#sir how am i supposed to be figuring out what’s going on here when i’m still struggling to connect all the dots on d20

[moonlightperseus]

samuel (dalton) reich what are you doing

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Man 13

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You walk along the halls of the garishly large house. You suppose anything compared to your apartment is huge. Former apartment? You mourn the loss of your previous life as it starts to sink in. No long distracted by the bristly mustache of its delightful effect on you, you can’t help but descend slowly into despair. 

You narrow your eyes at the fabric strained over shoulders blades in front of you. All he had to do was say please and be polite. He couldn’t even give you his order then blamed you for not knowing.

How on earth are you supposed to know who he is? It isn’t your fault no one told you. Now you’re starting to get mad at them too. Bre really put you in it, didn’t she?” 

“Are you growling?” Lloyd asks over his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” you answer honestly. 

“At me?” He snickers. 

“No... I should,” you grumble, “so, did you think about that sweater? Maybe a blanket? My nipples are so hard, they’re starting to hurt.” 

He stops and turns to face you. You walk straight into him and he grabs your shoulders, pushing you back to stand at arm’s length. He looks you up and down with a squint, his mustache slanting with his mouth. 

“I don’t negotiate but if I give you a blanket, do you promise to stay out of the way?” 

“Sir, if you opened the front door at this very moment, you would never see me again.” 

“Noted,” he says grimly, “go in here and stay.” He points to the door next to him as he releases you, turning the handle slowly, “don’t break anything. There should be a blanket, just don’t get too cozy.” 

“If I may, I think we would both be much happier if you let me go. Look at it this way, you got your rocks off, I got mine jangled, and now we both know a lot more about ourselves. You don’t have to ever see me again--” 

“Be quiet,” he reaches to pinch your lips shut, “Christ Almighty, you don’t shut the fuck up.” 

You try to talk past his fingers but just make a weird noise between your sealed lips. You shrug and raise your hands in surrender. He lets you go and sighs, waving through the open door. 

“Shutting fuck up,” you lift a hand in a salute and he quickly smacks it down. You shake your fingers out and hiss, “ow.” 

“Stop doing that,” he demands. 

“Fine,” you make a face and turn past him. At this point, you don’t care. This house is too cold and you don’t think he’ll take your advice about his central air bill. Looks like he can afford it, even if the ozone might suffer. “Erm, thanks?” 

“Whatever,” he grabs the door and shuts it behind you with a snap. 

You turn to it as you hear the lock click. His footsteps march off swiftly and you wiggle the handle. Drats. You could try a window but you’re hardly equipped for the descent. 

You face the room and look around. It’s nice. For New Jersey, which this isn’t. Amid the golden lamps, the velvet chaise, and the safari statues, a fluffy leopard print throw calls your name. You bound over to the clamshell chair and swipe it up, wrapping your shivering figure in the faux fur. At least you hope it’s not real. How would Floyd like it if someone skin his lip for, er, well... what could you even do with that? 

You sit and bask in the warmth. Oh, you almost feel human. If you didn’t smell of sweat and sex. What a pervert!  

It’s all so twisted the more you think of it. Worse is how much you enjoy it. Even if he’s a big dodo head, you have to admit, he knows what he’s doing. Well, compared to you, who doesn’t? You’ve seen it all but haven’t done so much. 

You peer around. It’s really tempting to play with that wooden tiger figurine or that metal orby thing with all the rings. You close your eyes and resist. How can he put you in this room and expect you not to go wild. Literally. It’s like being in a jungle. You gave him the benefit of the doubt about the mustache but this room alone assures you he’s living in some 70s exploitation fantasy. 

You curl up on your side in the chair and sigh. You close your eyes and think. This morning, everything was normal. Kind of. You almost long for the beginning of the spiral now that you’re spinning in it.

How long is he going to keep you here? And what happens after? Do you get your money back? Your apartment? Definitely, not your dignity. 

You don’t remember falling asleep but it’s a happy relief until consciousness breaks through like a nail through paper. You wake up with a lurch and nearly fall out of the chair, gaping up at the blue eyes boring down into you. You give Floyd with no F a sheepish smile. 

“Oh, hello, sir,” you sit up cautiously, “I’m happy to report I kept my hands to myself.” 

“You snore. Loud.” 

“Ah, well, I’ve had quite the day. I guess I really needed a nap--” 

“Get up,” he grabs you by the back of the neck and forces you to your feet. 

“Ow, eek,” you pull at his wrist, “did your meeting go okay?” 

“Why the fuck do you care?” He snarls. 

“I don’t, I was being polite,” you try to wriggle free, “judging by the attitude, it didn’t--” 

“What the fuck do you know about my business?” He snips. 

“As much as I wanna know. Nada,” you roll your eyes and manage to break free. “Ouch, bro.” 

“Bro?” He grimaces. 

“Dude, sir, whatever,” you huff and catch the blanket as it slips, “I’ve been nothing but nice, you know, but you’re starting to piss me off.” 

“I’m pissing you off?” He tilts his head and crosses his arms, “you--” 

“Got it. You can’t stand me but it didn’t stop you from diving into my southern hemisphere,” you sniff. 

The air roils with his agitation. You hug yourself defiantly as you cling to blanket and stare him in the face. He looks down at you, bringing a hand up to rub his chin. He sucks his teeth and reaches with his other hand to yank the blanket away. You cry out, hanging onto it as he lurches you.  

The blanket stretches between you in a tug-of-war. He nearly takes you of your feet as he gives it a hefty pull. You hold onto it, planting your feet but he easily keeps hold of his end. You use all your strength to add to the tension and as you see him go to yank again, you let go.

Lloyd staggers back as the blanket drops from his grasp. He flails and hits the chaise, crashing over it as he bounces off the cushion onto the other side. He groans as his feet remain atop the velvet. You inch over to look at him, his shoulders to the floor as his face strains. 

“You stupid little bitch,” he growls. 

“Sir,” you bite down on a smile as you stand over him, “why are you so mad? You won.” 

[sarahs-secrets2]

Suit and Tie ˋ♡ˊ

phillip graves x fem!reader

help me pick out a suit yeah? 1.6k words

pet names, innuendos, alc, some swearing

graves masterlist!!

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

It was a slow day, as usual. High-end suits were not usually an everyday purchase for some, and the store's main cash flow was regulars who had their suits delivered. This meant another boring day of reorganizing an already spotless store. You busied yourself behind the counter pretending to be going over the delivery list for tomorrow when in reality it had already been looked over 3 times today.

That was until the door chimed, and a brand new customer walked in just an hour before closing. Perfect. Your eyes flickered up to greet him, and wow did he look out of place. Of course, it isn't polite to judge a book by its cover, but sometimes if you wanted to make enough commission to cover your rent a few assumptions were necessary. Typical customers came dressed for the part, maybe they were overcompensating but it sure made your job easier. This one was different, old blue jeans with obvious fraying, a blue button-up that was just a shade lighter than the jeans, and black dirty work boots. You had seen the type before but it had been awhile.

“Sorry sir, we don’t sell jeans here. Can I redirect you to a different store?” Maybe it was a tad rude but there was no way this guy was serious, and you weren't in the mood to have your time wasted. 

He laughed, walking further into the store and right up to the counter. The man rested his palms on the glass countertop, leaning closer as he whispered, “Good thing I’m not lookin’ for jeans.” A smirk danced on his lips as he leaned back and stood up straight. “Phillip Graves, I need a suit doll, help me pick one out?”

The forwardness caught you off guard, you could feel the heat rising to your face. Maybe he wasn't going to waste your time? Trying to keep your composure you walked out from behind the counter, heels clicking against the wooden floors in the suit shop. Phillip Graves, the name echoed in your head, bouncing around, and making sure you wouldn't forget it. “Can I ask what the occasion is?”

“Mhm,” he rubbed his jaw as he thought. While he took his time, you took in his appearance. A pretty blonde, blue eyes, a stubbled jawline with the faintest scar on his cheek, who was Phillip Graves? “Military thing,” he finally said.

“So you’re military?” you scoffed, now sifting through a rack of suits. 

“You could say that.” He walked over to join you by the racks. “I’m not sure if I’m goin’ yet, but better be prepared,” he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

“Do you know your inseam?” turning to face him, eyeing him up and down trying to gauge what it could be. 

“Got me there, not a clue. Been a long time since I got a real nice suit,”

“Figured,” you laughed, Graves tilted an eyebrow up at you jokingly. “Go to the fitting rooms, just over there,” you pointed off towards the pedestal in front of the big mirrors, “and I’ll get your measurements, then we can start trying some stuff on yeah?”

“Whatever the pretty lady says,” Phillip walked over to the mirrors and stepped up onto the pedestal. You were just a few paces behind him with a loose tape measure. Taking the measuring tape in both hands you kneeled down in front of him. It wasn't hard to feel how his eyes burned into you as you began to line the tape measure against his inner thigh. Your fingers ran down his leg along with the numbers as you took his measurements. Carefully you stood up, taking a mental note of the number of his inseam. 

“Large?” Phillip raised his eyebrows, “Maybe extra large?”

“No, and not how it works” you quickly retorted, lightly slapping his chest with the tape measure. “Stay here, I’ll go pull some options. Need a drink?”

“A drink? Thought this was a suit store, not a bar,”

“Well it’s a high-end suit store, and if you're willing to pay as much as these suits cost then I can swing one whiskey your way,” 

“And how am I supposed to say no to that?”

“Thought so,” smiling, you walked back into the main showroom looking for some options. After a few minutes of digging you pulled a few different suits and brought them back to Phillip. 

“Here you go Mr. Graves,” you hung each suit on a different hook in the fitting room and motioned for Phillip to go ahead. 

“Mr. Graves,” he smirked, “No one’s called me that in a while.” As you stepped out of the fitting room to make room for him, you scrunched your face in confusion to which he caught on. “Sorry, I’m a Commander, usually it’s just Commander or Phillip. I don’t really hear mister too often now,” 

“So which do you prefer, Commander?” 

Phillip could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand as you used his rank to address him. He wasn't blind, you were stunning. It didn't help that just minutes ago you were already on your knees for him. His heart nearly pounded out of his chest as he waited for you to get his measurements, any longer and Phillip could have sworn he was going to faint. Graves’ eyes met with yours, “Just call me Phillip hon’,”

“Well, let me go get you that drink Phillip. Go ahead and start trying these on,”

“Will do,” he winked, tugging the velvety curtain across the fitting room entryway. While Phillip tried on his first suit, you went to get his drink. The bar cart wasn't far, it was important to have it close for the clients to feel welcome. Pulling out a glass you poured the whiskey in, glancing at your watch you realized it was past close. If this was any other customer maybe you would've been bothered, but you had grown quite fond of Commander Phillip Graves. Deciding to treat yourself, you poured a second glass before setting the top-shelf bottle back down. 

“Phillip, I have that drink whenever you’re done in there,”

“Go ‘head and open the curtain for me, I’m just about done,” his voice was muffled as he spoke. Setting down your glass of whiskey, you walked over to the curtain with Phillip’s drink in hand and pulled back the divider. To your surprise, Phillip was nowhere near being done. The Commander was standing shirtless, only getting the dress pants on before giving up it seemed. 

“Ah thanks, darlin’,” he slipped the whiskey out of your grasp and took a swig before setting it down on the small table in the fitting room. Your mind was elsewhere, eyes too busy taking in the physique of the man in front of you. He was fit, clearly, the military would do that to you. There were various scars, probably from combat but if anything it made him that much more attractive. “See somethin’ you like?” the southern drawl snapped you from your trance. 

The Commander laughed before turning around facing the mirror in the fitting room, his back now towards you. Fuck, his back, his shoulder, his everything. If you hadn't just met this man today, especially considering the fact he is a customer, you would be all over him. Honestly, you weren't even sure if that was enough to stop you at this point. Graves began to slip the white button-up on, your eyes glued to his back intently watching how his muscles flexed. 

“I like that suit,” you quipped back, trying to play off your obvious staring. 

“Just the suit?” Phillip turned back around, now taking his time buttoning up the shirt. His abs peeking through the fabric 

“Just the suit, I picked it out you know,”

“I know, that’s why I like it,” he finished the buttons and glanced up at you.

“You need a tie, one second,” it was part excuse and part serious. He was a sweet talker, always knowing exactly what to say and it was becoming impossible to hide the effect he was having on you. Grabbing a pale blue tie, you returned having regained some composure. “Here try this, just for the full effect,”

“Look at you, thought I was just comin’ in for jeans, now you’re pickin’ me out ties,” he teased as he adjusted the tie around his neck in the mirror. 

“Hm and you still need new jeans,” you giggled, picking up your whiskey, and taking a small sip as you watched him finish getting dressed. Phillip was finally done and stepped out of the fitting room and back onto the pedestal. 

“How’s it look?”

Taking your time, you walked around him surveying the fit of the suit. Your hands ran along the sleeves of the jacket, “A bit loose through here, but we can get this tailored.” You continued and kneeled down in front of him again, tracing the inseam of the black dress pants. “And how’s the fit on these? Do you like it?”

Phillip let out a cough, “Yeah, these are good,” he shifted in place as you stood back up. 

“Perfect,” your hands ran down the collar, grabbing onto the lapels, “Well, now we know what fits, it all comes down to what you want to do,”

“What I wanna do?” he huffed out, his head rolling back slightly, “I wanna take you out on a proper date that’s what I wanna do,” 

“Oh?” it took you by surprise, in a good way. 

“I mean, already saw me half naked. I think we skipped a few steps but a date would be a good place to start. Don’t you think darlin’,” 

“I think a date is good,” you leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on Phillip’s cheek, “Now about these suits…”

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

[makeste]

Plus One For All

so guys. can we talk about how there’s somebody chilling out inside of Katsuki’s mind who’s not supposed to be there.

hello there Mister All Might Vestige sir. you should not exist, just FYI. you’re not some Nighteye-type plot hallucination. because if you were, you would not be appearing here as Cloud Might, a version of yourself whom Katsuki has never met and has no frame of reference for. ergo he did not imagine you. ergo you are, in fact, real.

which means Katsuki has One For All.

because that’s the only way he could have a Vestige -- which is indisputably what this is -- inside of him. he has OFA. so. where did he get it. how does he have it. and why is it only making its presence known now.

let’s discuss.

okay so I’m going to try and lay this all out as clearly as possible while also attempting to be as succinct as I can. but knowing me, I’m probably going to wind up sacrificing the latter in pursuit of the former. I’ll do my best though. here goes.

1. Heroes Rising is canon.

which is a fact we’ve recently been reminded of not once, but twice -- first with the appearance of Katsuma and Mahoro in chapter 405, and then in chapter 406 with the “Bakugou no Kacchan” callback. the timing of this almost certainly isn’t coincidental. Horikoshi wants this to be fresh in our minds.

mind you, it is extremely unusual for movies, even technically!canon ones, to actually be relevant to the plot. but BnHA may be one of the few exceptions. we’ve already seen movie 1 impact the series both with Star & Stripe’s backstory, and with Deku’s new gauntlets. so there’s precedent, and it’s something I am paying very close attention to.

2. Deku giving OFA to Bakugou is canon.

just in case anyone here hasn’t yet seen or been spoiled for Heroes Rising, that is in fact what happens in that film! so yeah, that certainly seems like an extremely relevant detail right about now.

3. we never found out why and how Deku got OFA back at the end of the movie.

okay so I was looking for a clip to link before we discuss this next part, but I unfortunately couldn’t find one that hadn’t been edited to avoid copyright issues, so you’ll just have to make do with this.

skip ahead to about 7:10 for the relevant part. for the purposes of this theory, we’re just going to ignore everything All Might says here, because tbh he has no fucking clue what’s actually going on and is just guessing wildly lol. however, I do want you to take note of one thing which will be important later. and that’s the fact that, when OFA “returns” to Deku’s body, it’s only his body which starts glowing, and notably not Kacchan’s. the latter just keeps lying there unglowingly. nothing to indicate any kind of transfer is actually happening between him and Deku, in other words.

moving on.

4. OFA and AFO are probably the same quirk.

as summarized here and here. which is relevant because if they are the same quirk, or close to it, then OFA can most likely do anything AFO can do. so file that away for later.

5. AFO was able to split his quirk and give it to Tomura while still keeping a piece of it for himself.

what’s more, he was able to do the same with Garaki/Ujiko’s quirk, and presumably other quirks as well. while it’s possible that this quirk duplication has nothing to do with AFO and is simply something Garaki was able to figure out using ~*~Science~*~, I think it’s more likely that the two of them used AFO’s quirk in some way to accomplish this feat. particularly since Tomura not only received AFO, but a bunch of its stored up quirkdata as well, such as the information stored in Ragdoll’s stolen Search quirk.

6. OFA responds to Deku’s feelings and desires.

or at least this is the case according to Banjou in chapter 213. recall this interesting conversation on how Deku first activated Blackwhip.

he was thinking that he wanted to capture Monoma, and so OFA obediently activated his “capture Monoma” quirk. despite him being unaware he even had said quirk. it responded to his need, even though he wasn’t consciously trying to activate anything.

now then, let’s revisit that scene in Heroes Rising one more time.

7. during the climax of Heroes Rising, Deku was NOT thinking, “I need to give OFA to Kacchan.”

here’s the scene one more time for reference. this time you’re gonna want to skip to about 3:57.

here’s where we are going to get extremely technical, because this scene right here is the key to everything. Deku’s lines in this scene are, and I quote: “a way we can protect [everyone]... there’s just one way...!” but he very notably does not specify exactly what that “one way” is.

until we get to this scene a minute or so later, which spells it out for us very clearly.

two One For Alls. as in, “with two One For Alls, we could win this battle and save everyone.”

that’s what he was thinking at the moment of the “transfer.” NOT, “give OFA to Kacchan.” but, “we need two One For Alls.”

which, I think, may have made all the difference.

8. OFA created a copy of itself to share with Kacchan, so that both of them could have OFA and use the two OFAs to defeat Nine.

let’s recap. OFA is AFO. AFO can clone itself. so it stands to reason that OFA can presumably clone itself as well. and that’s exactly what Deku wanted to do. make a second One For All.

he didn’t know that he could do that. but as previously established in the Blackwhip incident, OFA is more than capable of making its own executive decisions in key moments just like this in order to help him out.

which would mean that what we saw at the end of Heroes Rising was not OFA being transferred from Bakugou back over to Deku. it was actually just Deku’s OFA briefly self-activating (possibly in response to his delirious apology to All Might -- kind of a “no worries bro, you’ve still got your quirk actually, so go back to sleep and stop stressing over it” type of thing). and Kacchan’s OFA doing... absolutely nothing. it didn’t actually transfer back into Deku. it didn’t actually go anywhere.

let me repeat that: it didn’t actually go anywhere.

in other words, Kacchan still has OFA. and has had it ever since Heroes Rising. he just didn’t realize it. and neither did anybody else.

9. Kacchan’s OFA went dormant once Nine was defeated.

okay, so. remember all of this exposition from chapter 304?

basically, if someone who already has a quirk receives OFA, using it will slowly destroy their body until it kills them. the Vestiges learned this from All Might while he was researching the past generations of OFA in chapter 241, incidentally. Heroes Rising takes place right around this same time (immediately following MVA if I recall). so by the time the film’s climax rolled around, the Vestiges would have known that giving OFA to Kacchan could have devastating consequences down the line if they did not take action immediately after the fight.

so they did.

once Nine was defeated, the Vestiges shut the whole thing down. the crisis was averted, and they no longer had need of a second OFA. they have this boy who is way too similar to Deku in terms of his willingness to put himself in harm’s way in order to achieve his goals. and they absolutely do not want any harm befalling this boy. more on that momentarily.

so they go dark. and they even seal his memory so that he’s no longer aware of even having the quirk. they are essentially in sleep mode. and if circumstances hadn’t eventually become desperate enough to force their hand, they might have remained inactive for the rest of Katsuki’s life.

now, you might be wondering to yourself, “why is OFA willing to go to such unusual lengths in order to protect Katsuki?” and well, the answer to that is pretty simple.

10. Kacchan does not have the same version of OFA as Deku.

Deku is ninth gen. Katsuki, however, is tenth gen. which means that his version of OFA has one additional Vestige. a Vestige whose presence immediately explains why OFA is so goddamn determined to protect him at all costs.

:’)

long story short, while Deku’s version of OFA has proven itself all too willing to enable him in his increasingly suicidal mission, Katsuki’s version of OFA is very much a different story, on account of it being under the management of what I’m guessing is the most willful Vestige ever to exist. and said management being just the slightest bit unhinged when it comes to Katsuki’s safety in particular. seriously, you can’t tell me this is not exactly how a Deku!Vestige would behave. “oh hell no. no OFA for you!! and no memories either, because you can’t be trusted, goddammit. we never should have done this. what the hell were we thinking. if anything happens to him I will kill everyone in this room and then myself.”

so yeah. dormant.

right up until they literally couldn’t afford to be anymore.

11. OFA can self-activate in moments of crisis to protect its user.

Sports Festival. chapter 33. Deku vs. Shinsou.

aw yeah. it’s all coming together.

12. OFA reactivated itself in order to save Katsuki’s life.

I would now like to briefly draw your attention to this scene from chapter 405, in which Edgeshot explains how Katsuki was finally saved. please note my man is very clear that he did not restart Katsuki’s heart himself. he was basically just performing quirk CPR up until Katsuki’s own quirk returned him to life apropros of nothing.

“what brought you back... was the power you’ve honed.”

except... that should have been impossible. because Katsuki was dead. meaning he should not have been able to activate his quirk on his own, on account of the whole “being dead” thing.

however, if he by chance had a quirk with just enough of a mind of its own to activate in critical situations in order to help its user. situations like being forced under mind control. or, perhaps, being stabbed through the heart. well then. that would certainly go a long way towards explaining all of this.

and oh hey, when exactly was it that we saw this guy, again?

oh? it happened at the exact moment when his heart was stabbed through? you don’t say. well that certainly is interesting.

in summary:

Deku cloned his quirk in Heroes Rising and gave Kacchan a copy of OFA. owing to the hyperprotective Deku!Vestige inside Kacchan’s copy of OFA, it shut itself down once Nine was defeated, and all of Katsuki’s memories of having OFA were deliberately wiped, or sealed away. OFA itself remained inactive until TomurAFO stabbed Katsuki through the heart, at which point OFA was forced to reactivate itself to save his life. which it did, by forcibly restarting his heart.

that’s it. no idea how close to the money any of this is, but I think it would explain most of the lingering mysteries and questions about what exactly is going on with Katsuki. and I’ll throw in one last observation as well -- Katsuki has a nine in his name (BaKUgou), but not a ten. which I know sort of contradicts what I was saying earlier about him being the tenth gen, lol. but he both is and isn’t. if Deku split his quirk, Kacchan would in theory receive everything that’s currently in Deku’s quirk right now, and that includes Deku’s own power that he’s been adding to the mix. so he’d still have the Deku!Vestige. but he’s also still ninth gen, because he and Deku are sharing that distinction now. or at least I think the argument could be made at any rate.

so yeah. I’ve been obsessing over all of this for the past few days lol. what do you guys think?

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Never Again

Beau Arlen & daughter!reader

Requested by anonymous

Synopsis: Beau never wanted his life as a cop to affect your safety, but he doesn’t always get what he wants.

“That wasn’t the agreement, Beau, it was—“

“I know what the ‘agreement’ was, if you could call it that, but things have changed!” Beau didn’t often get too heated with his ex wife—he let her do the belittling and he didn’t say much against it. But this was different. This was about you.

“Seriously? What, you get a little overprotective and we just throw out what we agreed on?”

Beau ground his teeth, trying to calm down.

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying that she’d be safer at my place until all of this blows over.”

“Safer? What, with you out all day and—“

“Don’t pretend you’re home anymore than I am,” Beau cut in. “And if need be, she can come to the office with me.”

Silence filled the phone for several agonizing seconds.

“This is really serious, isn’t it?” She said finally.

“I wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t.”

“And you’re not going to back down?”

“You know I won’t. Not when it comes to her safety.”

“Fine then. She can stay with you, but just until this all goes away.”

Beau sighed. He hated how against his ex was with him having custody, and he knew that soon enough there would probably need to be some sort of custody battle if he wanted more time with you, which he did. But for now, he’d settle with having you safe at his place for a few days.

“Thank you. I’ll pick her up from school this afternoon.”

“Fine.”

Beau was almost surprised that his ex hung up without a crack about you being disappointed when he showed up instead of her. There’d been plenty of those lately. Although Beau supposed she was getting tired of it, especially since they both knew it wasn’t true; you’d always been your dad’s daughter.

…

Beau arrived at your school at exactly three, eager to get you to his place quickly. He waited in his car, looking around for your familiar green backpack. Five minutes went by. Then ten.

It was nearing four o’clock when Beau finally decided to head inside. At first he’d just figured that you were held up by friends, but this was too long.

Beau made his way through the halls, scanning for you through the hoards of teenagers loitering near lockers as he went. He didn’t see you the whole way to the office, and when he went inside he inquired with the first person he saw—a young woman seated behind a computer.

“Y/N Arlen…” she repeated in a mumble, her brow drawn in concentration as she typed on her desktop. “Yes, here it is. Her uncle brought in a note to get her out of classes early. She left during lunch, about four hours ago.”

Beau’s heart sank to his toes, and in its absence his chest constricted. All the breath left his body as though he’d been thrown to the floor, and for a long, agonizing moment he forgot how to breathe.

“Sir?”

The voice of the woman snapped him back to attention.

“You just let some random man take my daughter?”

She looked taken aback.

“He—he had an ID, and his note had your signature on it. That is, if you’re the father—Beau Arlen?” The woman produced the note from her desk, and Beau snatched it up. It was his signature alright—and the forger was an expert. Beau knew deep down that he couldn’t blame the woman in front of him, but he couldn’t quite get that message to his panicked adrenaline.

“And you didn’t think to call me?” Before she could respond, Beau continued. “What did he look like? Where did they go?”

“I-uhh…” the woman faltered for a second before regaining composure. “We have security footage in the building as well as parts of the parking lot. We’ll be able to see him, if maybe not his vehicle.”

“Show me.”

The woman faltered again.

“We’re not really supposed to—“

A quick flash of his badge shut her up.

…

You woke up to the ground rattling beneath you. You tried to push yourself up, but your hands wouldn’t move right. There was a coarse…something, inhibiting your movement. You blinked your eyes open slowly, groaning at the pounding in your head.

You struggled to recall where you were or what was going on. Last you remember, you were at school…

You were called into the office…

You hadn’t been feeling very good this morning, so when the woman in the office told you you were being picked up, you didn’t stick around to hear the rest. You’d gone straight to the parking long, expecting to see either your mom, dad, or Avery; your mom’s new husband. Secretly, you were hoping for your dad.

Instead, a black SUV swerved in front of you. Before you could berate the driver for almost running you over, the side door swung open, and a man with dark hair and psycho-wide eyes grabbed you around the middle and dragged you inside. A foul-smelling cloth was pressed to your nose, and despite struggling for a couple of minutes, the chloroform took over and you were knocked out.

…

Beau got lucky—the security cameras had a good shot of both the kidnapper and his car.

He recognized the man immediately—the leader of a local cartel that Beau had been working for months to put away. It was pretty much the worst case scenario.

Halfway through watching the footage, Beau called up the department.

“Sheriff’s Department, how can I help you?”

“Poppernick, I need you to pull up traffic cameras of every road leading out of the county from the last four hours.

“Beau? What’s going—“

“Now! I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

…

Once realization set in, so did panic. You’d been kidnapped, straight out of school! Not to mention the kidnapper hadn’t bothered to put on a mask. That took a pretty gutsy criminal.

The motive wasn’t hard to figure out—with a cop for a dad and a lawyer for a mom, your family was pretty well acquainted with criminals. Besides, last time you’d visited your dad, he’d acted…off. He’d even hinted at you coming to stay with him for a bit. He must’ve been worried about a criminal case.

But the motive wasn’t your big problem.

“Hey, she’s awake.” A gruff voice invaded your ears as you felt yourself being twisted into sitting up. “Wakey wakey,” the voice taunted, his rough hand slapping your face, making your eyes snap open. “There we go.”

It was the man who’d dragged you into the car. He had short dark hair and a twisted smirk that accentuated the scar running from under his eye to his chin.

You glanced around the interior of the car to see just one other person—the driver. Apparently he was more skittish, because he was sporting a ski mask.

You opened your mouth to speak, only to discover that a thick cloth was stuffed in your mouth, and no sound escaped.

Scar Man’s grin twisted wider at your struggles.

“If you scream, I’ll slit your throat,” he threatened before lowering the gag.

“What do you want?” You demanded after taking in a gulp of air.

“What’d you take the gag off for?” Ski Mask asked after hearing your voice.

“Gotta make sure her dad gets a good look at his little brat.” The kidnapper chuckled. “You think she looks banged up enough?”

The driver spared a glance back before shrugging.

“You could rough her up a bit. But don’t go nuts, we gotta give her old man a chance to do what we say before we really mess her up.”

…

Beau was halfway to the department when it hit him. He would have to call his ex.

“Not until I’ve got more to go on,” he muttered to himself. He knew that wasn’t the real reason; he couldn’t bare to call the mother of his child and tell her that he had let you be taken. He couldn’t admit that to anyone, much less to the woman that broke his heart. It would make it too real.

…

Your body felt like a pulsing mass of pain. If Scar Man had taken it easy on you, you didn’t want to know what him taking it seriously was. Every square inch of you felt bruised, but you noticed that he took particular care to mark up your face and arms—the most visible places. You were now tied to a hard metal chair, the ropes around your wrists far too tight. Moving your arms even slightly sent pain shooting up your wrists from where the rope rubbed your skin raw.

“That should just about do it,” the dark haired man said with a grin. “Now for the finishing touch…”

You tried to move away from him when he pulled out a large knife, but it was futile. You whimpered as he dragged a long cut across your cheek, and you vaguely registered that it seemed to match his own.

“Perfect,” he said with a chuckle. “Now to show it off to dear old dad.”

…

“I’ve got the footage, what am I looking for?” Poppernick wasted no time when Beau entered the department, which he appreciated.

“Black SUV, Honda civic. License plate 23J OV3.”

During the silence while Poppernick went to work, Beau felt his phone buzz in his back pocket. He pulled it out reluctantly, assuming it was his ex wife checking to see if he’d picked you up.

Once he saw the image, he wished it had been her.

Beau staggered back, his feet no longer able to hold him up. Thankfully, the back of his knees collided with a chair, and he fell back into it.

“Sheriff?” Poppernick looked away from his computer, and jumped to his feet when he saw the paper-white tone and utter terror in his boss’s face. “Beau!”

Beau’s hand went limp, and Poppernick grabbed the phone before it could fall to the ground. He took one look at the image and his face turned a slightly greenish tint.

“Oh gosh.”

“What’s going on?” Jenny Hoyt asked immediately after stepping inside, noticing the palpable panic and disgust.

“They…” Poppernick couldn’t even speak, he just showed Jenny the photo. She swallowed, trying hard to keep her composure.

“Quentin, right?” She asked through gritted teeth, referring to the cartel leader that Beau had been after. The very name seemed to snap Beau back into focus. He sat up ramrod-straight in his chair and turned to Poppernick.

“Finish the trace. Now!”

Poppernick didn’t argue, and after a moment longer…

“I got something.”

…

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Scar Man taunted as he put the camera down. “Soon enough you’ll be back with your daddy, and I’ll have him off my back for good.”

You tried to ignore him, too busy trying to breathe through the pain. But his last statement caught your attention.

“You’re…you’re gonna let me go?”

A harsh grip on her chin had her wishing she hadn’t spoken, but the man just tilted her head up and grinned down at her.

“If our dear sheriff cooperates, and you’re incredibly lucky, then yes.” He dropped his hand and turned to leave without another word.

You wanted to believe him, to hope, but the crazed look in his eyes contrasted his words.

…

Hoyt, Beau, and Poppernick were gathered around Pop’s computer screen, tracking the black SUV, when Beau’s phone rang. He answered the unknown number immediately.

“Beau Arlen,” he said instinctively, then waited with bated breath for a response. While Pop had been working, Hoyt had set up a tap on Beau’s cell phone, and he was prepared to keep the kidnapper on the line as long as possible to get the trace.

“Nice to finally speak to you, Sheriff,” said a voice that chilled Beau Arlen to his core. “I’ve got a sweet little thing that belongs to you who would just love to see you again.”

Beau but back a thousand threats that wanted to escape his lips, and instead went for a smarter question.

“What do you want?”

“Nice and direct, I like that.”

Beau inwardly cursed himself for not stalling—maybe he should’ve went with a threat—but he also didn’t want to make the kidnapper angry.

“What I want—“ the kidnapper continued, “is for you to back off the investigation long enough for me to disappear. It’s reasonable—more reasonable than you should expect in your position. My cartel is out of your little town, your kid gets home safe, and I get my freedom.”

“Yeah, to go terrorize someone else’s town,” Beau spit out.

“Well they’re not you’re concern, sheriff. This is.”

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, and then—

“Dad?”

Beau’s heart lodged in his throat.

“Baby?”

“Dad, don’t—“

“And there’s your proof of life.” Your voice was cut off, replaced by the kidnapper. “Now do we have a deal?”

“I don’t negotiate with kidnappers.”

A chilling laugh echoed across the line. “Well then I hope you got a good last look at your daughter.”

…

“Dad, don’t—“ Ski Mask covered your mouth as Scar Man pulled back the phone to continue talking. Once you stilled, he let you go. Your gaze never left the phone in the dark haired man’s hand, desperate to hear your father’s voice.

You needed him more than you ever had, and you knew even just a few words from his voice would help calm you. You’d been trying hard not to panic, but knowing that your father was just barely out of your reach had tears pricking your eyes and despair stealing your breath.

You don’t know what your father said to the man, but his eyes were suddenly on you as a terrifying laugh shook his frame.

“Well then I hope you got a good last look at your daughter.”

A knife was suddenly in his hands, and you didn’t know where it had come from.

“No, please,” you whimpered as he advanced on you, lifting the knife above you.

…

“Wait, wait!” Beau demanded as he heard your panicked pleas on the other end.

“Yes?” The kidnapper said.

“I want to talk to her.”

“Don’t stall, sheriff. I know you’re trying to trace the line. I need a yes or a no, and I need it now unless you want me to start carving into this little girl.”

“I…” Beau glanced helplessly at his people, who were waiting for his response. “Ok. It’s a deal.”

“Good. You’ll get the address to where she’s being held as soon as I’m out of the country.”

The line went dead.

“You’re not really gonna let them go, are you,” Hoyt asked.

“Pop, what do you got?” Beau ignored Jenny’s question and focused on Pop’s computer.

“Nothing on the trace, there wasn’t enough time. But I’m still following the route that the SUV took, so far it’s still in sight of traffic cams.”

“So you were just stalling for time?” Jenny tried to clarify.

“We can’t let them go,” Beau said.

“Are you sure?” Jenny said hesitantly. “We don’t want to put Y/N in—“

“You don’t get it.” Beau shook his head. “This guy’s MO, his track record…he’s lying. He’s not gonna let her live. We need to find them.”

…

The kidnappers ignored you for a while after the phone call, busying themselves with packing the meager belongings they had into the back of a truck.

“What about her?” Ski Mask asked, nodding his head at you. “We gonna leave her here for her dad?”

“Let her live?” Scar Man chuckled. “What’s the fun in that?”

…

“I’ve got it!”

Beau jumped out of his seat at Pop’s outburst.

“Where are they?” He demanded, leaning over Pop’s chair to look at his screen.

“Well, I don’t have an exact location, but they turned down this road.” Pop ran his finger along the map open on one side of his screen, while the other side showed the black SUV turning down a dirt road. “And that’s where the cameras stop, they don’t go down side roads.”

“What’s over there?”

“Not much.” Pop shrugged. “A couple of warehouses.”

“Perfect, let’s go. Hoyt, you’re with me.”

…

Knowing that someone plans to kill you is an odd thing. You watch every move they make, no matter how innocent, waiting to see if he’s going to strike. Is he reaching for a knife, or his phone? Is he grabbing his bag, or the gun next to it? You never knew which breath would be your last, which thought would be the last one you’d ever think.

You wondered if your dad would ever find you. You weren’t sure if you wanted him to or not. Seeing your body would kill him, but never getting closure could, too.

You shook the thought away. You definitely didn’t want that to be your last. You’d never thought about it before; what you wanted to be thinking about when you died.

“I think that’s it.”

You were snapped out of your reverie when Ski Mask spoke.

“Great. Now for the fun part.” Scar Man picked up a curved knife from a metal table as he spoke.

You started to struggle against your ropes despite the pain of your raw, bleeding wrists.

“No.” You began to cry as though you were already dead, and you were mourning yourself. “Please, please don’t do this.” Perhaps you were crying because you knew it was futile; there was no sympathy or mercy in this man, you could see it in his eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to continue to beg, too afraid to even speak.

You’d never thought about what you wanted your last thought to be. Even so, the memory came to you instantly; the perfect one.

You were little, maybe six or seven. Your parents were together and in love, and your father hadn’t been broken by grief. The three of you were painting your room, because you’d finally chosen a favorite color to paint over the white that had been there since you were a baby.

You tried to help, but your parents just ended up painting over the mess you made. Your mom was working on painting one wall, while your dad was making his own version of an enchanted forest on another. He’d already done several mushrooms, and now he was working on a fairy.

“What is that, a flying toad?” Your mom asked with a laugh.

“It’s the fairy princess!” Beau said, staring at her open-mouthed in mock offense.

“It looks like a toad.”

You giggled at your mother’s words, and Beau snatched you into his arms.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” You squealed and squirmed in his arms as he started to tickle you. “You think it’s funny?”

“Stohop!” You giggled, and after a moment Beau stopped, but he kept you in his arms.

“What do you think, huh?”

“I like the fairy princess,” you insisted.

“See?” Beau grinned.

“That doesn’t count,” your mother countered. “She likes you better.”

“And she understands a masterpiece when she sees it,” Beau said. “Isn’t that right, Y/N?

“Y/N?

“Y/N!”

Your daydream vanished as the very voice you’d been thinking about echoed across the warehouse.

“Dad!” You were still crying, now from relief. Your father was running across the room, gun in hand.

“Get away from her!” Beau aimed the gun at Scar Man, who had the knife clutched in his fist. “Drop the knife!”

Scar Man, psycho eyes wide and enraged, lunged for you, the knife raised.

Two shots rang out, and Scar Man staggered back before slumping to the ground.

Ski Mask lifted his hands in surrender, and Hoyt went over to arrest him.

Beau wasted no time in putting his gun away and running to you.

“Dad.”

“I’ve got you.” Beau offered you a strained smile as he got to work on the ropes binding you. You didn’t realize how much you were leaning against the restraints until they were gone, and you all but fell out of your chair.

Beau held you up, letting you fall against him and bury your face against his shoulder.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he repeated again and again. “You’re safe, I’m here.”

You clung to him despite the way his jacket scratched at the raw part of your wrists. Your body shook with sobs, and Beau held you tightly, rubbing your back and letting you cry against him.

“Hey,” his grip slackened as he pulled back enough to look at you. His hands framed your face, and the cool texture of his hands eased the pain of your bruises. His thumb brushed feather-light against the cut on your cheek, so gentle that you didn’t even flinch. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

Beau kept a hand on you the whole way to the car, unwilling to let you go for even a second.

“Can we go home?” You asked, clinging to your dad’s arm.

“We’ve gotta go to the hospital first,” Beau sighed.

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “I wanna go home.”

Beau stared at you for a long moment. Proper procedure told him to take you to the hospital, then the station for some questions.

But his fatherly instincts were telling him to take his baby girl home and do whatever she needed to feel safe.

The latter won out.

…

By the time Beau reached his place, his phone had been blowing up with texts and calls, probably from Hoyt and Pop, but he ignored them other than a quick text to both telling them he was ok and headed home.

The texts continued after that, but Beau turned his phone off.

“Do you want to go to your mom?” He asked gently, not quite sure what you’d meant by “home”.

You didn’t hesitate.

“No. Your place.”

He got you to his trailer in record time, and he led you inside and to the couch. Your eyes never left him as he went to get your favorite blanket and drape it around your shoulders.

“I’m gonna get you some ice for those bruises, ok?” Beau didn’t give you a chance to respond as he went to get the ice. He returned a moment later, and you put the ice pack up against one of the worse bruises on your face. “Do you want me to make you some food?��� He asked.

You shook your head, reaching your free hand out to him without speaking.

Beau got the message. He sat down next to you on the couch and wrapped you into his arms, the soft fluff of the blanket around you brushing against his arms, and your hair tickling his chin as he tucked your head under it.

“I’ve got you,” he promised. “No one’s ever gonna hurt you again.”

“Don’t go,” you pleaded.

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere.” Beau lifted a hand to the back of your head. He found himself rocking you back and forth slowly, and the ghost of a smile lifted his lips when he heard your gentle, relaxed breathing for the first time since you’d been taken.

Time stopped when he was like this, with you. He might’ve been holding you for five minutes or five hours, it didn’t matter to him. He was pretty sure you fell asleep at some point, but he didn’t move, determined to never let you go again.

[king-crawler]

The scene where Ralph meets King Candy for the first time is one of the most interesting ones on a rewatch because you already know who King Candy is pretending Not to be. The way Ralph behaves is interesting too. (I’m studying these little 1kb game characters under a microscope)

Below the cut is a LONG scene/character analysis (~6min read?)

First off. King Candy’s mere Entrance in this scene already characterizes him a ton and he hasn’t even said anything yet. He speeds obnoxiously around Ralph in his little go-kart BLARING HIS HORN. This immediately gives off the impression of: Very in your face. Very full of himself. And Very Annoying About It. (sir.. your Turbo is showing)

BUT THE DIALOGUE. JUST THIS SINGLE INTERACTION:

(Ralph Face Reveal While Screaming)

“Milk my duds! it’s Wreck-it Ralph??”

“Yeah...? And who are you, the guy who makes the donuts?”

“Hoohoo, please- No! I’m King Candy!”

I love this interaction because King Candy INSTANTLY knows who Ralph is. And from Ralph’s perspective that’s… weird.

Ralph is probably a little confused. Given how he answers “yeah?” He doesn’t just straight up ask “How do you know who I am” because he’s currently being interrogated (Probably Not a Good Time) Also that recognition is something he rarely receives in the first place, so why from this guy…? So instead he asks: Well who are you supposed to be?

WELL FIRST OF ALL. HE KNOWS WHO RALPH IS BECAUSE TURBO’S GAME CABINET SAT NEXT TO HIS FOR YEARS. Which is why King Candy is so surprised - he’s probably seeing him for the first time in decades.

“Hoohoo, please- No! I’m King Candy!”

I also love how he nervously laughs at first before responding with “No!” In that particular way- simply laughing it off before being Rather Quick to reject Ralph’s proposal that he could possibly be someone else. Interesting .

But it’s the way he says “I’m King Candy!” That carries so much implication. His pose and smile, the perfect inflection in his voice- it’s theatrical, it’s like he’s rehearsed it. It’s almost like he’s trying to convince Ralph that he’s really who he says he is with the best performance possible. He’s been doing that for years and by this point he’s totally mastered it. Nobody suspects a thing. (For now……)

—————————— Skipping forward a little, Ralph explains that he got a medal from Hero's Duty.

"Your medal? (giggles) Bad guys don't win medals!"

"Well, this one did. I earned it over in... Hero's Duty"

"You game-jumped?? Ralph... You're not going Turbo, are you?"

"What? No no no no no..."

"Because i-if you think you can come in here- (laughs nervously) to MY kingdom, and take over MY GAME, YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER THING COMING!"

THERE IS A LOT TO UNPACK HERE.

First off we'll focus on Ralph. The way he admits it... He knows it sounds bad. He breaks eye contact and hesitates before saying "Hero's Duty." Probably because he knows what King Candy is gonna retort with. But he still says "I earned it" not only because he doesn't want to incriminate himself, but because he believes it. He did earn it... right? And then Ralph tries to brush off the suggestion that he's going Turbo before being interrupted by King candy's rampant tantrum. (WHICH I WILL GET TO.)

At this point, Ralph is becoming less confident that he earned his medal because he's in denial about “going Turbo.” His confidence wavers here especially because he's in the presence of this apparent authority figure whose trying to guilt and incriminate him. (And this is a situation he's already all too familiar with- think of how Surge Protector always halts him when going into games just because he's a bad guy.)

But there's still one major thing keeping this denial intact: He wants to hold onto the fact he deserves his medal so bad. Others have hurt him for so long, he thinks getting that medal alone means he'll finally be respected, praised, and loved.

"Is it Turbo to want a friend? Or a medal? Or a piece of pie every once in a while? Is it Turbo to want more out of life?"

(I know that’s literally the Conflict of the Movie. BUT ITS WORTH MENTIONING OKAY I LOVE RALPH’S CHARACTER LEAVE ME ALONE)

I think the fact you can gather all this info just from the way he's portrayed during this SINGLE INTERACTION- its amazing. Amazing character writing is when when nearly every action a character does reinforces their motivations or personality and you're able to SEE IT!!

——————————

Now to focus on King Candy again… this FUCKER‼️

First off, him mentioning Turbo Isn’t even that suspicious at this point in the film… well… at first glance at least.

At first it seems like everyone knows who Turbo is. Ralph is questioned at Bad-Anon, Q*bert tells Felix and the nicelanders freak out- everyone who’s been around for a while knows who this guy is. But if you think about it… isn’t Sugar Rush a newer game? Not as new as Hero’s Duty, but it’s still a little odd that King Candy would know who Turbo is ON TOP of knowing Ralph. Just a little.

"You game-jumped?? Ralph... You're not going Turbo, are you?"

Ok but Seriously. That Part. The pure irony of King candy saying THAT a threat against Ralph in an attempt to incriminate him. The way he says it too... He breaks eye contact and glances to the floor like it’s something forbidden to even mention. His accompanied hand movements too (and King Candy speaks with his hands A Lot) they move like he’s describing a ghost story. He’s obviously trying to scare Ralph… trying to scare him into admitting something.

This is... a lot. Maybe even some level of self projecting...? Cuz MAN. that is too deep for me to even start getting into

But the fact that his OWN NAME (a SECRET IDENTITY MIND YOU) has become so infamous that now HE’S WEAPONIZING IT?!? IS INSANE??? Can you Imagine his thought process. Like how far gone into the deep end is he.

(SORRY FOR NOT USING MY OWN WORDS. BUT I JUST ADORE HOW @simpingforcys PUT IT HERE. …..)

THIS. this is so good. And the way King Candy eludes to “Turbo” as some kind of monster. Could that be offering him like. A Brief moment of catharsis. Or fuel some twisted sense of pride. What the FUCK is going on in this SICKO’S HEAD !!!!! I NEED TO KNOW!!!!

"Because i-if you think you can come in here- (laughs nervously) to MY kingdom, and take over MY GAME, YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER THING COMING!"

SECOND!!!!!! King Candy gets SO defensive SO FAST. That man jumps to conclusions IMMEDIATELY!!! He essentially throws a tantrum while stepping closer to Ralph, stumbling over his words and giggling nervously. The mere thought of there being ANY threat of someone else taking over "his game" riles him up SO BAD.

This is the same EXACT SAME TEMPER that made him storm into Roadblasters as Turbo years ago, because he saw Roadblasters as a direct threat to his own game's popularity - HIS popularity!!!! Because getting exposure- infamous or otherwise- is the ONLY thing that drives him. (Pun intended. Sorry.)

And the way he repeats “MY” kingdom “MY” game… mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine. Are you done with your tantrum old man.

——————————

Wow. Anyways I think that’s enough for now. And that was in response to only a minute of content. (Oh dear.)

[wyniepooh]

Hate

hotch seems to have something against you. when you’ve had enough and confront him, the answer could not be farther than what you imagined.

bau!reader who is new to the team, obvi based off that one ep (I don’t remember which…) where Penelope comes with them to to investigate a case w the ONE ROOM TROPE. I-could-never-hate-you trope, suppressed feelings and EXTREME tension trope, sexy old stern serious man loses control trope. mdni; 18+

you knew you were all completely screwed the second you stepped into the motel.

you should’ve known something was off when you found out that the place was called "majestic motels”, and had a solid two star rating on the internet. you suppose since the bau spent so much of its resources on the private jet and other edible accommodations, this was probably the best that they could do under these rushed circumstances.

it honestly probably would’ve turned out fine in the end— an old, sketchy, motel couldn’t even compare with what the team had gone through. that is, until the team was informed that there was a slight issue that had been overlooked.

“ma’am, i am positive we booked four rooms total. what do you mean it says we’ve booked three?” morgan’s exasperated voice rung throughout the room.

“i- sir, i am so sorry. there must’ve been a mistake on our website, or- or it's because we’ve had a lot of new, untrained hires lately. but it does say here that you only have three double rooms booked, and, um…” the poor receptionist’s lower lip quivered as she said, “…we’re completely full.”

rossi stepped forward and began to speak, no doubt about to terrorize the basically shivering lady about responsibility and authority. thankfully, hotch blocked rossi off with his body and spoke for him, in a more gentle way.

“thank you. we’ll take the three double rooms as is.”

you could practically see the sweat beads on her forehead retreat back into her skin as she typed frantically. a minute later, you all had bronze keys in hand and as the team walked to the lobby with heavy bags and heavy minds, everyone but hotch sat down on the worn, brown couches.

“so, i’m just going to say what everyone is thinking. i deserve my own room,” voiced rossi. you all looked at each other with disbelief, laughing when rossi shrugged his shoulders as if he had not just said the most ridiculous thing he could’ve ever said.

morgan chuckled as he playfully smacked rossi’s shoulder. “i can assure you, man, no one was thinking that.”

hotch crossed his arms, eyebrows furrowed, and exhaled thoughtfully. “i think the most reasonable arrangement is if emily, garcia, and jj stayed in one room, and morgan, reid, and rossi stayed in the other.” groans of complaints filled everyone's ears, and it took you a minute to register what he had just said.

you crinkled your eyebrows at the absence of your name, but before you could ask, hotch spoke once again,

“and we’ll take the third room.”

he glanced over at you very briefly, almost as if he wanted to see your reaction. but you shook your suspicions off; he had no reason to be curious as to how you’d feel about sharing a room with him. it was a bit odd, yes, but you were honestly too desperate for sleep to do your usual overthinking. you simply nodded softly in agreement towards him, and rolled your eyes when you saw the faces of the trio of ladies.

“alright, let’s get settled in. we start early tomorrow.”

and with hotch’s words in mind, everyone began walking down the hallways leading to their rooms. entering hallway B, you remained at least five steps behind him. you figured you could never be too cautious with aaron hotchner.

you had bonded with every other member of the team, but hotch seemed to have a solid brick wall built around him. he was always dismissing your ideas and attempts to help, and you were never his first choice when he needed a hand. you had a small suspicion that the sole purpose of this room arrangement was so that he could supervise you; to check out your intentions and morals.

you suppose you could understand why. the team is very tight-knit and you were thrown into the bunch quite abruptly, so you stayed silent to the obvious bias and unfairness. as he turned the key and opened the door, being the gentleman he is, hotch held the door opened for you and waited till you were inside to close and lock the door. as you had expected, the room didn’t exactly look like it was going to be a luxurious experience. but from the long flight and the whole ordeal with the missing room, all you could think about was taking a warm shower and getting into bed, even if the sheets smelled like they hadn’t been washed since the 70s.

you set your suitcase down on the bed furthest away from the balcony, unzipping the various compartments containing clothing and mini shampoo. you sighed in relief when you felt the soft fabric of your pyjamas.

"do you mind if i hop in the shower first? the coffee morgan split on me earlier on the jet is making my whole body sticky," you asked.

there was a brief pause before he answered. a regular person wouldn't have picked up on it. they wouldn't have noticed the slight intake of breath, the small hesitation in his voice. the light shake of his head and the way he clutched his suitcase handle tighter.

but you had gone to school for years, gotten many diplomas and degrees that specifically allowed you to notice the milliseconds between your question, and when he replied.

"go ahead."

he didn't even look up as the words left his mouth, focusing instead on pulling the files out of his briefcase and setting them down on the wooden desk resting in the corner. so, this trip wasn't going to make you two any closer, it seemed. you tried to tell yourself you didn't care as you pressed your lips together and gave a small, awkward nod. grabbing your undergarments and pyjamas, along with your towel, you couldn't be more ready to finally wash the day off of you.

the hot water and the steam instantly put you in a good mood, even when you stepped out of the washroom in a thin t-shirt and shorts to a freezing room. you weren’t sure if it was from the blasting air conditioning… or from the man who was adamant on not acknowledging you. hotch was sitting at the wooden desk situated in the corner, folders open, pen out, notebook beginning to fill. he practically glowed with iciness.

you were shocked to see that it was already dark outside, so you stepped over to the balcony and started to close the curtains. the rusty pole made an unpleasant screeching noise, and you cringed at the way his shoulders seem to tense at your actions. halfway through pulling the heavy fabric, hotch sucked in a breath and looked sharply towards you.

“do you have to do that right now?”

your lips formed an ‘o’, head shaking as you silently tip toed behind the chair he was sitting in. your eyes scanned hotch’s form; hair disheveled, blazer sitting on the chair behind him and his tie loose around his neck. though you already knew the answer to the question you wanted to ask, you knew you still had to try.

“can i help? i read a little about the case on the jet. the unsub is definitely showing traits of being an insecure white male with a white collar job, likely a-“

“it’s alright. i don’t need your help.”

you laughed nervously out of perplexity. “w-well, you’ve got a huge pile of folders there. i’ll just take a few, write the notes as you would, so that way tomorrow we can pretend we know what-“

“i said no.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, a scoff making its way out your mouth. you saw the movement of his pen stop, and for a moment, you were scared that you had disrespected him. but the moment was brief, very brief, because the the elastic that had been stretching for months had finally had enough, and was beginning to snap.

"what is your issue?"

all of his actions stopped completely, his large hand clicking off the pen and closing the folder slowly. he turned the chair to face you.

"excuse me?"

you crossed your arms, raising your chin up as you stepped closer to where he sat. "you heard me, hotch. why do you hate me?"

he sighed, hands sitting on the armrests and eyes looking down as he shook his head. "I don't hate you."

"sure, maybe hate is too strong a word. but you definitely dislike me. I know I'm new to the team, I've disrupted the team's flow and dynamic. but I'm trying my best here. no matter what I do, what ideas I suggest or what profiles I give, you reject it. throw it away like trash. but this is my job, and whether you like it or not, I'm going to stay here. so I suggest you--"

"--I don't hat-"

"--suck it up and learn how to--"

"I don't hate you, damn it."

your words stopped spilling as he stood up, the chair scooting back weakly by the momentum. his loud statement was still echoing off of the walls of the small room when you began to utter.

"o-okay, you don't hate me. what is it then?"

instead of answering, he began walking towards you, hands by his side as his eyes followed yours. you took a few steps back, but stopped, when you saw the look on his face. there was trouble in his eyes, something dark. his brows cinched together but not with anger— it was desperation. he was making a plea with his eyes, his body, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't want to help him.

your anger had long dissolved into confusion, and you extended a hand to touch his arm. “hotch..?”

you gasped when you felt the warmth of his hand on your wrist, which gently pried your grasp off from his arm. you expected him to let go, to tell you not to touch him and storm out, but the moment never came. he didn't dropped your hand from his. it was only now did you notice the close proximity between you and him. you could feel his breaths, see his glistening face and if you moved just an inch, your would be in his arms.

“I could never hate you.”

your mouth opened out of a mixture of shock and disbelief, and you struggled to find what to say. but you didn't need to say anything, and you didn't want to. his eyes drifted from the top of your head to your eyes, your ears, your nose, your parted lips. for a minute, you were close enough to hear his breaths slow and sync up with your own, but you could back away if you really wanted to. in the next, you could barely breathe from the impact and the way he squeezed you against him.

quite suddenly, his lips were on yours. his left hand supported your head as you harshly made contact with the wall, and his right hand— which still firmly held your hand— forced your arm up as your bodies pressed against each other.

with your free hand, you grabbed the front of his shirt and tried to pull him closer to you, as if it were even possible. his left hand came down from your head and grabbed your hand that was clutching his blouse, constricting it together with your other hand against the wall. you tried to move your arms, but hotch was unflinching and rough. it was as if he was afraid you were going to run away, afraid that your lips would leave his.

when he found the strength to disconnect his lips from yours, both your mouths were red and swollen, and your chests synced up with heavy pants.

“in case you couldn’t already tell…” he breathed as he let go of your sore limbs, backing away and running a hand through his messy hair. “…I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”

he turned around, standing at the foot of his bed with his hands on his hips and his back facing you. after a beat, he spoke again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. it is com-“

he was interrupted when you grabbed his arm and spun him around, using his tie to pull him to you as you pressed your lips sloppily on his once more. you backed him onto the bed, and dug your fingers into the flesh of his back. he didn’t reciprocate your actions at first, but once you slipped a moan in his mouth, his hand immediately came up to caress your cheek, and the other wrapped around your waist.

"jump.”

his hand gripped the nape of your head as you hopped onto his lap, and a low groan came escaped him from the friction between your pelvises. he continued pushing his mouth on yours as your right hand tugged his hair, your left hand fumbling frantically with the buckle of his belt.

“in case you couldn’t already tell…” you whispered against his lips with a smile, “…I don’t hate you either.”

-

a/n: something about an usually organized and stern man losing control… this is for all of u nasties out there (it's ok me too)

[starglow-xx]

— Oh Baby!

part 2! - a solution? sure, let’s call it that

heartslabyul & savanaclaw x f! reader

synopsis: when the boys of heartslabyul and savanaclaw get turned to kids, who else is supposed to take of them except their beloved prefect? go figure. damn you crowley. oh, and you too grim.

fandom: twisted wonderland

type of work: part of mini series! : “Oh Baby!” ; written segment, fluff / platonic themes, comedy? ; check out pt. 1 here!

warnings: a stressed prefect pt. 2, unedited

a/n: YALL it’s been a year since i posted the first part to this and obviously since then i’ve completed the books for octavinelle, scarabia, and pomefiore, so maybe they’ll have future appearances later hehe but no promises

“you’re telling me you don’t know how to fix this?!” you whisper yelled.

“that’s what i said was it not?”

you wanted to scream in frustration at the headmaster but refrained yourself from doing so as your newly turned baby friends were oh so peacefully playing in the common room as you and crowley talked in the kitchen, and didn’t want to draw attention.

“loosey duecey! loosey duecey! loosey duecey! loosey duecey!”

“shut up!”

maybe peacefully was too good of a word in this situation.

“WELL THEN! it seems that i am no longer needed so i will take my leave—”

“get the hell back here for seven’s sake! and didn’t i tell you to keep your voice down?!”

“but—”

“shut up! if you won’t help me solve my problem then don’t speak at all!” you continued to whisper yell.

“...”

“seriously?!”

with strength that you usually save for rounding up ace, deuce, and grim (on normal circumstances), you grab the stupid headmaster by the back of his cloak thing as he turns away from you to make his escape.

“oh no you don’t!”

the bird for brains had the audacity to sigh at you like he was the one inconvenienced with 8 children. 8 actual children.

“ms. prefect, you must understand, that despite how gracious i am, i simply do not have time for—”

“i’ll go on strike if you don’t help me!”

“...come again?”

you sweatdrop as you let go of his cloak. you didn’t really think the whole thing through, it kind of just came out of you mouth, but it seemed to get his attention so you’re going to have to role with it dammit.

“t-that’s right!”

you cursed in your head slightly as you stammer. there’s no turning back!

“i’ll for once since i’ve gotten here be an normal student! so that means no cleaning after your messes, doing chores that shouldn’t be my responsibility, fighting stupid overblots blah blah blah, you get the picture?”, you threaten.

crowley is silent as he contemplates your words.

“and no, holding housing or allowance over my head is not going to work, because i will literally get myself adopted by another dorm or so help me.”

at that, crowley sighs once again, but this time in defeat at the teenage girl in front of him.

“all right, i’ll go work with the staff to try and figure something out.”

phew.

“however!”

god dammit you can never win can you.

crowley with a stern voice as he wags one of his fingers shatters your hopes and dreams with a simple, “the children must stay here!”

you couldn’t believe your ears, and started to yell, forgetting about whisper yelling.

“what?! why?! i’m asking for help with them because i can’t handle it!”

he simply raises an eyebrow at you.

“do you think it’ll be beneficial and efficient to have the children running around potions and stacks of books while we try and find their cure?”

you sigh, disappointed but not surprised at his rebuttal.

“...no sir”

“great! i guess we’re on the same page after all! i wish you the best of luck prefect, for i am gracious.”

you deadpan.

“right of course. whatever would i do without your help headmaster”

“oh you’d probably perish!”

“that was sarcasm”

ignoring your retort, the man dramatically swished his coat cape thing nearly whacking you in the face (you’re 98% sure it was on purpose) as you feel a migraine start coming on, and the you 15 minutes ago wouldn’t believe it wasn’t because of the children.

after a deep sigh, you follow after crowley reentering what grim dubbed as the “danger zone” only to catch the evasive headmaster walk out the door and shut it behind them.

from where you’re standing, you hear grim, who’s awake now, but still lying on the floor, mumble something along the lines of “useless” and you couldn’t agree more.

you eye the handful of children running around and yelling at each other.

oh great seven, this is going to be one hell of a migraine.

i love their shenanigans <33

as always, reblogs and shares are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe! and just in case nobody told you they loved you today, i love you! you are enough! <3

writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize, repost, or translate on here or any other sites!

[callmemaeverick]

The Inked Knight - The Spy Next Door Part IV

AN: Woot, Part 4. I swear I am going somehwere with this. This is my favourite one to write, cuz ever since I saw that scene in Casino Royale, I wanted to write it. Anywhoo.. here’s the next installment of our favourite gentleman Spy Next Door.  Part I, Part II, Part III

Fights in your area are nothing new.

Living close to an overpass meant that you share an area with a group of homeless people and while most of them were harmless, there were a few that tend to get rowdy.

It was supposed to be a quiet night.

Your shift for the day ended by 7 pm and you were grateful for the extra few hours to wind down before you went to sleep. Curled up in your favorite spot on your couch, you were engrossed in your most recent book when you heard the shouting.

There was a group of people gathered at the entrance of the building and from your vantage point,  you could make out the figures of some of your elderly neighbors and some strangers you didn’t recognize. You frowned, wondering what Mr. Jameson was doing up so late.

But then, you saw some movements and then came the startled screams. The next thing you knew, Mr. Jameson was on the ground.

You were out the door and down the stairs in an instant and when you got there, people were shouting, grabbing and pulling each other’s collars. It was total chaos and not for the first time, you were certain someone was going to get truly hurt.

So you acted. Without thinking.

“Call 911,” You whispered to Mrs. Rodriguez closest to you and jumped into the commotion. “Hey! Hey-hey-hey,” You exclaimed, putting yourself in between the squabbling group of men. “Whatever’s going on here, I’m pretty sure we can talk it out!”

A man from the gang, stepped forward, his eyes alight but hazy under the streetlight. “Why don’t you mind your own business, bitch?” His voice rang loud over the sizable group that had begun to gather. “This is between me and the old man.” From the looks of him, he was waiting for any chance of an easy fight.

You glanced at Mr Jameson behind you, still glaring daggers at the other man. The old man was none too different.

“Sir, there’s no need to talk to me like that.” You put on your best customer service voice. “Please calm down.”

The man took another step and invaded your personal space. Instantly, you could smell the liquor on his person. His eyes traveled up your body. “And what’re you gonna do if I don’t, Sweetheart?” He asked and behind him, some of his friends snickered.

Chills racked down your spine at the way he was leering and your voice wavered but you held firm. “Sir, please step back.”

The man did not move. Only inching closer.

"Sir, please,"

“She said step back!” Mr Jameson, having found his feet, shoved at the man’s shoulders and that’s when all hell broke loose. Before you knew it, both men grabbed each other once more and you found yourself sandwiched between the two.

You didn’t know how long you were stuck between them, trying to get them to stop. The others around you were grappling too. The loud noices, coupled with the overwhelming sense of being trapped sent warning signals to your claustrophobic brain. Panic seized your body and you gasped for air.

And then, like thunder, a voice boomed over the noise.

“Hey, FBI! Everybody step back!”

Just like that, the bodies parted and you felt Peter’s familiar presence right next to you. You thought he was working that night, but you were infinitely glad you were wrong.

“What’s going on here?” He asked, his voice different than normal. His stance was rigid and his gaze was hard, waiting for answers. He looked between Mr Jameson and the other man, but but not before you caught his eyes scanning you for injuries.

The air was tense as the three men stood off but thankfully, instead of escalating the situation further, the leader of group took one look at your neighbor's 6” figure and the badge on his hip, and decided most likely it was not worth it.

“Nothing, sir.” The man muttered. “Nothing at all.”

And that was it. The cops then arrived a few minutes too late and Peter stayed back to explain everything to them. Thankfully, everyone was let off with a stern warning and went on their separate ways.

The next few minutes were a blur as you hurriedly returned to your apartment, desperate for your safe haven. Curled up against the tiles, with the steady fall of water around you, you let it drown out all sensations.

That was how Peter found you, 10 minutes later, fully clothed and hunched over your knees.

"I can still smell the beer." The drunken man reeked of it.

There was a soft sigh and a rustle of fabric and then, the press of his right arm alongside your ribs. The warmth of his skin, different from the water sent goosebump up your own arms. He had shed his coat, but other than that he was fully clothed as well.

It had became a thing between the two of you, just sitting together in silence, skin touching, just breathing. Living alone in a different city was not always easy and while you would never admit it to anyone, you were starting to feel lonely. But that was before Peter arrived.

He moved, reaching up over his head to the ledge where you stored your soaps and shampoo. "Here," He handed you your body wash.

A flash of black caught your eyes and you stared as you took the bottle from him. You had seen them before, but mostly slivers whenever his sleeve was lifted whenever he moved or stretched. But this was the first time his tattoo was on full display to you.

"What?" Peter asked when he noticed your reaction.

“You uhh-..." Something foreign licked your insides when he moved and you saw the painted muscles of his forearms contract and release. How did you get that close? "I just… didn’t peg you for a sleeve ink kinda guy.”

They were beautiful. A series of geometric triangles running up his arm, giving an illusion of hard scales merging into some intricate design of a flower or a pointed star, blooming from the joint of his elbow.

You were mesmerized.

"I've always wanted them," He told you, turning his arms so you could see more. There were some more wrapping his bicep, still hidden by his shirt sleeves, and you found yourself more than a little curious to see them. "Started doodling in college and got them just before Quantico. Thought they'd look cool."

"They do," You blurted too quickly and blushed when Peter chuckled.

Silence blanketed you for a few beats, the only sound was the water drizzling over you both.

"You did good." Peter told you. "Tonight."

"I froze, Pete. It got intense and I froze. And to think I have years of experience handling people."

"Hey, it's one thing to handle a crisis on the phone. It's another to face it head on." He moved to capture hand. "Trust me. You did good."

You didn't really believe him, but you nodded nonetheless.

"C'mon. Let's get out of here."

You let him pull you up and turn off the shower. You stood quietly as he rummaged your cupboard and pulled out two clean and fluffy towels.

"Would you come back? After?" You asked as you took a towel from him. "I- I don't think I'll be sleeping anytime soon. We could watch a movie or something."

Peter smiled at you. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

TBC Tagging: @strnqer @thefictionalgemini​ @bcon24​ @medievalfangirl​ @coldheartedmar​ @iamzuul​ @iamasimpingh0e​

[paintyoureyeswithavividmind]

close to home | chapter forty one

close to home | chapter forty one

plot: the reader gets taken by the saviors

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 1,489 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd A/N: thank you for reading!!! Hope you guys are liking the longer chapters! This one isn't lol updated twice today not to brag but look at me go

The room was so dark you thought you were still asleep when you woke up. You thought you were in a bad dream. It took you a few seconds to realize the light was shining underneath a doorway, but it barely lit up the room. The back of your head was aching, and you were nearly positive you had a concussion. Slowly, you started to sit up. 

The room was small, like a closet. That was the only thing that you knew. Other than the fact that the saviors had you. Your hands were shaking as you dropped your head in them. You were with the saviors. And you were most likely going to die here. 

Tears burned your eyes as you thought about home and how you’d never see it again. You wouldn’t jog the streets of the community or read comics with Carl ever again. You wouldn’t laugh with Michonne or see Maggie and Glenn’s baby be born. You’d never see Daryl again. And you would never, ever see your precious Tora. 

The image of the cat’s face made you lose it, and you couldn’t stop crying. Your heart was beating erratically, and you felt on the verge of throwing up. “No, no, no,” You mumbled to yourself. 

You weren’t sure how long you sat in that room for. It wasn’t until your tears had dried and you were lying on the floor, defeated, that you heard voices. 

“I got the message she was up,” You heard someone say. 

“Yes, sir, about an hour or so ago.”

“Alright, well let’s get this done then, shall we?”

You heard keys jingling, and then the door opened. Your eyes shut at the bright light, and you raised your hand to shield them as you squinted. 

Two men were standing before you. One held the door open, and the other stood in the doorway. You couldn’t see his face as your eyes hadn’t adjusted, but you should see the figure of a lean man with a bat over his shoulder. 

“Well, well, well, if you ain’t a sight for sore eyes.” The man said. “I sure am glad Dwighty boy brought you to me. Must be my birthday or something!” 

Your vision was finally restored, and you saw an older man with a dark beard. He was smiling down at you, but it made your skin crawl. 

“If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with,” You said. 

The man smiled and rubbed his jaw, “Huh. If I wanted that, you would be chained up outside already. Now come on, let’s get you off the floor,” He said, stretching his hand out to you. 

You ignored it and stayed where you were. “Who are you?”

“Oh, darlin’, I’m so glad you asked me that. I’m Negan. Now, don’t make me ask again.” He said, with his arm still outstretched. 

Your stomach tightened in a wave of anxiety and you grabbed his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. You glanced at the bat that was on his shoulder and caught him smiling at you. 

“This here is Lucille; she’s my partner in crime,” He gave you a playful wink. “But she doesn’t like messing with a face as pretty as yours. Well, at least not much.”

You nearly scowled at the threat but had the sense to keep your face neutral. 

“Come on, let’s go for a walk; we have some talking to do,” 

***

The ‘walk’ with Negan led you to a private room in the maze of hallways. You couldn’t tell where you were or even what this building was supposed to be. He walked before you, swinging the bat, and any person passing you knelt for him. 

You were left alone with him, and he pointed towards the table. “I had a meal prepared for us. I thought it’d be nice to talk over dinner. Nobody does that anymore, you know.” He said. 

The table was set up with two plates. As you sat down, you noticed there wasn’t a knife. Not that you would be stupid enough to try anything in this place anyway. You knew how many people were here. 

A few people came into the room and brought in food. You watched them in silence, and when they were gone, you looked at what food they gave you. It was some sort of chicken with actual vegetables. Fresh vegetables. The Hilltop. 

“Gosh, I’m just starved after a day like today,” Negan said, “Don’t worry about anything in the food. I don’t want to kill you.”

“I find that hard to believe,” You said. 

Negan smiled as he chewed and he leaned back against the chair. “They told me you had quite a mouth on you when they dropped you off here. It’s been a long time since someone talked to me like that. I forgot how much I liked it…”

You made a face at the lude comment and grabbed your fork, examining the food. “Why don’t you want to kill me then? At least for right now.”

“I believe people are a resource, and I believe you could be quite resourceful.”

“I believe it would be better for you to stop staying shit like that,” You said, stabbing a piece of chicken.

“Oh, darlin’, I just can’t seem to stop myself.” Negan chuckled. “I want you to tell me about the community.”

“I-.”

“And don’t tell me you’re not from there. I know it. You know it. And I think you’re smarter than trying to lie about it.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” You said, “It’s a community. Probably similar to this one.” 

Negan laughed and said, “I don’t think that’s true.”

“What even is this place?” You asked. 

“Why don’t you tell me your name, first?”

You looked at Negan as you chewed. “(Y/N),”

“The name as beautiful as the holder,” He chucked. 

You frowned. “Sweet-talking me isn’t going to get what you want, Negan. I will die before I tell you or any pig in this place anything. But it doesn’t matter. We’ll kill you all if you don’t back down.”

Negan looked at you for a long moment before he spoke. “But of course, you won’t be around for that then, would you?”

You dropped your fork and leaned against the seat. You knew his game now. “I don’t intend on it.”

“Well, I don’t think I can let that happen, now, can I?”

***

You weren’t sure how long you were in the dark room after that. Telling time was next to impossible, and you feared you would be left here to rot. But it was favorable to torture, and you considered yourself lucky. 

You’d been in there for hours before someone came to collect you. You were delivered directly to Negan--who you hadn’t seen since the dinner you shared with him. He smiled widely as you were forced towards him. 

“You ready to see your family, darlin’?”

You weren’t given a chance to respond. A bag went over your head, and you were roughly thrown into the back of some sort of van due to all the space you had. It started up immediately, and you fell over as it drove. With the bag over your head and the dark inside of the van, time moved slowly. You could tell it was for a while and thought you were headed towards Alexandria. They’d somehow found the community and would most likely beat you to death in front of everyone. 

The dark closet was preferable. But you didn’t want to wait any longer for death. Everyone lived on borrowed time since the world went to shit, and your number was being called. You could live with it if it meant your family would live. 

When the van stopped moving, it was parked for a long time. You couldn’t see what was happening outside, but you could vaguely hear voices. You heard the door roll up, and someone grabbed you. 

Your body hit the ground, and you groaned as you were pulled back up to your feet and forced forward. You struggled with every step, trying to fight back, but whoever pushed you forward was strong. 

It was quiet, just crickets chirruping when you heard someone’s voice getting louder as you approached. “It’s gonna be pee-pee pants city here real soon.” Negan.

“Oh shit, looks like you forgot someone, Simon!” Negan laughed; you could tell this was just a part of his games.

You struggled against the person holding you for another few steps before you were pushed to the ground. The bag from your head was pulled off, and you squinted in the light momentarily before you took in the scene around you.

Your family. All lined up.

[thecoffeelorian]

Chapter Title: The Bet

Word Count: 1,542 words.

Brief Description: Captain Howzer x Female Reader, Captain Howzer x Chandrilan Reader (Singular Love Interest). Just when you're one step away from getting onto the ship bound for Naboo...some unseen force of nature finally intervenes, and you then have to make the biggest decision of your life.

AO3: Link Here

Extra Notes: My Clone Trooper OC, Commander Miles, has his first speaking cameo in this story! Hope you all come to love him as much as I do!

Chapter Masterlist: Link Here

The No-Pressure Tag List: @skellymom @masterjedilenawrites @littlefeatherr @ceejay3636 @red-plaidedandcladed

@knightprincess @carlixz @zaryashame @amazonian-bae @badbatchjedi

@weirdest-lights @crosshair-lover @clxnewxrs @offspringsdaughter @liliskywalker

@sunshinefanfictioninsp @sunshinesdaydream @nerfpuncher @burningfieldof-clover @angrypaperearthquake-tbbb-main

@techhasmjolnir and anybody else who might want some more Howzer x Reader stories in their lives.

There's a cold chill growing upon the back of your neck as you step out of the line, your focus now trained solely upon this Trooper. Judging from the shape and placement of his pauldron, he's some kind of high command official, like a Captain or a Commander...and as of this moment, he just might be a few steps away from bringing you in for questioning.

“What seems to be the problem, sir?” Especially if, should your fears prove to be correct, your own father has found a way to keep you from leaving.

“Are you the eldest daughter of Julian Minola?” Which, apparently, he seems to have figured out right as you arrived at this spaceport.

“I...am an eldest daughter, Sir. Why do you ask?” In response, his right hand beg­ins to move toward his left wrist, a sure sign that you just might be one comm away from the lecture of your life. “Well, ma’am, I may have just received a message from your father—” “—It’s because of my father that I'm getting on board that ship, Captain...?” “Miles, ma’am. Commander Miles.” You're not about to give up so easily, though. Not when you're standing just a few steps away from literal freedom. “May I ask if you’re, ah...dealing with any trouble at home?” In fact, if you can speak well enough to the Trooper before you...would it perhaps, be a possibility that you end up convincing him to let you go?

“...Of a sort, Commander.”

“And that is?”

“Simple. I’m not staying in a place where I’ll be sold off to the highest bidder.”

At first, you see this Commander’s entire stance go rigid, and for a moment, you can almost swear he’s about to call your father to this very spot himself. Perhaps you might even deserve such a response as well, considering you were literally one sentence away from broaching a very uncomfortable topic of discussion.

There go your hopes of getting away blame-free. On the other hand...even though your supposed ‘place’ is within a gilded cage and his was once within the line of fire, just how different are the two of you at the end of the day? Isn’t it an odd coincidence that the both of you were raised for one purpose and one purpose only, whether or not you try to fight it in the end?

Furthermore, isn’t it a cold hard fact of life that women can die in the delivery room just as easily as men do on the battlefield, especially when the wrong people are left in charge? It certainly appears to be that way sometimes, what with the few but frightening tales about such things that you’ve read on the holonet late at night. Things that could easily happen to you or someone else you know, even if you all do your best to take the necessary precautions first.

Sure, you and your sister didn't come off of some genetic assembly line with countless other girls both ahead and behind you, but in the eyes of Chandrilan society, you’re not the first daughter to be married off and, chances are, you won't be the last for some time yet.

Not as long as there are more people around that cling to the old ways rather than changing or rejecting them.

It’s not that uncommon, either, for younger men on this planet to remarry within a few years of losing their first wives, if indeed ‘the worst’ should happen to them. According to a few old family stories, that was exactly how your father came to exist in the first place, as your paternal grandfather had once been married long before meeting your grandmother. Is it really too much to assume, then, that the both of you are replaceable?

“...Hm... and what about Captain Howzer?” Your line of thought is brought to a halt the moment this good commander chooses his next approach, and an unexpected one at that. “Who...?” ‘Howzer’? Who or what is that, some kind of obscure Trooper code word? “Captain Howzer, ma’am. The one who spoke to you earlier?” —Oh. Oh-h-h. So that was the interesting Trooper you just happened to meet in the middle of your escape. The one who didn’t look at you strangely or start asking you questions about where you were going, but just interacted with you instead like—like you weren’t something to be judged, or bothered by, and for that, you had started having—feelings. Awkward, yes...but still feelings.

You might have once thought that any and all of those awkward feelings had gone the moment that the two of you had gone your separate ways. Indeed, if the two of you were truly meant to never meet again, both you and that Captain might have eventually or gotten your first meeting, and so moved on with your lives. Now that you might, in fact end up speaking to him a second time, though...you feel that old heat rising in your cheeks all over again. “You...know each other?” “We’ve spoken before, all right.” A heat that could either excite you or embarrass you utterly, if it’s not dealt with in the correct manner. “So, then...what did he say about me?” But then again, there’s still your flight. Your one chance to trade Chandrila for Naboo, and it’s evident in the second pinging that you receive from your Comm. Can you really throw it all away now, just for somebody who might lose interest in you soon enough, if not also leave you behind instead? “Only that you were the kindest, sweetest lady he ever had the luck of meeting, and that he hopes you might yet return.” “ ‘Return’...?!” Can you really also run the future risk of some kind of complication when, or even if, whatever's waiting for you back home leads to the next generation of Minolas? “And how, Commander, do I end up explaining a change of heart to the Naboo University faculty? How do I explain it to the Queen?!” Oh, but your voice is getting shrill now, and perhaps also your bad temper right along with it. This wasn’t how things were supposed to end for you. This day wasn't supposed to be so jumbled, so confusing, as to send your mind into a tailspin. What, if anything, are you supposed to do with yourself now...? “Let me put it this way...” As though to answer you, the Commander touches a hand to his helmeted forehead, a single gesture might be a secret sign to remind you to calm down and think. “He’s eager to see you, that much is a given—but at the same time you’re eager to leave. I get that. I'm not going to make your decisions for you, ma’am, and you don’t have to listen to me if you don’t want to—but what if you were able to do both?” “ ‘Both’?” “Yep.” “How do I do both?” “Simple. You go back and listen to what he has to say, try whatever he offers for about a month...then, if it doesn’t work out for you, can go back to your original plan and leave for Naboo at your earliest convenience.” “What...you mean, like a bet?" “More of a trial run, really. That is, unless you’re willing to treat it like one?” “Hmm…” You absentmindedly finger the pouch full of credits hidden beneath your poncho, remembering the amount you'd saved up in secret before your escape. Would it be so wise to toss your money away upon a simple gamble, never mind a man who you don’t exactly know that well?

On the other hand, though...what if he did have a point here after all, and you ended up owing him instead? “...And what if I offered you five hundred credits as a reward, should I decide to stay?” The Commander becomes just a little bit flustered after hearing this, as he demonstrates the same nervous head-rubbing gesture that you’ve seen a handful of other Troopers do whenever they were stressed out or troubled. Clearly, you’ve given him a lot to think about in a short amount of time, if he hasn’t also done the same for you. “Well, I ah...I guess I would have to find a banker willing enough to open an account for me!” Nevertheless, if the possibility exists that Captain isn’t the only Trooper looking for a fresh restart in life, and as long as you yourself dislike the idea of an entire army getting left by the wayside— “Then I think you and I just might have a deal, Commander.” —Then let it be five hundred credits to start Commander Miles upon his way if he’s victorious, and if not, the longed-for flight to Naboo for you. “We may indeed, Miss Minola. Time to make it official.” Either way, the two of you seal the deal with a handshake, the sign of business in action...and then, just as the last of your three notifications comes, the commander finally motions to the pilot that she has full clear­ance to take off. Well, that's the end, perhaps, but only for now. For better or for worse, your one journey may be postponed, all right...but another journey seems to be just beginning, even if you can't exactly be too sure of the outcome just yet.

Maybe this time, though, if you keep a full heart and an open mind...you’ll be better prepared to see it through.

[ejzah]

A/N: Since it’s Fair time for me, I figured I might as well take Densi along for the ride.

***

Let’s Go to the Fair

No, no, not that one!” Kensi shouted, waving her hands frantically as Deeks held a pair of scissors, pointed to cut a deep red rose twined around a trellis.

“What’s wrong with this one?” he asked, pointing at the perfect bloom with the point of one blade.

“It’s too small.”

“Kensi, I think it looks fine,” Rosa assured her.

“Fine isn’t good enough,” Kensi insisted fiercely.

Under the combined attention of Kensi and Rosa, their garden had flourished this year. It seemed Kensi had finally overcome her black thumb for the most part, and Rosa was particularly adept at gardening. Deeks often joked that Rosa possessed secret powers since the plants she tended were particularly lush, especially for the climate.

Together, the two of them had cultivated a variety of vegetables and flowers. Deeks happily pruned, watered, fed, and picked as needed.

Currently, they were all outside, the twins playing in the grass while the three adults picked flowers.

“This is my first time entering flowers. I want to do it right.” Kensi’s intensity made Deeks grin.

“It’s just a county fair,” Rosa reminded her with a gentle smile. “It’s supposed to be fun.”

“I am having fun,” Kensi said, sounding surprised at the implication that stressing over finding just the right flower arrangements wasn’t enjoyable for her.

“She really is,” Deeks agreed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Kens thrives on competition.”

“Sometimes I forget.”

Cutting a larger but equally beautiful rose, Deeks handed it over to Rosa to place with others in a bucket.

“Alright, what’s next?”

Ah—dadata,” Caleb said, somehow having found his way to the edge of the blanket and stretching far enough to reach the edge of the flower bucket.

“Woah, where you think you’re going, sir?” Deeks asked, pulling him back a few feet just before disaster struck.

Sophia complained on his behalf in a long string of babble, shaking both fists to show her anger.

“Well, I’m sorry, but mommy and Rosalie worked very hard on those flowers. So you cannot have them. I know it breaks your tiny hearts.”

Caleb just grinned up at him in a way that suggested it would be the last attempt to cause mischief.

“Here, how about a nice octopus to chew on?” Deeks offered, holding out a vibrating teething toy. Sophia batted it out his hand with a another squawk. “Ok, but I’m not picking it up for you.”

He set Caleb back in the middle of the blanket with a few toys, chuckling as he immediately began babbling back and forth with Sophia, likely planning their next shenanigans.

“Thank you, baby,” Kensi said, kissing Deeks’ cheek.

“Anything for my favorite gardeners.”

A couple hours later, they’d moved inside and several vases sat lined up on the kitchen table. Deeks had been on baby duty and in charge of attaching exhibit tickets.

“What do you think?” Kensi asked, stepping back with an uncertain expression.

“They look amazing,” Rosa said. “We did a good job.”

Deeks eyed them critically, taking a moments to examine them from every angle. “I’d give them all the ribbons. Beautiful work, ladies.”

Kensi rolled her eyes, but wrapped her arms around his middle anyway. “Thank you.”

“And if I don’t win anything, we’ll come back stronger next year,” she declared.

***

A/N: Much like Kensi, I have a bad track record when it comes to keeping plants alive in the long term. My mom and sister are the gardeners.

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

Are you planning on writing more for the Military Brat series? I love it

Oh thank you 💞

I do plan on writing more I just don’t know when. I’ve got my fics in a rotation for when I write them and currently Military Brat isn’t in the rotation but now that I’m thinking about it I’ll write some one shot ideas I have for this A.U after the next chapter of Visited on the Son.

I was asked to write a sequel to bring your kid to work day where Spider is actually a little terror making work really hard for his father. My idea is that Spider (who’s only 2 in this one shot) couldn’t sleep the night before because he was missing his mom and crying all night also keeping Quaritch up. So they’re both just exhausted and sad with Spider acting out as a result and Quaritch doing his best.

The other one shot I have that I already started a while back centers around the team Deja blue, specifically Lyle, taking care of Spider while Quaritch is gone. My idea for that one is Lyle taking Spider to the park and losing him there. He then has to enlist the help of his whole squad to help him ( spoiler alert: they find him with the Sully kids who are at the park with their grandma Mo’at)

I never finished this one because I kept getting writers block on it. I might have the plot figured out but that doesn’t always mean getting from point A to point B is easy. So I put it aside to work on other things that weren’t giving me writers block but I would really like to finish it.

Just for fun though here’s everything I have written for the one shot. This isn’t the final version but it’s what I have so far so enjoy!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Lyle, I need y’a to watch Junior while I’m in a meetin’,” said the Colonel. The child in question’ big brown eyes stared back at him through the bars of his playpen.

“Boss…” the Colonel gave him that look but Lyle pressed on, “this is why little Miles needs to be in nursery school. I’m not a nanny!”

“Welp, today y’a are.” He rose from his chair, scooped up his son who giggled as he was plopped into Lyle’s unexpecting arms, “I need to be at the Pentagon at noon. Should be back by two. Junior should be ready for a nap around one. Just give him some lunch, keep him entertained, then put him to bed.”

Little hands patted Lyle’s face. He tried to avoid them as he said, “Sir, I’ve got my own work to do. How am I supposed to watch a kid all day?”

The father rolled his eyes, “I do it every day Lyle. You’ll be fine. Junior’s an easy kid.”

The Colonel started walking towards the door, leaving the corporal flabbergasted. “You're leaving now!”

“Yeah Lyle. It’s lunch time. Traffic’ll be a mess. I got to go.” He ruffled his son’s hair, eyes lighting with love when the little boy giggled, “I’ll be back. Be good for uncle Lyle, baby boy. I love you.” With that he left.

Lyle stood in the middle of the room in a state of shock, the toddler in his arms squirming for release. He had watched over his nephew plenty of times, but that had been at his bosses house, not on base while he was actively working! I can’t do this.

With little Miles balanced on his hip, Lyle walked out of the office in search of any of his squad to help him. The first member he found was Z-dog and he immediately rushed towards the woman, calling “Z. Z. Z. Zeeeeee.” She turned to him annoyed. Lyle held out little Miles, his tiny feet swinging in the air. “Take the baby.”

Her face twisted up in confusion, “Why do you have the baby.”

Lyle sighed, “the Colonel had a meeting so he dropped the kid on me but I don’t know what to do with him!”

“And I do!”

“Well yeah! You're a…”

“Don’t say it.” Z said in disgust.

“Come on Z. I know you have to be better at this than me.”

Z scoffed, “yeah because I have more than half a brain cell.” Lyle continued to plead, help me with his eyes. Z sighed, “how long is the colonel going to be gone.”

“Till two.”

“So three hours of babysitting.”

“More like two. Boss said to put the little guy down for a nap at one.”

Z looked absolutely exasperated with him, “Jesus Chris, you're freaking out over two hours!”

Lyle shrugged, “I got shit to do.”

Z groaned, “oh my god. Just go on your lunch break early, take the baby to the park, tire him out, feed him, then put him to bed. If you're lucky he’ll sleep till the boss comes back.”

Lyle grinned, “your so smart Z.”

She rolled her eyes, “yeah I know.”

Lyle attempted to set up little Miles’ stroller but failed spectacularly. The toddler giggled as he watched him struggle. Lyle sighed, “I give up.” He scooped up the little boy and started the twenty minute walk to the closest park. Little Miles quickly tired of being held squirming for release. Lyle groaned in frustration, setting the child down to hold his hand while he toddled at his uncle’s side.

After ten minutes Lyle started to become annoyed with the slow pace, surprising the content toddler by picking him up again. Little Miles yelped. He pushed against Lyle’s chest crying, “no, no,no! Down! Down!” Lyle’s panic spiked as he fought to contain the thrashing boy.

He felt the judging eyes of passerby, making his stomach twist. “Come on M.J.” Lyle pleaded, bouncing the boy. Little Miles continued screaming and crying. Lyle sighed, “fine you win.” He set him on his feet. Miles instantly quieted. He smiled as Lyle took his hand again, peacefully continuing on their way.

Finally they made it to the park. It was fairly unpopulated with only a handful of retirees sprinkled throughout the area, a few of them with their grandchildren in tow. Lyle spotted a play area built for younger kids and made a beeline towards it, plopping the little boy on to the cushiony rubber turfing. “Alright bud, what do you want to do?” M.J’s wide curious eyes roved over all the equipment from the swings, to slides, monkey bars, rocking horses, a marry go round, and a sand pit. The toddler silently pointed to the monkey bars. “I think you're too little for that one kid.” The little boy’s brow furrowed in a way that made him look just like his father when angry. He insistently pointed at the monkey bars. Lyle grinned trying and failing to not laugh. “Alright, come here. Let’s try this.” Lyle held little Miles up to the bars. The boy grabbed them one by one, Lyle walking him across, keeping a somewhat lax grip on the toddler so he could think he was actually pulling himself across the monkey bars.

M.J giggled when they reached the end, “again!”

[mochinek0]

Daminette December 2022: 8-Submission

Damian Wayne pouted in the car on the way to his punishment. He had yet to figure out what it was, but it had been worth it. As Robin, he had broken formation, during patrol, and returned to the meet up point with a kitten. Batman had denied his request to bring it home. He even had Oracle locate several animal shelters.

"I will be taking it to a veterinary, first. They can also checked to see if it belongs to someone. If no one has claimed it within a week, I will return with it." Robin demanded.

"No." Batman growled.

Robin frowned, "Al.....Cat A is getting older. He will have a playmate and I will have a companion after he passes."

Nightwing nodded. Red Hood sighed and Red Robin yawned. Batman sighed.

'It was true that Damian had kept Alfred the cat since his arrival to Gotham. It was becoming more apparent that Damian was worried about his cat. He had been taking it to the vet more often. The cat was eating less and had even allowed them to pick him up when he was in the way. Alfred the cat had become more docile.'

"Very well." the Dark Knight answered, "Return to the cave and get prepared. Agent A, Robin will be returning with a small companion, in need."

"Yes, sir." Agent A replied.

The Wayne boys had been upset that Damian had gotten special treatment, in their eyes. They had decided they would punish him for extending patrol hours for them.

"Where are we?" Damian demanded.

"Surprise, Little D!" Dick exclaimed.

Jason smirked, "We picked the worst thing we possibly could."

"It took all week, but we finally came up with the perfect plan." Tim smiled, then yawned.

"What is it?" the Wayne heir growled.

"Can I tell him?" Jason volunteered.

"Sure." Tim answered.

"We all hate those stupid parties and do anythign possible to not be grabbed at." Todd smiled, "So, you are going to be a male model for this event."

Damian was stunned. His father's adopted children had decided to punish him with making him a dress up doll. What was worse, he was going to be touched and grabbed; he couldn't lash out.

'Assholes.'

"This was a last minute thing, too." Grayson declared, "They needed a replacement."

Damian sat silently as the horde of girls, across the room, pointed at him and his siblings. He wished he could be anywhere else, right now. At least there were some other males in the room, but their glares weren't any better then the giggles.

'Why couldn't they have just shipped me in a crate back to Mother?'

"Damian Wayne." a voice called.

Damian and his brothers stood up and followed the voice. A girl looked at them confused, but opened the door wider. The girl closed the door and stared at them.

"Damian, go ahead and stand on the platform." She demanded, "I'll need you to strip to your boxers."

"I will not!" the Wayne heir growled, taking a step forward.

"How else am I suppose to take your measurements to make sure the clothes fit you?" she shouted.

Damian remained where he was.

"You're the designer?" Drake shouted.

She smiled, "Marinette Dupain-Cheng, at your service. I've been designing since I was ten and my clothes have rocked runways since I was thirteen."

Damian quickly looked over the designer's appearnace. She was his age, maybe younger. Her hair was so black it appeared blue and her eyes were the bluest he had seen. That alone was saying a lot since his family was notorious for their blue eyes. Marinette looked tired, almost as much as Drake.

"So it's your fault I'm here?" he questioned.

She glared at him.

'Interesting.'

"I didn't personally ask for you, Your Highness." She declared, "A friend of mine was suppose to be my model, but he broke his leg. I don't know who you are and I don't fucking care! Right now, I have to figure out if I have clothes to alter or possibly remake, altogether. Get down to your boxers so we can both get this over with. The faster you do this, the faster you can get out of my way."

The Wayne boys were shocked. Everyone usually treated them like they were special. This designer didn't know who they were and didn't even care.

Damian quickly listened to her.

'Looks like we both don't want to do this.'

Marinette quickly got to work. She had made a chart on the paper under Adrien's. She made sure to follow the same guidelines to easily figure out if there were changes to be made. She quickly measured his arms and chest. Adrien may have been use to all of this, but she could feel the subtle flinches under her hands.

"I'm only going to explain this once. I'm going to measure your lower half. That includes the inseam; the inseam will be you inner leg. You cannot move. If I make a mistake, the pants can be too tight and ride up. That would be uncomfortable for both of us." she quickly explained.

Marinette got up and began to look over her notes.

"Get dressed." she stated, "You're dismissed."

She flipped the paper up and down to compare Adrien and Damian's measurements.

"Will he be okay?" Dick questioned.

"I have to make new clothes for him." she sighed, "I can't use what I already have."

"Will your show be okay?" Jason asked.

'Shit! We made this a punishment for her, too.'

"Yeah. I'll have my assistant stock up on coffee. " Mari declared, waving off their concerns, "Mostly everyone is coming in for a fitting, today, so there shouldn't be any drastic alterations to the rest of them. If I focus on his, I can finish in two days. Come back by then, so I can make sure about any adjustments."

"Wait!" Tim shouted, "I thought he had to wear like ten outfits."

"Yes and I said it should be done in two days." Marinette replied, "Thank you for stopping by. Next time, leave the attitude outside of my dressing room."

"Question." Damian spoke.

Marinette put on her best customer service smile, from the bakery, she could and asked, "Yes, Sir. How many I help you, today?"

Jason snorted and covered his face. Dick smiled at her sudden change in demeanor. Tim facepalmed. He knew it wouldn't end well, where Damian was concerned.

"Do you partake in the female sex?" he questioned.

Marinette blinked it confusion before laughing.

"No, I don't like girls." she answered.

"Married?" he continued.

"Nope." she smiled.

"Committed relationship?" Damian persisted.

"Nope." Mari spoke.

"A beneficial relationship?" he asked.

"No." Marinette replied, "Why all these questions?"

"All those harpies in the other room wouldn't shut up." Damain answered, "You barely looked at me."

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't stroke your ego." Mari rolled her eyes.

"Maybe that isn't what he wanted stroked." Todd smirked.

Damian quickly turned and glared at his sibling, briefly catching the designer's blush.

'So she was staring. Perhaps she was only keeping up the appearance of professionalism.'

"Look, I've seen people, like you, who think because they look good, it makes them better than anyone else." Marinette answered, "Usually, they're a bunch of assholes, as you have proven. I prefer a man with taste."

'I look appeasing to her, but my behavior dissuaded her.'

"You prefer the men who open doors and pull out chairs; a perfect gentleman." Damian quipped.

"Fuck that!" Marinette shouted.

The Wayne boys couldn't believe their ears. They were so use to people demanding them to act perfect; even Bruce.

"At the end of the day, they think if they do that kind of stuff for woman, a woman should serve them behind closed doors." Marinette replied.

"You tried?" Damian questioned.

'What the hell did that bastard do to her?'

"First college boyfriend. Seemed nice and I was naïve. Later, I heard him tell his friends how I was 'bad in the sack'. I laughed in his face and said he was too much of a dick to even have made it that far. He got laughed at and said I was a bad girlfriend for not serving him." Marinette answered, "His friends asked what he meant, so I told them about his whole 'woman live for men-household outlook'. They told him his idea was outdated and woman aren't like that, anymore. If he wanted that, he'd never find a wife. Last I heard, his husband set him on the right path."

The Waynes began to laugh and chuckle.

"I prefer my men honest. I don't care if they can't cook, if they can't clean, but if they get on my bad side, they usually end up tied up and in a ditch somewhere." she declared.

Someone knocked on the door, before opening it. The Waynes noticed a blonde boy with his foot in a cast and crutches.

"Adrien Agreste!" Marinette shouted, "What the fuck are you doing here? You're suppose to be on bedrest!"

"The show." he whined.

The Waynes were astounded to see the tiny designer throw the injured party over her shoulder, like a sack of potatoes.

"NO!" he shouted, turning red, "Mari!"

"Bad Kitty!" Marinette scolded, "You are going to lay on that pull out couch you assumed I would use as a bed in my office. Natalie is coming to get you."

"Please, no!" he pleaded, "I'll be good! Don't call her! I'll be stuck at the piano again!"

"Bed." Marinette stated.

"Yes, Ma'am." he answered.

"And I don't want to hear one peep about my sewing or my mothering from you!" she continued to chide.

"Yes, Momma Mari." he answered.

Marinette walked out of the room. Adrien just waved as Marinette carried him away.

"Wow; she doesn't take no for an answer." Tim spoke.

"No wonder that other guy didn't do it for her." Dick laughed.

"Oi!" Jason hollered, "Hurry up and get dressed. I wanna get out of here and get some food."

The Wayne brothers walked out the door and stood guard. As Damian got dressed, he wasn't sure what to make of the designer. He thought she was the designer's assistant with how young she was, like all those meek women his father hired. His parents taught him how to read people and he couldn't do that with her. Marinette was fiery and spoke her mind. She had barely even looked at him, too focused on her task and numbers. She had laughed at him! He could only assume she had picked up her former model, judging by the cast, and informed him he was going to sleep.

He didn't expect to see her again on their way out.

"Hey, Miss Designer, do you know where we can find some really good sweets?" Jason asked, "Like a café or something?"

"Coffee, please!" Tim whined.

She smiled, "My parents own the best bakery in Paris. You can find it on Rue Street. You can't miss it. It's a white and black store front with gold letters."

Damian grabbed Marinette's hand and kissed it, "See you in two days."

"Little D!" Dick whispered in shock.

"My apologies." he smirked, "I figured it was better than a kiss on the cheek you are accustomed to since you do not know me."

Her cheeks bloomed pink and she quickly pulled her hand out of his grip. She turned around and ordered someone to get a pot of coffee started. Damian smirked.

'Seems she may just be as eager to see me again. A game of war, perhaps? Who would submit first?'

"Demon Spawn?" Jason questioned.

"I'm already fluent in French, but did none of you study the customs or culture?" He asked, "It's common here to be kissed. As I stated, I didn't want to make her uncomfortable. We get enough of that at those galas Father forces us to go to and I'm not going to be the reason Father gets called."

As they walked to the car, he could hear his brothers groaning on how it was common to kiss someone, mostly on the cheek. They had all checked their phones. It was fine to let them think that for awhile.

TAG LIST: @maribat-calendar-events @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @meme991001 @vixen-uchiha @abrx2002 @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @animegirlweeb @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus

[polizwrites]

Operation Sea and Surf

This is a fill for today’s @flashfictionfridayofficial   prompt [#FFF266 Great Expectations] as well as my  @thisorthatevents    Tony Stark This or That: Row 7: Beach Day prompt and my @tonystarkbingo   K2 - Miscommunication square.  

Fandom: MCU/Marvel Pairing:  Tony & the rest of the Avengers team (background Tony/Pepper)  Tags: Post-Avengers (2012) canon compatible, Team as Family,  Miscommunication,  A touch of angst, but overall happy ending Summary:  Tony rents a beach house in hopes of getting the Avengers together for a bit of team bonding;  things don’t quite go as planned.   Word Count: 837

Tony couldn’t understand what had happened.  He’d asked JARVIS to inform the other Avengers  that  he’d  rented a  beach house out on  the Island  for the weekend  …  and no one had shown up.   He’d thought that after the whole Battle of New York deal that maybe they could be more than just  - as  old One-Eye had put it - “a group of remarkable individuals”.   That instead of just  co-workers, or teammates … that maybe they could be friends, too.

Not that Tony had ever been all that great at making friends.  Here he was, in his mid-forties  and two of the three people he thought of as friends were people that were on his payroll.  (Well, technically he and Happy were on Pepper’s payroll now,  but the concept still applied.)   

Clearly he’d set his expectations too high.  At least Pepper had called and said she’d be running late due to a last minute meeting, adding that Happy was sticking around to give her a ride.  Tony was just about ready to call her back and say not to bother when  his phone rang. 

He checked the screen and sighed. “Hey, Bruce,” he greeted his fellow Science Bro, trying hard not to  let his disappointment come through in his voice.  The poor guy had probably been tagged to let Tony know that everyone else had ‘other plans.’ 

“Uh, Tony?  Where are you?”  

“What do you mean, where am I?” 

“We’re all here at the address JARVIS gave us – and there’s no-one home.”

Tony glanced out the window to the front drive of the house; it was empty.   “What the… hold on a sec.”  He tapped another button on his phone.  “JARVIS?  What address did you give the team?” 

“The one you gave me: 1279 Cliff Drive. Based on your current location, it seems you transposed two numbers in your message.”  

“Son of a bitch!” Tony burst out laughing as he re-connected with Bruce.” Okay - so for someone who is supposed to be really good with numbers, I screwed up the address that J passed along.   How about you guys come meet me at  1729 Cliff Drive instead?”  

A half-hour later, the spacious beach house was full of music and laughter.  Thor had carried the groceries in from where they’d been dropped off on the porch, and Bruce had taken on the task of unloading them.  “You remembered I’m a vegetarian, didn’t you, Tony?” he asked, staring in disbelief at the various slabs and chunks of meat Thor was eagerly eying.  

“Sure did,” Tony called out from where he’d been recruited to spray sunscreen on Natasha’s swimsuit-clad form, “there should be the makings for saag paneer somewhere in those bags.” 

“You sure I can’t set up a zipline to the beach?” Clint asked, brandishing his bow and quiver.  “I’ve got a grappling arrow and  plenty of cable right here.”   

“Yeah - I don’t think that’s covered in the rental agreement, Hawkeye.” Tony chuckled.  “You’ll have to use the stairs like everyone else.”    Which wasn’t exactly true;  Tony had brought his boots and gauntlets for his  own jaunt down the bluffs to the beach.  Although he’d give Pepper a ride, if she felt up to it.  

Speaking of whom …  “JARVIS, would you happen to have an ETA on my lovely CEO and forehead of security?” Tony asked as he strode out to the deck, where Steve was sitting with a sketchbook.  

“They should be arriving within the next fifteen minutes, Sir.”  

“Thanks.”  Tony pocketed his phone as he joined Steve.  “Figured you’d appreciate the view.” 

“It’s a lot different from the Coney Island beach, for sure,” Steve replied with a laugh, and then sobered.  “I’ve got some sketches in here I’d like you to see.”   He flipped the page. “Look familiar?” 

“Unfortunately, yes.”  Steve had detailed drawings -presumably from memory - of one of the weapons from the helicarrier. The ones meant to be powered by the Tesseract.   “I’ve got copies of all those files Banner and I were looking at just before things got interesting up there.  And then I went digging deeper.” 

“What have you found?”  Steve asked, his expression serious. 

“Some stuff that I don’t think even Fury knows about. Something called Project Insight that I really, really don’t like the looks of.” Which included references to something – someone – codenamed Winter Soldier  that had turned his stomach.    

“That said,” Tony rubbed his hand over his face, “this was supposed to be a fun weekend.  A team bonding kinda thing.  You know,  sun, surf,  ridiculous amounts of food and drink.   Can we table this for a few days?” 

“Sure, Tony,” Steve replied with a nod.  “And once again, I am so sorry for the things –” 

“All water under the bridge, Cap.”  Tony broke in.  They’d both already apologized for the scepter-fueled insults they’d thrown at one another and Tony was more than ready to move on.  “Speaking of water,  how about you grab your star-spangled swim trunks and join the rest of us on the beach?”  

[an-unknown-writers-world]

Caught

Summary:  Established relationship between Hangman and reader. Reader is Penny’s niece. 

Warnings: Cheesy, that’s it- nothing but the cheesiest scene that played out in my mind when I was supposed to be in a meeting.

Pairing:  Jake Seresin x Reader

Characters: Jake “Hangman” Seresin, Pete “Maverick” Mitchell – Mentions of Penny Benjamin

Word Count:  673

A/N: This is super cheesy with minimal actual plot. Thank you so much for reading! 

“I should have guessed it was you two,” Mave laughed.

You stood bashfully next to Jake, hands intertwined and your other holding onto his forearm. A federal criminal, that’s what you were now. A bit of a dramatic way to look at it, but it was the truth.

“Sir,” Jake nodded, “I can’t say I’m sorry. It was worth every ounce of punishment.”

“Would it help if I said sorry, Uncle Pete?” You asked. “Are you going to tell Aunt Penny?”

This made him laugh, smiling the biggest smile you’d ever seen on his face, “No apologies needed.” He took a step toward the two of you. “You know my first date with your aunt, way back in the day, was a joyride in an F-18.”

“No way!” You exclaimed with a smile.

Jake laughed, “That would have been a better first date idea.”

“Wait,” Mave paused for a moment, “this isn’t your first?”

You both shook your head.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Six months. Basically, since the day you both showed up at The Hard Deck.” You smiled, looking up at Jake.

“Best six months of my life.” Jake squeezed your hand with a smile.

Maverick raked his hand over his face. “I owe your aunt a hundred dollars.”

Neither you nor Jake spoke, waiting for a better explanation. Had he and Penny bet on this? You didn’t exactly hide it. You tried to keep the PDA to a minimum at the bar, but it absolutely happened.

“Penny said it was going on back when we came home.” Mave finally explained. “Something about the way you wouldn’t stop pacing until you heard from us.”

“And you?” Jake asked.

“Well, I didn’t see it happening until you were ready to settle down.”

“You really couldn’t tell?” You questioned.

“Are you ready to settle down, Hangman?” Mave passed right over your question.

Without hesitation, Jake responded. “That’s why I asked for my orders to be extended. I requested to be stationed on North Island regardless of assignment.”

“But you asked that before we left on our mission.”

Jake looked down at you. “I knew back then.” He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, “I knew there would never be anything else out there for me. The best was waiting for me back here.”

“Jake,” you spoke barely above a whisper. Your heart warmed from the statement.

“Well, I’m supposed to be here to figure out who went on a joyride.” Mave shook his head, still smiling. “I’ll take care of command. Take her home.”

“Thank you, sir.”

You stood on your tiptoes to kiss Mave on the cheek. “Thanks, Uncle Pete.”

“Lieutenant Seresin,” Mave said, prompting you both to turn around. His use of Jake’s name and rank clearly indicated he was serious about whatever he would say next. “Be smarter than I was. Don’t let her go if you really feel the way you claim.”

“Yes, sir.” Jake took his orders.

“And as her uncle, don’t break her heart. Remember what I am capable of.”

You chuckled, “Bodily harm or career ended.” You mumbled.

“Sir, I can assure you have no intentions of doing either.”

“Good. Now you’re dismissed.” Mave spoke again, choking back his emotions.

You were almost out of the hangar when you heard him laugh to himself and mumble something about Penny having a field day. You had a feeling that you’d be hearing from her before your shift at The Hard Deck tonight. But it wouldn’t be a one-sided conversation. You had questions about her and Mave’s relationship.

“Babe,” Jake spoke, coming to a stop.

Looking up at him, you saw a look in his eyes you’d never seen before. A new level of adoration and devotion.

“I don’t say this enough. I love you.”

“I know, Jake.” You pressed up on your tiptoes, kissing him. “I love you too.”

He kissed the top of your head and squeezed your hand gently. “Let’s go home; I’ll show you just how much I love you.”

 A/N: If you’ve made it this far - thank you so so so much for reading! My Masterlist can be found here. All work is also available on AO3