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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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camillesblogsposts · 1 year

Text

Protective Ellie

Request by anonymous!! Summary: You’re injured by a perv. Ellie loses her shit. Also?? Neurodivergent reader?? I am autistic and I kinda struggle to write from a perspective that isn’t U^ェ^U tw!! Kinda super duper crazy Ellie!!

You had recently stopped working on patrols altogether following an ‘incident.’ You weren’t paying attention to your surroundings and were tackled by an infected; to you, this was simply a mishap. To Ellie, it was a near death experience to be taken seriously. Ellie rescued you. It had became a too frequent occurrence. Honestly, you weren’t entirely capable for patrols. You were antsy, nervous and skittish. You weren’t physically nor emotionally capable. But, you got to be with Ellie. Now, you didn’t. You were stuck working at home making herbal remedies and soaps and such to trade at the markets during the day and working at the pub during the evenings.

“Ells, can I please not just join patrols again? It’s horrible being in that bar.” You whined, shoving your head into her chest dramatically. “No, sorry baby, you’re safer this way.” She was mildly irritated but she hid it well, stroking your hair and tucking it behind your ear. “What if I get super strong like you?” You giggle, looking up at her with big doe eyes. She smirked, “You wanna get muscly like me?”

“Well, no, but if I was then would I be able to be on patrols again?” You pouted. “You’re done with patrols, kay? Just forget about it, it’s for your own good silly.” Ellie was obsessed with keeping you sheltered lately. She had been growing paranoid again. She wasn’t sleeping. She’d stay awake at night watching you, stroking and kissing your face gently. Even as she stood speaking to you, the thought of you being possibly endangered made her nauseous. “Well, I don’t wanna be at the bar anymore.” You huffed, shoving her away gently in defiance. She had enough, this argument having spanned a week now. She ignored you and walked to grab her patrol bag.

Ellie walked to the door and opened it, turning back to speak before she left. “Be good, okay?” It was a rhetoric. “I don’t wanna go there, it’s loud and noisy and there’s so many people.” You threw yourself back onto the bed. She didn’t say anything else and left before you could confront her on her neglect. You had no other real choice than to get ready for the bar. Ellie contributed so much, you had to too. You needed to prove to her that you too were worth something. That you were just as useful as her. Begrudgingly, you got dressed into a black dress and apron. You made a small effort with makeup; homemade. A little blush and lip stain from berries. You knew it would excite her when she’d see you.

You walked to the bar and got to work; scrubbing tables, pouring pints, talking to the random middle aged men. Joel’s crowd. You were hugely popular already, people bringing you small presents as tokens of their appreciation for your service. A little bracelet, pin and book about birds were what you had collected on this evening. A girl around your age brought you an iced tea she had made at home for you. It was too fruity for your taste but you thanked her profusely and got her a little platter of snacks to take to her table with her friends. She seemed excited by this, keeping coming back to talk to you even though she didn’t need anything. It confused you. The pub was an overwhelming environment and not exactly knowing what a customer wanted from you intensified this. Regardless, you worked hard to keep up with every order made and conversation started.

A few hours into your shift people started to flood in, it was around 7pm and most people were finishing the work day. At this point, you were feeling overworked. Your body got a little shaky, you felt warm. When it got like this you kind of felt like you weren’t there any more. It was almost as if your consciousness had left your body and moved just a few inches forwards. You wanted Ellie and caught you whining to yourself as you thought about her. She would be here soon, you reminded yourself. Only an hour or so to go.

The girl came back up to the counter. She was pretty much wasted at this point. She was wearing a denim jacket, you noticed. She had a bad hair cut. “Hey again darling” She spoke, hand reaching across the counter to land on your forearm. “Hey, can I help?” You felt mildly uncomfortable at the nickname but it wasn’t uncommon in this environment. “What’s your name again?” She asked, looking you directly in the eyes. It was unnervingly direct. “Y/N.” You suddenly grew concerned she has been dissatisfied with your service. “Mine is Kaia, are you busy after this?” She still hadn’t removed her hand from your arm and you awkwardly stepped back to separate yourself. You were genuinely confused, now it became obvious why she had been so persistent, but you couldn’t wrap your head around why she would be so bold with you. Was she new here?

“Um, yeah I am actually.”

“Oh really? Well, I’m sure you could use some company.” She turned, and for a moment you thought she was just abruptly leaving, but then she walked left and behind the counter to stand beside you. You were started to shake a little more. She grabbed your arm with her hands, she smelt of alcohol. Nobody in the pub seemed to notice. Her friends had left.

“So? Where you live?” She almost burped as she spoke. You wanted Ellie a lot more, now. “You’re hurting me,” You spoke, breathily and much more quiet than you had intended. You noticed how tight your throat felt. You were going lightheaded. Her grip on your arm tightened.

“Ye? You like that, eh?”

“My girlfriend is going to be here soon.” You realised that maybe she just didn’t know it was you, Ellie’s girlfriend. She didn’t back off whatsoever. She obviously had no idea who Ellie was at all. Definitely a new resident.

“Oh yeah? Who’s your girlfriend, darl?” She whispered this through a hiccup, her face drawing in close to you as her hands gripped onto both of your arms.

Then, she was thrown back over onto the open cabinets, clattering into the glasses. They smashed, she fell to the floor in a slump. It happened so quickly that you couldn’t quite comprehend what had happened. You stood for a moment in a daze, just looking down at her. Blood was splattered on her denim jacket from the broken glass. You couldn’t hear, your eyes grew blurry.

You felt hands on you and you yelped, jumping forwards and shoving your head into your hands in defence. It was Dina, pulling you back. Her face was soft with concern. It calmed you down instantly and your vision returned to you. Ellie was stood over Kaia, relentlessly striking her face with her fist- “I’m her fucking girlfriend.” She was screaming, “Fucking scum, I’m gonna fucking kill you.” It was abnormal. You stumbled forwards, wanting to hold Ellie, wanting her to hold you. Dina held you tightly to stop you from going over. The pub was in chaos. People were screaming for Ellie to stop.

Ellie took a glass from the floor that hadn’t shattered and smashed it into the girls face before punching her a final time before being dragged off by Joel. The girl was covered head to toe in blood, unconscious on the floor. You worried that Ellie had actually killed her, and then she twitched on the ground. Maria pulled her up alongside her friends that had earlier left but must’ve returned upon hearing the commotion, Joel pulled Ellie the opposite direction towards you. You ran to her.

“Ellie, Ellie oh my god, are you okay?” You only just realised that you had been crying, your face was soaked. Your body was vibrating. “Joel get the fuck off me-” Ellie was still screaming, thrashing. She almost didn’t notice you standing there. He didn’t let her go until Maria had left with Kaia and the pub doors had been shut closed, everybody having been hurried out.

“I’m gonna fucking kill her” She was furious, her voice sounding animalistic. You grabbed onto her. You didn’t know what else to do. You wrapped your arms around her torso and put your face into her chest, pushing as hard as you could. You just wanted her to hold you, so so so badly.

She wrapped her arms around you too for a moment, and then quickly kneeled down on the floor before you. She wrapped an arm around your back and looked up at you, eyes glossy. “Fuck, are you okay?” She sounded so incredibly pained. You could tell she was already blaming herself. You nodded, still crying. She stood up again to kiss you, she kissed your forehead and cheek. “Who is she? I’ve never seen the fucking freak before.” You shrugged. You knew what Ellie would do if she knew her name.

“Joel, who the fuck was that?”

Joel looked antsy and irritated. “Ellie, it’s over now, you need to make sure that Y/N is okay.” Dina nodded, looking back at you. Her eyes were glossed over with tears.

“It wasn’t that bad, all she did was grab my arms.” You felt horrendous. You caused all this. Ellie scoffed loudly, “She was about to kiss you.” Her voice went high pitched with irritation, dramatically throwing her hands out as she spoke. You felt like you were going to cry again.

“I’m sorry.” You hiccuped, arms crossed defensively around your body. Ellie was neglecting you, she paced angrily, occasionally hitting her head into her hands. Joel was trying his best to calm her down but he was just growing equally frustrated, dwelling on what happened. Dina stroked your arms, kissing the top of your head to comfort you. She told you about her day. She’d seen wild horses. It was like this for around ten minutes before Joel finally let Ellie leave to take you home.

The walk home was a blur. You were shivering like crazy and you and Ellie didn’t exchange a single word. She had draped her coat over your shoulders and walked with her arm wrapped around you, pulling you into her chest with each step. Once inside, Ellie took her coat from you and led you to the bed. You sat perched and she removed your shoes for you.

“Can I take off these clothes?” She asked, voice cracking. You nodded and held out your hands to cup her face tentatively. “Wanna see your face.” You spoke, teary eyed. Ellie melted. She tried her very hardest not to cry, her whole body aching like she had been doused in boiling hot water when she’d walked into that pub and seen that girl gripping onto you. Her skin was left sizzling. She came and sat beside you on the bed, keeping her eyes on your face as she undressed you gently and quickly.

“Bath or shower?” She asked, she was trying to distract the both of you. You noticed the dried blood on her hands and shirt.

“Can we bath together?” You asked as she wrapped a blanket from the bed around you. “Yeah, course, c’mon then.” She made you stand in the bathroom with her whilst she ran it.

“Are you scared of me?” She asked, quietly. You shook your head immediately, “Of course not Ellie, I could never be scared of you.” You hushed her, leaning your head into the crook of her shoulder. She picked you up, trying to play and make you feel a little better, and dropped you off in the bath. You giggled a little, forgetting what had happened in the moment. She stood before you and undressed. Seeing her there made you feel so safe and warm. How could you ever be scared of her?

She got inside, sitting opposite you. She opened her legs, “C’mon, sit here.” She beckoned you with a finger. You did quickly, glad to feel her skin on yours. “Ellie, when she was scaring me all I could think of was how I knew you’d protect me.” That sort of put your thoughts into context for her. You both knew she went too far. But, secretly, you were grateful for it. Ellie would kill for you. She’d kill someone for leaving a bruise on your skin, the way her finger tips did on your arms. It gave you a deep sense of satisfaction that you couldn’t understand. Ellie loved you so deeply that it couldn’t just be understood.

Ellie wrapped her arms around you and cuddled you tightly into her chest. “I’m so so sorry that I didn’t stop her before she could touch you.” She mumbled into your back, you could feel how tense she was. “You couldn’t have known, it’s not your fault Ells,” your voice was quiet. You were hurting so badly seeing her like this. “You’re never going back to that fucking bar again.” She grumbled, kissing your shoulders.

“Do I get to be on patrols again?” You chirped up, fluttering your eyelashes at her over your shoulder. “For now, not letting you out my fucking sight.” She kept kissing you, stroking your arms and hair. You smiled a little. Ellie washed your hair and body for you so so gently, so careful to not hurt you. She looked broken when it came to your arms, scrubbing away whatever remnants of that girl remained. She got you wrapped up in a towel and took you into the bedroom. She quickly got dressed into her ‘pyjamas’ (a t shirt and boxers) and waited for you to dry off until you felt comfortable enough to get dressed. You hated damp skin on cloth.

She plaited your hair, kissed your forehead and pulled you into bed, spooning you.

“Will you tell me a story?”

“Course baby, what type?”

“A princess one.”

“Well, once upon a time there was a super cool princess called Y/N, she was into flowers and plants and knitting. She met a knight that equally liked dinosaurs and space, well basically, they fell in love and got married and cuddled just like this every single night. And the knight killed allll the dragons that ever came close to the princess.” Ellie’s rambling was so funny to you, you giggled the whole time, her fingers wrapping around your hips to tickle you lightly.

“What a lovely knight.” You joked, kissing the tip of her nose. “You’re the worlds most beautiful princess.” She kissed you, and again and again. She was being so careful with you. It made your stomach feel so warm.

You fell asleep like that, waking up hours later. Ellie was gone. She’d left her jumper bundled up beside you and your two teddies in your arms. You knew what she was doing. You went back to sleep.

When you woke up the next morning, Ellie was showering. You walked in the bathroom, sneaking up and surprising her. She didn’t jump, smirking down at you. “C’mere, my little dipshit.” She grabbed your face and kissed you hard. You went about your day like normal aside from the occasional gentle pulling in of Ellie and a little whisper asking if you’re okay. You were, you knew you were safe again. Ellie was with you and nobody would ever be seeing Kaia again.

#ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #tlou x reader

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callsign-magnolia · 11 months

Text

Undiagnosed // Ch. 8

Mature Content 18+

Jake Seresin x Neurodivergent OC

Summary: Katie Blair grew up trying to be the perfect daughter. She always struggled to be the prim and proper little girl her parents wanted. Big personality as a kid, but now at 25, she's the shy admiral's daughter who just keeps her head down and tries to get through law school. So what happens when she's had enough and with help from a certain Lieutenant, she gets out.

Warnings: Emotional abuse, trauma response, abusive parents.

Word Count: 6.9k

Chapter 7 | Masterlist

“Katie.” I rolled over in bed, burying my face in the pillow as whoever was in my room was trying to wake me up. “Katie.” Their tone was a little more harsh, but I still ignored them. “Katie Scarlett.” The voice hissed and my eyes flew open. “Mom?” I asked, fear lacing my voice. “Get up.” She hissed and I sat up, backing away from her to the other side of the bed. “Wha-what are you doing here? How’d you get in?” I asked just as I backed into something or someone. I looked up, terrified of what I might see, and I had every right to be scared. My dad grinned down at me, evil seeping out of his crooked smile. I gasped, attempting to dive off the end of the bed, but his hand wrapped around my long hair. A scream escaped me, one that sent a shiver up my own spine. “GET BACK HERE!” My dad screamed, dragging me off the bed. “LET ME GO!” I screamed and he dragged me out into the hallway.

“JAKE!” I screamed, watching as he sprinted out of his room. He ran and ran, but never got any closer. I screamed again as my father tossed me over his shoulder. He started down the staircase and I grabbed the banister. My mother immediately rushed over and pried my hands off of it. “JAKE PLEASE!” My father stormed towards the entry way as Jake came down the stairs. I could see the look of fear on his face but he wouldn’t run any faster, he couldn’t. He was sprinting as fast as possible but the pace he was going was like he was in slow motion. I grabbed onto the corner of the wall hoping to pull myself away, but my fathers strength beat mine. He yanked me from the wall, a few of my nails ripping off in the process. He swung the door open and threw me off his shoulder. I fully expected to hit the concrete, but I never did. I fell and fell and fell. Until I shot up in bed, a scream escaping my throat. Hands gripped my arms, holding me close. “LET ME GO! LET ME GO!” The arms encircled me and the familiar cologne hit me. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” Jake whispered the soothing words to me. “Don’t let them take me. Jake, please.” I cried as he pulled me into his lap. “I won’t darlin’. I’ll never let them take you away.” I cried into his shoulder as he held me close, one hand rubbing my back and the other keeping my legs in his lap. “Who was it?”

“My parents.” I sobbed and he held me tighter. “You’re safe, darlin’. I promise.” He held me, whispering soothing words into my ear as he rocked side to side and eventually I calmed down. “What was the nightmare about?” He asked. “They pulled me out of this bed and dragged me out of the house.” He sighed, still holding me. “They won’t come in here, I won’t let them.” Soon I crawled out of his lap and sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard. “I’m sorry for waking you.” He shook his head. “No. No, it’s okay.” He moved to sit next to me, leaned against the headboard as well. “I’ve never had a nightmare like that.” I admitted, pulling my knees up to my chest and squeezing. “Well, you just got out of a terrifying situation. So it’s understandable.” I hummed and we sat in silence for a minute. “Maybe you should see a therapist. It might help.” My head whipped around to him, anger in my eyes. “I’m not fucking crazy! I don’t need some therapist rooting around in my head!” He furrowed his eyebrows at my words. “I never said you were crazy.” I scoffed. “Really? I know good and well only insane people see therapists and psychiatrists.” He still looked genuinely confused. “Who told you that?” He asked.

“My mother.” I deadpanned. “Oh geez.” He huffed before sitting up and turning to face me. “Darlin’, a lot of people see therapists. I’ve done it after a few deployments.” He said. “You have?” He nodded. “My nightmares got pretty bad at one point and I went to see a therapist, and she made things a hell of a lot easier.” I pursed my lips, my eyes meeting his green ones. “What’s it like?” I asked. “It’s a lot of talking shit out and getting a new perspective. Every time I go, it’s work related. But maybe Rooster can help you a little more. I know his sessions are more about his personal life than work.” I nodded. “Will you talk to him?” I nodded. “I’ll talk to him, but I make no promises that I’ll go through with it.” He smiled at me. “That’s okay.” We sat in silence for a little while longer until I slowly started to get sleepy again. “Think you can go back to sleep?” I nodded. “I’m getting sleepy but I can’t guarantee that I won’t wake up again.” He nodded, patting my leg. “That’s okay. I’m just down the hall if you need me.” He got up as I crawled under the covers again. He started to close the door and panic rose in my chest. “Hey, Jake?” He stopped, opening the door back up. “Will you leave it open?” I felt like a child asking. But I had this fear that I’ll wake up in the morning and it’ll be locked from the outside.

“Whatever you want, darlin’.” He pulled the door to, leaving it cracked pretty wildly and I heard him go back to his bedroom. I laid in the bed, staring out the door. Every noise sounded like someone coming up the stairs, I thought I saw shadows, I even swore I heard my dads truck outside. My heart pounded in my chest and I got up, padding over to the window and looking out of it. I looked outside but I could only see the end of the driveway. I walked over to the door, opening it and peeking my head out. The hallway was dark, eerily so but I could tell there was no one there. So I stepped out of the safety of my room and out into the hallway. I descended the stairs cautiously waiting for someone to come around the corner at any moment. As I stepped on the bottom step, it squeaked and I tensed. I didn’t want Jake to know I was up, I didn’t need to bother him any more. Once I was off the stairs I made my way over to the front window, looking out. I saw nothing but Jake’s truck in the driveway and I let out a sigh of relief. But what if the door was unlocked? I’m sure Jake locked it, but what if? I walked over to the door, staring at the lock. It was in the locked position and I turned around and immediately forgot if it was locked or not. I furrowed my brows and looked at it again, still locked. But there was an itch in the back of my brain. What if it’s not really locked and you’re just imagining it? I shook my head, opting to touch the lock. Once I felt that it was lock relief washed over me. I turned around and a scream escaped me.

“Were you leaving again?” Jake asked. “No! No, Jake I swear! I just…” I felt like a petulant child explaining this to him. “I got… I got scared. What if my dream came true? I was hearing things and I thought I heard a car out front. So I came down here to check and of course, there was nothing. But for my own piece of mind I wanted to make sure the door was locked.” He looked down at me and I looked down at my bare feet on the floor. “I’m sorry if I upset you.” I apologized. “No, I’m sorry I assumed you were leaving. Just, after last time-” “You have every right to worry about that. But that was the biggest mistake of my life, and I won’t do it again.” He smiled at me. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.” I nodded as he led me up the stairs and I went back into my room. “Hey Jake?” I asked and he peeked in the doorway. “Yeah?” I bit my lip. Thinking about the question I was about to ask. “Nevermind.” I said, looking away from him. “Katie.” I looked back to him to see him leaned on the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m not going to judge you for anything you wanna ask or say to me.” I sighed, hugging my knees to my chest. “Can you sit here for a while? Just until I fall asleep?” It was barely a whisper, but I spoke it nonetheless.

He gave me a small smile, nodding and walking over to the bed. I got under the covers and slid down, laying on my back, which was something I didn’t normally do. He laid down next to me on top of the covers, resting his hands on his stomach. We laid there in the silence, and it was the most comfortable I had been in so long. “Thank you.” I whispered as tears fell down my cheeks and onto my neck. “What for?” He replied, his voice as quiet as mine. “Everything.” His hand brushed mine before slowly he intertwined our fingers. I relaxed into the pillows and the softness of the mattress. Jake’s thumb rubbed my own, sending me into a deep undisturbed sleep. When I awoke the next morning I was alone in bed, and that was okay. The blinds were open and the sun beamed in on my face, blinding me. I heard footsteps climbing the stairs and a soft knock on the door. I looked over to see Jake smiling at me. “Morning.” I smiled and the urge to stretch came over me. “Morning.” I said as I stretched my arms above my head, arching my back and stretching my legs so hard my toes practically pointed downwards. A high pitched whine escaped me at the pleasurable feeling of my muscles stretching from their stagnant state.

When I opened my eyes I saw Jake staring at me and I couldn’t help but giggle. “Sorry. Sometimes I wish I could just take my body apart like legos or snap it like a glow stick.” He laughed at my words as I sat up. “Well if you want, I have breakfast ready downstairs.” I nodded, tossing the covers off my legs as he walked downstairs. I stood, stretching once more before grabbing the hair tie that Kelly loaned me and walking to the bathroom. There, I wiped my face down and pulled my hair into a bun, getting the weight off my neck before going downstairs. “Need help?” I asked just as the oven went off. “Can you pull those biscuits out before they burn?” I nodded, grabbing the oven mit and pulling them out. “Sorry they’re from a can, I just didn’t have the energy to do homemade.” I shook my head. “I don’t care about that. I wouldn't have cared if you didn’t make anything at all.” He laughed. “Well my mom would have my hide if she found out I used canned biscuits. It’s also a Sunday tradition to cook. Kelly should be here any minute.” Just as he said it the front door opened. “Honey! I’m home!” He grinned widely at the sound of her voice. She entered the kitchen just as he moved the pot off the stove. “Hi baby.” She said, kissing him quickly. “Hi, honey.” It was sickly sweet the way they are with each other.

“And you.” My eyes widened and I looked at her. “I have brought you a flat iron and some makeup, just in case you wanted it. We don’t have the same skin tone but I brought some eyeliner and mascara.” I smiled at her. “You didn’t have to do that.” She laughed. “No, but it’s a flat iron I don’t use anymore and I needed it out of my apartment.” I nodded. “Food’s ready if you’re hungry.” Jake said, coming back into the kitchen from the dining room. “Of course I’m hungry! Do you know who you’re talking to?” Kelly asked, joining him at the table. I grabbed the bowl of biscuits, bringing it out to the table to join them. We sat down and started plating our food. “What is this?” I asked, holding up the spoon on what appeared to be a thick white soup. I made a look of disgust as Jake took the spoon from me, dumping it on top of his biscuits. “It’s sausage gravy. Have you never had it?” I shook my head. “Mom never made it.” He chuckled. “Try it. It’s to die for! I never had it till I met Jake and I force him to make it every Sunday now.” Kelly said and I shrugged. If I didn’t like it, I just wouldn’t eat it. No harm in trying it. So, I put a small spoonful on my plate, swiping part of the biscuit through it and taking a bite. “Holy shit.” I moaned.

“She had the same reaction to the huge burrito last night.” Kelly laughed as I sat up. “I didn’t know men could cook that well!” I said, taking another bite. “I take offense to that.” Jake said, making us all laugh. Once breakfast was over Jake and I went upstairs to get ready. I slipped on a light blue dress with little white daisies on it. It was one of my favorites and in my rush to pack, clothes flying from hangers, I didn’t even realize I put it in the bag. I stepped out of my room, going for the bathroom. “Hey. Here’s that flat iron and the makeup.” Kelly said as she came out of Jake’s room. “Oh, thanks.” I plugged it in, mentally preparing myself for the task that is doing my hair. While I waited on that to heat up, I lined my eyes with the eyeliner and swiped the mascara along my eyes. I blinked a few times, wishing I at least grabbed my contacts before I left. They may give me migraines and headaches but at least I could see properly. I shook the thoughts from my head, pulling most of my hair on top of my head. I started at the bottom sections, dragging the hot plates along my hair.

“How long until you’re ready?” Jake asked as he walked by, putting his watch on. When he looked at me I saw him glance over my dress before his eyes met mine. “Oh, uh…” I was halfway through my hair at this point. I pulled it all from the bun, parting it. “I’m ready now.” I said. You always make everyone late. That’s why dad was always angry. “Katie, if you’re not ready that’s okay.” I shook my head. “No, I don’t want to make us late.” He chuckled. “We’re not meeting Rooster and Phoenix till ten and nothing opens till then anyway. Besides it’s… only nine ten.” He said as he glanced at his watch. “You can finish getting ready. We have plenty of time. I just wanted to know.” I nodded, pulling my hair back up. “Twenty minutes?” I asked and he nodded with a smile. “You got it.” With that he disappeared and I quickly finished my hair, parting it how I liked. I unplugged the hair tool and rushed back to my room, slipping on the same nude heels as yesterday, seeing as heels were the only thing I owned anymore. I walked downstairs and saw Jake and Kelly on the couch. “Ready!” I called, going and grabbing my purse from by the door. Kelly stood and raised a brow at me. “Heels? Are you really gonna be comfortable walking around in those?” She asked and I looked down at my feet feeling a little ridiculous now. “They’re the only ones I have.” Realization seemed to cross her features and her face fell. “But I’m used to it anyway! It doesn’t hurt anymore!”

Jake opened the door and we walked out, getting into Kelly’s car. I sat in the back while Jake drove. “God I hate this thing.” Jake said, starting the car. “Don’t hate on my car. She’s my baby.” Kelly said and Jake laughed. “We’re getting you a new car.” She scoffed. “I will get myself a new car when I am ready.” She said, crossing her arms over her chest. Jake backed out of the driveway and reached over, taking Kelly’s hand in his, kissing it before resting them on the center console. My eyes glanced out the window, watching the world fly by. Part of me wishes I could have someone who cares for me like that, I’ve wanted that for a while. But after all my dating experiences, I’m starting to wonder if that will ever happen. Every man I’ve ‘dated’ has been rude, self-centered and outright awful. I’ve always questioned if all men are like that, but then I met Bradley and the real Jake, the person he is when he’s not around Coop and I think, ‘maybe not’. Maybe I’m meant to be alone. The thought made my chest ache. No one wants to spend their life alone, but I can’t live with Jake for the rest of my life. What if him and Kelly get married? With the way he looks at her it wouldn’t be a surprise. I can’t live with them if they get married, it would be intruding and I couldn’t do that. I need a job. I need life experience. I have to learn how to be a functioning adult. I can’t expect people to take care of me for the rest of my life.

“Katie!” I jumped, turning and looking at Jake. “You okay?” I nodded, looking around and realized we were parked at the mall. “How long were you saying my name?” I asked. “About thirty seconds.” He replied. “Sorry.” I whispered, stepping out of the small SUV. Kelly took his hand as he stepped around and they walked ahead of me as I followed behind. We walked into the Barnes & Noble, and I glanced around, looking at all the books. I saw many I had been eyeing for a while, ones I knew my parents wouldn’t buy for me. If only I had some money, I would get some. I stopped, seeing a few Colleen Hoover books. I knew she was popular, but I hadn’t looked into any of her books. I picked up one called ‘Verity’ reading the reviews on the back. “Katie!” Jake called and I practically tossed the book down before rushing over. “Sorry!” I said, walking up to the Starbucks line they were in. “What were you looking at?” He asked. “Oh nothing. Just a book.” I said as I waved him off. “Do you read a lot?” Bradley asked as he walked over, coffee in hand. I nodded. “I love reading. We didn’t have tv’s in the house so I spent a lot of time reading. Of course, my parents decided what I could and could not read.” I said and he rolled his eyes.

The line moved and I realized I was blocking people. “I don’t even know why I’m in this line.” I muttered, stepping out and standing next to Bradley. “Are you not getting coffee?” He asked and I shook my head. “I have no money.” I said blatantly. “What do you want? I got it.” He said, reaching for his wallet. I held my hand up, shaking my head. “Bradley no-” Seriously, I got it.” I huffed, looking at the menu. “I don’t even know what I would get.” I said. “Try this.” He said, holding out his cup. I furrowed my brows but he motioned for me to take it. After a moment, I did. I took a sip and the flavor washed over my tongue. “That’s good. What is that?” I asked. “Iced white mocha. Phoenix got me hooked.” I nodded. “Want one?” I sighed, knowing he wouldn’t leave me alone until I agreed. “A small one.” I said and he grinned at me, hauling me into the line. Once we approached the counter he ordered for me. “Can I also get a shot of raspberry in it?” The barista nodded and Bradley grinned at me. I just ignored him, grabbing my coffee at the end. “Any good?” He asked as I took a sip. “Really good. Wanna try it?” I held it up and he raised his brows, taking a sip. “Damn, raspberry in coffee? I never would’ve guessed.” I giggled. “I just thought why not! And I’m glad I did.” We met up with everyone else outside of the store and Natasha pulled me into a hug. “How was last night?” She asked. “Rough. But I made it.” I said as she looped her arm through mine.

“Okay, so what do you need?” Jake asked. “Um… I really don’t know.” Everything in here was clothing stores and I had clothes. “Well she needs different shoes, I know that.” Kelly spoke up. “You probably need bras.” Natasha said. I shook my head as a blush flooded my cheeks. “No,” I whispered. “I have two.” I said and she laughed. “You’ll need more than that.” She said. “Probably wouldn’t hurt to get some jeans and shirts. Can’t wear dresses everywhere.” Kelly said and I furrowed my brows. “I always have.” I said. “Yeah, but if you get a job you may not want to wear dresses or you may not be allowed.” “Let’s not worry about that now. Let’s just get things you’re comfortable with.” Jake said, laying a hand on Kelly’s shoulder. “Yeah! Now come on!” Natasha said, pulling me with her as Kelly grabbed my other arm. They dragged me into a store called ‘Adore Me’ and Natasha immediately held up a deep blue bra, grinning at me. “Is this not adorable?” She asked and I bit my lip looking back to see Kelly and Jake looking at lingerie and Bradley making his way over. “Um, yeah.” I said and she furrowed her brows. “What’s wrong?” She asked. “I just… I’ve never had anything other than black, white and tan bras.” I said and she nodded, smiling at me. “We are about to change that.” She said.

“Ma’am? We need her bra size.” Natasha stopped an associate who came over, and measured me. She told me my bra size and we were off. She held up the blue one again and raised a brow. “That’s nice.” Bradley said, grinning at us. “Fine. I’ll try it.”

With that we went around and I grabbed a couple of bras, as well as Natasha. “Ready?” Kelly asked, walking over, her arms full of lingerie and Jake even carrying a few pieces for her. “Yes!” Natasha said excitedly and soon we all got to the dressing rooms. “You two stay here.” Kelly said and Jake pouted. “But-” “Stay!” She commanded and they both took a seat on the small couch. We each got a room next to each other and started trying everything on. The bad thing is, I was in love with all of them. “These all look so good.” I whispered. “Can I get your opinion?” Kelly asked as she stood right outside my door. “Um, yeah. Hang on.” I quickly tossed my dress back on and stepped out. I was a little startled to see her in a black corset, black thong and matching garters. “Think Jake will like it?” She asked, spinning around. “Oh yeah! He’ll love it!” Natasha said excitedly, in a sheer bodysuit of her own. “Katie?” She asked and I cleared my throat, nodding. “It looks good.” Her face fell. “What’s wrong with it?” She asked and I rapidly shook my head. “Nothing! Nothing at all!” I said. “Then why does your face look like there’s something wrong?” She asked. “You just caught me off guard. I’m not used to all this.” I said and realization seemed to cross their faces. “Oh, Katie, we're so sorry. We’re just so comfortable with each other and we didn’t think about it making you uncomfortable.” Natasha said. “Don’t feel bad. It’s okay!” I said and Kelly stopped me. “No it’s not.”

“Kelly. It’s fine. I’ve just never had anyone to shop with except my mom. I wish I was as comfortable with it as you two are.” They smiled at me. “After spending time with us, you will be.” Kelly said with a wink and we all stepped back inside our respective dressing rooms. I stared at all the bras, finally narrowing it down to two and I was about to step out when there was a knock on my door. I opened it and it was Kelly and Natasha. “Try this on.” I furrowed my brows in confusion at the sheer dress. “It’s a babydoll and g-string set.” Kelly said. “Why?” I asked. “Because sometimes it just makes you feel sexy.” She replied. “It’s not like I have anyone to wear it for.” I said, and Kelly huffed. “Wear it for yourself!” She said, placing the hanger in my hand and pushing me back into the dressing room. She shut the door and I stood still for a moment. Did I make her mad? I looked down at the lingerie in hand and decided I might as well try it on. So I did, and she was right. I did feel sexy, something I’ve never felt before. “So?” She asked from outside. She sounded annoyed and I rushed to get it off. “It fits great.” I said before getting dressed and grabbing everything. I opened the door and Natasha was still standing outside the door. “Where’d she go?” I asked.

“She went ahead to check out. What’d you think of everything?” I held them all up, my arms full of bras and the one piece of white lingerie. “They were all great, I really love them all! But I managed to narrow it down to two.” I said proudly and she raised a brow at me. “Just two?” I nodded. “Why not all of them?” I shrugged. “Bras are expensive and I don’t want anyone spending too much money on me.” She sighed. “Come on.” She walked away and I stood there. Did I make her mad too? You probably did, you’re good at that. I took a deep breath, holding back the tears that were forming before making my way out. She was talking to Jake who was nodding and listening to her intently. “Find anything good?” Bradley asked, walking up with my coffee. “Uh, yeah.” I said. “You okay?” I furrowed my brows, nodding. “Oh yeah. I’m great.” I said as I sipped on my coffee. Natasha went to pay and Jake came over. “Find what you need?” I nodded. “Yeah, I’ll put the others up real quick.” I went to walk away when Jake got an associate's attention. “She’ll take all of these.” Everything was immediately swept out of my arms and I gawked at him. “Jake! I don’t need all those!” I said and he just smirked, walking away to pay. Bradley walked over to Natasha and Kelly and I stood there. One store in, not even eleven thirty and I already feel overwhelmed. I took a deep breath, steeling my nerves before I walked over to Jake.

“Here you go.” The associate said, handing me the bag. “Thank you.” Jake said, guiding me over to everyone else. “Where to next?” He asked. “The shoe store.” Kelly said and Jake took her hand as we walked out, Bradley and Natasha behind them and me at the back of everyone. It shouldn’t bother me so much, I’m used to it, but for some reason I felt ignored. We walked into a shoe store and I looked around. It wasn’t anything I had really worn before. I’ve been in heels daily since I was fifteen. I had to wear sneakers in school sometimes but it’s been years since I’ve owned a pair of flat shoes. “See anything you like?” Kelly asked, coming over. “Oh uh… to be honest I don’t know where to start.” She hummed. “Well, a good pair of sneakers is a good place to start.” I nodded and she pulled down a light gray pair. “These are cute, and it’s a good brand.” She handed it to me and I saw it said ‘Brooks’ on the side. “Yeah.” I said and she looked through the boxes. “What size are you?” She asked. “Um, these shoes are a nine.” She nodded, grabbing an eight and a half. “Try these and we’ll go down in size if we have to.” I nodded, taking the box and going to sit before stopping. “Hey, Kelly?” She hummed, walking over. “Did…” I took a deep breath, preparing myself for her answer. “Did I make you mad in the last store?” She raised a brow at me. “No, why would you think that?” She asked. “You just sounded annoyed when you handed me that lingerie set.”

“Oh, no! No! I wasn’t mad. My mom sent me some ridiculous text and then started blowing up my phone. She tends to do that.” I nodded, relief washing over me. “Okay, good. I thought I pissed you off and I felt really bad so I just wanted to ask.” She smiled at me. “You’re good! Oh, there’s some cute sandals over here! I’ll grab you a pair.” She said before running off. I grinned and tried on the shoes, feeling a little better. As the day wore on I had more and more fun, eventually the boys walked behind us as we walked arm in arm with each other. Kelly glanced behind us before turning back. “Ooh! Bath and Body Works!” She yelled before dragging me in. “But I don’t need anything from here!” I said and she scoffed. “You can always use cheap perfume. It smells good and it means that you aren’t wasting your expensive perfume.” I chuckled. “I don’t have any expensive perfume. At least, not anymore.” I said as she started making me small things. Soon we left with a few perfumes and even a few candles that Natasha swore I needed. As we walked I saw a hair salon and slowed down, looking inside. A few women were getting their hair dried and styled and a few were getting up after having their hair done. “Wanna cut your hair?” Natasha asked, walking over. I touched my own hair, playing with the ends. “I don’t know. I’ve always had long hair ever since I can remember.” She nodded. “How about a trim then? You seem to have a lot of split ends and it’ll make you feel better.”

“Okay.” I said, smiling at her. “Come on.” She dragged me in, Kelly and Bradley following. “How can I help you?” The girl asked. I opened my mouth to answer but stopped, getting nervous. “She needs a trim.” Natasha said and the girl nodded. After a moment she took me back as Bradley took my bags. She talked to me as she washed my hair and then she sat me down. “Just a trim?” She asked and I nodded. “Yes, please.” I whispered. With that she got to work. I calmed myself as she cut my split ends, reminding myself there will be next to no change in the length. “That good?” She asked once she finished. Long hair is what makes you a woman. My mother’s voice echoed in my brain. “Actually, can we cut some of it off?” I asked. “You sure?” She asked and I nodded. “Positive. Maybe the middle of my back?” She agreed and got to work as Natasha, Kelly, and Bradley walked over. “You’re cutting it?” Bradley asked and I hummed. “Decided since my life was changing so drastically, my hair should too.” Once she was done she asked again and excitement ran through me. “I’m sorry. Can we cut more? Maybe to my shoulders?”

“That’s a big change, Katie.” Kelly said and I nodded. “I know. Ooh, maybe some curtain bangs?” I was asked if I was sure a few times but I insisted. “It’s hair. If I want it long again, it’ll grow back.” I said and she got to work. The weight was so different once she finished and now I was nervous, but once she blow dried and straightened it, I fell in love. “So this is what it’s like to not have your neck weighed down by your hair?” I asked, stretching my neck out and they laughed. “It looks great.” Kelly said. Natasha went up to pay, and I made a mental note to pay her back. As we walked out, Jake rounded the corner. “Where have you been?” I asked, walking over to him. He looked up from the box in his hand and stopped, stumbling back slightly. “Holy shit.” He muttered and my heart rate picked up. “Is it bad? Everyone else said it looked good but-” “No. No you look beautiful I just-” He cleared his throat. “Here,” He said, holding out the box. “I got you this.” He said and I looked down. “No. Take it back.” I said, shoving the box back towards him. “Katie-” “I told you no last night, Jake. Now take it back.” I demanded and he chuckled. “Nope. It’s yours one way or another.” He said, dropping it into one of my bags. “No, Jake! An iPhone is too expensive!” I said, taking it out and placing it back in his hand. “Katie. You need a phone. I got this for you, it’s a gift, now take it.” He said, grabbing my hand and placing the box in it. We stared each other down for a few minutes before I gave in. “Fine. But this is it. We’re done shopping for the day.” I said and he nodded. “You have everything you need so I can agree to that.” I nodded, placing the box in one of my bags. “This was free with it.” He said as he tossed a slim, longer box into the bag as well. “What?” I pulled it out as he walked past me, seeing it was a gold series 8 apple watch. “JACOB SERESIN!” I yelled, storming after him.

Once Jake and Bradley calmed me down, we went out for an early dinner. “Are you sure?” I asked, staring at the sushi in front of me. “It’s a dragon roll. I promise it’s good.” Bradley said, holding the sushi up to my face. I’m usually down to try anything but this was a little intimidating. “Come on.” He pushed and I just decided to go for it. I took the sushi roll from his chopsticks and was very surprised by it. “Holy shit.” Jake laughed. “Is that what you’re gonna say anytime you try new foods?” I immediately nodded. “That is good! Can I get one?” I asked and Bradley nodded, getting our waiters attention. The rest of dinner flew by and eventually we all parted ways. Once Jake, Kelly and I got home I unloaded all my bags and slipped my shoes off, the feeling returning in them as I did so. I put all my clothes away in the closet and dresser drawers, even unloading my suitcase and duffel bag. I made the bed since I didn’t this morning. Crawling into a messy bed stresses me out and I can’t sleep for some reason. I made my way downstairs, but stopped as I caught sight of Jake and Kelly in a heated make out session. I blushed, rushing back upstairs and into the bathroom. I decided to kill time and take off my makeup and wash my face, using the skincare Jake bought for me earlier.

Once I was done I looked at my hair again, realizing how freeing it was to have it all gone. “Katie!” Kelly yelled up the stairs and I came out. “Yeah?” I asked as I walked down into the living room. “I’m leaving. Just wanted to say bye.” She said, tossing her arms around my shoulders. I hugged her back as she squeezed me. “Thank you.” I whispered and she pulled back. “I had fun today. We are so doing that again.” She said before making her way back to Jake. “Let me get a job first.” I said and she laughed before kissing him quickly and waving as she walked out the door. “Why don’t you go grab your phone and we’ll set it up and I’ll get everyone’s numbers in it.” I nodded, bounding up the stairs and grabbing the phone before coming back down. I sat next to him on the couch, pulling it out of the box and turning it on. We spent some time setting it up to how I like. After that we sat on the couch as Jake turned on a movie. “I’m gonna start looking for jobs tomorrow.” I said and he looked at me. “Really?” He asked and I nodded. “I’ll pay you back Jake, I swear. I’ll even pay you rent once I start having regular income.” I said and he laughed. “You sure?” He asked and I furrowed my brows. “Do you think I can’t do it?” I sa tup, glaring at him. “Wouldn’t you rather go to nursing school?” I reeled back at the question. “What?”

“Oh, come on Katie. You’re free from your parents and you can do what you want! Why don’t you go to nursing school like you said you wanted?” He asked. “I can’t afford that.” I said. “Look, you can take out student loans. I know it’s not ideal, and you’ll have to pay them back but you can stay here while you go. Free rent, free food. You just keep your stuff clean and help me around the house, I don’t see why you can’t go.” I was caught off guard by his words. “I would need my dad’s approval for the loans and-” “What?” He asked, confused. “Yeah, my dad always said I would need his signature for any loans and he refused so I could never get one for school. That’s why he always bitched about paying.” He scoffed, anger taking over his features. “Your parents are real pieces of… work, you know that?” I laughed. “Pieces of shit. You can say it, Jake.” He chuckled. “Good to know. But you don’t need anyone's approval for the loans. Not even your dad’s.” My face fell and my chest ached. “So I don’t need his signature for glasses either?” His face fell like mine. “Fuck. I knew there was something else we needed to do.” He said as he leaned his head back on the couch. “No, you don’t and tomorrow afternoon we’ll work on finding you an eye doctor. I don’t want to take you to your usual one, they may rat you out to your parents.” I nodded, never thinking about the fact that someone off base could tell my parents who I was with.

“Okay. But can I think about the school thing? That’s a big decision.” He nodded, smiling at me. “Of course. So, what movie you wanna watch?” He asked and I shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen many movies.” He scoffed. “We will change that.” He said before cutting on some comedy. We watched two movies before bed that night and I slept a little better. I woke up twice from nightmares but I didn’t scream. I woke up around five a.m. when I heard Jake’s shower cut off. I laid there as he walked by, but I couldn’t go back to sleep so I decided to get up. I walked downstairs, rubbing my eyes in hopes my vision would clear up. “Why are you awake?” He asked and I shrugged, noticing he was in his flight suit. “Can’t go back to sleep.” I replied and he chuckled. “Well I’m about to leave. You can text me whenever today, if I’m in the air I obviously won’t respond. Help yourself to any food or drinks in the fridge, help yourself to anything really.” He said as he walked by me. “Rent a few movies if you want, I don't care. I should be home around four.” He said as he walked to the door and I followed him. “Just relax today and we’ll try to find you an eye doctor when I get home.” I nodded as he grabbed his duffel bag. “Have a nice day.” I said and he kissed my head before he walked out the door. “Bye darlin'.” I was caught off guard by his actions and stood in the entry way for a second. Once my body caught up with my thoughts I made sure the door was locked before going over to the couch. I sat down, pulling my legs into my chest. I realized how quiet it was when I was alone, and I didn’t like it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#undiagnosed #top gun maverick #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin top gun #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x neurodivergent oc #ADHD oc #hangman seresin #hangman #hangman fanfiction #top gun hangman

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thispageisrendering · 10 months

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Autistic Safe Spaces

If you own a business or a restaurant that serves the public, as the issue gets talked about more, you might be wondering how you can better help the neurodivergent community. Some places try to give spaces where autistic people can go to get their needs fulfilled, so if that is of interest to you, I've compiled a list of things we really enjoy.... made by an actual neurodivergent person.

NOTE: This is list is made by an adult, for adults and teens. The needs of children are slightly different, though similar, and would surely require a different list. 1. Silence - A lot of places, including malls, restaurants, and crowded stores, are overwhelmingly loud. The brains of autistic people process stimuli differently, and we can't "tune out" sounds in the same way neurotypicals can. Silence can involve the (seemingly) obvious things, like turning down music or reducing the number of people in an area, but a lot of things are loud to the point of pain that you might not think of, including metal silverware on ceramic dishware, shopping carts, doors opening and closing, and shoes on floors. A good rule of thumb is to think about how you would feel in a space if you had a migraine. This is easier in some places than others, but accommodations such as plastic dishware, softer floors, and carts left outside can make a big difference. 2. Stillness - I call the visual category stillness and not "blankness" or "simpleness" because that is simply not what I mean. A space can still be quite beautiful while not being overstimulating. We do not want ugly things, and you can still use style and color theory and design principles, but we do want walls without too much signage or distracting detail, floors and carpets without tightly repeating patterns or too much contrast (stripes and small tiles both bug me), and a visual block from the rest of the world, where things are moving like crazy.

3. Style - Because autism is often seen as a disorder than affects children, style can often be overlooked when designing materials and spaces for autistic people (although this, I would argue, is silly; many brilliant artists are / were on the spectrum, and a child, especially an autistic child, can enjoy beauty as much or more than you), and if you have the chance, I plead to you-- remedy this. Autistic people can appreciate detail and wonder in a way that is not concurrent with anything neurotypical people do, and along with having "icks", things we find particularly distressing, we also experience "glimmers", moments of unbounded joy over (possibly) seemingly ordinary things. I feel glimmers when shown any well-executed style; I feel glimmers in office buildings and abandoned neighborhoods and driving by courthouses... any style that is significantly different from my own, and significantly committed to the bit, so to speak, is a wonder to me. If you have the money and the resources, give us beauty, give us a an area that contains classy chic lounge or a medieval tavern or a vast, well-made mural of hyperfixations you polled from your own customers... pay craftsmen to give you a 20th century train station or a heist or an illusion floor in one area that looks as if dwarves are mining for gold hundreds of feet below you. You do not need to overwhelm us with detail-- this area need not be unusually large, or contain live-action roleplaying employees, or be loud or bright or over-the-top-- but you should also take the project seriously, bring people who love what they do and will truly take this opportunity with joy and a keen eye for style. 4. Solitude - I am a high-masking individual, which means that when I am being watched, I cannot "safely" relax; if you appear distressed, people sometimes talk to you, and ask if you are okay, which is a nightmare for me. I strongly prefer small, quiet spaces where I can be alone, about the size of a bathroom cubicle (which is where I do go to decompress a lot), where I can be unobserved and alone. It is a wonderful feeling-- it doesn't need to be (and shouldn't) be a perfectly soundproof room, but just somewhere I can be myself for a minute.

5. Snacking - Being autistic is exhausting. We process 42% more information than you all, and it really takes it out of us. Lots of people on all ends of the neurodiversity spectrum people have trouble waiting long hours between meals, but when a lack of snacks could mean a meltdown... please just let us eat our own food. At a sit-down restaurant, waiting for the food and not being able to eat anything until it comes is unbearable, I just get so hungry and frustrated, while being overstimulated and masking the whole time, and on top of that, because I cannot eat gluten, dairy, or much sugar / refined carbs, the appetizers are usually unappetizing or off-limits for me, and the food on the menu itself just as bad. I don't actually get much sustenance from meals provided and / or eaten in public, and a bit of acceptance around eating a couple pecans while you wait for you meal goes a long way. This is also true in stores, especially in malls, where food sold is usually not of much value to me, but there aren't great places to sit down and eat something. And, as a side note, if you want to sell food that appeals to people with autism, think Plain, Cheap, and Childish-- I mean this with absolutely no disrespect to autistic people, but I would never in a million years eat a fancy sharp cheddar (it tastes awful and gives me a headache), but I love the shredded colby jack from Costco. We like simple mac 'n' cheese, chicken nuggets, plain noodles, hot dogs... if a fancy chef would think it wasn't real food, it probably tastes amazing to us.

In conclusion: I don't know why I alliterated this list; I just started doing it, and I liked it. Many autistic people love life and everything in it, we just can't take it in all at once. Give us beauty. Give us the silence and stillness to appreciate it. And, overwhelmingly... leave us alone :). We love our solitude.

I have just been chatting in this post (I'm sure there are spelling mistakes please ignore them lol), so feel free to add if you have more ideas, fellow neurodivergents. POST SCRIPT: If you are doing anything similar to this, please talk to autistic people before embarking on a journey like this, and take in a wide bank of opinions. Don't worry, we like to answer honest questions, and we talk quite a lot if you let us. We love you guys. You got this.

#autism #adhd #audhd #neurodivergent #neurodiversity #neurodivergence #autistic #actuallyautistic #adult autism #adult autistic #autism awareness #autism advocacy #autism adhd #accomodation

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yourlocalmerchgirl · 5 months

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Is it ok if I call you mine? Part Two

Soft!Joel Miller x Neurodivergent/ anxious F!reader

Part 1 Part 3

Summary: Joel is falling for you, and he wastes no time coming to your aid when you call him in the middle of the night because you needed to hear his voice

Soft! Joel miller x neurodivergent reader AU (outbreak never happens)

Warnings: soft Joel, concerned Joel, protective Joel, neurodivergent, audio overstimulation, anxiety, self inflicted angst. Best friend Tommy, falling in love. Acceptance, low self esteem.

A/N: I hope you guys are loving this story as much as I’ve loved working on it! I’ve been so touched hearing from people have been relating to the story so far and I’m thankful for you all!

There’s not a lot of descriptors about reader other than eye color but they can easily be changed.

The wind howls as it slams rain against the windows, shaking the screens as it pulls the rain back and forth with each gust.

It’s late, your inability to sleep renders you curled up in your bed doing some light reading as you try to tire your mind. Sleep doesn’t come easy for you often. Nighttime is when your thoughts are the loudest, often analyzing and reanalyzing conversations you’ve had and situations you’ve been in, thinking about all the different ways they could of gone or thinking about every possible angle to a situation that hasn’t happened yet, just so you’re prepared if it does. The one time recently you actually slept without issue and slept well was the night you fell asleep at Joel’s. There was just something about Joel, something about his presence, his voice that was soothing to you. His ability to ease your overbearing mind allowing you to be in the moment when he was around was nothing you’ve ever experienced before and that scared you. The mystery of these uncharted waters scared you, the unknown of not having a situation in your past to lean back on for reference made you feel anxious. But the way he made you feel out weighed the anxiety for once in your life.

You start to doze off when you’re awoken by the sound of booming thunder filling the room. You sink under the covers the more the thunder rolls through the room. You can’t explain it, there’s just something about thunder that’s been anxiety inducing since you were a kid. At this point you’re curled up in the tightest ball when a loud BANG is heard and all the lights in the house go out. The bright flickers of lighting light up the room from the sides of the shades as more thunder crashes, sounding like giants falling through the atmosphere. You’re terrified at this point, trembling in a tight ball under your covers.

—————————————————————-

Joel’s Pov

Joel’s up, he’s always up late. Sleep often alluding him. He didn’t rest well, always feeling that he hasn’t done enough, that he’s failed someone. He’s just laying there half watching the tv when his phone rings, he knows Tommy’s home because he can hear him down stairs and it’s too late to be any of the guys from work. Panic washes over him when he sees your name on the screen.

“H-hello..”

“J-Joel?” Your tone sounds strained

“Sweetheart, is everything ok?”

“I-I just needed to hear your voice” he can tell by your tone that you’ve been crying, that your stressed out.

You let out a strangled whimper as another boom of thunder rolls through the sky.

“I-I’m just having a hard time a-and just needed to hear your voice.”

Joel melts at the notion that he comforts you, that your comfortable with him and that you would turn to him for comfort. Because truth be told Joel was crazy for you, you’d pretty much stolen his heart since the day he met you. All he wanted to do was show you how much he cared, how much you meant to him.

“Is it the storm sweetheart?

“Y-yes, the thunder makes me anxious and we lost power.”

“Where are you? Y’at home?”

“Yes”

“Ok darlin’ listen to me. Put some music on on your phone to focus on, use t’he flashlight on your phone t’pack a back for a couple days and I’ll come get ya.”

“No Joel…I-I couldn’t ask you to do that”

“I gotta make sure your alright darlin’, I care bout ya k’now that right? You didn’t ask me do anything, I’m doin it cause I want too, I-l I want t’see you”

“ I-I want to see you too Joel”

Joel swears he can her the smile in your voice. He means every word of it. He’ll take every chance he has to protect you, to make you feel loved and cared for.

“TOMMY” Joel yells down the stairs.

“Already got the truck runnin’, I heard you on the the phone, I’m comin’ with you.”

“Tommy no, thunder is one of your triggers I can’t ask you t’do that.”

“Y’two are the two most important people in my life, it’ll be rough but I’m not having y’two out there alone.”

When Joel and Tommy get to your street they find it blocked off. It appears the cause of the power outage was a big tree going down on the power lines further down the road.

Joel pulls up to the barricade rolling down his window.

“Evening officer, w’ould it be possible to get to that second house there?”

“Sorry roads closed”

“ I understand that sir I just need to get to my girlfriend, she’s without power and having a panic attack about all the commotion. Just need to pick her up and we will be on our away.”

“Alright, but make it quick!”

The officer moved the barricade so they can get through.

“You called her your girlfriend?”

“Fuck I dunno Tommy it just came out, I didn’t want the cop to say no.” Joel says as they pull into your drive way.

“You do like her though, you want her to be your girlfriend don’t you?”

“More than anything Tommy, I’d do anything of that girl, hell I’d take her hand and marry her tomorrow if she take me, but she probably doesn’t feel the same, what’s a girl like her want with a guy like me?”

“Stay in the truck I’ll be right back”

You swing the door open before he even reaches the top step of the porch, like you’d been waiting by the window for him, because truthfully you had been.

Joel catches a glimpse of you in the moonlight of the open window, he reaches out to caress your face when he sees how distraught you look, how puffy your eyes are when you just fall into his embrace. He’s taken a back by this for a moment, realizing you really do find safeness and comfort in him.

“Let’s get you outta here sweetheart, you’ll be nice and safe at the house with me and Tommy”

Joel grabs your bags and swiftly leads you outside into rain to the truck. Joel’s helps you into the back when he realizes Tommy’s in the drivers seat.

“Tommy? W’hatya doing?”

“Figured I’d drive back so you can be in the back with her.”

“Tommy! The thunder, you didn’t have to do this” you exclaim as you lean over the seat to give him a big hug.

Tommy didn’t have to say anything, you already knew it was hard for him to be out in the storm surrounded by the thunder too. You and Tommy where similar in those ways. Joel admired the care you showed Tommy, that even in a time of distress for you you’re making sure Tommy is alright too.

You settle back into the seat as Tommy starts backing out if the driveway. You let out a ragged breath and instinctually grab Joel’s hand as another rumble of thunder rips through the sky. He wastes no time lacing his fingers in yours, smoothing his callused thumb over the side of your hand.

You scoot closer to him as you lay your head on his shoulder, breathing out a relaxed sigh.

“Im so happy to see you Joel” you whisper as you tilt your head up to look at him.

“I’m so happy to see you to sweetheart, I’m glad you called”

Joel can tell your tired by your eyes, but you’re still, even in this moment, the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

“Let’s get you settled so you can get some sleep, I’ll set you up in my room and I’ll sleep on the couch”

Joel grabs your bags and chuckles “Christ it looks like your moving in” he jokes as he walks you up the stairs.

“Well I had to bring my pillow too, I can’t sleep anywhere without it” you laugh shaking your head at how ridiculous you sound.

“Let’s get you out of these soaked clothes, you must be cold”

“I am a little bit” you say bearly above a whisper as you take your pillow out of one bag and dig through the other for pajamas

You go down the hall to change. Washing your face in the sink you pause just looking at yourself in the mirror.

You look like shit. But you have to tell him how you feel.

Joel’s down stairs setting up the couch when you get back from the bathroom so you lay down and curl up in the bed leaving the room dimly lit with a small lamp. Joel comes upstairs to check on you, when he gets to the doorway he sees you curled up in his bed. He finds the sight of you precious, how cozy and relaxed you look it’s a sight he could get used too. You look up to see him standing in the doorway looking at you and you give him the most genuine smile.

“Sorry, I kind of made myself at home” you say nervously.

“Oh sweetheart don’t be sorry. I want you to feel at home here. I was just coming to check on you, make sure you were comfortable.” Joel says sitting on the end of the bed.

“You must be tired, try to rest and get some sleep. I’ll be on the couch if ya need anything.” Joel says reaching for the lamp.

“J-Joel… you can..um will you stay with me?”

Joel is taken by surprise that you’d actually want to share the bed with him, that he just stares at you for a moment. When he says nothing you become anxious, fearing you misread things.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Forget I said anything.”

You reach to shut the lamp off but he rests his hand on your leg to stop you.

“No, no sweetheart it’s not like that, I’m honestly just surprised. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to say that.”

“I don’t want you to feel pressured either. I don’t feel pressured at all, Im being genuine.”

“If you’re truly ok with it I would like to stay in here with you” Joel says as he searches your eyes for any hesitance. But when you meet his gaze with the kindest genuine smile he knows your serious.

“I usually sleep without a shirt, i-is that ok?”

“Of course, how ever your comfortable, I don’t want you to change your routine because I’m here.”

“Sweet dreams sweetheart” Joel says before clicking off the lamp.

“Thanks Joel you too.” You flash him a smile even though it’s dark, thinking he won’t see it but he does.

Another boom of thunder rolls across the sky as you let out a pained sigh. rolling over and resting your head against Joel’s arm, just like in the truck.

“It’s ok, come here baby girl, I got you.” Joel says as he opened his arms, hoping he didn’t freak you out by calling you baby girl, it just came out.

As you scoot closer, he wraps you up in his arms. It’s dizzying how good you feel there, the way you nestle you head into his broad chest until you’ve found the perfect spot. The way you contently hum as you wrap you’re arm around his mid section holding him just as closely as he is you that really makes him melt. The way you start sleepily drawing little circles on the skin over his ribs as you lay there. He could die in this moment and be ok with it, being happier than he has been in years. It’s in that moment that all he wants to do for the rest of his life is love and care for you, to protect you and be there for your every up or down.

“Thank you Joel” you mumble sleepily as the sound of his heartbeat starts lulling you to sleep.

“Anything for you sweet girl” Joel whispers as he kisses the crown of your head.

—————————————————————-

As your eyes flutter open the next morning your head is still nestled on Joel’s chest. The two of you slept like that all night, which makes your smile tug at the corner of your lips. This is what happiness and acceptance feels like. You gingerly and quietly slip out from under Joel’s arm and sit up on the bed. You sit there for a moment and take in the true beauty of Joel, the way the morning sun highlights his strong nose and jaw. How his sun kissed olive skin glistens with every rise and fall of his chest.

You slowly get up off the bed as to not wake him and quietly pad down the stairs to get a drink of water.

You sneak back up the stairs and crawl back into bed. Joel had rolled over while you were down stairs, so you just curled up on your side and settle back in.

There was just something about Joel you couldn’t put your finger on. You wanted him to be the first thing you saw in the morning and the last thing you saw at night. You wanted to be there for the ups and downs, showering him with love every chance you got. Something about Joel just felt like home. You are pulled from your thoughts by Joel as he wraps his arm around you pulling you back flush against his chest, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. A giggle bubbles up when his scruff tickles the soft skin of your neck.

Here’s your chance…

“Hey J-joel” your voice is barely above a whisper

“Hmm” he sleepily hums in response

“I-I like you, like a lot” I say nervously, regretting the words as soon as you say them, preparing for the rejection.

Joel’s eyes snap open, he feels like he’s in a dream, he couldn’t of heard you right?

“Say that again sweetheart”

You roll over so your facing him, though you’re barley able to look him in the eye.

“I like you Joel… I like you a lot.” You nervously say as you reach out smoothing your fingers along his cheek bone.

Joel feels his heart beat quicken. “I like you a lot too baby girl…god I’ve been dying to tell you.

“Is it ok if I call you mine?”

Tag list:

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#tommy miller #fanfic #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #tommy miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel the last of us #soft!joel miller #neurodivergent #joel miller x f!reader

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