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, winking in your direction.

Ignoring how the wink makes your heart stutter in your chest, you bark out a laugh at his answer. “What? Were you like a secret agent or something?” you tease.

“Special Agent,” he corrects, grinning.

“Get out,” you deadpan. “I can’t imagine you as a Fed.”

Marcus shrugs, giving you another one of his boyish, crooked smiles. “Would’ve been fifteen years this year had I not finally seen the writing on the wall and run for the hills a couple of years ago.”

“What made you leave?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s a long story. How sensitive are you to noise?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.

“Uh, I dunno. Kind of depends on the day and the situation,” you shrug.

“Fair. Well, I usually let newcomers listen to what the gun actually sounds like, so there are no surprises. If it’s too loud, I do have noise canceling headphones.”

And miss out on hearing Marcus’s soft-spoken reassurances? No matter how loud the tattoo gun is, you’d rather endure it just to be able to hear him talk.

Marcus turns the instrument on, and the room is filled with a mild buzzing sound. On your worst days, admittedly, it would probably grate upon your nerves, but you’re feeling relaxed, comfortable, and excited about your new tattoo.

“It’s not bad,” you tell him truthfully.

“Perfect,” he grins. “Are you all set to get started?”

Heart rate increasing with pleasant anticipation, you nod giddily.

“I’m obviously gonna be touching your arm a lot,” Marcus says, “so let me know if you need a break from that, the noise, the needle, anything.” Seeing your solemn nod, he continues. “I’m gonna do a little dot right here to let you see how it feels, okay?” He gently touches his index finger to your skin to indicate where.

“Okay.”

The gun turns on again, and Marcus presses it lightly against your skin for just a second before pulling back.

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I thought it would hurt more,” you confess.

Marcus laughs. “Well, the same feeling over and over again in a small area can start to be pretty uncomfortable. I’ll check in regularly to make sure you’re still doing fine. Good?”

You smile widely. “I’m really excited.”

His smile softens, his gaze becoming warmer and more tender. “I’m glad.”

His other hand gently cradles your arm as Marcus leans in, a look of intense concentration settling over his features as he begins the design. Engrossed in his work, you take the time to study his forearms. They’re a hodgepodge of designs, clearly done at different times and by different artists, but you can see themes throughout. He likes classic styles, you can tell, and in between some of the more traditional works you can see beautiful references to an assortment of famous paintings. A Dali melting clock here. A sunflower clearly inspired by Van Gogh there. On his opposite bicep, you can just barely make out the side of one design that looks like it might be of a Greek statue. Tilting your head, you realize it’s Nike alighting on the bow of a warship, and you inhale sharply. That’s one of your favorite sculptures.

“Still okay?” Marcus asks, glancing up at you with concern in his eyes.

“Sorry.” You shake your head quickly.

“Just checking,” he says softly. “Try to be just a little more still, okay?”

“Sorry,” you repeat, laughing sheepishly.

“Don’t be, you’re doing great.”

You try to fight the way your entire body seems to grow warm at Marcus’s praise, but you can’t stop the way the feeling stampedes through you. You’re being ridiculous, you chastise yourself. He’s doing his job, and you’re getting all moony-eyed.

In order to distract yourself, you continue playing ‘Spot the Famous Artwork’ on Marcus’s sleeves–although, as distractions go, it’s not your best work. You can’t help but focus in on the way his forearm cords with muscle as he holds the tattoo gun, controlling each movement so delicately and precisely, creating a beautiful, intricate design on your shoulder.

After finding a bit of yellow patchwork that's clearly a reference to Gustav Klimt's The Kiss near his right elbow, you break your silence.

“You like art, huh?”

It seems like a stupid thing to say to a fucking tattoo artist of all people, and you immediately kick yourself internally for saying something so obvious.

Marcus glances up, and, seeing how your eyes are focused on his own ink, smiles. “Always have,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to your shoulder. “Some of those are years-old.”

“Is that how you got into being a tattoo artist?” you ask.

“Sort of,” he answers, brow pinched in concentration as he continues working. “I uh, apprenticed for a shop in college to pay the bills before going to Quantico for training.”

“You’re really talented,” you tell him. “I was surprised to find out you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”

Marcus hums his appreciation as he carefully fills in a root.

“Can I ask what made you join the FBI instead of opening your own place after college?”

He huffs a little laugh through his nose. “Parents would have killed me, going to college and then doing nothing with it.”

“Running a small business isn’t exactly doing nothing,” you point out.

“Well, public opinion on tattoos wasn’t what it is now,” Marcus says. “They were scandalized by my apprenticeship, but it paid the bills, so they couldn’t complain too loudly.”

“Was it them who wanted you to join the FBI?”

“Mm, not so much,” he murmurs. “It was more like ‘whatever you want to do, so long as you can make a lucrative career out of it.’ Being an artist wasn’t one of those things, so in lieu of becoming one myself, I decided I wanted to protect them instead.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Protect them how?”

Marcus grins up at you and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Art crimes,” he answers. “Being an art detective was kind of in the limelight in the early ‘nineties after the famous Gardner Museum theft, and I got swept up in the craze.”

“So you spent the last fifteen-ish years recovering stolen art,” you fill in for him.

“Stolen, forged, looted, illegally traded or smuggled…” Marcus offers, not breaking his concentration again. He wasn’t wrong–the repeated drag of the needle across what felt like the same square centimeter of your skin was starting to wear on you.

“Uh-huh,” you say, forcing the discomfort out of your tone.

Noticing the tightness in your voice immediately, Marcus’s movements stop. “Feeling okay?”

You shrug.

The gun switches off.

“You gotta be honest about how you’re feeling,” he reminds you. “I might be able to create designs based off of customers’ vague descriptions, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.”

“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I can endure it,” you insist.

“There’s no need to endure something that’s painful,” Marcus argues with an amused smile. “Even if it involves choosing to repeatedly jamming a needle into your skin.”

You can’t help but laugh, and your heart swells when he joins you.

“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”

You let him lead you to the other side of the shop, where he stops in front of a large storage cabinet that you'd assumed held various supplies. When he opens it, however, you find that isn’t the case at all.

No, the entire cabinet is filled to the brim with a collection of stuffed animals just as eclectic and varied as the furniture. There's also a couple of shoeboxes filled with every manner of fidget toy you could ever imagine.

"You can grab one, if you want. I know it might feel kind of goofy, but I promise they help with the pain."

"Okay," you breathe. Your gaze lingers first on the IKEA shark, then on a very soft-looking cactus with an adorable grumpy expression, but when your gaze lands on the largest and arguably oddest toy in the collection, your hands can't help but move toward it.

"The big guy, huh?" Marcus laughs, taking the giant squid off of the shelf and placing it in your arms. You have to laugh at how large and ungainly it is; its massive black eyes stare vacantly back at you, but the effect is dopey, rather than menacing.

"Where do you get all of these?" you ask in amazement.

"Most of them are gifts from past clients, including that one," Marcus says, indicating the squid. "But I think he originally came from the Smithsonian. I was told his name is 'Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.'"

"Thank you," you say in a small, appreciative voice.

"'S'fine," Marcus shrugs. "Feel up to continuing?"

You nod, looking down at your partially-inked shoulder. "Guess you didn't get very far before I had to stop," you remark, somewhat self-deprecatingly.

"It's not a race," your artist says earnestly. "We've got the whole day, and we go at your pace. You're paying me, after all." Another wink in your direction.

"Yeah," you nod, confidence growing again. "Yeah, okay." You plop down in your seat, with Cthulhu in your lap, and Marcus takes his place beside you.

“Gonna turn this back on again,” he announces as the now-familiar buzz fills the room, “and I’m gonna touch your arm–” his fingers wrap warmly and gently around your skin, “–annnd here we go.”

The needle scratches insistently against your skin, but it isn’t so bad–not really, not with the hilarious giant squid on your lap and Marcus’s gentle, soothing voice in your ear. He talks while he works, sometimes asking you questions about your own life–to which he listens intently and always seems to have follow-up questions–and sometimes telling you stories of his own. You discuss art, obviously, but also music, books, movies, and baseball of all things.

You find yourself wondering if he has this type of easy rapport with everyone who comes in, but you assume he must. He might be the most disarming person you’ve ever met, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe he’s like this with everyone. Still, there’s an ugly, jealous part of you that wishes the connection between you was unique, special. That he’s only this warm with you.

Marcus was right–squeezing the stuffed toy on your lap is a perfect distraction from the discomfort of the needle, and before long, the sensation fades into the background. As the time drags on, though, the persistent drone of the tattoo gun causes an ache to creep in and settle between your eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose, count to three, and exhale slowly through your mouth.

Marcus glances up, watching you for a split-second before cutting power to the gun and stretching his back with a satisfied sigh.

“Break time,” he announces. “Hand’s getting a bit sore.” He shoots you a knowing glance and another one of those crooked smiles. “And you should probably have a little something to drink, maybe a snack.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you say gratefully as he walks over to the little fridge.

“Apple juice?” he asks, holding up a little juice box that looks slightly comical in his large hands. When you nod enthusiastically, he hands it to you.

His fingers brush yours.

If it were anyone else, you’d recoil, but it’s him. It might just be the forced proximity, but…

You’re developing quite the crush on Marcus Pike.

Shoving the thought aside for the moment, you stab the straw into the little hole and take a long sip. Marcus settles down beside you with his own choice–a little can of vegetable juice–and holds it up in a silent ‘cheers.’

Feeling emboldened, you ask the question that’s been burning in your mind since you started.

“So what made you leave the whole ‘helping other artists’ thing behind and start a tattoo business instead?”

Marcus presses his lips together, and for a moment, you fear you’ve crossed a boundary. Just before you’re about to apologize profusely, though, he speaks.

“Have you ever just… woken up one morning, and realized that everything you were working toward, everything you thought you wanted in life… was a lie?”

“I… I don’t know,” you confess quietly, surprised at the emotion behind his words.

“Happened to me,” he laughs softly. “I had moved to DC for what I thought was my dream job, with who I thought was–” he shakes his head, as though dispelling an unpleasant thought. “I had spent my entire life checking boxes: College degree? Check. Well-paying job? Check. House? Check. Check, check check. I spent so much time trying to get ahead, like life was some kind of game to be won. If I said all the right things, did all the right things, if I did everything right… I’d have the life I wanted.”

“What was the life you wanted?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“It was bullshit, is what it was. Saw one too many rom-coms as a kid, I suppose. I thought I was after the picket fence, the dog, the wife and two-point-five kids, that sort of thing. And one morning I woke up, realized that… that relentless pursuit of something I couldn’t even hold–it was all bullshit.”

“So you just… quit?”

“I quit. I wanted to create things again. I wanted to feel inspired. After a bit of uh… frantic soul-searching before I ran out of money entirely, I sold my stupid, too-big condo that I hated and bought this shop instead.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, I’m not bankrupt yet,” Marcus says dryly.

“No, I mean… did you feel inspired again?”

“I did. I do. So very much so,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and that comfortable warmth that had settled in between you the first time you had met him… grows. Mutates. Until the warm, tingling feeling feels a lot more like electricity.

An unspoken moment seems to pass through you, but then Marcus clears his throat roughly, setting the empty can aside and standing again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Wanna keep going?”

Breathlessly, you nod.

In no time at all, you’re settled back in the chair with one of Marcus’s warm, strong, large hands cradling your arm as the other gently wields the tattoo gun. As he starts to fill in and blend the colors, the pain starts to increase, and you worry one of the fuzzy tentacles back and forth in your hand as you grit your teeth.

“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “The color’s the worst part, but you’re being so good for me.”

It helps you to watch him work, so you do. He’s blending in the colors now, and you watch with interest as it starts to take shape. It’s so mesmerizing that you hardly even notice the buzz of the gun or the light sting of the needle anymore.

“And you said you ‘weren’t good at tattoos,’” he teases gently, noticing your obvious interest.

“Did I say that?” you laugh, teasing back.

“I believe your words were, ‘I’m like the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.’” he reminds you. “And look at you now, huh?”

You duck your head at his praise, unable to withstand the intensity and honesty in his gaze.

“Doing okay after all, I guess,” you say with a sheepish smile.

“You’re doing amazing,” Marcus corrects, smiling warmly. “The type of client any artist dreams of.”

You don’t know how to respond to the things this man says to you. Stunned and at a loss for words, you stare awkwardly at your hand where it still wraps around Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.

“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that your enthusiasm and your curiosity is the stuff that makes me want to be an artist in the first place.”

“Are you saying I inspire you?” you try to tease, but it falls flat.

Just audibly, over the hum of the tattoo gun, you hear his whispered response.

“Yes.”

As Marcus wipes away the last of the stray ink on the purple bit of tree, the tattoo gun suddenly switches off. The silence is almost shocking, and you blink rapidly in confusion.

“Break time?” you ask.

Marcus chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s all done.”

“It is?” you ask, although you can see the answer for yourself in the large mirrored wall to your right.

“How’s it feel?” he asks.

“My arm kind of aches,” you confess, “but oh my God, Marcus… it’s beautiful.”

It’s his turn to preen under your praise, the tips of his ears blushing pink as he grins back at you.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. “Here, let me give you a little something for the pain.”

He squeezes a glob of light-green cooling gel and coats the angry skin with the barest of touches. “Still okay?” he asks, glancing up at you for confirmation.

After the harshness of the needle, the soft press of his fingers is more soothing than ever, and you have to resist the urge to sigh and melt into his touch.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“You’re going to want to keep this covered for a couple of hours, up to overnight,” Marcus says as he carefully applies a dressing to your shoulder–still softly, but more businesslike than before as he walks you through all of the instructions for care. “Once you take this off tomorrow, you’ll probably see some fluid leaking from it–that’s totally normal. It’s blood, plasma, and extra ink, and it should stop after a few days before it starts to scab over.

“You’ll want to keep it from drying out; I’d recommend scent-free, dye-free lotion if you don’t already have some,” he continues. “Wash it twice a day and put lotion on after. When it starts to scab, I can’t stress this enough: don’t pick the scabs.” He gives you a serious look. “Repeat that back to me.”

“Don’t pick the scabs.”

“If you do, you could cause it to scar, or even pull out the ink. One more time for me,” he prompts, and you get the feeling that this is always the sticking point in his speech.

“Don’t pick the scabs,” you repeat.

“It’ll take three to four months for the lower layers of skin to completely heal,” Marcus tells you. “During that time, keep it out of the sun, keep it hydrated, and you’re in the clear.”

“And don’t pick the scabs,” you say teasingly.

Marcus winks at you. “Exactly. Any other questions for me?”

“No, just… thank you. It’s amazing,” you tell him. “You did such an incredible job.”

“Hard not to, when I have such a beautiful canvas.”

Your eyes dart up, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes, but all you can see is heartfelt sincerity. You swallow thickly, and he tracks the movement, his eyes dropping down, then back up to meet your eyes. Is it… not just you? Does he feel it, too? Realization slams through you and threatens to overload all of your systems. Marcus’s lips are parted slightly, and the look in his eyes… it’s desire.

“Marcus…”

“Wait,” he says urgently. “Hang on. Come… come over here for a minute, let me–” he dashes awkwardly over to the till on the counter and gives you your total. Frowning in confusion–he wants to do this now? Interrupting that electric moment that had passed between you?–you dutifully swipe your card and numbly take the receipt.

“Now you’re no longer my client,” Marcus explains softly. “I–sorry–I was about to throw caution to the wind and kiss you, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be unethical, I–”

“Yes,” you say simply, giving your response to his un-asked question.

It’s all he needs to stride forward, gently take your face in his warm palms, and, seeing no hesitation in your eyes even as he searches your face desperately—presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is as soft and as tender as the man himself, which hardly surprises you. Your eyes slip closed as his lips move against you with aching caution. He’s careful in all things, including this–taking your cues, giving you the lead, letting you feel everything he’s giving you.

All too quickly, he pulls back–but his eyes only sweep your face again, a growing smile on his lips as he sees nothing but want reflected back at him.

When he lowers his lips to yours again, he’s less gentle. One large hand leaves your face too hook around your waist, pulling you closer, closer–and when the proximity causes you to gasp softly, Marcus is ready. His tongue gently slips between your parted lips and you practically melt into him. When your knees buckle, his strong arms are what keep you standing upright, and still–

He can’t seem to stop kissing you.

You break before he does–pulling back to suck in a few shaky, heaving breaths, and he smiles through his own labored breathing.

“I wanted–I–” he begins, before hastily pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as if he can’t help but do so.

“I’ve thought of you,” he tries again. “I thought of you like this for the last month,” the confession finally spills out. “I wanted to–wanted to kiss you so badly all day, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself.” He kisses you again. “But now,” he promises, whispering the words against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna get my fill.”

To punctuate his statement with one of your own, you slant your head and deepen the kiss, wrapping one hand around Marcus’s neck and pulling him closer still. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and the grip on your waist tightens. You lose yourself completely to the feel of his tongue sliding slowly against yours, until he suddenly pulls back.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he whispers–although he’s still smiling. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner, first.”

“So ask me,” you say with a giggle.

“Come have dinner with me,” Marcus murmurs, shaking his head in quiet amusement as he steals another gentle kiss. “Right now. Tonight.”

“You might have to open all the doors,” you tease. “My arm hurts.”

Another kiss.

“I’m wounded that you think I wouldn’t open every door regardless.”

“Are you always such a gentleman?” you remark with a wry smile.

Another.

“Well,” Marcus grins wolfishly. He places on last, lingering kiss on your lips and then makes a show of offering his arm. “Not always.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro pascal

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anathemaspeaks · 1 month

Note

can i please get fluff number 13, "delete that! i look disgusting." and 14, "your flirting is so bad it's adorable." with gojo 😁

here you go 🫶

requests are open! (please request stuff)

check out my prompt list.

you stood in front of satoru, arms flailing around comically, trying to jump up and reach the phone in his hand. you never stood a chance. he just stayed in the same position, an arm lazily outstretched above his head, eyes filled with glee and laughs escaping his throat at your futile attempts at capturing his phone from him.

"delete that! i look disgusting" you demanded, thoroughly annoyed by his antics, hair messy, with both of you standing on top of your bed.

"disgusting? i happen to think this is your best picture yet!" he said, eyes filled with mirth, mocking your current helpless state, the wide grin on his face ever-present.

"gojo satoru-"

"not the full government name" he gasped, seemingly offended. drama queen.

the picture of you was downright horrendous. you were napping, mouth wide open, a little bit of drool on the side, head on your pillow with your hair as wild as a bird's nest. and click! he took a picture, being the spectacular friend he is.

but ever the dumbass, the shutter sound woke you up, which brought you to your current predicament.

you tried to reach up again, only this time, you lost your balance and landed right into his toned chest, causing you both to topple down onto your plush bed, with you falling on top of him. red from both the intimacy and frustration, you were still trying your hardest to retrieve his phone.

"that picture is a national threat" you reasoned, trying to convince him, looking into his eyes.

"national treasure, you mean?" he asked with a small smirk, eyes boring into yours. oh. now mere inches away from him, with you straddling his body with your own, you realized he was blushing, light pink dusting his cheeks.

"oh, so you want it because you like seeing me that disheveled, huh?" you teased. what you weren't expecting was for him to blush even more, now completely flustered.

"n-no!" he started, eyes shifting away from yours, the cocky demeanor from a minute ago now gone. "it's just for blackmail, because-"

"aw, your flirting is so bad it's adorable" you interrupted, catching your tongue when you realized what you just said. he paused.

"adorable, huh?" he looked into your eyes again, cocky smirk reappearing. shit. now you were the one blushing and avoiding his ardent stare.

the air had changed all too quickly, the witty comeback dying on your tongue at the sheer intensity of his gaze. you let out a meek "maybe," and that was all the confirmation he needed.

he tiled his chin, fingers lightly grazing your jaw and pulling you closer, noses almost touching. you could feel his teasing smile, the glint in his eyes shifting from playfulness to fondness and uncertainty, searching yours for permission.

you leaned down, and his mouth captured yours in a soft, hesitant kiss. warmth flooded through your body, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of his lips on yours. you moved your hands into his hair, only breaking apart when you both were breathless, matching soft smiles on both of your flushed faces.

he tucked a strand your hair behind your ear gently, before letting his hand rest on your cheek with an unfamiliar shyness in his eyes.

"i should blackmail you more often" he quipped, breaking the silence, the stupidly handsome smirk back on his face.

"shut up" you mumbled, rolling your eyes. a smile tugged at your lips nevertheless.

"make me" he replied, voice deep and smooth, already leaning up to capture your lips in another kiss.

sorry if he's a little out of character i thought it was cute oops

likes, reblogs, and follows are appreciated <3

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diejager · 5 months

Note

OKOK so if you don’t wanna do this it’s totally FINE!

I grew up without a father, so I always felt like I had to be the protector (I’m not gonna get into full detail,) and it gave me BAD trauma. (I’m a female) How would 141 react to this? Like basically them telling me I don’t have to be tough anymore, I don’t have to hide my emotions from people, I don’t have to be the strong one. Again if you don’t want to do this it’s okay! I’ve just been feeling really down with myself, I’ve been breaking into random crying episodes.

𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶♥︎♥︎

Ah, I see, your father really missed out on something good. I just want to apologise in advance if I got some things terribly wrong. If you need someone to talk to my DMs are open. Love you too🥰

Rest Cw: absent father, trauma, breaking down, tell me if I missed any.

They watched you stumble, stutter around them and grow awkward and self-conscious when they became protective of you, more so than a normal colleague relationship implied. It made your shoulders tense, smile looking more like a wince than the ones they were used to and your mind block out anything that would incur a resurgent memory. It pained to see you so uneasy towards their affection, the love and softness they easily gave you once you pushed through their hardened hearts and shatter the walls they built around themselves.

You were always so strong, going forth without hesitation to do what you had to, the strong-headed operator in their Task Force that always stepped ahead to protect them and yourself. Despite your freely-given affection, you were absent emotionally, dancing on the line of emptiness and loneliness, a lasting impact of an absent parent. You were sometimes odd, mind wandering to different places and coming up with what-ifs situations, blocking ou the world around you - them and the bustling crowd in the Mess hall - or at times, closing your door in their faces, turning your back to them when you seemed to need them the most, never letting them help you quell that heartache and pain.

“Lass,” it was Johnny’s voice, the jovial one of your quirky group, his saddened voice muffled by your closed door, a physical barrier between them and your broken world, “Let us in, would ya?”

If you ignored them long enough, they’d eventually leave you. Most did that, never bothering to put more effort into interacting with you when you tried to ignore them, they wouldn’t bother you much more later.

“Let us help you, ” Kyle, it was him that spoke up after Johnny, a soft thrum in his voice, gentle and reassuring as he gave a small knock on your door. He called out your name - you government one - through it, a little hum following it.

It pained you to shut them out, the cord connecting you to them pulled tightly, ready to snap if you did anything mad. Your face burned, blinking away the tears that clung to your lashes and shuddering, laboured gasps through your mouth. You couldn’t let them see you like this, it would shatter the image you tried so hard to create through blood, sweat and tears, all your hard work would go to waste if you opened the door.

“Please.”

You choked a breath, eyes widening as your mind spun. No one else had the deep and low tone, a rumble-like growl softened to seem harmless, almost vulnerable in sound. You’d never heard Ghost speak so gently —so weak and soft. How could you say no when Ghost had asked so nicely, his pretty please echoing in your mind like a song on repeat.

“You don’t have to let everyone in, sweetheart,” Price had always been a good bargainer, his words throwing the truth into people’s face despite their reluctance to listen. “Just one of us, yeah?”

You guessed having all of them in wouldn’t be too bad, knowing how much of a part you played in their little group of misfits and chaotic bunch. They’ve showed how much they cared for you prior to this, many times in and out of deployment, the drunken moments in a pub or in the solace of the Task Force’s own rec room. Despite your paranoid and fearful mind conjuring up many images and situations, you fond yourself unconsciously moving towards the door, your silent steps growing loud the closer you got to the metal knob. You flicked the lock off, letting it crack open. Light from the hall flooded in, peaking through your opened door, encompassing the towering figure of your Lieutenant, a sentry to your self-proclaimed cell, the protector of your broken mind.

“There you are, luv,” you could see the smile through his eyes, his warm browns showering you in silent affection, “Let me in?”

Letting him in was the hardest, yet easiest thing you’d ever done, welcoming him - another man’s fractured min - into your darkest moments, cheeks wet and lips bitten bloody, choking down your sobs. It couldn’t hurt to let them help, to let Price, Ghost, Kyle and Johnny in.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysia @notspiders @velvetsoulweaver @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake

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moonlightspencie · 1 year

Text

Next to You

Description: Trying to ignore the feelings you have for your best friend can cause complications. Especially when you find out what they’d risk for you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!Reader

Warnings: mentions of cases (typical for cm), fluffff (mutual pining, friends to lovers, the usual)

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: originally posted on tumblr. then took on a new life on ao3. now it’s back on tumblr.

The last place I ever expected my career to go was working for the government. A stuffy office job was never my style. Luckily, the government job I found myself working was far from a boring life shoved away in a cubicle. Much to the dismay of my family, and to my absolute delight, I got to work pretty much the coolest job I could think of besides being an astronaut.

The elevator doors opened and I stepped out, strolling towards the bullpen. I dropped my stuff at my desk, and went straight for the kitchenette to find Penelope and Derek sitting at the little table near the counter.

“Hey, lovebirds,” I said with a wink.

“Oh, come on. You know you’re my number one,” Penelope answered, throwing a wink back at me.

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Whoa, there. I thought you were my babygirl?”

Pen shrugged with a smirk. “You know I could never give you up.”

I laughed at the pair, grabbing a mug and filling it to the brim with coffee. I sipped at it, just watching them interact, adding in a little quip here and there until I heard JJ.

“Got a case, guys.”

She nodded towards the conference room as she walked past us. I topped off my mug again, following her to the room with the other two not far behind. We all filed in, taking our seats. Hotch and Spencer showed up a minute after we all got comfortable and JJ started speaking as soon as they hit the room.

Spence took his seat next to me with a tight-lipped grin my direction.

“The bodies of three young women have recently turned up in Portola, California, about an hour from Reno, Nevada.”

She introduced them as she went through the slides of where their bodies were found. Lakes and woods surrounded the area, making it easy to hide them without being traced back to somebody. I grimaced at a close up of the face of one of the victims. No matter how often we had to look at stuff like that, I could never quite force myself into thinking it was normal or just a routine. My discomfort must have been apparent, because Spencer reached up to place a hand on my shoulder for a moment, giving me a little smirk. I reached over to cover his hand with my own for a moment before turning back to give my full attention to the case.

“Any connection between the victims?” Derek asked.

JJ shook her head. “None, besides the fact they’re in their 20s. Different ethnicities, hair colors, lifestyles…”

“Very strange. It’s probably not a personal grudge against somebody then. Any signs of sexual assault or impotence?” Spencer asked.

“No, they didn’t find any evidence of abuse on the victims at all, actually, besides a few minor bruises. Probably from the victims attempting to fight back.”

I furrowed my brow. “So, what did he want with them?”

“That’s what we have to find out, and quickly,” JJ sighed, pulling out some photos of a girl in her 20s and passing them around. “A young woman named Rebecca Stevenson recently went missing in the area, and it’s very likely she was abducted. Her car was found on the side of the road, the keys still in the ignition. I’m willing to bet she was taken by our unsub.”

We all glanced at the photos her parents had sent in, committing her face to memory as well as we could.

“Alright, everyone grab your go-bags. Wheels up in 20,” Hotch concluded.

I huffed out a sigh as I plopped myself down in the seat next to Spencer on the plane. I slouched down, shutting my eyes for a moment.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just— I have a bad feeling about this one.”

“Let’s just get our job done as well as we can, and hope the rest works out.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“Usually am.”

I scoffed out a laugh, opening my eyes. “You, Spencer Reid, are one cocky little…”

“It’s Dr. Spencer Reid, actually,” he interrupted.

We both broke out in a fit of laughter.

“You’re ridiculous.” I shook my head, looking up to him.

“We can be ridiculous together.” He nudged my shoulder with a smirk.

“What are you talking about? I’m the normal one.”

He raised a brow.

“Don’t you give me that look.” I joked.

We touched down in a couple of hours, and headed towards the local police precinct. We went through all of the formalities with local officers, explaining the situation and our procedures as much as we could before starting a profile on the unsub.

We ended up needing to take a few hours to sleep before heading to the families of the victims found and Rebecca’s family the next day.

“If we could just have a look at her room…” Spencer started.

“Of course! Whatever you need to be able to find her.”

Rebecca’s mom ushered us through the home, straight to her bedroom.

“She’s been staying here with me. Ever since her father passed…” Her eyes welled with tears. “It’s been hard. For us both. She was— So sweet to come back to stay with me during all of that. I just… Please, whatever you need. Find her.”

I placed a hand on her shoulder. “I promise we will do our best to bring Rebecca home.”

A few tears slipped down her face. “Thank you.”

I nodded, and she turned to leave us in the room. Spencer watched me for a moment.

“Let’s find her.” I nodded, beginning to look around her bedroom. I found a laptop and opened it. “Any ideas about the password, genius?”

He took the computer from me, sitting next to me on her bed. He started making a few guesses, somehow breaking in within a few minutes.

“Got it.”

“Awesome. What do we got?”

“Let’s see.”

He started searching around for any sliver of a clue as to what happened to her. It took several minutes before he found something.

“Uh, she was on a dating site, and had a lot of matches,” he said, searching through some of the messages.

“Think that could be something?”

“Maybe. Can you call Hotch and ask if any of the others were on this site?”

I nodded, dialing him up. We chatted for some time before I was able to hang up. Spencer watched me expectantly.

“They were all on the same site.”

“Okay, let’s find the commonalities.”

We scoured their profiles, finding only one common name: Andrew. But all we knew about him was a first name, age range, and a picture that clearly wasn’t of him. Luckily, we had the worlds best internet stalker on the team. Spencer and I went back to the precinct to meet Derek there, and hopped on the phone with Penelope until we figured out who we were going after. It didn’t take long before she found the most likely candidate.

“Uh… Andrew! Yes, his name is Andrew McClain, I’m sending you all his address now.”

I could almost hear the smile on Penelope’s face at her ability to discover pretty much anything she set her mind to. I would’ve smiled too if it weren’t for the dire circumstances we were working with.

“Thanks sweetheart,” Derek said back before hanging up.

He immediately called Hotch, letting him know what the situation was. The three of us practically ran to the car from the precinct, alerting Emily and JJ of the situation as we went. Derek tore out of the lot, speeding towards our destination as fast as he could go. We met Hotch and the unit chief in front of a mansion.

“No wonder he hid this all so well,” I said under my breath, staring up at the massive place.

“Makes sense why he had girls off of dating sites feeling okay coming over, too. Money can buy a lot of things, and unfortunately love is one of them,” Spencer said, coming to stand next to me. “Or, well, whatever form of affection can be reached through a sense of security.”

“That’s disgusting. Taking advantage of those girls like that.” I shook my head, looking away and towards the team instead. “They never saw it coming.”

“They never do.” Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing at whatever I seemed to be fixed on instead of the house.

Emily and JJ showed up not too long afterwards, and we all quickly went over the plan. We knew who and what we were looking for, and it seemed like it’d be pretty straightforward. We just hoped that we’d find Rebecca alive.

We snuck in as quietly as we could, tiptoeing around the mansion and checking each and every room and door we could find. I was following Hotch and the unit chief as they opened up the door to a bedroom in a downstairs hallway.

“Damn it,” I heard Hotch before I walked into the small room. He said something else to the chief that I couldn’t quite make out.

My steps slowed and eventually came to a stop in the doorway when I saw her. I really wanted him dead now. I huffed out a harsh breath as more agents walked towards the room Hotch was in, and shoved past them all. I rounded a corner in the maze of a house, getting up the steps to the second floor as quickly and quietly as I could, nearly throwing Spencer off his feet as I reached the top.

“Hey,” he said, though he meant it more as a question.

“They found her downstairs. I’m gonna kill him.”

“Hey, whoa.” He reached out to grab my arm as I tried to move past him. “We’ll get him, but don’t go looking alone.”

I nodded hesitantly as we both moved forward, peeking into each room before we heard a noise coming from a room near the end of the hallway. I stepped up first, gun drawn as Spencer opened the door for me. At first I didn’t see anything, then I heard him and whipped around to the far left corner of the room with Spencer not far from my side.

“What are you doing in my house,” he questioned, moving forward ever-so-slightly.

I pointed my gun at him. “We found Rebecca, Andy. You are one sick—”

“Don’t move!” Spencer interrupted, stepping ahead of me as Andy’s hand slowly came back from where he had attempted to reach in his back pocket. “What do you have?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

I stepped to be right next to Spence. “Whatever it is, Andy, it’s in your best interest to keep your hands where we can see them.”

We heard the footsteps of our team starting to trail up the stairs at the sound of our voices. Then, panic struck Andy’s face and he made a movement that was way too sudden for my liking.

Spencer threw himself in front of me before I even had a chance to react, using his body as a human shield. He threw his arms around me, holding tightly, and all we heard was a faint ‘click’.

I stared up at him, both of our eyes wide in shock. My mouth gaped open as if there were anything I could say in a moment like that. Spencer narrowly escaped death because of a jammed gun. He almost sacrificed himself to save me, and the only thing that stopped him was a faulty weapon.

“Spence” was all I could manage to whisper as we stood there, his arms still tight around me as agents made their way in and out with the unsub.

He unwound himself from me, taking only half a step backwards. His hands found my shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

“Am I…” I scoffed, trailing off. “Spencer. You could have died. What were you thinking?”

He put his hands up defensively.

“I wasn’t going to let you die, Y/N.”

“I don’t want to see you die either!” My voice rose, anger settling in with the sense of terror that still lingered. “Why would you do that?”

“I was protecting you.” He kept his cool, and it almost made me more upset.

“I can’t— What if the gun didn’t jam?”

“That doesn’t matter—“

“That doesn’t matter?! Spencer, you would have died. You would have died protecting me, I couldn’t live with myself.”

“And I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try.”

I felt the tears beginning to fall. “Why would you do that?”

“Oh, oh no. Y/N please don’t cry.” He pulled me in again, stroking my hair and shushing me as he did.

“I couldn’t…”

“It’s okay. I’m here. You’re here, we’re safe. It’s okay.”

He held me for a few minutes before I could compose myself enough to let go, drying my tears. We went back to the precinct after a quick check-up to make sure everyone was alright, and got the hell out of Dodge as quickly as we could. I was grateful we didn’t have to stay much longer.

We got on the plane, and I took my usual spot next to Spencer, though still unsure what to say or do now that he had literally risked his life to save mine. I let the silence sit with us for a while before deciding to say something.

“Why would you do that?” I asked, quietly this time. My anger had gone, and now all that I was left with was worry.

“It was nothing, Y/N. The gun jammed, we’re both okay. You can’t focus on the ‘what if’ here, just try to look at what did happen. Please.” He pleaded with me, looking at me with those sweet, pleading eyes he knew how to use a little too well.

I only sighed, knowing this wasn’t a battle I’d ever win.

“You scared the hell out of me, Spence. I just— I don’t get why you’d do that.”

“I— I’d do anything for you.” He shook his head as he spoke as if it were the obvious thing to say.

It all came crashing down around me at once and I felt like I was walking around in a daze until we got back to the BAU. All the time I had spent trying to convince myself that my feelings would fade was all for naught— I don’t know how I could’ve ever believed that in the first place, even for a second. How couldn’t I love him, or at least feel as attached to him as I did. It was almost laughable to believe that I could have come to any other conclusion, and as much as I deeply and desperately wanted to keep my feelings a secret, something in me knew I couldn’t anymore. It was too much to keep hidden, especially from him. I just wished I had more time.

Practically the whole team had left soon after we got back and had gathered what was needed for a trip back home. It was late afternoon, and Hotch wanted everyone fresh for the next day anyways. But Spencer just had to be there. Of course, he had to be the one person left there when all I wanted was a chance to gather my thoughts completely alone. And of course, he had to speak.

“Hey,” he called from where he stood at his desk, “Come here for a second?”

My feet shuffled over, barely giving me a chance to say whether or not that’s what I even wanted to do.

“Yeah?” I questioned, getting little-by-little closer to him.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it? You’re being really quiet, that isn’t you.” He looked concerned. I wanted to reach out and touch him. “Was it the case.”

“No, it’s— I’m fine, Spence.” I tried to smile, and I’m certain it looked like a pathetic attempt.

He only raised a brow.

“What?” I sighed.

“You know you can tell me anything, Y/N.” Spencer half smiled with an expectantly raised brow. He stroked my arm gently for a moment before taking a seat in his desk chair.

I breathed in deeply, leaning against the desk where he was.

“I don’t know how to say this,” I almost laughed as I spoke.

He shrugged. “I’m sure whatever it is— it’ll be fine. When has it ever not been?”

I nodded, glancing around as if I would find the courage I needed floating around the room, ready for me to grab hold of. It wasn’t there, though, but I knew I shouldn’t keep him waiting.

“I don’t want to call it love because I’m not convinced that I even know what love is. I will say, though, that I like you Spence. I think about you all the time, and I know nothing is going to come of it. I’ve made peace with that. I made peace with it the moment I really saw you for the first time. When you turned around and smiled at me because neither of us knew what to do on that case in Washington a few months ago. I can play it like a movie in my head. I knew I was screwed, but it’s okay because it has to be.”

“Oh.”

“I couldn’t keep hiding it all. Especially after what happened today, I just couldn’t.”

There was a moment of silence, breath baited as if there were anything left to say. Whatever speck of courage I found while speaking had completely and totally left me. It felt like an eternity before I could speak again.

“I’m sorry. I’m— I should go.”

He nodded, speaking quietly. “Yeah.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, pushing down all of the feelings that were bubbling up inside of me. I nodded back at him, packing up the things I needed at my desk and making a beeline for the door.

The fresh air hit my face and forced me to breathe for the first time, though now a racing heart and eyes welling with tears were in company too. I blinked quickly to try to rid them, and to adjust to the bright sun. Too much had happened in the past 48 hours and all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry. We couldn’t save Rebecca, Spencer almost got shot, and now he probably wouldn’t speak to me again. I could hardly get home without breaking down, and the floodgates opened as soon as I hit the couch in my apartment.

I had pretty much cried myself dry when I heard a knock at my door. I wiped my eyes the best I could and walked over, slowly peeking around the door as I opened it. My heart sank.

“Spence?”

His eyes were wide, and he just looked at me.

“What are you doing here?”

“Are you okay?” He stared as he took in my reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks. I wanted to disappear.

“I’m fine, Spencer. What do you need? I’ve had a long day.” I rubbed at my face absentmindedly.

He swallowed. “I, um— Can, could I come in?”

I nodded and he slid past me, practically sprinting to my couch, and taking a seat. I closed the door and went to go sit next to him. I watched him for a moment, but he still didn’t speak.

“Look, Spencer, I’m sorry for—“

“No.” He shook his head.

I stuttered. “Wh— Excuse me?”

“Uh… After you left, after earlier, I-I talked to Morgan.” He stared at me again as if I had any clue what he was talking about.

“Okay?”

“He…” He breathed out hard before composing himself. “I misunderstood. He, quite literally, smacked some sense into me. I didn’t understand what you were saying, I really didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

I furrowed my brow in confusion. “What do you mean? How was what I said hard to understand?”

“Well, when you said the part about knowing nothing would happen. I don’t— I guess I interpreted that as you didn’t want anything to happen.”

“That’s not…”

“No, I know that now. I know,” he said, scrubbing at his face as he looked away from me. “Um… I don’t know how to say this.”

My heart began racing for a different reason.

“I thought you didn’t want me. Like you felt bad that you liked me but didn’t want to be with me. I just…” He shrugged. “I-I guess I kinda screwed it all up.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He looked to me again, a blush creeping onto his face.

He shook his head as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “I ramble.”

I laughed, unable to keep it in at that point. “You think that would stop me? Spencer, I literally never shut up. Why would I hold that against you? I love when you get excited, even when you’re talking my ear off.”

He smiled, a boyish joy taking over. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I paused. “Spence, you’re amazing. I’ve always thought so. Not to mention you risked your life for me today.”

“Do you— So, you like me?”

“I pretty much gave you a whole confession earlier.”

He looked away, nodding quickly. “I knew it the first time I saw you.”

“You— What? You knew I liked you?”

His brow raised as he glanced back at me. “No! No, I had no clue. I knew I liked you the first time I saw you. You were really nice to me the first time we talked, and I thought you were beautiful. Plus, you’re so smart and funny and you’ve never been mean to me about how much I talk, especially when I remember something about a case or something that has to do with a case that I think could—”

“Spence,” I whispered, scooting in closer to him on the couch. “As much as I love your rambling, I’d really love if you’d just kiss me already.”

He grinned with a little laugh under his breath, leaning in closer.

“Hey.”

I raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“Before we kiss, can I ask you something?”

I tried not to smile. “One question.”

“Would you want to go out with me?”

“Depends on how good this kiss is.”

I started laughing, but was cut short when his lips pressed into mine. His hands grasped my face, pulling me closer. I grabbed his shirt, kissing back with equal fervor. We stayed connected for some time, but it was still shorter than I would have liked: my preferred time would be eternity.

We took a moment to catch our breath, giggling like a couple of kids.

“Was that good enough to date me?” He questioned with a smile.

I ran a hand through his hair, smirking up at him, still practically dazed.

“If I knew it was gonna be that great, I wouldn’t have ever said I’d date you if you did well. Now I think I might have to marry you.”

“Maybe we can try a date first, but I’m open,” he laughed, stroking my cheek. Then his face dropped slightly. “Who’s going to tell the team?”

(EDIT: starting taglists now! let me know if you want to be on any!)

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x you #spencer reid reader insert #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds reader insert #gender neutral reader

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i-am-vita · 6 months

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OPLA hot older guys headcanons

Yesterday was the longest working day I've had in a while and my brain decided to affect my concentration and performance by hyperfixated in one thing only: THE AMOUNT OF HOT OLDER GUYS IN OPLA.

(The highlight of the day being @fanaticsnail based her new Mihawk fic on the dream I had the other day. I can´t still thank you enough! ToT)

So now my brain won't let me live in peace without getting these reader-headcanons into the internet in a kind of kill, marry, kiss way but instead we kiss all of them at one point of our life.

👉 Masterlist, More here.

Warning: mention of sex, drinking and general horny thoughts (?) Probably very bad written since english is not my first language XD

So you, my gentle readers, are a semiretired white collar thief, former first mate of the misterious Phantom Pirates, who had to go into hidding to take care of your little niece after your older sister and her marine husband died in a shipwreck 8 years ago.

You're pretty set in giving your niece a comfortable and peacefull life, like her parents had, but she may have other ideas and be more like yourself than her own mother, because at 18yo she escaped home while you was visiting a neighbour island for business.

Now you're on full mama goose mode, searching for your duckling for the East Blue. And may reaquaint with some interesting men of your past.

Lets get a look at them ;)

Mihawk

Current (VERY) interested. Doesn't know if he wants to behead you or fuck you.

You met during a heist at a marine's party going very bad a year ago. Your crew weren't aware of his attendance to the party (the man hardly attends his own warlord reunions), so you had to make a last minute distraction or you would've been discovered. So distracting Dracule Mihawk by heavy flirting with him and stealing his golden cross-knife was the best you could came up with.

You're an excellent knife wielder but your price habilities are in the infiltrate area so slipping away is kind of your thing. Nobody can keep up with you. Except a very pissed off warlord.

After an action packed chase, filled with you getting under his skin and him almost getting you more times than you're comfortable remembering, you considered it was enough time for the crew to had escape the party, so you released his cross and got the hell out of there leaving a very crossed (hah) Mihawk.

Since you semiretired 8ya, you pulled a job with your old crew from time to time and just if it was a very big score, but your reputation precedes you, and Mihawk managed to connect you with the infamous Phantom Pirates with many other thefts along the Grand Line and even inside Marine Bases in all the Blues.

The thing about the Phantom Pirates is that nobody knows who they are or how they look like. Your captain just known as a white masked man, no name but "Captain of the Phantom Pirates" 150,000,000. Your own wanted posters without photo but a ? and the epitet "The Ghost Rose" 80,000,000. Until now. Mihawk saw enough of you to recognize you if he sees you again but decides against informing the government.

You're his to find and deal with ;)

Kuro

The controlling and toxic angry ex we all should have for drama.

You met during your golden years as a first officer of the Phantoms, your crew and his having a brief alliance to work together several times.

You thought you were perfect for each other, both loving your plans and having similar habilities with knives and speed, but his controlling, manipulating, perfectionist and literal bloody tendencies sour the deal pretty soon.

He didn't see you as an equal but another pawn for his plans, apparently the only one good enough by his standards, but still a pawn. So you dumped his presumptuous ass and sailed away to never see each other again.

You didn't feel a little sorry after hearing of his passing.

Now you have tracked your niece to Syrup Village, the home of some old friends of her parents and whose daughter, Kaya, had keep in contact with through the years but haven't seen since before her own parents passed away.

There you came to know that indeed your niece arrived the day prior just in time for her friend's 18th birthday and, after a very eventfull night, she sailed away with a group of Kaya's new friends and saviors that same morning in a new vessel with a ram's head.

The fact they got acquainted with Kuro himself, who turned to be alive and posing as Kaya's buttler for 3 years, paled in comparison to discover this little group has a boy captain set to sail the Grand Line to find the One Piece. And if the witness of the shipyard got it right, already has a big ass marine ship tailing them.

Judging by their route, they were heading to the Sambas Region and there's only one place to dock there...

Bogard

The what-migh-have-been if he wasn't such a workaholic and you hadn't run away from home.

You met back in your previous life when you were a young debutante set by your parents to settle with a respectable marine husband, like your big sister.

He was just promoted to Garp's right hand despite his youth. Being one of the youngest officers with a promising career.

You were indeed charmed by him, but found yourself suffocating by the idea of a future like your sister's. Even after he confessed his plans of sailing the world and not being opposed to his future wife to be a marine too with him.

You did wanted a life of adventure and liberty, but not as a marine. You rejected his proposal and dissapeared days after. Your family came up with the story of you leaving to be an artist and study with the masters in the continent.

Truly nobody had a clue of you for years until you showed up after hearing of your sister's death to take care of your niece, looking like a well put together and wealthy art dealer.

Shanks

The one you ran away with to a life of piracy.

Days after rejecting Bogard and be sent by your parents to some "vacation" to think better of your life choices, you went to hide from your chaperones in a shaddy bar, full of young confidence that you could deal with it.

Plot twist: you did not. You found yourself in the universal female experience of dealing with guys not accepting a no for an answer and had to be rescued by a charming redhead in a straw hat whom you ran away with that same night after you both stole everything you could from those assholes ship and your chaperone's.

After burning out the initial passion, you and Shanks decided that maybe were better as friends, but still sailed together for a while, you learning everything about pirate life from him until you crossed paths with the Phantom Pirates. Captain Erik, being really impressed by you and your knowledge of the upper society, offered you a place in his crew, which you accepted, and kept training you.

Shanks and you remained good friends over the years, even assisting to his legendary drink parties from time to time. Your crew never having any reason to being enemies and even helping his if they needed intel on something.

Didn't expect to be precisely him to give you "parental advice" after you went looking for him when hearing he was in a nearby island, now minus an arm, and confessed you were semi-retired with a child to take care.

No, the child wasn't from him! Why would his crew would thing that?

Buggy

IT-WAS-JUST-ONE-TIME!!!!

But your stupid crew'd never let you live down that.

Surprinsingly, your Captain Erik and Captain Buggy turned to be very good friends. Both with a flair for dramatics and love for certain aesthetics, but yours being happy with working in the shadows, which suited Buggy perfectly.

Every time your crews crossed paths, it was a full carnival for days. And it was in one of those that it happened.

Even if you like and hold very well your alcohol, that time you were really wasted, having just broke up with Kuro. There was no way you'd had jump the clown's bones otherwise. You had standards!

But who'd have thought that the mad jester was such a charmer while drunk? Whispering dirty while still sweet poetry to your ears. Had his eyes always been so pretty? And those arms looked like they might hold you up without effort...

You woke up in his tent with the worst hangover of your life, naked and with a surprinsingly good recollection of the night before.

Of course you took your clothes and ran away to hide in your quarters for the rest of the day.

Fortunately, Buggy hadn't such a detailed memory of the night prior and assumed he passed it with one of the hired women from the local brothel whom the crew invited to the party.

But of course, your captain saw you leaving Buggy's tent and wouldn't stop teasing you for the rest of your life.

That's it, my gentle readers. The headcanons for today and I'm already regreting it because my head is full of more ideas than ever and my job performance so down that I'm considering just dig its grave XD

👉 More here.

#one piece #one piece live action #opla #opla x reader #opla buggy #opla mihawk #opla kuro #opla bogart #opla shanks #x reader #reader insert #fem reader

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namis-gf · 4 months

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Hii can I get Robin x Reader, where Robin wakes up from a nightmare and reader comforts her? I'd imagine it's set after Enies Lobby

ANON ILY THIS IS SUCH A GOOD REQUEST!!! i was kicking my feet and giggling while writing cause robin is best girl ever and hurt/comfort is my jam

summary: fem!reader and robin sharing a bed for the first time after everything that went down in water 7/enies lobby. for context, reader worked for sir crocodile in alabasta and robin took her along when she boarded the merry (but she was unaware of robin working with the government)

word count: 812 words / 0.8k

cw: none!

there are three beds now, in the girls' cabin on the sunny. you aren't sure if you're relieved or disappointed. the shipwright luffy picked - franky is his name, you think - had done a headcount of every member of the crew before getting to work.

the gulf between each bed feels even larger at night. for the first few nights back at sea, you can hear soft, heart-wrenching noises from across the room. your heart sinks into your stomach from the guilt, making you almost nauseous, but you can't work up the courage to get up and check on her.

robin had lied to you.

yes, you know she'd done it for the greater good. yes, you know she didn't mean any harm by keeping you in the dark. but nico robin has been by your side for as long as you can remember, on the sea and in the scorching sands of alabasta. she was there in your worst and weakest moments, and you cherish her. part of you wishfully thought that she too, felt as though she could confide in you just as equally.

she's crying again tonight. robin has always had issues with sleep, though she used to be much more cryptic and closed off about the origin of the problem. sometimes, back in your homeland, she would crawl into your bed after night-watch. never touching you directly, but her presence was warm and comforting.

you get to your feet and slip past a sleeping nami, heading toward the bed farthest from the door and shrouded in darkness. by the time you attempt to make an awkward approach, she is already awake and silently watching.

"i missed you," you whisper quietly, extending the olive branch.

before you can try and come up with something else to say, two hands brusquely push against your back. the motion sends you falling forwards, a familiar laugh and the scent of flowers awaiting. she pulls you close, your face red red red from embarrassment.

"it was about time you came to check on me," robin hums, an errant hand summoned by the devil fruit's magic combing through your hair. "one would almost think you were angry."

"i'm not angry," you grumble. "i was worried. for a smartypants, you've been making real stupid decisions of late. that new captain must be a bad influence."

"it wasn't stupid," she replies, sounding lost in thought. "i did what i had to do. if it came down to it, i was ready to go."

"that's the fucking problem! you convinced yourself you were ready, and-"

"i wanted to live, yes."

"well thank god," you huff indignantly, rolling over so you can face her properly. "i would've been pissed if you dragged me all this way just to go and die like a loser."

she chuckles again, the sound music to your ears. "what was it, mr. 0 used to say all the time? right, yes. we don't lose."

"and die winners?" you finish the familiar saying, "he was always so full of shit. the hell does that even mean? If you're dead, you lose. game over."

robin's breath seems to be evening out, and the throes of sleep are working to snare you too. but you came here for a reason, and you won't just let her ignore the problem any longer. "what were you dreaming about?"

"oh, i don't know," she says, flippant. if you could make out her face in the dark, you're sure she'd be smiling at your imminent frustration. "i never really remember my dreams."

“ever?" you echo disbelievingly, "that's nuts. just yesterday i woke up from an awful nightmare about the captain trying to boil my hair like spaghetti."

"sounds yummy," she presses close to you, now, and her two real arms circle around your shoulders. "but i'm afraid my dreams are top secret, frontier agent miss thursday."

"don't pull that garbage rank on me! you know i'm worth more than... eleventh," you say the last word with enough distaste that robin starts giggling again.

"no offence," robin says, in the voice that means she's about to be totally mean. "but i think your former rank had more to do with uh- how do i put it- your tendency to dispose of your partners."

“it's not my fault he was a dummy and couldn't defend himself," you argue back, mostly for the fun of it. "i really think they underestimated my grand potential."

"well that's why i took you with me, of course," she soothes, and you laugh a little yourself at the insincerity. "i'm serious though, i sleep better with you around. so you are hereby forbidden to leave."

"aye," you snort, raising a wobbly arm in mock salute. nico robin may be a total mystery, but you were raised persistent. and persist you fucking will, until she lets you into her heart.

#one piece #one piece x reader #nico robin x reader #nico robin #requests open #fem!reader #nico robin x fem!reader #baroque works

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noirflms · 11 months

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୧ ˚₊ CONTACT — shidou ryusei

finding out that his contact name in your phone is just his full government name.

he knows it’s stupid to be sad on such a trivial thing but he can’t help but feel like a child who has lost his candy , but finding that his contact name in your phone is just his full government name , that was given to him by his mother at birth and you haven’t even put an emoji next to it , not even a ‘<3’ , and it is heartbreaking to find out.

“ ryu , i’m so sorry baby. ” you tell the man child , his eyes not meeting yours , he has his jaw clenched as his eyes are set on the television that plays ahead of the two of you. your eyes do not leave his face but your hands reach out for the remote and switch it off as you put your face in front of him.

“ oh come on baby , it’s just a contact name. ” you try and this gets him to look at you , his eyes looking into yours and you jut out your bottom lip and look at him , “ but it is my whole government name , not even ryusei or ryu!? ” he hollers and you want to laugh at the way his face contorts into one like an injured puppy.

“ oh baby! i’ll change it , look i’ll write ryu and put a red a heart next to it! ” you reassured the male , as he looks at you opening your phone , pressing the contact list but god forbid his eagle eyes — he saw oliver’s name in your contact list with a emoji , a coloured heart emoji and if knowing you had his phone number as his government name was bad then finding his teammates name with an emoji was devastating.

“ you have oliver’s name with a heart!? and i was saved in your contact with my government name?! ” you almost fall off the couch at his declaration , hand flailing above his head as he looks at you for answers , knowing that at least it was the full name but now seeing an emoji next to his teammates name was heart wrenching.

“ he saved it on his own , love. and i didn’t change your name in my phone since the time we exchanged it for the first time. ” and as if your answer was some sort of prophecy , his world comes to a halt as he looks at you with beady eyes , and you wonder if you had made him malfunction with delivering an answer he wished to know.

but he pulls out his phone and you watch him tap his fingers on the screen , his face emotionless as you watch his fingers do something and then the screen is turned towards you and you catch the contact name — my world it read with several emojis all demarcating love and you knew it was yours in the moment and you felt guilty of not changing it because of your laziness.

“ ryu , that’s so sweet of you. ” you begin pressing a kiss to his cheek as you pull him to your side and it is then he melts in your arms nuzzling his head into shoulder , sighing heavily finding home within the warm hold of yours. “ now you gotta change my name now , this won’t suffice. ” he mutters into your shoulder but you hear him loud and clear , his hold tightening around you as you laugh lightly.

“ i should let you do it. ” you offered and with the speed he looked at you , you think you might regret the decision but it is for the happiness of your dear boyfriend that you let him indulge in this moment , holding in your laughter as he snatches the phone from you hand and editing his contact in your phone ( he even edits oliver’s name — turning it emojiless ).

it is the next time you take full notice of the name he had saved in your phone when he calls you while you were out on dinner with a few office colleagues and you read the name saved — the love of my life and my king ryu with red heart at the beginning and the end and you had never felt the need to laugh at his childishness.

but at least he thinks and is assured you think he is the love of your life and you think so too.

and maybe soon you’ll have a surname to share as well as you chuckle softly and pick up the phone call to hear the voice of the love of your life — and he sounds as jovial as he ever does , enthusiastic as he always is.

shidou ryusei is a man child in my mind , even though he is the demon of football in bllk.

#౨ৎ ⋆˚｡⋆ 𝒔.tamped #i’d love a shidou ryusei please 🙏😩#i’m feral for him 😩😩😫#blue lock #bllk shidou #shidou ryusei #bllk manga #bllk scenarios #bllk imagines #bllk drabbles #shidou x reader #shidou fluff #shidou imagines #shidou ryusei fluff #shidou x y/n #bllk x reader #x reader

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tillystealeaves · 3 months

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Steddie Fic- Part 1: Breakup

I don't know what to title this thing, but it's a 3 part story and this is Part 1. Hope you enjoy!!!!

Steve stood in the living room, not knowing what to do with himself. Eddie would be here soon. Eddie was working that day, at the music store in the town next to Hawkins (where people didn’t care so much about the Hawkins rumor mill), and his shift ended at 4, which meant Eddie would be getting to Steve’s house by around 4:30 because Steve had invited him over, and it was 4:15 now, so Eddie should be here any minute, and if it was a normal night Steve would probably be pulling something out of the oven but tonight-

Steve stopped himself. He took a breath. He couldn’t allow his mind to go on tangents like that or he was going to word-vomit all over Eddie.

Eddie, who would be arriving any minute.

Steve had thought for a long time about whether he wanted to have this conversation in his house. If he wanted the memories of this to be burned into his mind every time that he walked through his living room. But his house was already full of so many ghosts. Barb sat perpetually at the edge of his pool, his mother cried over a glass of wine at the kitchen counter, and his father was… everywhere. Always telling Steve how everything he did was somehow a stain on the Harrington name.

Besides, the alternative was to do this at Eddie’s house and that… he couldn’t do that. Eddie had been living for less than a year in the new double-wide trailer supplied by the government. His old home, even if it hadn’t been ripped to shreds, would have been forever filled with the ghost of Chrissy. Steve couldn’t make bad memories for Eddie in his new one. (Though he was fairly sure that Eddie wouldn’t be particularly haunted by this conversation anyway.)

And then there was the fact that over the past eight months since the Spring Break from Hell, Eddie’s new trailer had come to mean something to Steve. It felt like… home. Like the way a home should feel, in the way his own never had. It felt lived in, even though it was new. With Wayne’s mug collection and replacement posters tacked up on Eddie’s wall. With music playing or the TV on mute in the living room, coffee brewing in the kitchen because between Eddie’s and Wayne’s work schedule, it was always breakfast time for someone. Steve had felt welcomed there. Safe. Like he belonged. He refused to poison those memories for himself with what was about to happen.

“Stevie?”

Eddie’s voice pulled Steve from his thoughts. He wondered if Eddie had just let himself in or if he’d been knocking for minutes with no answer. Well, Steve figured he could always blame his damaged hearing if Eddie complained about waiting too long.

“Hey Eds.”

Eddie was smiling, warm and easy. Steve tried to freeze the moment in his mind. Sometimes memories were getting lost inside his head- the doctors said it would continue to happen, a side effect of too many head injuries. But Steve swore to himself that he would never let his brain lose this image of Eddie so happy just from arriving at Steve’s house.

Almost as soon as Steve had made a note to remember Eddie’s smile, it vanished. Suddenly, Eddie looked concerned. He approached Steve and put his hands on his shoulders. His long fingered hands, warm, with calluses that that had ghosted over Steve’s arms, his back, his hair- Steve bit the inside of his cheek and pulled himself back into the moment. “What’s up, Steve? You look… less like a ray of sunshine than usual. Something wrong? Is it a migraine?”

Steve stepped back, outside of Eddie’s grip. “No, my head’s fine. I just… can we talk for a minute?”

Eddie sank down on the couch and immediately began fiddling with his rings, his head angled so that his hair was falling in front of his face. “Yeah, of course we can. Um… did I do something wrong?”

His voice sounded so small. Gods, Steve didn’t know if he would be able to do this if Eddie was going to be sad. The whole point was to make Eddie happy- not tonight, of course. Steve knew tonight would sting. But it wouldn’t hurt Eddie. And in the long run, Eddie would be happy. He would be-

“Stevie? You’re sort of scaring me, baby. Did something bad happen? Like, Upside Down bad?”

“No,” Steve answered quickly. He rushed to the couch and sat down, putting his hand reassuringly on Eddie’s knee. (He ignored the voice in his head whispering that this might be the last moment that they touched.) “No, it’s nothing like that. I just-” He had to just do it. He had to put words to what he wanted least in the world, but what he knew was the right thing. “I think we need to stop this thing between us.”

Steve dared to glance up at Eddie, but found that he couldn’t see anything of his expression. His right hand pulled his hair across his face and into his mouth while his left hand fiddled frantically with the rips on his jeans. “Okay.” Eddie’s voice was thick. Was he going to cry? Steve didn’t think this would make him cry. “If that’s what you want, of course, ba- Steve. But is there anything I can do to fix it? I mean, could you maybe tell me what’s not working for you and I can do it better?”

“You didn’t do anything, Eds,” Steve assured him. Eddie had to know that this was absolutely not his fault. It was Steve’s fault, 100%. “It’s just… when two people want different things out of a relationship, someone’s going to end up unhappy. And I don’t want to ever make you unhappy.”

“I’m not unhappy!” Eddie protested. He looked up and even through his hair, Steve could see his eyes were red and wet. Steve looked down at the floor. “Are you unhappy? What am I doing to make you unhappy?”

Steve swallowed past the burning lump in his throat. He really hadn’t expected Eddie to put up a fight. He had expected him to agree, maybe give him a parting hug or maybe say that he was relieved that Steve hadn’t made Eddie have to do this himself. He had hoped that Eddie would say they could still be friends, or at minimum be cool with each other for the sake of the kids. But if this is what Eddie needed from him, he could spell it out.

“You’re not doing anything to make me unhappy. Look, I talked to Robin about this a lot, trying to figure out the best way to handle it. She said I couldn’t keep avoiding it by just wishing that we could stay this way forever. Sometimes, one person in a relationship just expects more out of it than what it is. And if they don’t talk about it, that person is going to get their heart broken. And the other person is going to get sick of them. I don’t want that for us. I don’t want resentment or hurt feelings or- I just think we should stop this where it is. It’s been so great, Eddie.” Steve heard his voice break at that; he hoped Eddie hadn’t noticed. “It’s been really good, but I think we should stop it here before it turns into something bad.”

With his eyes still pointed resolutely at the carpet, Steve could only feel Eddie nod. He heard Eddie take a deep, shaky breath and then felt the couch lift as Eddie stood. “Okay, yeah. Message received. I’ll get out of your hair. Um… bye, Steve.”

Steve didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. Even with his terrible hearing, every step Eddie took towards the door reverberated through his head and his chest and his heart. He stayed motionless, barely breathing, as the front door squeaked open and clicked shut. It was only when the sound of Eddie’s rickety van faded that he fell forward onto the couch- still warm from Eddie’s body- and allowed himself to sob.

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #breakup #breakup fic #miscommunication

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notyour-valentine · 2 years

Text

Welcome to Downton, Mr Shelby 3 ~ Tommy Shelby x OC series

[Masterlist] [Taglist] [Series Masterlist]

Summary: Tommy and Charlotte meet again, where they both least expect

Note: Thank you so much for the positive feedback - Tommy has some making up to do, but will he even get to it?

I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Warning: Physical violence. Expect canon conforming tone and mention of violence. I am of age and so my content is created for that intended audience. If you are a minor, please leave. Your media consumption is your own responsibility.

Wordcount: 4881 words

Part 3

[Previously]

Before he had even fully passed the threshold, the scent of potatoes, of boiled vegetables and salty broth filled his nose.

Thomas Shelby would never order soup or stew at a restaurant. He had had his fill in his lifetime, thin, more often than not, and stretched with all sorts of things he’d rather not think of now. But it had been better than nothing and even now there was some comfort to be found in it- simple, honest food to keep your belly full and your limbs warm.

More than many could want.

And these men were more than glad for it.

“Our volunteers prepare and serve the food, which is paid for by our patrons.”

“Patrons?”, he asked, as he followed the steps of the woman past the thick old wooden tables, trying to let his eyes linger on the faces and not the stumps.

Mrs. Wollerston was her name a woman of about fifty, who looked like he imagined every headmistress in history had ever looked, not that he had ever seen one, with thin lips, small eyes and a long black dress.

Officially, it was under the patronage of the church, but they only sported the location.

The rest was done, as always, by uncredited women in the shadows.

Apparently the Anglicans in London were no different than the Catholics in Birmingham when it came to that.

“Oh yes.”, she continued, her large keychain clinking with every step. “We are lucky to have the support of an association of charitable Ladies based in London, who have taken the fundraising upon themselves.”

“No government involvement?”, he wanted to know.

It wasn’t a bad place, no. It was clean and large, if a bit cold, but not too bad.

For the summer.

In winter, the real problems would start.

Mrs. Wollerston shook her head. “No, unfortunately not.”

So they let the men fight for them but don’t feed them after.

He wasn't surprised.

They were a sorry lot, sporting lost limbs, blinded eyes, and burned faces, some wearing little more than rags. One man had a large stick instead of a proper crutch.

And Tommy looked at their faces.

The dead were being praised with words like “We shall remember them” but those that came back, had been forgotten.

Poor bastards, he thought, if they had died for their king he would have treated them with more kindness.

Alive, they were useless, a burden.

Dead, they would have been heroes and a credit to the nation.

“I’ll show myself around.”, he told her and turned away without waiting for a response.

Tommy approached the large table at the back, where volunteers were handing out the food. They seemed to have been served some meat stew and sliced bread.

It wasn’t anything fancy, but it looked decent enough.

From the other side of the long queue, he could see two women coming from the back, one holding a jug of water, the other a cup of tea.

For a split second he thought his mind was playing a trick on him, especially as she now had her back turned, prohibiting him from seeing her face.

But it was still enough.

Her hair was pulled back by a white hairband to keep it out of the way, not unsimilar to the ones the nurses wore. She was wearing an apron over a simple dark green dress.

But her shoes, brown leather shoes looked to be brand new, polished to a shine, with not a single scratch to be seen. Her stockings were real and not drawn on, with not the slightest nick or scratch.

Tommy knew expensive things when he saw them.

Walking back along the queue, he followed her to where the other men were sitting, watching her do their rounds.

By the time he got to hear her voice, there was no doubt.

She wore no jewellery apart from small studs he only saw occasionally when the light hit it, which wasn't rare but fleeting, as she moved around quickly.

“Good day Mr. Hubert.”, she said to the one armed man who sat in the corner of a table-

“G’day.”, he replied.

“Would you like to have a refill on your tea?”

“Yes please.”

She then moved on to a Mr. Verser apparently, who didn’t want tea but told her that the phantom pains in his leg got worse.

“I’m very sorry to hear that.”, she told him, before serving another veteran.

They seemed to like her, or at least liked what they saw.

Perhaps they knew who she was and felt flattered, or perhaps they were relieved that someone actually looked at them, and didn’t shrink away at the sight of their scars.

Her voice, he noted, was just as bright and chirpy as he remembered it, as if she was talking to the handsome Patrick Melbourne and not the scarred Mr Vesper who had lost his cheek and ear to the flames.

Then she saw him and for a split second her eyes widened in alarm, but then the discipline of her class reined in her emotions.

She wouldn’t have made him want to get under her skin more if she tried.

So he did try.

“I don’t have a cup.”, he said, as he approached her, meeting her between two of the wooden tables that sat three men on each side.

“Eva hands them out to the veterans.”, she explained, the essence of chilly politeness and cold professionalism.

“I am a veteran.”, he reminded her, his hands pushed deep in his pockets.

She looked him up and down.

“But I don’t believe you to be a charity case, Mr. Shelby.”

He couldn't argue with that, and very nearly smirked.

When she moved on, he followed.

“What are you doing here?”, he wanted to know, nodding around the room.

It was no place for a lady, at least not the kind of place one would go to look for one.

“Pouring tea, as you can see.", she explained, as she made her way towards the other desk.

“Why?”

She built herself up to her full height and glared at him, her eyes burning in an icy fury.

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Shelby. But I’d hate to keep everyone waiting.”

With that, she brushed him off like a piece of dust and walked away, not even bothering to storm off, which irked him more than it should.

He was still watching her when Mrs Wollerston joined him.

“Are you satisfied, Mr. Shelby?”, she wanted to know.

"I am considering a donation to your organisation.", He told her, seeing no need for niceties and games.

Besides, she wanted something from him.

"We feel honoured. A war hero like yourself-"

He inhaled sharply as the hair on the back of his neck stood and his shoulder muscles tensed.

"I'd like to talk to some people first to get a better impression of how things work here."

The old woman's eyes widened.

"O-oh.", She mumbled, clearly not liking the sound of that, but what could she do? It was his money after all. "Well, I would recommend-"

"Charlotte Crawley."

"The Lady C-Charlotte?", She asked, utterly baffled now.

"Yes.", He said. "I know her and I'd like to talk to her."

I know she’s a terrible liar.

She swallowed hard and nodded, already on her way to fetch her.

"Actually no.", He said suddenly, "Let her finish. I'll wait."

He wasn't more important than his companions who had taken more serious wounds than he had. Besides, that would give him the time to talk to them too.

And so Tommy Shelby sat down at one of the tables among them.

All too soon the stories came back, the usual questions.

Where were you? Under whom? How did you get it?

He hated talking about France, even thinking about it, but he could talk with the men here.

It was as if they all spoke a language no one else had ever learned.

They understood the things they said and the things they didn't.

But he made sure he wasn't talking when she was anywhere close, same way he did when Ada, Finn or Polly were around.

And he also watched her, her smiles and her chatter, the way she was so bright around them, so caring and unafraid.

If she was working for him and wasted that amount of time, he’d have fired her, but if she was his waitress, he would have tipped her well.

As time passed, the room cleared bit by bit until only a few people remained and the girls started cleaning up.

"Now would be a good time.", He told Mrs. Wollerston.

The woman looked like sour milk in light of his instructions, but she nodded and strode over to Charlotte, telling her to come.

And she did.

With her shift nearly over, her hair was left a lot more untidy than he had seen before.

During the riding weekend she had been perfectly groomed like the rest of the ladies and the horses, but now a few strands had become loose and the stray hairs had freed themselves.

And she was still wearing that apron.

It made her look more homely, more approachable and somehow more vulnerable. Not like a great lady at all.

"You really have waited.", She said. "I am surprised."

"So am I. To see you here."

Charlotte glanced down at her hands, which she held in front of her chest.

"Well I am."

"Why?"

"To help of course.", She said at once. “We owe these men a great debt of gratitude.”

He huffed and pulled out his cigarette case.

Always these words, these fucking words.

He had heard them more times than he could count, and would give less than the dirt under his shoes for them. He had not believed them, not once.

It was not like he didn’t believe she meant what she said, but she couldn’t understand - how could she? How could anyone?

He brought the cigarette to his lips and let it relax the muscles on his back that had tensed without him knowing, and watched her through the smoke like it was some veil.

But was it a veil that hid the world from her that hadn’t been lifted or one that had been placed over him after France?

She stared at him from a mask of unreadable emotion as if her likeness had already been captured by an artist, ready to hang in a family home for all eternity.

She wouldn’t crack, not until he pushed her.

“How did you find this place?”, he wanted to know, tapping his cigarette.

"My aunt is one of the patrons, Lady Rosamund Painswick."

It was one of the names that had been mentioned by Mrs. Wollerston earlier, as if it had some great meaning, but he didn’t care.

"That's her. What about you?"

Charlotte glared at him.

"Are you always this forward?", she demanded to know.

He stared at her for a second.

"Yeah."

She huffed slightly.

"I don’t want to impose, but it can come across as quite inconsiderate."

Maybe I'm forward but you are not. Not a straight answer if a distraction or a change of topic will do.

Her hands gave her away again, only this time they weren’t tapping. Now she was clutching them together tightly to prevent just that. If she had worn dinner gloves, he wouldn’t have seen the thin white lines under her fingers. But her hands were bare now, and there wasn't even a place to hide them.

Her voice, however, sounded unaffected as he lifted her gaze again, after almost half a minute of silence.

“If this is some sort of display of power to make me apologise for our last encounter,”, she said sharply, “I refuse to. I stand by what I said.”

He had expected nothing less.

“However,”, she continued, wringing her hands before pressing it to her chest, touching something under the fabric.

“I was made aware that you are interested in becoming a donor.”

Tommy huffed in approval.

She inhaled sharply and he could see she wasn’t exactly enjoying this conversation my her hands alone.

“I’d hope you wouldn’t let our past differences stand in the way stand in the way of that.”

She glanced down at her hands and smoothed down the apron.

“It wouldn’t.”, he assured her, before letting the silence take over again, not missing the slight breath of relief that went through her.

So it really was important to her.

It was Charlotte who broke the silence, after she had been avoiding to meet his gaze.

“Might I ask why you wanted to see to me of all people?”, she asked impatiently. “Since you have clearly no intention of talking to me.”

That tugged at his lips once more.

Good question indeed.

And one he didn’t have an answer to.

When she realised he wouldn’t have a response, she sighed.

“Well, I hope your visit was enlightening but I do need to to get on.”

He dismissed her with a nod and got up, and taking another drag of his cigarette, watched her walk off.

She looked almost normal now, with a simple dress and an apron, hair that wasn’t perfect, and hands that weren’t hidden in gloves.

Like an ordinary girl.

Tommy Shelby put the cigarette out forcefully and left without another word.

But before he got back to his office, he stopped by the library.

“Ada?”, he shouted, his voice booming across the arched hall.

“Ada, where are you?”

He ignored all the “Shhs!” and outraged shaking of heads as he passed, his footsteps alone louder than any conversation they might have had.

“Are you mad?”, She snapped, crossing her arms over her chest as she saw him, standing on some ladder.

“You can’t just come in here like that!”

“Well I just did, eh.”, Tommy said, offering her a hand as she climbed down.

Ada ignored it.

Well enough.

“I need you to find me anything you can about the Crawley family.”

Ada pursed her lips.

“Tommy - I don’t work for you!”, she reminded him sharply.

“Yeah but you work for the library, so get me the stuff, just like you got me the other ones.”

“That was a favour!”, she hissed, before her features softened. “And a thank you for the house.”

A couple of books and a lot of newspapers for a house, eh?

“Just get it for me.”, he tried.

“Will you at least tell me why? Are they to do with-”

“No.”, he said quickly. “At least not more than any other family.”

Since they all married each other there wasn’t much to go around.

“Crawley family,”, he repeated. “Their title is Earl of Grantham and they have a…castle in Yorkshire. I need to know about them.”

He couldn’t exactly ask May. The last time he had relied on her for that kind of information, it had ended poorly for him, although he couldn’t put that on her.

“Earls?”, Ada gasped. “Seriously, Tommy? What kind of business do you have with an Earl now?”

He didn’t respond to that.

After all, he didn’t know himself yet- he just…had to know.

“So get me the books and get me the newspapers. Alright?”

She stared up at him in disapproval and clicked her tongue.

“Please?”, he asked impatiently.

“Fine. But you’re not taking them to Birmingham. You can look at them at my house.”

He could feel her disapproval as he stormed off, but that didn’t change things.

“What are you upto Tommy?”, she called, but he didn’t answer. He wasn’t even sure himself yet.

He returned to the soup kitchen nearly a week after, but that did not mean his thoughts hadn't wandered there earlier.

Once he had arrived, he immediately scanned the room for the now familiar frame.

And Tommy surprised himself when he realised he was glad to see her. This time it was her that helped carry the trays of those that could no longer balance properly.

If he didn’t know, he wouldn’t have thought she was different to the girl cutting the bread, and the woman handing out tea, or the other one who took the dishes away.

Only he knew now and he wouldn’t forget.

… first mention in 1273 of Sir Ralph de Craule in the service of Edward I…

It was like he was staring history in the face.

… 1539 made Viscounts Downton by Henry VIII….

But she was wearing the same apron, the same cloth on her hair, so one could have thought she was, but she wasn't. She was similar but not the same.

…elevated to Earls of Grantham by King George III in 1772…

As he entered, Mrs. Wollerstons rushed towards him.

“Mr. Shelby, I feared we would have heard the last of you.”, she greeted, sweat on her brow.

“No.”, he said, only slowly turning to look at her.

“Then have you decided?”

“Yes.”

The silence made her quiver and smile nervously.

“I think we should sit down somewhere to discuss the details.”, he said.

“Of course, of course, Mr. Shelby. Follow me.”

As he walked along the lines of tables, he felt a pair of eyes on him. When he reached the small door to the back, he turned and saw her looking at him. And he met her gaze for a moment, and a moment more than she seemed to be comfortable with, as she quickly averted her eyes and hurried along.

Only then, did he enter.

It was a small office, but furnished with a lot more money than would have been necessary. The office chair was leather, the carafe looked like crystal.

As she sat down behind the desk, he took his place in front of it, watching her put down her glasses.

Soon she was telling him about other donors and patrons, the influence of the church and more.

“Would your donation be regular?”, she asked. “Monthly perhaps, or weekly?”

“Perhaps.”

She raised her eyebrow.

“I will pay in cash.”, he finally said. “You’ve got the food sorted but these men also need clothes, shoes and other things like - ah - soap and cigarettes.”

“Oh the church won’t like that.”, she argued.

Tommy fished the cigarette case out of his pocket and put one between his lips.

“I am not the church.”, he said, smoke escaping his lips.

Wollerston's nose wrinkled, but kept her lips firmly shut.

If money talks the world listens, eh?

“I think that would be a possibility.”, she finally said.

“Ah will it?”, Tommy asked, feigning surprise.

“You see, we are usually focussed on providing the men with what they need.”

“And they need cigarettes.”

Her jaw clenched so hard, he thought it might snap.

“I presume arrangements can be made for care packages.”

He stared at her as he took another drag.

“Including cigarettes.”

They stared at each other, but it was her that broke first.

Obviously.

So Tommy took the next step.

“Make a list of content for these care packages including prices. Send it to this address.”

He placed a business card on the table. “We will review the list and make changes. Then you will know the extent and frequency of my donation.”

Mrs. Wollerston’s face was so sour, he was prepared for an amusing lecture when she opened her mouth, but then they heard a crash coming from the hall. And screaming- panicked, half mad, animalistic screaming.

It was a sound, Tommy knew all too well.

The cigarette slipped from his fingers and was forgotten before it hit the ground as he rushed out of the office and into the mayhem in the hall.

A table had been toppled, spreading food, cutlery and broken dishes over the floor.

One chair had snapped a leg and was laying shattered against the wall.

The men had done their best to move away and give him space, their faces white with fear and their eyes wide.

They knew what it was, as did he. There was no soldier in the world who didn’t recognise this.

The man, who was in the middle of it wasn’t particularly tall nor strong, more a wiry build with a fallen face. He was hiding behind the toppled table, screaming on the top of his lungs, his eyes staring a thousand yards away into the distance.

One of the men walked up to him.

“You need to stop that!”

When he touched his shoulder, the man lashed out, tackling him and slamming him against the wall.

And Tommy clicked into action.

He knew what needed to be done. He had done it too many times before.

Coming up right behind, he wrapped his arms around the other man’s shoulders from behind and pulled him up, away from the poor sod who had gotten involved without truly knowing what to do.

The man was thrashing and kicking violently, and he had trouble even holding onto him.

But for now he had to get him away from the other man, as the shrill shrieking rang in his ears.

“Oi,”, Tommy bellowed, his voice cutting through the screams. “What’s his name?”

“Wilkins.”, one responded, sending him in even a madder state.

Trying to control him was like trying to ride a mad horse and Tommy was slowly slipping of the saddle.

“His first name!”, he roared, pushing the man towards the wall, and putting his whole weight into it.

“Harry!”, came from somewhere.

It fucking better be Harry, Tommy thought, trapping him between his body and the wall.

“Harry? Harry, it’s alright!”, he shouted into his ear, his nose brushing against the sweaty, greasy strands of his hair.

“You’re not in France, you’re in England, eh? You’re back.”

He grunted as he caught a kick to his knee and loosened his grip for but a moment. While it wasn’t enough for the man to slip his grip, it was enough for him to bring them both crashing to the ground.

When he landed on top of him, it forced the air from his lungs.

Tommy tried to turn, to get him off of him and to subdue him on the floor, but he was thrashing so violently, it was all he could do not to let go of him. At least this way only he was getting hit and not some other veteran who couldn’t properly defend themselves.

Between his inability to properly breathe from the weight on his chest, his thrashing and the screaming, he didn’t notice until it was too late.

“Stay clear!”, he bellowed at her just as Harry Wilkins caught her with a wild arm to the shoulder, knocking her onto her back. She caught herself with her hands but wasn’t deterred for long.

This time she approached from behind both their heads and not from the side like before.

But it was the same with horses - if one approached them from where they can’t see it always ended badly.

“I said stay clear!”, he roared, but she didn’t listen. Instead she knelt down behind his head and reached forward, taking the man’s face in between her trembling hands.

It was like trying to catch a rabid dog, but she succeeded after a while.

“Hush.”, she told him, clasping the sides of his head. “Hush, Harry.”

Her voice was soft and breathy, and only he and Tommy could hear.

“Hush, Harry. You’re safe. You’re home.”

Harry began to shake his head violently.

“No. No, no, no, no. They’re coming. They’re here. I know it. They’re here soon!”

She has him talking!

That was a good sign if ever there was one. After all mad men couldn’t talk.

“No one’s coming.”, she assured him. “You’re safe. I promise!”

Tommy felt the other man’s thrashing slow down.

“You promise?”, he whispered, shaking violently.

“Of course I promise, Harry. I’m right here and you are safe. We are both safe.”

“We’re safe?”, he asked. “We’re safe?”

“Yes, we are, Harry. You’re safe. I’m safe. And we are home.”

When the sobs came, Tommy let his head fall back onto the cold ground and exhaled, still holding onto the man.

But he too could relax his grip.

Other men came and with her, helped pick him up.

“Come now, it’s alright.”

Another tried to help Tommy up, but he did so himself, walking to the edge of the wall and bracing himself in his knees, one hand resting against the old stone. It was the cold that calmed him.

Fuck, he thought, taking a moment to catch his breath.

It never got easier.

Wiping his brow with his sleeve, he coughed.

Even while he was still facing the wall, he could pinpoint the moment when the realisation of what he did fully hit the man as a flurry of apologies escaped his lips, mixed with hiccups sobs.

“Take him to the back.”, Mrs. Wollerston instructed.

Tommy was surprised to see her get involved, but she put her arm around the man, who left the room sobbing.

The veterans and the volunteers seemed to be in a competition about who was paler, all avoiding eye contact. After all that noise, the silence was deafening.

But then it was Charlotte who spoke up, stepping into the middle of the room with her hands behind her back. Her heels made strange clicking sounds on the floor, echoing through the silent hall.

“Goodness.”, she said, her voice loud and surprisingly confident, even if it was a bit breathless, placing her right hand on her chest. “Why don’t you take a seat again and we will bring you all a cup of tea. I think we'd all fancy a cup.”

With a nod to the other girls they hurried to move the chairs from the toppled table to the others, before helping them sit down.

With the adrenaline still pulsing through his body, rage began to boil in the pit of his stomach.

“You!”, Tommy snarled, storming over to her, his heart still racing.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her back, away from the others. She was having problems keeping up, her shoes scraping on the floor as he dragged her away.

She flinched as he pushed her against the wall.

“That,”, he told her, hissing the words as he glared down at her “was fucking foolish!”

Her eyes widened but she didn’t look shocked. She looked angry now.

“I told you to get back and you didn’t!”

I ordered you.

She was only a foolish little girl and no match for a man that size, let alone in that state.

Didn’t she know what could have happened? He could have her on her back in no time, could have strangled her or bashed her head in like a melon and there would have been nothing he or anyone else could have done-

Foolish, stupid, naive- She lifted her chin to meet his eyes but at the same time he felt as if she was looking down at him.

“Indeed, I did not.”, she said, “But I’m very grateful for your assistance, Mr. Shelby.”

With that, she freed her arm and walked back to the others, her hands under her apron.

Tommy leaned his back against the wall and lit another cigarette.

Then he dug into his coat pocket and pulled out the refill packet and the matches.

“Oi.”, he called to get their attention, before tossing them both at a table of veterans.

They needed them too and mumbled their thanks.

The talks from before had vanished completely, as had the appetite.

While the volunteers served the veterans, he glanced over at the wreckage, trying to calm his racing heart.

The chair was firewood now, but the table only toppled. The plates were shattered, the food spread. The glasses were done for too, shattered to a thousand pieces. The food was spilled and spoiled, but it wasn’t like water and a mop couldn’t remove the stains of stew and - fuck

“Thank you very much for intervening.”, Mrs. Wollerston said, coming up behind him.

He nodded without sparing her a second chance.

“He alright?”

“He’s shaken.”

That’s a word for it.

“Is he hurt?”, Tommy wanted to know, his eyes never leaving the floor.

“I-I don’t think so.”, she admitted. “A few bruises perhaps.”

Tommy responded with silence, letting smoke escape his lips.

“Any cuts?”, he asked.

“No.”

Tommy nodded and dropped the cigarette to the floor, finishing it off with his shoes, a mere inches from the evidence.

Then he walked back over to Charlotte, who had her right hand on the back of a veteran.

When she saw him, she turned, glancing at him unsure.

Her other hand was in her apron pocket.

“Lady Charlotte,”, he said, making sure to be polite this once. She had earned it.

“I want to apologise for snapping at you earlier.”, he said, stretching out his hand for a handshake.

His left hand.

She glanced at it, then at him, her own hands still concealed.

"Thank you, Mr. Shelby.", She tried, offering him a smile.

He glanced at her and then back at his still outstretched hand, as her eyes widened in the realisation.

“Show me.”

End of Part 3

Part 4

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed and as always I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Taglist

Overall

@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox @watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight @lilyevanswhore @polishcrazyone @zablife @just-a-harmless-patato @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @babayaga67

Tommy

@knowledgefulbutterfly @babayaga67 @signorellisantichrist @lespendy @geeksareunique @look-at-the-soul

#peaky blinders #downton abbey #peaky blinders / downton abbey #peaky blinders x downton abbey #peaky blinders downton abbey crossover #peaky blinders imagine #downton abbey imagine #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfic #Welcome to Downton Mr Shelby #wtdms #valentineswritings #downton abbey x peaky blinders #downton abbey / peaky blinders

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kirchefuchs · 1 year

Note

I am in my uniform as I am typing this in my notes but like

Fear.

It's a common emotion triggered by a handful of situations. Gun pointed at you? Fear. The existential dread of knowing that you're about to die at any second? Fear. Just barely escaping the tragic fate of falling down the stairs? Fear. Hearing your mother angrily yell out your full government name in the middle of the night? Fear.

And that got me thinking:

Sure, love is a fantastical emotion, and yes, love is amazing when it comes to sentience and all.. but fear?

Fear is what keeps our minds on the edge of a breakdown. Fear is one of the emotions that can drastically change your heartbeat in a matter of seconds. Fear keeps you stuck in a spiral of acceptance and reluctance — but only when you're sentient enough to feel the effects.

In regards to my previous asks.. what if Pollux gained sentience through fear?

Because an AI like him shouldn't be afraid outside of what he was coded to be scared of. Fear — a natural response — is treated as a scripted entity for The Narrator's sake.

I just got that thought, y'know? What scenario could scare The Narrator so bad that it pulls the Pollux we all know outside of his scripted shell? What situation could force a string of panic out of those lines of code? What can be done to make him fear?

And then, I had a thought.

I remember that condescending Timekeeper screenshot you posted with an ask regarding the oneshot I was making

soooooooooo I'll be using that as reference (if you don't mind) regarding the scenario in which Pollux is naturally terrified. I'll think of a storyline first tho >:]

Toodles :]

— 🅰️non || 05/31/2023

TK? Giving Narry an existential crisis? More likely than you tthink!

Anyways, something like this almost? (Same fic im working on as the TK line you mentioned)

I don't think Narry is necessarily scared of TK per say, but TK definitely has a way of pointing out things about him that he is not ready to process at the moment. And so of course he goes into fight or flight mode about it. Deny everything and run. He'd rather keep everything the same than confront his own emotions. Poor guy.

And now that I think about it, in the fic I'm writing, it is kinda fear in a way that brings Pollux back. Yes it's tied to his affections for Stanley, but he is just so scared about losing his grip on the world around him. So when he's lost his grip on is sense of reality he clings to his world, Stanley, for dear life. The whole idea of it terrifies him, but it's all he can do.

All in all, your idea there is very on brand for him.

*Slaps roof of Luxie* This bad boy can fit so much fear in him!

#the stanley parable #tspud #tsp #ask #tsp narrator #tspud narrator #🅰️non #tspud stanley #tsp stanley #tsp timekeeper #tspud timekeeper #tsp settings person #tspud settings person #tsp 432 #tspud 432 #employee 432 #kirche rambles #fanfic

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 8 months

Text

Okay, quick Taskmaster liveblogging this week. I’m fucking exhausted after a long and shitty week at work, I got home from work just after 7 PM, made myself some food, and I am now very pleased to get to sit down with a meal and the new Taskmaster episode. I do not have the energy to do what I sometimes do with these, which is take notes constantly through the whole episode. But I know I’ll want to say some things about it. So I will use this document as a thing to write down quick little things when they occur to me occasionally, rather than trying to cover the whole episode. It’s nice to have this back in my life for nine more weeks (well, eight more now, I guess).

Thoughts on Taskmaster s16e02, written as I watch it:

- I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the funniest introductions are the ones where Greg pretends that Alex is right-wing for no reason.

- “Best sign” – I’m amazed that wasn’t taken already. You’d think Taskmaster would be out of the one-word ones, which is why they have to use “most < adjective > < noun >”, instead of just “most < adjective >” thing or “best < noun >”. But there’s still more stuff to do. I like that one, open-ended enough to leave room for interpretation, but still some solid boundaries they’ll have to stay within.

- It feels a bit like cheating for Sue Perkins to use her celebrity stories to garner points against people who just can’t compete with a story of the time Claudia Winkleman helped her steal a sign from the BBC. But I did enjoy that one.

- God, do I ever want to go to the British Library with Sam Campbell and steal shit. I think he wins in terms of aspirational stories, I’d rather rob the British Library with Sam Campbell than rob the BBC studios with Claudia Winkleman.

- I have seen the first three seasons of Meet the Richardsons (did not watch season 4 this year and I think I’ll probably leave it there, but I’m not sorry I watched it), and it’s definitely not the best show in the world, but one of my favourite parts was how cool that pub looked. That’s aspirational, it’s exactly the sort of thing I’d do if I had the money that they have. Make a full pub in your backyard where you can get the nice feeling of a pub but without the drawbacks, such as people you don’t know being in it and having to commute there and back (particularly bad, after drinking). Fucking lovely. The Jon Richardson I got attached to from radio 8 Out of 10 Cats/early Catsdown hasn’t existed for a long time, and that’s probably for the best and I’m glad he’s gone off to be happy even if I don’t find him as entertaining anymore, but I did enjoy seeing that pub in Meet the Richardsons like an example of success. Good for him. Nice prize, Lucy. You’re right, there is a warm feeling to it.

- Sammy C bringing his own equipment to the tasks. Following on from a couple of things he did last week, establishing a pattern of him doing things as a bit, because they are comedic, but also they happen to possibly give him an advantage in points. As someone who is backing him like he’s a sports team to win this season, I approve of this pattern.

- Listen, strange women standing around in Chiswick pulling on facsimile swords is no basis for a system of government. But I don’t know, maybe we should let Lucy Beaumont try running the UK for a year and see where they end up.

- I thought I wasn't going to do screenshots in this episodes, because these posts take so much longer when I stop to copy screenshots. But I have to say, the first proper laugh came from Sue throwing away the comment "I mean I want to go Widdicombe", then stopping, realizing what she'd just said, and you can watch the answer hit her:

Aw, I've just remembered the existence of that panel show hosted by Sue Perkins with Josh Widdicombe and Richard Osman as team captains, Insert Name Here. Slightly flimsy premise, uneven guests and execution, but three people who are so good at being on panel shows that it entertained me all the way through anyway.

I watched that show about 2 years ago when I was mainly into panel shows and thought Josh Widdicombe was a brilliant TV comedian who just happened to make not-great stand-up - now that I'm more into stand-up than panel shows, that flaw seems more significant than it used to. Also, I've given up on The Last Leg because they've gone all pro-monarchy but also if I'm honest they've been leaning toward the bland centre for a while (though I maintain that it had some years of being much better than that). But there was a time when Josh Widdicombe was one of my favourites of all these comedians, I still think he's very good on panel shows, so I'm enjoying his little cameo here (I did guess that Widdicombe was the answer as soon as Sue said "Devon", because what the hell else is from Devon?). Nice to honour both the first Taskmaster champion, and the first two-time champion.

On the subject of Sue Perkins and Josh Widdicombe existing in the same universe, aside from their endearing panel show Insert Name Here, remember that time when Sue Perkins went on The Last Leg wearing a Patti Smith shirt and one time she messed up her hair for no reason and I had to save that as a gif because I think it might be the cure for female heterosexuality?

- Watching this task for the second time, now that I know the answer. Obviously the foot that says “Greg” is a reference to Josh getting Greg’s name tattooed on his foot during season 1. “Devon” is where he’s from, as he talks about every time he’s on TV. But how does he make his hair smart? Is it just a reference to the fact that for a long time he was known for a particular haircut? Am I forgetting about something in the Josh Widdicombe canon (I say “forgetting” rather than “not knowing” because I have seen a hell of a lot of the things he’s done, including hundreds of hours of The Last Leg, arguably too many hours of The Last Leg…)? You’d think it would just be a reference to something he did on Taskmaster, like the tattoo. The main things Josh Widdicombe did on Taskmaster besides get a tattoo, I think, was count beans and fail to guess the rules of Alex Squash.

With Diamonds Come Bears was such an opaque club that they had to put it on the screen for us to understand it even once we did know the answer, but apparently the letters kind of line up. Then there’s that family tree showing how he’s descended from royalty, which he worked out from Who Do You Think You Are, and now talks about it every time he’s on TV.

- Interrupting my list of Widdicombe clues to say, why did Sam Campbell say Katherine Ryan has nothing to do with hair but “Bob Mortimer, that’s hair!” One of those people has objectively more hair than the other, and it’s not the one he described as “that’s hair!”.

- Did no one think before setting this task to check that Julian Clary has heard of Josh Widdicombe? That was pretty funny, watching Julian Clary walk around being unable to finish a task because he doesn't know Josh Widdicombe's name. Come on, Taskmaster, the small and nasally man with the short hair got a tattoo for this show. He does not deserve to have an entire task set up to emphasize the fact that Julian Clary doesn't know his name (he does, it was quite funny).

- Alex Horne, before this season started (paraphrased because I cannot be bothered to look up the actual quote): One contestant in particular put me in my place.

Julian Clary: "What sorts of people enjoy this show? Is it students?" "You're interesting, aren't you? Would you call yourself a charismatic man?"

- Susan Wokoma declaring that sexy dog subverts stereotypes made me laugh, Julian Clary referencing his dead art teacher very much added to that. I've watched most of the second task by now without stopping to write much because it's getting late and I'm tired, but that was fun.

- Lovely titled drop from Susan Wokoma. Very well delivered "Hell is here." She was kind of the quiet one last episode, is definitely making more of a mark this time.

- Look, if I wanted to be pedantic, I could make the argument that Sam Campbell's picture was much better than everyone else's and showed off artistic skill that clearly the others do not have, even though Sue Perkins' drawing was quite amusing, and therefore Sam deserved the five points alone. I mean, technically it was the best cheeky picture, not the cheekiest picture, and no matter how cheeky Sue's picture was, it wasn't as good a picture as Sam's. And if Sam Campbell loses this whole season to Sue Perkins by one point, I will absolutely be repeatedly making that argument that he was robbed in this task. But okay, fine, the idea of Sue Perkins making a dick joke is amusing. And yes, I'm aware that I'm watching Taskmaster wrong.

- Secret task gets mentioned again. I think the funniest option would be if it does exist, but it's useless. Like if there's a secret task somewhere telling them to do something huge and difficult and time-consuming and they have several months to do it and they have to bring it to the studio to complete it, and someone does do that, and then it's worth like half a point. Yeah it's a joke they've done before, but not for a while. They've used the idea sparingly enough in recent seasons so I think they could bring it back.

- Lucy Beaumont doing mischief by being an unethical fake psychic pretending to communicate with the dead to swindle people is a bit of a weird light given that I now know she does genuinely, literally believe in ghosts.

- Hang on. Hang on. Are they allowed to do that? They can set tasks for each other? A genuine first in a Taskmaster history, I'm almost sure. Susan Wokoma is out here re-inventing the game. I kind of want to know if anyone else in Taskmaster history has tried to affect one of their competitors' games and been told they're not allowed to, because if so, that's not fair to them that Susan could. But if she was the first person to think of it, then fair play to her.

To stop watching Taskmaster wrong (like a sports fan) for a moment and start watching it right (like a comedy fan), God that was funny. Watching Sam Campbell stand up and sit down and be so earnest about it and genuinely engaged and find a workaround to draw extra mice for extra points, while knowing it was all for nothing, was very funny. It's Widdicombe counting beans again. It's the thing I think they should do with the secret task. It's really funny to watch someone try hard when we know something they don't.

- After pretending to smash up Alex Horne's phone, I waited for what Sam Campbell would say, as he's had great lines throughout this show so far. But actually, I think leaving the room after saying nothing was the funniest thing he could have done. Solid instincts there.

- Sam Campbell threatens to make a prank phone call. Julian Clary writes prank longhand letters. The generational divide, everyone.

- Well, normally in my posts, I start out writing relatively little about things, and write more and more as the post goes along, so the things I write about later in the post get expanded on way more than the earlier things. This one is the opposite, because as I said, it's late and I've gotten more tired as it's gone along.

So I've finished the episode. I enjoyed the live task. I do always like the "do something while keeping eye contact with Greg" tasks. The main thing I have to say about that live task is... I don't know if this is quite the hardest I've laughed at season 16 so far. But it's definitely the longest. As in, I'm exhausted right now, I worked long hours today and long hours yesterday and it a few really stressful days and a long week and it's fairly late and I feel like my brain is fried, and for reasons I definitely cannot fully explain (if pressed, I could explain maybe about 20% of why this happened, at the most), this exact frame made me laugh uncontrollably for several minutes:

I just paused the video, stared at the screen, and could not stop laughing. There's a cat my lap the looked annoyed about it. Every time I tried to play the video again and move on with my life, I'd look at some new part of it and keep laughing. I took a screenshot so I can have it forever. The 20% that I can explain about why that happened does, again, involve using the word "earnest" to describe Sam Campbell's expression.

I also enjoyed Sue and Julian drawing the same thing (people who are older than the other contestants and also more famous than the other contestants and also gay are on the same wavelength as each other, apparently). And I liked Lucy Beaumont's peas.

I also enjoyed them bringing in another NZ task as the tiebreaker. Well done to Sue. I always like watching the rote memorization tasks, mainly because that's a skill I enjoy practising myself and I like to see if I can beat the contestants at it. I used to know pi to lots of places, back in high school, but I couldn't do that now. Could I memorize more digits than Sue did in the same number of seconds? Don't know, and am not awake enough to try it right now. Some other time.

I'm now going to sleep for a number of hours with two digits in it. Maybe three.

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pantherastevens · 10 months

Text

Sorpresa: Uncle

Back with another one! Welcome to Part Four of Sorpresa (Surprise)

In case you miss the previous parts, they’re right here:

Part One , Part Two , Part Three

I’m not gonna hold y’all any longer so I hope you enjoy Part Four 💜

Warnings: Cursing

---------------------------------------

Summary: Miles vaguely understood that his girlfriend was a bit of a wild card. Quiet people tend to be like that. But it never fails to surprise him how often she could pull off such a thing.

---------------------------------------

Aaron Davis didn't survive the streets this long if he didn't know one of the most basic survival rules.

Stay vigilant.

Being aware of your surroundings is key to staying alive. It allows you to get the drop on others.

Which is how he knew about Miles' little crush turn romance way before the boy willingly came clean. At the beginning of Miles' junior year, he noticed a shift in his nephew's behavior. He seemed more lost in thought over something. Then he noticed Miles using his phone more, catching him smiling at it occasionally.

He hasn't really seen the boy crack a genuine smile unless he's around him or his sister-in-law.

Aaron knew that Miles didn't consider the boys at Visions his "friends" and usually got annoyed by girls who tried to get his number.

So who is this mysterious person who managed to catch his attention?

"It's nobody special, tío—just a classmate who so happens to be a little funny." Yeah. Bullshit.

That "classmate that so happens to be a little funny" seemed to be his partner in many assignments. Aaron had times when he had to wait for Miles to get back to him to show up for a job because he was caught in a partner assignment.

He hopes they're actually doing an assignment and not anything else.

Then when Miles' secret identity was discovered by this particular classmate nonetheless, things became even more obvious. Sometimes, he would come into his sister-in-law's home to find the boy on the phone, laughing as he chatted with the female voice. Shit, he caught his nephew on his phone with his feet kicking in the air. He would text her occasionally during a job when he thought his uncle wasn't looking.

The girl's contact was saved as "Gatita" in the boy's phone, which meant "Kitten" in Spanish.

The boy got it bad.

So when Miles comes around his apartment with nervous eyes, he already knows what this conversation was going to be about.

"So... there's something I got to tell you," Miles says. Aaron hums.

"This gotta do with your precious "gatita"," Aaron drawled, watching with an amused smirk as his nephew blushed.

"How did you-"

"Boy, you ain't slick. I've seen your phone screen whenever you're texting her. So, she your girlfriend?" Miles stared at his uncle briefly before letting out a long-suffering sigh.

'Well, that's half the battle...'

"Yes... and I want you to meet her first before I bring her to mi mamá," Miles said. Aaron tilted his head at the boy, mulling over his words before nodding. It would make sense.

Since his brother died, Aaron was more or less Miles' surrogate father figure. Even though Miles has grown up to be more independent, he knew that his nephew would still come to him for advice, help, or a listening ear when needed.

If meeting this girl to help vet her out before she went to meet Rio helps put Miles at ease, then he's willing to do it.

"Fine by me. Though, it's fair that at least you tell me a little about her," Aaron conceded. Miles nodded.

"So, what's her name?"

"Panthera Genesis Stevens." Aaron raised a brow before chuckling.

"Damn boy, you didn't have to give me a full government name," he teased. Miles grumbled, something along the lines of 'you would've tried to find out one way or another.' The kid wasn't wrong, but that shouldn't be nobody's business but his own.

Also...

"You said her name was Panthera," he asked. Something about that name was familiar, but Aaron couldn't figure out why for his life.

"Yeah, I met her in my music class, but we had a couple of classes together," Miles confirmed. Hm...

"So she's your main partner in your music class? Since you're always mentioning an assignment for that class?" Miles nodded.

"Interesting... what's she like?" Miles let out a dramatic sigh.

"Man, where do I start..."

"When you say it like that, you make it seem like she's a handful..." Miles shook his head at that.

"Nah, it's not that. Panthera's a wild card, for lack of a better phrase. She's nothing like the normal girls you've seen whenever you come to get from after school. She's very quiet and to herself. But she's very confident in who she is as a person. Like she keeps her personality hidden, but when it's exposed, she doesn't care who sees it. She's blunt, straight to the point, and no-nonsense, but she could be shy, goofy, and laidback." Aaron listened, watching his nephew talk about the girl he was dating. His eye sparkled, and he was animated, waving his hands about with curious awe ringing in his voice.

"The quiet ones usually hold the most surprises... and you said she knows about you being the Prowler," he drawled. When he first heard about that, he almost tore the boy a new one out of worry. The girl could be a liability to his nephew and everything he worked so hard for, but she proved loyal. She took him in, dressed his wounds, fed him, and ensured he had ample rest before Miles came to the apartment. And since then, none of their enemies seem to be none the wiser when it comes to Prowler's secret identity.

"Yeah, she does. I slipped up a bit, but even if I didn't, she's very smart. Says her dad always stressed the importance of staying vigilant. Same thing you always tell me." Aaron hummed.

'So the girl was street smart and book smart, interesting...'

Miles could see the glimmer of respect in Aaron's eyes, fighting back his smile.

"I think you two would get along pretty great. She's a total badass, Uncle Aaron. Not too long ago, we went on a date, and man, it was crazy," Miles rambled as he pulled out his phone to show his uncle the videos he had taken that day.

"How so," Aaron asked, genuinely curious. Miles was going through her photo library, searching as he answered.

"So I found that my beautiful girlfriend could hoop that day. Some guys that were playing were hitting on her while she was with me. It wasn't until one dude said something outta pocket that really got her attention, and rejected him in front of everyone. When I laughed at him, he got in my face and told me to play against him to embarrass me in front of her. Before I could answer, she said he was gonna play her instead." Aaron cocked his head to the side.

"It's not strange for a girl to know how to play basketball..." Miles shook his head.

"Nah, tío. Just look at her and look at the dude," Miles said, finally passing the phone to the man. Aaron glanced at his nephew before pressing play on the video. Immediately, he could see what his nephew meant.

The guy playing looked like your average dude, someone you can expect to know how to play ball. But when Panthera came on screen, she couldn't look more outta place if she tried. She was certainly dressed for a date, not to play ball against a grown-ass man.

The girl didn't even have shoes on.

"Hold the fuck up. Did she manage to block this man? She's tiny compared to him. How the hell did she manage to jump that high? How tall is she," Aaron stressed, finally looking at Miles. The boy laughed.

"Don't say that to her face; she's already sick of me mentioning it to her. And she's 5'5. Trust me, I was worried for her in the beginning, but my little baby could hold her own. Wait, you gotta see when she finally beats this man. She legit dunks on his ass," Miles said, clearly proud.

"Bullshit, ain't no way."

"Bet I got you." Even as Aaron watched the video, he was still shocked. He could barely see her face, but when she finally got down, Aaron knew there was a smirk on her face.

As she should, of course.

"Damn, I would have never thought..."

"Shit, me neither. Check this, though. She pulled a gun on that nigga because he was talking out his neck and coming after us all crazy." Aaron stared at his nephew.

"Ain't no way-"

"I have no reason to lie to you. Her dad made sure she knew how to look out for herself. Says she always remained strapped, even at school. I honest to God thought she was gonna lay his ass out right there on the court." Aaron shook his head out of disbelief.

The girl knowing how to hoop? A smidge shocking but believable.

The girl knowing how to kill a man, at her age and with her looks? Questionable.

"Imma say I believe you for now... Does her mother know she carries a gun?" Miles winced.

"So, about her mom... she's not in Panthera's life. From what Panthera told me, her mom wanted to abort her. She didn't only because her dad told her that he'll take care of her and even paid her mom to sweeten the deal." Aaron frowned, nodding.

He can see how it's a bit of a sensitive topic.

"So it's just her and her dad," he asked. Miles gave another nod.

"Whatchu know about her pops?" Miles had the decency to look a little embarrassed.

"Uhh... not much?"

"How is that possible?" Miles raised his hands as if he was going to defend himself.

"Look, I never even ran into the man, despite spending a lot of time at the girl's apartment. And I admit I'm a little scared to meet him, hearing how this man legit raised a literal badass and might hang me if anything bad happened between us. She does mention him in passing. The most I know is that he's from Oakland and moved to Brooklyn to start a new life for himself and Panthera. And by the sounds of it, her grandfather was born in some African country and moved to the States, where he had her father. I notice a lot of different trinkets that look like they come from there." Aaron frowned bits and pieces of old memories resurfacing.

"I just moved from Oakland, California. It's just me and my baby..."

"Honestly, I feel like my little girl saved me from a dark path. I wanted to avenge my father but found out my ex-baby mama was pregnant. Shit was unexplainable. I felt a pull, a connection to someone that wasn't even here yet. Something told me to save this part of me that I would've never anticipated for my life."

"Aw, would you look at that? She likes you, Aaron."

"AYO! Open up, nigga!" "Aaron, what the hell, man? Had me thinking you the feds or some shit." "Boy, hush! Where she at, you promised that I could have her for the day." "Bro, you sound like a grandfather looking for they grandbaby." "Nigga, shut yo ass up and give me my little baby."

"Uma-lu...me...!" "What did she just call me?" "She called you 'uncle' in our language. I've been teaching her bit and- Aaron, are you crying?" "No! I got something in my eye!"

"A..on? Unc...? Tío!" Aaron blinked, locking eyes with his very confused nephew.

"Sorry... I was thinking about something. Uhh, when do you plan on bringing Panthera over?"

"Today's Wednesday, so is Friday good for you?"

"Yeah... see you guys Friday..."

---------------------------------------

"Miles, I'm having second thoughts about this..." Miles looked down at his girlfriend, who was fiddling with the ring on her chain. The girl opted to dress simply for the occasion: a simple white cami, black acid-washed ripped jeans, and black combat boots. Matching Cuban chain bracelets could be found on her wrists. The ring and dragon claw studs from their recent date made a reappearance. Her locs were in two barrel twists with two free ones hanging in front of her ears.

"Why is that, princesa?" Panthera let out a shaky sigh. This was her first relationship and the first time she's ever met any family members of the people she interacted with. She didn't want to mess this up.

"What if your uncle doesn't like me," she asked quietly, anxiously glancing at Miles' hand that hovered over the hardwood door. The boy frowned, taking her face in his hands so she could look at him.

"Hey, none of that negative thinking, gatita. My tío already likes you. There's nothing you have to be worried about, okay," he whispered. He could still see a bit of insecurity in her eyes, but she rolled her shoulders and nodded. Miles kissed her forehead before facing the door again and knocked. Miles knew his uncle was home; he could hear the man's music playing from the other side of the door.

Panthera could hear the heavy footsteps approaching the door's other side, taking a deep breath.

'It's okay, Panthera. Miles seems confident in his uncle's approval. That's all you need... You got this...'

The door unlocked and swung open to reveal a tall, lanky man. His facial features were sharp and hard. The man had no hair, save the goatee with a bit of gray hair. Panthera looked up to find his dark eyes already trained on her. The initial fear Panthera felt slowly started to disappear as she took in the older man.

'He feels so familiar... but from where?' Miles cleared his throat, snapping the pair out of the stupor they seemed to fall under.

"Uncle Aaron, this is my girlfriend, Panthera Stevens. Panthera, this is my uncle, Aaron Davis." Panthera trusted out her hand with a small smile on her face.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Davis. Miles speaks highly of you," she said. Aaron smirked as he clasped his hand in hers for a solid handshake, a glimmer of approval shining in his eyes.

"The pleasure is all mine, Panthera. Call me Aaron. I'm not normally one for formalities all the time." Panthera's smile widened as the pair were ushered inside. The girl immediately bent down to remove her shoes, placing them by the front door. The strange sense of deja-vu seemed to grow stronger as the girl took in the apartment's interior.

"Welcome to my humble abode. Mi casa es tu casa. At least I'm pretty sure that's something my sister-in-law would say," Aaron said, nodding at the sight of her shoes near the door.

'At least I know she was raised in a cultured household...'

"Thank you, Mr.- I mean Aaron. This is a nice place you have here," Panthera said as she looked around. Aaron let a small smile, one Miles noticed. The boy grinned, happy to see his uncle being receptive to his girlfriend.

"Thanks, lil miss. Why not we get comfortable in the living room before we step out?" The two teens nodded, walking to the couch. Miles plopped down first before the girl could sit down, grabbing her wrist to pull her into his lap. The girl blushed, trying to get up to sit beside her boyfriend but failed when he simply tightened his grip on her.

"Miles, seriously," she whined, pouting. Miles smirked, pecking her lips.

"Calm down. Uncle Aaron is chill; besides, he might as well get used to seeing us like this anyways," Miles said, glancing at the man to confirm this. Aaron chuckled at his nephew's antics.

"It's fine." The man sat beside the pair and fell into a comfortable silence. Aaron studied the girl on Miles' lap. She was trying to suppress her giggles as Miles nuzzled her neck, seeking her affection. She threw an arm around his neck, thumb rubbing the skin behind his ear as she kissed his temple. Miles seemed completely at ease, eyes droopy with a lazy grin.

The older man suppressed a smile to take in the girl who seemed to hold his nephew's heart in her hands.

Aaron took note of her simple fit, understanding what Miles meant. He definitely wouldn't have noticed her immediately since many girls at Miles' school like their high maintenance expenses.

Panthera was simple, a natural beauty. It was refreshing for Aaron to see.

However, one thing caught the man's attention.

"What's with the necklace?" Panthera looked to the lounging man, eyes trained on the ring hung on her chain.

"It was my father's. The ring belonged to my grandfather. My dad gave it to me when I was 12, so I had a connection with him," Panthera answered, fiddling with the cool metal. Aaron hummed, his eyes narrowing in thought.

He remembers seeing that same exact ring on a similar chain on a man he met years ago. His baby girl seemed to love to play with it when he held her to his chest.

Before Aaron could say something, Panthera perked up at the sound of a new song playing. A song she hasn't heard in years.

"Oh my gosh, I haven't heard this song in so long," the girl gushed, her head nodding along with the beat. Aaron raised a brow.

"I wouldn't have suspected you to be a 2Pac fan, Panthera. The song's called My Block, in case you wanted to know," Aaron drawled. Big dark brown eyes shone happily at him, reminding Aaron of a familiar look from a little girl who loved this song whenever he played it.

"Baba would play him from time to time, but I mostly remember listening to him whenever I visited my umalume's apartment. Oh man, my dad probably has a video of me trying to sing along with the chorus with my uncle cheering me on," Panthera reminisced with a fond yet sad smile.

She last saw her uncle when she was six years old. It's like he just vanished from their lives almost. Eric told her he was too busy to visit them anymore, and Panthera asked her dad to play 2Pac to remember him. The girl was sad that someone who she considered family was just gone, but she had no choice but to move on.

Unknowing to her, Aaron froze, staring at the girl with wide eyes.

Umalume... uncle.

Aaron remembered returning to his apartment one day when a man with a baby and a couple of bags came off a bus. Aaron slowed, noticing the man's pinched expression. Normally he would've just kept walking, but the man looked rather young and tired. Plus, it was at that very moment the babe let out an ear-piercing wail.

"Ayo!" The man turned to Aaron, looking sheepish as he tried rocking the baby back to sleep.

"Yes, sir?" Aaron approached the young cat with a hint of a smile.

"Need a hand there?" The older man watched as relief washed over the man.

"Yes. Definitely." The Brooklyn native chuckled, carrying the bag, leaving the young father with one as he soothed his baby. Dark brown eyes met a matching pair, a tired smile on the younger's face.

"Name's Eric, by the way. Eric Stevens. And this is my little girl, Panthera Stevens." Aaron peered at her little face, smiling at the pout on her lips and big dark brown eyes.

"Nice to meet you, Eric. I'm Aaron Davis. And Panthera's a cute little girl. She looks like you a little bit."

The pair became fast friends, Aaron helping Eric find a place for him and little Panthera after discovering he was new to the city. He watched the little girl grow for years, growing a strong attachment to her after he held her in his arms for the first time. It reminded him of his young nephew, born shortly before her.

"Yo, tío... you okay," Miles asked, seeing the man's eyes grow misty the longer he stared at his girlfriend. The man shook his head, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"Lil cub? Is... is that you?" Panthera's head snapped in Aaron's direction, eyes wide. But Aaron could see the spark of recognition in her eyes.

"...Umalume," she asked, really looking at the man. A younger, less jaded version of the man appeared in her mind's eye. She remembers his bright smile and his bolstering laugh. How his eyes would soften the same way Aaron's was right now-

"Oh my goodness! It is you!" Miles was confused by his girlfriend's outburst, which only worsened when Panthera partially jumped out of his arms into the arms of his uncle.

Aaron let out a genuine, joyful laugh as he stood up and spun the girl around.

"Damn, I can't believe it. It's really you, lil cub," Aaron said, squeezing Panthera. The girl pouted at him, reminding him of the kid version of her.

"I'm not little..."

"Yo feet still can't even touch the ground-"

"We not gonna talk about that-"

"So, does someone wants to clue me in here?" The pair stared at the Afro-Latino, who looked more than a little lost. Aaron chuckled as he set Panthera down, resting a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"Panthera is my non-biological niece. I met her father when he first moved to Brooklyn when Panthera wasn't more than a few months old. Her pops and I became fast friends, and like you, Panthera wormed her cute little self into my heart." Miles blinked before laughing. Panthera gave him that usual innocent blink whenever she managed to do something that baffled him.

"Just when I thought you couldn't surprise me anymore than you already have, you managed to do so again? What's next? You've met my mom too?" Panthera blushed, giggling.

"Funny, babe, but I haven't. Promise." Aaron turned to his nephew, eyes shining.

"Your mom is going to love her. I wouldn't stress it, lil man." Miles smiled at that.

"But... if you break her heart, you have more to worry about than just her Pops coming for your ass, Miles."

"Wha-?! But I'm your nephew!"

"And I would love for you to make Panthera my niece officially. Don't let me find out you two are no longer together now." Miles let out a groan as Panthera stifled a laugh behind her hand. The trio soon left the apartment, heading to a diner. Aaron took both of them there at some point in their childhood for some food. The couple were happy to revisit it, now older and as a couple.

Despite his uncle's threat, he couldn't help watching on happily as his uncle and girlfriend joyfully interacted with each other.

Things were looking up for Miles.

---------------------------------------

Dedicated to @444morales apprecite your support, friend 💜💜💜

#ATSV #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #earth 42 oc #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 aaron davis #panthera stevens #earth 42 miles x oc #whipped earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles fluff #crossover #sorpresa part four #sorpresa series #5 +1 series #meeting family #fluff

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welcometocrapvale · 1 year

Text

Wrote a silly little fic.

You have a place with us

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Wayne Munson

Additional Tags: Meeting the Parents, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life

Language: English

Word count: 3322

Summary:

Steve is meeting Eddie's uncle. Once there, he realizes he already knew him (sort of).

Notes:

Additional warnings: Steve gets in a car crash, but nothing bad happens. There is a small reference to the HIV/AIDS crisis.

This may be a bit discombobulated. I've been very scatterbrained and this idea came to me in my sleep.

I did my best to check grammar and spelling, but this is not beta read. Sorry for any mistakes.

I haven't finished a fic since the year started. I owe a fic to someone. I've been working on it, but things have been hard. I'm sorry =(

Steve was fighting a stubborn strand of hair in the bathroom. The door was open, and he could see Robin picking cookie crumbs from his bed. He had told her to get a plate. She had promised to be careful. He knew he would be sweeping after her anyway, but some effort into preventing it would have been nice. Especially considering how nervous he was.

"Hey dingus, stop it! Your hair looks nice. It may fall if you continue doing that," she said, giving up on her task. Steve dropped his comb, giving up too.

"Fuck," he laughed, with an edge of nervousness on his breaths. "I just want to make a good impression. I'm good with parents! Parents love me! But maybe uncles won't? Maybe when you're a guy dating a guy there are other expectations? Eddie said Wayne is okay with him dating a man but… it's still scary, you know?" Robin nodded. "Of course you do!" Steve slapped his forehead.

He was ranting.

Usually, Robin was the one doing that.

"It's uncharted territory," Steve gave her a questioning look. "Unexplored. Unknown! You don't know what's going to happen… But you have experience! It's not exactly the same, but you have practice. I've witnessed how quickly parents fall for your charms! I'm sure you've got this. Just try to relax and be yourself."

Robin had moved closer to him and slapped his shoulder, encouraging.

"Thanks, Rob," Steve smiled, rubbing his neck. He was still nervous, but Robin's pep talk was nice.

"Now take me home and go to Eddie's. Better not be late," Robin added, undoing what little she had accomplished.

Steve was a bundle of nerves again. Fumbling for his keys and almost dropping the apple pie he had made. The crust was store-bought, but he had made the filling from scratch. Eddie said apple pie was Wayne's favorite. He would get vanilla ice cream on his way there.

So he dropped Robin off at her place, went for ice cream, and drove to Eddie's place. It was a nice cozy house that the government had provided them, along with a nice sum of hush money.

Steve had also received a check. It didn't have a date, so he was waiting for his 21st birthday to open an independent bank account.

As Steve was taking a turn, another car came at him, driving over the speed limit and in the wrong direction. Everything felt slowed down, and yet he didn't have a chance to react. He saw the car driving towards him and the next thing he knew he was being pulled out of his car by paramedics.

Why?

Why did this have to happen today?

"What's important about today?" Someone asked. Had he been talking aloud? Shit.

"What's your name?" The same person asked again.

"Steve," he replied.

"What's your surname, Steve?"

"Harrington. My name's Steve Harrington," he winced at that. Or was it at the pain he felt on his left shoulder? Maybe both. He didn't like how his full name sounded anymore.

"Do you know what day it is?"

"It's August 26th."

"Can you open your eyes?"

Steve slowly did. Why did he have them closed? Oh, yeah, the light had made his head hurt. It was dimmer now. Sunset? Fuck.

"What time is it?" Steve asked.

"Twenty minutes past seven," came the reply a few seconds later.

"Shit," he closed his eyes again. "Sorry," He added, not wanting to be reprimanded for his language.

"Shit feels like an understatement in a moment like this," the paramedic laughed, making Steve chuckle.

"I was on my way to dinner with a friend," Steve said. "To meet hi… her family."

"I'm sure her family will understand your circumstances," the paramedic said. Steve hummed. He really hoped Wayne and Eddie wouldn’t get mad at him.

The paramedic checked his vision, his reflexes, and his breathing. It looked like he only had a dislocated shoulder, and his car hadn't been too damaged. An ugly indent on the driver's door and some scratches.

The paramedics wouldn't let him go, though. He saw a payphone across the street and got permission to use it. He called Robin. She would never forgive him if he didn't call her first. She was worried and offered to have her parents drive her to wherever he was, but he lovingly declined. He asked her to call Eddie, though. She said she didn't have his number. Steve knew it by heart. Robin teased him about it, and then he ran out of credit.

He felt better after talking to her. The paramedic asked him if he had called his friend. He just nodded.

They fixed his shoulder and put his arm in a sling.

They had to wait for the police to fill in an incident report. He was glad the ambulance had been quick to arrive.

He wondered what Eddie and Wayne were thinking about him right now. He hoped he didn't disappoint them.

Waiting also gave him time to worry about his parents' reaction to the accident. His father would be furious. His mom wouldn't say anything. She would just look at him with pity and embarrassment.

He would have to take some extra hours at work to afford the car repairs.

He sat in the ambulance, sipping water while he waited. Seeing Hopper drive up to him usually meant some kind of trouble (mostly being called out for his house parties), but now he was glad to see a familiar face. If he had to deal with the police, he was glad it was Jim Hopper.

They filled in the report for a hit and run. There had been no other casualties (human or material). Steve was glad about that. His car had insurance, but it was in his father’s name, and he didn’t want to alert him.

He knew it was ridiculous to be afraid. The accident hadn’t been his fault. But he knew that wouldn’t matter. The man would find a way to blame him.

“Are you okay, kiddo?” Hopper asked softly, placing a hand over his good shoulder. He had seen Hopper’s softer side when talking to El, but having that worried stare directed at him was weird.

“Yeah,” he nodded and gave the man a soft smile.

“Do you want me to take you home? I’ll have your car towed to the station to get some pictures for the report. Then we can take it to your place or a shop.”

“Okay, yeah. But not home. I was on my way to Eddie’s,” Steve said, rubbing his neck nervously.

“Okay. I can take you there, kid.”

“Thanks,” Steve said and turned to thank the paramedics too.

He and Hopper walked silently to the police car. As they passed next to his poor battered car, he noticed a bundle in the passenger seat.

“My pie!” He exclaimed, startling Hopper, who gave him a questioning look. “I made an apple pie. It’s still there! I had completely forgotten about it.”

“Well, that’s lucky,” Hopper chuckled.

“I guess,” Steve let out a breathy laugh and carefully took the pie and ice cream through the open window.

“Can I have a slice?”

“I’ll make you one.”

“You don’t have to,” Hopper quickly backtracked.

“I know. I want to. You didn’t have to personally come because of a car accident without any casualties,” Steve said, intently looking at him.

Hopper laughed and nodded.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” the chief admitted.

“Thanks,” Steve said as they got into the car.

“You and the Munson kid have kept in touch, then?”

“Yeah. An unlikely friendship, I know.”

“Not more unlikely than you and Henderson, or you and Sinclair,” Hopper said.

“True. True. At least he’s my age,” Steve laughed.

They drove in awkward silence for a bit. Hopper turned on the radio. Steve hummed, trying to keep still so as not to drop the pie he was hugging against his body with his good arm. He could feel the cold from the ice cream tub on his stomach. He hoped it wasn’t soup by now.

Thankfully, the drive was quite short.

“Do you have a drive home?” Hopper asked as he was stopping in front of the Munson’s house.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Thank you, chief,” Steve said, struggling to open the door and balance the pie. Hopper was unfastening his seat belt to help, but Eddie came running out of the house and hurried to Steve’s side.

“Oh, man, are you okay?!”

“Yeah, all good, don’t worry, Eds,” Steve nodded.

“Your arm!”

“It’ll be okay. Take this, please,” Steve requested, handing Eddie the bag with pie and ice cream.

“Thank you again, Hopper,” Steve said, standing outside the car.

“No problem, kid. Take care. You too, Munson. Don’t get in any trouble.”

“When have I ever?” Eddie exclaimed, acting wounded by the suggestion. Hopper and Steve laughed. Steve closed the door of the car, and hopper drove away.

“Stevie, you didn’t have to come. A phone call would've been enough!”

“I hope it’s not too late for dinner? I brought dessert,” Steve smiled nervously.

“Dinner is the least of my worries! Wayne was a bit angry, but after Robin called, he became worried. I think he will be glad to see you.”

“That’s good,” Steve laughed. “I’m okay, I swear. I dislocated my shoulder, and they recommended keeping it in a sling for a few weeks, but that’s all.”

“Okay,” Eddie nodded and led Steve inside the house.

Wayne was sitting on the couch watching the news, a bottle of beer in his hand. When he saw Steve crossing the threshold, he quickly stood up and greeted him.

“I’m glad to see you’re okay, kid,” the man said.

“Thanks,” Steve offered his right hand for a handshake. Wayne took it. “I’m sorry I kept you guys waiting.”

“I thought you were flunking on my boy, but after your friend called, I was more worried about your well-being,” Wayne admitted. “Eddie wanted to drive around to find you. I told him we should wait for you to call. I didn’t expect you would show up after a car crash!”

“Well. I made pie, didn’t want it to go to waste,” Steve laughed, slightly on edge.

“Thank you, Steve,” Wayne smiled, but his eyes had a sad glimmer. “You two sit. I’ll reheat the food.”

Steve and Eddie nodded. Eddie told Steve to sit and put the ice cream in the freezer and the pie on the kitchen counter.

Eddie sat next to Steve on the couch and gave him a quick peck on the lips. Steve visibly relaxed, gave Eddie a smile, and put his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

After a few minutes, Wayne called them to the table.

“This looks delicious,” Steve said, sitting down next to Eddie. It was a simple meal. Mashed potatoes, pork chop, and some steamed veggies. But it was clearly homemade and smelled like garlic and other spices.

“No need to butter me up with empty compliments,” Wayne said, and Steve wasn’t sure if he was serious.

“I mean it. It looks and smells amazing,” Steve doubled down.

“Wayne is always downplaying his cooking skills. Compared to the things I cook, this is like dining at Enzo’s,” Eddie laughed.

“If you consider Spaghettios and crushed Doritos dinner, anything will be comparable to fine dining, kid,” Wayne and Steve laughed. Eddie acted offended. “Well, dig in,” Wayne prompted them and took a bite of his food.

Dinner was indeed delicious. And less tense than Steve had imagined. Wayne wasn’t the kind to ask loads of questions, but Steve could feel his intense gaze scrutinizing his every move.

He trusted his actions. Not so much his words. They got jumbled, especially when he was nervous. But he was good at showing his feelings. And he had nothing but love for Eddie. He hoped Wayne would see that.

It was crazy how fast things had gone with Eddie. Sometimes he felt scared by how good it was. Eddie had confessed he’d had a crush on Steve since his freshman year. It had been so embarrassing for him, he said. The school freak having a crush on the popular guy? Mortifying. Not anymore, of course. Now Eddie knew him. He had witnessed Steve biting a demobat, for god’s sake. No one could blame him. Steve had laughed at the rant until his stomach hurt.

Steve gave them some more details about the crash. Then they talked about work, their weekend plans, and sports. Wayne was a football fan, but he also enjoyed basketball. It felt good to have something in common with the man.

Eddie cleared the table as they talked and then disappeared into the kitchen. After a few minutes, he came back with dessert.

“That looks good!” Wayne exclaimed.

“Eddie said apple was your favorite, sir,” Steve said, nervously running his hands through his hair. “I hope you like it.”

“It’s delicious, Steve,” Wayne said after trying it. “You should come around for dinner more often,” Steve smiled shyly into his plate.

When they were done eating, Steve insisted on helping clean the dishes, but Wayne refused. He allowed him to help clear out the table and said he would handle the dishes the next day.

He saw a familiar keychain hanging on a hook next to the light switch in the kitchen. It was a plastic Garfield figurine. The paint was chipped, and it was a bit dirty, but it was very familiar to him. He remembered when his parents were having their pool built. One of the contractors carried that keychain.

This had been almost fifteen years ago. He’d been a kid. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t recognized the man? He had always been nice to him. Steve was curious about the work the men were doing and would sneak around to watch them. His parents would get angry and tell him not to bother the workers, but the man with the Garfield keychain would always say he didn’t mind and explain what they were doing, taking care Steve kept away from danger.

The man had come back a few times to work on other things around the house, and then they suddenly changed to someone else. Wayne had been in the middle of installing an electric garage door, and from one to the next, they hired someone new. Steve remembers asking his parents about the man and them telling him to forget about him. Doing so wasn’t so easy. The man had paid more attention to him than his parents. Even allowing him to help. He would sit next to Wayne and hand him tools, screws, and bolts.

“Mr. Munson?” Steve said, his voice trembling. They were sitting in the living room now, sipping on drinks (non-alcoholic for Eddie and Steve).

“Please, call me Wayne. None of that sir or Mr. thing.”

Steve nodded and swallowed.

“You worked for my parents when I was a kid, right?”

“Yeah, I did,” Wayne said, looking at him with surprise. “I didn’t think you’d remember! That was before Eddie came to live with me.”

“You were very kind to me. That’s hard to forget,” Steve laughed nervously.

“I remember your parents yelling at you for being curious. You were a good assistant,” Wayne smiled warmly.

“Thanks for being so patient with me,” Steve said, looking at his lap. Eddie intertwined their fingers and squeezed his hand gently.

“You were very well behaved! Barely tested my patience. This guy, on the other hand…” Wayne trailed off laughing and pointing at Eddie, who made an affronted noise.

Steve chuckled.

“You stopped working for them very suddenly. Did something bad happen?” Steve regretted his question immediately. Wayne’s expression became closed. Almost ashamed.

The man sighed and ran a hand through his face.

“Yeah… I got in a fight with some guys calling a young boy some nasty words. Things Eddie’s been called too. Then people started calling me that, and your parents didn’t want me around anymore.”

Steve’s eyes opened in surprise. He could feel them prickle, getting teary. He knew his parents wouldn’t be accepting of homosexuality. He shouldn’t be surprised by this. His dad had used those words as an insult many times. It was still painful, though.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, letting go of Eddie’s hand to dry his unshed tears.

“It’s not your fault, Steve. Eddie’s parents were the same. That’s why I took him in,” Wayne said. Steve nodded. Eddie had told him how he had ended up living with his uncle. “There’s room for you here with us if you ever need it,” the man added.

“Thanks,” Steve said, voice strained. Eddie squeezed his shoulder and nodded.

“You’re a good one, Steve,” Wayne said, stood up, and messed his hair. “I really hope neither of you does the other wrong. I don’t mean to tell you you have to be together forever, just… don’t hurt each other.”

The man stood up, finished his beer, and kissed both their foreheads on his way to the kitchen.

Eddie beamed at Steve, and Steve laughed through a few tears that rolled down his face.

“I’ll give you guys some privacy. If you need anything, I’ll be in my room,” Wayne said, walking past them.

“Thank you, Wayne,” Steve said, smiling.

“Do I need to give you guys the sex talk?”

Eddie grimaced and shook his head. Steve laughed.

“We’re good. Use protection, get tested frequently. No risk of pregnancy for us,” Steve said, feeling more relaxed after the talk.

“Good, good. I’m still too young to be a grandpa,” Wayne replied, laughing. This took Eddie out of his horror, sending him into a fit of giggles.

Wayne waved goodbye to them, and they found a comfortable position to cuddle on the couch.

“I didn’t know Wayne had worked in your house,” Eddie said. “He never mentioned it.”

“Maybe he didn’t think it was relevant?” Steve suggested.

“He knew about my crush on you, though.”

“He did?” Steve was genuinely surprised. He had always found it hard to talk to his parents about his feelings. They had always found out about his girlfriends through other people.

“I could not stop talking about the pretty boy in my P.E. class. I must’ve been so annoying,” Eddie laughed nervously.

“That’s not surprising,” Steve teased. Eddie carefully nudged him on the ribs with his elbow.

“I guess he didn’t want to talk about it. I think he lost a lot of clients after those rumors started. He did tell me that’s why he started working at the factory,” Eddie said, frowning thoughtfully. Steve hummed.

“That’s bullshit,” Steve said, getting angry.

“Uh?”

“Losing clients because of rumors about your private life. His work was good! Why do they care?”

“People say lots of nasty things about gay people, Steve. Especially gay men. Not only those mean words… they say we are pedophiles, kidnappers, that we want to make everyone like us… And now, with the virus, the idea that we are contagious is even more present…”

They sighed in unison.

“Sorry…” Steve said, not knowing what else to add.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Stevie,” Eddie said and kissed him.

“It’s unfair, though,” Steve said.

“I know.”

Steve rested his head against Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie ran his hands through Steve’s hair. They stayed like that, in silence, watching TV until they fell asleep.

Steve dreamt of the two of them sharing a home, cooking together, a small child sitting on the ground playing with a stuffed Garfield.

He woke up to learn that Wayne had turned off the TV and put a blanket over them. He could smell coffee and toast. He smiled and felt Eddie tighten the grip around his waist. It was nice to feel there was a place for him, with people who loved and accepted him.

#steddie #steddie fic

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writingforfun0714 · 2 years

Text

I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. I figured I should stop being so scared and just post, even if no one sees/likes it.

Here’s my first OC fic for Bad Batch. It’s a full fic based on my 2nd part of my HC of the Batch finding/adopting a Jedi youngling, here. I even drew a quick sketch of one of the scenes here.

Her name is Maisy and she’s a 4 1/2yr Jedi youngling.

I’m hoping to make this a multi-chapter/part fic.

Warnings—contains talk of mental illness/trauma, spoilers for Clone Wars and Bad Batch, headcanons, OC character, mentions of Obi-wan Kenobi, O66 trauma, 3rd POV

*I put OWK cuz my OC’s backstory is almost identical to Reva’s though isn’t really mentioned in this chapter.

**Takes place during ep10 Common Ground and goes to finale

**I HC that S1 and S2 of BB are about a year apart w/ each ep being about 3 weeks apart aside from the last 2 eps (which are 2 parts)**

So ep 10 is about 8-9mo from O66 (ep1)

About my OC—Maisy is a 4 and a half year old jedi youngling who is found by Omega during ep10. Having being told to stay behind, Omega meets Maisy when the youngling sneaks food from Cid’s

Older Sister

Chapter 1

3rd POV

The Batch rescued Omega from Bane and Shand and are finally back on Ord Mantell. They had just stopped to get some Mantell Mix as per tradition (and because of the whole ordeal Omega went through) to cheer the young clone up. Omega sits perched on Wrecker’s left shoulder as the squad walks through the alleyways back to Cid’s bar.

“How’s the Mantell Mix kid?” Wrecker asks. Omega eats a few pieces as she grabs more and drops some in Wrecker’s mouth.

“Better than ever,” she tells him as he nods in agreement.

“Yeah it is!” Wrecker exclaims before laughing.

“So when’s our next mission?” Omega asks.

“With 2 bounty hunters after you, it’d be wise to keep a low profile,” Tech turns around to explain to the girl as Wrecker sets her down.

“Tech’s right,” Hunter agrees, “There’s too much heat on us right now.”

“Ha! That never stopped us before,” Wrecker says when Hunter suddenly pulls the larger clone to the side a bit.

“The kid’s been through enough. She needs a break,” Hunter tells the explosives expert quietly before they glance over and watch Omega offer Tech and Echo some of her food. Echo takes a few pieces and sniffs them curiously while Tech gives them a small smile.

“She seems fine to me,” Wrecker whispers to Hunter before the sergeant of the squad heads into the seedy bar they’ve been calling home. Wrecker, Tech, Omega and Echo all follow Hunter inside.

It’s mostly empty aside from the regulars and Cid.

“I’ve got a mission for you boys,” Cid informs the Batch as they walk in and take seats at the bar, “A simple extraction on Raxus.”

“Raxus?” Tech questions, “That is the former center of the Separatist government. It has since become an Imperial outpost—“

“I’m not interested in a history lesson, Goggles,” Cid shakes her head, “You’re being hired to locate and free Senator Avi Singh from his confinement,” Cid shows them a hologram of the senator.

“My client will meet you at the given coordinates to brief you. Details are on this. Now get going,” she tosses a datachip to Tech, but Hunter catches it midair. The squad looks at Hunter questioningly.

“Help a Separatist?” Hunter asks and pauses, as if briefly considering it, “Not gonna happen,” he tells Cid, tossing the chip back to the Trandoshan bar owner.

“Your debt’s still not paid, remember?” She says, “A job’s a job.” She argues. Hunter motions for them to talk away from the group and Cid follows. Once they are out of immediate earshot of the group, Hunter faces Cid.

“I am not bringing Omega to a planet swarming with Imperials,” Hunter says definitively.

“So leave her here with me. I’ll keep an eye on her,” Cid offers.

“I don’t exactly trust you either,” Hunter admits, crossing his arms and Cid smirks.

“Good. You shouldn’t,” she tells him before continuing, “But if keeping the kid safe means more money in my pocket, then it’s in my best interest to do so, isn’t it?” Cid asks, poking the sergeant’s chest plate with her clawed finger.

“If anything happens to her—“

“Yeah, yeah Bandana. Just get outta here, will you?” Cid waves Hunter off after shoving the chip at him. He looks at her and sighs. He doesn’t want to do this mission, but they still have a debt.

Hunter walks up as Omega readies her electrobow across her body.

“Ready when you are, Sergeant,” Omega salutes excitedly. Hunter kneels down to be eye-level with the girl.

“Not this time, Omega. You’re staying with Cid,” Hunter tells her.

“But th-the mission. I’m part of the squad too,” Omega insists.

“Then following orders shouldn’t be a problem,” Hunter argues gently, placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“Stay close to Cid and don’t leave this parlor,” Hunter orders, “Got it, soldier?” He asks. Omega groans with a sigh as she rolls her eyes a bit.

“Yes sir,” she answers Hunter obediently. He nods and heads out with Tech and Echo following. Wrecker gives Omega a pat on the shoulder as if to say ‘don’t worry’ before following his brothers out to the Marauder while Omega looks on sadly.

“Hey, Tiny, I got a mission for you,” Cid says, waving the sponge she’s holding a bit, getting the girl’s attention. She tosses the scrubber to Omega, who catches it.

“Now get scrubbing,” Cid orders and Omega frowns before doing as she’s told, albeit with minimal/low effort.

2 of Cid’s regulars are arguing over a game of holochess as the Trandoshan bar owner walks past them. Omega’s sitting on a bar stool, her head resting on her hand (with her elbow propped on the table) slowly running the scrubber on her spot, clearly upset about being left behind. Cid approaches the blonde-haired girl.

“Enough with the moping around,” Cid snaps, “You’re bringing the mood down around here.” She motions around to the mostly empty parlor.

“Sorry,” Omega replies sarcastically before going back to looking sad.

“Alright, I’ll bite. What’s wrong with you?” Cid asks.

“I haven’t heard back from them yet. Do you think they’re ok?” Omega asks with a shrug.

“They better be for what this job’s paying,” Cid replies.

“I should’ve gone with them on the mission,” Omega says, angrily shoving the sponge away, “It’s not fair,” she crosses her arms angrily.

“I’ve got news for you, kid. Life ain’t fair,” Cid says, grabbing the sponge, “You don’t like it? Stop pouting and do something about it,” Cid says, receiving a look from the girl.

“Maybe if you weren’t so helpless, those 4 laser brains wouldn’t have left you here with me,” Cid tells the girl.

Having had enough of Cid’s talk, Omega frowns and slides off the stool before angrily walking away from the female Trandoshan. The 2 regulars, who have been paying attention to them, look at Cid and shake their heads.

“What’re you 2 looking at?!” Cid asks, throwing the scrubber at the Weequay before approaching Omega, who’s sitting on the edge of a booth seat, sitting with her arms crossed, facing away from them. Cid approaches the girl.

“I’m not helpless,” Omega says, clearly angry before turning away.

“Look, kid, I told dark and broody I’d keep an eye on you and keep you safe,” Cid explains.

“Hmm-for how much?” Omega asks. Cid scowls at the girl and scoffs.

“Not enough,” Cid grumbles before leaving the girl alone.

Cid decided to join her regulars, a Weequay and a Tall (Tahl? Idk), in a game of Dejarik. Omega decided to go back to scrubbing the bar table down, but is also listening in/paying attention to the game Cid’s playing.

“You’ve got her cornered!” the Tall exclaims triumphantly, causing Omega to look over. Cid is playing the 2 regulars.

“Oh, yeah, I’m real scared,” Cid mocks before thinking about her move.

“Delay all you want, you’re not getting out of this one,” the Weequay says. Cid is about to press the button.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Omega says, stopping Cid’s clawed finger. The bar owner looks at the young girl, who shakes her head.

“Hear that? We got an expert here,” Cid tells her opponents before going ahead with her move. She presses the upper button and the holographic figure chitters and whistles before getting taken down by one of the bigger figures. The Tall laughs.

“She’s done for!” The Tall says to the Weequay. Cid scowls lightly.

“I told you,” Omega warned.

“Well, expert, what should I do next?” Cid asks and Omega approaches, joining the game.

The young girl studies the holochess board a bit before pushing three buttons in a specific sequence and watching the board for her results. Cid’s largest figure takes out the last 2 dejarik figures her regulars had, causing the Tall to groan in frustration.

“You blew it!” He exclaims, shoving the Weequay a bit.

“Yeah, but you’re the one who said to bet it all!” The Weequay argues.

“You wanna take this outside?!” The Tall asks.

“Gladly!” The Weequay answers and they head outside to fight while Cid stares in disbelief.

“How’d you know to do that?” She asks the girl curiously. Omega smiles.

“It’s a strategy game. I’m good at strategy,” she says and Cid thinks for a moment.

“Hmm..how good? Enough to uh…win a few matches for some money?” Cid asks.

“Depends…what’s my cut?” Omega asks smartly.

“Hmm..30%,” Cid offers. Omega thinks on it briefly.

“60,” the girl counters. Cid thinks it over and nods.

At first, customers trickle in but once they start playing, and losing to Omega, a crowd starts to form and word of mouth spreads, bringing in all sorts of people. Despite the large, outstanding debt the Bad Batch owes, Omega’s able to win it back and then some with only 7 games. The girl just finishes off her latest opponent and the crowd cheers.

“Better luck next time,” Cid tells the male Nautolan, who pays Cid, who in turn, splits the credits with Omega.

“Can I use the refresher?” Omega asks and Cid nods.

“5 minute break everyone—refresh your drinks, and get your credits,” Cid tells the crowd that is gathered around the dejarik board. Omega hurries to the restroom at the back of the bar.

Once she’s done, Omega heads out to hear Cid grunting and calling out.

“Hey! Hey get back here you little thief!” Cid exclaims. Omega frowns and hurries into the parlor and spots Cid holding a small scrawny girl by her wrist. Omega sees the girl is wearing tattered looking robes and has thick, wild, shaggy blackish brown hair and bright dark eyes. The little girl can’t be older than 5, but because Omega grew up around clones, it’s a little hard for her to guess ages (since most clones have accelerated aging).

“Cid! What’s going on!?” Omega asks as the little girl wriggles and squirms, trying to free herself from Cid’s iron grip.

“I caught this little wamp rat stealing food from behind the bar-“ Cid explains before turning to her regulars.

“Should we call the police?” The Tall asks and the little girl gasps.

“Don’t-“ Cid tells them as the little girl manages to slip free from Cid’s grip.

“Grab her!” Cid exclaims. The girl manages to dodge the Weequay and Tall but Omega manages to catch the girl by her belt.

“Aah!” The little girl yelps and struggles in Omega’s grip.

“Good job kid,” Cid says.

“It’s ok-I’m not gonna hurt you-“ Omega assures the squirming, wriggling little girl, who practically radiates fear.

“Easy kid-easy-“ Cid says, approaching cautiously. The little girl’s breathing increases to a rapid pace and Omega notices.

“It’s ok-this is Cid, she’s a friend. This is her bar,” Omega explains. The little girl absorbs Omega’s words and sees the young clone give her an encouraging smile.

“It’s ok,” Omega assures her as the little girl stops squirming. She looks at Omega up and down before sensing the truth to the young clone’s words. The little girl is cautious but has stopped wriggling and Omega’s grip lightens up considerably.

“My name’s Omega, what’s your name?” Omega introduces. The mysterious little girl looks between Omega and Cid. At first the girl doesn’t answer, afraid of giving her identity away. Her stomach growls in hunger and she blushes.

“C’mon kid, I’ll let you have whatever we have to eat if you tell us your name,” Cid bribes. The girl nods and Omega takes the girl’s hand in her own and leads her over to the bar stools.

Omega takes the seat to the left of the girl as she climbs up into the bar stool that’s as tall as her. The little girl has to shift to her knees to reach the bar table. Cid offers the girl a cup of water and she takes it immediately.

“Thank you,” the little girl says before gulping down the whole glass. Cid smirks while Omega genuinely smiles.

“She talks,” Cid says and the little girl nods as she eyes the bowl of fries she got caught eating. Cid notices.

“You like those huh? I think we have more somewhere-“ Cid says and walks to the back to find more, leaving Omega alone with the girl.

“So, what’s your name?” Omega asks once they’re alone.

“Maisy…I’m Maisy,” the little girl introduces shyly. Omega smiles.

“Nice to meet you Maisy,” she says before her face falls.

“Are…you by yourself?” Omega asks. Maisy’s eyes widen and she tenses at Omega’s question before managing a small nod.

“I am…now,” Maisy replies sadly. Omega frowns worriedly.

“If you don’t have anyone else, you can come with me and my brothers-“ Omega tells Maisy. Before Maisy can ask, Cid walks back in holding a fresh basket of fries.

“So, did you find anything out, Tiny? Though I guess compared to her, you’re not so tiny,” Cid says and Omega smirks.

“She said her name’s Maisy and she’s by herself,” Omega explains.

“Where are your parents kid?” Cid asks the little girl, sliding the basket of food over to the small, scrawny girl who clearly hasn’t eaten in a while. Maisy looks up at Cid in confusion.

“Parents? What is parents?” Maisy asks.

“Parents, you know, the adults that take care of you-“ Cid explains. Maisy does remember one adult. An elderly man. There were other adults, but she remembers him the most. He was nice and kind.

“Gone…dead,” Maisy whimpers when she remembers what happened. Omega frowns sympathetically and places a comforting hand on the younger girl’s shoulder.

“It’s ok…you can stay with me,” Omega assures Maisy, who looks at her through teary eyes. Maisy gives a small watery sniff.

“Really?” She asks and Omega nods.

“I promise,” she says.

“Promise?” Maisy asks and Omega nods.

“It’s unbreakable, it’s what friends do,” Omega says.

“Friends,” Maisy repeats and Omega smiles. As she eats, Omega talks with Maisy, trying to find out any other information on the little girl.

“So how old are you Maisy?” Omega asks.

“I’m 4 and a half-“ Maisy answers before looking Omega up and down.

“How old are you?” Maisy asks her.

“I’m 11,” Omega tells her and the girl nods.

“There were a bunch of kids your age in the class above me,” Maisy tells Omega.

“Class?” Omega asks and Maisy nods.

“At the Temple,” she tells the young clone as she finishes up, licking her fingers. Omega thinks. Temple? She hasn’t seen any Temple on Ord Mantell since the Batch came to be in Cid’s service.

“Cid-what’s this Temple Maisy’s talking about?” Omega asks.

“Hmm, there’s nothing like that that I know of here. Could be the Jedi Temple on Coruscant…most everyone knows that one,” Cid tells Omega. Her eyes widen and she turns to Maisy.

“Are you…a Jedi?” Omega asks. Maisy blinks in shock at her.

“No-..No I’m not. Jedi carry lightsabers,” Maisy argues, remembering her master’s dying words. Omega frowns as if knowing the young girl isn’t telling her everything.

“She’s right kid, the Jedi I worked with carried those laser swords,” Cid tells Omega.

“Are you from here?” Omega asks and Maisy shakes her head.

“Have you been on Ord Mantell long? How did you get here?” Omega asks at once.

“I-I don’t know…m-my ship crashed here and…and I was taken. But I got away. I’m not sure how long it’s been, a few moons maybe,” Maisy tells Omega, who nods and thinks to herself. Maisy looks at Omega and while the young clone is deep in thought, Maisy’s eyes scan Omega’s face.

“A-Are you a clone?” Maisy asks Omega innocently. Omega looks at the young girl.

“I am…how did you know?” Omega answers honestly before asking.

“Your eyes. They look like Commander Fox’s…and he’s a clone. But..but I’ve never heard of a girl clone,” Maisy says, clearly confused. Omega nods.

“I’m different. I’m unaltered,” Omega tells the girl, surprising herself. She had just come to terms of who she is and yet, something about this little girl makes Omega want to tell her.

Flashes of Master Shaak Ti race by in Omega’s mind as she doesn’t have many of the Jedi Master. She knew the Jedi through the Togruta master in charge of the clones before Nala Se intervened. Omega wonders why this girl reminds her of the Jedi master…but the young clone suddenly wonders where Master Ti is and if she’s ok.

“Omega?” Maisy asks, getting Omega’s attention.

“Hm?”

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, it’s just…you remind me of someone from my home,” Omega says. Seeing Maisy not make eye contact, Omega realizes the younger girl is a bit uncomfortable.

Looking for a distraction, Omega spots the Dejarik board behind her and smiles.

“Hey, have you ever played Dejarik?” Omega asks the girl. She blinks and shakes her head.

“C’mon, I’ll teach you,” Omega offers and Maisy smiles.

“Ok,” she says and follows Omega.

They take the adjacent spots as Omega turns the holochess board on and explaining the rules and object of the game. She goes through each piece and their corresponding buttons.

“Ok, ready?” Omega asks and when Maisy nods, the older girl motions for the younger to go first. Maisy nods and starts off with a basic move.

As the moves go on, Maisy managed to corner Omega and beat the older girl. Wanting a rematch, Maisy happily agreed and the girls are now on their 4th game with Omega only winning 1 game.

“Are you sure you’ve never played this before?” Omega asks. Maisy shakes her head. Truth be told, Maisy’s life consisted of studying and training at the Temple on Coruscant. The Jedi had no time for such games. Once Maisy’s had enough, Omega tells Cid to resume the betting.

“Can I watch?” Maisy asks Omega and the older girl nods.

“Of course,” she says and pulls a seat over to her side so Maisy can sit next to her. The young girl smiles and hurries over as the next challenger takes the seat across the board.

The rest of the Batch finally return from successfully retrieving Senator Avi Singh. Hunter notices the amount of people first.

“What’s all this?” Wrecker asks, wondering why there are so many people wanting to go to Cid’s.

“C’mon,” Hunter says and they follow the sergeant inside.

“Man! No one can stop these kids!” A patron exclaims. Hunter and Tech push past a few to get a look.

“Of course,” Hunter says. Everyone’s eyes widen when they see Omega make the winning move. The crowd cheers.

That’s when Omega spots Hunter and the others within the crowd and waves at him.

“Alright, that’s it, no more bets,” Cid says, walking up to the Batch. Omega hurries over to her brothers. Maisy watches curiously from her spot. The others haven’t seemed to notice her yet.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Wrecker asks, picking the young girl up.

“She’s a natural. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Cid says, making Omega smile.

“I told you to keep a low profile. This is the opposite,” Hunter scolds lightly, making Omega’s smile turn into a frown.

“Ease up Bandana,” Cid says, shoving Hunter roughly to get him to face her.

“Omega made enough money to clear off the debt you boys owe me, so try showing a little more gratitude to my friend,” Cid says, pointing her clawed finger at the sergeant, who blinks in surprise. She walks up to Omega, who is still in Wrecker’s arms.

“You did good,” she says, placing her clawed hand on Omega’s shoulder in an approving/kind gesture, making the girl smile again.

“Senator, glad you made it. Let’s talk payment,” Cid says, showing the Senator and his droid to her office to talk business, leaving the Batch alone in the parlor, since everyone cleared out. Maisy stays silent to watch the interaction between Omega and the men wearing clone armor painted black and red.

“You really paid off our debt?” Hunter asks Omega.

“I wanted to be useful, even if I couldn’t go on the mission,” Omega tells him. She looks at the holochess board and that’s when she spots Maisy’s thick, wild, shaggy dark brown hair poking out from behind and she remembers her new friend. She hurries over and the boys watch.

“It’s ok, they’re my brothers,” Omega says, holding something. The boys wonder who she’s talking to until she manages to coax a little girl out from hiding.

The Batch stare in shock.

“Hunter…Hunter this is my new friend,” Omega introduces.

“Omega?” Hunter asks, clearly confused at seeing Omega with a much younger girl in what appears to be Jedi robes.

“Woah,” Wrecker comments.

“Who is that?” Tech asks.

“I don’t believe it,” Echo says in awe. When Maisy looks them over, she suddenly recognizes them as clones.

“C-Clones?” She asks. Hunter nods.

“This is Hunter, our squad leader,” Omega introduces.

“Omega, who is that?” Hunter asks, repeating Tech’s question.

“This is Maisy. She’s my new friend,” Omega tells the sergeant. He looks at the little girl and she looks back at him with large, owl-like eyes.

“How did you two meet?” Echo asks and Omega explains that Cid caught her sneaking food.

“Who are you?” Maisy asks, tired of answering questions.

“I’m Wrecker-“ the largest clone introduces first and Omega smiles at how readily and easily Wrecker is to get to know her new friend.

“My name’s Echo..that’s Tech,” Echo introduces. Despite his modifications, he looks the most like the clones Maisy is used to. Tech analyzes her with his visor.

“Young human child. Origins…Coruscant?” Tech says and they all look at Maisy.

“You’re from Coruscant?” Hunter asks and Maisy nods and the boys share a look but don’t say anything.

“Omega’s been teaching me about Dejarik. She taught me how to play,” Maisy tells them and Omega smiles.

“Oh yeah? Well let’s put those strategy skills to the test. One match. If you win, no more sitting out on missions,” Hunter says, exciting Omega. He turns the board on and motions with his head to it. She hurries over and motions for Maisy to come sit next to her.

“You ready for this?” Hunter asks.

“Are you?” Omega asks back and the 2 begin to play.

“So Maisy…do you have any family or someone we can contact for you?” Hunter asks, making his move. The little girl shakes her head sadly.

“I’m…alone,” she says and Omega quickly pulls the younger girl closer, knowing that feeling all too well.

“Not with me you’re not. We’re friends and as your friend, I’m here for you,” Omega tells her, making a move.

“Omega-“ Hunter tries.

“Hunter-she has no one,” Omega insists. He sighs, making another move.

“We can’t take her with us Omega,” Hunter says and Omega frowns, clearly upset. Maisy looks away, clearly uncomfortable being talked about right in front of.

“Why not? Helping people is what soldiers do-“ Omega argues, making a counter move.

“We don’t have the resources. Besides, Maisy is a lot younger than you and needs more attentive care,” Hunter argues.

“I can take care of myself. I don’t wanna be a burden-“ Maisy argues.

“You’re not a burden,” Omega argues almost immediately before turning back to Hunter.

“Please Hunter? She needs us,” Omega begs. Hunter sighs and looks at Omega’s new friend.

Whether its her large pleading eyes or Omega’s insisting look, Hunter breaks first and nods.

“Alright,” Hunter sighs causing the 2 girls to light up excitedly.

“But there will be rules that have to be followed, understand?” Hunter says and Omega and Maisy nod.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Maisy exclaims happily before jumping into Hunter, wrapping her small, scrawny arms as much as she can around the sergeant. Omega smiles at the gesture and Hunter allows himself a small smile as well before putting a hand on Maisy’s back.

“Sure thing kid,” Hunter replies, though inside, wondering how the kriff he’s gonna manage this as Omega beings to tell Maisy all the great things about being in the squad.

End of Chapter 1

Chapter 2

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