#The smallest investigation team!

[taryn40k]

... Ok one more for the kids. XD @lazywriter-artist

[megwritesriddles]

Out of Town ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 18 - First Time. Spencer is sent to a small town police station to get some information, but doesn't expect to meet such a beautiful officer whom he connects with so easily.

Tags: Loss of virginity, Virgin!Reader, P in V, Unprotected sex, Fingering, Handjob, First meetings, Getting together, Fluff, Awkwardness, Factual inaccuracies, Autistic!Spencer, SoftDom!Spencer (ish), Briefly referenced violence, Set around season 2-3.

Word count: 5.7k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: It's FINALLY here!! Virgin!Reader because of this poll!! I struggled with this one so much and I don't know why, it took forever to write and it's so long and I'm not even sure I like it that much, I will come back for Spencer after kinktober and redeem myself!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Spencer didn’t believe in fate, but he believed that something close to it had brought him to that small-town police station. At first, he had complained vehemently about being sent alone to the next county over while on a case. The team were investigating an UnSub targeting very small towns, and communication between these tiny police departments was virtually non-existent. It was Spencer’s job to see if any missing persons cases in nearby counties would match the description of a recently discovered unidentifiable Jane Doe. He tried to argue, saying it was unwise to send him, the worst socialiser of the bunch, to try and negotiate information from the usually very territorial small-town cops. Unwillingness to cooperate was still rife in the culture and each department wanted to be the ones to solve the case, so information sharing was limited. However, his complaints fell on deaf ears and he was sent away, he would have never guessed how happy this would end up making him.

The first few county police departments he pops by offer nothing, no missing person cases (at least matching the necessary descriptions or timeline) and grizzled FBI-wary old cops who glared at him and commented on his ‘funny’ behaviour. Spencer’s confidence was a little shot as the day progressed. He sets off for the final department he’d be visiting that day, talking on the carphone with Morgan to find out how things were going with the rest of the investigation. He pulls up outside of a small rustic building, the smallest he’d seen all day, his only visual confirmation that he was in the right place being the rickety old sign off of which various letters were dangling. He hadn’t realised places like this even still existed, or that information-sharing programs weren’t implemented nationwide. He would have to read into that more when he got the time. The light outside his car is a deep blue as the sun prepares to set, he gets out and locks up before stepping inside. The place is absolutely tiny, with a small jail cell in the corner of the room like in a cartoon and a small desk behind which were two filing cabinets, presumably holding all the files that this place had. This whole day had been one big culture shock. The biggest surprise, however, is you, behind the desk smiling warmly. You’re young and beautiful and not immediately distrusting when he presents his FBI badge to you. All day he’s been dealing with hardened older men, so you’re a much-appreciated surprise.

“Dr Spencer Reid, FBI,” he introduces himself with an awkward tight-lipped smile. You give him your name too, referring to yourself as an officer.

“It’s not every day we get an FBI agent visiting,” you chuckle. “In fact, I would bet it has never happened before,” He smiles slightly at your observation, not doubting it, remembering seeing the population sign when driving into town. Population: 342. If an FBI agent had been here before, he would have been shocked. Perhaps because of all this, you immediately guess what he’s here for, turning to grab a file from the filing cabinet. The drawer is barely full and you find what you’re looking for instantly. Must be nice, he thinks, thinking about the cabinets back at the bullpen. You hand him a missing persons file, a young woman, missing a month ago. “It’s only our fifth missing persons case since 1900, caused an awful stir in our town, I figure it’s what you’re here for, nothing much else going on,”

“Yeah, this looks exactly like what I’m here for, thank you,” he smiles, flipping through the file. The timeline fits with the estimated time of death, and she matches the height of the body found. “May I use your copier?” he asks. You chuckle.

“Good luck,” you point him to a very old-looking machine. He cringes a little but supposes he has little other choice. He fiddles around with the machine, encountering various unexplainable errors. You come up behind him and give the machine a firm slap and it whirs to life again.

“Thanks,” he smiles awkwardly. You just nod.

“No problem,” he sets the machine to print a few copies and then sits down on a nearby chair while the ancient machine starts working. “You’ll be here a while, want a coffee?” you offer sweetly. He huffs a small laugh, fiddling with the strap of his satchel.

“Yeah… uh… lots of sugar…” he says awkwardly.

“How much is a lot?” you ask, approaching the old coffee machine. Everything in this place is old, he supposes not much budget must be extended out here to such a small uneventful place.

“Just when you think you’ve added way too much, add one more,” he mumbles, pleasantly surprised when you laugh, he laughs too. He takes in his surroundings as you make the coffee. “Do you work here alone?” he enquires.

“I have one co-worker, he does most of the patrols and stuff,” you explain while scooping spoonfuls of sugar into his cup. “It’s slightly more exciting than working here, but I suppose I get some excitement tonight, FBI agent visiting,” you smile at him over your shoulder. You’re really beautiful, Spencer thinks as he nods along to what you say, so beautiful it doesn’t quite seem possible, and he’s constantly surrounded by beautiful people. Or so he’s told anyway, most of his colleagues are very conventionally attractive, but he is more floored by you than he has ever been by one of them. He takes the coffee as you hand it to him and tastes it, pleasantly surprised by the amount of sugar. The whir of the copier continues as you sit down beside him, smiling sweetly. “You seem young for an agent,” you comment, taking a sip of your coffee.

“You seem young for an officer in a place like this,” he counters. “I’ve been visiting stations all day and only been dealing with old guys,” he jokes, once again happy when you laugh. 

“Yeah, I suppose I am, but this is my hometown, a position here opened up right after I finished college and I applied,” you shrug. “I doubt anyone else applied, so they had to take me, but I was by far the most qualified person to have ever applied here, do you know I’m the first member of this department to have ever gone to college?” you tell him with surprising eagerness. He finds it very endearing.

“I’m the first in my department with three Ph.D.s,” he smiles awkwardly. 

“Three? Wow! That’s amazing! How old are you exactly?” you tilt your head at him. He goes on to explain his story to you, his early graduations, his IQ, all of it. You seem much more interested than most people and he appreciates it greatly. The two of you talk back and forth while the copy machine slowly does its work and he finds himself liking you a lot. Of course, he had immediately noticed your looks, but he had tried not to think about it, wanting to be professional, yet after talking to you for a while, he found he had a great deal in common with you. Or, at least, he found your interests interesting, as you did his. So, by the time the copying is done and he’s gathering up the papers, he makes a decision. 

He’s never been the most confident with women, far from it in fact, but lately, he’s been feeling a little more secure. His brief stint with Lila Archer, while a little regrettable with hindsight, had left him feeling better about himself and his romantic prospects. He’d done a little exploring after realising that he and Lila really had nothing in common to base a relationship on, and was now no longer so inexperienced with women, though he still had a lot of trouble with finding someone he was compatible with for more than just something physical. He had difficulties that made a relationship with him hard, and while he had never intended for any one-night stands, most girls had backed out after spending a little longer with him. They’d been polite about it, explaining that they didn’t have the faculties to support him through struggles with his career, with his autism, with his mother and he understood, but it still hurt. He was determined not to let it put him off though, not wanting to squander his newfound confidence. He liked you. He’d mentioned his autism to you in passing when discussing being bullied as a child (why had he even told you about that? It seemed like he’d just let everything out), and you had said he hadn’t deserved that. It didn’t mean you would be able to handle him in a relationship, but it was one step closer to possible acceptance. You’d been smiling and laughing with him all evening, giving him these sweet looks and he was no expert in this field, but it seemed like you liked him. He couldn’t not do something about this attraction, he would never forgive himself if he’d had a chance and not taken it.

He leaves his name and number along with the words ‘I would love to see you again’, written neatly on a piece of paper from his notepad, on your desk, right by your bag where he hopes you will see it. He’s fidgety when he says goodbye to you, anxious that this may be the last time he ever sees you. He hopes not. He even hugs you goodbye, which he would usually hate, but for once it feels nice and comforting. You smell perfect, like warm spices, and he holds you way too tight for a friendly goodbye hug, but you say nothing about it. He prays that you will find his number and contact him, even if just to shoot him down so he doesn’t have to wonder forever. He drives back to the hotel that the team is staying in with his head spinning. He really, really liked you, and he wasn’t sure how these feelings had grown so strong so quickly, he wasn’t usually like this.

That night, while reading in his hotel bed, his phone rings. He doesn’t recognise the number, and though his line of work has taught him to be wary of unknown callers, the chance that it’s you overrides this worry and he picks up quickly. It is you. He can’t help but grin with delight as he hears your sweet voice.

“Spencer?” you question softly.

“Hey,” he laughs excitedly. “You called,” you laugh too, surprised by how overjoyed he sounds.

“Yeah, I figured I should since it could be a while until you go through your satchel,”

“My satchel?” he chuckles in confusion, leaning over the edge of the bed to root through his bag. There, on a pink sticky note, is your number and a cute little smiley face. You gave him your number too, you wanted to stay in touch too. He’s over the moon right now. He traces his fingertips over the little smiley face. “You’re too cute,” he mumbles. You blush on the other end and laugh him off. “How was your… uh… drive home?” he asks. He’s never been good at starting conversations, usually best at taking them over and finishing them, but for once, he wants to know the mundane things about someone, as well as the deep and intellectual, he wants to hear you talk. He’s glad when you start to talk about your day, going on a few tangents about this and that. He does the same, feeling so incomparably comfortable with you like he’s known you forever, like he can just talk without worrying about coming off weird or annoying. He can only hope the feeling isn’t only in his head and he isn’t actually annoying you. He doesn’t seem to be, as the conversation occasionally turns rather flirty, and he finds it much easier to flirt with you than anyone else he’s ever tried it with. The way you flirt, sweet and coy, drives him crazy. You talk until way too late at night, given the time Spencer has to wake up for work, but he can barely bring himself to hang up on you, even when the both of you are yawning incessantly. He’s never felt this way about anyone. People always say, when you know, you know, and he’s always thought that was ridiculous but now… he knows. 

“Look, I’m supposed to be at the station in four hours, I really need to get to sleep,” you yawn. Spencer sighs, disappointed but understanding.

“Okay, but… maybe we could see each other again while I’m still in the area? You could come to my hotel tomorr– I mean tonight I guess,” he chuckles tiredly. “Drinks on me, or no drinks… that’s good too,” the question is followed by complete silence, and initially, Spencer is sure you must have fallen asleep, but then he hears you shuffling and realises you must be awake. He frowns. Why aren’t you answering him? You’d spent hours on the phone with him just now, you must like him at least a little bit, right? Could he have read this that disastrously wrong? If you didn’t want to, you could have lied and said you were busy. What gives? He repeats your name into the receiver, prompting softly. 

“I’m a virgin, Spencer,” you reply quietly, biting your lip. You feel embarrassed and ashamed to be admitting this, especially so early, but you figure there would be certain expectations if you came to his hotel, ones you couldn’t really fulfil, or at least not in the way he probably wanted.

“What?” Spencer squeaks, confused by your words for a multitude of reasons and unsure why you’re saying them now. You worry you’ve scared him off now.

“I grew up in a really small town, there’s like two guys close to my age in the whole place… and in college… I was a huge nerd, just focused on my studies… and now I’m back in that town… it just… hasn’t happened for me,” you sigh, fiddling with the hem of your pyjama shirt. There’s another pause, Spencer swallowing audibly.

“That’s totally cool! Really! I didn’t mean to imply that we’d be... uh… I mean… not that I don’t want to, I’d hardly be opposed to us… um… but I’m not going to– I was a virgin until last year too!” he stumbles nervously over his words, cursing himself for his awkwardness. He rubs a hand over his forehead and takes a deep breath. “I didn’t invite you here for that, we can do whatever you like, at whatever pace you like, don’t feel pressured into anything,”

“I just made this completely awkward, didn’t I?” you laugh self-deprecatingly. He smiles slightly.

“No, no, please I… I know what guys are like, you weren’t unreasonable to assume my intentions but… I just want to see you again, whatever we do,” he assures softly, relieved he hasn’t messed this up. 

“Yeah, okay, I’ll come visit you after my shift is over, text me the address,”

The two of you finally hang up after a nervous goodbye, and Spencer immediately sends you the address of the hotel before he can forget about it, not that he could if he tried, even without the eidetic memory. He’s tired enough that he falls straight asleep afterwards, using what little sleep he has to dream of you.

The workday goes by in a trance. The Jane Doe is identified as the missing girl from your town. Despite this, the case is no closer to getting solved. Selfishly, he is glad of this, as it means he’s likely to stay near you a little longer. He brushes away that thought, immediately ashamed of himself. He tries his best to push you from his mind to focus on his work, but you invade it in the quiet moments. He’s never been so excited to spend time with someone in his life. He thinks occasionally about your confession. A virgin. He’s partly shocked, you’re so beautiful, sweet and intelligent, however, your explanation had made sense. He understood the focus on your studies, while most people took college as an opportunity to have fun, you’d dedicated yourself entirely to your academia. He imagined though, that if you had decided to experiment, you would have had no trouble finding willing partners. By the end of the day, he is in such a rush to get back to the hotel that it rouses the team's suspicions. They don’t know about you though, so they can’t guess the truth. They figure he’s just aching for his own space like he sometimes is after stressful workdays, needing a dark quiet room to regulate himself in. He disappears into his room without any goodbyes, having received a text from you that you’re on your way. He spritzes himself with some fresh cologne, brushing his hair and making sure he’s dressed nicely, but not too formally, so he looks approachable.

He sprints down to the lobby to meet you, relieved none of his team is hanging around the bar to see the two of you. He does not want you to meet Morgan so early on. He embraces you, a little awkwardly, relishing that sweet but spicy scent that you have around you. You’ve taken the time to change out of your police uniform and into more casual, but still very enchanting clothes. He wishes he’d have had time to change too. You look absolutely gorgeous, but he’s not sure if he should tell you as such yet.

“A drink? On me, alcoholic, non-alcoholic, whatever you prefer! I’m personally not a drinker, but I don’t mind if you do,” he rambles, smiling excitedly down at you. You follow him to the bar, ordering a mocktail from the bartender. Spencer orders himself the same one, paying for them both. The two of you are quiet as you wait, both nervous. Spencer smiles dopily as you let him keep a hand on your back, the warm pressure calming you in some way. The bartender brings you your drinks and you take yours with a soft thank you, then the two of you go silent again.

“Are we going to your room?” you ask quietly. Spencer blushes a little at the thought but reminds himself that he’s not expecting anything out of this other than your presence. He nods, gently guiding you by the hand on your back to the elevators. The two of you are quiet in the elevator as it goes up, save for the occasional sip. You reach his floor and then the door to his room. He presents his keycard and the door swings open, revealing a modest but clean hotel room. You take a seat on the edge of his bed, and he takes a seat on the armchair nearby. You’re both quiet again. “We’re both nervous, aren’t we?” you chuckle. He laughs too, nodding, finding it sweet that you’re nervous too, being used to always being the nervous one. “Come on, we weren’t this quiet last night, tell me more about Vegas,” you prompt, hoping to rid yourself of this oppressive silence that makes your mind wander over his tall frame, his sweet eyes and the way his hand had felt on your back. 

He starts slowly, not initially sure what to tell you about, but gradually talks more comfortably as you ask questions. After a little while, the two of you fall into easy conversation once more. He finds you intelligent and well-rounded, even if you’re not as well-studied as he is, you effortlessly keep up with his discussion. You explain that you have lots of time to read in the police station as barely anything ever happens that demands your attention. He finds your willingness to learn on a variety of different topics incredibly attractive and whenever you’re able to tell him a fact that he doesn’t know, he just wants you all the more. Once he’s finished his drink (a fruity sweet drink he quite liked), he comes to sit beside you. He doesn’t necessarily mean anything by it but quickly realises that you think he does. You go pink and start to stutter, looking down at the ground. He swallows. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t– I just wanted to–” 

“Are we going to have sex?” you cut him off, looking up at him nervously. He feels trapped, not knowing what the right answer to this is. 

“We… don’t have to,” he replies, not wanting to imply disinterest but also not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

“Would you? I mean… it’s not off-putting that I’m a virgin at my age?” you ask, looking down again and swinging your feet slightly. 

“No! No! Trust me, it’s completely fine, I was a virgin until last year, I completely get it,” he assures, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Really? The handsome FBI man, a virgin?” you tease, nudging him. He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. 

“No need to flatter me… and no matter what I look like, my… uh…” he hesitates to bring it up again in case you missed it the first time and it’ll scare you off. “My autism makes stuff like that hard, very hard, so… I can hardly judge you,” he watches your face for a reaction, but you just nod in understanding. He’s so relieved that he could kiss you. He looks at you for a moment and then decides to do just that. He leans in slowly, so you have time to push him away if the thought of kissing him disgusts you, and presses his lips to yours. He kisses you softly for a moment, sliding his hand around your waist and tugging you a little closer. Your hands settle onto his shoulders, your head tilting to press a little closer to him. He smiles into the kiss and you smile too.

He keeps it gentle and slow, carefully manoeuvring you sideways onto his lap so he doesn’t have to lean his neck down so much to kiss you. He rests his hand just above your knee, keeping you held in place, his other hand on your back. Your hands on his shoulders slide softly around his neck, now embracing him to keep him close and comfortable. His thumb rubs back and forth on your back, his hand splayed out, keeping you pressed close. He likes this, you’re gentle, you smell good and the weight of you is comforting in his lap. He shuffles back clumsily, holding you close and upright until his back is against the headboard. He continues to kiss you, his hand smoothing up and down the outside of your thigh. You pull back and he frowns, though his hands don’t stop their gentle caresses. 

“Please, be gentle with me,” you whisper shyly, your pupils wide in the dim light.

“Of course I will be,” he whispers, his hand on your thigh coming up to caress your cheek tenderly, his thumb rubbing your cheekbone. “So… we’re doing this then? You’re letting me…?”

“Yes, it’s about time, right? And… I know we haven’t known each other long but I trust you,” you smile, leaning into his hand. He smiles too.

“When you know, you know,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” you exhale. These words speak of something much deeper, feelings that would be crazy to voice so soon after meeting, but feelings that are shared anyway, just covertly. Somehow, even if it’s crazy, you both know. He gently pulls your face back to his, kissing you again, keeping it tender. His hand on your cheek caresses for a little while longer before returning to your thigh, further up now, closer to the tantalising swell of your hip. He rubs slow circles, enjoying the feeling of you, wishing he was touching bare skin. He pulls back, peppering a few kisses across your jaw. 

“May I see you?”

“See me?” you question anxiously. He soothes you by rubbing your back.

“To take off your clothes?” he clarifies. You shiver and suddenly look very shy again. “Hey, I will think you’re beautiful no matter what you look like,” he promises. “You’re so beautiful, it’s plain to see,” you still look nervous and don’t make any moves. “We can’t really do this with clothes on,” he jokes softly, squeezing the plush of your thigh. You smile despite your reservations.

“But you have to get naked too,” you assert, trying not to let your voice shake.

“Of course,” he agrees. He gently moves you off of his lap and sheds his sweater vest, then unbuttons his shirt, not letting his insecurities get to him so that he can reassure you. He’s sure he has much more to worry about than you do, but if he got nervous, it wouldn’t help your nerves. He discards his shirt and sits there shirtless, feeling better when you smile at him. You slowly but surely pull your sweater over your head, leaving you in a plain black bra. Your cheeks are flushed and he finds it incredibly sweet. He places a hand on your bare waist, kissing your shoulder before carefully unhooking your bra for you. You take shaky breaths, clearly nervous as he turns you around to look at you. He is immediately baffled by how you could be so insecure looking the way you do. He smiles down at you. “Very beautiful,” he soothes, kissing your neck gently. “I’d love to worship them, but I think we should speed this up before you overthink it too much,”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, shivering as his hands skim over your bare skin. 

“No, I was a nervous wreck my first time, you’re doing way better than I was,” he promises, and it’s true. He briefly feels bad for the woman he lost his virginity to but pushes the thought away to focus on this much better experience. He tilts your chin, pressing his lips to yours again, kissing you softly. His hands slowly explore your skin, cupping gently. You’re warm and weighty in his hands and he loves the feeling, squeezing softly. You moan into the kiss and he delights in it completely. He gives one last slight squeeze to you before pulling back again. “If you let me, I’ll explore you thoroughly later, I quite like to understand exactly how things work inside and out,” you swallow and nod. He stands, carefully unbuttoning his slacks and sliding them down. Your eyes immediately flick to the bulge in his boxers and he’s momentarily embarrassed until he realises you seem happy to see it. “That’s what your beauty does to me,” he whispers, making you giggle shyly. He smiles, and then slowly, a little apprehensive, he lowers his boxers too. Your eyes are glued to him in interest.

“Can you sit down?” you ask softly. He complies. You lower your jeans, leaving yourself in your underwear for now and he admires the skin of your thighs and the beautiful curve of your hips. You carefully wrap your hand around him and he gasps in surprise. “May I?” you ask, examining him a little as he twitches in your hand.

“Y-yeah, absolutely, go ahead,” he swallows, letting out a throaty groan as you slide your hand up and down in the way you’ve heard about. He seems to like it. You watch his face as you adjust your hold, figuring out what's too loose and what's too tight until you find the perfect grip. He smiles a little at your analytical approach, tilting your chin so he can kiss you while you slowly stroke him. One of his arms wraps around you, the other propping him up. He kisses you intently as you carefully experiment with how to touch him. It’s an odd sensation, holding him in your hand like this, but you find you quite like it. You kiss and caress him for a few minutes, finally falling into a rhythm he clearly enjoys based on the soft noises he’s letting out before he stops you. You pout a little as he moves your hand away by the wrist. “Sorry, but I was getting too close and we haven’t… you know…” he smiles, kissing your jaw again. 

“Right,” you swallow as he starts to guide you back with him again until he’s against the headboard. He traces the sides of your panties softly. 

“Come on, you can take these off, I promise I will like whatever I see,” he assures. You take a deep breath and then shuffle yourself out of your panties. You’re shy, no one has ever seen you like this before. He smiles, gently massaging the flesh of your hips, pulling you to straddle his lap. You shuffle forward, your face red with embarrassment. He kisses your cheeks and carefully slides his hand down your stomach, giving you time to tell him to stop, before slipping his finger between your folds, rubbing softly up and down. He hums, feeling that you’re nice and wet. His fingers make you moan timidly and you close your eyes as his fingers gently explore. His free hand rubs your side soothing as he ever so carefully begins to slip a finger inside you. You moan, your head tipping back as his finger reaches further than your own ever have. “Another place to explore thoroughly later,” he says matter-of-factly as if the thought isn’t incredibly arousing. He spends a few minutes carefully stretching you out, easing in a second finger and pumping them in and out with great care. He watches as you moan and writhe above him and thinks that you look simply irresistible right now, leaning down and placing a few kisses on your stomach until he thinks you’re finally ready. 

He slowly withdraws his fingers, which makes your eyes flutter back open to meet his. He leans up to peck your lips and then guides your hips a little until you’re above him, then positioning his cock against you, making both of you hiss a little. The head of his cock catches your entrance and he takes a deep breath.

“There, you can set the pace, okay? Lower down as slow as you like,” he smiles, free hand still rubbing your side soothingly. You nod, taking a few laboured breaths before slowly starting to lower yourself onto him. You gasp at the stretch, even though it’s not too painful, stopping and starting as you lower yourself. He holds your hips with a feather-light touch, careful not to push you at all, holding himself back from bucking into your tight heat. His eyes are glued to your face as your lips part in pleasure. You fully seat yourself on him and sit there for a while, catching your breath and getting used to the feeling. He twitches inside you and he hopes you don’t mind the feeling as he cannot get it under control. His hands drift up and down your sides. “How is it?”

“Yeah, ah… I feel full…” you whine softly.

“In a good way?”

“In the best way, I’m going to feel empty the rest of my life after this,” you laugh slightly. He laughs too, although the words are oddly moving to him. His thumbs rub your hips.

“Want me to guide the pace?” he asks softly, eyes glued on yours despite his usual aversions.

“Y-yeah, that would be good,” you nod, sighing softly as he begins to carefully lift your hips. You hold his shoulders as he moves you slowly up and down his length. He groans and bites his lip under you, moving you a little faster, making sure to listen out to make sure you’re feeling pleasure from his pace. You feel perfect around him, absolutely blissful, and he hopes beyond hope that you feel the same. He tugs you down to kiss you, holding you still as he starts to buck up into you. Your lips move together messily as he fucks up into you, careful to keep it from being too hard. He rubs your back as he kisses you.

“Do you feel good?”

“So good…” you whimper, trailing off into a string of moans. He loves the sound of you, wishing his eidetic memory worked on sounds so he could remember the way you sound forever. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him as close as possible as he fills your body with pleasure, fucking you nice and deep. You whisper fragmented compliments to him as he drives you closer and closer to the edge, holding you close and kissing you desperately. “I’m going to– oh God–,” you moan needily, he groans in response, moving faster. 

“Yeah, come on, I’m with you,” he grunts, squeezing you closer to his body. With a few more deep thrusts, he feels you falling apart around him, making him whimper. He kisses you lovingly as stars explode behind his eyes, his mouth parting with throaty noises as he spills inside you. His chest heaves, his hands sliding up and down your body in a calming gesture as you both come down. He gently lifts you off of him and lies you down beside him on the bed, watching as you wipe the sweat from your brow. He hops up without a word and disappears into the bathroom, leaving you a little nervous and confused. When he reappears, you calm down, realising he’s just holding a damp cloth. He spreads your legs, making you blush despite what you’ve just done and wipes you clean with careful precision. 

“Thanks,” you whisper. 

“Well, it was my mess after all,” he smiles, taking the cloth back to the bathroom and rinsing it. He joins you back on the bed, staring at you for a moment. “Was that okay? You don’t regret it do you?” 

“Yes, it was good, I don’t regret it,” you assure him, leaning into his as he kisses your cheek.

“Good, neither do I,” he lies beside you, pulling the blanket over the two of you and reaching over to caress your cheek. His thumb skims your lower lip. “Now, get a little rest, I intend to fully acquaint myself with your body in a bit, and I can be very thorough with things that interest me,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

xoxoxo

[thealtoduck]

Secret Saviour

Damian Wayne x Male Reader

Warnings: None…

Part 1: Being the son of Roulette and meeting Damian Wayne…

Summary: When Bruce goes missing Damian finds an unexpected help in Y/n Sinclair…

(A/n: I changed the title from the poll)

——

Ever since the two of you studied together you and Damian had grown fond of each others company. Despite that Damian would never admit this fact, he insisted to his family that he was simply investigating you to see if you were somehow involved with your mother’s criminal activities.

He hadn’t actually found anything suspicious connecting you to Roulette yet which pleased him. Because according to him it means ”he dosen’t have to contact the GCPD… yet”. But Damian would have to put his ”investigation” on halt for a bit.

One dark night during patrol Bruce had suddenly disappeared without a trace, no comms could reach him and they had no way to track him except for the Batmobile’s last location, which hadn’t revealed the slightest hint. His allies looked for him for days trying to find even the smallest clue that would at least let them know he was alive but nothing.

Just when they felt like there was no where else to look they got a call from the watchtower. They answered and Martian Manhunter appeared on the screen of the Batcomputer.

”Hey J’onn, good news I hope” Dick greeted. ”The watchtower recieved an urgent message about Batman’s current whereabouts from an unknown source” J’onn said and another voice started playing from the speakers, one which Damian recognized…

”Is this the watchtower?” A voice came over a weak signal making the sound crackle lightly. Despite the bad audio quality Damian knew that voice immediately it was Y/n’s voice. ”I know Batman has disappeared and I think I know where he is, have someone meet me on the 4th floor of parking garage next to the Royal Hotel, on Wednesday at midnight and I’ll tell you what i know”.

The message then ended and J’onn said ”I’ll let you decide how to deal with the informant, make sure to be careful, contact the League if you need any further help, good luck”. Then he hung up and disappeared from the main screen.

”Do we go meet the informant? It could be a trap to get us too” Duke questioned. ”We don’t have anything else to go off, this could be our only lead, we have to go” Tim stated. ”How about two of us go meet the informant, while the others keep watch in the surrounding area and Oracle monitors, incase it’s a trap” Dick said drawing up a plan.

The others muttered and nodded in agreement of the plan. ”I wanna meet the informant” Damian then voulenteered on impulse making the others turn to him suprised by his eagerness. But Damian needed to make sure it was you, even if you might be luring him in to a trap.

”Alright” Dick said and walked them through the plan ”Me and Damian meet the informant on the 4th floor. Jason, you keep an eye from above the top of the Royal Hotel. Cass and Steph, i want one of you on the 5th floor and one on the 3rd floor, incase we need back up. Duke and Tim, you’ll watch from the building across the street, everyone clear?”.

The each member of the team uttered a quick ”Yes” in understanding. As Damian went to bed he knew needed to keep an eye on you tommorow.

——

The next day when Damian attended school he was on the watch for you. Once he found you, you greeted Damian as you usually did but as you got to class he noticed you seemed off. You were usually the more talkative out of the two of you but today you seemed distracted, almost nervous today.

When you got to lunch time and you and Damian sat down together he questioned ”Are you okay? You’re being quiet”. ”Oh… no I’m fine I just got a lot to do, so just a bit stressed you know” you answered vaguely.

The fact that Damian had pointed it out, made you seem more focused and yourself, he assumed it was to not seem suspicious and make him ask more questions. Once the school day ended you were quick in saying goodbye to him before you got in to a car as your chauffeur took you home.

——

Later that night Nightwing and Robin grappled to the 4th floor of parking garage and started looking around. There were some cars parked there that they kept a watchful eye on in case any goons were hiding inside. Soon the two spotted a figure dressed in all black.

The figure was looking down to the streets below the garage. The two approached slowly ready to grab their weapons in case of an ambush. As they stopped behing the stranger he turned around.

Damian had been right there you were hidden in a black hoodie. Not something you’d usually wear but Damian understood it was for stealth purposes. And even then he thought black suited you well.

Dick however was caught slightly off guard a kid was the one who had made an emergency call to the Watchtower…

”Thanks for meeting me” you said, your voice cautious as you looked around to see no one would hear you. ”So, what do you know?” Nightwing asked.

”I think that Batman was taken by the criminal, Roulette, ever heard of her?” you started. ”Yeah, she’s the one who runs those illegal cansinos, what makes you think she’s behind this?” Dick asked.

”I… have sources who work closely with her” you said Robin and Nightwing noticing the slight hesitation in your voice. ”They say she’s advertising a special event with her superhero cage fights that started around the same time Batman went missing” you explained.

”Any idea where she might have taken him?” Robin spoke up, his voice throwing you off for a moment, Robin sounded kinda like Damian. You got back on track and answered ”My guess would be her casino in Las Vegas, it’s her biggest one, she holds all her major events there and I think she’d make having captured Batman, a big event”.

You held out a flash drive in your hand and said ”This contains the layout of the Vegas casino”. Nightwing picked it up and said ”Thank you, you’ve been very helpful to us”.

”It’s the least I could do after all you’ve all done for the city” you told him with a small smile. ”I have to leave now” you told them. ”Good luck” you said walking off, you felt someone grab your shoulder.

Making you turn around being met with Robin. ”You shouldn’t walk home alone, It’s dangerous this late at night, someone should escort you” he stated. You smiled at him. ”Don’t worry I’m a tough boy, who can take care of himself, thanks for the offer though” you stated, a teasing tone to your voice and you once more turned around and strolled off.

——

Dick and Damian then started their drive home in the Batmobile. ”I wonder what sources he had, hope he’s not mixed up in that crowd, he seemed pretty young” Dick said with a worried tone.

”That was Y/n Sinclair, he probably got the info straight from Roulette herself” Damian revealed. ”Oh! That was your boyfriend? The one you’re ”investigating”? He seemed nice, I like him, Good pick” Dick stated.

”He’s NOT my boyfriend!” Damian said annoyed.

”You just offered to walk him home” Dick accused. Damian glared at his brother and said ”Just to make sure he stays out of trouble”.

”…Right” Dick said not believing a single word Damian said.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Eureka Rules Breakdown! Episode 1 of an Actual Play of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy by the Tiny Table Podcast!

Episode 1 is out now, and you can listen to it right here!

This is the first ever Actual Play of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, so we’re super excited, especially since Tiny Table really puts the “Actual” in “Actual Play.” They may edit out a stutter or bad mic read here and there, but you won’t find any prescripting of character arcs or setpiece events, just them, the rulebook, and the module.

This first episode is only about 15 minutes or so and introduces you to a brief rundown of Eureka’s rules and concepts. If you have been wondering what all the fuss is about with Eureka, but don’t feel like you have the time to download the free beta version and give it a read, then this fifteen-minute rules breakdown might be a great place to start!

The next episode, releasing on Tuesday, August 20th, will be the start of the actual Actual Play. Stay tuned for the Tiny Table crew to tackle FORIVA: The Angel Game, an adventure module for Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy.

FORIVA: The Angel Game is a 1990's investigation that sinks deep into a pit of dread and intrigue as the investigators step forward into a bizarre psychological horror mystery - one which may leave them unable to recognize themselves on the other side. To seek out the truth, an investigator must use all their wits and all the resources at their disposal - but only they know if they are ready to fall into the unthinkable rabbit hole that awaits. Stranger and stranger the story shall grow - and stranger still, what will grow in those who follow it.

Somewhere, a mother stares wordlessly at her hospitalized son who doesn’t recognize her, and wonders why this is happening to her family. Somewhere, a private detective smiles as his client offers a generous reward for someone–anyone–to blame for what was done to his children. Somewhere, a young girl tears down the advertisements that were covering up the missing poster of her friend. 

The year is 1999, and society is equal parts optimistic and apprehensive about the new millennium. Fears of the Y2K bug are circulating, Bill Clinton is still in office, and the popularity of video arcades is on the decline.

A rash of hospitalizations and disappearances has struck in Shreveport, Louisiana, with all of the victims so far being teenagers and children. Each case might at first seem unconnected, save for their close proximity in time to one another sending ripples throughout the community. Local news has been covering the story for days now, capitalizing on the fear and uncertainty of concerned parents, something that might seem like a distant problem to each investigator, until it strikes someone they know….

Having already listened to the whole thing ourselves, we can assure you that listeners who stick with it are in for a real great time! Episodes will be coming out each Tuesday, ending with a post-adventure discussion, and then an interview between the Tiny Table team and the A.N.I.M. team!

Elegantly designed and thoroughly playtested, Eureka represents the culmination of three years of near-daily work from our team, as well as a lot of our own money. If you’re just now reading this and learning about Eureka for the first time, you missed the crowdfunding window unfortunately, but you can still check out the public beta on itch.io to learn more about what Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually is, as that is where we have all the fancy art assets, the animated trailer, links to video reviews by podcasts and youtubers, etc.!

You can also follow updates on our Kickstarter page where we post regular updates on the status of our progress finishing the game and getting it ready for final release.

Beta Copies through the Patreon

If you want more, you can download regularly updated playable beta versions of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy earlier, plus extra content such as adventure modules by subscribing to our Patreon at the $5 tier or higher. Subscribing to our patreon also grants you access to our patreon discord server where you can talk to us directly and offer valuable feedback on our progress and projects.

The A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club

If you would like to meet the A.N.I.M. team and even have a chance to play Eureka with us, you can join the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club discord server. It’s also just a great place to talk and discuss TTRPGs, so there is no schedule obligation, but the main purpose of it is to nominate, vote on, then read, discuss, and play different indie TTRPGs. We put playgroups together based on scheduling compatibility, so it’s all extremely flexible. This is a free discord server, separate from our patreon exclusive one. https://discord.gg/7jdP8FBPes

Other Stuff

We also have a ko-fi and merchandise if you just wanna give us more money for any reason.

We hope to see you there, and that you will help our dreams come true and launch our careers as indie TTRPG developers with a bang by getting us to our base goal and blowing those stretch goals out of the water, and fight back against WotC's monopoly on the entire hobby. Wish us luck.

[honey-on-your-tongue]

Too Sweet

Javier Peña x fem!reader

Part one

Series masterlist

Blog masterlist

You’d come down to Colombia with one thing in mind: prove you’re more.

You’d studied journalism, been the top of your class. You were made for this, born for it. Everything you did came naturally. College had seemed almost too easy to be true. And to top it all off, you loved it. You loved the investigation, the adrenaline, the fact that you could show people the truth…

You were headed down the road of your dreams.

Joining the DEA hadn’t really been your idea. Your grandpa, the DEA agent back in his time, had insisted. He’d promised he could get you good connections, told you that you’d love it.

You knew you would. The idea of working in a big, complicated, dangerous case like that…How could you let the opportunity slip? So you agreed.

With your grandfather’s help, you were officially part of an investigative team for the DEA. Nothing big at first, just small busts on local operations in Texas.

And then, word reached your grandfather that more hands were needed in Colombia. He recommended you. You were called down a few weeks later.

You had big hopes for yourself, knew that you could do this. You were determined to take down the cartels, to uncover anything and everything necessary to win the drug war. You were hungry for information and hungry for the chase.

But then, a week before leaving for Colombia, your superior had called you into his office.

You sat at his desk, wondering what this was about.

Carl was somewhere in his late fifties, a man hardened by his time in the DEA. He’d worked under your grandfather for years. You'd always thought he was a good man.

Until that day.

“Listen,” he told you, sighing softly. “The higher-ups are sending you to Colombia mostly because your grandpa requested it. But you’re a kid. You’re too young to go down there and keep up with the kind of work that’s going on with the Medellín cartel.”

You’d frowned, taken aback, but quickly recovered. “I’m not a kid, Carl. I can handle myself. I know what I’m getting into.”

He pursed his lips, pausing a moment before saying, “I’m gonna be honest with you, kid, because your grandfather and I go back. How can someone like you expect to go down there and make a change?”

“Someone like me?” you echoed.

“Graduated little over a year ago, been in the DEA less than twelve months…” He paused, as if debating it. And then he added, “And you’re a woman.”

You froze then. That was supposed to be a problem?

“So?” you’d demanded, crossing your arms.

“So a woman—a pretty girl like you should be settling down, finding a man to love her, taking care of a family. What are you doing, going to the middle of a battlefield?”

You wanted to throw up. Wanted to punch him, scream, throw things. How dare he?

But you simply took a deep breath. “I can handle myself,” you repeated and stood up to leave.

“They’ll chew you up and spit you back out, kid,” Carl warned. You knew he was saying that because of what had happened to him in Mexico with your grandfather. A raid gone wrong, three DEA agents dead, Carl was hospitalized for months. He never returned to the field and instead retreated to managing operations from behind the desk.

You gave him a long, cold glare. “And I’ll go back. Not all of us run away with our tails tucked between our legs at the slightest sign of danger, Carl.” You turned and headed for the door. “I’ll tell my grandpa you said hi.”

You think about the conversation the entire flight to Colombia.

What are you doing, going to the middle of a battlefield?

He's a fucking idiot, you think to yourself. Why else would anyone go to the battlefield? To fight, to defend…How could you just not do anything about it? If you stood by and watched everything go down, knowing that you have the ability to help even in the smallest things, you’d be just as bad as the narcos. Standing by and doing nothing is aiding and abetting the cartels.

You can do this. You know you can do this. And yet, Carl’s words cut deep. You know he’s not the only one who thinks that. Working in the middle of a field mostly ruled by men means having to deal with the fact that they all look at you like some toy thing, like just another housewife in the making.

You won’t—won’t, won’t, won’t—let that get to you. You know your potential. Even if no one else can see it, you know it’s there, you know how far you can go. And you’re going to make all of them see it too.

The first day in Colombia is a blur. You go through the airport, find a taxi to take you to the apartment the embassy has assigned for you. You settle in. It’s a simple place, simple furniture, not decorated. Just a twin-size bed, a few rickety chairs and a table for a dining room, thin curtains.

You sigh. It’s the first time you’ve lived alone. Sure, you had a dorm in college. But this is…different. It’s your apartment. All of this is your responsibility. It’s a feeling of freedom and fear all in one. Just the kind of adrenaline you need to get your mind off that horrid conversation with Carl.

You settle in. Meaning that you take your suitcases into your room and sit on the bed, the springs squeaking beneath your weight.

You start work tomorrow and you have nothing to eat, nothing to clean the house with, nothing to cook with—just nothing.

Since you’re not sure how long you’re gonna be in Colombia, you might as well make this place a home.

You find a decent furniture store not far from the apartment complex that can deliver your things in a couple of days. You buy simple things—a dresser, sofas, a real dining table with chairs, and a bed where you can sleep more comfortably. It’s a big bill, but some of your expenses are refunded by the DEA, so you allow yourself a certain amount of luxury.

And what kind of home doesn’t have decorations?

You pick out plant pots, nicer curtains, a few lamps to lighten up the place. And dishware. Simple plates, silverware, glasses, mugs. A set of four since you don’t expect to have much company. The cookware goes at the end. A single set of pots of three different sizes, a kettle, and a medium frying pan. Add some spatulas and you’re done.

You’d left your new apartment around midday. You return at dusk, just as the sun has dipped over the horizon, leaving the sky a soft purple.

You were told you’d get a car. Apparently, not until next week, according to the woman who you’d called to ask about it.

You took a cab, brought the boxes out of the trunk and left them all in the entrance hall. Now, you find yourself hauling boxes of decorations up the stairs. Up and down, up and down. Your legs grow tired, your back aches from carrying all the heavy stuff up two floors.

You’re heading back down to retrieve a box of plates when one of the doors on the first floor opens.

A man in his mid-thirties steps out, wearing a mustard-yellow button-up tucked into his jeans. His brown hair is a little tousled, his dark eyes find yours before moving to the boxes at the bottom of the stairs. A small smile quirks his lips up under his mustache.

“¿Necesitas ayuda?” he asks.

You blink. You know a little bit of Spanish. More understand it than speak it, really. You immediately become flustered, a little afraid you won’t be able to communicate with this man when he’s so kindly asked if you need help.

“Oh, uh…Yo estoy—” you cut yourself off. Can he even understand you with your accent? “The boxes, um—está pesados y—”

“You’re American,” the man says, relieving you when you realize he speaks English too. He eyes you up and down. “I’m Javi,” he introduces, holding a hand out to you.

You shake his hand. His palm is warm, fingers calloused. You’re distracted by that as you give him your name almost mechanically, your mind on the feel of his hand against yours.

His eyes flash with recognition. “You’re the new girl.”

You blink. “I—What?”

He chuckles softly. “I’m a DEA agent,” he explains. “They told me you were coming down to help with the cartels.”

“Oh.” You nod softly. “Yeah, that’s…me I guess.”

He eyes you again. “You’re younger than I thought you’d be.”

You’re not sure if that’s a compliment or not. “I-I’m twenty-three,” you blurt, as if that were an acceptable answer.

Which is the acceptable answer? you wonder. If there even is one…

He chuckles softly, an easy smile on his lips. “That’s still pretty young,” he points out, tucking his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “So. I’m guessing you just moved here?”

“Yeah. Just…settling in, actually,” you reply, nodding at the boxes on the floor.

“You moving all that on your own?” he asks, frowning slightly. “Here, let me help.” He reaches for a box before you can respond.

“That’s—You really don’t have to, I can do it myself,” you stutter, glad for the help but still trying to be polite.

“Come on, it’s no problem. I’m glad to help,” he insists, already starting to walk up the stairs with a box in his arms.

You follow after him, quick little steps trailing after his long strides. You lead him to your apartment, the door already open, and you gesture at the messy threshold, loaded with boxes. “You can just put it down anywhere,” you tell him, a little embarrassed about the mess.

He nods and sets the box down on the floor. He gives a quick, curious look around your apartment and whistles lowly. “Nice place. Your apartment’s got a better view,” he says, peeking into the living room.

“Not much of a view when that lamppost is out. It’s just…dark.”

“Yeah, but you’ll be able to see the sunrise,” he replies.

You turn to him, smiling softly with a little hmph. “I don’t stay up until the sunrise,” you tell him. “I can’t function properly if I don’t get enough sleep.” His eyes meet yours, dark, his gaze thick, and you feel nervous. Did you come off as weird? Are you making an absolute fool of yourself right now? Your nerves make your rambling worse. “I just—I just need at least eight hours, y’know? Otherwise I’m just stumbling through the day in a bad mood and that’s never good for anyone, especially if I don’t get my morning coffee. I’ll just be upset and bitchy all day and people get upset about it and then I get upset about that so it’s like a chain reaction and…” You trail off at the look in his eyes, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

I sound like an idiot. He's gonna think I'm a fucking moron.

***

Fucked.

That’s all that Javier’s mind can come up with.

Fucked. I’m fucked.

He’s fucked. You adorable little thing, rambling on nonsensically, cheeks turning pink, eyes wide and nervous. His interest is piqued. You’re pretty, clearly smart, and you’ve gotta have guts to come down here at the ripe old age of twenty-three. You intrigue him, something about you has him thinking about blurring the boundary between co-workers and something more.

When he heard there was going to be a journalist headed down here to aid with the investigations, he’d expected some grumpy old man. Or a plain asshole who’d sit on his ass all day and do nothing. He had even thought that maybe they’d send down one of those pretty TV reporters just to get more people to watch their news.

Then he found out your name. He recognized your last name, he knows who your grandfather is. The Federico García, a good man and an even better DEA agent that controlled the Mexico cartels at the Texas border. But he never thought agent García would have a gorgeous, intelligent, gutsy granddaughter who’d end up working in Colombia.

And now that he’s seen you…

No, he thinks to himself. Come on, man. Look at her. She’s almost fifteen years younger. You can’t. Can’t. Can’t.

He shakes his head slightly to get rid of the thoughts.

He glances around again. Your apartment is bare with the evident lack of use. Javi wonders how many hours it’s been since you got off the plane.

You smile a little sheepishly. “I, uh, still got a few more boxes to get to if you, um, wanna help?”

He gives you his trademark sideways grin. “I’d be happy to,” he replies. As you two leave your apartment and start walking back down the stairs, he asks, “You nervous?”

You open your mouth to reply and pause. He glances at you, raising a curious eyebrow, and chuckles when you nod softly. “A little,” you admit. “Not so much about, like, the cartels and the narcos. Just…nervous about being in a new place where I don’t know anyone.”

“Ah.” He nods. “I get the feeling. But you’ll be fine.” He nudges your shoulder with his gently. “You got me now.”

Stop, stop, stop, his mind screams. Are you flirting with her? Why are you flirting with her?!

You give him a shy grin. “Yeah, I guess. So you’re, uh, a field agent?”

He nods proudly. “Yeah. Only way to catch these motherfuckers is to go after them ourselves.”

“Do you ever get afraid?” you ask. “When you’re walking in there with guns and bulletproof vests…Do you ever lose your nerve?”

He sighs softly. “I’m scared, sure. There’s always the risk of getting shot, killed…But if we don’t do this, who will? Someone has to stop these assholes.”

You nod. “Fair point,” you allow.

Thing is, Javier didn’t tell you the whole truth. Is he afraid? Fuck, yes, he’s afraid. He lives with the constant fear of getting caught in the crossfire. The narcos would never purposely kill a DEA thanks to Kiki, but a stray bullet…

He also doesn’t tell you about the interrogations, the tortures, the illegal shit he does with Carrillo and the Colombian army. The nightmares he has sometimes. The look of terror on these people's faces when they know they’re caught.

He helps you with all of the boxes, purposely taking a little longer just so he can talk to you. The way you speak, the way you look at him with eyes full of innocence, the way he knows what his intentions are and still can’t seem to stop himself…

Fuck, he’s doing the wrong thing. He knows he is. And yet, he’s not holding back.

Once all of the boxes of decorations and basic home necessities are placed in your threshold, Javi smiles softly. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

You nod. “Thanks again for your help,” you tell him for the millionth time. “I’ll be in by eight…ish. If I can find a cab. Do cabs drive by here?”

Javi blinks at you. It takes him a moment to put the pieces together. “You don’t have a car yet. You won’t get it until roughly next week.” He sighs. He remembers that, waiting for the embassy to make true on their promise to give him a car. It took days longer than it should’ve. “I can drive you.”

Your big, soft eyes widen a little. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to be an inconvenience—”

He waves dismissively and cuts you off. “No, really. I mean, I have to go to the embassy anyway, might as well give you a lift.”

You hesitate, biting into that plump bottom lip of yours. He can already imagine himself tugging it out from between your teeth, running his thumb over it…

“Really,” he insists. “It’s no problem. I’ll even let you pick the music,” he teases.

That gets a little giggle out of you. “Alright,” you give in after a moment. “Okay. Thank you. So, uh, I’ll be ready at eight.”

Javi smiles softly, his most dashing, charming smile. “Good, I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Good night.”

“‘Night,” you reply, a soft pink filling your cheeks when he playfully winks at you before walking away.

This is a mistake, he thinks to himself as he walks down to his apartment. I should stay away from her.

But deep down, Javier knows he won’t. He can’t. He wants a lot of things from you, but keeping his distance? It's just not one of them.

Dividers from @cafekitsune they're all amazing!!! Thank you for creating these gorgeous works!

If you guys want me to start a taglist for this fic, lmk! Ily!!! Please don't forget to comment, reblog and like <3

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - part 3.1

Part 3 - Bounce Back - 1/2

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 6000

Chapter summary:  In which there is a Hate on Spectre Day. There's no other explanation.

Series masterlist

Warnings: brief mention of canon-typical violence, mention of A+ godawful parenting and its consequences, issues of self-worth, language

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: So. This was supposed to be one chapter but, to the surprise of no one, it’s not. The first half is to blame, because that was supposed to be mentioned in passing and then it just… spilled out like this. Oops.

Natasha Romanoff was a force to be reckoned with.

Now, that was hardly any news to you; besides her reputation preceding her, you had seen her in training, in action during missions, observing her in an interrogation room from behind a thick glass and sometimes even wishing for the poor bastard at the end of her treatment to get punched as an act of mercy, a relief from the wolf-like smile on her perfectly painted lips and brilliant tongue speaking words that should not have been more effective than physical torture but they were.

Projecting in front of her to save her from catching a bullet did not change how highly you regarded her; and it certainly didn’t make you feel any more like you could compare to her than before. That had never been your goal however; trying would have been just as foolish as try to compare to Agent Melinda May or other legends of the spy world. You had mad respect for Natasha Romanoff’s work, no matter the path she had walked to earn her skillset.

But between her dedication to her friends and her attempts at making you feel at home in the team, you had learned to appreciate her as a person too, trusting her; it was a paradox that exactly that was the part of your perception that changed after the attack. Or, more precisely, after what followed it.

As it turned out, the Avengers did very much care about their own; no surprise there. The Avengers also didn’t sleep on the little intel you had been able to provide and much like you believed, they did suspect a leak from within their own ranks given how advanced and detailed the retrieved research on Steve’s biology was.

They had lunched an internal investigation.

The attack on Natasha on The Avengers’ Day was now believed to be an unfortunate consequence of her being in charge of the very investigation and squeezing information from anyone who even remotely appeared they could be connected to the leak or at least might have the smallest piece of information leading to discovering the mole. The attack was thus linked to the Hydra facility raid – even as the perpetrators appeared to be a pair of hired muscle; in fact, even more so for that.

Natasha Romanoff informed you of all that casually as you were pouring yourself a coffee in the communal kitchen and made the mistake of lingering there to learn more. You only realized the error in your actions as it gradually dawned to you why Natasha told you she herself was conducting the investigation and why she was sitting with you face to face.

Up until that point, you had not been asked questions about the incident with the data retrieval beyond trying to put together as precise of an image of the gathered intel as possible. In fact, no one had questioned your allegiance to SHIELD since you had been graduating the Academy – but you sensed that was about to change.

Something about the feign casualness of Natasha sipping her own coffee as you were seated opposite to her begun to rub you in the worst way possible – and that was when you realized.

“Is this an interrogation then?” you asked, heart pounding as you tried to sound at least a bit like you were joking. Because, certainly, this could not be an interrogation, could it? That would be absurd.

A brief smile that didn’t reach her eyes in the slightest passed over her lips, gaze intent on your face. Reading microexpressions, you realized, your blood running cold.

She couldn’t be serious.

“You tell me, Spectre. Maybe this is what you expected to come at one point or the other. Maybe you already knew that I was the one to take lead on this. Maybe it put you into a tight spot and you realized it was just a matter of time before I’d come and question you – and you knew, like you do now, that I always get the information I want,” she said calmly, a thin layer of ice coating her words as she continued to examine your expression, every minuscule move of your muscles.

You hoped that whatever she read in your body language, she liked. The wild pulsing of your carotid, as your fear spiked along with your heartbeat. Yes; you had witnessed enough to know that she could dissect a person without touching them, reaching for their darkest secrets and retrieving them with a figuratively bloody hand as she ripped them out – she had known quite a few secrets of your own already. And yet. You hoped that your fear was all she could see, because the feeling that slammed into the most was hurt. She could have slapped you, hell she could have dashed the hot coffee to your face and you’d be less stunned.

Did she really think that? That you’d be capable of something like this?

You sat there frozen, hand resting limply by your cup, heart threatening to burst out of your chest. But hey – good news, right? At least they were investigating and they were very thorough about making sure Steve was safe.

Comfort had never felt so cold.

“Maybe you needed a heroic safe to maintain cover,” she continued, titling her head to side a fraction. “And conveniently, if you failed to step in in time, you’d have the person in charge of the internal investigation eliminated.”

The switched inside you flipped without any conscious effort – and perhaps even against in – the fear and hurt was consumed by anger and spite, the lump in your throat turning into a burn.

You didn’t seek gratitude from her, not really – you had indeed only been doing your job yesterday and that was it, no matter Rogers’ initial reaction that had made you feel not only useful but appreciated beyond what you deserved – but hostility and accusations were a touch a bit too far. Especially since hadn’t it been for you, she could have been shot at best and shot dead at worst.

“You’re welcome,” you said flatly, expression free of any emotion at all.

The anger inside you felt empty.

Her expression didn’t change, not even a twitch of her brow – of course it didn’t. This was Black Widow. The legend. The ruthless spy. Perfectly deadly.

“Have you been playing for the other team the whole time you’ve been here? Is the only reason why Steve isn’t dead yet because you caught feelings and can’t bring yourself to do what you’re supposed to now?” she kept questioning and you couldn’t keep the indifferent face anymore – you must have slipped, because you felt like your breath had been knocked out of you.

Forget slaps and burns – those words felt like a stab straight to your gut with a wicked twist of the blade for maximum damage.

It shouldn’t have shocked you, it truly shouldn’t have. But for a second, you felt the suffocating burn of betrayal in your chest expand with every heartbeat, filling your entire being.

You’d been taught better. And yet... Not only implying you were a traitor, but also hitting exactly at the spot of our biggest insecurity – not being good enough at anything – and using the knowledge of your rather complicated relationship with Steve Rogers was the one low blow you hadn’t expected, even from a woman of her reputation, because she had seemed genuinely kind the last time she had mentioned it. She had seemed understanding, caring and invested; and apparently, she was well-aware of that. She read you like a book and used your trust to her advantage. You should have known better and perhaps deep inside, you had anticipated a stab in the back – but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like son of a bitch.

You hadn’t even begun to be friends, you reminded yourself, so there was no reason to be upset. In addition, she was also being perfectly reasonable, only doing her job; it was only natural she hadn’t treated you in kinder gloves, didn’t pull any punches. Steve was her friend, the best friend of her boyfriend no less. She was only protecting someone she cared for deeply. You knew all these things and yet – it stung.

You leaned on your elbows, hoping your voice was steady and neutral, rather than razor sharp – because she didn’t need to know, didn’t deserve to know, that she had hit exactly where it hurt. And you didn’t need her to evaluate you as unstable on top of clearly suspecting you were a traitor.

“Why don’t you tell me, Romanoff. You seem to know everything,” you whispered, the words burning like acid on your tongue.

It was funny really – it was that, you feeling yourself break from the naïve hope that you could ever be more than just an asset to the team, that had her face slip back into a friendly mask, whatever test she had prepared for you ending. Her hard eyes softened, face relaxing.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’re a traitor. But I have to make sure and get a rise out of everyone either way, to get a good read on whether they could know anything even remotely useful based on their reaction, try to have them remember anything that wouldn’t come up unless when in raw emotion. With everyone,” she repeated slowly, looking straight into your eyes to show she meant every word, a silent apology, “whether they are my friend or not.”

Your smile felt foreign on your lips as you reached for your coffee, sipping at it to neutralize the bile rising in our throat, to fill the hollow in your chest with the bitter taste of the dark warm liquid. You understood. You truly did. You had just been an idiot, even as you hadn’t been fully aware of your hopes until they were crushed.

“It’s okay,” you assured her, rising to your feet and setting the mug down, “with me anyway. But I’m not sure your friends will feel the same way when you ask them.”

You all but registered a flash of what you imagined could be regret as you spun on your heels and walked out, a pit of dread in your stomach. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You had no right to feel wounded.  You have been taught better. Skills. Abilities. Assets. Those mattered; not people. Not in S.H.I.E.L.D., not in the AI. Barely anywhere; Coulson’s team had just been full of unicorns, keeping up the illusion that every individual was worth more than their resumé, the illusion of a loose family.

There was no place of that kind for you in the Avengers team. The fact Tony had gone and protected you was the exception to the rule and you had made the mistake of thinking it was anything but pragmatism. They needed your powers; that was why you had been brought onto the team. The team might have been relatively tight-knit, but granted entry to no outsiders, welcomed no newcomers – not into their own strange family they had grown into.

You shouldn’t have been disappointed; and yet, even as you were aware that all Natasha had done was indeed following protocol, protecting fiercely one of her closest friends at that, it was the blatant use of information she had gained by taking a closer look and trying to make conversation, that allowed her to cut deep. You had been raised well to be aware of this approach and still you committed the error, even if unconsciously, of ignoring one of the few things your parents had tried to drill into you so hard. You shouldn’t be this careless.

Shaking your head at your own naivety, you rounded the corner, telling yourself that the slight shake to your hands was neither rage nor grief; just caffeine overdose, since you had poured a cup from Tony’s pot. You nearly groaned when you noticed the unmistakable tall broad figure walking the very same corridor in the opposite direction. Facing Steve Rogers of all people right now sounded like a thing from nightmares; especially since the moment he spotted you, a peculiar look appeared on his face, the kind of expression that told you a conversation awaited you which you’d very much rather not have. You swore that if he was going to have a single thing to say about yesterday, if he was about criticise you at least, to ask you anything at all-

You weren’t proud of it, but you did it anyway. Pulling out your phone from the back pocket of your jeans, you pretended you had felt it vibrate with a text, fully immersed in whatever was on your screen. You barely looked up when you were three steps from him, but nodded with the respect a man of Captain Rogers’ standing deserved regardless of anyone’s personal opinion on him, the ‘Captain’ firm on your lips as a formal greeting you hoped was all you were going to exchange. He returned the courtesy, sounding all but a little taken aback, and – thank heavens – continued walking past you. You gritted your teeth as not to release a relieved breath you were certain he’d hear.

Whirlwind of emotion pushed aside by suffocating emptiness, you continued your path and headed to your room, deciding breakfast simply wasn’t in the cards for your today. As you entered the familiar space, your gaze fell on the gym clothes you had tossed over one of your chairs yesterday when you needed to release the pressure after being tense ever since the attack.

Releasing tension now felt like a good idea, as the sting of betrayal and self-loathing simmered in your ribcage despite your attempts to make it all go away.

Without a second thought, you grabbed after it, ready to loosen the messy bundle of emotion the only way you were ever allowed.

By punching it out.  

The scent of leather and sweat had been bringing you an odd sense of comfort since your rather early age. Even as it was associated with heavy breaths, soaked t-shirts, competitiveness and shouts of various trainers you had encountered over the years, it was also an epitome of solace and familiarity; a reminder that you could always improve and you had done that more than once. It was a sanctuary to broken shards of a soul, where one let all the nasty things buried inside tear the body apart, only to feel like they started to build yourself up again. You had learned a long time ago that fighting was far from being about rage or any other wild emotion; but if one got the flow right, they could release all the suffocating emotions through it either way until peace – relative peace at least – took over again.

So after exhausting your body almost to its limit, you moved onto your mind; after kicking and punching and sweating through your clothes, you cooled down, stretched, and sat down cross-legged only to do it all over again. This time through your spectre.

The quiet gym was an unusual luxury, making for an easy projection and making it almost laughably easy to maintain it; you had tested it in training before, keeping focus even as your fellow agents shoved you around or even punched your gut – or in Daisy’s case, sent quaking vibrations through your body with increasing intensity, enough to almost rattle your bones. You were aware of the sensations, always, naturally seeing its benefit as a fail safe in whoever was in charge of protecting you failed to do so – not that Mr. Captain America had that problem. But at the same time, pushing the limits of how much you could take in case of such complications and in the face of needing to hold on despite of it was essential – as much as being able to take a hit to your spectral body without losing focus was.   

It took time, but it had become a second nature to perceive sensations from both your bodies, recognizing which came from which and separating them. The real trial, the most surreal feeling which took some time getting used to was seeing yourself and touching your actual hand with your spectral one, simultaneously being the initiator of the sensation and its receiver on the very same part of your body. The first time you tried it, it knocked you out for over half an hour, your brain unable to handle the contradiction. However long path you still had to walk to perfect your skills, you remembered that handling this one had been a win and eventually, the sight of yourself and the touch turned almost mundane.

However, others didn’t feel that way.

The visual of Tony Stark entering the gym, gaze flickering between your sitting form and your punching form several feet away from each other, as if he couldn’t decide which one to address despite only one of them levitating and emitting a faint glow, brought a sad ghost of a smile to your face, renewing the tense feeling in your gut you tried so hard to punch and kick away. Usually, you couldn’t help it; perhaps it was mean, but the bewildered, and admiring look in people’s eyes, was not only pleasing but also entirely hilarious. But today, the satisfaction wasn’t coming – and unfortunately, Stark approached your very conscious version.

Couldn’t the world just leave you alone for a bit? You were alone; you’d appreciate if the number of people in the room reflected the reality of your life.

“What did that poor bag did to you?” he lamented as you caught a glimpse of his frown and pursed lips between focusing on every hit to the heavy bag. “You hit it any harder, you’re gonna rip it off the hinges like Cap does.”

Right. For sure.

You swallowed the scoff threatening to escape you, gritting your teeth as your punch landed even stronger than intended, sending painful vibration through your arm. You added a knee and an elbow, speeding up to distract yourself form the sensation.

Focused on your workout, you couldn’t see his raised eyebrow; but you could definitely hear it in his annoyed and slightly amused voice.

“Same attitude too, I see.”

This time, you did scoff as you continued punching. Yeah, right. You and Steve were practically twins now, weren’t you.

“Too bad, Casper, you are not getting away with ignoring me,” he insisted, peeking from behind the bag on your left. “Cease fire for a sec.”

You kicked hard with a loud huff, making the bag swing wildly, catching it with your hands as it returned to hit you in the face and only then dropped your hands, turning to Tony.

Despite your rudeness – one he didn’t quite deserve, you reminded yourself guiltily – you found him grinning at you as you paid him attention at last. It only made you frown. He seemed too gleeful to be a bearer of bad news – but way too gleeful to bring any news that would be good for you.

“Pick up your Sunday shoes, Casper. You’re going out tomorrow!”

You sighed, already feeling the wholesome effects of your workout evaporating. “Hello to you too. What on Earth are you talking about?”

Given the mischief in his eye, you felt like you should be worried – and yet, despite your better judgement, you felt a small smile tug at your lips at his antics.

That said, if he had set you up for a blind date or something of that sort – because you wouldn’t put it past him if he did that – you’d be out before you could get in. But the fact that he simply announced that you were going out couldn’t mean anything good. Why didn’t he ask? Because Tony Stark, you thought, as bitterly as affectionately.  

He waved his hand in a too innocent greeting, pulling out a light blue envelope with golden framing from his hoodie pocket.

“Hi. This is yours. You mind?” he hummed as he beckoned to your paraconscious body, already throwing the paper its way.

With a sigh, you snapped back just as the envelope landed in your lap, ignoring the low thud of your boxing gloves hitting the mattress since you couldn’t take them back with you and they suddenly didn’t have anything to hold them up. You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the slight sway of the world as you suddenly changed both body and positions, turning the envelope in your hands with a frown and an unpleasant feeling of anticipation in your gut.

“Tony… what is this?”

“An invitation.”

“Right.” Knowing there was no scenario in which you’d get away with never opening it, in which he’d leave before you did so, you slipped your fingers under the edge and tore it open. Fancy paper, you observed. As your eyes quickly scanned over the text, Tony spoke up again.

“Shake hands, rub elbows. Make the Avengers look good. Have a drink or two.”

You frowned. The words Tony Stark was stringing together made perfect sense individually, but not together. Then, they made sense together and then even more sense in connection to the invite. But none of that made them make sense in connection to you.

“A charity auction at the Smithsonian?” you asked dully, voice full of the scepticism you felt upon imagining yourself doing what he had suggested, parroting his words dubiously. “Me, making the Avengers look good? I’m not even a--- Stark, what the-“

“Please,” he cut you off with a scoff, “you literally saved Natasha’ ass and several kids, very publicly, just yesterday. Plus, me and Pepper can’t make it and everyone else is either on a mission or has already said no.”

You perked up in an instant. Could you say no then?

“No, you can’t say no, nope,” Tony blurted out before you could even open your mouth. You glanced down at the invite again. The last thing you wanted right now, or ever, to be honest, was to go to some stupid function, meeting arrogant wealthy and sadly influential assholes with a fake smile on their face, one that held even as they insulted your choice of wardrobe in a way you couldn’t really return because they had the power to make your life a living hell. “It’s your mission now, no veto rights.”

You resisted the urge to stomp your foot and whine; but for a very good reason. Many, many good reasons. You genuinely despised those thighs, hating them on a visceral level. You could survive them if there was an important mission objective like gathering intel that could save countless lives, securing a sample of a virus and preventing a global pandemic, locking up an arms dealer – but socializing? Networking? Useless chitchat with pretentious jerks? Bootlicking? Because that was what awaited you, whether you were representing the Avengers or not – which itself truly was an absurd concept.

You ran a hand down your face, skimming over the text once more, resigned.

Much like there hadn’t been a scenario in which Tony would leave before you’d listen to what he had had to say, there was no way you’d get away with not attending.

“Couldn’t they have at least hold it at the NYC building? Does it have to be DC?” you muttered under your breath, annoyed further. That meant flying and many complications in case you’d try to pull an early disappearing act.

“Yeah, one of the reasons why the others said no. The disgrace of these people – a free ride on the quinjet with a pilot assigned and they still scoff at this. Heathens. If you weren’t hiding out, I’d stumble over you earlier and the can’t-say-no would fall on someone else, but here we are. I mean honestly, who would think finding two people willing to go drink expensive champagne could be such an issue?”

Your head snapped up to his face, horror and relief seizing you at once. You wouldn’t be alone; then again, you wouldn’t be alone.

You really wanted to call Tony on his bullshit about finding you last, because if he found you last, it was because he asked FRIDAY about you as the last, but your whole brain capacity was overtaken by a single thought and a prayer to heavens. You weren’t sure whom you’d want as a company, but you still prayed it was someone bearable.

“Two people? Who’s the other one?”

Please let it be Wilson. You were sure he’d feel almost as uncomfortable as you. Rhodes too, even though he was good at politics and would snatch all the attention to himself. You doubted Vision or Wanda were the ones and you could hardly imagine one without the other; similarly, you doubted Barnes, with his past still lingering in the minds of many, had been chosen, and even if he had, you doubted he would go without Romanoff. Thor was off to Asgard, Banner would be, bless him, probably even more distressed than you, and Tony and Pepper were literally the ones handing over the invitation. Clint could be a nice option – you didn’t talk much, but his easy-going nature would probably make for a good company. Honestly, probably anyone would be better than-

“Capsicle, obviously, they love the guy. Have a big exhibition on him and all that,” Tony said as if it was clear as day and as if that didn’t make him sound like a lunatic. And as if that didn’t send your heart racing like mad, eyes widening, throat tightening.

Headache started to build in above your brows as you imaged the horror-like scene. As if the function itself wasn’t bad enough – Tony wanted to make you suffer through it with the one person from the Avengers whom you fought the most often?

Tony was, naturally, completely blind to your reaction – or more likely, pretended to be, because he might be an owner of what kids these days called a galaxy brain, but he was two halves of a whole genius – continuing his monologue at the speed of three hundred miles a minute.

“…and he’s good at rubbing elbows, even if he hates it. So, focus, my dear Ghost of Christmas Past,” he snapped his fingers in front of your face, only to start counting on his fingers. Mutely, you watched him, still hoping this was a very badly constructed prank. “Make us look good, look good, buy something nice on my card in the auction and try not to kill each other. Easy as American pie. All four objectives of the mission are equally important by the way… I think.”

“Tony…”

That was all you manged to force out, a disapproval and a plea.

“What?! You shouldn’t have been hiding in a gym! I’m innocent!”

You were not impressed with his antics in the slightest. It was a Hate on Spectre Day, you were sure. First Romanoff with her accusations about Steve, then Tony-

Oh. Oh thank god.

It was blasphemy to be grateful for such thing, but you were not picky about your salvations as an important thought occurred to you – a fairly reasonable one at that, one that didn’t only serve as a convenient excuse.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea for Steve to make a public appearance like that?” you questioned. “I know he made a public appearance just yesterday, but that was different. We’re still… working out how to deal with the Hydra cell and their antiserum. The investigation is still active and pretty intensive at the moment as far as I can tell.”

No kidding.

Tony’s eyebrows shot up, something akin to compassion appearing on his face, probably in reaction to something that you involuntarily let show on yours. Fuck.

“Ah. Got bitten by Black Widow, huh? It stings, doesn’t it?” he said, scrunching his nose and almost shocking you speechless.

You were slacking if Tony, living in his own world for at least eighty percent of the time, with his mind usually lightyears away from where a conversation had originally started, read you so easily.

That, or he watched the footage, perhaps even with Natasha herself, to evaluate whether you were indeed a mole or not. Was this another test? Was Natasha the proverbial bad cop and Tony landed the role of a good cop? Were you supposed to open up to him? The thought of Tony playing you like this was somehow even more nauseating than Natasha’s game had been. With her, you should have seen it coming; with Mr.I Don’t Need to Watch My Mouth, not so much. He was direct. He spoke his mind, always. You liked that about him. Or used to.

What would he know about Black Widow’s verbal bites?

“Like you’d know.”

One of his brows creased, lips curled by a smirk full of snark.

“What, you think the original six was spared? Please.”

Despite yourself, you blinked and perked up. Because Tony seemed honest – much like most of the time, frankly.

“Rogers was the only one who wasn’t questioned by Romanoff – or in her case, by Barnes – though some of us might argue that when it comes to saving his dumb ass, Rogers’s the one most willing to serve it to HYDRA himself on a silver platter.” He paused, a grimace twisting his features. “That was a weird imagery, forget I used those exact words.”

A tiny smile tugged at your lips. Tony was hard to stay mad at if he did something relatively harmless like this – he was direct and slightly chaotic, but that was just part of his charm, one might say. And honestly, since you trusted him that he had spoken the truth, the fact that Natasha had gone down at everyone as hard as she had on you, learning that you weren’t the only one under scrutiny did make you feel a bit better. Though for a brief moment, you allowed yourself the luxury of questioning the reliability of Barnes interrogating Romanoff and vice versa, given their enormous bias. How had the mutual interrogation even happened? What, did they just hold a knife to each other’s throat instead of a foreplay?

You shook your head at yourself, earning a grin from Tony as he probably assumed you reacted to his antics. He wasn’t completely wrong.

Leaning onto his wannabe-friendly behaviour had a strong scent of fool me once, since you had literally had got burned today, but it was hard to resist it despite all the rational voices in your head screaming. You were an asset. You had a mission and that was it – and protecting this team was a big part of it. Tony did make an excellent point when it came to Steve’s tendency to overlook the magnitude of threats posed to him. Which had you go full circle – that besides pairing you and Steve off for a public appearance was an awful, terrible, no good, very bad idea, it was almost as bad of an idea as sending Steve out there in the first place.

“I still think letting him do this is too risky. I’ll go, even if I’m going to curse you the entire time,” you noted matter-of-factly, “but honestly. I think Steve really shouldn’t go.”

If it was possible, Tony's face lit up further, much to your chagrin.

 “Aww, are you worried about him?” he teased you. You deadpanned. “Kidding. Relax, Spectre, it’s a museum, not an underground casino. And it’s a charity auction, not an arm deals convention, those are more up my speed. There are no suspicious names on the guest list, FRIDAY doublechecked. The most dangerous people there will be you and him.”

You breathed in to protest further, because one, he was literally just giving out his invitation to someone dangerous, which other people could do as well, and two, there were still so many crazy things about what he was suggesting and your stomach was in knots just trying to imagine it-

A quick clap of hands startled you, Tony’s hands suddenly palms up.

“Alright, great, thank you for accepting. It’s settled then-“

Your horror returned, mouth opening uselessly as he began to walk back, still facing you. “I didn’t-“

“Oh and it’s only black tie, but you should still buy something nice,” he continued, smiling conspiratorially as if he was sharing an inside joke you were supposed to be a part of but did not understand one bit, except for feeling like you were the subject of it.

“Tony-“

“’cause representation and all that. And don’t worry about the cost, ‘cause it’s on the Avengers, so in fact, go wild, Cinderella. I gotta run now-“

He cut off his wild gestures with another clap of his hands to drown the sound of you calling out his name, the stupid invite still in your hands, feet frozen to the ground when the automatic door opened behind him and he spun on his heels, walking out.

“But Stark!”

He was already gone.

You massaged your forehead and the skin above your eyebrows as your headache grew, your shoulders sagging. You eyed the invitation with distaste, inspecting it as if it could burst in flames any second; that was how nuclear you felt the evening might get, for multiple reasons.

Oh. Speaking of the invitation going up in flames, perhaps the museum would require the actual paper rather than an e-invite. Fire might be the best possible solution for-

The sudden voice sounding from the speaker cut off your inner musings, and crushed your hopes, fuelling your anxiety in the process.

“Agent Spectre, Mr.Stark wants me to inform you that the charity auction is assigned to you as any other mission and not participating would thus be considered a serious breach of regulations and a breach of your contract with the Avengers Initiative, which would result in corresponding disciplinary action.”

You scowled, tossing the envelope and its content aside. Low blow, Stark. Really, really fucking low blow.

“Bastard,” you muttered under your breath.

“And that his explicit orders, as he is one of your superiors, are to, I quote, have fun,” FRIDAY added, causing you to roll your eyes and look at the ceiling as if your glare and your next words dripping with sarcasm could be delivered to Tony himself. Which they could – they just wouldn’t have the desired effect, you were sure.

“Gee, Stark, thanks. I’m sure I will.” Not.

Grabbing your gear with a sigh coming from the very depth of your soul, suddenly tired despite the clock claiming it was still before noon, you tried to steer your mind away from the tight feeling in your gut.

The one upside was that your mission might be to have fun and rub figurative elbows, but one never knew when he needed to use actual elbows to punch someone in the face in your line of work.

That meant that if you were to follow Stark’s explicit orders, you should get yourself a special dress for the occasion – something at least black-tie worthy. But you were truly about to spend a public evening with Steve, who would be putting himself into nonsensical danger by merely showing up, you needed a sensible dress. Long enough to have it pass as fitting for the dress code, but with a slit high enough to not limit your range of movement if you needed to kick out or run. Nothing too revealing, because you’d rather not worry about your cleavage if you were about to punch and duck. Shoes would be a pain – heels were a necessary evil, but you’d need to dig up some with thick straps at least, to feel like you were actually wearing them and not like you were trying to keep them on by the sheer power of your will with every step.

It seemed you had some shopping to do. If Tony was so inclined on you to follow his orders, you would. You would go wild with his credit card indeed. And because you had a glutton for punishment, you tried to contact a distant ally to help you with that, even as you doubted that she’d have time to answer.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Yeeeeah, I know that I promised you a bit of trip to fluffville as well, but it’s only coming in the second half… then again, the moment with Tony was kinda sweet too, no?

Happy New Year, loves 💕 May it be kind to you ✨

[klbwriting]

Who Am I Really?

Chapter 5

Fandom: Aquaman

Pairing: Ormxfemale!Reader

Warnings: the smallest amount of smut

Summary: Arthur is worried about Orm and the growing number of sightings

Notes: this is a short chapter but I hope you like it! Comments/critiques are apprecaited

Arthur hadn’t heard from Orm in almost six months now, but he was hearing rumblings from some in Atlantis that Orm had been seen. Not only seen but that soldiers had gone to apprehend him and they never returned. This was concerning, both the fact that soldiers were sent without Arthur’s approval, and that Orm hadn’t checked in at all for months. Orm wanted this to work just as much as Arthur did and he never missed a check in, and now he had missed so many that Arthur was considering sending Mera and his mother to look for him. But now, after hearing the rumors, he knew he was going to have to do something, to say something, or else it would spread and rumors like that, the return of the tyrant king, would send people into a tailspin and he couldn’t have that kind of chaos.

“Tell me exactly what you saw,” Arthur said, sitting on the throne. In front of him was a woman, a tourist who had visited a small town on the surface a few months ago. She was who it was assumed was the originator of the ‘Orm is alive’ rumor. He had asked for information, and this was the first person to step forward. She seemed pleased to be there, like she was enjoying the attention. It irked him and he hoped this wasn’t a waste of time.

“Well, I was in this small town, enjoying a drink at their…they call them bars?” she said. Arthur noted some of the confusion on the faces of the guards. He nodded.

“Yes, bars, I know of them,” he said. He waved a hand for her to continue.

“And I noticed a blond man sitting at the counter, drinking. He was alone and I thought he looked familiar, so I approached and greeted him in Atlantian, he stared at me and just left. It wasn’t until I returned home and saw an old article about the former king that I realized who it was,” she explained. She smiled at Arthur. “Was that helpful?” Arthur took a deep breath. It wasn’t much of a sighting, bars had bad lighting, and this guy had clearly run off right away, probably thinking that she was out of her mind.

“Thank you for you information, could you tell me the name of the town?” he asked. She provided the name, and he sent her away before bringing forward the next witness.

“Your highness, we must send out a team to find him, at least see if the rumors are true,” one of his advisors said. He sighed and looked to Mera. She looked helpless. There were enough witness reports to warrant an investigation. He couldn’t ignore this. He nodded.

“Send out a small team, tell them to be discreet, and tell them if they spot him to send word back, do not engage him. We don’t know what he’s thinking, he could attack them or innocent surface dwellers,” Arthur said. Once the advisor left, he put his head in his hands and just preyed Orm had moved on from that place now and was somewhere safe.

At the moment Orm felt very safe. In fact he felt many things. He felt YN’s skin under his fingers, felt her hands running through his hair, felt her lips against his, their bodies pressed together in her bed as they moved together. He groaned as she bit his lip, his hips moving faster to hers as he tried to drive her to say his name, his new favorite sound. She broke the kiss to let out a noise and he could tell she was close. He had found an angle she liked so he moved her leg up higher and pushed deeper inside of her. Her head fell back and he watched her in the moonlight, her face looking so beautiful as she chased that high. She finally called his name and he felt her seize around him, fingers pulling his hair as she climaxed. He groaned and after a few more thrusts he finished as well, gripping her close as he panted.

“You know, doing that every night is starting to make me tired in the morning,” YN said as she headed to the bathroom. Orm chuckled, getting up and putting his underwear. He laid back down, draping an arm over his eyes. He groaned a little as an image came to mind. A red-haired woman, a man with tattoos and long hair, they were holding a baby at the lighthouse. By the time he pulled himself out of the random memory YN was next to him, gently tracing patterns on his chest with her fingers.

“Another memory,” he said, looking at her. “A woman and man, they had a baby at a lighthouse.”

“Was the man you?” she asked. He shook his head but noticed she looked a bit stricken.

“What is it?” he asked, turning more to face her, fingers brushing some hair from her face. She pulled back a little and he frowned.

“What if you have someone?” she asked. “What if you’re married? Or have a family?”

“I don’t,” Orm said. She wasn’t looking at him, eyes focusing on the bed, like she didn’t know exactly how she got there. “That is something I think I would feel, like I was missing something as important as a partner or children." He gently took her face in his hand. “You are the only person I think I’ve ever felt like this for. I love you, and it’s such a new feeling I couldn’t possibly have had it before.”

“Are you sure? I love you too Orm and I don’t want…how do you know that you haven’t had this feeling before?” she asked. He thought about how to explain it.

“I…I sometimes remember things, not images or names or anything, but feelings. Like when we did that beach cleanup, I remember feeling such anger at the trash on the beach, at the people who would just let that happen, and that feeling felt old, like I had felt it for years. But this, laying here with you, seeing you smile, hearing you say my name, just existing in the same place as me, that feeling I have for you, that is completely new,” he said. By the time he was finished YN was leaning into him, hugging him close. She felt so perfect in his arms he could die there happy. He held her until he felt her drift off in his arms.

[pandor-uhhh]

Ghost of the past

Jake Sully x ex-wife reader

Warnings: use of y/n, not proof-read (I'll do it later), mentions of: divorce, and canonical death

Description: you travel to Pandora to work as a mechanic for the RDA, only to discover where ex-husband Jake Sully has been for the past two decades

Notes: I really love this request, I’m so scared I didn’t do it justice. If not I’ll probably make a second part

You knew you weren’t going to be high raking when you came to Pandora, not over the blue, bastards carrying big guns, but you didn’t mind. You would choose your small dorm room and big machines over your small apartment back on earth any day, especially given the memories around the place.

“Hey, gear-head!” Speaking of big, blue bastards who outrank you. You turned to the voice, some of your half eaten lunch still in your mouth. The recom soldier towered over you, even more so since you were sitting.

“You y/n Sully?” He asked with a southern drawl to him, you dropped your sandwich after swallowing your food, no longer hungry. “It’s actually y/n l/n” you corrected, the soldier looked surprised. “So you’re Sully’s ex wife” he smiled, you sighed “yep that’s me, now mind telling me who you are and why you’re so interested in my marital status?” You snapped.

The soldier extended his hand “Quaritch, Miles Quaritch, but you can just call me colonel” . You leaned back and looked him up and down before taking his hand and shaking it. “What’s this about, colonel?”

“Well, you have a bone to pick with your ex-husband, lucky for you, so do I” you could almost laugh “last time I even heard about him he was getting shipped off here, how the hell did you manage to lose him” Quaritch smiled “see there is where things get interesting, your ex-man is a traitor”

After a long explanation about how Jake had managed to fully assimilate himself with the na’vi, and how he had killed his former colonel, you were sent with the recom team to find Jake Sully.

You rappled down with the team, and began looking for any signs of life. You followed the team to a small clearing, there was a trailer-like structure in the middle of it. Z-dog explained that it’s where Quaritch and Jake had fought, alongside another na’vi. Quaritch managed to dig up an old mech-type suit and told another soldier to pull the footage from it. You heard rustling and whispers in the trees next to, Quaritch signaled the team to investigate it.

You stayed hidden, which were orders you had no problem complying with. But you watched what happened from behind cover. One of the recoms jumped out and grabbed the smallest out of the group, they started yelling and the human boy that was with the na’vi aimed his bow at them. You felt a little bad as the soldiers barked orders at them, which they were forced to comply with. Lyle took one of their hands and showed off that she had five fingers, something that you had learned was uncharacteristic for na’vi that weren’t avatars. Checking the others hands, or more so him flipping off Quaritch, you found there was another one with five fingers.

While checking the na’vi, it was discovered that the human was named Miles, but preferred Spider. The team also discovered that he was the colonel’s son.

Quaritch called for extraction, and told you that you could come out, you stepped out from behind your cover and got a better look at all of them. The shortest of the na’vi was the closest to your height, but still pretty tall. You could tell she was scared, you made your way over to her, earning hisses from both the na’vi and the human. Which caused the soldiers to shake them and tell them to pipe down 

“get the fuck away from my sister, demon!” The boy who flipped off Quaritch yelled. You backed off, you knew they were scared, and didn’t want to give them more reason to be. You turned your attention to the human boy, he hissed when you got close. You wondered if he had assimilated like Jake had. You turned to Quaritch “if na’vi are born with four fingers, and not five, why do these ones have one extra?” Z-dog stifled a laugh, and turned to Quaritch. “You really didn’t tell this poor girl?” you brows knitted together, “tell me what?”

Quaritch was too invested in the footage that they pulled from the mech to pay attention, “hey!” you exclaimed. You walked over and saw the footage, how Quaritch was shot with arrows, twice. Lyle took the tablet, and Quaritch Walked over to the skeleton in the mech. He took the skull and crushed it, you were a little freaked out. It was mostly silence after that while you waited for extraction.

“You want answers?” the colonel asked you, you looked at him and nodded. He sighed “your man has a new girl now, that’s why those kids had an extra finger” he pointed to the na’vi. You leaned on a tree and put your head in your hands, you knew Jake would’ve most likely found someone else than you, but to then learn he has kids was something new. You felt a hand on your shoulder “I know that’s not the answer you wanted, I’m sorry” you could almost laugh. 

A marine that was killed by your ex-husband and his alien wife, was brought back as an alien, and was then comforting you about losing said ex-husband for good. If someone told you that was your future 24 hours ago you would’ve called them crazy. 

When you were about to open your mouth to say something, an arrow came from the trees and hit one of the soldiers through the head, it all happened so fast. You screamed at the sight, Quaritch pushed you, and Spider to the ground, Spider taking the eldest girl down with him. Gunshots rang, you could see that Spider and the girl were getting away but didn’t try to stop them. You curled up, just hoping that you wouldn’t get shot. 

You eventually turned to be on your stomach to crawl away, you heard Z-dog yell out, then some weird green gas started filling the area. You weren’t worried since you were wearing a mask, but you felt someone pick you up. You screamed, thinking it was whoever shot one of the soldiers, but soon realized it was Quaritch. He got you to cover with him, and held you close. If it wasn’t a situation where you had the chance to be shot to death, this might have been seen as intimate, but considering your head could’ve been turned into a kebab by an arrow, you weren’t thinking of it like that.

After most of the shooting stopped one of the team members over the coms told Quaritch his son had fallen down a steep hill. Quaritch told you to stay put, and not to move from the spot.

Then, possibly having the stupidest idea ever, as you saw one of the kids running away. You got up and started tailing her to get to her, you saw her jump into her fathers arms as she cried. You thought at that moment that you should just turn back, that you didn’t need to do this. But while you were trying to walk back a twig snapped, the mother drew her bow and pointed it at you, you dropped to the ground and put your arms out as a sad attempt to block it. “Please I just wanna talk!” You yelled out, you could hear the woman's breathing coming out in huffs “please, I’m sorry about your children, I had no idea that they would do that!” you cried.

“Neytiri, hold on” You heard a familiar voice say, “she is with the ones who took the children, I will kill her!” The woman snapped in response. You heard someone walk towards you and push your arms out of the way. “Y/n?” you opened your eyes and saw a male na’vi staring at you, how did he- oh, right. 

“Jake?” You questioned, Jake sighed and took your arms in his hands and bound them together, before also tying your feet. “Wasn’t enough to bring my damn kids, they had to bring you too” and mumbled, “Jake, please I just wanna talk” you cried. “No!” he yelled, you flinched “you don’t get to talk to me, I already never wanted to see your face after what you did! But this?” He motioned to his family, you saw the littlest still crying as her sister tried to calm her breathing “this is low, even for you”. 

With that he walked off. You cried out his name till you could no longer see him, at which point you just started crying. The noise must have alerted your team, since Quaritch found you. Z-dog was holding onto his son, while Quaritch ran over and cut you free “they do anything to you?” He asked, you just cried and shook your head. He helped you up and guided you to the extraction point.

You fell asleep on the ride back to base with only one thing on your mind.

That Jake had moved on long ago.

And you were simply just a ghost from his past.

Thanks for reading! ~(˘▾˘~)

(After notes: lol what if I made this a slow burn between the reader and Quaritch, jk…. unless…)

[wh33zy]

Questions I’d ask the Writers of S2 but I get increasingly more angry

1. Why did you make Barnaby super scrawny and then have a helmet for hair and give him the face of a child? This grown man is constantly working out to run faster and be stronger, he is almost thirty years old this makes no sense.

Imagine giving Bruce Wayne, a fellow rich English man with dead parents: a bowl cut, barely any jawline, is 100lbs soaking wet, and the smallest button nose in the world fuck right off-

2. Why did you title it Tiger & Bunny when really it was just “Blonde Characters FTW”? Do you guys actually like the non-white characters or not BECAUSE IT’S SO HARD TO TELL!?

3. What was the fucking point of L.L. Audun being in the mix in the first place and then just for him to give up because of how good friends the heroes were? Do you realize how fucking stupid that is?

4. Why the FUCK aren’t Kotetsu and Barnaby allowed to touch each other more than once in this series?

5. So what did Kotetsu personally do to y’all to deserve what you wrote for him in this series and in both movies? Why do we not have the same amount of backstory and villains for just him like Barnaby had? Did you know HE HAD A LIFE BEFORE BARNABY!?? I have to know because I’m convinced Lloyds is real and wrote this cringe ass bullshit.

6. Why did you pick the most fuck ass, OOC ending for Lunatic!??

7. You do realize we did not need nor want the three new heroes right? And that you could’ve at least made them likable and not a waste of screen time? Ryan wasn’t even supposed to be back bruh but because he’s blonde, snarky, and white, he gets an arc/backstory OVER THE FIRST NAME IN THE TITLE OF THE SHOW???

8. So lemme get this straight: you’re going to nerf Kaede’s powers and then lead us to believe she’d make it on PICKY AND JUDGMENTAL HeroTV with them? AND BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DID TO KOTETSU, SHE WONT BE HIS ROBIN?? FUCK RIGHT OFF.

9. Do YOU guys even know what Ouroboros is? Did you remember that despite finding his parents’ true murderer, BARNABY WAS STILL INVESTIGATING!??

10. Have you guys ever seen a cool team fight sequence before?? Like at all?? Because I’m gonna lie, the shit we got in the movies and this series was fire! 🔥

11. SO YOU'RE GONNA MAKE THIS WHOLE THING ABOUT MATTIA TRYING TO CREATE NEXT POWERS IN A LAB, SPECIFICALLY A NEXT BOOSTER THAT COULD BRING BACK KOTETSU'S POWERS AND THEN DO FUCK ALL WITH THAT!? HUH!?

welp I’m gonna go and finish up writing the next chapter for the season of this show that I wanted and then punch a wall or sum. Night everybody. ✨✨✨

[1indigoisles]

Can we just step back and take a moment to appreciate the fact that we now have the smallest, tiniest, most insignificant inkling of an idea as to what might happen in TWP?

And that after New Year we will have more small, tiny, insignificant inklings as to what we might get to see?

CC has us all in web woven by her novel universe. I love her.

But gratitude and all aside, it's TWP CrAckPOt ThEorY TImE (by yours truly)!!

I have some pretty random theories and headcanons that I will be randomly spouting around now and for the next couple of days.

Theory #1: Kit gets gold wings.

Hear me out, why not? He's not just any old part faerie, he's the descendant of the First Heir! Also, Clary had a dream in CoLS of two people standing together beside a lake, one with white hair and black wings and the other with gold hair and gold wings. At the time, it was assumed that those two people were Sebastian and Jace, but the pieces are falling together! ASH HAS WHITE HAIR AND BLACK WINGS, can you not tell how excited I am?

Theory #2: The disappearance that Kit and Ty have to investigate is Livvy's.

I mean, does anyone reading this post have other ideas? It would make sense, since Dru would be sucked into Faerie danger, and even if she wasn't, she couldn't really help Ty because she can't even see Livvy. And if we assume that Dru is in Faerie, Kit is literally the only one Ty could go to, since nobody else knows (except for Magnus and Ragnor, who I think would either be too busy or simply refuse to help, thinking that if Livvy had finally truly died, then it would be lucky that the world got off without having to pay for it). Ty would, obviously, try to find Livvy on his own, but the thought that only Kit could help him would be nagging at him the entire time. So either he finally plucks up the courage to ask Kit, or they just bump into each other on their own. Either way, they team up together, very begrudgingly on Kit's part, because he'll be all ice and "I hate you" on Ty. Then, Kit's faerie magic spurts out again in a moment of danger, or in a fight scene where they're outnumbered, and Ty, aside being amazed, interrogates Kit heavily, and when Kit is finally worn off, he tells Ty angrily about his heritage and how if Faerie knew of it, the entire lands would be after him. And even though the thought gives me immense pain, I think that eventually, it's how Jessa dies, and Kit blames himself for it, and added to how he has to take care of Mina and live for her, he absolutely refuses to help Ty any longer. But then, when danger strikes again, his faerie magic comes out in full, Kit gets himself severely injured. And THIS happens:

"Well, it's a bit ironic, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"All that effort to convince you I wasn't in love with you, and here I am, dying in your arms."

[Teaser #6] Link below.

I just realised I gave an entire rant about it, I'll stop now.

Theory #3: What can transpire between Dru, Jaime and Ash.

And I don't mean this just romantically. Dru getting involved in Faerie finally connects the dots, since Ash literally lives there, and Jaime disappeared there. Their storylines probably merge somewhere around TLKoF and they have their own adventures. Also, headcanon; you know how in TDA, Jaime was all distant when he found out that Dru was 13 and not 16, like he'd thought? And how he literally left, like, the next day? So, what I'm thinking is that he was already beginning to crush on Dru, and he was disappointed, not because she hid her age, but because they wouldn't be possible. Okay, okay, I know Jaime said that Dru was like his sister, but that if you go to that scene, you'll find he's speaking after a moment of being silent, perhaps drinking in the situation. I think he says that because he's trying to convince himself that whatever he likes about Dru is just friendly, and nothing more. Now, I know that people don't have the kindest opinions about DruxJaime, because Dru was just a child when they met, but if you really think about it, 13's really not that young, and Dru was really mature for her age. And this 3-year gap is nothing compared to what Lucie and Jesse had going on. Girl meets a 17-year-old-looking boy when she was 6 years old. Can you believe the age gap that I'm too lazy to calculate? So yes, DruxJaime is plausible, it can and will happen, although Dru will obviously end up with Ash. And if CC pulls an open end to Jaime's character like she did to Matthew, I will literally cry. I really dislike open ends, because it fills me with so many questions! I hate not knowing what happens next! I really want Jaime to either end up with Anush or go poly with Thais, which I know is just wishful thinking at this point. Any character will do, CC! Please and thank you!

Okay, I just read this entire thing over, and my self-critic says; this is not a post, this is me ranting. My writing is literally all over the place. I feel like I wrote too much. But I think I got it all out for now. This was fun.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: ET Stay Home

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)  

Subject: Species 543-71-D9 Observing Xenologists: Flipip Nu and apprentice team.

Observation Day 1:

We have encountered another primitive species in our travels across the stars. We are still some days away from direct observation but our scanners have detected multiple signal waves emanating from their world which we were easily able to tap into.

Their planet circles a red sun in the green zone providing ample areas for life to develop. The dominant species appears to have developed rudimentary space faring technology but for some reason remain centered on their homeworld.

Reasons for the lack of interstellar exploration remain a point of debate among my fellow researchers. It is possible that we have begun observations at a point of cultural divergence with this technology and the confines of existing sociology norms seeking to hinder it, or that the technology is still in an experimental state and not ready for wide spread production.

While their shuttle craft appear limited we have detected that the species have deployed a number of orbital satellites both positioned around their planet and circling their inner and outer system.

Based off the readings from our current sensors these satellites appear a mixture of signal transference and outward observation. There is a belief among my team that these may act as an early warning system to alert the species to any inbound travelers. As such I have ordered all scrambling jammers activated and set a course that should avoid the majority of them. -------------

Observation Day 13:

The previously plotted course indeed took us past many of the satellites and we have now obtained a stable orbit above the world for closer observations. Our cloak is currently active leaving us protected from all but the most advanced observation equipment; technology at this time we agree is far beyond the means of our current subjects.

Initially we had taken up a position in low orbit just skimming the planet’s atmosphere, but it was quickly discovered that the majority of signals being sent from the satellites were being rebounded back towards the planet’s surface. This proved problematic as our scramblers were still active and began blocking signals in an area roughly half the size of the smallest continent on the surface.

Seeing this would no doubt prompt swift investigation from the planets inhabitants I moved us to high anchor above the planet and reduced the range of our scramblers to the smallest bubble they could achieve and still guarantee our safety. ------------

Day 20:

It has been several days since we moved orbit positions and we have seen no indications that our presence was discovered. This is fortunate for a number of reasons as we have made several surprising discoveries without having to set foot on the world.

With minimal effort from my technical apprentice, we were able to tap into the information network and begin observing the data first hand. I have found it almost beyond belief that the majority of the signals being transmitted back and forth between these satellites are unencrypted and so easily accessible. In a matter of hours we were able to formulate a picture of the species we are dealing with which would normally have taken us weeks of painful close observations from remote drones and limited on site expeditions. The only hindrance as of yet is the sheer volume of data being fed on a daily basis amongst the planets dominant species. We have had to dedicate the majority of our ships computation systems to sifting through the information for critical details.

From what we have gathered so far we have learned that the dominant species is called “Humanity”. A species that has gone through several hundred evolutionary changes to their current standing which has allowed them to establish themselves as said dominant species.

They are proving to be quite perplexing however when it comes to further classification of their social behaviors. Rather than being united as a single species, these “humans” appear to have subdivided themselves into several dozen different castes based around either national lines or genetic origins. Further confounding is their need to then further divide these by genetic traits such as hair, skin, body structure, etc.

Further observation is required. -------------

Day 37:

Earlier today several of my team came to me with a petition to begin first on planet observations from the surface. Their proposal was in response to the continuing conflicting nature of information being transmitted which is causing problems with the legitimacy of the data.

Conflicts are reported by one group of humans while being denied from ever happening by another despite clear evidence. Sub classes of humans are having their genetic heritage questioned without proof and based solely on physical differences that can be observed through sight. Even the origins of their people have been called into question by what appear to be numerous religious beliefs that are shared worldwide.

I admitted that while at first the information being gathered was proving more useful than any field work observation, the continual stream of conflicting information was beginning to show that simply observing the information networks would not be a viable option for further study.

They gave me a detailed plan to land a small landing craft near one of the smaller and more isolated communities dotting the planet and begin observations from there. I told them that I would go over their plan and have a decision for them in the morning.

In truth I am concerned about sending any detachment of my team down to the surface, though I did not openly share my reasons with the others.

While going over the information one night I discovered several dozen entries scattered throughout the human historical records of previous visitors to their world from other planets. Many of these encounters were often harmless glances in the night sky or seeing shadowy figures off in the distance, but a number also were more descriptive and detailed abductions of individuals to be taken and experimented on.

This showed that while technologically inferior to our people, these humans were all too aware that they were not alone in the universe and would most certainly have plans in place for any future encounters. ---------------

Day 38:

I agreed to the proposal of a landing party and the team departed a short while ago.

Despite my still apprehensions we needed a fresh source of data to analyze and having an on the ground team would provide that raw information we needed.

The team will be setting down on the island continent in the southern hemisphere. Orbital scans showed the land to be largely inhabited around the coastline of the continent while the interior was sparsely populated save for small communities.

From the landing site they will observe the local populations from a distance and then relay their findings back to the ship while also gathering samples of not only the planet but of humanity as well.

It’s risky, but the plan seems airtight. I wish them the best of luck. -----------------

Day 39:

I was awoken early in the morning to the panicked distress signals coming from the away team and rushed to the command deck.

Nuk’le, leader of the team, had been injured and their shuttle was heading back to the ship for medical attention. What was worse was that a human was also onboard who had been the one to injure Nuk’le and had been knocked unconscious by one of the other team members before they took off.

It is hard to describe the full spectrum of emotions I was feeling as I stood on the command deck and watched the shuttle’s signal get closer by the minute.

Anger, sorrow, concern, disdain, confusion; all these things swirled within me like a raging maelstrom with no outlet to disperse.

Zu’ru was now in command of the team and I demanded a full report as to what had happened in the few hours I had been away from the command deck. She told me that the team had safely landed at the predetermined landing site without issue and began making their way to the human community several miles away. They had setup their observation post along a ridgeline that overlooked the community and were able to gather many visual data captures and scanning samples of both the humans and the ecosystem when the first indications of a problem began.

The climate shifted without warning and a mighty wind began blowing in from the west. All around them the loose sand of the ground was soon picked up by the wind and the team found themselves in the midst of an intense sandstorm. Nuk’le did not wish the equipment to be damaged by the storm and so ordered the team to retreat back to the shuttle to ride out the storm in safety. Along the way the team had encountered their second problem.

The team had been making their way through the thick sandstorm back to their shuttle when they quite literally stumbled upon a human heading in the opposite direction to the town. They wore a long cloak and scarf that billowed in the wind while their eyes were protected by a pair of crude goggles. On their back was a long metal rod with a wooden handle that Zu’ru recognized as a tool used by hunters of the human culture and deduced that this human must have been on the hunt before the storm hit and was likewise returning home before heading out again.

They simply emerged from the sandstorm clouds like a wraith and came head to head with the team causing Nuk’le to panic and fire off a burst from his stun pistol. The shot went wide and hit the ground in front of the human who in response swung their hunting tool off their shoulder in a smooth motion and fired back at Nuk’le striking him in the shoulder. The crude hunting projectile punctured his suit and embedded itself in his flesh sending him into shock from the pain.

As the human turned their hunting tool on the rest of the party Zu’ru was able to get a second shot off with her own stun pistol and hit the human in the chest. Their hunting device fell from their hands and they collapsed to the ground as well while the team began tending to Nuk’le.

With the team leader seriously injured and the secrecy of the mission now compromised Zu’ru made a judgement decision to take both Nuk’le and the human hunter back to the ship. Some of the team wished to merely kill the human, but Zu’ru stated that the human had acted in self-defense and that it was Nuk’le who was at fault. Furthermore, there was no telling what would happen if the human did not return to the community. They had no idea what social standing they had or who they even were and the risk could endanger any future missions to the planet; so they would take him back to the ship, inject him with a memory altering drug, then return him the following day and hope that the community would believe that the human had just become lost in the sandstorm.

While I commended Zu’ru for her dedication as a scientist, I also criticized her and the rest for being so careless.

The damage had been done though and at this point I can only hope we can mitigate how far it spreads. -------------

Day 39 B:

The ship is in full quarantine lock down. All crew save for security personnel are confined to quarters until further notice.

No sooner had the shuttle landed in the hangar bay did the human wake up. For whatever reason the stun setting on our pistols did not affect the human as long as it should have and they regained their motor functionality as the landing ramp lowered and the science team began filing out of the shuttle.

One of the team had moved the human to a portable table and was preparing them to be moved to the medical wing when the human pulled a metallic blade of some sort from their clothing and slashed out at them. The blade cut deep and the team member recoiled as a deep gash opened up along their arm.

Before anyone could react the human was up and sprinting down the ramp. Confused by the sudden appearance of the human and the cries of pain from the newly injured team member, the rest of the landing party panicked and scattered around the hangar bay in their attempts to put distance between themselves and the human. Zu’ru was the only one to react and pulled out her stun pistol to again incapacitate the human.

I can only assume that the human recognized the weapon from before as no sooner did Zu’ru draw the weapon did the human quickly dodge the first shot by flattening themselves against the floor. They then proceeded to dodge all subsequent shots by rolling along the decking until they bumped into one of the fleeing landing party members.

Placing the knife directly at the crew members throat the human used the crew member as a living shield, blocking any shots Zu’ru would fire for fear of hitting her own comrade.

I rushed down to the hangar bay with a security detail and several medical staff to tend to the wounded and we stormed into the hangar from the access portals opposite the shuttle. This turned out to be a terrible move as no sooner had the corridor doors opened to let us in did the human push their hostage at Zu’ru thus knocking her over and then breaking into the corridor.

It was then I came face to face with the human for the first time. Their face was still covered with the previous trappings Zu’ru had reported, but for a moment I caught a glimpse of something behind those goggles as the light reflected off them.

It was a primal fear that was understood by every living species, regardless of where they came from.

The human was terrified and running on pure instinct.

They shoved me back as they entered the corridor, knocking back several of the medical and security personnel that had accompanied me. One of the security detail had been smart and had positioned themselves to the side of the door rather than in front of it. They brought their weapon down hard in an attempt to physically knock out the human as soon as they stepped into the corridor.

Stopping their forward momentum with a heavy footfall the human jerked their head back at the last second leaving the security officer unbalanced. They then brought up their crude knife and stabbed directly through the exposed section of their security armor around the neck leaving a bright stream of purple blood as the blade cut through flesh and embedded itself in their skull.

The human made to retrieve it but the other members of the security detail began firing wildly and so the human instead left the blade and sprinted down the opposite end of the corridor soon to be followed by the rest of the security team.

I stayed with the medical team as they cared for the injured and began enacting quarantine procedures via my comlink to the command deck.

Not only was there now a rogue alien aboard the ship, they seemed very keen on the ways of dealing out death. ---------------

Day 40:

It has been several hours since quarantine was enacted and yet still the human runs loose.

What’s worse is that they have avoided the security detail and are now at large inside the ship.

I have no idea how they managed it with quarantine procedures in effect but just as the security detail had them cornered the human simply vanished into thin air.

Security is now going through a deck by deck sweep of the ship to find the human while internal scanners go over every corridor and room searching for their life signs.

I’ve given up sleep for now and have taken up my position in the command deck to better help coordinate the search. Though my body is running on fumes I still find ways to keep myself awake and alert. One such method being focusing on the annoying guttering sound now coming from the air vents above the command deck.  It was not there when I was last on the command deck but now it’s ever present sound is helping me stay awake.

Once the human was captured I will need to detail a work crew to get up there and repair those vents for peace of mind. They claim it is too small for them and that we should use robots instead but I know that there is enough room for…for……

Oh no.

*Garbled metallic sound in the background as something metal falls heavily to the ground*

*Several voices all shouting at once sound off followed shortly by weapons fire*

*Audio log ends*

[nova--spark]

Scenario: TFP Bots find a box of kittens outside the base; left in the desert to die. OP gets attached.

When Miko mentioned the box of kittens, no one knew what she was talking about.

But when Arcee went out, to humor the young girl, the scout instead returned with a box, that while small in her hands was big enough to hold a total of 6 kittens.

The box was old, tattered and looked to have been placed on the side of the road hours ago.

The little ones looked alright, or so Miko told them, having been the only one who had cats enough to know if they were healthy or not.

The team was quite surprised, that someone would do that to defenseless little animals, but as Jack would inform, it was not uncommon.

Not everyone could afford to really care for so many animals all at once...

Each kitten was different. There was 6 total.

A reddish brown cat with white socks, who was so calm, and would lay on your lap. He had the gentlest purr, and would lightly bap your legs to get your attention. An orange and white tabby, the grumpiest of them all, who didn't like being touched but he would let you if he decided to sit near you.

The 'choncciest' [in Miko's own words] cat, who was a steely gray, and loved loved loved chasing and batting at a toy Miko got him.

A female grey-blue, who liked to stay in her own corner, and would often climb up high and out of the way from the rambunctious boys.

Another orange cat, with some black stripes who was so energetic, it must have been the rambunctious energy of the others he was fueled from. His meow was peculiar, and Miko noted maybe he had gotten sick, during the time in the box.

Lastly, was another reddish orange, who had black ears, one of them completely nicked, likely from again, damage sustained in the box.

He loved to play with the other orange kitty, and would seek out the female grey, to cuddle up with.

It was hectic, trying to handle having even smaller creatures, and it took a while to convince the bots to even allow the kids to keep them here at all. The last tiny creature the kids had tried to adopt had been a scraplet after all, and it was not a fun situation they wished to repeat...

Unexpectedly?

It was Optimus who warmed up to the felines the most, as one day, while at the computer, they would hear soft purring coming from up high, and after investigating, would find the source.

The kittens had decided to somehow, climb onto the Prime's shoulders and take a nice long nap, whilst the former archivist decoded old records and more.

It was quite sweet, how fond the Prime had become of the little felines, and it made the team smile.

Small little sweet moments like this. This is what they fought for.

After all, Optimus was the kindest and softest of them all. The biggest heart, for even the smallest of creatures.

[t1meslayer]

S07~E78 | A Stitch In Time

Welcome back to @pokepocketzine week!

Leftover sales for PokePocket, a tiny zine about tinier Pokemon, are officially open. If you haven't jumped on the fun, you can still do so until July 31! So, hurry up!! What are you waiting for?!?

Today's fic is about a mystery that definitely isn't given away by the featured image on this post. Can you figure out who (or what) is responsible for the rash of vandalisms in Alola and beyond? This story is available in print through PokePocket — Volume Two.

===

Fandom: Pokemon

Tiny Pokus Focus: Mimikyu!

Summary: "You're listening to The PokeMystery Hour, where we try to catch all the dark corners of this great, big world. In today's episode, our team investigates a rash of vandalism reports out of the Alola region that may point to the existence of a new Pokemon — with a penchant for stolen fabric."

And, of course, look out for all the other amazing artists and writers who are showing off their work! So much love went into this project, and I'm incredibly proud to be a part of it.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Eureka seems like it could be a cool game to drop players into with some hooks and let them do what they want. Will there be a pre-made setting or something along those lines in Eureka when it's complete?

Sorta but it’ll work a little differently from what you might be used to if you’re used to epic fantasy campaign games like D&D5e and Pathfinder.

Eureka won’t exactly have big setting books the same way that something like D&D does, it just has the one setting as described in the rulebook itself, which is primarily 21st century but can span all the way back to the late 1800s. I can dig up a post about that to link here

As for hooks, we recommend you use adventure modules. Eureka supports a LOT of things, it’s a “toolbox game,” which means that if there’s a situation that can come up during the adventure, the rulebook probably has some advice for what to roll (That’s also why it’s such a long rulebook.) - however, all of these situational considerations are in service to the one main thing: Investigation. Eureka does mystery Investigation really well, which means it does it pretty differently compared to most other games, and the way it does it means that the GM will run into trouble if they try to make everything up on the fly based on whatever random hook the PCs decide to follow up on. They’re going to investigate and find evidence, and if the GM isn’t prepared with cohesive information to give them based on that evidence, then it won’t all come together in the end.

This is not to say that Eureka adventures need to be pre-plotted or railroaded, far from it. What it means is that that hook has to have a whole line attached to it.

A good ��campaign” for Eureka will probably last 2-10 sessions at most, and have one or multiple hooks, all of which are related to the same event.

That event will be something the GM has written out in detail and set in stone, which has already happened (or in more advanced cases, is actively happening). Lady Violet killed Colonel Mustard in the study with the candle stick. With that set in stone, you can start sprinkling clues around that they can find that either point to Lady Violet, or help rule out other suspects. You gotta stick with that no matter what crackpot theories about aliens or ex wives the players or PCs might come up with, because if you change it on a whim based on what the players want to be the truth, then previous clues will quickly stop making sense.

To this end, we recommend using prewritten adventure modules, because we know from experience that it’s a lot of work for a GM to make up an event to be investigated that has enough detail for every eventuality. (That’s why they pay people to write adventure modules after all, it’s work, even if it can be fun work.)

Our team plans to support Eureka for as long as is feasibly possible with continual releases of new adventure modules, and we already have four in the works to release with the full game. The beta version of one of them (Horror Harry’s Haunted House) comes free with the name-your-price beta of Eureka on itchio, and two more (The Eye of Neptune and FORIVA: The Angel Game) are available on our patreon.

You can also listen to an Actual Play playthrough of FORIVA: The Angel Game on @tinytablerpg's podcast!

And finally, Eureka is compatible with most other already-existing adventure modules about mystery Investigation, which we have a post about right here

[ratsoh-writes]

What are the duties of the royal guard?

Here’s the old post going into detail about the royal guard and their divisions. I added a few new branches to the guard since then!

There are five divisions to the royal guard!

The foot (or general) guard! They’re the unspecialized soldiers. Trained in combat and required to keep up a certain level of health to keep tue job. They are the largest part of the royal guard by far and are considered reserve troops for whenever things go south. Since ebott isn’t in active war right now, these monsters work providing public services like cleaning roads, providing security for basic public areas, even some unskilled construction like digging ditches and helping clear fields or unused land. Many monsters join the the foot guard because 10 years of service means that you can have your schooling paid for if you ever pursue higher education.

The peace guard, aka the police force of ebott is a branch of royal guard trained as the police officers. Undyne is head of the ebott city branch, and Star is a search and rescue peace guard. These guards include the average officer, investigators and the disaster relief teams.

The royal navy is the largest active combat ready division. Ebott has a very strong navy guard with the sea and hadal monsters joining it in droves. These monsters patrol and protect ebotts borders, and even accompany ships carrying cargo outside of the country, as well as search cargo coming in for dangerous items and people. Since ebott is surrounded by sea, this section of royal guards are constantly on duty being rotated in and out at all times

The royal air force is the newest division as ebott only has a tiny fleet of war ready ships (that the rest of the world knows about ;)). It’s growing slowly, but only takes the best recruits so it’s hard to get in

The smallest but most prestigious unit of the royal guard are the royal attendants. These guards personally work with the royals and some choice important individuals as security and other duties like secretary positions. You need both brains and brawn to even be considered, and one can’t apply. A royal attendant is always chosen by recommendation only

The royal guard is the backbone of ebott. It’s the largest growing “company” employing the largest number of monsters and humans alike in the country. Without it the country certainly wouldn’t be able to run as well as it does today

[ihatesocialmedia45]

Chapter 3: The Velveteen Rabbit

Okay, I know I'm spamming - but I have like 13 chapters of this fic, so bear with me! I will post 5 chapters total tonight and then I'll stop, I swear.

Summary:

Homelander's descent isn't just apparent to him - but to the Seven as well. Sage and Maeve team up and investigate.

Notes:

"Maeve (and Sage)": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4BfyVPHsAMM

Maeve slunk down the hall, a wobble in her step. The bright glare of the sun streamed down on her through Vought's gigantic windows, and she squinted, throwing a hand over her face. It was 10am - she was late for the Seven's meeting, by about 30 minutes. The thought didn't truly concern her - after all, what was there to say? "New York is a cesspool." "Crime is up 5%."  "Here's an itinerary full of staged saves."

She thought back to Starlight and Maeve's banter at the New Year's event, face souring in disgust. "350 saves," she mocked under her breath. 

But no matter. It's not as if, a few years ago, Maeve hadn't worn that same shining optimism on her chest like a badge of honor. It hadn't even been five, if she recalled correctly. Saving children from drowning in fake pools on sets, disgusted with the theatrics - but proud nonetheless, when she saw it reported on the news. She sighed. Badge of honor, she scoffed internally. Five years... had she really fallen so far, so fast?

Reaching the door of the meeting room, she prized it open tentatively, though she knew there was no use. Everyone within the room was super-abled - and, of course, as she made her faltering entrance to the room, all eyes of the Seven bore down on her, a myriad of expressions that set her nerves fraying.

There was Deep, in his usual stupor, lips parted in confusion, brow furrowed stupidly. He raised a hand, looking around the table. "Oh, hey, Maeve's here."

Homelander rolled his eyes. "Very astute, Deep. Yes, Maeve is here." She thought she saw a shadow of darkness flit across his eyes - which could have been about anything, she assured herself. If anyone cared less about these meetings than her, it was Homelander. The only rival to her apathy, her dark match in more ways than one. She let the thought blow past her. Not the time.

Maeve took her seat, settling in, letting Ashley's words lull her into a state of dull compliance and allow her to slip from the role of "lush, drunk at 10 am" to "attentive member of the Seven". 

She looked on with a half-lidded gaze, barely registering the slides Ashley clicked through, instead focusing on the heartbeats of her teammates. It was something she did when she wanted to still her own; Starlight's was jumpy, erratic - like an overexcited puppy. Maeve grimaced. Deep's was almost alarmingly slow, though whether this was a testament to his aquatic nature, or a reflection of a man unimpeded by thought (and therefore worry), she didn't know. She didn't care. Firecracker's heartbeat was... strong, she admitted with grudging respect. Red. A-Train's heart... she bit back an anxious rumble in her throat. She knew that his dependency on Compound V took a massive strain on his heart, and the super-speed likely didn't help, but the resulting arrhythmia was unsettling, nonetheless. His heart would race... then lull, then, for the smallest instant, stop entirely. His face betrayed his worry - a tightening of the eyes, a twitch of the hand, reaching, then stopping, for his heart. But the muscle resumed what would now be its normal pace, and he relaxed, if only for a moment. 

Sage and Noir's hearts, Maeve had noted with surprise, were nearly in sync, and the two she focused on when her own grip on control was tenuous. The two beat only one step out of tune with each other, the calm, resounding thud in her ears like the sound pat on a back. She didn't have the presence of mind to speculate on the reasons for this dance they unwittingly engaged in, but she did treasure it secretly. She watched them with vague curiosity, and wondered what it must be like to have that kind of resolve.

Maeve did not listen to her own heartbeat. She did not listen to Homelander's heartbeat. Never.

The thought of him brought dark, murky memories to mind, like fishing Polaroids out of a filthy swamp. The two of them, once blinding in their shared flame, wrapped in an embrace that suffocated her and bound her up, made her whole, all at once. All his love, all his devotion... it spread like a salve over a wound, seeping into her hurt, pressing a kiss into the weeping cut and coming up with blood on his lips. It had felt like coming home.

Sage nudged her, and she flickered back to life. Ashley had asked her opinion on something, who knows what. She blinked, and gave her best approximation of what they'd expect from her: a wry remark, a subtle put-down, a bitter swig of her drink. Sage nudged her again. Maeve shifted away from her. She nudged again, insistent - she'd written her something on a notepad, and slid it in her direction.

I could smell the liquor on your breath 30 yards out. Maybe you should cool it.

Maeve gave an irritated sigh, picking up the pen, scribbling hard as she filled in a big, red droplet beside her message, sliding it to Sage with a nasty smile.

Your eye is leaking blood. Maybe don't throw stones from the glass nuthouse.

Sage brought a swift hand to her eye, and finding no blood, gave Maeve a bitter scoff - but nodded, resigned.

The meeting carried on, placid and meaningless, until the subject of Vought's newest endeavor came up: the Annual Hero Expo. Homelander, of course, would be hosting, and Ashley looked around the room, with a look of premature defeat yet unrelenting hope plastered across her face.

"We have 3 additional slots that need to be filled! And there will be food, comped travel... free parking? A bonus, plus commission?"

The team turned its bleak gaze onto her, all seven of them the picture of distain and outright refusal. Ashley gave a whine.

"Come on, guys! Don't make me pick names out of a hat again, please? Deep... this is your target audience, males aged 16-25! And A-Train..."

A-Train gave her a petulant look - but the sight of her, imploring him, shifted his mood. He sighed. "Fine, sign me up."

"Yes! Thank you! See, everyone - you could all take a page from A-Train's book." 

A-Train seemed to brighten, if subtly, at the statement - though a withering glance from Homelander ended the moment swiftly.

Ashley managed to wheedle the other two - Sage, and Maeve (whom Sage had volunteered the both of, much to Maeve's irritation) before the meeting drew to an unceremonious close. The team hastily filed out, leaving the two women alone.

"Look, I don't know if being 'the world's smartest person' -" Maeve started, voice laced with disbelief and barely-concealed rage. Sage cut her off smoothly, her self-assured nod making Maeve see red.

"I am," she replied simply. Maeve ground her teeth until she felt the slick shift of her molars give way to a grind of aching intensity, the crack audible in her ears. She closed her eyes, and started again.

"I don't care. That doesn't give you the right to impose whatever Lex Luther ass plan you have on other people's lives." Sage snorted.

"What else did you have planned for the day? Burying your sorrows in pussy and Jack Daniels? We have good shit, by the way. Your self hatred is just so all-consuming you won't even allow yourself good poison."

Maeve had had it; with that, she rose to her feet, gathered Sage by her shirt, and slammed her into the wall, breath violent against her cheek.

"You need to watch how you speak to me," she whispered, the snap of her canines hot on Sage's nose.

Sage looked up at her, her lips parted slightly, a dangerous gleam in her eyes. Curiosity, Maeve realized, too late - and before she knew it, Sage had darted a hand up to her ear - her hand, soft, warm, almost hot - and pressed soundly on the space behind her earlobe. Instantly, she erupted in pain and staggered back, her hold slackened. Sage stepped smoothly out of her reach.

"And you... should keep your hands to yourself," she answered lowly. She let Maeve come to, before extending a hand. Maeve gave her a glare - but took it, and rose.

"Bitch..." Maeve muttered. Sage beamed. "Don't forget it."

Maeve seethed quietly, but the dust had begun to settle in the wake of their fight. Sage gestured for the redhead to walk with her, and they exited the room, their footsteps echoing in the empty space.

"So... I know you didn't sign us up for that bullshit expo just for the fun of it. Why?" Maeve and Sage were sitting in Vought's cafeteria, lounging over coffee. They rarely left the Tower if not on business these days; while Maeve was sure that Sage had her own reasons, things to run from, for her, it was about the silence of her apartment. The stale scent of despair that wafted through the entire place, so thick and unyielding that she swore she could smell it on her skin when she left - and that others could, as well. Certainly Homelander could. He tried to mention it to her once - and she'd gone off. No thoughts of what he could do to her - just an endless stream of vitriol so intense that even he stepped back, hands raised. For anyone else, he would have repaid this disrespect with a death so gruesome that putting yourself out of your misery was the only viable option. But for Maeve, he relented. He knew what it was like for someone to poke the bear within. He understood.

Maeve took a sip of her drink - an Americano, dappled with a hint of French Vanilla, a load of heavy whip - and a bite of Daniels, a shark fin beneath the milky surface.

Sage took a sip in turn - water. Iceberg water. Antarctica. 

She nodded, and when she opened her mouth to speak, the faintest hint of a condensation cloud  billowed from her lips. Maeve leaned in. Condensation cloud... more like condescension cloud. She snorted at her own joke. Sage raised a brow - but Maeve waved it off. 

"You're right," she said, leaning forward in turn. "I want you to come to the Expo with me, to do a bit of... investigation."

Now it was Maeve's turn to raise a brow. Sage gave a discreet look around, before searching through her satchel to find a pen and paper. Maeve pressed her lips together, waiting.

"So, I saw your save last week on VNN. Really good stuff - my cousin actually showed it to me, she loves you," Sage's tone was light, belying the tense preamble she'd started just seconds ago. But Maeve caught on quickly, darting her eyes down to the table, to see that Sage had written, in small, neat print, unlined twice:

Homelander.

Maeve felt a slithering sense of unease ripple under her skin, though she did not shiver. She brought her eyes to Sage's for a brief moment, before writing in turn.

"That's so sweet... every time I do a save, I always think of the girls from my first Expo. My biggest fans. I paid for their colleges."

Why? Is something... wronger than usual?

Sage snorted, eyes crinkled in amusement, before her gaze turned more severe. The scratch of the pen against the paper rattled Maeve; she took another sip of her drink.

He was shouting last night. Talking to himself. He hasn't been the same since New Year's. 

Maeve furrowed a brow, pen shaking in her hand, dread creeping up her spine.

Not the same... how?  A violent scratch of the pen - Sage flipped the notebook over then, urgently. Maeve gasped.

Sage placed the book, calmer now, into her bag, before turning her gaze - piercing, methodical. The Arctic - onto Maeve.

"I don't know," she said lowly. "But we need to find out."

They started with the camera footage, going after hours so as to not arouse suspicion. Clad in black (Sage had insisted, the dramatic, Maeve snorted), they crept into Vought's Surveillance Department, the whisper of their footsteps muffled by pieces of cloth Sage had glued to the bottoms. Logging into the system brought a vibrant glow to the room, the blue light casting eerie shadows onto Sage's face. But no matter - she'd taped a thick, black sheet of poster board to the window at the door.

The hum of the monitor droned low and threatening as Sage clicked through the security footage, flicking through with a dizzying speed that Maeve had to turn her eyes from, until Sage gave a soft gasp, and she turned to face her.

Homelander. He was flying home, sneaking in through the window - the video was timestamped at 2:38am. January 1st.

"Why the window?" Maeve murmured, leaning in despite the mounting disquiet that swirled within her.

What does he have to hide?

The video ended there, with him sweeping inside the window, shutting it behind him, then cutting to static.

Maeve looked at Sage, a million questions on her lips - but Sage held up a finger, and fishing through her page, produced a small camcorder.

"I recorded this the other night. Outside his room."

The two women leaned into the camcorder, ears nearly touching, listening to the crunch and pop of the tape rolling within.

Anger, in his voice. But... not just anger. Rage. Blindingly hot, searing rage. The intensity of his shouts made Maeve flinch... but the next thing out of his mouth made her entire body go cold.

"Jo-ohn..!" Maeve's jaw dropped, and she looked to Sage, who'd heard this nightmare already - her gaze, though level, hinted at a subtle disturbance by the audio.

"There's nobody in there..." Maeve whispered. Sage shook her head.

"And get this," she continued, fishing her phone out of her bag as well, and playing a video. Homelander's New Year Speech. Maeve grimaced.

"Yeah, even I'd noticed he was a bit... off, that night." she recalled his blank stare, the way they'd had to try for attention 3 times on the walk to the meeting room. He'd seemed... almost defeated. Depressed, even. Maybe bordering on a mental break... she couldn't banish the thought of his eyes, clouded over and flat where they usually sparked with dark vigor, and power. Broken, Maeve realized. The realization brought a sinking feeling with it. Homelander survived only by virtue of the mask. The one that painted him as a god, untouchable and blisteringly cold. If that mask were to slip, or crack... Maeve's anxiety spiked.

"I think something happened, either before New Year's, or directly after," Sage stated, logging the computer off, storing the camcorder and phone away. "That's why we're going to the Expo. To find out."

She rose to her feet, retrieved the poster board, breaking it down into squares, and put that in her bag, too. Then, she rolled a chair to the way they'd entered: a vent in the ceiling. Maeve hoisted her into the crawlspace before joining her, the thud of Sage's heartbeat echoing in their close quarters, resolute as always. Slowly, as she let the sound move through her, Maeve felt her pulse stop its jagged upward climb.