#just. a quick detour. i promise...........

[cheriladycl01]

My love, is mine all mine - Max Verstappen x Norris! Reader x Charles Leclerc Part 8

Plot: Norris' Twin sister is also a driver in the 2021 line up and is in her rookie era. Not only do the commentators struggle to now talk about the pair in the race, but they also struggle to talk about talent. What happens when two drivers find her eye-catching.

A/N: I've brought Luisia into things because of the timeline and it being 2021. Don't hate on her, or the fact that i've brought her into my writing please!

Because there was a break you decided it would be best to stay away from social media and take some time for yourself. You promised your trainer you'd keep up with the healthy diet and exercises and but just wanted to get away from normality.

So you got to Heathrow with an large backpack and took the first flight leaving to Colomia. You spent the week climbing mountains in the Andes with a trusted tour guide you'd found while you were out there. Just the two of you as you didn't feel up for the big group excursions.

The man who'd walked the volcano peak with you had known who you were but kept it to himself talking about his life and what Colombia was like, which you enjoyed as you got to learn about his life and what he did.

You spent the week away from the harsh media fully diving into the South American culture and making connections all over Bogota. It was refreshing being away for an extended period of time and you felt more than ready to go back to racing.

You'd flown back home, saying a quick hello and goodbye to your parents before getting in your McLaren and driving to dover, you'd wanted to spend time getting to Hungry and drive yourself which a lot of the drivers would find incredibly bizarre as you'd be doing 6+ hours over the course of three days. Which to the average driver would seem easy but with how hot the car got and how hard it was to drive an F1 car compared to a normal car all mattered.

You’d made your way into France getting a picture on the bonnet of your car outside a random small town cafe.

Instagram Story Caption:

It’s been a while huh? 🤔 Gotta love a long drive to my next location 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿-> 🇭🇺

People were going crazy that you were back (fans more than anyone) and that night in your hotel room that was above the same bar you posted a photo dump from your time in Colombia.

y/user

Liked by charleslecerc, landonorris and others

y/user: Colombia 🇨🇴 you have been beautiful. From the beaches, to the walks up the mountains to the locals that expressed their love and showed me their cultures and invited me into their homes … I will be revisiting! One of my favourite places in the world! 🌍🧡

View all Comments:

fan1: omg I’m from Colombia! How didn’t I know you were there!

landonorris: so you’ve been on holidays? 🫨

-> y/user: whilst training of course! Don’t worry I’ll get you this weekend brother 👀🧐

fan2: I love that she’s taken time for herself she looks so healthy in that photo on her story!

-> fan3: so real she’s gonna slay in Hungary 🇭🇺 roll on Qually.

-> fan4: I have a good feeling about this weekend!

luisinhaoliveira99: Ola Y/N! Pretty Pretty!

-> y/user: Ah my favrioute girl!

charlesleclerc: Driving to Hungary? Wanna divert and give me a lift.

You seen Charles comment almost instantly and everyone else had too. You messaged him as you couldn't tell if he was being genuine or not. You were more than happy to make the detour to the Meditteranean side of France. It was one of your favrioute places to drive along.

He'd messaged you back not too long after and you couldn't help the smile that came across your face when you saw the message.

Your detour took you down through France driving through Nice and straight into Monaco where you drove around the roads that you'd driven in F1 for the first time not to long ago. The thought of going back round it next year was exciting. Once you pulled up outside the casino Charles gracefully waltzed over.

"Is that all?" you also looking at the small bag he had brought with him.

"Well... you're driving a sports car darling. Despite us touring Europe in a McLaren i cannot pack my entire wardrobe!" he smiles and takes a seat next to you.

"So what route are we taking" he asks turning his face to look at you and for a second you are stuck in the moment of looking at his eyes, and how soft they are, noticing the crows feet on the sides as he smiles reminding you what a happy soul he always seems to be.

You drove off, gulping down the ache in your heart knowing it wasn't right to rush anything based on what happened in the past, but also there was something drawing you to Charles and the more he weened his way into your life the harder he became to ignore.

The route you took was interesting. You passed Monaco into Italy and continued up to Milan, across to Venice up into Austria where you headed to Vienna and then down to Budapest ready for the GP, in total with all the stops it became a 4 day drive. You'd stopped in random cities finding hotel rooms at 11 pm when either of you were too tired to drive and small restaurants in the countryside when you both got hungry. It was enjoyable, more than enjoyable really.

Spending time just the two of you away from the media was exactly what you both needed. You guys just talked without the pressure of people around and it was nice. You both had a lot to stay but strangely by the end of it, it felt like not everything had been said.

Maybe the weekend at the GP would let that string unravel a little more.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[karikitdemonrp]

-----

Core listened to Kohaku, a content grin tugging at the kitsune's lips. He looked over his lover's body, all the scars from previous battles and new marks from their moment of passion. The fox could still his heart beating a bit quicker than usual, his breathing slowly getting back to normal from being heavy and ragged. His eyes, foggy and still hazy with lust, looked at the fruit in Kohaku's fingers.

Core's tail flicked slightly as he gave a chuckle. "Of course, my warrior." He hummed moving to take the whole lychee into his mouth while keeping eye contact with Kohaku, carefully eating around the pit befire sitting up. "Just a moment." He hummed, moving to spit the lychee pit out of his mouth and into a dish he had set aside earlier for just this reason, other lychee pirs sitting in it. Core will take care if that later. Right now Kohaku needed his pampering, as promised. The fox gave a warm smile to his lover then laid back down and moved to be close to Kohaku, but not too close so he could still maneuver as needed.

The fox's hands moved to gently massage Kogaku's shoulders after a few seconds. "How's this?" Je asked, not really looking for an answer just yet since he was only getting started but if Kohaky said anything Core would listen. The fox soon moved to begin kissing Kohaku's neck, then his ear, and eventually meeting the demon slayer's jaw for a moment before going back and beginning to kiss down Kohaku's back slowly.

Core's lips did take a few detours to give Kohaku's scars a bit if attention every once in a while, but the kitsune wanted to give Kohaku all of his attention. Core's hands continued to massage Kohaku's body, going from shoulders down in tandem with the many kisses. Though he was sure to not move too quick and actually ttued to get any tension out of Kohaku's muscles, the kisses were just a sweet bonus.

"You seem to be enjoying the attention, my dear. Any suggestions? Like I said, I want to pamper you so if you have something in mine I'm all ears." He chirped softly, lips barely leaving Kohaku's back, moving to kiss Kohaku's spine after speaking.

=K

Kohaku let out a soft breath, his amber eyes half-lidded as he lay against the futon, the warmth of Core still clinging to him like the lingering sweetness of the lychee he'd just fed him. His fingers trailed gently along Core’s thigh, slow and deliberate, savoring the way the kitsune’s body reacted to his touch.

“How was that?” Kohaku asked, his voice a low purr of its own as he leaned up to nuzzle under Core’s jaw. “I hope I didn’t disappoint, not after you’ve been holding all that in.” He brushed a stray strand of Core’s hair back with his free hand, his gaze full of quiet satisfaction and adoration. “Though judging by the way you were purring—and clinging—I’d say I did alright.”

A teasing smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he reached for another lychee from the nearby tray, holding it between his fingers before gently pressing it to Core’s lips. “Open up, troublemaker,” he hummed. “You need to keep your strength up… if I’m going to let you pamper me next.”

[moe-broey]

The..

[semisolidmind]

….gonna take a quick break from the monkey business for a second

something has taken over my brain recently and i need to get it out

[buckyalpine]

I LOVE what you wrote for the other ideas!!

This is kind of a dialogue prompt

Reader says something like, "do you know how many times I've imagined you fucking me on this desk?"

Maybe she's sitting on Bucky's lap while she works on a mission report or something for the team. Since Bucky hasn't seen reader in a bit, he is being needy and handsy trying to distract her. (Cue cockwarming?)

Eventually, reader slams the laptop shut and puts it away before she says that line. Bucky just like

Sweeps EVERYTHING off desk

(I'm so sorry for the long ask) much love❤️❤️

Not me answering this 2 years later but I'm weaaaak for the lip bite and this idea, immediate yes (and by immediate I mean I know I took forever, I'm so sorry, also I love you)

-

"I missed you so much baby" Bucky purred in your ear, hoisting you up by your hips to wrap your legs around his waist as soon as you stepped off the jet. You'd been gone for over a month in those 4 weeks, Bucky had been nothing but a pouty puppy, waiting for you to come back. None of the missions he went on were enough of a distraction, all he wanted was his perfect angel back in his arms and he finally had you.

"Missed you too, bub" You giggled at his scruffy beard tickling your neck as he nuzzled into your skin, carrying you off for some much needed cuddles. "I already showered and changed but I just have to finish my mission report and then I'm all yours"

You pecked the frown that made its way to his face, your thumb brushing over the crease between his brows.

"But I haven't seen you in so long" Bucky mumbled, reluctantly detouring away from your shared bedroom, taking you to the conference room instead.

"I promise I'll be quick-Bucky what are you-" You squeaked as you felt his cool arm effortlessly wrap around your waist, lifting you up so he could sit in the chair instead, plopping you onto his lap.

"I'll be patient" Bucky gave you an innocent shrug, not willing to wait for you to finish so he could spend time with you. You giggled at his clinginess, opening your laptop and pulling up the file you had to fill out; of course his patience lasts all of 10 seconds before his hands slowly slip under your shirt.

"Bucky, what are you doing"

"Nooothin'" he ignored the pointed look you gave him over your shoulder while he started to needily paw at your hips, slowly making his way up to your waist, caressing your skin. "Just feelin' you"

"I can see that" you shook your head, returning to your report, trying desperately to recall various details while your boyfriends hands continued to wander around. You could barely type out a sentence, squeaking when his cool metal fingers brushed near the top of your breast, tracing along the outline of your bra.

"Bucky"

"Y/n"

"You're distracting me"

"No, You're distracting me" He countered with another shrug, adjusting his hips, the movement causing you to shift right onto his-

"Bucky!"

"What" He gave you an innocent pout as if his thick erection wasn't about to pop out of his jeans.

"Your not so little friend there is about to stab my ass" You snoted, ignoring the way his hard length pressed against you made your stomach flip.

"Help him out then" Bucky smirked with a raise of his brow, "C'mon, it'll help me keep my hands to myself if he gets some attention"

"Bucky-

"Please baby, I promise I'll behave, just let me put it in you, I won't move, no more distractions, scouts honor"

"You're a little shit" You rolled your eyes, biting back a smirk as you got up to pull down your sweats while Bucky unbuttoned his jeans, pulling his cock out. He groaned as he swiped his thick cockhead through your folds, your slick already making a mess between your thighs.

"Looks like I wasn't the only distracted on, huh" He whispered against the shell of your head as he pressed inside, the both of you gasping at the feeling of him stretching you. He was careful to lower you slowly, inching his way until you were perfectly seated on his lap and entirely full of him. "Mpph, fuck you feel good baby, keep me nice and warm, that's it" He nipped on your earlobe while you took a moment to recompose, your tight walls fluttering against his shaft.

"I-have to finish this-" Your voice melted off into a moan, how were you going to get anything done, it had been so long since you'd felt your boyfriends fat cock absolutely rail you, making you cum and squirt till you nearly passed out, his length fucking your brains out until he was ready to fill you, his moans and grunts all just for you while his cock exploded with thick streams of cum that would drip out-

"You won't get anything done if you keep grinding on me princess" Bucky's strained, teasing voice broke you from your train of thought, not even realizing you'd been pushing your hips further back on him, trying to feel more. "You sure you gotta finish this right now?"

"Y-yes" You tried to fill out the next section, your eyes rolling back instead when Bucky adjusted himself, pushing himself till his tip kissed your cervix.

"You sure baby, I can make you feel really good"

"I-

"It's been so long angel, I need you, fuck, need you so bad" The neediness of his voice only set you off further, a gush of your arousal pooling out of you, getting the patch of curls at the base of his cock messy. It certainly wasn't missed by Bucky, his hands holding onto your hips so he could gently thrust his hips up just enough for you to feel the slightest movement. "Please baby, m'so hard, balls are fuckin' full, swear my cock's ready to burst there's so much cum for you-

All it took was you shutting your laptop for Bucky to swipe his arm and clear the table of its contents, bending you over the table while he was still deep inside you.

"Fuck, I needed this!" He growled, grabbing you hips and setting a brutal pace without warning, his head thrown back, the sounds of skin slapping on skin mixing with your moans.

"OH-FUCK-J-AMIE" You squealed feeling Bucky angle his hips to hit a spot that made a mess everywhere, your juices dripping onto his jeans, the material turning darker making him fuck you harder.

"That's it baby, make a mess on me, make a mess on my cock, give me what I've been missing so fuckin' bad"

You were nothing more than a babbling mess letting Bucky take what he needed, your legs nearly buckling from pleasure.

"Wanna see you" He pulled out and handled you with ease as he picked you up and placed you onto the table, throwing your pants off and tossing your legs over his shoulders. He didn't waste any time as he slipped in again, the both of you moaning and he started to move again, your tummy bulging each time he fucked into you. "Missed you so much angel, fuck you have no idea"

"Missed you-t-too" You hiccuped from a mixture of emotion and your building orgasm, a mix of everything making your vision blur with white spots and tears. "Missed you so much, Bucky"

"Cum for me angel, I want it, wanna feel my angel cum on my cock, please-" Bucky's pace stuttered as his cock squirted precum, his balls growing heavy, struggling to hold on, "m'gonna cum, can't hold it baby, give it to me"

"I-I-OH FUCK" You let out a silent scream as Bucky slipped his hand between your bodies, his thumb pressed onto your clit rubbing gentle circles. He continued to fuck you through your orgasm, his own ready to shoot from the base of his cock, the tip already dribbling-

"Good girl, good fuckin' girl, so pretty when you cum for me baby, fuck me I won't last, shit-I-FUCKK" The first burst of cum flooded and painted your walls, his cock throbbing so hard it nearly sent you into a second climax, "Hng, it's so much, mmph"

Bucky clung onto you with his face buried into your neck, shuddering as his body shook from the waves of his orgasm. He held onto you, keeping you wrapped up as he sat back on the chair, his lips pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I love you"

"I love you too but I need to finish" You sleepily mumbled while Bucky shook his head, carrying you off for some much needed proper cuddles.

"You can finish later after we get some dinner in you and two more orgasms and a nice long shower, maybe a massage and THEN you can-"

"You filthy animals" Tony's voice cut through Bucky's list as he stood at the conference door with an amused smirk on his face.

"Oh my god" You kept your face buried in Bucky's neck, the oversized shirt you were wearing covering up what was going on but there was no mistaking what happened with Bucky's jeans around his ankles.

"Couldn't wait 10 minutes, huh"

"Would you?" Bucky didn't even bother arguing back, raising his brow with a smug smile.

"Can't argue with that" Tony nodded with approval, walking off while Bucky cackled without an ounce of shame.

"You little shit" You stayed pressed against his neck, while Bucky carried you off to your shared bedroom, plopping you onto the bed.

"Now about those two orgasms-"

[logansdoll]

37

the fate of the entire world came down to a race against time, the future of all mutants resting on logan's shoulders... but a little detour wouldn't hurt, right?

CW: heavily suggestive, profanity, takes place during the events of Days Future Past, Logan was kind of an ass, reader is kinda that girl, angst if you squint, idk if i timed the timeline right or not so whatevs, etc.

"I'm sorry... what are we doing here, again?" Hank asked, confused, as the three men marched through the hallway of an apartment complex.

"I need to find someone," Logan answered, curtly, eyes scanning over the numbers on each door.

'37... 37... 37...'

Charles let out a dry chuckle, pinching the bridge of his nose, "See, that's so funny because last I checked you said we were in a crunch for time."

He stopped in his tracks, Hank pausing mid-walk to turn to him, while Logan came to a standstill just ahead.

"If we have time to take detours, then I'm starting to believe the situation isn't as dire as you described."

Hank swallowed thickly, turning to Logan in expectation of some sort of blowout.

Despite having only known the man for a few of hours, he could tell he had a dangerously short fuse, and wouldn't take kindly to Charles's attitude.

And he'd be right.

Whipping around, Logan stormed over and grabbed the telepath by the collar, brows furrowed as he roughly yanked him closer.

"I just got sent back in the past fifty-fucking-years... And before I do another goddamn thing, there is someone I have to see," he growled, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. "Do you got a problem with that, bub?"

Charles paused a moment, eyes scanning over the man before him.

In that instant, he wanted nothing more than to read his mind—to see what was going on in that complicated head of his.

But, alas, he couldn't, so for the sake of everyone, he settled for the safer option.

"Fine with me," he raised his hands in surrender, letting out a sigh as Logan abruptly let him go, turning to go back to his search. "And if I'm not mistaken... thirty-seven would be about five doors down to your right."

Logan glanced back at him, his expression a cross between annoyed and less annoyed.

He'd deal with him later.

But in the meantime, he sped past the next five doors as fast as he could, turning to his right to see what played the setting to some of his best dreams.

A red door, with paint chipping near the hinges, and a crooked 37 and poorly covered claw marks from when he stumbled in drunk one night.

'Just like I left it...'

It wasn't long before the memories came rolling back, reminding him of what he was coming back to.

"You sure you have to go?" you hummed, gathering the sheets to cover your chest and sitting up in the bed, watching as he put on some pants.

Logan nodded, moving to grab his wife-beater, "Yeah, I got some things to take care of... I should be back in a few days."

Turning toward the bed, he smirked at your sleepy form, your bed-head and tired eyes insanely sexy.

"You know what to do while I'm gone, right?"

"Check the peephole before I open, and aim for the nuts," you recited with a yawn.

He smiled, snatching his leather jacket off your chair before striding toward the bed, placing a quick peck on your lips

"I'll be back soon," he promised, swiping a stray stand of hair out your face.

You smiled, looking up at him through your lashes with your beautiful, (e/c) eyes, "I'll be waiting."

When Logan snapped himself out of it, he was still standing in front of the door, the chunk of wood the only thing keeping you two apart.

He was about to knock, but stopped mid-way, hesitant.

What if you'd moved on? Forgotten him in the meantime...

"I'll be waiting," your words echoed in his head.

He sighed, steeling his nerves, before quickly knocking.

There was a moment of silence before the lock clicked, the knob turning and door swinging open to reveal you.

The air caught in Logan's throat as he got a good look at you, his eyes raking up and down your body.

You looked even more beautiful than he remembered.

'That was too quick...'

"You didn't check the peephole," he stated, unable to come up with anything else to say.

Without warning, the sound of a particularly harsh slap echoed throughout the hallway, Charles and Hank flinching at the noise.

"Okay, I deserve that."

"You absolute fucking asshole!" you spat, voice disbelieving of the sight in front of you. "Who the hell do you think you are?!"

Because of your mutation you aged like he did, so you weren't exactly younger looking per se, but you had a youthful vibrance to you.

Your hair was sensually tousled—most likely from just waking up—your skin glowing in the mid-morning sunlight, and your silk robe coming up extra high on your legs, along with hanging extra low on your chest.

You looked sexier than any lingerie model out there.

A fact the other two quite agreed with at the moment.

"Hel-lo," Charles smiled, shamelessly, Hank just silently staring.

"Watch it," Logan threatened, venom dripping from his tone as he shifted to stand in front of you, blocking your body from their view.

"You have no business being here," your brows furrowed as you grabbed the door, attempting to shut it. "Get lost."

"(n/n), I came to see you," Logan grunted, shoving his foot between the door and the frame. "Let me in."

"No!" you scoffed, pushing against the door to try and shut him out. "You don't get to do that! You don't get to leave for eight months and then waltz right back in my life like nothing happened!"

"I got into some shit, alright? Some really bad shit... I couldn't bring that back here."

"Then call! Or... Or write! Fuck! I would've been happy with a goddamn carrier pigeon!"

"I didn't have any of that crap—" "For eight months?!"

With a groan, he rolled his shoulder, giving the door a quick blow and knocking it open, forcing you back and allowing him in.

Quickly, you reached your hand out toward your philodendron, sprouting large vines and using them to grab Logan's wrists, holding him in place.

"(y/n), I don't have a lotta time," he grunted, struggling against their hold, to no avail, "Let me go..."

"For eight months," you started, voice small as you approached him, "I thought you were dead."

Logan halted his thrashing, turning to you with a softened look.

Your expression was now one of hurt rather than rage.

"I know the work you do... and after three months of nothing I started thinking the worst..."

You stopped in front of him, turning to the large array of plants carefully placed around the room, making the apartment look more like a greenhouse than anything.

"I used every damn plant in my range to try and find you... and when I got nothing, I knew that you were gone."

Suddenly, you poked a finger into his chest, eyes glazed with relief as you looked upon his face.

A face you'd never thought you'd see again.

"So no... you do not get to come back after all this time just to see me."

Slowly, your hold on his wrists began to loosen, and he lowered his hands, stepping forward to stand right in your space.

"You're a selfish... narcissistic... cocky son of a bitch, and—"

Logan suddenly snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"And?"

You swallowed thickly, staring up at him with your glassy, doe eyes.

"And I hate you."

He chuckled, leaning down to ghost his lips over your cheek, sending shivers down your spine.

"I love you, too, dollface."

And before you could even retort, his lips were on yours, roping you right back into him.

The kiss was hungry... passionate. Like he'd been waiting a lifetime to get his hands on you again.

And he had.

Never in his wildest dreams did Logan ever believe he'd be able to kiss you again... to have you in his arms.

It was worth the detour and more.

Honestly, even if he didn't manage to save the world, he'd die a happy man.

With a gasp, you both broke away from the kiss, your chest heaving as you looked up at the man—who was looking down at you like you'd just hung the sun in the sky.

Slowly, his calloused hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone.

"(n/n)... I'm gonna tell you some instructions, and you gotta trust me and follow them to the letter,, alright?" Logan started, seriously.

"What? Logan, what are you—?"

"Please," he pleaded. "I know you don't deserve the shit I put you through, but believe me when I tell you that you need to listen to what I have to say..."

Letting out a slow sigh, you agreed, nodding for him to continue.

"In a month, I want you to pack up your things. Your cloths, your plants, all of it, and travel up to Westchester County, New York," he explained, pulling a crumpled card out his jacket pocket. "Go to this address, and you'll find these guys."

He turned to point at Charles and Hank, who were still standing in the doorway, awkwardly.

"Hello," Hank waved, sweetly.

"They have a huge mansion... and you gotta stay there until I can find my way back."

"Find your way back?" you asked, confused, as you took the card from his hand. "Logan, I don't understand... I don't even know who these guys are..."

"You just have to trust me, doll," he assured, his free hand carding through your hair. "Besides, I don't like you bein' in the city by yourself, anyway—" "We really should be going now," Charles chimed, clearing his throat.

Logan let out a sigh, turning back to you and scanning over your face a final time.

God, you were so beautiful.

"Wait for me a little longer?" he asked, nervous.

But to his surprise, you smiled, your hand sliding down to hold his, smoothing your thumb over his knuckles.

"Against my better judgement..." you sighed, lightheartedly. "You better come back to me, Logan."

He cracked a grin, placing a feather-light kiss on your hairline.

"I always do."

bonus !! The three men didn't even make it halfway down the hallway before Logan turned to the two, his hardened expression a complete contrast from the smile he flashed you before he left.

"Listen up," he started, voice dangerously low. "Either of you try to make moves on my girl while I'm gone, I will personally come back and mount your head on a spike. Consequences be damned."

Quickly, Charles used what little power he had to scan over Logan's mind, checking to see if he truly meant what he said.

And he did.

In fact, he was so dead serious about the threat that it actually scared Charles quite a bit.

"Got it?"

Charles and Hank turned to each other, sharing the same knowing look.

"Yup."

"Absolutely."

[yourmcu]

Ace

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Gamer!Stark!Reader, Avengers x Reader

Summary:

Your girlfriend, your dad, along with the rest of the Avengers, support you during a VALORANT tournament.

Word count: 4.6k+

Warnings: too much VALORANT descriptions, you can google stuff about it if you want to get a good visual of this story, basically an avengers fic as a whole but i love supportive gf nat >:(

A/n: one of the drafts I left a long time ago! I miss writing for the avengers, so I decided to finish this one.

(completely italic dialogues - casters commentating)

All the hollering from the lounge died down when Natasha practically shoved both Sam and Bucky off the couch, stealing the TV remote in the process. Their basketball game can wait, her girlfriend’s tournament is more important.

“Oh, shoot. Y/N/N's tournament is today?” Sam suddenly remembered and Bucky made a quick detour out of the lounge to fetch Steve and possibly the others. They kind of promised you they'd support your game this time around, with the knowledge that they had free time on the dates of your tournament. Sam snapped his fingers, “Snacks. I'll be right back.”

No, you weren’t a professional athlete; if anything, you’re the opposite. Your wrists move more than your whole body most of the time, you only stay an hour or less in the gym, and you prioritize getting better in Aim Lab than a shooting range.

Ever since women playing in VALORANT E-Sports were normalized, you were one of the anticipated gamers to compete, of course you were on board and signed on to an esports organization and team roster. You’ve made a name for yourself in the gaming industry because of your high IQ and big brain plays. You used your head in every match, every round unlike the majority of the players mindlessly aiming and not landing shots. Because of your career, you’re known for something else and not just Iron Man’s daughter.

Natasha didn’t like the fact that you were glued to your computer most of the time at first. She thought Tony spoiled you too much even as an adult, but she later on realized that you graduated with a degree before settling into gaming. You worked for the Avengers, sometimes as an IT for a big company which paid more than you needed. You were basically set. All of this while you were still pretty young, a little younger than Natasha.

It’s safe to say all of Natasha’s doubts went away. She felt rather impressed and took a liking to you, which developed into something more over time.

From her phone, you chuckled when you heard Sam and Bucky’s shuffling. “We’re not up for another thirty minutes, babe.” On your end, you and your team were with the event's coordinators backstage of the actual place the tourney was held. Natasha always called you before and after your events, just because she was the best supportive girlfriend ever.

“I know, I wanted to set everything up before anything else,” Natasha put you on speaker while she dealt with the TV’s settings. You smiled to yourself, absolutely adoring your girlfriend even more when she was eager and supporting your games. “Are you guys still at the hotel?”

You had to travel out of the country for the tournament. As much as Natasha wanted to go with you (Clint wanted to go too because he ‘needed a break’, you just rolled your eyes at him and laughed), being a full time hero and an Avenger doesn’t mean you get to travel 24/7. She has to be with the team in case something terribly wrong happens, which doesn’t come with a warning. “Backstage, actually. Cloud9 and Misfits are wrapping up their last match right now,” You replied. “I've already warmed up at the hotel earlier. It's crazy how our room fits all of our PCs.”

“Ah, c'mon, you don't need no warm-ups!” Sam teased, hearing you on speaker as he walked back with refreshments and an assortment of chip bags.

You giggled, rolling your eyes at the Falcon’s words. “Stop it, Sam. You know me; I always get tilted when I play too much before the actual competition.”

Sometimes you get anxious and it affects your performance, same goes for when you warm-up too much; you lose focus the more games you play, leaving nothing for the tournament.

Despite Natasha's excitement to watch your team play, she’s not too vocal about it. She wouldn’t squeal when it starts or bombard you with loud encouragement through the call, because one, she doesn’t want to be the embarrassing girlfriend, and two, she’s the Black Widow. She’s naturally subtle about everything. You knew her more than anyone else though, so even if that was the case, you still felt her support.

Thirty minutes went by quicker than you’d hope, you were so caught up in watching the game of the other rivaling teams and commenting on everything that happened whilst still in the call with Natasha. You also answered Bucky’s queries when he came back; he’s only ever heard of e-sports since you started competing in it. He couldn’t imagine how hard switching point of views and the player’s face cameras must be. Bucky has only watched, what, actual live game tournaments, basketball or chess or whatever. It was confusing to him at times, but you told him he’d get used to it eventually just by taking note of the red and blue colors.

You were cut off by one of your teammates placing a hand on your shoulder, signaling you that it was time to go. “Alright. Nat, I have to go, I’ll call you when I get back?”

The two men were the first ones you heard react, Sam shifted in his seat excitedly while Bucky wondered out loud if he should call Tony, Peter, and Bruce, who were all unnecessarily working overtime at the lab.

You felt yourself smile again when she spoke. “Okay,” Natasha bit her lip, feeling anxious about the tournament, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

“Good luck!” Sam shouted before you hung up.

Natasha almost snorted when she heard loud footsteps coming towards the lounge entrance. Her sister had the worst timings ever.

“Someone decided to take a long shit while we were heading back. Has Y/N’s game started yet?” Yelena walked in as fast as she could with Fanny, looking at Natasha expectantly as she shrugged off her thick coat and got out of her boots. Fanny ran to where the couches were as soon as Yelena removed her leash, wagging her tail happily without a clue in the world.

“About to, but you did miss her on the phone.”

“Ah, fuck.”

Soon, Bruce, Tony, Peter, Wanda and Vision came down to watch as well. Your tournaments were one of the occasions the team had the chance to bond and get together in one room, it definitely helped with the morale as Steve would think, and they have you to thank for that.

Everyone was just in time to see you walk out to the stage with your team and the opposing one. You were in your team jersey and arm sleeves with your teammates behind you in a straight line.

Tony woot-ed, plopping down next to Natasha. “Heard Y/N/N's team is going up against a brand new team roster. This should be a piece of cake for her, eh?”

Peter sat down beside him, looking at the said rival team with yours, all lined up on stage. “I don't know about that, Mr. Stark. One of them recently went viral after getting five aces on a ranked game. She's radiant, too.”

Admittedly, he also played VALORANT with you and Ned, but often miscalculates his strength as he frequently breaks his keyboard or mouse because of freaking out whenever he sees an enemy. His reflexes and fighting skills were better off used in real time.

“And Y/N/N's been on the top ten leaderboard for, what, six months?” Tony challenged, evidently confident in your skills.

The chatter on who's better than who died down when both teams sat down on their respective computers. Though it wasn’t that noticeable to most people, Natasha noticed it right away: you were wearing the necklace she gave you. You considered it your lucky charm.

After both teams chose the maps they wanted to ban and maps they wanted to play, the game started.

You mostly play the character - or agent - Killjoy. The agent reminded you so much of yourself from her overall vibe and game mechanic: she had utility to aid the whole team, from turrets to alarm bots, and an ultimate that conducts lockdowns on any part of the map. You were so used to that character that you even played her on maps she’s not very helpful at because you mastered everything about her, which made you stand out from other players as no one would dare use characters on maps they weren't good in. Gears were practically turning in your head as the game loaded.

Then, the first game commenced.

The Avengers always made noise whenever you got a kill, or whenever the casters praised you for outsmarting the opposing team, which Steve and Bucky appreciated because it was hard for them to distinguish whether or not you did something good.

Your team easily won the first game. The Avengers were now watching your tournament on the flat screen TV like a bunch of teenagers watching a romcom, all giddy and filled with anticipation.

“Look at that, 13-1? She’s insane." Bruce shook his head. A team needed to win at least 13 rounds to win, if it's neck and neck, 14, or they may choose to go into overtime.

“I’ve never seen Y/N play with that kind of aggression before; they don’t stand a chance.” Wanda pointed out. She liked to spectate from the side whenever you played at the compound, whenever she could.

Natasha’s lips turned upright when they replayed your team’s best moments. One included your one versus three clutch, in which you threw a taunting, questioning look at the opposing roster across the stage after you effortlessly took out three enemies on your own. It was like their heads weren’t in the game at all.

The team laughed when they showed the exact clip of your face camera mocking the other team across the room. Natasha liked that about you; sure you were reserved and shy in general, but she loved it when all your confidence just comes out while you’re out there.

Another clip was when you had a problem with communication, so you weren’t aware that there were enemies around. Your character didn’t stop running because of that and you were exposed to two enemies. You reacted fast and jumped, pulled out your vandal to shoot both of them in the face.

Tony clapped his hands together at that moment. “Let’s go. Let’s fucking go, Y/N/N.”

Natasha, not all that phased on your brilliant play, could still not contain the smile on her face as she plopped back down on the couch.

“What? Wait, hold on, how did she even-” Sam looked back at everyone while they reacted to the highlight. He didn’t exactly process what happened because you moved too fast.

“God reflexes,” Yelena shrugs, not looking away from the screen. Wanda laughs in agreement.

After a bit of commentary and commercials, it was on to the next match on a new map.

Now, Natasha did not know the difference between the multiple maps at all, but she did remember you mentioning that your weakest one had to do with ice.

The next match was on a map called Icebox.

So, she watched intently as your team took a little while during the agent selection. But in the end, you decided to go for Killjoy again. Natasha could only guess what you had in mind to pull off another win.

“This is highly unusual for [Team Name] Y/N, isn’t it? Right now she’s watching the flanks when we usually expect her to be out there with a duelist to try and take picks!” The caster exclaimed, looking at their partner caster. “She’s one of the strong sentinels who you would trust to be by your side - and look at that, she takes out two already, they did not expect anyone to be holding the flank!”

“But she's using Killjoy again - couldn't she have gone for Cypher or Sage? Then again, they already have Skye on their team.”

Even though you were trying to play smart in this map, you still hated it, it was your weakest one. Still good, but not all that great. The opposing team seemed to know the typical Killjoy strategy on the Icebox map. You got sniped every round and your setups were way too predictable to the opposing team.

Soon, the score was 4-10. It was definitely not good to be on the end of only winning four rounds. Your team had to win the remaining rounds or hope for the best and go to overtime, or you lose this game and go onto the third one which would be way nerve racking and increase the odds of losing.

“Intense match so far we've got here. With [Team Name] Y/N at the bottom of the leaderboard this just has to be a miracle for [Team Name] to get a second win and move on to the next round.”

“There's also a bit of a setback with her shots in the last few rounds. I guess this is when we get to see if she's learned a thing or two from her girlfriend, right?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “They honestly did not have to bring that up.”

The other commentator expressed confusion at their partner's comment.

“The Black Widow! [Team Name] Y/N's been dating her for the last couple years. Honestly, where have you been?”

Everyone groaned as they started bringing your dating life to the conversation when they should be sticking to the game. Tony chose to laugh it off to and ignore the annoyance, whereas Yelena mumbled, “Did they just turn into a morning show now?”

After everyone in your team died, you all decided to ask for a timeout to talk things out. While that was going on, the Avengers had their own timeout and were trying to talk about the game, or at least what they thought was happening.

“Okay, assuming we've all seen how this Killjoy character works, her character would make most sense if her utility was in Site A." Bruce said, in thought.

Vision, one of the smartest of the bunch, had not grasped the game mechanics that well over the hour and half of the tournament. "But why is that, Dr. Banner?"

“Site A is pretty cramped, while site B has a lot of space. Of course the opposing team would always go to B since Y/N’s character's utility can't place utilities in both sites, they only have limited range," Peter points to the map as soon as it's shown up close, the casters having their own separate conversation about it.

Bucky turned to a confused Steve and Sam, “I have no idea what they're talking about.”

“Where else would she put her chicken gun on site B, then?” Tony joined the conversation, talking about your character's utility placement.

“It’s,” Natasha sighed. “It’s not a chicken gun...”

“Well, that chicken gun slows down enemies, right? It would make sense if Y/N places those bomb thingies to instantly kill them.” Yelena said.

“Lena, I think Y/N is fairly capable of playing the game right,” Wanda chuckled.

“Then she should be winning.” Yelena said jokingly, chugging on her drink.

It was astonishing how a group of heroes are knowledgeable about a video game, just so they could follow what you enjoy doing. That's how much they adored you.

Clint entered the room and looked at the source of ruckus, absolutely sick of the discourse. He was aware of your tournament and has been probably spectating on different means. “They still get another match if they lose this one. It’s the best out of three.”

“I’m starting to think someone’s cheating, has anyone noticed that some of the opponent team instantly kill them with only one bullet?” Steve squinted.

Tony scoffed. “That’s ridiculous, it’s a tournament.”

“It’s because they hit them precisely on the head, Steve. Who wouldn’t die if they got shot in the head?” Sam crossed his arms.

“Me,” that came from Vision.

“You don’t count.”

They all turned back to the screen once the timeout timer ran out. Natasha could sense the tension in your team, just from the way you glanced across the stage… she could tell you were gonna have a different way of playing the remaining rounds. The screen turned to you stretching your neck from both sides, seriousness evident in your face as you clutched your mouse, ready for the game to resume.

“And we're back, and it seems that [Team Name] had enough time to come up with a different game plan. We've got one duelist camping B, one on mid, and look at [Team Name] Y/N's utility. She's got her alarm bot and nano-swarms over on A, but her turret is on B as she's over by tunnel to keep it active.”

“Again, I have no idea what he's talking about.” Bucky shrugged, crossed his arms and kept his eyes on the screen.

After fixing your team's strategy, all that was left was to deliver with accurate shots and stay alive as much as possible. By the end of a few rounds, with your team’s communication and teamwork flawless than ever, the score was 12-11. Your team only had to win one more time to officially win.

At this point, Yelena and Wanda were loudly reacting to the gameplay, Sam and Tony were howling, rooting for you. Clint ended up setting himself on one of the sofa's arms, invested in the match.

Natasha was on the edge of her seat, clutching the couch cushions. She couldn’t help but chuckle when they showed your reaction momentarily, clearly breathless and eyes wide, fist bumping your teammates seated beside you.

“Oh, what a comeback! The most intense so far, am I right?” The caster exclaimed.

“[Team Name] only has to win one more round before moving on to the next part of this tournament!”

The last round wasn’t exactly in your team’s favor in the half. Three of your team got killed already, only two of you remaining and the five of the enemy team. The rival team obviously did not want to hand over the win that easily.

After the call of another successful kill by the opposing team, you were the last one standing against a full set of players. You would either have to clutch up the round or go into overtime.

Clint perked up, pulling out his wallet. “Alright, who wants to get the bets started?” He asked, placing down a crisp fifty dollar bill on the coffee table. “Y/N wins the game.”

They all stopped to look at him as if he was a madman.

“C’mon, Barton, it’s one versus five.” Sam pointed out.

“So what? Am I the only one who believes in Y/N here? Oh, Nat, you better start placing fifties.”

Natasha merely rolled her eyes, not once wanting to bet on or against her girl. Her eyes glued to the screen in which your character is cautiously checking if the area is clear to plant the bomb.

But Tony pulled out the same type of bill from his wallet, placing it on top of the archer's money.

“Mr. Stark, you do realize you're betting against-” Peter started.

“Hush, spiderling. Watch the game.” Tony brushed him off and watched the screen intently.

Tony was proud of you, truly. But it would also be funny to tease you lovingly when you go home as a loser.

You set up your utility, kind of surprised the whole enemy team went to the other site in which they thought you were heading. They did not leave anyone behind to make sure, as per your cautious scan of the area before settling. After checking all angles again, with thirty seconds to spare, you planted the spike.

“This is a dangerous game to play. She has to hold a lot of angles by herself, they could come in from anywhere.”

The spike continued to beep, which added a lot more tension among the Avengers. Natasha alternated from looking at the actual game to your face camera, of which was the only one left colored. You kept pacing at one of the hiding places, waiting for the slightest noise or actions from the other team.

You decided to peek at one of the entrances to the site once, the Jett with an operator narrowly missed your head so you took the opportunity to blast her head off. Afterwards, your alarm bot from the other side of your hiding place went off, so you went and peeked quickly, managing to pick off another player from the opposite team. Two down, three to go.

The Avengers erupted in noise. Sam and Peter were losing their minds, Bucky and Steve had amazed grins on their faces, and Natasha was clinging on to Yelena and Fanny like a fangirl trying to contain herself.

“What was that?!”

“She's a god!”

“My god, this is way too intense for me.”

Both commentators erupted in surprised glee as well. “A double kill from [Team Name] Y/N! The others are slowly making their way into the site, what will she do?!”

A Sova fired a dart to hopefully reveal your location on the map, but you were too quick to shoot it down to cancel it. But, the Sova spotted you anyway, and was able to shoot you until you were at only 50 HP.

You hid again and recalled your turret, placing it on top of the wall in front of you before sneaking your way to the opposite side. It could watch your back while you attempt to peek on the other side to surprise your enemies.

That move managed to catch one of the other players trying to sneak in as well, and you killed them off with ease. Three down, two to go.

“Down goes [Player Name]! Sova and Yoru are still on the lookout, it's like an intense version of hide & seek up in here!”

Barely anyone was talking now, all eyes on the enormous screen.

“Y/N has her ult!” Peter pointed out.

That you did, as your third kill managed to unlock enough points for it. Aware of its availability, you hurried off to the perfect spot to plant it to cover almost the entire site, still hidden from your enemies. Killjoy's voice rang through the game, saying 'Initiated!', when you planted her ultimate.

“What's that? What's happening?” Steve asked.

“Well, it's called 'lockdown', so I'm assuming it's locking off the area within its perimeter... trapping everyone inside...” Bruce said, lost in thought because of the game.

The Yoru activated their ultimate in time with yours, and you were now twice as cautious, looking around for blue swirls of the duelist to avoid getting sniped easily. He tried to blind you, but you were quick to move your view away from the flash to avoid it. Stupidly, the Yoru's ultimate ran out while trying to destroy your lockdown, so you killed them without hesitation. Four down, one to go.

Clint cackled at the turn of events while the others continued to freak out, teasing Tony, a billionaire, on losing a fifty-dollar bet. “What did I tell you, Stark?! What did I tell you?!”

The spike's beeps started getting faster and you could finally see the finish line. But, you were still cautious as they still had more than enough time to defuse if they managed to kill you.

“You know, [Team Name] Y/N could just leave the site at this point. It's game over for [Rival Team Name].”

“Ah, don't speak too soon there! [Team Name] Y/N's now inspecting the outer corners of the site, unaware of [Rival Team Name] [Player]'s sneaky entrance - and she's placed a smoke down, ready to defuse!”

Of course you were unaware of the opponent's whereabouts. But, you did hear the defuse sound go off for a second. With that, you head back, holding a grenade to throw near the area of the spike.

“She's got this in the bag.” Sam said in content.

After a few seconds, the defusing sound started up again, but you were certain that the grenade you set off did some damage to your opponent on top of the information you got from your teammates before they died.

You started to jiggle-peek from your spot, clearly visible from your opponent's perspective, so they had no choice but to stop defusing the spike to try and shoot you.

Unfortunately, they did a number on you, so you decided to go around. Once the cooldown reset on your turret, you placed it down on one side for intel. With only 20 HP left, you snuck up to the other side of the obstacle to hopefully pull off a knife kill for the finale.

“This game is way more intense than I thought.” Bucky spoke thoughtfully amidst the suspense-filled silence.

“Shhhh!”

“Oh my god, she's got her knife out.” Natasha said in disbelief, watching your character sneak up behind your opponent whose back is facing you.

“So?”

“Just wait for it.” Natasha bit her lip, knowing fully well how you always prefer a devastating way to end a match.

The commentators were freaking out, a combination of “no's”, “don't do this”, and “not like this” rang through the Avengers' speakers. It was considered devastating in the VALORANT community to be killed in game with a knife instead of a gun or anything else. The opponent is oblivious, having already defused half of the spike, but they didn't know what would soon come.

You strike your knife at their head, killing them instantly, the spike left undefused. The game graphics became slow motion while the screen flashed green with 'VICTORY' in the middle of it all. You stood up almost immediately, proud of your savage last kill, fist-bumping all your teammates.

“AN ACE FROM [Team Name] Y/N! [Team Name] IS GOING TO THE MASTERS!”

You hugged your team as well before turning to the camera nearest to you, blowing hot air onto the lens, and tracing a heart followed by a cheeky grin and a wink.

“Yup, she's a Stark alright!”

Roars and cheers emitted from the commentators, the present audience, and the Avengers. Sam yelled and everyone followed, but the loudest one was Clint, who then swooped down to collect his cash prize for winning the bet. Tony didn't care at all, laughing along with the others; he had something new to brag about his kid. Natasha's cheeks flushed, as they always did when it came to you.

“SHE WON!”

“I'll get the booze!”

“In your face, Stark!”

“Cap, you stepped on my foot!”

Natasha unlocked her phone to take a quick picture of the livestream of the heart you drew on the camera, as well as of the stage displaying all of your team's headshots with an abundance of confetti almost covering it. All she wanted now was to call you, but she knew you probably had interviews and post-game rituals with your team, and she had champagne to drink with her own team in celebration of you.

The next morning, on a quick flight back home, the first thing that caught your attention was Natasha's Instagram story of the tournament. Your family supported and watched the tourney for you, as the following slides of her story consisted of the team chugging on champagne, Clint showing off an apparent bet that he won, and Peter and Sam posing in front of the TV when your face camera was shown up close.

Smiling, you liked her stories and replied with 'Thank you for supporting me, my love. I'll see you all soon'.

[eternlmoonshine]

The reader is part of the BAU team and gets caught alone during a tense case involving a stalker/abductor unsub. Though the reader is mostly unharmed, Luke arrives moments after the incident and is visibly shaken, struggling to keep his emotions in check. He’s angry—not at the reader, but at himself for not being there sooner. Protective Luke

the second before ⊹ luke alvez

summary: a quiet lead. a cabin in the woods. you told yourself it would be ten minutes, tops. but when silence stretches too long and luke arrives seconds too late, the only thing louder than the forest is the fear of almost losing you. pairing: luke alvez x reader warnings: hurt/comfort, reader in peril, stalking & abduction themes, protective!luke alvez, mutual pining realized via mortal danger wc: 1.6k a/n: i am SO sorry it took me so long to answer this ask but hey here it is <3 masterlist.

The forest was a mouth. Open, gaping, waiting.

The trees curved like crooked teeth against the night sky, their bare branches twitching in the wind, rustling like whispers too soft to catch. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called once—brief, hollow, alone. The clouds hung low, gravid with rain, and the air held that electric stillness that comes before something breaks.

It was a foolish thing to do—going in alone. You knew that.

You’d told yourself it would be a sweep. Quick. Clean. Just a check on a report that hadn’t even been flagged as urgent. A cabin in the woods, a disgruntled neighbor, a history of noise complaints, and a thin thread that might connect it to a string of missing women. Thin enough to ignore. Thin enough to file. But something about the report itched. You’d followed that itch.

Maybe that was your mistake. Maybe that was your curse.

You’d learned early in this job—and in life—that the quietest things were often the deadliest. The moments you second-guessed yourself. The doors you opened too fast. The questions you didn’t ask in time.

The cabin was crouched like a wounded animal at the edge of the treeline—half-swallowed by moss and shadow, windowpanes like dead eyes staring out at nothing. There were no lights. No obvious movement. But the hairs on your neck stood up the moment you stepped out of the SUV.

You’d told the team you were taking a detour. You’d promised you’d be ten minutes, tops. But the silence here felt… intentional.

Inside, it was worse.

The house breathed. Not literally, but the boards underfoot shifted and groaned, the wind slithered under cracks, and the air was dense, thick with the scent of mildew and rot. You stepped cautiously across the floorboards, one hand on your holster, the other brushing the earpiece in your ear. Static. Odd.

You checked the signal. Still green. Still strong. But when you whispered Luke’s name into the comm, the only reply was silence.

A pulse throbbed behind your ribs—deep, ancient, lizard-brain panic.

You moved slower, room by room. Shadows carving strange shapes in the walls. A mug half-full of something congealed on the counter. A newspaper from last week splayed open on the floor like a corpse. You noted the strange juxtaposition—normality and horror touching fingers. The signs of life too recent. Too staged.

You found the basement door open. That was your first real sign.

That yawning blackness. A pit.

You knew better than to go down. You did. Years of training. FBI protocol. Muscle memory. But your feet moved anyway.

The descent was slow. Each creak of wood beneath your boots echoed like gunfire. You flicked your flashlight on. The beam caught on dust motes. Concrete. An old mattress in the corner. Chains. Something metallic. Something dark.

And then—he stepped out of the shadows.

He wasn’t tall. Not imposing, physically. But his stillness was what did it. That unnatural calm. That predator’s patience. He stood like a man who waited. Like he knew you would come. Like he had rehearsed this moment.

You drew your weapon instantly. "FBI. Hands where I can see them."

He smiled. Not a grin. Not even a smirk. Just that slow, thin-lipped twitch that made your skin crawl. A knowing smile.

"You're early," he said. The sound of his voice was worse than silence.

You tried to step back. Called in—"Alvez, I’ve got something here, I need backup now"—but the words fizzled in your ear. The comm still showed green. But nothing came through.

And that’s when he lunged.

You moved, instinct firing like lightning. You dodged the knife, deflected the weight of his charge, struck back. A blur of limbs and breath and panic. You could feel the hate in his hands. Not rage. Not frenzy. But calculation. Like he knew exactly how much damage he wanted to do and where to place it.

The knife slashed across your cheek. Shallow, but bloody. Meant to rattle you. To disorient.

You fought harder. Concrete scraped your palms. Your shoulder smashed into a pipe. You wrestled control of your weapon, lost it, regained it, lost it again. Every second felt stolen. Every move pulled from some hidden reserve of training and desperation.

He had you by the throat when the door crashed open above.

Luke.

His name didn’t come from your mouth. It ripped from your chest.

The thunder of boots on stairs. A blur of tactical black. And then—he was there.

Luke’s voice was a gunshot. Sharp, commanding. "FBI! Get your hands off her!"

The unsub turned, blade raised.

Luke fired. Not to kill. To disarm.

The blade spun out of the man’s hand with a metallic clang, and in seconds Luke was on him, bringing him down with force that rattled the basement. Fists collided. Cuffs snapped shut.

You slumped against the wall, pulse screaming in your ears.

You didn’t realize your hands were shaking until Luke dropped to his knees in front of you and said your name—broken, soft, like it cost him something to speak it aloud.

"I'm okay," you whispered. A lie. A shield.

His hands hovered. Then landed—gently, reverently—on your arms, your face.

"You're bleeding," he said, as if saying it made it less unbearable.

"It’s not bad." He didn't reply. Just looked at you.

And in that look—God. You saw everything.

All the seconds he thought he was too late. All the horrors that played behind his eyes as he drove here. All the versions of this moment where he found you broken. Dead. Gone.

"I should’ve been here," he rasped. "You should’ve waited for me."

“I thought I had time.”

His hands were trembling. Just barely. But you noticed.

“I didn’t want to risk someone else walking into a trap,” you continued. “I was trying to—”

"Don’t," he cut in sharply. “Don’t you dare justify it.”

Silence. Then he looked away. One hand clenched into a fist against the floor.

“I walked in and saw you on the ground. Do you have any idea—” His voice cracked.

You touched his forearm. Slowly. Carefully. His eyes flicked back to yours.

"I'm here," you said.

But he shook his head. “You almost weren’t.”

And there it was. The real wound.

Luke Alvez wasn’t scared of much. But he was terrified of loss. Not abstract loss—you. The person whose laugh he memorized. Whose coffee order he knew by heart. Whose presence was quiet gravity in his life.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t break. But you saw the grief anyway—hovering behind his eyes like smoke from a fire still burning.

He reached up and brushed blood from your cheek. His thumb lingered.

“This job doesn’t work,” he said finally, “if I have to keep wondering if I’m going to lose you every time we split up.”

���I know.”

“You don’t act like you do.”

You winced. Not from the wound. From the truth.

Luke exhaled, steadying himself. Then, voice low: “I can’t protect you from everything. I know that. But you can’t keep acting like you don’t matter.”

“I don’t—”

“You do.”

The silence thickened.

“I don’t know how to be someone people worry about,” you confessed.

“I do,” he said, without hesitation. “Because I worry about you all the damn time.”

You looked away. Swallowed hard. Luke shifted closer, his hand on your knee now. Warm. Grounding.

“I care about you,” he said. Quiet, plain, and no pretense, making your breath catch.

“I care so much it scares me,” he added. “I didn’t even know it could feel like that—until the second before I saw you.”

You turned back to him. “What do you mean?”

“The second before I saw you alive… I thought you were gone.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

And then he wrapped his arms around you—slow, tentative, like he didn’t want to break what was left. You sank into him, finally letting your body collapse into the safety of his warmth, his strength, his heartbeat pulsing steady against your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured into his chest. He just held you tighter.

“I don’t need you to apologize,” he said. “I need you safe.”

And so you sat there—two people breathing through the aftermath. One who almost lost, and one who almost disappeared. And somewhere far above, the rain began to fall.

Later, in the quiet of his SUV, wrapped in a blanket, patched up and exhausted, you sat beside him with your legs drawn up on the seat. He hadn’t let go of your hand since the medics cleared you.

“You didn’t have to ride back with me,” you said softly.

“I did.”

You glanced at him. He was watching the road, but his knuckles were pale from the grip on the steering wheel. His jaw was tight.

“You okay?” you asked.

He gave a half-laugh. “You ask me that?”

“I mean it.”

He was silent for a long time. Then, “No.”

You nodded. "Me neither."

“I think I need to tell you something,” he said, voice lower now. “And I’m not saying it because of what happened. I’m saying it because it was almost too late.”

You looked at him.

“I love you.”

The words didn’t crash. They landed. Soft, inevitable, final. You felt them settle inside you like the first deep breath after being underwater.

“I think I’ve loved you since that first case,” he continued, still watching the road, “but I didn’t let myself know it until today.”

You reached for his hand again. And held on. Hard.

“I’m not used to being loved,” you whispered.

“I’ll teach you.”

And for the first time in hours, you smiled.

[rhys-writes-some-shit]

Prompt: "Any time away from you is far too long."

Alastor x Reader (Queer-Platonic)

No matter how much Alastor tried to persuade you, you refused to quit your job to take up a position at the hotel. Under the terms of your contract, you knew he had the power to force you to do as he asked, but he had yet to. You weren't sure if it was because he was biding his time or if he simply didn't want to, but you weren't going to ask.

You worked as a secretary for a small-time porn studio, your work mostly consisting of doing paperwork and writing spreadsheets. It wasn't much different than what you did when you were alive, which was why you stuck with the position for so long. Plus, it was a lot better than other jobs in Pride, if you excluded the fact that Valentino was always trying to take the studio over.

Very rarely did the studio ever ask you to do anything more than your job description. However, there was one time you were asked to make a trip outside of Pentagram City to pick up a lost package. No one else was available, and you'd had some free time on your hands. Without much argument, you agreed to get the package. That was the easy part. The hard part was getting Alastor to let you leave Pentagram City.

"Seriously, Al, I'll be fine," you insisted, pulling on a jacket. "It's just a quick drive over to Imp City, it's not that far."

Alastor's smile was becoming forced. "They can get someone else to do it. You don't have to leave."

"I already agreed to it." You buttoned up your jacket and brushed it off. "I promise, you won't even notice I'm missing."

There was a tense silence for a full minute before finally, eyes narrowed, Alastor stiffly conceded. "I'll hold you to that." He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Be safe, darling."

If it had been any other context, Alastor telling you to be safe would've been sweet, but you could tell from his tone and the way he was gritting his teeth that it was a threat. To both you and anyone who tried to hurt you. If you didn't come back safe, he'd never let you leave the city without him again. And if someone hurt you... they would never be seen again.

Fortunately, the package pickup was quick and simple. The only eventful thing that happened was you having to take a small detour to avoid a shootout. The imps who'd held the package were nice, and your boss had stayed late to make sure you and the package were safely returned.

"Just a heads up, I don't know if my partner will ever let me do anything like that again," you warned your boss lightheartedly, chuckling a little. You never told them who exactly your partner was, but it was known throughout the studio that they were possessive and dangerous.

"Well, hopefully you won't have to," your boss remarked, obviously annoyed at the situation. "Thank you again, though. Let me know how much gas was so I can add it to your paycheck."

"Of course." After saying a quick goodbye, you ducked out the door to return to the hotel.

Alastor was waiting for you in the lobby. As soon as you walked in, he was at your side, taking your jacket off for you.

"I noticed," his voice was tense. He walked alongside you as you traveled up to your room.

"Figured you would," you shrugged, unsurprised, but grinning lightly anyway. "How long was I out of the city?"

"24 minutes and 17 seconds." Alastor's shadow quickly dashed ahead, opening and holding the door to your room open. You stopped right outside of it, looking up at Al's bright eyes.

"Not too long. Could've been longer." Taking your jacket back, you already started thinking of how nice it'll be to change out of your clothes. You'd put on something different for dinner, but after that, it was t-shirts and sweatpants, no matter what Alastor said.

A hand ran down your back, pulling you into his chest. He inhaled deeply, resting his cheek on the top of your head. "Any time away from you is far too long."

Your smile became soft and content, as you leaned deeper into Alastor's hug. He didn't usually hug you, so you were going to savor it. If he ended up hugging you every time you left the city, you might end up leaving more often...

[srslyblvck]

── the stars above,, james potter [requested]

pairing: james potter x gn!reader

synopsis: You’ve been stressing yourself over work—lucky for you, james knows just how to make you unwind.

genre: fluff

warnings: none

word count: 1.2k

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ THE LIBRARY WAS QUIET except for the faint scratch of your quill against parchment. Books were piled high around you, their spines forming an uneven barricade as you hunched over your work. Your notes sprawled across the table like a web of chaos—half-erased essays, cramped handwriting, and a to-do list that seemed to stretch on forever. Sleep was a distant memory, the ache behind your eyes a dull reminder of the hours you’d spent chasing perfection.

You barely noticed the faint creak of footsteps until a voice broke the silence.

“Y/N, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re auditioning to become a ghost of the library.”

You glanced up to see James Potter standing there, his arms crossed and an amused smirk playing on his lips. His hazel eyes sparkled with a mischievous light, and his untidy hair looked like he’d just come from flying practice—or perhaps from some other equally reckless venture.

“Not now, James,” you muttered, your quill never stopping. “I’m busy.”

“That much is obvious.” He stepped closer, scanning the chaos of your desk. “But let me guess—you’ve been at this since… dinner? Or longer?”

“Longer,” you admitted without looking up.

James sighed, shaking his head. “Y/N, you’re brilliant. You know that, right? But you’re also human. You need a break before you turn into one of these books.”

“I’ll take a break when I’m done.”

“Nope.” He leaned down and, with an audacious grin, plucked your quill from your hand.

“James!” you exclaimed, glaring at him.

“Y/N!” he mimicked, holding the quill just out of your reach. “I’m staging an intervention. As of right now, you’re coming with me.”

“I don’t have time for your antics,” you shot back, trying to snatch the quill.

“Trust me,” he said, his voice softening. “You need this. Let me steal you away, just for a little while. I promise you’ll feel better.”

You hesitated, his words striking something deep within you. The concern in his voice was real, and for all his teasing, James Potter had a way of making you feel seen—even when you didn’t want to be.

“Fine,” you muttered, standing reluctantly. “But this better be worth it.”

He grinned, tucking the quill into his pocket like it was some sort of prize. “Oh, it will be. Just you wait.”

The night air was crisp as you followed James out of the castle and toward Hogsmeade. The quiet streets were lit by soft, flickering lanterns, and the two of you found yourselves wandering to Honeydukes, where James managed to sweet-talk a clerk into giving you both some leftover pastries.

You sat together on a bench outside, nibbling on sugary treats as James launched into one of his signature tales.

“...and Sirius had the nerve to say I was the one who overdid it,” James said, shaking his head in mock outrage. “This coming from the bloke who enchanted Snape’s chair to scream every time he sat down. Took Minnie three hours to reverse it.”

You laughed, and the sound seemed to surprise both of you. It wasn’t the polite, stifled laugh you usually gave when you were too tired to mean it—it was a genuine laugh, warm and easy, and it caught James so off guard that he stopped mid-story, grinning at you.

As you walked back towards the castle, the night stretched comfortably between you, James filling it with tales of his latest escapades. He seemed to have an endless supply of energy, gesturing animatedly as he described Sirius’s reaction to one of Remus’s rare jokes.

“...and then Wormtail tried to—” James stopped mid-sentence, his gaze darting toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest. “Fancy a little detour?”

“What?”

“Come on. It’s not like we’re going deep into the forest. Just a quick stop.”

He didn’t wait for your response, tugging you by the hand toward a cluster of trees not far from the castle. Despite your initial protests, you found yourself smiling as the two of you settled under a particularly large oak tree.

James dropped down beside you, his back resting against the trunk as he stretched his legs out. “See? Much better than a stuffy library, isn’t it?”

You leaned back as well, the cool bark pressing against your spine. “I guess this is alright,” you admitted, though the tranquillity of the moment had already started to seep into your bones.

For a while, the two of you sit in a comfortable silence. The stars above seem impossibly bright, scattered across the velvet black sky like tiny pinpricks of light. Your gaze drifts upward, and without thinking, you start pointing out constellations.

“Do you know much about constellations?” you ask, your voice soft in the quiet.

“Not much,” James admits. “But I know you do.”

That’s all the encouragement you need. You point out Orion, Cassiopeia, and the bright star of Sirius, your voice filling with quiet enthusiasm. As you speak, James doesn’t look at the sky—he looks at you. The way your eyes light up, the way your lips curve into a soft smile as you talk about something you love. He doesn’t even realize he’s staring until you catch him.

“What?” you ask, turning to meet his gaze.

He shakes his head quickly, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. “Nothing,” he says, looking away. “Just—your nerdiness is showing.”

You elbow him, but your laugh is light, and the tension you’d carried with you all day feels like it’s slipping away.

James launches into a story about the latest prank he, Sirius, and the others had pulled on Filch—a ridiculous tale involving enchanted dungbombs and a truly unfortunate cat. His animated retelling is punctuated by laughter, his hands gesturing wildly as he recreates Sirius’s triumphant bow and Peter’s panicked squeaks.

But somewhere along the way, his voice trails off. He glances down to find your head resting against his shoulder, your breathing slow and even. You’ve fallen asleep.

For a moment, James doesn’t move. He’s afraid to even breathe too loudly, worried he’ll disturb you. Then, slowly, he shifts to look at you properly. The moonlight filters through the trees, casting a soft glow over your face. Your features, so often drawn tight with focus and determination, are peaceful now. Your lashes rest against your cheeks, and your lips are parted ever so slightly, a gentle puff of air escaping with each exhale.

James feels his heart stutter, a warmth blooming in his chest that he doesn’t quite know how to name. He leans back against the tree, letting his shoulder support your head.

The world feels quieter now, the forest alive with the gentle hum of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves. For once, James doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence. He sits there, holding onto the moment like it’s something fragile and precious. And it is.

After a while, he shifts slightly, careful not to wake you, and wraps an arm around your shoulders. The warmth of you against him makes him feel steady and grounded. He tilts his head to rest against yours, his thumb brushing absentmindedly along the sleeve of your robe. He swears he can feel his heart beating louder than it should.

As the minutes pass, James’s own eyes grow heavier, but he doesn’t let sleep claim him just yet. He wants to remember this—every detail of the moment, every feeling etched into his chest. The stars might shine above, but tonight, the only light James cares about is the one you bring to his life.

And as he sits there, holding you close under the vast expanse of sky, James knows one thing for certain: he’s completely, hopelessly, and utterly smitten.

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: cussing, threats, canonical racism (for story purposes only, author does not condone racism), firearms, white supremacists.

Part 27

A Charming Detour - Part 28

Juice woke up with a weight in his chest.

It wasn’t new.

That pressure, that tightness—he’d been carrying it since the clubhouse meeting, since Zobelle’s men started slithering around Charming like they owned the place. Since they looked at you at the garage the other day.

But he saw it.

The way they watched you.

And fuck, it made him sick.

He had to do something.

Which was why, barely awake, half dressed, and still sitting up in bed, Juice was already running a hand through his fauxhawk, shifting restlessly as he rambled.

"So, uh—babe—" He cleared his throat, glancing at you as you blinked sleepily at him. "You, uh—you ever shoot a gun before?"

You frowned, still groggy. "What?"

"A gun," Juice repeated quickly. "You ever, like—y’know, hold one? Point it? Aim? Squeeze the trigger?"

You blinked at him. "... do I look like I've shot guns ?."

Juice winced.

"Right. Okay. Cool, cool—uh, no big deal, obviously, just—y’know—" His fingers drummed frantically against his knee. "Probably a good idea for you to, uh—just in case. Not that you need to, but—"

You sat up slowly, tilting your head. "Juice."

"It’s nothing, babe, I swear—"

"Why are you freaking out?"

Juice froze.

"I’m not freaking out," he lied instantly, forcing a laugh that was about as convincing as a paper-thin alibi. "I just—uh. Thought it’d be fun? Like a date? A—uh—gun date?"

You gave him a look.

Juice swallowed.

"Baby," you murmured, touching his arm gently. "What’s wrong?"

Juice melted—just a little.

Because your voice was soft. Worrying about him, even when you were the one at risk.

"Nothing’s wrong," he said again, but this time softer. His hand slid over yours, squeezing lightly. "I just—wanna make sure you’re safe, okay? Humor me?"

You hesitated, but then nodded. "Yea, Okay."

And just like that, Juice breathed.

A little easier.

But not much.

"Alright, baby, this is your piece."

Juice set the pistol down in your hands, watching carefully as your fingers curled around it.

"Okay," he murmured. "First thing—keep your finger off the trigger till you’re ready to shoot, alright?"

You nodded quickly, brows furrowing as you focused.

Juice bit his lip.

Because—fuck, he hated this.

Hated how wrong it looked, seeing you holding a gun. You weren’t built for this—you were kind, you'd only ever been gentle you where too good for this kind of shit.

But those bastards—Zobelle’s men? They didn’t care.

And if it ever came down to it, Juice would rather have you ready.

He had an obligation to protect you.

Even if it meant teaching you something he never wanted you to have to use.

"Okay, babe, legs apart—"

You did as he said.

Juice smirked, nudging your foot with his boot. "A little wider—yeah, that’s good. Look at you go, babe."

You snorted, shaking your head. "Shut up."

"What? It’s true!" Juice grinned, trying to keep things light, fun. "Just sayin’—you look hot with a gun, babe. Like, real badass. Bonnie n’ Clyde type shit."

You laughed, but Juice caught the way your hands trembled slightly as you adjusted your grip.

His stomach tightened.

"Hey—" He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "You got this. I promise. Just listen to me, okay?"

You nodded, exhaling slowly, shifting your feet slightly in the dirt.

Juice fought the urge to pull you into his chest and tell you none of this was necessary.

That he’d protect you.

That he’d never let those bastards get close enough for you to need this skill.

But he didn’t say any of that.

Because he couldn’t promise it.

"Okay, baby—breathe in…"

You inhaled, steadying yourself.

"Exhale…"

Your breath left you in a slow, controlled release.

Juice nodded. "Now—squeeze, don’t pull."

The shot cracked through the air.

Juice’s heart slammed against his ribs.

"Babe!" Juice grinned, grabbing your wrist as he pointed. "Holy shit, you hit it!"

"Well would you look at that" you grinned, proud of yourself.

"Yeah! Baby, that was awesome—" He wrapped his arms around you instantly, laughing as he spun you slightly. "Told you you could do it!"

You laughed breathlessly. "That was so loud!"

"Right?!" Juice grinned, pressing his forehead against yours. "But you did it, babe. I’m so fucking proud of you right now."

The late morning air was crisp, laced with the scent of fresh coffee and asphalt warming under the California sun. You had only stepped out to run a few errands—nothing unusual.

A quick stop at the corner store for some basics, then maybe a detour to grab Juice his favorite snacks.

Simple.

Easy.

Until it wasn’t.

You noticed them as soon as you stepped out of the store.

Three men, lingering near the curb, leaning against a sleek black sedan. They looked out of place—buttoned-up shirts, neatly pressed jeans, the kind of clean-cut appearance that would’ve seemed harmless if not for the way they watched you.

Their eyes tracked you as you adjusted the bag in your arms, and a cold shiver ran down your spine before you even fully understood why.

Then one of them—tall, blonde, his smirk sharp as a knife—pushed off the car.

"Well, look what we got here," he drawled. "Mrs Ortiz."

Your stomach dropped.

You didn’t know much about the club’s dealings, but you knew hate when you saw it—Zobelle. His people. The ones who had been stirring up trouble for weeks, the ones SAMCRO was already on edge about.

And now, they knew you.

"Didn’t get a good look at ya last time," the blonde continued, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. "But now? Yeah, I see it. What the hell’s a pretty little thing like you doing married to a goddamn spic?"

Your breath hitched.

The other two laughed—low, mean chuckles that made your skin crawl.

"Bet he treats you like shit," one sneered, arms crossed. "I mean, c’mon, sweetheart. You really think guys like that know how to take care of their women?"

Your hands clenched into fists, nails biting into your palms.

"I—" Your voice caught. "You don’t know anything about him."

"Bet your daddy would be real disappointed, wouldn't he?" The third man said, his voice lower than the others. "You mixing with a spic—"

"His name is Juice," you cut in, gripping your shopping bag with white knuckles.

"Oh, we know," the blonde said smoothly, taking another step. "See, sweetheart, this ain’t just some local beef. The League? We got ties. International. Straight to the Aryan Brotherhood ... with similar... concerns about racial purity. Some of them might notice a pretty face ... especially one like yours." He gestured vaguely at all of you. "—You married the wrong side."

Your blood ran cold, but you school your expression, masking the panic rising in your chest.

"What’s he got you doin’, huh? Working double shifts to put food on the table while he’s out playing gangster? You gotta be real stupid to tie yourself to a brown boy like that."

"Wouldn't want anything unfortunate to happen to you or your little wetback. Accidents occur all the time." The second man stepped closer.

"You still got time to fix your mistake. Send that beaner packing back where he belongs before things get... complicated."

"Consider this a friendly warning," the tall one said, no trace of friendliness in his voice.

"From concerned citizens. Who take care of their own—cause right now, you're betraying your kind." The third man tossed something into your bag—a photograph of you and Juice outside a local dinner the one you go to for lunch.

The words "SPIC BANGER" scrawled across it in thick red marker, you blood turned to ice.

The air thickened.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, panic clawing its way up your throat.

You needed to get away.

Now.

One of them must have read it in your face because he reached for you with a smirk twisting in his features.

Before you could think too hard about it—before fear could fully take over—you spat directly into his face.

A sharp, wet splatter landing just below his eye.

The smirk vanished.

His face darkened.

"Fucking—"

You didn’t wait to hear the rest.

Your legs moved, muscles screaming as you bolted— sneakers slamming against the pavement as you tore down the street.

"Bitch!" one of them barked behind you, but you were already gone.

Running.

Heart hammering.

The clubhouse was only a few blocks away.

You just had to make it.

The second the compound came into view, your lungs ached from the effort.

"Open up—Open up" your screamed pounding on the door.

You stumbled inside, legs weak, breath ragged "Hey—hey!" Chibs’ voice cut through the pounding in your ears as he grabbed your shoulders "What happened, lass? You alright?"

Your mouth opened, but the words wouldn’t come.

Because now that you were safe, the full weight of what just happened slammed into you.

Your hands were shaking.

Your entire body was shaking.

And then—

"Baby?"

A new voice.

One you’d know anywhere.

"Juice." You paper then resolve crumbled

The second you where inside the clubhouse, everything stopped.

His heart lurched.

Your breath came in sharp, panicked gasps, your whole frame shaking from adrenaline as you stumbled inside, eyes wide.

"Baby?" Juice shot to you so quick you swore he almost blurred.

Your where trembling. Breath coming in heavy pants, hands shaking.

Juice's hands where already moving before he even registered it, hands catching your arms, his touch light, but urgent. "What happened? Babe, talk to me—"

You just shook your head, your breath too quick, too uneven.

"I— I was— running errands, and—" You sucked in a sharp breath, "Zobelle’s men were there—"

Juice went still.

Your fingers tightened in his kutte, and you swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. "They—"

Juice’s hands brushed up your arms, trying to keep you grounded, but when you looked up at him, eyes glassy with unshed tears, something dark curled inside him.

"They know who I am, Juice," your voice wavered. "They knew I was married to you."

His pulse pounded in his ears.

"What did they say?" His voice was low, almost too calm.

You hesitated, and that was enough to make his blood burn.

"Baby," his hand found your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. "What did they say?"

Your voice cracked. "They called you a—"

You couldn’t even finish it.

Couldn’t say the slur.

Not out loud.

Not here.

Juice felt his entire body tense, his grip on you tightening for just a second before he forced himself to breathe.

"They gave—" You swallowed. "They ..." You pressed the photo into Juice’s hands.

His jaw locked. As the words "SPIC BANGER" in the offending marker taunted him.

You exhaled shakily, your fingers flexing against his shirt. "I spit on one of them, and I ran here. I just— I didn’t know what to—"

Juice’s grip shifted—one hand sliding to cup the back of your head, his other curling around your waist, pulling you into him before you could say another word.

"You did good, baby," he murmured, pressing a hard kiss against your hair. "You fucking ran. That’s— that’s what you do, okay? You just run— Always."

[ragnarockz]

🍀🪙💍🍩🍻

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

So uhhh I think ya'll have been waiting for this one 😉🥺

Work was mostly bearable for three reasons: Agent Vidal was there, it was St. Patrick's Day and the gifting of chocolate donuts with green icing never stopped being delivered to the detective's office.

"The one time my last name comes in handy,"

Agnes grinned as she put all her gifted donuts into a box, almost making twelve.

"You better share those when we get home,"

Vidal mused as she grabbed her and Agnes' coat; the two of them ready to leave for the day.

The box of donuts placed carefully in the backseat, and they were off to Agnes' favorite Irish pub in Eastview. She had made sure to call ahead and ask for a table to be set aside, even though it was their busiest day of the year. They happily complied; knowing that she and Vidal were semi-regulars and always left a great tip.

The pub was always proudly decorated throughout the entire year, but today, it was like all the green, Irish, and St. Patrick's decorations had vomitted out and inside the pub. Not a spot in there wasn't covered in green, orange, or white. Agnes and Vidal smiled as they held hands and headed inside.

They found their reserved table easily enough, the same one they always sat at. They took their seats beside one another, hands still locked as they placed them on top of the table.

"You look really nice in that green..."

Vidal cooed at Agnes as her other hand came up to play with the flannel shirt collar. Agnes smiled, blushing slightly as she nodded her head.

"You look better in green all the time, but thanks..."

Vidal just laughed warmly as she gave the shirt collar a little tug towards her, kissing Agnes on the cheek. She breathed her in for just a second before their waitress came by with the laminated menus.

They barely had to flip through them, getting their usual. Fish and chips for Vidal and corned beef and all the sides for Agnes. Two green beers because why the hell not.

They sat their in comfortable silence for a beat until Vidal's hand found Agnes' again.

They sat that way for a little while longer, enjoying the atmosphere and a cover of Emerald Eyes playing over the speakers. Agnes shifted herself to get a little more comfortable and felt the little box in her left pocket dig into her leg.

"Are we gonna get dessert or?"

"You're already thinking about dessert?"

Vidal playfully rolled her eyes and puffed out her cheeks,

"Maybe I'm jealous your last name was the sole reason that everyone brought you donuts today..."

"Right. And not because I'm the one who's always seen eating them..."

Vidal laughed again, shaking her head. Agnes was an open book, and she rarely ever realized it.

"They were probably for us, but they just handed them to me on my desk, is all...I'll share, I promise..."

"Mmhmm..."

Vidal hummed as their food touched down on their table along with their foamy green beer.

Dinner was always good, as was their second round of green beer. "On the house!" The waitress called as she plopped them down on the table and took away their empties. Vidal just stared at Agnes.

"Maybe I should take your last name or something..."

Agnes remained silent all the way home as Vidal drove; looping by the forest, they always made a point to detour by. It was still chilly in March, and the snow was still melting. The forest wasn't ready just yet for them to walk in.

Vidal parked and got out, as did Agnes with a quick pit stop to open the back door to get her box of donuts. Vidal rolled her eyes as she led them to the front door and let them in. Shoes and coats off, door locked behind them, and Agnes walking by Vidal to place their box on the kitchen counter before making her way back over to Vidal in the front hallway.

"You should leave that nice green shirt on tonight...you look good in it, Baby..."

Vidal's words came out slowly as she eyed Agnes before grabbing her hand a third time to lead her up the stairs and into their room.

Agnes could feel her heart hammering in her chest.

Vidal let go of Agnes' hand as she began to undress, leaving only her matching green set of underwear on. Agnes laughed softly this time in the dark bedroom.

This time her heart squeezed with affection.

Agnes took her time to undress. Carefully taking out the box from her pocket and hoping Vidal hadn't seen it. She put it into one of the pockets of her flannel shirt and dropped it to the floor; completely undressing before she bent over, picked up her shirt and put it back on.

"Looking good, Baby..."

Vidal whispered in the dark as she stared in Agnes' direction before getting herself onto the bed. It was an open, silent invitation. Agnes took it.

Vidal let herself be pinned down by Agnes as their lips found each other's and a series of long and slow kissing commenced. They were being soft, for once, savoring each other and the little movements.

Agnes felt Vidal's leg shift up a little, going in between Agnes' legs. The detective's breath hitched in her throat before she gave Vidal a moan against her mouth, letting her know she had made the right move.

"Let's just be nice and calm tonight, Vidal...just us..."

And Vidal's eyebrows rose in semi-surprise. Agnes? Asking to be calm? It wasn't a bad thing by any means just, an interesting choice to be made.

"Sure, Agnes...whatever you feel like..."

Who was she to defy her? Her partner? Her girlfriend? The love of her life?

More kissing and more soft, gentle rocking onto Vidal's thigh made the two of them blissfully content. It was nice taking things slow, really admiring each other in an intimate moment.

Vidal could feel her leg start to get wet; knowing Agnes was going to get close. Would she ask for more? Want something to help her ride out her arousal? Vidal moved her mouth to Agnes' ear and took the lobe between her teeth,

"Tell me what you want..."

Vidal whispered and was met with Agnes' whisper,

"You."

"That's all, Baby? Just me?"

And Agnes pulled herself up and away to look down at Vidal. Her words pained her a little but also made her feel soft inside. It was true, all she needed was her.

Agnes' hand reached up into the pocket of her flannel shirt and took out the tiny box. She kept it in her palm so Vidal couldn't see it just yet. She watched in the dark as Vidal eyed her suspiciously; wanting to know what was going on with her.

Agnes leaned over as far as she could and extended her free arm to turn the lamp on on the night table. Warm yellow light filled the bedroom and the two of them got a better look at one another.

Vidal with her hair loose and around the pillow; a dark halo around her head. The green lingerie set making her look even more ethereal; the same one that drove Agnes crazy.

Agnes on top with her messy hair and her big flannel shirt. The way it hung onto her like a shield she could never shed; a second skin that made Vidal feel safe whenever she wore it.

"I'm sorry you felt left out today...the donuts, the free beer..."

Ans Vidal laughed that laugh, the warm one, that made Agnes' heart swell.

"That's why you stopped? To apologize to me? Is that why you've been acting so sweet? I'm not jealous...that's silly..."

"No, but..."

And Agnes opened her hand to reveal the tiny black box. She flipped it open with her fingers to reveal the vintage emerald ring. Vidal's eyes went wide as she slowly shook her head like emerging from a dream.

"Rio O'Connor has a nice ring to it, doesn't it, Vidal?"

The softest words Vidal had ever heard spoken from Agnes' lips fell and made her stomach flutter. She was speechless for a few more seconds as her brain tried to catch up.

Her left hand came out, and towards Agnes, ring finger prominent.

Agnes took Vidal's hand in her free one and brought it up to her lips to kiss it before letting go so she could take the ring out of the box. She held it just inches away from Vidal's nail.

"I don't even think I need to say it, but...yes. I do."

[alexandralyman]

Clint x Reader fic

I fell in love with Clint after watching Freaky Tales and wrote this little AU following his canon backstory where Reader is his wife, and giving them a happier ending.

AO3 link

Rated M - there's sex but it's not explicit.

Collateral

You meet Clint for the first time when he shows up late one night to collect the collateral your shithead boyfriend promised to a loan shark after blowing his whole paycheck at the track, again.

Turns out, the collateral was you.

He’s a big man with scars on his face and large hands that he shows off when he showily cracks his knuckles. You should be intimidated by him but you’re too busy hurling insults at your boyfriend’s face like the local kids hurl water balloons at strangers who pass through the neighbourhood before giggling and speeding away on their bikes.

“You son of a bitch!”

“You what, you pawned me like a fucking watch?”

“Thought you could pick a winner? You can’t even pick your fucking dirty socks up off the floor, you lazy bum!”

“Fucking piece of shit!”

Clint just stands there while you yell and scream, not saying a word or moving a muscle until your boyfriend finally tells you to shut up and raises a hand like he’s going to hit you. Then he’s as quick as a snake unfurling to strike, pinning your boyfriend to the wall with one of those large hands around his throat before you can even blink. Your cheek faintly stings with the phantom slap, but it’s nothing compared to what Clint is currently doing to him. His eyes bulge and he claws inefficiently at Clint’s wrist while thick fingers squeeze his windpipe until the only sound he can make is a faint wheeze. Clint studies him silently for a moment before he turns dark eyes to you.

“That bike parked out front, is it his?”

His voice is surprisingly soft for someone in his line of work.

“Yeah,” you say, your arms wrapped protectively around your middle. The motorcycle is his pride and joy, his baby.

Your boyfriend’s face is a purple as grape Hubba-Bubba when Clint turns his attention back to him.

“Change of plans, I’m taking the bike instead. Keys?”

“He keeps them in his leather jacket,” you tell him, grabbing your purse and booking it for the door with a few more choice words thrown over your shoulder at the man who’d offered you up so he could bet on a “sure thing trifecta” that turned out to not be such a sure thing after all. Clint makes no move to stop you, he even gives a tiny wave with his free hand with the other still wrapped around your boyfriend’s throat when you take one final look back.

You just miss the bus, seeing it pull away from the curb as you sprint down the sidewalk waving your arms and calling to the driver to wait, please, fucking wait! You hope he sees you giving him the finger in his mirror when he drives off, leaving you to wait for the next one. Thankfully your cigarettes were in your purse, you go through three matches before you finally get one to light and take furious drags that ring the filter fuschia with your lipstick.

Clint rolls up to the bus stop on your now ex-boyfriend’s ex-motorcycle, wearing your ex’s leather jacket over his own plaid shirt,

“Need a lift?” he asks.

You should say no, but the next bus isn’t for another thirty-seven minutes so you grind out what’s left of your cigarette under your heel while imagining it’s your ex’s face and hop on, sliding your arms around his waist. The bike roars to life underneath you and you feel him pat your hand before he takes off into the night.

It’s more reassuring than you expected.

He takes you straight home, no detours, no funny business, and you watch him leave before you go into your apartment. He gives you that little wave again, and this time you return it before he drives off. Once inside you kick off your shoes and make straight for the fridge, taking the phone off the hook as you go so your ex can’t call. You leave the handset dangling by the cord and the dial tone fills the silence while you rummage around for ice cream or alcohol or both.

Fuck. You were all out of Rocky Road.

A while later there was a knock on your door and somehow you just knew. When you open it you see Clint has come back. The bike is nowhere in sight now but he’s still wearing your ex’s leather jacket.

It looks better on him.

Much better.

“Hey,” he says. “Wanted to stop by and make sure that dickhead hasn’t come over to bother you.”

You shake your head. “No. He blew his whole check at the track, he doesn’t even have bus fare left and it’s not like he’s gonna walk his lazy ass all the way over since he seems to have lost his wheels somehow.”

That was the first time you saw Clint smile, the corners of his lips lifting with amusement.

(you find out later that after you left he’d threatened your ex with much worse than the loss of his bike if he came near you again and knocked him out cold, so he knew damn well that he hadn’t “come over”, the sneaky bastard. He gives you that smile again when you learn the truth and you think about being mad about it and making him sleep on the couch, but you settle for sending him to the video store to rent your favorite movie instead.)

“Still,” Clint drawls, hands shoved deep in his pockets and giving you the same look as a stray dog sniffing around for a bone, “maybe I should hang out here for a bit. Just in case.”

“Hang out for a bit” turns into sharing a joint he pulls from the jacket that had also been your ex’s along with the bike (and you) while you sprawl on the rug and play records to drown out the dial tone still coming from the phone. Clint starts out sitting on your couch, before he joins you on the floor to pass the joint back and forth more easily and eventually (inevitably) he winds up naked in your bed.

The sex was better than the drugs. Your ex always bought shit weed though. Clint has faded tattoos on his arms and fresh bruises on his knuckles, he eats you out and then he fucks you from behind with his large hands on your hips and his knees keeping yours spread apart. You expect him to leave immediately afterwards with some bullshit excuse that you’ll pretend to believe, but he lights up two cigarettes from the pack in his discarded jeans instead. One for himself and one for you, lying back against the pillows with an arm behind his head and filling your bedroom with a blue haze that hangs in the air like the question you ask him.

“Did he really put me up as fucking collateral?

You hate the way your voice breaks just a little bit when you say it, anger leaking into sadness as your eyes burn from something other than the cigarette smoke.

There’s a long pause, and then a sigh from beside you. “Yeah. He did. I’m sorry, baby.”

You take a deep drag on the cigarette Clint gave you and blink away the tears. He’s not worth it.

“Asshole.”

A large hand closes around your free one where it lays between you on the mattress and gives it a squeeze.

“Yeah,” Clint agrees.

You didn’t know it then but it was the same for him, only in his case it was his father who traded him for debts he couldn’t pay when he was too young to understand what that meant and by the time he did, it was too late.

************

  Clint shows up again the next night, late, knocking at your door with a bag of greasy takeout and really good weed. The sex was still better though. He fucks you on your couch this time, face to face with his jeans around his knees and a dark lock of hair falling on his forehead as he thrusts between your legs. When Channel Six signs off for the night and the Star Spangled Banner starts to play he’s still on top of you, TV turning to the only snow you get in Oakland and his soft breath in your ear while you lay under him and run a hand up and down his sweaty back. He’s heavy, but you don’t mind the weight.

He was the heavy, the muscle, the guy sent by “The Guy” to collect debts and break fingers when they welched on the payments. You don’t mind that either. Everyone has to hustle to survive. Clint never asks you out on a date, never asks you to be his girl, you just are. He keeps coming by, with food and weed and videos from the place on the corner, you toke up and have sex and watch movies with your head resting on his shoulder. Soon he’s dropping you off and picking you up from work in his car so you don’t have to take the bus, keeping a toothbrush in your bathroom next to yours and his favorite beer in your fridge.

You prop your feet up on his dash when he drives you to get late night milkshakes, or to the schlocky double features at the old drive-in just outside the city limits where you give him head in the backseat and ignore the movie. He smiles and slings an arm around your shoulders when you walk down to the video place together, you take cigarettes from his pack and he lights them for you, and the catcallers and the gangbangers in the neighbourhood all steer clear when they see you coming cause no one messes with Clint, and word has spread that you’re Clint’s girl now.

His girl, his baby, he never calls you by name, it’s always “baby” when he knocks on your door with takeout or picks you up from work, when his dick is in your mouth and when you’re arguing over what to rent at the video store.

“Baby, I’m here.”

“Baby, you ready to go?”

“Baby, yes, fuck yes.”

“Baby, no, not fucking Back to School again.”

He’s not really much of a talker though and listens more than he speaks. Unlike previous boyfriends like your asshole ex who got tired of your voice and told you to shut up and be quiet, Clint actually likes it when you go on about movies and music and read articles from the magazines he buys you out loud in the car while he drives. You casually stuff the latest Cosmo into his glove box alongside his gun and kiss him goodbye when he drops you off at work. When he picks you up again after your shift he might have new bruises on his knuckles, a fresh stain on his shirt that you have to wash in cold water when you do his laundry at the Supersuds next to the video store, but he also always has a smile for you.

Clint doesn’t even actually ask you to marry him, doesn’t do the whole “down on one knee” thing, he just drives you all the way to Reno on your day off and stops the car in front of a wedding chapel. It looks like a real church with a steeple and everything, except you’re pretty sure real churches don’t have signs out front offering a bottle of champagne and ten dollars in free slot play with every ceremony.

“What the hell?” you sputter, turning in the passenger seat to look at him. “Clint, you’re not serious.”

He fishes a ring carefully out of his pocket and gives you that smile again, the one that always makes you weak. It’s the one that got him into your apartment in the first place and was definitely responsible for your current predicament.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t make an honest woman of you, baby?”

The doctor had told you three days ago, after you puked every morning for a week straight and thought you just had the flu.

Clint reaches over and places his hand gently on your stomach. You don’t see the bruises on his knuckles, all you see is the man who knocked you up and didn’t run away screaming, who already bought a teddy bear with a big bow tied around the neck.

“Okay,” you nod, your laugh filling the car. “Let’s get hitched then. You know that means you’re stuck with me forever though, right?”

Clint grins. “No baby. That means the both of you are stuck with me forever now.”

He marries you in the little chapel that same day, and trades the champagne you can’t drink now for a 2-for-1 buffet coupon instead.

“You’re eating for two so it’s really a 3-for-1 coupon. Much better deal,” he says with a wink.

**********

  One last job.

That’s what he calls it, the guy with the grey hair and pale suit.

The Guy.

He shows up and says he’s got a job for Clint, one last job for him to do and then he gets to walk away, clean slate, all debts paid in full. He smiles but it’s not like Clint’s smile, it’s cold and sharp as a knife when he glances over and adds that he’ll stay and keep you company while Clint is gone.

It’s not an offer.

You’re the insurance policy.

You’re the collateral.

“Oh,” he slyly adds with a pointed glance to your swollen stomach, “and congratulations.”

You both are.

Clint has no choice, he has to leave you there and take the job, with your dog-eared copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting in his glove box as he drives off. You’ve been reading it to him on the way to and from Lamaze class at the hospital. He goes to the corner market to get you Rocky Road ice cream whenever you get a late night craving, rubs your achy feet, and rents your favorite movies without complaint every Saturday night.

You taste something sour in the back of your throat and almost puke right on the guy’s polished shoes.

He tries to make conversation like he didn’t just send the man you love, your husband, the father of your child, out on a job that could get him killed or sent to prison for the rest of his life. This isn’t a standard beat-down, this is something big, something serious, and the sour taste doesn’t go away. It only gets worse. The guy finally gives up with a shrug and a, “suit yourself, sweetheart,” turning the TV on. He laughs uproariously at Cagney & Lacey even though it’s not particularly funny, while you watch the clock on the wall instead, waiting for Clint to come back. Through the news, and Carson, the minutes tick by somehow both too fast and too slow. You rub your stomach, and wait.

He’ll come back.

He has to.

When he finally does he’s got a duffel bag over one shoulder and blood dripping down his face. It fills with relief when he sees you, only to harden again when he looks at the guy.

“You tried to set me up. Take the fucking fall for you,” he spits.

The guy gives him that switchblade of a smile. “Like I said, one last job. It’s just business Clint, you’ve been getting sloppy lately. More of a liability to me than an asset. Probably cause you’ve got your head so far up her cunt now.”

He jerks his chin in your direction while smoothly pulling out a gun. Clint’s gaze darts to you again with sheer panic in his eyes.

“Nothing a little murder-suicide won’t fix. You’re still gonna take the fall.”

The sour taste is flooding your mouth and the baby suddenly kicks, hard. You go all Linda Blair in a blink, projectile vomiting everything in your stomach right at the guy. He flings his arm up to try to avoid the spray and his gun goes flying. Clint dives towards the floor, and a moment later a single shot rings out.

“Baby!”

Clint is at your side, one hand sliding protectively over your belly. His now ex-boss is on the floor, covered in half-digested Rocky Road with his brains splattered against the wall. If you had anything left in you, you’d probably puke again at the sight. The baby kicks again, a smaller one this time. Clint feels it too.

“She’s a little fighter,” he smiles.

“Just like her daddy,” you say.

He grabs the duffel bag on the way out, slinging it over his shoulder and wrapping his other arm around you to guide you to the car. You can see the cash peeking through where the zipper isn’t fully shut, enough to finally get out for good.

You leave Oakland with Clint the next morning, heading east. He packs the essentials in the trunk, including the teddy bear he bought when you first told him you were pregnant, the one with the big pink bow tied around its neck. When he pulls onto the highway you pull What To Expect When You’re Expecting out of the glove box. A receipt from the video store sticks out to serve as a bookmark, you never did return that last movie you rented and you’re going to get one hell of a late fee on your account.

Not that it really matters now.

Clint has one hand on the steering wheel, wedding ring flashing in the sun. The other rests on your stomach.

“You good, Baby?” he asks, rubbing against where his daughter is currently kicking against his hand.

“Yeah,” you say, covering his hand with yours. The bruises on his knuckles will be gone by the time she arrives in a few weeks. “We’re good.”

[everwhovian]

hwang brothers getting ice cream together and jun-ho getting a weird flavor so he ends up eating in-hos who got something basic yet delicious (HWANG BROTHERS COMFORT NO HURT(

Awww! That's so cute! I definitely needed this ask, anon! So here we have cute little Jun-ho getting some weird ice cream flavor!

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ○△□ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

In-ho wanted to be there.

He really did.

He’d told Jun-ho he’d come to the spelling bee, promised him he’d be in the audience, promised to clap the loudest when Jun-ho spelled ‘dinosaur’ right.

But work had other plans.

A last-minute call came in just before his shift ended – one he couldn’t ignore. He barely had time to send a quick message to his stepmother: ‘Can’t make it. I’ll pick him up after school.’

It wasn’t enough. Not when Jun-ho had asked three separate times that morning, “You’ll really come, right?”

Now, as In-ho pulled into the school lot with the sun dipping low in the sky, that guilt sat like a weight in his chest.

He should’ve been here hours ago.

Should’ve been sitting in that tiny folding chair in the back of the classroom, grinning like an idiot while Jun-ho stood on stage and spelled words he’d practiced every night for two weeks.

Now, all he could do was show up and hope his little brother still wanted to see him.

The lot was nearly empty, all the parents long gone, the folding chairs inside the auditorium already stacked away.

In-ho’s uniform was wrinkled, sleeves rolled up, his badge clipped on crooked from the long day. He jogged toward the front gates where Jun-ho sat on the bench, legs swinging ’ and forth, his little backpack resting beside him like a faithful sidekick.

His little legs swung slowly, a pencil in one hand, a spelling sheet balanced on his lap. He was doodling around the edges – tiny dinosaurs and stick people, careful little stars in every corner.

As soon as Jun-ho saw him, his whole face lit up. “Hyung!”

The frustration of being late evaporated the moment In-ho saw that smile. The spelling list slipped from his lap as Jun-ho scrambled off the bench and barreled into him with all the force a six-year-old could muster. In-ho crouched to catch him, wrapping his arms around his little brother and ruffling his hair.

“Sorry I’m late,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I really wanted to be there.”

Jun-ho pulled back with a toothy grin. “It’s okay. You’re here now!”

That alone made something in In-ho’s chest ache – how easily his brother forgave him, how much trust he poured into him without question.

“I saved you a seat with my jacket.”

In-ho smiled, brushing his fingers gently through his brother’s hair. “Yeah? Was it the cool seat in the back?”

“Nope,” Jun-ho grinned. “Front row. Right next to Eomma. Hyung, I was so nervous, but then I remembered what you said!”

“What’d I say?”

“You said I already knew all the words. And you were right!”

In-ho chuckled, standing up straight and picked up Jun-ho’s backpack. “And you crushed it, huh?”

Jun-ho nodded proudly. “I spelled ‘elephant’ and ‘dinosaur’ without messing up at all. And Jae-min ran off the stage during ‘mountain’ so I got second place!”

“Look at you,” In-ho said, slinging an arm around Jun-ho’s shoulders as they walked toward the car. “Little genius.”

He helped Jun-ho into the car and buckled him in, nodding along as Jun-ho told him every detail – how he only got one word wrong, how his teacher gave him a shiny sticker, how he didn’t even need his lucky pencil after all.

He should take him home. Get him dinner. Check his homework. But instead, when they reached the intersection, In-ho turned right.

Jun-ho blinked up at him from the passenger seat. “This isn’t the way home.”

In-ho glanced over, lips tugging into a smirk. “We’re making a detour.”

Jun-ho gasped. “Hyung… are we going on a secret mission?”

“Close.” In-ho tapped the wheel. “We’re taking a detour. Apology stop.” He threw him a wink.

Jun-ho leaned forward in his seat. “Ice cream?”

“Top secret,” In-ho said. “I’ll deny everything if Eomma asks.”

Jun-ho’s eyes sparkled with delight. “You mean it?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“You lied about the broccoli last week.”

“I said it was green power fuel,” In-ho protested. “Totally different, and I stand by it.”

“You’re gonna get in so much trouble.”

“Not if my partner keeps the secret.”

Jun-ho giggled, then held out his hand across the console. “Pinky promise?”

In-ho looped his pinky around the tiny finger, giving it a firm shake. “Pinky promise.”

The ice cream shop was mostly empty, quiet except for the buzz of the freezers and the soft music playing through the speakers. Jun-ho pressed his hands to the glass, studying the rows of tubs like he was about to make the most important decision of his life.

He pointed at something swirled with bright green and pink and… was that glitter?

“I want that one!” he declared.

In-ho squinted at the label. “‘Bubblegum sour watermelon birthday cake’?”

Jun-ho nodded eagerly.

“That’s not even a real flavor. Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Jun-ho said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

In-ho raised a brow. “You know you don’t even like watermelon, right?”

Jun-ho crossed his arms. “I might like this watermelon… and it has bubblegum, and it’s my favorite color!”

“You’ve never tasted anything that color.”

Jun-ho grinned. “Then it’s an adventure.”

“Well, can’t argue with that,” In-ho said with a soft laugh, holding up two fingers to the teen behind the counter. “One scoop of chaos for the little guy, and I’ll take plain old chocolate.”

They found a small table outside, and Jun-ho dug into his scoop with gusto. In-ho had barely taken two bites of his chocolate before Jun-ho froze mid-lick, his expression turning sour.

His little nose scrunched up. “It tastes like toothpaste.”

In-ho barked a laugh, shaking his head. “What did I tell you?”

Jun-ho stuck his tongue out. “You tricked me.”

“I warned you,” In-ho said, still grinning. He pushed his own cup across the table. “Wanna trade?”

Jun-ho’s eyes lit up again as he reached for the chocolate. “Really?”

“Yeah. But I’m taking the glitter monster in return.”

Jun-ho giggled and dug into the chocolate like it was salvation. In-ho took a theatrical bite of the sour birthday gum disaster and immediately gagged.

“Oh, that’s terrible,” he muttered.

Jun-ho giggled with his mouth full. “Told you.”

In-ho rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, watching his brother happily devour the chocolate ice cream. For a moment, it didn’t matter how tired he was, how many hours he’d worked, how much pressure sat on his shoulders.

And that – Jun-ho’s laughter, chocolate smeared on his cheek, the way he looked at In-ho like he hung the moon –

That made everything worth it.

[psychoticallykind]

Take A Break

"Hot Chocolate" - Wolfstar Microfic - @wolfstarmicrofic - 567 words

--------------------------------------------------------------

"Moony, you've been studying for hours, mate. Come on, take a break." James reached over and took the book out of Remus's hands, quickly stepping away when Remus reached for it.

"I don't need a break - James," Remus complained. "Give it back."

"Later," James promised. "After you eat and relax for a bit."

Remus glared at his friend. "I'm doing homework."

"You have another week to do homework," James replied, shaking his head. "Take a break. Go and see Sirius."

It occurred to Remus that he actually hadn't seen the dark-haired boy all day. Usually Sirius would sit with him while he studied - drawing or reading or just lying down with his head on Remus's lap. "Where is Sirius?"

Concern flickered over James's expression. "You don't know?"

"No," Remus admitted. "I saw him last night, but..." he trailed off, looking guiltily at the textbook James was holding. Now that he was thinking about it, it was weird that Sirius hadn't visited him at all. "Where's the Map?"

James shook his head. "Sirius has it."

And just like that, Remus knew where Sirius was.

He detoured to the kitchen, grabbing two mugs of hot chocolate. Then he went up to the third floor, pacing back and forth until the door appeared. It wouldn't usually show up if there was already someone in the Room, but it always let him in if Sirius was there. Remus supposed that was because Sirius was always okay with him being there, and he was endlessly grateful for that.

Just as expected, Sirius was inside, sitting cross-legged on the floor. The Map was in front of him, and he was watching one name. Remus didn't have to look to know who it was.

"Hey, you." He sat down carefully. "How's Reg doing?"

"He's alright," Sirius mumbled.

Remus nodded, feeling a quick spike of guilt. "Have you been in here all day?"

"It's day?" Sirius glanced up. "Sorry. Couldn't sleep, and I kept remembering - anyway, sorry. Is it breakfast?"

"Past lunch," Remus admitted. "I got you some hot chocolate, here."

"Thanks." Sirius gave him a tired smile, but his eyes went back to the Map. "Were you studying?"

"Yeah." Remus watched Sirius watch the Map. "He's alright, you know. He's safe here."

Sirius nodded, dark waves falling forward to block his expression. "I know."

And though he'd been frustrated with James for doing the same thing earlier, Remus reached forward and slowly slid the Map away from Sirius. "He's okay, Pads. Take a break."

"I can't -"

"You can," Remus stopped him. "You can. It's okay." He folded the Map and set it down somewhere behind him, meeting familiar silver eyes. "Take a break."

Sirius's eyes flickered to the Map, but he nodded. "Okay." He fiddled with the charm on his necklace. "What do I do now?"

"Drink hot chocolate," Remus suggested. "And then we can take a walk outside. Maybe visit Reg for a bit so you can see him yourself."

Sirius bit his lip. "You don't have to keep studying?"

Studying would never be as important as making sure Sirius was okay. Remus wondered if Sirius knew that. "You're more important."

Then he shrugged. "Plus, James took my textbook."

Sirius laughed, smiling a real smile for the first time since Remus had come into the Room, and Remus felt a wave of relief.

Maybe taking a break was a good idea after all.

[oldestfriend-invisibly]

Little Agatha + CG Rio- Bedtime Bunny

After working non-stop on a new spell for 4 days, Agatha is exhausted- far too tired to stay big. Rio coaxes her into turning in for the night, and gets her baby bunny all ready for bedtime.

I broke my promise of not writing until exams end, but I'm stressed and writing indulgent baby Agatha fluff makes me feel better.

This should get a companion bedtime fic with Little Rio because soft bedtime fics are my weakness- I think there should be hundreds more of them. This is my first time using a moodboard for the cover and I think I might do this more.

2k words- pure fluff.

Warnings/ notes- mention of padded agere, as always this is entirely sfw.

...

Rio hadn’t seen much of Agatha over the past few days. The purple witch had holed herself away in their study and worked almost non-stop, meticulously trying to figure out some new spell or sigil. 

This wasn’t hugely uncommon behaviour, Agatha had been a workaholic with a hunger for knowledge for as long as Rio had known her. Nor did it particularly put any strain on their relationship, they were used to spending periods of time with limited interaction on account of Rio’s job. And though Rio missed Agatha every second they spent apart, she’d busied herself just fine in the garden whilst Agatha had been working. Her garden was thriving now more than ever before, and Rio couldn’t wait for Agatha to be done with whatever she was toiling away at so they could make a huge celebratory dinner out of the bountiful herbs and vegetables, and then spend the rest of the evening just enjoying each others’ company and undivided attention. 

Evidently, though, tonight was not that evening. Rio packed up her tools as the sun began to set, and after a quick detour to ferry a nearby soul across, she stepped back through the cottage door just as the dark of night fully set in. The study’s door was still closed and Rio could hear the shuffling of turning pages and experimental scribblings coming from behind it.

As the long summer months were drawing to an end, the nights were becoming steadily colder so Rio elected to start a fire in their fireplace and get comfortable whilst she waited for Agatha. She expected it wouldn’t be long until Agatha turned in for the night, and emerged from the study. As much as she dedicated herself to her ever-continuing pursuit of power, there was still nothing in the world that could keep her from curling up in bed with her wife for long. Rio flicked her hand, setting the kettle on the stove to begin boiling enough water for two, and picked out one of her favourite books- a very well-loved copy of an encyclopedia of European mushroom varieties. Stopping only to pour out two mugs of her homegrown lavender tea, she quietly began to reread it as she waited for her wife. 

Usually the scent of freshly brewed tea would entice Agatha out of the study, so when it had been fifteen minutes with still no sign of the other witch, Rio began to get slightly impatient. She respected Agatha’s work but she missed her wife!!

Her train of thought was cut short by three sudden noises in quick succession- a grunt of frustration, the clattering and fluttering of pens and papers shoved to the ground, and the dull thump of a head dropped to a table in despair. 

Mind now made up, Rio grabbed the mug of tea- another quick flick of her fingers reheating the drink, closed her book- producing a leaf to serve as a bookmark, and gently pushed open the door to the study.

“Agatha? Are you ok, amor?” the green witch asked, setting the mug on a shelf and stepping into the candlelit room.

Agatha’s head rested against the dark wood of the desktop whilst her hands were clenched around fistfuls of her messy hair.

“I’ll be out soon” came her muffled response, but Rio’s footsteps drew closer, tiptoeing around the pens and parchments littering the ground until she was crouched beside Agatha’s chair. 

“Why don’t you call it a night for now? I’ve made you a cup of lavender tea if you’d like it, you’re clearly exhausted, my love.”

Agatha grumbled, her reply coming out slightly whiny. “Need to carry on, m’ nearly done. Won’t be long, promise, just can’t make the stupid words make sense” she sniffled, still not looking up. 

From her curled up position, clear exhaustion, and the way she slurred and stumbled over her words, Rio began to suspect there was more going on with Agatha than just overtiredness and frustration. Bring a hand to rub against Agatha’s shoulders where Rio knew she’d be sorest after 4 days hunched over a desk, Rio hummed contemplatively. 

“Didn’t you know, baby bunnies have a much easier time reading all the big words when they’re well rested?” Agatha turned her head, still resting it on her arms, and looked at Rio with big, watery, bloodshot eyes. Rio gently moved and began to trace the dark circles on her cheeks with her thumb. “I bet you’re just oh so sleepy right now, hmm? I really think it’s about time to let Mami get you ready for bedtime.”

“M’ not tired an’ not a baby. This’ is ‘portant work, I just need to finish.” Her body betrayed her, though, as she yawned and instinctively brought a balled up fist to rub at her drooping eyes.

“Well, big girls need to sleep just as much as babies do. The work will still be right here in the morning time. But it’s night time now which means it’s time to put our pyjamas on and get all cozy in bed, and I’d really like it if my precious bunny would join me. Let me take care of you now, sweetheart.” 

Rio opened her arms, beckoning Agatha to fall into her embrace, but Agatha was still stubbornly trying, and failing, to resist fully slipping. The younger witch shook her head (awkward in the position she was still lying in) though she said nothing more. Her brows furrowed, and shiny tears collected at her waterlines.

“Come on, baby, come sit on Mami’s lap for a minute.” This seemed acceptable for Agatha, who extricated an arm and held it out to Rio, making a grabby-hand at her. Rio held Agatha by the underarms as she helped her down to the ground. 

Immediately, Agatha went boneless against Rio, the green witch quickly reacting to stabilise the back of her head, holding it against her sternum. The following sniffles and pitiful whining cries only growing in intensity broke Rio’s heart. Her little one was so incredibly tired and didn’t know how else to express it.

“Oh my sweet little love, don’t cry. I know, I know, you’re just so so tired, Mami understands you. You’re ok, bunny, you’re ok, shhhh.” Rio soothed, beginning to slowly rock Agatha back and forth.

Rio continued her gentle reassurances, pressing the occasional kiss to the top of Agatha’s head. At some point, Agatha brought her little fists up between her and Rio, resting them against her face and planting one of her thumbs in her mouth. Though she continued to hiccup occasionally, Agatha’s sobs eventually ceased, now just letting out the odd mewling yawn around her thumb. 

“I think it’s definitely time for my little bunny to be put to bed now, don’t you think?” Rio pressed another kiss to Agatha’s head, and the girl sighed out some incoherent babble in response. 

Rio was never more glad for her inhuman cosmic strength than she was when she needed to lift a deadweight baby Agatha into her arms. Agatha let out another adorable little yawn as she resettled in her Mami’s arms and Rio chuckled. 

“Woah, what a big yawn for such a tiny baby!” She cood, deciding she’d retrieve the now-cold cup of tea in the morning as she extinguished the candles, as well as the fireplace as she left the study. 

Though Rio usually loved the routine process of manually preparing bottles for Agatha, she wanted to get the baby in bed as soon as possible, quickly conjuring one up instead with just the amount of honey she knew Agatha liked. Not only would the bottle undoubtedly help Agatha fall asleep, Rio was also conscious of needing to rehydrate her girl after all the tears. 

With how tiny Agatha was, there was no question in Rio’s mind about putting her baby in some padding for the night just in case. Before laying Agatha down to change her and put her pyjamas on, Rio handed over Agatha’s purple bunny lovey: Amethyst. Unsurprisingly, the girl draped the blanket over the lower half of her face- there was rarely a moment where Agatha was holding Amethyst that she was not brought up to cover her face in some way, Agatha had explained she likes the feeling of the soft fabric against her cheeks, and the smell of Rio’s homegrown essential oils rubbed into the fabric.

 Rio smiled down at her, and though Agatha’s mouth was covered, Rio could tell by the way her tired eyes crinkled at the edges that Agatha was smiling right back. She made quick work of putting Agatha’s diaper on, whilst Agatha was sometimes shy about being padded, she was far too small and sleepy now to really mind, and Rio gave her an extra kiss on the forehead for being “such a good girl, such a brave bunny”. 

Wanting to try and prevent Agatha from sucking on her thumb in the night, Rio decided to put Agatha in the soft, purple onesie with the fold-down mittens attached- plus Rio thought it was absolutely adorable. Agatha giggled and lightly kicked her feet as Rio folded the mittens over her fingers. She loved how tiny and safe they made her feel, even if they did make it a little bit harder to hold onto Amethyst.

After manoeuvring her up into a seated position, Rio very quickly brushed both hers and Agatha’s teeth, and then picked Agatha up once more, and carried her through to their bed. They didn’t have a dedicated room or bed yet to better suit them when one of them was regressed- that was the last summer project they had left to complete before autumn and winter fully set in. Instead, Rio placed Agatha down and slid up and secured the retractable bars on Agatha’s side of the bed before returning back to Agatha, who was now making grabby-fists and whining at her with an unimpressed frown at having been put down for a whole fifteen seconds.

“I see you, cariño, I’m coming, I’m coming. My clingy little bunny, you don’t like it when Mami puts you down, do you?” Agatha resolutely shook her head with another yawn as Rio gathered her back into her lap to give her the bottle. 

Agatha drank calmly, humming in contentment as Rio had added the perfect amount of honey. Her eyelids began to feel much too heavy to hold open, drooping further and further closed by the minute. Rio traced looping patterns over Agatha’s arm with the hand that wasn’t holding her head, and hummed lazily.

By the time the bottle was empty, Agatha had almost completely dozed off. Rio slipped it from her mouth and replaced it with a pacifier, heart melting at the way Agatha’s nose scrunched up at the change. Rio shifted them both into a more comfortable sleeping position- side by side with Rio’s arms wrapped gently around Agatha.

Ever-clingy Agatha, half asleep though she was, had other ideas. Apparently deeming Rio too far away, she pulled herself up so she was practically sprawled on top of her. She mewled happily as she laid her head on Rio’s chest, listening to the heart that beat, full of love, just for her. Her mittened fists came to lie by her face once more, but then she began to frown again, whining unhappily around her pacifier and lightly nudging at the space on Rio’s chest next where she lay until Rio got the message and gently tucked Amethyst’s blanket against her cheek. 

Almost instantaneously, the four days of minimal rest finally caught up to Agatha as she started to drift off, happy, comfortable, and safe snuggled up right close to her Mami. She mumbled something final before sleep fully dragged her under, and despite the absence of any coherent words, Rio still understood her loud and clear.

“I love you too, sweetheart. Sleep tight, bunny.”