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luvergirl-535 · 2 days ago

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clean up nice

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 2.3k

c/w - fluff, no smut sorry :( but no not forget that daddy!paige is still on its way so you’ll be getting smth spicy soon.

a/n - got a random burst of creativity, and what did i decide to do with it? work on finishing one of my many wips, you ask? no. instead i dug into the depths of my inbox and found an old ass prompt to write for, lol. you can find the prompt here.

azzi is, quite frankly, over it.

the weight room had been brutal, the team group chat has been blowing up with nonsense, and her econ professor had assigned a surprise pop quiz that was neither surprising nor a quiz—just a pure academic crime. by the time she trudges across campus toward paige’s dorm, her shoulders are tight, her jaw hurts from clenching, and she’s two seconds away from chucking her water bottle at a freshman just to feel something.

all she wants is to shower, collapse into a hoodie, maybe read the same page of her book eight times before giving up, and fall asleep next to her girlfriend. preferably with her favorite pillow—paige’s arm—cushioned under her head.

she lets herself into the dorm, ready to ignore any of her other teammates who might be lurking and head straight to paige’s room. she gets inside and toes off her shoes, pulling off her hoodie to try and cool down—

but then she stops cold.

paige is on the floor.

and not in a playing-video-games, or making-a-ridiculous-tiktok kind of way. no. she’s kneeling in a sports bra and loose basketball shorts, scrubbing something on the floor with determination. her hair is up in a messy bun. the speakers are playing slow r&b, the window is cracked open, and light is streaming in just right to make the whole thing look like a thirst trap with cleaning supplies.

azzi blinks once. then twice. her lips part slightly.

“yo,” paige says without looking up, “watch out, i just mopped.”

azzi stares. she might have stopped breathing.

“…what are you doing?”

paige’s head pops up at the sound of azzi’s voice. “oh, hey, mama. sorry, thought you were jana.” she gestures around the room. “it was gettin’ gross in here. and since nobody else fuckin’ cleans, figured i should probably take care of it.”

azzi looks around. the place is spotless. floor shining. sheets changed. even the window track—the window track!—is wiped down. azzi looks at the sink and swears it blinds her.

paige sits back on her heels and wipes an arm across her face, leaving a streak of sweat—glistening and enticing—on her forehead.

azzi’s soul leaves her body.

“you okay?” paige asks, going back to her scrubbing. azzi looks closer—she’s cleaning the baseboards. and her back is flexing as she does it.

azzi inhales sharply. “uh-huh.”

paige shifts, glancing back over her shoulder. “you look surprised.”

“i…did not know you got down like this.”

“yeah, well, last week you saw me make a protein shake in a blender bottle that hadn’t been washed since pre-season. so consider this redemption.”

azzi opens her mouth to respond and then pauses. she has nothing appropriate to say, to be honest. not when she’d walked in expecting a nap and is now watching her girlfriend crawl across the floor like a navy seal.

“how was your day?” paige asks nonchalantly. sun streams through the windows, hitting her arms in such a way it perfectly contours her muscles. “you wanna snack or sum’?”

“no,” azzi says slowly, settling herself down onto the couch without taking her eyes off paige’s back. “i want you to come over here.”

“yep,” paige says without hesitation, dropping her washcloth into the bucket and walking over to azzi. azzi reaches up, prepared to pull paige down and never let her go again, but paige doesn’t give her the time—just goes in for a quick kiss before leaving again.

“paige!” azzi says. “i want you to snuggle me.”

paige smiles, sweet and oblivious, as she kneels back down. “we can snuggle all you want as soon as i’m done. i just gotta hit the closet first.”

azzi blinks hard. “how long have you been at this?”

paige shrugs—shoulder muscles. “i’on know. a couple hours? but i haven’t cleaned my closet in forever. there’s, like, dust on some of my shoes. it’s nasty.”

“wow. okay. you’re really…” she waves a hand at paige’s whole situation, “doing the most.”

paige beams. “you noticed! i even used vinegar on the mirrors. no streaks. drew’s mom taught me.”

azzi just stares at her. “cooool, coolcoolccoolcool. that’s super cool.”

paige stands up and stretches her back with a groan, revealing an infuriating strip of boxer below her waistband. “shit, my back is killing me. i’ve been crouching for like two hours.”

“i can help with that,” azzi says, far too quickly. “you want a massage?”

“nah, i’ll do some stretches after this,” paige says casually, walking to the kitchen to grab some clorox and wiping down the counter. “you look exhausted, though. go lie down, i’ll be done soon.”

“or,” azzi says, getting up and trailing her, “you could stop cleaning now. and we could do…other things.”

“like what? i already asked if you wanted a snack.”

“jesus christ,” azzi whispers to herself.

“huh?”

“nothing, babe.” azzi plasters on a smile. “i’m just… really impressed by your…cleanliness.”

paige snorts. “what does that mean?”

“it means watching you clean is making me…feel things, paige.”

“ohhh,” paige says slowly, like she’s catching on. azzi perks up.

“yeah?” azzi asks, hopeful.

“you’re saying you want me to clean your dorm next time, right?”

“no!” azzi shouts. “i’m saying i want you to push me up against a…” she gestures wildly, “very clean wall.”

paige frowns. “you okay? you seem, like, really high-strung.”

“i wonder why,” azzi deadpans.

“bad day?”

“you could say that,” she mutters. “considering i walked in on you looking like a really hot mr. clean commercial.”

paige makes a face. “is that a compliment?” then, “you’re being weird.”

“i’m being turned on, paige. i feel like we’ve been together long enough that you know what me turned on looks like.”

paige raises her hands in surrender. “okay, okay. sorry. i thought you’d be cool with the cleaning.”

“i am! it’s impressive! and hot! i love it, actually!”

paige pauses. squints at her.

“…wait. are you into this?”

azzi massages the bridge of her nose. “oh my god.”

“i just thought you were being supportive,” paige says. “like, ‘oh yay, my girlfriend’s being productive.’ not ‘oh yay, my girlfriend’s making me all wet with the windex.’”

“you are so fucking stupid.”

“am i wrong?”

azzi pretends to consider this, then turns on her heel, marching toward paige’s bedroom.

“hey,” paige calls, following her. “where you goin’?”

“somewhere i can protect my peace,” azzi calls back. she turns to close the door, but paige gets there just in time, sticking a foot in between the doorframe and stopping her.

azzi opens the door slowly, met with paige’s smug grin. “you’re enjoying this.”

“maybe a little,” paige leans in, voice suddenly lower. “you want me to keep my hair up?”

azzi lets the door swing open the rest of the way, smoothing a hand up paige’s shoulder. “you don’t get to tease me after getting me all worked up.”

“baby, i was just cleaning.”

“exactly!” azzi says. “you were on your hands and knees, paige.”

paige takes her by the waist, backing her slowly into the bedroom. “so what—you were suffering that whole time?”

“i’m two seconds away from wrecking your perfect little chore schedule.”

paige’s eyes darken slightly, like the teasing has officially run its course. she pauses when the backs of azzi’s knees hit the mattress, then pushes her down, a hand around her back keeping them connected as paige follows closely after.

“well,” she murmurs, hand settling beside azzi’s head on the pillow, “room is clean.”

“uh-huh.”

“laundry’s done.”

“mm-hmm.”

“guess there’s only one mess left to make.”

azzi rolls her eyes, but wraps an arm around paige’s neck, pulling her in for a kiss. “hair stays up,” she demands, urging paige into the crook of her neck.

paige obeys, licking a short stripe up the column of azzi’s throat, all heat and thin restraint. “yes, ma’am.”

#pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi fics #wcbb #wbb #uconn wbb #dallas wings #sorry for edging you guys 💔#blurbski

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ghostedgwen · 2 days ago

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get away with it | j.potter

note : Thank you all so much for 1k followers! I returned to this acc with 500 followers and I am so happy to be back and have more people consuming my work, I am very honoured and I appreciate each and every single one of you lovelies!! Enjoy this 7.4k words fic!

warnings : enemies to lovers but literally, mention of quidditch accidents, some sprinkle of angst and overthinking, fake dating trope question mark, another amnesia trope from me lol, this is just putting a spin on "but I knew you", fluff here and there

You, a Slytherin, has always had a crush on James Potter, but the Gryffindor’s disdain for Slytherins has always kept them apart. After taking a Bludger for him, you wake up with memory loss, believing you’ve been dating for months. James, feeling guilty, plays along - and soon realizes his feelings are real.

. . . Even if it's a false god, we'd still worship this love.

The air is thick with adrenaline, the wind biting against your skin as you zoom across the Quidditch pitch, your broom humming beneath you.

It’s Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and the match has been a war of wits, brooms, and strategy for the past hour. Your team is ahead by a handful of points, but that could change if they get the snitch first.

You spot James Potter, soaring through the air, the Quaffle clutched firmly in his hands, a look of determination painted across his face. A few feet ahead of him, you can see the hoop, and his grip tightens.

He’s winding up. He’s about to make a move that could turn the match on its head, a switch on the Slytherin's score-streak momentum.

He’s so focused, so sure of himself, it almost makes you want to laugh. Almost. You push that thought aside as your broom speeds up, weaving through players with effortless precision, avoiding the occasional Bludger like it’s second nature.

You’re getting closer and closer - then, like a hawk in flight, you dart in from the side, cutting across James’ path just as he’s about to release the Quaffle. He doesn’t even see it coming.

You snatch the ball clean out of his hands, the air whooshing with the shift of momentum, and in one fluid motion, you’ve already turned your broom, angled yourself toward the opposite hoop, and launched it with the precision of a seasoned player.

The Quaffle sails through the air, a perfect arc - missed by the Gryffindor Keeper situated by the goals.

The crowd erupts into a deafening roar as it hits the middle ring, earning you another point. Another goal! You’re on fire today!

You hear James shout, appearing to have chased after you.

"Oi! You absolute snake - !"

You can’t help the smirk that spreads across your face as you turn back to face him. You give him a playful wink, one that’s meant to get under his skin, and watch his face twist in frustration.

He’s still mid-air, staring at you like you just stole his favourite broomstick. But the game’s not over, and you’ve got a lot more tricks up your sleeve.

The match rages on, but for a brief moment, your focus is entirely on the scowling Gryffindor in the air just a few yards away. His lips are curled into an exaggerated frown, his eyes locked onto you, and for a second, you almost feel guilty.

Almost.

The game eventually comes to a close, Gryffindor with the win - their seeker was good, the snitch was theirs despite your best efforts.

You wipe the sweat from your forehead and pull your broomstick to the ground with a sharp turn. Your feet hit the grass just as the opposite team celebrates.

But in the back of your mind, you can’t quite shake the image of James, still looking irritable, as if the world had wronged him in the most personal way possible.

The Gryffindor common room was a whirlwind of laughter, music, and the distinct scent of butterbeer. The Slytherins had been crushed in the Quidditch match, much to all their delight. Everyone was celebrating, except for James Potter.

Sirius, perched on the armrest of an old armchair, eyed his best mate with a raised brow. James, of course, was fuming. His usual smug grin was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he slouched in a corner, nursing his third glass of firewhisky, shooting daggers at anyone who so much as breathed near him.

“What’s his deal?” Sirius muttered to Remus, leaning back with his own drink in hand.

Remus, who had been watching James carefully, didn’t respond immediately. His eyes flickered to their friend, noting the clenched jaw and rigid posture that screamed irritation.

“I think he’s pissed that the Slytherin chaser outplayed him. You saw how she snatched that Quaffle away from him at the last minute. Couldn’t even get his head in the game after that,” Remus said carefully, offering the most surface-level explanation he could muster.

Sirius snorted. “I mean, she did. But that’s just good Quidditch. Nothing to mope about.”

Remus shrugged, his gaze never straying too far from James. “James is a sore loser.”

“Tell me about it,” Sirius laughed, taking a swig from his glass. “But still, we won, right? Why’s he acting all prissy about it?”

Peter, ever the quiet one, spoke up from where he was sitting on a nearby couch, eyes wide and contemplative. “I don’t know, mate. Maybe he hates Slytherins that much?”

There was a long, quiet pause. Remus didn’t immediately answer, though he was the first to register the true nature of James’ sour mood.

He didn’t want to say it out loud, but he suspected it was something a bit more complicated than just house rivalry. Instead, he simply offered a nonchalant smile and shifted his focus back to the conversation.

Sirius wasn’t convinced. “You think that’s it? The girl was good, sure, but it’s not like she - ”

“Yeah, it’s probably just that,” Remus said, cutting him off with a casual shrug. He kept his tone light, but inside, he felt a quiet certainty that there was more to James’ behaviour than he let on. He wasn’t going to say it out loud, though. Not with the others around.

Sirius laughed. “I mean, sure, mate. That’s it. James can’t handle a Slytherin getting one up on him.”

Peter was silent for a moment, looking from Sirius to James, before murmuring softly, “I guess he does hate Slytherins that much.”

Remus didn’t say anything, watching James from the corner of his eye. There was something else there, a tightness in James’ posture that went beyond simple frustration with Quidditch.

He wasn’t sure what it was yet - something that had been simmering beneath the surface for a while. But for now, Remus kept his thoughts to himself.

James was still sulking in his corner, his mood not shifting in the slightest as the others celebrated their victory.

Breakfast in the Great Hall was a typical morning at Hogwarts: the usual clatter of plates, chatter of students, and the distant hum of the enchanted ceiling reflecting the perfect, cloudless sky.

The Gryffindor table was bustling with energy, while the Slytherins sat in their usual corner, their conversation much quieter but just as intense.

You were seated with your friends, picking at your toast while engaging in a quiet conversation about upcoming exams. It was supposed to be a peaceful morning - until he appeared.

James Potter, as always, made his grand entrance with his usual swagger. The moment he entered, the Gryffindor table broke into loud applause and wolf-whistles, making a scene as he passed. His robes flared dramatically as he strutted toward his seat, clearly feeding off the attention like a cat basking in the sun.

As he walked past the Slytherin table, he caught your eye - of course, he did. And, of course, he couldn’t help himself.

“Can snakes even fly without broomsticks, or do they just slither off the pitch?” he called, loud enough for everyone in the Great Hall to hear. His voice carried, his smirk practically glowing.

The room went silent for a split second as everyone turned to see your reaction. Some of the Gryffindors laughed. Sirius and Peter snickered in the background, while Remus raised an eyebrow, looking at James as if he were disappointed.

But you didn’t flinch. In fact, you didn’t even look up from your pumpkin juice. Your voice was cool, casual as you glanced at James over the rim of your cup.

“At least I don’t need a fan club to tell me I’m good, Potter,” you fired back without missing a beat.

A ripple of laughter ran through both tables. You could hear Sirius' boisterous laugh mixing with Lily Evans’ faint chuckle, while James froze mid-step. His eyes widened slightly before narrowing into a sharp glare.

Sirius' laughter came louder, and Remus, who had been looking at his plate in feigned disinterest, stole a glance at James. He bit his lip, clearly fighting back a smile.

James was already scowling, muttering something under his breath about Slytherins and their “sharp tongues,” but the flush in his cheeks betrayed his frustration. For a brief moment, his bravado faltered as he tried to regain his footing, but the damage was done.

You took another slow sip of your pumpkin juice, hiding the tiny, almost imperceptible smile behind your cup. No one could ever accuse you of letting James Potter get under your skin.

But damn, it did feel good to get that shot in.

Across the room, the Gryffindor table was still buzzing with energy, half of them chuckling and whispering about your quick retort. James, in contrast, looked like he might start throwing punches - or, more realistically, make a big fuss about how much he hated Slytherins.

“Whatever,” James muttered, adjusting his robes with a dramatic flick. He sent one last, fierce glare your way, but you didn’t acknowledge him. You didn’t need to.

You were just finishing up with your Slytherin teammates, your broom resting on your shoulder as you made your way off the pitch.

The Gryffindor team was up next, and you could already hear the familiar shouts and laughter as they geared up. You had no interest in sticking around to watch them practice, but fate had other plans.

As you were passing the edge of the pitch, James Potter - grinning like a bloody idiot - caught sight of you. With a swagger in his step, he slowed to a halt in front of you.

“Ah, Slytherin, leaving the pitch so soon?” he said, his voice dripping with sarcastic amusement. “Did you get bored? Or are you just too tired from losing to keep up?”

You rolled your eyes, not even flinching at his comment. “You’re the one who should be tired, Potter,” you shot back, crossing your arms, your voice sharp. “I can barely hear you over your ego. Is it so big it needs its own broomstick?”

The grin on his face faltered just slightly, but he recovered quickly. “Oh, you’re a funny one, aren’t you? Just wait ‘til we’re flying circles around you lot. You might actually need a few lessons in humility.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And I suppose you’re the expert on humility? That’s rich.” You turned to walk away, your heart picking up pace from the little banter session. Just before you could slip out of earshot, though, he called after you.

“You should stick around, you know. Maybe I can teach you a thing or two about how to lose gracefully.”

You couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips, but you didn’t turn around. “I’m sure you’d love to think that. You can add it to your long list of things you’ve convinced yourself you’re good at.”

James chuckled to himself, his voice following you as you walked. “I’m sure it’s a very long list,” he said, before you heard the distinct sound of him flying off into the air, clearly taking his place for Gryffindor practice.

Later, in the privacy of your dorm, you were fuming as you sat down at your desk. The ink of your quill scratched against the parchment as you wrote in your journal, your frustration and thoughts spilling out onto the paper.

James Potter is so annoying, you wrote. He’s mean, he’s smug, and he thinks he can get under my skin with every little comment he makes. I can’t stand him. He’s got no manners, no decorum, and he’s completely unbearable. And yet. . .

You stopped for a moment, the quill hovering above the page as a little sigh escaped your lips. Your mind drifted back to the image of him, standing there with that cocky grin of his, wearing his Gryffindor Quidditch robes, his messy hair falling just right, the way he always seemed to be so effortlessly confident.

But - Merlin, I hate how handsome he looks in those bloody robes. It’s infuriating.

The quill scratched across the parchment again, your irritation and attraction clearly at war with each other.

I hate him. I really do. But I also find myself thinking about him way more than I should. I need to stop. I need to forget about him. He’s a prat, and I’ll never let him get the satisfaction of knowing he’s got me swooning. Not happening.

You threw your quill down on the desk with a huff, letting the ink dry for a moment before you closed your journal with a snap.

I need to stop being so damn dramatic about him, you thought to yourself but deep down, you knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

The match was already brutal. Fouls left and right. The ref was on their fifth warning and clearly one whistle away from walking off the pitch. You couldn’t tell if the Slytherins were being especially aggressive or if the Gryffindors were just extra annoying today.

Probably both.

You were tired. Rain clung to your gear. And your ribs already ached from the last hit you took - legal, technically and almost threw you off the pitch.

James Potter was flying ahead of you, weaving around two of your teammates with a Quaffle under his arm and that stupid determined smirk on his face. Of course he was going for the game-winner. Always had to be dramatic about it.

Then you saw it.

The Bludger came from behind him. Fast, too fast that even Black was unaware of it fast-approaching.

You didn’t think. Just turned your broom hard and bolted. Calling after him, and hearing your panicked voice - he turned just in time to see the bludger hit you square in the head.

There was a thud - loud, sickening. The air knocked right out of your lungs as it slammed into you from behind. Pain bloomed sharp and sudden. And then - nothing beneath you.

You were falling, your grip loosening from your broom. Someone shouted. Not your name - just a noise, sharp and panicked.

Your broom tumbled somewhere behind you. The world tilted. You only vaguely registered someone catching you - arms around your middle, weight shifting, fast descent.

The ground rushed up, you couldn't really see it but you can feel the gravitational pull. The bed of grass was prepared to catch you, despite how hard the impact.

But somehow, the hit never came - the pain was nowhere to be found. You felt hazy, unsure what you were seeing but you heard James loud and clear as you slipped into the darkness.

“Oi. Hey - hey! You okay? Merlin - stupid, why would you - ” His voice cracked, a little too human for someone who never shut up.

Your eyes flutter open to a ceiling that is too bright, too still to be the Slytherin dorms. Your body registers the ache before your brain does: a deep, heavy soreness that drapes over your limbs like a wet cloak.

Your head feels thick, full of fog and cotton, and every blink sends a ripple of discomfort across your skull. You groan, quietly.

And then you notice him.

James Potter, slumped in a hideously uncomfortable-looking wooden chair pulled close to your bedside. His robes are wrinkled and still grass-stained from yesterday’s match, and one of his shoes is untied.

His head is tilted back, lips parted slightly as he dozes - not peacefully, but with the edge of exhaustion that comes from refusing to sleep until your body gives out.

You stare and you blink again, slowly.

Then, like a fool possessed, you smile.

“Morning, love,” you rasp.

Your voice is rough, stretched thin from disuse or potion residue or both, but it cuts through the quiet like a spell. James startles, jerking upright in the chair with a graceless grunt that’s halfway between a gasp and a snort.

His eyes snap to yours, wide and dark behind askew glasses, and for a second - just a second - his expression is unfiltered.

Relief? Surprise? Something brighter, softer, tangled up in the panic.

“You - you’re awake,” he says, voice cracking slightly. “You’re okay?”

You nod, a little woozy, still squinting at him through the morning haze. “You stayed the night?”

James pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, suddenly bashful. “Err, yeah. Just to, y’know. Make sure you were alright.”

You grin, loopy from concussion and the very strong potions likely coursing through your bloodstream.

“That’s so sweet,” you murmur, completely sincere. “My boyfriend looking after me, I'm a lucky girl.”

James goes still, trying to absorb your words like it was a wand being jabbed to his sides. As if someone cast a Full Body-Bind, or rather - petrified.

His mouth opens, then closes. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, something that might have been a protest in another life, but right now just sounds like a dying creature.

“Wait, you - ” he starts.

And then.

“Good to see you awake, Miss ____,” comes Madam Pomfrey’s voice, brisk and efficient as she sweeps over to your bedside with a clink of glass vials. Her presence is somehow louder than it should be, breaking the fragile spell in the air.

James goes rigid, unable to say anything now. You blink up at Pomfrey with a dazed little smile. “Morning, Madam.”

The matron clicks her tongue, checking your temperature with the back of her hand before uncorking something bright blue. “You gave us quite the scare. That was a nasty hit but you’re healing well. No permanent damage. A bit of rest, and you’ll be back on a broom in no time.”

You nod, still vaguely smiling, even as she pours the potion into a silver spoon and guides it to your lips. It tastes like burnt peppermint. You don’t mind.

Beside you, James hasn’t breathed.

You reach out, unthinking, and wrap your fingers around his. “You’re warm,” you murmur. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He doesn’t.

“You WHAT.”

Sirius Black is staring at James like he’s grown two heads. Which, frankly, isn’t the most absurd thing James has done this week.

“It just slipped out!” James hisses, pacing in front of the fireplace like a man possessed. “I didn’t mean to lie! I tried to correct her, but then Pomfrey walked in and - and she was smiling like I’d hung the bloody moon, alright? I couldn’t just say ‘actually no, I’m not your boyfriend’ while she was still all loopy from taking a bludger for me!”

“So instead,” Sirius says slowly, dramatically, “you decided to pretend to be dating a girl who you sore you hated. Brilliant plan.”

“I don't hate her,” James mutters, crossing his arms.

Peter looks up from the couch, one brow raised. “She’s a Slytherin chaser who calls you ‘preening ponce’ and once hexed your broom mid-air.”

James waves a hand. “Nothing I can't handle.”

There was a pregnant pause between the Marauders, then Remus hums. “Sure.”

James groans and collapses into the armchair next to Peter, burying his face in his hands.

“I’m going to fix it. As soon as she’s up and thinking clearly. I’ll explain everything.”

“But until then,” Sirius grins, “you’re just going to enjoy being her loving, doting boyfriend?”

“No!”

“Just a little bit?”

James doesn’t answer.

Because the truth is: when you looked at him this morning like he was someone worth waking up to - even just for a moment - he didn’t feel like the villain in your story.

He felt like something softer. And Merlin help him, he wants to feel that again even if it’s only pretend.

James couldn't undo it now even if he tried, that much was evident when you were released from the hospital wing the following day. You showed up like nothing happened, brushing off people who were concerned for the Quidditch mishap - making a beeline for James.

He froze in his seat as you approached and leaned to level gazes with him as he sat upright across Sirius who threw an exasperated look his way, not at all masking the surprise.

"Good morning, Jamie," he almost choked at the nickname. "Madam Pomfrey said I'm all good to go, so we still on for Hogsmeade?"

He tenses, eyes darting around his friends as if they could help him out of the situation he's gotten himself into - but no, Peter only gawked with his jaw slack and completely ignored the looks Remus sent his way.

They were failing miserably.

"Hogsmeade?" James asked, voice somehow higher than normal from his panic. He clears his throat. "Right, Hogsmeade - shall I pick you up from the dungeons?"

You laugh, crinkling your nose. "No thanks, my house mates would hate that," you kiss him on the cheek, ignoring the gasps from onlookers (in your memory, it was always like this), "I'll meet you outside Honeydukes."

James has completely shut down from the sudden kiss, only nodding slowly in a daze as you then walked away to go your table. Your house mates could tell something was wrong after that hit you took.

But given their nature, they shrugged it off and resorted to treating you normally - looking away despite the questions swirling in their heads.

You were never one to make announcements, you kept to yourself and your journal they'd see you write in. They'll most likely whisper gossips, but that's for when you're out of earshot.

You are breakfast like normal, like the world hasn't suddenly shifted and titled around you. Because in all honesty, it hasn't. To you, it's just another breakfast in Hogwarts, maybe for lunch you'll join James at his table.

It was killing him, dramatically speaking. James has spent nearly 3 days now playing the part of a perfect boyfriend. He'd walk you to classes, sit with you in the library while you do work and even eat at the Gryffindor table with you during meals.

Those were all things he thought a good boyfriend would do, so he did them and you fell so well into the waltz that it seemed like it had been going on for months.

In your mind, it is - to him, it has been 3 very weird days.

The other Marauders have been doing their part - barely. Remus just keeps to his books to avoid inserting himself in the narrative, Peter just watches in surprise and Sirius is always laughing and sending meaningful one-liners to James.

For the most part, it was managable. That was until you started getting all sweet and touchy with him. To you, it was normal and you've done it so many times but to him, he's never even properly snogged a girl before!

One morning, you greet him with a kiss on the cheek again and settle on the space next to him. Sirius Black looked like he had won the Quidditch cup, Remus rolls his eyes and slides over a galleon he plucked from his pocket.

You ignored the exchange and focused on James who stuttered greeting you.

Then, during the shared Potions class, you partnered with him as Sirius Black so generously offered up James on a silver platter to you. You accepted, delighted.

You then got tasked to brew a Calming Draught. One he badly needed, if he do say so himself. He fell into a rhythym with you quite easily, to his surprise.

You would prepare the ingredients while he read off the instructions and mixed the cauldron. You eyed him, watching him work with a smirk playing on your lips.

"All that Quidditch truly does wonders to your arms, Jamie," You tell him with a wink and he almost knocks the entire cauldron over. He looked away to clear his throat and ignore the head spreading from his neck to his face.

Merlin, she's too much, he thought to himself.

Quidditch was terrifying, to say the least. After your accident, he was not too keen on letting you get on the broom again.

You were arguing over it during breakfast, both of you already in your Quidditch inner wear. Your colors clashed but no one seemed to mind at this point.

Too many things went on in the castle that your sudden dating announcement was the least of the most thrilling gossip lately. They were now talking about some Prefects caught in the bath together or whatever that was.

"You're barely recovered from getting hit by a bloody Bludger," James narrowed his eyes, shaking his head at you, "you're not playing again."

You scoff at him, taking a swig of your pumpkin juice. "Last I checked, you're my boyfriend and not my Mum," you roll your eyes, "besides, I was cleared by Pomfrey."

"Why are you so stubborn?" James asked, sighing in defeat.

Remus chuckles from where he sat, watching you two. James threw him a look, "Got something to say, Moony?"

"Nope, just enjoying whatever this is."

You smile at Remus then turns back to James. "Stop being dramatic, what are the odds of me getting hit by a Bludger again?"

"According to how dangerous Quidditch is, I'd say likely," Remus spoke up. You pout at him.

"You're supposed to be on my side."

He raises his hands in mock surrender, then Sirius appeared. Barely wearing his uniform properly, necktie crooked as he dropped next to Remus.

"What did I miss?" He asked, winking at Remus who showed disgust at his current disheveled state.

"They're arguing," Remus quipped. "Prongs doesn't want ____ to play because of the accident - "

"He's being dramatic." You cut in with a roll of your eyes again.

Sirius's lips stretch out into a shit-eating grin. "Aww, how sweet. Our Prongsie being a protective, worried boyfriend!"

James has never wanted to hex his best mate more.

Despite James's protests, the Quidditch drills went well. You were back to being the amazing chaser you were, dodging Bludgers with ease.

The Gyffindors occupied the pitch first, for a good couple of hours then hurried out for the Slytherins to go next - except him. He stayed behind to watch.

Wand at the ready as he watched you glide in the sky with the very same Bludger that hit you right in the head. He was on edge, like his skin was on fire as he gripped his wand.

He shouldn't be this worried.

Merlin knows he is pretending to be your boyfriend, it was all fake. But him watching you play from the stands, wand ready to come to your rescue was very much real.

After that, he storms into his dorm looking like a man at war. He tells Remus he feels like his head is going to explode from it all, the scarred boy offers the very simple solution of 'just tell her the truth, mate' but James faltered.

Because that was the most obvious thing to do, it was the right thing to do yet he feels like something is holding him back. Later, he joins you in the library where you greet him with the sweetest smile and slides over a packet of chocolate frogs.

He couldn't confess then.

The library is quiet, and the only sound is the faint rustle of parchment as you turn the pages of the book you’ve barely been reading.

The candles flicker, casting long shadows across the wooden tables, but your mind isn't on the words in front of you. It keeps drifting back to the match. The Bludger. The sharp pain, the dizzying fall.

And then. . .nothing.

You bite your lip, trying to recall more, but it’s as if there’s a hole in your memory, a space where the truth should be. You can remember the loud cheers from the crowd, the fast pulse of the game, the whoosh of the air as you flew - but there’s one detail that’s missing. It gnaws at you, and you can’t push it away.

It’s James.

You don’t remember him shouting at you. You don’t remember the look on his face when you tumbled, when your broom spiraled out of control. In fact, you don’t even remember if he was there at all.

The thought lingers as you glance over at the other side of the table, where your dorm mate is scribbling furiously in their own parchment, seemingly lost in their thoughts.

You sit up straighter and clear your throat, catching their attention.

“Hey,” you say softly, your voice quieter than you expected. "Can I ask you something?"

They look at you, blinking, a slight frown pulling at the corners of their lips. “What’s up?”

You hesitate, the question slipping out before you can stop it. “Do you remember the match? The one with the Bludger?”

Your friend raises an eyebrow. “Of course, I remember it. You almost got your skull cracked in half.” They give a wry grin, clearly trying to make light of it. “Why?”

You swallow, then push forward, your voice quieter this time. “I remember falling. But - I don’t remember why I got hit.”

Your friend’s expression falters, their quill pausing in mid-air as the words sink in. "What do you mean by that?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, unsure how to explain. The more you try to piece together the memories, the more fragmented they become.

“I don’t know.” Your voice feels small now, and your chest tightens. “Something’s wrong with it. It doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t feel right.”

Your house mate doesn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretches on longer than either of you expected. When they do speak, it's with an uncertain edge to their voice. “You did seem. . . off afterward. But you’re fine now, aren’t you?”

You nod slowly, though the knot in your stomach refuses to loosen. They neglected to point out how sudden your relationship your Potter bloomed, thinking that might be rude to comment on so they bit their tongue.

Meanwhile, across the castle, James is back in Gryffindor Tower, staring at the mess of papers scattered across his desk. His mind isn’t on Potions homework or Defense Against the Dark Arts like it should be. Instead, it keeps drifting to you.

The past few days have been. . . bizarre. You have been the picture-perfect couple despite the very obscure start of the relationship. He was an amazing boyfriend and you were a lovely girlfriend.

It’s not that you’re not perfect to him. It’s just - well, he’s never been in a relationship, and this? This feels like too much, too quickly.

And yet, when he sees you in your Quidditch gear, when you flirt with him so easily during drills, when you’re smiling at him across the table - he almost melts, and he can't help it.

That day, when you handed him his broom and leaned in just a little closer than usual, his heart nearly beat out of his chest. But then you smiled at him and the world tilted, for just a second.

The truth is, he’s panicking. He doesn’t know how to handle you - how to handle this.

James’ hands tighten around his quill, and he stops writing, thoughts swirling in his mind. He should tell you the truth, right? It’s what he should do.

He can’t keep pretending - it’s only a matter of time before you start realizing that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, that this fake relationship he’s so casually playing along with is about to crumble.

He needs to talk to you. He knows that much. But starting is always harder than actually doing.

James has decided that he'll tell you after dinner. That was it, after the dinner at the Great Hall is when he comes clean, Peter even hyped him for it - patting his back encouragingly.

You two had dinner together at his house's table again, mingling with the other Marauders as they treated you as normally as possible for their terrible acting.

Sirius is pretty tamed, less biting jokes and more playful banter with you about Quidditch while Remus was engaging Peter and James about their Potions essay that he had looked over for review.

Then dinner concluded, you bid them goodbye and James got up as well as to walk you back. The three boys sent him off with a knowing look, and the three watch you disappear from the hall.

"Bet you 5 galleons he won't be able to say it," Sirius whispers to Remus, his nose brushing against his scarred cheek.

Remus lets out a grumble under his breath but nodded nontheless. "Some faith you have in him, huh?"

On the walk to the dungeons, you held his hand. You could feel how tense he was under your touch and hoped he'd ease into it sooner, you kept walking despite the weirdness.

It was clear he was intending to say something. A nasty voice at the back of your head teased that he wanted to break up, you shake that thought off and look at him.

"I really like being with you," you tell him with a small smile. "I know we're dating, but - I really like being in your presence, you're always so comfortable and warm."

He doesn't say anything, he just listens to you, his face is unredable but you continue.

"I think being your girlfriend might be the best thing to happen to me - right under winning the Quidditch cup. Which we will, by the way."

You managed to laugh at your own joke, he cracked a grin at the sound of your laughter bouncing off the castle walls. He stils then, you follow suit, abruptly stopping in the hallway.

"Listen, ____," he starts and you look at him expectantly. You waited for him to say something but his internal struggle was very evident in his hazel eyes.

You decided then to just quiet his thoughts by closing in on him, your lips on his was soft. It met his with a single step and he felt like he had been electrocuted from his head to his toes.

He almost didn't register that his body moved on its own to pull you closer, arms snaked around your middle so he can kiss you while feeling your warmth flushed against his body.

You smile into the kiss and he feels it, he's now well aware of what is happening and kissing you back just as softly. It wasn't the desperate, rushing kind that snogging teens did - this kiss was slow, soft and it was meant to calm him down.

It did. All his worries melted into nothing as he kissed you back, feeling your smile against his lips.

You both full away not a moment after, you smile at him. "I love you, James."

He felt like he was thrown off the Astronomy tower. You didn't feel discouraged by his silence at all, you only remained smiling.

"Don't be pressured to say it back, I understand." And you really did.

So you just kept on, disappearing into your common room after another peck to his cheek and he doesn't remember how the rest of that walk went.

What he even replied? He can't remember at all.

All he knows is he stood in the middle of the darkened hall feeling like a man on trial, "Shit." he whispered under his breath.

The dorm is silent. Just the occasional drip of condensation down the stone walls, the faint rustle of green curtains stirred by a charmed breeze. Everyone’s long gone to bed, their breathing steady, calm.

You should be asleep too but you can’t, the kiss all too fresh on your lips that you felt too giddy to shut your eyes.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, quill hovering uncertainly above your journal. The fire in the corner hearth has died down to embers, casting long shadows across the room, and the only sound is the soft scratch of your quill until even that stops.

You’ve been trying to write about James. To put into words the way he looked tonight when he pulled away from the kiss, how his eyes were so bright, how warm your body felt against his when he pulled you close.

You want to capture the soft glow of it all. The very first proper kiss exchanged with him, the anticipation of it all, how warm he was.

But something’s off.

You tap the feathered end of the quill against your chin. Then you blink, staring hard at the line you just wrote. “Tonight reminded me of that first Gryffindor party when he pulled me in wearing his scarf.”

Your brow furrows.

You can see it so clearly in your head: the roaring fireplace, Sirius handing you a Butterbeer with a wink, the loud music and red-and-gold banners hanging from the rafters.

You were flushed from laughing too hard, James’s scarf knotted loosely around your neck. He had his hand on your back as he guided you through the crowded common room, and someone whistled when he kissed your cheek.

Your lips twitch at the memory, but then your stomach twists as the realization slowly began to dawn on you. Your quill slips from your fingers.

“Wait.”

Your voice is barely a whisper in the dark, but it sounds thunderous to your ears. As if anyone could hear, you spoke out loud : “I’ve never been to a Gryffindor party.”

You sit there, breath caught in your throat, you tried to reason with yourself. Maybe you’re misremembering.

Maybe it was a different party. A Hogsmeade weekend? Something outside?

But no. No, you know the Gryffindor common room. You can see it in your head - and that’s the problem. Because you shouldn’t be able to. You’re a Slytherin.

You’ve never stepped foot past the portrait. Hell, James Potter would’ve been the first one to hex you back out. Your heart starts pounding.

You move in a panicked pace, flipping through the journal entries you have written previously as your eyes begin to sting. The night was taking such a huge turn from the previous scene.

Then you found it. The one from before the accident with the Bludger that landed you a Hospital Wing visit.

The entries are snarky, something about the tone of the writer, you, was bitter as the quill scratched parchment.

“Potter made a scene again today. He hexed Mulciber’s shoelaces together during Defense and acted like it was hilarious.”

“Potter just had to look good in his bloody jumper this morning. It's good that Holidays break is coming up, my head needs a rest from his bloody taunts.”

“Pretty sure bloody Potter is an idiot in that pretty boy body, he's such a twat!”

You turn another page, hands trembling as you absorbed the words written down. This was too soon, the entries dating to the time you were supposedly already with him.

And then - you stop. There it is.

An entry, dated the day before the match. Before the fall which seemed to have changed the trajectory of your life.

“Tried not to stare at him in practice. He was flying loops with that stupid smug grin and it’s not like I like him, I just He will never like me because of my house.”

The breath leaves your lungs in a rush. You read it again and again. Fingers gripping the edges of the page so tightly they crinkle.

You don’t understand it for the longest minute that your eyes raked over the cursive writing over and over and over until you finally do.

The hit to the head had made it all up, you have fabricated memories of what you thought you were with him and he, for Merlin knows what - played along all this time. Two whole weeks of being a couple, he's managed that despite the entries stating his dislike for you.

You blink down at the journal, heart thudding in your ears.

The fire crackles softly, casting dancing shadows across the stone floor.

And in a voice that isn’t quite yours, you whisper: “Oh, Salazar. None of it was real.”

The following morning, you completely ignored him. He watched in confusion as you enter the Great Hall and settled at the Slytherin table like he did not exist.

The three other boys watched him watching you.

"I thought you said you didn't get to tell her," Remus asked, raising a brow.

"I didn't." Was all James said.

His frown was deep as he watched you eat breakfast like you had forgotten there even was a James Potter in your life, it was too stark a contrast from the moment you two had last night.

You successfully ignored and evaded him throughout the day, much to his dislike - he was almost tearing his hair out when every attempt to approach you was shut down so expretly.

You dodged out of his way, disappeared completely between classes, you missed Quidditch as well and it is now dinner when you had managed to let your guard down and he cornered you.

Grabbing you just as you were about to round the corners for the dungeons - you were grabbed and shoved into a broom closet.

Before panic could settle, you saw him. Merlin, you almost regret looking when you saw how distraught he looked, like you had broken his broom and threw it at the whomping willow for good measure.

You heave a sigh.

"You've been ignoring me all day," James spoke calmly despite his frustration. "Godric - can you just tell me what I did wrong, please?"

You almost gave in. Just almost. You heave another sigh before speaking, stepping back to put some distance between you two. "I know, I read my journal and what I saw did not match the memories I have about us."

His jaw went slack and his lack of denial was the confirmation. The final nail in your coffin that was already half-buried anyway.

"You remember?" He asked, finally.

You shake your head. "Not exactly, I still think you're my boyfriend but it's slowly coming back."

"Then why just end it here?" James asked, making you frown from the riddles he's spouting.

"Say it clearly before I get the wrong message, Potter."

"Merlin, I don't know how exactly but - the past two weeks has not been fake to me," James confessed, looking like he just let off the weight on his shoulders. "I want it to be real, I want you."

You couldn't answer him - too shocked at the words escaping the very same lips that had nothing but insults for you.

"Please give me a chance, we can make this real. You and me, ____."

Salazar himself could come down from wherever and shake you and you would still not come to your senses from the shock of it all. It took a solid minute of him watching the shock paint your face before you came about.

You cleared your throat, looking down toa void his eyes.

"The memories weren't there randomly," you confessed, taking it as your cue to come clean as well. "I have liked you for an embarrassing amount of time. Merlin knows why when we've done nothing but fight. But I have."

He kept quiet, you didn't see his face so you can't tell how he's taking this.

"It was all because I've been pining for you since third-year, even though you're a bloody tosser."

He lets out a chuckle. It surprised you enough that you looked up and saw his face, how his eyes were so soft that you almost tripped over nothing and right into those hazel pools.

You felt your heart leap out of your chest.

"We're bloody idiots, Moony said that much, suppose he was right."

You couldn't even laugh when he closed the distance and captured your lips in his. This time, it was real and you both knew the truth - somehow kissing him in a broom closet proved to be so much more magical.

All the pages you've written down claiming he'd rather snog a troll than snog you proven so wrong.

end. masterlist

#james fleamont potter #james potter #james potter marauders #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #marauders #marauders era #hp marauders #marauders x reader #harry potter #harry potter marauders #harry potter marauders era

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aleese1111 · 2 days ago

Note

hii! Could you pleaaase make a baekjin x fem!reader x seongje, i haven’t seen anything like this and ik you’ll write it goooddd 🥹🫶🏻

three wolves, one flame | geum seong je x union!reader x na baek jin

summary: they run the city’s shadows with cold hands and colder eyes—two boys circling the same girl like orbiting wolves, too stubborn to say they care, too loyal to walk away. in smoke, silence, and bruised affection, they protect what they won't name.

warnings: [slow burn] violence, blood, language, implied emotional trauma, smoking,

author's note: i lowkey fell in love with this one. contemplating if i should turn this into a series or just mini chapters because i have no idea on how to continue this.. so please lmk, anyway! requests ,,

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

the air inside baek jin’s office always smelled like old paper, cigarette smoke, and something faintly metallic—like blood that never quite left the floor. the room was small but efficient. a modest desk sat tucked against the far wall, cluttered with files and an aging laptop baek jin used for both homework and union logistics. behind him, shelves groaned under the weight of ledgers, envelopes, and binders—some labeled, some not. a coat rack stood near the door, his school uniform jacket hanging neatly as always, untouched and ghost-like.

on the couch, which was barely wide enough for two, she sat cross-legged, a thick folder open on her lap. her fingers were stained with ink and nicotine, flipping pages with practiced speed. her brows were drawn tight in concentration, but her mouth was already forming insults.

“you’re breathing too loud. move.”

beside her, seong je let out a long, lazy exhale, smoke trailing from his lips. “it’s my lungs. want me to stop breathing next?” his thumb scrolled absently on his phone.

“you say that like it’s a bad idea.”

“you like having me around. admit it.”

she snorted. “i’d rather put out this cigarette in my eye.”

baek jin didn’t look up from his desk. this was routine. predictable. he only paused for a second when seong je flicked a crumpled receipt at her face, smirking when it bounced off her forehead.

“touch me again, i will rip your ears off and mail them to your mother,” she said, without even flinching.

“joke’s on you, she’s already deaf.”

that earned him a hard jab to the ribs with the sharp edge of a folder. he groaned theatrically, tipping his head back against the couch and blowing smoke toward the ceiling.

“i swear to god, you're like a feral cat with a calculator,” he muttered.

“and you’re a hemorrhoid with a motorcycle license.”

baek jin turned a page. the yelling had escalated, but it was background noise. normal. expected.

the argument died the same way it always did—abruptly and without resolution.

she slammed the folder shut and stood. the air shifted. joon and gyung, who had been waiting outside the office door like loyal shadows, straightened as she stepped out.

“collection day,” she said simply, already moving.

seong je rolled his shoulders and stood with her, but she didn’t wait. joon and gyung fell in line behind her like trained dogs, their footsteps echoing as the group left the safe walls of the bowling alley and stepped into the dusk.

@ . !

they found them behind a school, deep in the alley that smelled like piss and motor oil. it was a place for things that didn’t want to be seen—perfect for business.

a few boys loitered under the flickering light. low-ranking union lackeys, careless with the rules. she stopped a few feet away, her presence slicing through the tension like a box cutter.

“you’ve got my money?” she asked, voice cool, indifferent.

one of the boys stepped forward. too confident. too dumb. “you don’t get to bark orders at us, bitch.”

seong je was sitting nearby, on a low concrete barrier, smoking. he didn’t move. not yet. he was watching, the way a wolf watches another predator test its luck.

she didn’t blink. “you’re two days late.”

the guy stepped closer, nudging her shoulder. once. twice.

“maybe you wait a little longer,” he said with a smirk. “maybe say please.”

behind her, joon and gyung tensed. she didn’t say anything, just gave a lazy glance to her left.

gyung understood the signal.

the jab to the gut was fast and brutal—air left the guy’s lungs like a popped balloon. he stumbled back, wheezing, while the others flinched. two of them ran.

“go,” she said calmly.

joon darted after them.

only two remained: the one bent over in pain, and another who hadn’t moved yet, watching with wide eyes, deciding if he wanted to be stupid or not.

she crouched beside the first guy, lit another cigarette with a flick of her lighter, and exhaled slowly.

“you work for me,” she said. “you pay, or you bleed. got it?”

the second guy tensed—fight won the war in his brain.

he lunged.

he never reached her.

seong je was a blur of violence—one second on the edge of the scene, the next driving a fist into the boy’s face hard enough to drop him instantly. no words. no warning. just pure, sharp brutality.

he didn’t stop.

fists rained down, calculated and furious. blood splattered against the wall. the sound of bone meeting flesh echoed through the alley.

she stood slowly, arms crossed, cigarette glowing.

“enough,” she said.

seong je didn’t look at her right away. his fists paused mid-motion. then he stood, blood staining his knuckles, breathing hard.

she met his eyes for a moment. something silent passed between them. then she turned and walked away.

“get the cash,” she called over her shoulder.

gyung moved without question.

seong je wiped his hand on his shirt and lit a new cigarette. he glanced once at the boy groaning on the ground and then followed her into the dark.

business, as always, was done.

@ . !

the streets were quieter now. the sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows that swallowed the cracks in the pavement. she walked ahead, cigarette still burning between her fingers, the orange tip flaring with every drag. her steps were calm, composed, like she hadn’t just threatened teenagers and watched one get half-pulped into a brick wall.

behind her, seong je followed. blood still clung to the ridges of his knuckles, crusting dry in the creases, but he didn’t care. he never did. he flicked his own cigarette aside and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.

they walked in silence for a while, their footsteps echoing softly in rhythm. the kind of quiet that buzzed—static thick with unspoken things.

“you know,” seong je finally said, “you could’ve told gyung to handle it before that dumbass even touched you.”

she didn’t look at him. “he barely touched me.”

“he pushed you.”

“and i didn’t fall. so?”

he scoffed, catching up until they walked shoulder to shoulder. “you’re insane.”

“says the guy who beat someone half to death over a shoulder nudge.”

he grinned. “you like it when i get violent.”

she rolled her eyes. “i like it when you shut the fuck up.”

“but you let me handle it.”

“i let you burn calories.”

seong je laughed under his breath, a short, dry sound. “you’re welcome, by the way.”

“for what?”

“for being your unhinged guard dog.”

“you’re not my anything.”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he glanced sideways at her—at the bruise just barely starting to form on her collarbone where the guy had pushed her, at the cigarette held steady between her fingers, at the calm, calculated cold in her eyes.

he liked her too much. it was a problem he hadn’t figured out how to fix.

“...you patched me up last week,” he muttered. “don’t pretend like you don’t care.”

“i patched you up so you wouldn’t bleed on baek jin’s couch.”

“sure,” he said. “totally believable.”

she slowed a bit, enough that he noticed but didn’t comment. she glanced over, squinting at him through the dimming light.

“you’re bleeding,” she said flatly.

“you always say that like it’s a surprise.”

she stopped walking. so did he.

“you’re an idiot,” she said, stepping in close. her hand reached for his face, thumb brushing a cut on his cheekbone. it was rough, not tender—like everything she did. “you didn’t have to go that far.”

“he was gonna hit you.”

“i had it handled.”

“yeah,” he muttered, not smiling anymore. “but i don’t like watching people touch you.”

her expression didn’t change. not much. maybe a flicker in her eyes. maybe.

she shoved his face gently to the side with the palm of her hand. “possessive freak.”

he grinned again. “you love it.”

“i tolerate it.”

“that’s practically a love confession coming from you.”

she started walking again. “say one more word and i’ll smoke my cigarette out on your forehead.”

he laughed, trailing behind her.

and behind the sarcasm and bruised knuckles, there was something solid between them—twisted, loud, dysfunctional.

@ . !

by the time they reached the back entrance of the bowling alley, the sky had faded to charcoal grey. the neon sign buzzed above them, flickering like it was trying to decide whether to die or hang on another day. she pushed the door open with her shoulder and stepped inside, the familiar scent of oil, dust, and stale air greeting her like a second home.

seong je followed her, hands still in his pockets, quieter now. at the door to baek jin’s office, he hesitated. she paused, looking back at him.

“i’m heading to the internet café,” he said, voice casual, but his eyes lingered on her a little longer than necessary. “need to blow off some steam.”

she shrugged, already reaching for the doorknob. “go waste your brain cells.”

he smirked. “you love me dumb.”

“don’t flatter yourself.”

she pushed the door open and stepped inside. he didn’t follow.

“patch your hand,” she added over her shoulder. “or don’t. maybe it’ll rot off.”

“aw, worried about me,” he teased.

she gave him the finger without turning around.

he chuckled and walked off, footsteps fading down the hall.

inside, baek jin didn’t look up as she entered. he was at his desk, sleeves rolled up, pencil in hand, methodically underlining something in one of the ledgers. the room felt quieter without seong je in it—thicker, somehow.

she dropped her bag beside the couch and sank into it with a tired exhale. the tension hadn’t left her body yet, but it always faded in here. in this space where time moved slower, where baek jin never asked more than she wanted to give.

“you’re back early,” he said after a moment, eyes still on the paper.

“boys ran faster than usual.”

he nodded once. “anyone give you trouble?”

she pulled another cigarette from her pocket. “one tried. he didn’t try again.”

this time, baek jin did look up. his eyes flicked to her shoulder, narrowing slightly. “you’re bruised.”

“occupational hazard,” she muttered, lighting up.

he stared at her a second longer, then stood. she watched him cross the room in that quiet, deliberate way he moved—like he didn’t waste energy on anything that didn’t matter. he disappeared behind her for a moment. when he came back, he tossed his jacket over her.

she stiffened slightly, cigarette hovering near her lips.

“still cold,” he said simply, sitting back down.

“i’m not cold.”

“you always say that.”

she didn’t take it off.

they sat like that for a while. just the two of them. him scribbling quietly. her smoking in silence, baek jin’s jacket draped over her shoulders like it belonged there.

no yelling. no banter.

just stillness.

the only sound for a long while was the scratch of baek jin’s pencil against paper and the occasional soft crackle of her cigarette.

“you let seong je come with you again,” baek jin said eventually, not looking up.

she snorted. “he follows me around like a leech. what am i supposed to do? spray him with bug repellent?”

“he’s loud,” baek jin replied calmly.

“so are you, when you feel like it.”

“not with fists.”

she gave a half-smirk, flicking ash into the tray on the coffee table. “you jealous?”

“no,” he said plainly. “he’s reckless. you’re not.”

“he only steps in when i let him.” she tilted her head against the back of the couch, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. “you know that.”

baek jin hummed, noncommittal, and went back to his work.

for a while, there was nothing but silence again. not awkward. not empty. just their kind of quiet.

“you still live off convenience store food?” she asked after a minute, squinting at him.

“i eat what’s easy.”

“that’s not eating. that’s survival.”

“i survive just fine.”

“could’ve fooled me,” she muttered, stretching out along the couch. “you’re gonna die from sodium poisoning before you even graduate.”

“and you’ll die from chain-smoking before i do.”

“touché,” she murmured, a tired smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

her voice grew softer, like sleep was already tugging at her edges. “...how do you do it?”

baek jin paused, pencil hovering over the paper. “do what?”

“stay calm all the time. even when shit hits the fan. even when everyone’s losing their heads.” her voice had dropped low. “how do you not break?”

he was quiet for a beat.

then, “because if i break, everything else does.”

she didn’t answer. her breathing was slowing now, cigarette burned out in the ashtray. she was curled on her side, one arm under her head, the other tugging baek jin’s jacket closer around her like she hadn’t meant to.

he glanced up, setting his pencil down soundlessly.

she was already asleep.

he stood, walked over with soft steps, and crouched beside the couch. carefully, he pulled the jacket tighter over her frame and adjusted the pillow under her head. for a second, his hand hovered near her temple, like he wanted to brush the hair away from her face—but didn’t.

baek jin’s face didn’t show much. it never did.

but something flickered in his eyes. something quiet. protective.

then he stood, returned to his desk, and went back to work.

behind him, she slept soundly under his jacket, breathing even and steady.

and outside, the world kept turning. dangerous. unforgiving.

but in here, for a little while longer, it was still.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

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avaredava · 20 hours ago

Text

JJK men and your weird questions

MDNI

Master lists

Nanami Kento:

You're raking your nails up and down Nanami Kentos bare chest, heaving up and down after having long sweaty sex.

He hit from the back today, even though he doesn't like it because he can't see your pretty face but seeing your ass jiggle makes up for it.

"What if I hit it from the back Nanami?"

He shut his eyes tight ribbing the bridge of his nose as he caresses your back. "How would that even work love?" He asked with an overstimulated hint in his voice.

"Baby you do a lot and you didn't even do aftercare because your overwhelmed and stuff but I want you to sit there and look pretty my gorgeous queen." You say with your lips puckered.

"Whatever makes you happy princess."

"Whoop! I love you so much Nanami, I already bought the strap."

"Oh my god."

He said for the tenth time today, he gets tired being your husband but he couldn't live without you.

Toji Fushiguro:

When you ovulate it's rough. Toji makes fun of you sometimes, because it's like your sex deprived, like he didn't just fuck you into the mattress an hour ago.

But seeing his muscles bulge in his tight shirt. But it's also good when he wears a baggy shirt too.

So when he stretched you can see his v muscle and happy trail leading to happy places.

So you instantly get wet. But for some reason the normal sex that last like 30. Minutes feels so good.

But it's so fast and quick. You need something slow and sensual. But sometimes you get so wet, you need it to be fast.

But maybe something else...

"Toji can I sit on your face?"

He turned his head back with a small grin. And a little nod just made your squeeze your thighs together.

Yeah he did not let you get off his face all night.

Suguru Geto:

Suguru will always be a dom, no matter what.

But sometimes it pisses you off. So mid sex when he was plowing into you missionary you started to yap.

"Fuck- Suguru so uhm I wanna talk about something." You say trying to stay composed because his thick cock was rubbing on every one of your sweet spots.

"Yeah? What's that pretty?" He said it in a breathy tone that made your clit throb. His hair hanging in front of his while is more shorter hair in the front stuck to his forehead with sweat.

He let out a shaky breath out when you held him closer. To whisper something in his ear.

"Can I like... eat your ass out?"

He rolls inside half way in a thrust and looks at you while he stopped. "What did you say?" His fazed look leaving his face to a more confused one.

"Like your chocolate starfish?"

His face dropped and pulled out immediately. He left, making you feel empty and a bit sad since he usually gives you after care but he ran into the washroom and you hear a ding on your phone.

"Listen, only if you never tell anyone because like it kinda sounds fun as long as it's with you."

Yeah this means more than aftercare.

Satoru Gojo:

"What's your opinion on smacking?"

"What?" He said snapping his head back to behind the couch to where you were standing, fluttering his white lashes over his wide open baby blues.

"I don't mean meanly, I mean like during sex." You respond in an overly happy voice, like you want him to hit you.

And of course his jaw drops, like the dramatic baby boy he is. He never wants to hit you. Even if mildly pinched you and he saw a blemish of red on your skin because he did that too you he would die. (His words, not yours)

"No!"

He said almost instantly after panicking, with a long stare and a gaping mouth.

"But..." His demeanor fully changed into cocky, you sometimes don't know how it works. But it happens.

"You can smack me mommy dommy."

You walk off with a roll of your eyes. "Eugh you ruined it, I'm leaving."

"Wait!"

Ryomen Sukuna:

"Can you scratch your name out on my back?"

"Why in the world would I do that woman?" He said with a scrunch of his eyebrows and all four of his arms crossed.

You're sitting on his knee in his empty throne room. Just sitting quietly like he likes it. You're just reading and he's relaxing but looking over your shoulder once and a while to read what you're reading.

So the random breaking of silence just made him surprised. Especially when you said that.

"I wanna show people you own me." You said with a small smirk. Like he doesn't have you clinging to his hip 24/7.

But he gave in anyway, mid back shots (like usual) you felt his long nail drawing his name small on the back. A tramp stamp.

It hurt for a second but it quickly stopped when he used his cursed technique to heal it before it started to bleed.

The next morning you look at your back in the mirror, it was his first and last name in the prettiest font. He surprisingly has good hand writing.

When the scar goes away he'll do it again.

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slttygeto · 10 hours ago

Text

“will you still have a crush?”

pairing: husband! suguru x wife! reader.

genre: fluff.

note: smth very short thats been sitting in my drafts for a while and i decided to work on since my insomnia kicked in. enjoy.

suguru can feel you staring at him, which he finds quite hilarious.

you on the other hand? you were fuming. or at least trying to.

because you know the argument you just had with suguru wasn’t really an argument, and that you were probably being dramatic and absolutely—no, certainly needed to hear suguru laugh again —he laughed so hard that he had tears in his eyes and you could feel your face heating up.

god, he was so fucking attractive.

so the question was—do you have a crush on me?

suguru had responded with—we have been married for four years. which was obviously the wrong answer and your husband should’ve known that.

“okay so you hate me.”

“baby, I married you.”

“what if someone dared you to?” to which suguru grimaced at.

“I’m not 15.”

“oh but you wish you were.”

stepping closer to you, making sure that he can still see the pancakes from his spot just in case they burn, suguru bends down to your level. “what does that mean baby?”

you try your best to unaffected by the close proximity, this was your husband for fuck’s sake. but even years later, the brown of his eyes makes you feel weak in the knees.

“you’d be the age where you hadn’t met me yet.” you add with a roll to your eyes, crossing your arms over your puffed out chest.

it catches suguru off guard, but he is clearly enjoying the little show you were putting on. because a few moments later, he is resting his forehead on your shoulder and his entire body trembles.

“what— are you laughing?!”

your husband cradles your face in his hands, pulling away from your shoulder to kiss your lips while you jokingly push him away.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry that was just so—“

“don’t talk to me! you don’t even take me seriously anymore!”

“I do! I just didn’t expect that kind of response.” he tries to reason with you, but to no avail.

and so now you were on the couch pouting, and he was sitting on the other side of the couch with a plate of pancakes.

“are you sure you don’t want some pancakes?”

“I wish I put poison in them.” you mutter under your breath, and suguru still thinks you’re the funniest person alive.

“a murderer announcing how they’re going to kill their target?” he teases, leaning closer to you while you pretend to stare anywhere but at his face.

“yeah and I would make sure no one finds your body.”

“how would you do that, baby?” you raise an eyebrow at him, and he mirrors your action, bringing his face closer to you. “I am kind of a big guy. wouldn’t that be a hassle to you?”

screw him for knowing how to make you fold.

“…I would have anger fueled strength.”

he gasps dramatically. “anger fueled?”

you nod. “because you hate me.”

“because I said I married you.”

“which was basically ignoring the question ‘do you have a crush on me?’ so yeah.”

“interesting.”

“to someone who’s full of disdain and hatred, yes it would be very interesting.”

the longer suguru stared at you, the more he effortlessly towered over you on the couch, the harder it was to keep the act going. his brown eyes stare deeply into your soul as he sets the plate down, turning to face you.

it’s silent at first, just his eyes staring at you and your face slowly warming up under his intense gaze.

“…what?” you finally break the silence, blinking repeatedly.

“four years down the road, and you still blink so much when you’re nervous.”

a habit no one noticed, not even your own mother. your eyes get watery when you’re nervous, they’re truly the mirror to your soul—

of course suguru would know that better than anyone else.

you sit there, lips parted in awe at his words and your face feeling like a furnace. if there was any person in the world who could make you feel like a teenager falling in love for the first time, it would be suguru.

“..sounds like you have a crush on me or something.” you mumble under your breath, trying your best not to crack under his gaze and he laughs, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your lips.

“maybe, who knows?”

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

#moon's works #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen fluff #geto fluff #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #getou x reader #getou fluff #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru #getou suguru x y/n #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x reader fluff #jjk x you #jjk fluff

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innorality · 1 day ago

Text

reconciliation with stack after the argument (part one here)

(part two of the angsty post I made)

you felt silly, truly. you honestly could not believe yourself as you walked towards Club Juke, their club—his club, holding onto the fur coat he had formely stolen for you. when you walked out after the argument, you had sworn to yourself that you would forget about him for good. screw him and his perfect smile, his honey-coated voice and his warm, familiar embrace.

truth is,

you felt ill without him.

7 years. it's been seven years since you had last seen him, and now that he's finally back, you had this underlying feeling that you couldn't just scream at him and leave. you needed him too much.

your heels dug in the grass below your feet as you walked hesitantly, finally getting to the door where Cornbread was standing. "now, that's a face I haven't seen in a while. how you been, sugar?" his deep husky voice comforting you, you smiled. "I don't... i don't really know." your fingers tightened against the fur of your coat. "I get it. it's been a long time." he walked down the two stairs that separated the both of you, getting closer to you.

"stack told me about the argument. i told him that no amount of money could teach him how to properly talk to a woman. that man's a true pain in the behind, ain't he?" his hand landed on the top of your head, petting it while you giggled. "hell yeah, he is."

"don't work yourself up, sugar. get in there and have fun, yeah?" you nodded and he stepped back, letting you in.

the loud music that was being played by a local band hit your ears, but you paid no mind. you headed straight for the bar, and sat infront of grace who was already grabbing a glass for you. "didn't expect to see you here." she commented, "nobody did." you shot back. "beer?" she went for the bottle and opened it, "please." you nodded.

"hope you've got some real coins to pay. all we get from the people here are wooden ones." she poured you a glass and slid it towards you, but a masculine voice echoed from behind you, overcoming the loud music with ease.

"it's on the house, for her." you didn't even need to turn around to know who it was. "if stack says so," grace shrugged, walking towards another client, leaving the two fo you alone.

you couldn't even get a sip of your beer before his hands slid around your jaw, cupping your jaw. he leaned down next to your ear. "you came." he affirmed, as if to confirm it to himself. "I had to see the club for myself." "and?" "definitely not worth the seven years." he quickly pecked your cheek before letting go of you and sitting next to you.

"you're still on about that." he looked straight at you but you refused to give him the pleasure of seeing your eyes. "how could I not?" and he surrendered, "you're right. i'm sorry." that caught your attention. stack was never one to admit he was at fault, and that realization made you turn to him slowly.

"i'm sorry for everything. for disappearing. for being so superficial. for not writing. for not even saying goodbye." he scooted over next to you and grabbed your waist, closing the distance between the two of you. he pressed his forehead against yours and your gaze flickered down to his lips.

"I love you." he mumbled. "say that again." "I love you."

"again."

"I love you."

"one more time."

"I love you more than anything else in the world."

you bit your lip and chewed slightly. you were torn between smashing the glass cup that was next to you on his head, and kissing him like you needed him to breath.

"fuck." you sighed out, looking back up at his eyes. "what?" he chuckled. "I really want to kill you, as of right now. but I also really, really, want to kiss you." and he smiled wider. that damn smile. "they say the line between hatred and love is blurry like fog."

"don't ever leave me again, elias." and you saying his name like that made his stomach twist in adoration, he really fucking misses you. "never again, I promise." and finally, he leaned in to kiss you. he pressed his lips against yours and you mirrored him, your arms snaking around his neck to cage him in.

you were weak for stack.

you were weak for elias moore just as much as he was weak for you.

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lucygraysboy · 2 days ago

Text

“lucy gray, do i look like someone who could take this whole thing seriously?” billy sighs, briefly sticking his head out of the bathroom, looking more defeated than annoyed. did he overreact? say something hurtful or insensitive again? he doesn’t recall such things. he was mostly just playing, teasing her rather than getting genuinely offended. it takes a lot more than a silly pet name to get under his skin. she, out of all people, should know this. “now, with all seriousness, i don’t care much ‘bout it. i’ve been called worse than babydoll. let’s not make a big deal out of it.” fingers carding through his hair as he retreats to the bathroom, trying to check out his tattoo in the mirror but she interrupts him again. “huh? oh, it’s probably blair’s. she must of forgot to pack it,” he explains, confused as to why any of it matters. “and what? you jokin’?” pulling his underwear back up, he walks out with a frown because none of what she’s saying makes any sense. it’s only when his eyes flicker to the pile of evidence laid out on his bed that he recognizes the piece of lingerie and rolls his eyes. “before you jump to any crazy conclusions, it’s my ex-girlfriend’s and she didn’t leave it here last weekend after no let’s sleep with each other one last time kind of situation, okay?” though, he’s starting to wonder if she’s left pieces of herself behind on purpose rather than accident, hoping whoever comes after her is greeted by this unpleasant reminder that she was here, too. “whoa! whoa! whoa! why you bein’ crude now? what’s that supposed to mean? i ain’t screwin’ no one.” grimacing, the lines on his forehead deepening, brows inching closer together, it all sounds like she’s calling him a whore and he’s both embarrassed and hurt by the accusation. the blatant lack of trust. “how many —? this is crazy talk, lucy gray. you realize that, right? you’re a lunatic if you think i hook up with other women while you’re not here. don’t be ridiculous. i’m not hugh hefner.” he snatches the blouse and the bra, folds the fabric over and over again until it’s a ball of cotton and lace in his hands, and tosses it into the hamper. out of sight. “you need to calm down. what’s gotten into you?”

“just bein’ mean.” and saying she’s sulking makes her even more irritated. hating the way the kisses make her want to change her mind but that’s just the mental aspect of it, reverse psychology. “oh there is?” brows lift, “guess i’ll have to inspect the pirate patches, get me one too.” she plays, thinking she’s definitely going to use his permission to dig in his closet to see where these came from. “no? this is love assault.” replying in the midst of writing, capping the marker than giving him a smack on his ass. “all purtied up.” and she’ll leave him to guess if it’s permanent or not. laughing to herself, thinking he’s wailing because she spanked him. “you want me to save your nude in my camera roll? and what do you mean you found it?” leaving the marker behind, she climbs off the bed and pushes herself into the closet. “hmmm.” doe eyes look around as she kneels down on the floor, reaching up to flip the light on then proceeding to crawl into it.

#billysgirllol

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buck-star · 2 days ago

Text

Whenever, wherever

Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes who’s carrying your meds for you, so you can never forget them anywhere.

“Babydoll?” Bucky’s voice comes from next to you as you stand between a few people to get your coffee. Your fingers are interlaced with his as you start to tap your fingers against his hand. He noticed, immediately — he always does. “Hey, do you need a break?”

Of course, he could offer your meds immediately to you, but he doesn’t do it. If you need them, you will tell him. And you both have talked a lot about it before — no meds unless it has to be.

When Bucky first tugged them into his pocket to take them with to the restaurant you went for dinner, you looked at him with narrowed eyes. You didn’t need them, so why would he carry them around?

“If you need them, they will be there. Wherever. Whenever,” he said before he kissed your forehead. And somehow it gives you a sense of peace to know he’s taking such sweet and good care of you — you will never be alone with your thoughts, he will never leave you hanging.

“Precious?” He asks again, bringing two of his thick fingers underneath your chin to turn your face to look at him. Bucky smiles softly, his blue orbs bright like the sun while a few loose strands fall into his face. “Do you need a break?”

You shake your head, leaning into his hand as he moves it from your chin to stroke softly over your cheek. He leans closer to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Can you answer me with words, please? I need you to say it, otherwise we are going to get out of here for a moment,” he mumbles against your soft skin before pecking your forehead again.

“I’m fine, Buck,” you assure him and lean your head against his chest. You listen to his steady heartbeat, sighing softly. Bucky smiles softly, his chin resting on top of your head as he runs his fingers up and down your back. “Too excited for the hot chocolate to go outside. Only to stand at the end this—“

You motion to the people standing in front and before you to get something from the coffee shop. Bucky chuckles softly but he can also feel your fingers tightening around him — a habit that you clench and unclench your fingers when you’re nervous.

“Close your eyes,” he whispers and you instinctively do as he says. Bucky chuckles before he looks around, taking in the different sounds to try and focus on one. “Listen closely. Can you hear the birds singing outside?”

You try to listen carefully, trying to filter the noises of the birds. Slowly, the voices of the other people and the business of the small shop fades into the background as you can focus more clearly on the birds outside.

It’s like they have their own little concert with one another and you smile softly.

“I can. They perform for their bird concert,” you say with a smile while you keep listening to them. Bucky laughs softly, agreeing as he keeps a close eye on you. “Thank you.”

“Whenever.”

“Wherever,” you finish his sentence. Two words. But they have a meaning deeper than any other.

Whenever. Wherever. It’s not just to let you know that he will always carry your meds with you, but also for you to know that he will always be by your side.

“I love you, Buck. Not just for carrying my meds. But also for that. It really helps me to stay more calm, knowing I can always reach them,” you say, resting your chin against his firm chest to look up at him. “And for calming me down. And I love you, because you’re who you are — perfect.”

Bucky laughs, pecking your lips. “I love you too, babydoll. And I gladly do it if it means to get to see that pretty smile on your face, because that’s what keeps me going – you and your cute, pretty smile.”

Request made by an anon on my old account. Divider made by me. I do not allow anyone to copy my work!

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cosmiclily · 1 day ago

Note

idk if i wanted this before or someone did but can you write about vi and reader having a baby? i really want to see it and vi's thing about babies��

ivy - part one

★vi x f!reader

wc: 4k

notes: been getting many requests about vi and reader having kids so here it is !!! in the first part they are not having a baby baby but wait for part two !!! 😋 thank you @strawb4kdior and anons for the requests!

Vi had always dreamed of having a big family. She grew up surrounded by noise, laughter, and the constant chaos of siblings under one roof—there was always someone shouting, someone crying, someone laughing. That was home to her. That was comfort.

So, when you got married, there was a quiet—sometimes not so quiet—expectation from her side of the family about when you two would start "popping out babies," as Mylo so charmingly put it.

That first holiday season after your wedding, when you visited her family in Zaun, it felt like the pressure kicked into full gear. Vander, ever the affectionate father figure, gave the two of you a box filled with baby clothes—tiny shirts, knitted socks, and a ridiculous little hat shaped like a mushroom.

“Ay, I’m not saying you’re having children right away,” he said with a teasing grin, pointing a thick thumb toward Vi. “But I know this one. She’ll want a whole football team at home before long.”

You laughed along with him, mostly because it was easier than unpacking the tangle of emotions that followed. But later that night, the laughter faded, and your thoughts grew heavier.

Because the truth was… you weren’t like Vi.

You hadn’t grown up with siblings. There was no chaotic, loving noise. Just you, your mom, your dad, and the occasional visit from a cousin or two. Quiet dinners. Controlled spaces. Predictable routines. The idea of raising a child—let alone several—felt like stepping into a world you’d never been taught how to navigate.

It scared you.

You were afraid of losing the little sanctuary you and Vi had built together—your late-night talks, your slow mornings, your messy, peaceful life. Afraid that having a child would shift everything out of balance, and that maybe you wouldn’t know how to hold it all together.

After the Christmas dinner, once everyone had gone to bed and the house had finally quieted down, Vi turned to you. Maybe she sensed your unease, or maybe you hadn’t done as good a job hiding it as you thought.

The two of you were lying in bed, facing each other under thick quilts, her hand gently stroking your hair as your eyes began to flutter closed.

“You know we don’t have to have kids right away, right?” she said softly, voice low and warm. “Or ever, if that’s what you want.”

You blinked slowly, your chest tightening at the tenderness in her voice.

“I know how hesitant you are about this,” she continued. “It’s a big change. And I get that it’s not just about wanting them or not. It’s about the kind of life we’d have, the kind of people we’d need to become. And if it ever feels like too much... I’d rather just have you. No tiny feet, no bedtime stories, no chaos—just you.”

You looked at her, eyes glassy with exhaustion but brimming with love. “I don’t want to disappoint you,” you whispered. “I know how much you want it.”

Vi smiled gently, brushing her thumb along your cheek. “You could never disappoint me. Family doesn’t have to look one way. It can just be us. And if someday you feel ready… then we talk about it again. Together.”

You didn’t reply right away. You just nestled closer to her, your forehead pressed gently to hers, comforted by the quiet honesty in her words.

And looking back now, that moment—her patience, her reassurance—was what changed everything for you. You hated being pressured into anything, especially something as life-altering as parenthood. But knowing Vi wasn’t expecting anything from you that you didn’t want to give… it lifted a weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying.

And from that point on, you started to look at the world through a different lens.

──────────────────────

A year and a half into your married life, everything felt like it had finally settled into place. You were thriving in your career, pouring your time and energy into several outreach programs and charities—especially those supporting children in Zaun. You’d become a familiar face in the shelters and clinics, and from time to time, Vi would show up during your shifts, bringing you lunch or tagging along to visit the homes where the children were placed.

She always lit up around the kids—laughing, joking, lifting them up onto her shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. But one day, everything shifted.

You met Ivy.

She was five years old when she first arrived—thin, quiet, and sharp-eyed, with wild, bright blue hair and big brown eyes that held more weight than any child should ever carry. The first time Vi saw her, something changed in her expression. You caught the way her eyes softened, how her whole body leaned forward just a little, like she was seeing something familiar—something important.

At first, Ivy was timid. She barely spoke to the other children, and when you tried to approach her, she’d only nod or shrink away. But Vi didn’t give up. She spoke to her gently, cracked jokes, made silly faces, brought her little gifts and toy trinkets. And slowly, Ivy began to open up.

It became a pattern—every time you had to stop by the shelter, Vi insisted on coming with you. “Just to say hi,” she’d claim, but you knew better.

One day, you left them alone to deal with some paperwork—endless inventory lists and requisition forms. When you came back, you stopped in the doorway and froze.

Vi was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the playroom, wearing a bright pink tutu over her pants, a plastic princess crown balanced crookedly on her head, and a tiny toy teacup clutched in her hand. Across from her sat Ivy in a matching tutu, proudly holding a stuffed cow in her lap and beaming like the sun.

“Do you want more tea?” Ivy asked, her voice sweet and filled with excitement.

“Yes, please!” Vi said, holding out her cup with exaggerated elegance, pinky finger raised high in the air.

You stood there quietly, heart catching in your throat, watching as Ivy poured invisible tea into Vi’s cup. Their laughter echoed softly around the room, and in that moment, it hit you like a wave.

This wasn’t just another child. This wasn’t just another case or temporary bond.

She wasn’t just someone you were helping.

Ivy was your daughter.

──────────────────────

After you got home, the two of you sat down for dinner, the clinking of cutlery and the quiet hum of the city outside the only sounds filling the space. You pushed the food around on your plate, barely tasting it, your mind too full.

You knew it was time to talk to Vi.

“I…” The word hung in the air, heavy and uncertain. You didn’t know how to begin. Vi had formed such a natural, close bond with Ivy—it was effortless, like they’d been connected long before they’d even met. But for you, it felt different. You cared deeply, maybe even more than you could admit out loud yet, but Ivy still looked at you like you were a kind stranger passing through her life.

And you were terrified that she’d never see you as more than that.

Vi’s brow furrowed the moment you hesitated. She turned toward you, concern etched across her face. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“Yes. No. I mean—yeah, everything’s fine, I just…” You exhaled slowly, steadying your voice. “I wanted to tell you that I… I submitted us to be Ivy’s foster family.”

Vi’s eyes widened in surprise, her fork falling to the plate with a soft clatter. “What? When did you—?”

“Just before we left the shelter,” you interrupted, rushing the words out before you could second-guess yourself. “I know we said we’d make that kind of decision together, but I saw you with her, Vi. I saw how she looks at you, how she laughs with you, and… I don’t know, I just—something clicked. It felt right in the moment, and I thought, ‘Why not us?’ But now I’m spiraling because maybe it was too impulsive, maybe we won’t even get approved, and maybe—”

“Hey. Hey. Baby,” Vi said gently, reaching across the table to take your hands in hers. “Breathe, alright? You’re not crazy. You’re not wrong. And I’m not mad. Far from it.”

You looked up at her, eyes stinging a little.

“I’m thrilled,” she said, her voice soft but sure. “Ivy’s special. And I see it in you too—the way you look at her when you think no one’s watching. You care about her more than you realize.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Then that’s all that matters. If we get approved—amazing. If not, we keep visiting. We stay in her life. We try again. We don’t give up. Not on her.”

A small, grateful smile tugged at your lips. You squeezed her hands.

Vi smiled back, then leaned forward and kissed your knuckles.

──────────────────────

You had to make a lot of changes to your home before you were even considered for foster parenting.

Vi’s office was the first to go. It transformed into a small, bright room with plain white walls—you’d both agreed Ivy should get to choose the color herself once she settled in. You child-proofed the entire house, securing cabinets, covering outlets, padding sharp corners. It was a whirlwind, too fast by most people’s standards, but you couldn’t slow down.

You knew it was too soon. You knew there were risks, that things could fall apart. But every time Vi’s eyes lit up at a stuffed animal, a little blanket, or a book she thought Ivy would love, it drowned out the anxious voice in your head that warned this might not work. That it might all be temporary.

Vi had even told Jinx—despite your insistence that it wasn’t an adoption yet, just fostering. Naturally, Jinx told everyone else. And soon after, Vander was at your front door with a toolbox, claiming he was there to “help Vi set up the kid’s room,” though you suspected he mostly just wanted to feel included.

──────────────────────

The letter came on a rainy Tuesday afternoon—thin, unassuming, almost like junk mail. You were about to toss it when Vi caught the official stamp in the corner and snatched it from your hand. She tore it open, fingers shaking, while you stood beside her, breath caught in your chest.

Her eyes scanned the page. Then she looked up at you, wide-eyed, breathless.

“We got her.”

You blinked, stunned. “What?”

“We got her, baby,” she repeated, voice breaking into a disbelieving laugh. “We’re approved. Ivy’s coming home.”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until Vi wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close, her face buried in your shoulder. You held each other in the quiet, rain tapping against the windows like applause from the universe itself.

The day you went to pick her up, Ivy stood at the top of the shelter’s worn stone steps, her little backpack clutched tightly in her hands. Her blue hair was tied in uneven pigtails, and her big brown eyes blinked up at you, cautious, searching—hopeful.

Vi was the first to kneel down, soft and open. “Hey, kiddo. Ready to come home?”

Ivy didn’t answer right away. She looked from Vi to you, her voice small and cracking the silence: “Will I get to stay this time?”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. You knelt beside Vi and reached out to gently take Ivy’s hand.

“Yes, Ivy,” you said. “You get to stay. For as long as you want.”

Vi smiled and ruffled the girl’s hair. “We’ve got a room just for you. And guess what? You get to choose the wall color. We’ll put up fairy lights, and we’ve got a bookshelf waiting for all your princess stories.”

“And teacups,” you added with a wink. “Tiny ones.”

That got a smile from Ivy—shy but real—and she gave a small nod.

The car ride home was quiet. Ivy curled up in the backseat with the stuffed bunny Vi had given her weeks ago, occasionally peeking at the two of you in the front seat as if to make sure you were still there. Still real.

When you arrived, Vi scooped her up in one arm and twirled her once in the hallway, making her giggle for the first time that day.

That night, after Ivy had fallen asleep beneath a blanket of stars projected onto her ceiling, you and Vi stood quietly in her doorway, arms around each other, watching the rise and fall of her tiny breaths.

“We have a daughter,” you whispered.

Vi rested her chin on your head and nodded, her voice thick with emotion. “Yeah… we really do.”

──────────────────────

The first few days at home were a mix of quiet observation and small, cautious steps. Ivy was polite and sweet, always whispering “thank you” and “sorry,” even when there was nothing to be sorry for. She kept to herself at first, mostly playing in her room—arranging and rearranging the books on her little shelf or curling up with her stuffed bunny in the cozy reading nook Vi and Vander had built by the window.

But slowly, the house began to come alive in new ways.

Vi showed her how to make pancakes in the morning, even letting her flip one—badly—which left batter splattered on the stove and Ivy in a fit of giggles. You turned laundry folding into a game, a sock-matching race that ended in shrieks of laughter more than clean piles. Every night, Ivy asked for the same bedtime story—the one about the brave knight and the dragon who became her friend.

Then one sunny Saturday, it was time for her to meet the family.

Vi had tried to prepare her. “They’re loud, and they’ll probably bring too many snacks and too many hugs—but they mean well. I promise.”

Ivy clung to your hand as Vander’s booming voice echoed through the house before he’d even stepped inside.

“Is the little one here? Where’s my new tea party partner?”

Vi opened the door, and there he was—massive as ever, with arms wide and a teddy bear the size of a small dog slung over one shoulder. He bent down, eyes gentle behind his tough exterior, and offered Ivy a warm smile. “Hi there, kiddo. I’m Vander.”

Ivy blinked up at him, wide-eyed, then slowly reached out and took the bear, hugging it tightly to her chest. “Hi.”

“I can’t believe I’m a granddad” he said with a laugh, giving Vi a playful pat on the back.

Jinx was next, practically vibrating with excitement as she crouched in front of Ivy. “Okay, so here’s the deal: I brought glitter, stickers, and I know how to make slime that explodes.”

“She’s joking,” Vi quickly interjected, shooting her sister a look.

“Mostly joking,” Jinx whispered with a wink, making Ivy giggle behind the bear.

Claggor, Mylo, and Ekko arrived not long after, each carrying something they claimed Ivy had to have—a toy, a book, a plushie, a puzzle. Claggor offered to help build a blanket fort out of the couch cushions. Mylo challenged her to a card game he swore he never loses. Ekko knelt beside her and offered a tiny wind-up bird he’d fixed himself, its delicate wings fluttering as it chirped.

But soon, you noticed Ivy starting to withdraw—her shoulders tensing, her voice shrinking to a whisper. You knelt beside her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Too much?”

She gave a small nod.

You gently lifted her into your arms and carried her into the kitchen. “Alright, how about a little break? Just us. We’ll go back in when you’re ready.”

There, you let her help you with the cake batter while she told you a story about a dragon and a pink-haired knight with powerful gauntlets. Vi peeked in a few minutes later, leaning on the doorframe with a smile.

“Hey, baby. Everything okay in here?” she asked, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you poured the batter into the pan.

“Yes,” you said, glancing at Ivy, who was sitting on the counter with flour on her nose. “She was just telling me a story. Apparently there’s a brave pink-haired knight who slayed a dragon today.”

Vi grinned. “Oh? Sounds like she’s got good taste. That knight sounds very strong.”

Ivy giggled, hiding her face in her hands.

A few minutes later, your parents arrived—quieter than the rest, but just as full of love. Your mom handed Ivy a hand-knit blanket, soft yellow with tiny green daisies embroidered into the fabric. Your dad offered her a small photo album filled with baby pictures of you and Vi—chubby cheeks, missing teeth, wild hair. Ivy flipped through it slowly, like it was a rare treasure.

That evening, the house was full of warmth and laughter. Ivy was now sitting between Jinx and Ekko with her new blanket draped over her shoulders like a cape. Her plastic crown was a little crooked, and she sipped from a juice box with a smile tugging at her lips.

You watched her from across the room, tucked into Vi’s side.

“She’s getting comfortable,” you whispered.

Vi’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you close. “She’s starting to believe this is home.”

You glanced back at Ivy, watching her laugh at something Mylo said, watching her curl up again with her oversized bear and the photo album tucked at her side.

And in that moment, you felt something settle inside you.

You felt whole.

──────────────────────

You and Vi were certain—Ivy was your daughter. There was no hesitation in your hearts. So the very next morning, after your family’s visit, you rushed to your office, pulled a few strings, and quietly set the official adoption paperwork in motion. No more waiting. No more what-ifs. You were ready.

In the days that followed, Ivy blossomed in your home. She had started settling in, becoming more comfortable in the little routines you and Vi had built just for her. She raced Vi to the kitchen every morning, always insisting she had won—even when Vi clearly let her. She claimed the reading nook as her personal throne, often found there with a book in her lap and her bunny tucked under one arm. And twice now, she had asked you to braid her hair before bed. Small moments. Beautiful ones.

The routine you had once feared would be shattered by change had, instead, reshaped itself around Ivy like it had been waiting for her all along.

One quiet evening, the three of you were in the living room. Vi sat cross-legged on the rug, helping Ivy piece together the glittery unicorn puzzle Jinx had given her, while you curled up on the couch nearby, flipping absentmindedly through a book. The fireplace crackled softly, casting warm amber light across the room and filling it with the scent of burning pine.

“I think this one goes here,” Vi said, nudging a piece toward Ivy with a smile.

Ivy took it with a little frown of concentration, studying the image before carefully pressing it into place. “Got it!” she chirped, beaming at Vi.

Vi held up her hand for a high-five. “Told you—you’re a puzzle master.”

Ivy giggled and gave her a victorious high five, then glanced over her shoulder at you, her voice soft, almost offhanded but sure.

“Mommy, look. I did the sky part.”

You froze, breath catching in your throat. Mommy. The word floated through the room settling over your heart and wrapping around it.

Vi’s eyes shot to yours, wide with awe—but you weren’t crying. Not yet. Instead, you were smiling, your lips trembling just slightly, your eyes shining with emotion.

You slid off the couch and knelt beside Ivy, placing your hand over hers, grounding the moment. “You did such a good job, Ivy,” you whispered.

She leaned into your side immediately, tucking her small head under your chin. You held her close, feeling the warmth of her body, the steady beat of her little heart—and something shifted inside you. That trust. That love. It had all found its way home.

Vi moved behind you, resting a hand on your back, her thumb brushing in slow circles as the three of you sat together in the flickering light.

No one spoke for a while. There was no need to. The moment said enough.

Later that night, after Ivy had drifted to sleep—her bunny in one arm, your mother’s daisy-covered blanket draped over her—you and Vi stood quietly in the doorway, watching her breathe.

“She called you Mom,” Vi whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I told you… you had nothing to worry about.”

You smiled, eyes never leaving Ivy’s peaceful form. “Yeah. And you’re always right.”

Vi chuckled softly, then wrapped her arms around your waist from behind. You leaned into her, placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder. The kind that said everything you couldn’t find the words for.

────────────────────��─

It happened a week after Ivy started school, a week after you signed the official adoption papers.

She had been so excited at first—Jinx had come over and helped her decorate her tiny backpack with glittery patches, and you packed her lunchbox with all her favorites.

You and Vi had walked her to the school gates, knelt beside her, kissed her cheeks, and sent her off with whispered encouragements and bright smiles.

But the glow didn’t last.

By the third day, Ivy was quieter when she came home. She didn’t want to talk much. Said school was “fine,” but her eyes were distant. You and Vi didn’t push her. You gave her space, made her favorite dinner, read her favorite story at bedtime.

But something was wrong, she wanted to stay awake until she physically couldn’t keep her eyes open, you would lay next to her, trying to make her fall asleep, but she would battle until the last second.

Then, one night, she had a nightmare.

You both woke up to the sound of her cries—raw, terrified. Vi was out of bed in seconds, tearing down the hallway barefoot. You followed close behind, heart pounding.

When Vi opened Ivy’s bedroom door, she found her curled in a ball under the blanket, shaking, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Her little bunny had fallen to the floor, the daisy blanket tangled around her legs.

Vi dropped to her knees at the bedside. “Hey, hey, baby,” she whispered, voice gentle but steady. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Ivy looked up at her through tears, lips trembling. She launched forward into Vi’s arms, clutching her like the world was ending. “Don’t let them take me back,” she sobbed. “Please don’t let them take me away.”

Vi wrapped her arms around her tightly, protectively. “No one’s taking you anywhere,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You’re staying right here, with us. I promise.”

Ivy buried her face in Vi’s shoulder, and in a choked, broken voice, she whispered, “I had a dream they took me away… and I couldn’t find you. I kept calling for you, but you weren’t there.”

Vi rocked her gently, her jaw clenched tight. “I’m always here, Ivy. I will always find you. You’re safe now. You’re home.”

And then, so soft it could’ve been a dream itself, Ivy said, “I knew you’d come, Mom. You’re my pink-haired knight. You always come when I’m scared.”

Vi’s heart broke and mended all at once. She kissed her forehead, holding her tighter than ever. “Damn right I do,” she said, voice cracking. “You’re mine, Ivy. Forever.”

You leaned quietly at the doorway, watching them from the shadows, hand pressed to your heart. Vi looked up at you, her eyes shining with everything she couldn’t say, and you simply nodded. You felt it too.

That night, you brought Ivy into your bed. She slept curled between you both, safe and warm, her little hand clasped in Vi’s the whole time.

And in the morning, she woke with a smile.

The fear wasn’t gone completely—but now, she knew that even in the dark, even in her worst dreams, her knight would come for her. Her Mom would always come for her.

──────────────────────

masterlist - part two

end notes: i don’t know how the system works in other countries so i went mostly with what i’ve seen on tv and what happens in my own country, so yeah!! if anything is wrong pretend it’s not 😛

#vi x reader #arcane #vi arcane #vi x y/n #vi x you #arcane x female reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x reader #arcane x you #lily writes #request ♡

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kysstar · 2 days ago

Text

R U MINE? | JUNG WOOYOUNG

pairing : : jung wooyoung x fem!reader

synopsis : : wooyoung’s always been obsessed with you — but he hides it behind cocky jokes and teasing. when he finds out someone else has been trying to take his place, his playful act crumbles into something a lot more possessive.

genre : : best friends to lovers

warnings : : alcohol, kissing

word count : : 0.6k

[ series masterlist ]

—He’s always been like this. Touchy. Loud. In your space like it’s his own. Wooyoung doesn’t ask to touch you — his arm just ends up slung across your shoulders, his legs tangled with yours on the couch, his fingers threading through your hair when you’re talking to someone else, and he decides he’s bored. He gets away with it because he always has. You let him, mostly because it’s easier than pretending you don’t like the way his attention makes your skin hum.

He’s got a thing for claiming space — your space, specifically. Always in your seat, drinking from your cup, pulling you into his lap when the room’s too full and pretending it’s casual. Everyone assumes you’re together. You’re not. Not technically. But he doesn’t correct them. Neither do you.

And when someone else gets too close — too friendly — he’s right there.

“You good?” he’ll ask, all false innocence, eyes locked on yours while his hand slides around your waist. Sometimes he doesn’t say anything at all — just appears beside you, mouth at your ear, fingers resting on your hip. You’ve never told him to stop. You don’t think you could if you tried.

You’re leaning against the counter, drink in hand, talking to some guy whose name you didn’t bother to catch. He’s tall, kind of charming in that background-noise way, saying something dumb that makes you laugh — not because it’s funny, but because the alcohol’s warm in your chest and it feels good to be entertained.

Then Wooyoung appears.

You don’t see him come in — you feel him, like a storm behind your shoulder. His hand slides around your waist with zero hesitation, pulling you back just enough that your hip bumps into his. The other guy stiffens, clocks the shift immediately. You barely have time to react before Wooyoung leans in.

“Come here,” he mutters, voice low and tight.

He doesn’t wait for your answer. His hand finds your wrist, and suddenly you’re being dragged through the crowd, out of the kitchen and down the hallway like it’s his party, like you came with him. You pull back once you’re out of earshot, shoving him back with your free hand.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you snap.

Wooyoung doesn’t answer right away. He’s staring at you like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Like he’s two seconds away from either kissing you or breaking something.

“You looked real cozy back there,” he says, words sharp, bitter.

Your eyes narrow. “So?”

“So?” He laughs once, humorless. “You don’t get to look at him like that.”

You cross your arms, heart thudding. “Why do you care?”

“Because I do!” he shouts, stepping closer, breath hot. “Because I fucking care, and I’ve been pretending I don’t, trying to be cool, trying to play it like it’s just fun and games and parties and whatever — but it’s not. Not to me.”

He’s pacing again, frantic. “Every time I see you with someone else, I feel like I’m losing it. I don’t want to just hook up with you. I don’t want to share you. I want you to be mine. I want—”

You don’t wait. You lunge forward, fist in his shirt, and crush your mouth to his mid-sentence.

He groans into it, like he’s been holding it in for weeks, hands flying to your waist like muscle memory. You back him into the wall, both of you breathing hard between kisses, teeth clashing, your fingers twisted in his hair like this is the only way you’ll both shut up.

When you finally break the kiss, chests heaving, foreheads pressed together, he’s smiling. That smirk — lazy, infuriating, too confident for someone who just poured his guts out.

“So…” he says, cocking a brow. “Are you mine?”

#𝐎𝐑𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 #ateez #jung wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x reader #jung wooyoung #wooyoung #jung wooyoung oneshot #wooyoung oneshot #wooyoung ateez #jung wooyoung ateez #ateez x reader #ateez oneshot #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #wooyoung scenarios #wooyoung fanfic #jung wooyoung fanfic

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mcrdvcks · 3 days ago

Text

— nonsense

summary: You and Matt decide to finally move in together.

word count: 5.0k+

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

notes: the fourth installment! there's a lot more to come with these two! also, yes, the title is a sabrina carpenter song. basically, this is a bunch of small little scenes combined into one fic. enjoy!

warnings/tags: after endgame but date is not specified, best friends to lovers, periods & cramps, mentions of injuries, kidnapping (it's not what you think, believe me)

series masterlist

Your alarm went off thirty minutes ago. You should’ve already been up and eating breakfast but every little shift sent a sharp pain radiating.

You heard footsteps and someone stopping at the bedroom door. “You have work, don’t you angel?”

“Fuck off, Matt.” You mumbled into your pillow. Your eyes opened abruptly, set in a shocked expression. “I mean—I—”

Matt's lips twitched into an amused smile. "Wow. Good morning to you too."

You groaned, burying your face deeper into the pillow. "Sorry. That came out meaner than I intended."

He chuckled quietly, stepping closer and sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand found your lower back, rubbing gently. "What's wrong?"

You sighed heavily, turning your head to the side. "Cramps. My insides feel like they're trying to kill me."

Matt hummed sympathetically, still gently rubbing your back. "Did you take anything?"

You shook your head weakly. "Couldn't get up."

"Stay here," Matt murmured softly, already standing. "I'll get you some ibuprofen and a heating pad."

You blinked tiredly at him, mildly surprised. "Since when do you have a heating pad?"

He smirked, pausing at the doorway. "Since I realized you needed one monthly."

You huffed, fighting a smile. "You're too observant, Murdock."

He tilted his head playfully. "Comes with the territory."

You pulled the blanket closer, shifting slightly as another sharp pain twisted your abdomen. Matt returned quickly, handing you two pills and a glass of water, then plugging in the heating pad and placing it gently against your lower stomach.

"Better?" he asked softly, brushing your hair back from your face.

You sighed in relief, sinking into the mattress. "A little. Thank you, Matty."

He smiled gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You're welcome, angel."

You closed your eyes, relaxing slightly. "I should really get up for work."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Call in sick. You've earned it."

"You sure that's not just you trying to tempt me into staying in bed with you all day?"

Matt smirked, carefully stretching out beside you. "Maybe. But you're in pain, so I'm officially insisting."

You sighed dramatically, turning your face into his chest. "Fine. But what about you? Shouldn’t you be going?”

Matt chuckled softly, wrapping an arm gently around you. "Foggy and Karen can handle the office without me for one day. Besides, Foggy practically threatened me yesterday, saying I haven't taken a day off in weeks."

You laughed quietly, turning your face further into his chest. "He's right, you know."

"Unfortunately," Matt admitted, rubbing soft circles into your back. "And you need someone here to make sure you're okay."

You smiled softly against him, mumbling, "I'm fine. It's just cramps."

He hummed skeptically, lips brushing your forehead lightly. "You can barely move."

"Okay, yeah, true," you admitted, sighing. "But I don't want you to miss work just because I'm stuck here feeling awful."

Matt tightened his arm around you gently. "Believe it or not, angel, spending a lazy day in bed with you isn't exactly a sacrifice."

You huffed a soft laugh, pressing closer. "You really are shameless, Murdock."

"Only when it comes to you," he murmured warmly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Now relax."

You smiled tiredly, shifting slightly to ease closer to the warmth of his body. "This heating pad's nice, but you're better."

He chuckled softly, fingers tracing slow patterns along your spine. "Glad to know I'm good for something."

You closed your eyes again, feeling the steady rise and fall of Matt's chest beneath your cheek. "You’re good for lots of things. Like cuddles, back rubs, and apparently emergency heating pads."

He smirked gently, nudging you lightly. "Happy to help."

You sighed contentedly, your body finally relaxing under his gentle touch. "Remind me again why I never took sick days before we started dating?"

Matt smiled softly, brushing a gentle kiss against your temple. "Because you're stubborn and insist you can handle everything on your own."

You mumbled quietly against him, "Rude. But accurate."

He chuckled again, the sound warm and soft. "Just let someone take care of you for once."

You tilted your head up slightly, eyes meeting his fondly. "Only if that someone is you."

Matt smiled warmly, tilting his head down to brush his lips gently against yours. "Always."

You sighed softly into the kiss, settling comfortably against him again, finally content to spend the day exactly where you were—safe, warm, and wrapped tightly in Matt’s arms.

---

When you woke up a few hours later, the bed was empty, and there was a refilled glass of water on the bedside table, along with a small bouquet of flowers in a dingy vase.

You smiled softly, sitting up slowly and reaching out to gently brush your fingertips over the petals. "Matty?" you called out, voice thick from sleep.

The apartment door clicked shut softly. "You're awake," Matt's voice replied gently from the hallway.

You rubbed your eyes tiredly. "Barely."

Matt chuckled, stepping into the room, carrying a grocery bag. "Feeling any better?"

"A little," you admitted, smiling warmly. "You got me flowers."

"Yeah," he said softly, smiling sheepishly. "They're probably not that nice, but the guy at the corner shop said they were fresh."

"They're perfect," you said gently, "Thank you."

Matt smiled softly, sitting beside you on the edge of the bed and placing the grocery bag in your lap. "I got you a few other things, too."

You raised a curious eyebrow, pulling the bag open. Inside were your favorite gummies and—your eyebrows lifted in surprise—a pack of pads. The exact brand and style you usually bought.

Your lips twitched upward in amusement. "You bought me pads?"

Matt huffed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes, I... had some help from a very nice older woman in aisle three."

You laughed, pulling the pack out and inspecting it. "And she helped you pick out exactly the right ones?"

Matt smiled wryly. "I described the package. And mentioned something about 'ultra' and 'overnight protection'. She was very understanding."

You grinned widely. "You're amazing, you know that?"

Matt exhaled a quiet laugh. "I think you meant 'embarrassed,' but sure."

You shook your head, leaning forward and kissing his cheek softly. "No, I meant amazing."

Matt smiled gently, tilting his head toward you. "Well, I remember how miserable you'd get back when we were kids. You always made me steal gummies from Sister Maggie's office for you."

"Yeah," you smiled softly, nostalgic. "You were my accomplice in crime even then."

Matt chuckled softly, brushing your hair away from your face. "Some things never change."

You leaned against his shoulder, sighing contentedly. "Thank you for doing all this, Matty. You didn't have to."

Matt pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "I know. But you're worth it."

You smiled, pulling the gummy bag open. "Want one?"

Matt shook his head lightly. "Those things smell overwhelmingly sweet. I'll leave them all for you."

You laughed quietly, popping a gummy in your mouth. "More for me."

Matt squeezed your shoulder gently. "Do you need anything else?"

You shook your head, settling comfortably against him. "Just you."

Matt smiled softly, his arm wrapping around you as he murmured warmly, "You already have that, sweetheart."

---

“Foggy!” You call out from Matt’s office, quickly walking to his with Matt slowly trailing behind. “Tell Matt that if anyone is moving into the other’s place it should be him moving in with me.”

Foggy looked up, mid-bite of his sandwich, his eyebrows raising. "Oh no, I am not getting involved in this."

"Come on," you insisted, crossing your arms. "My apartment is clearly nicer. And bigger. And cleaner."

Matt scoffed softly behind you. "Cleaner is debatable."

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. "I don’t keep expired milk from three months ago."

Foggy grimaced. "Matt, seriously?"

Matt sighed, shaking his head slightly. "It was one time."

"More than once," you corrected.

Foggy looked between you two, amused. "Have you guys even decided you're definitely moving in together yet?"

Matt leaned against the doorway. "Apparently we skipped that step."

You huffed, nudging him with your elbow. "We practically live together already. It just makes sense."

Matt tilted his head slightly, voice softening. "I know. But you don’t exactly have rooftop access."

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, so your argument is 'Daredevil access'? Seriously, Matty?"

"Practicality," he countered gently, lips twitching. "That rooftop has saved your spider-friend from awkwardly tapping on windows how many times now?"

Foggy snorted quietly, muttering into his sandwich, "Poor kid probably has trauma from interrupting you two by now."

You pointed at Foggy triumphantly. "See! Another reason my place is better. Less interruptions."

Matt sighed heavily. "Foggy, whose side are you even on here?"

Foggy held up his hands innocently. "I'm neutral territory. Switzerland."

Karen walked by, pausing at the door. "What's going on now?"

Foggy gestured vaguely. "Matt and Y/N can't decide whose apartment they're officially moving into."

Karen smirked, leaning against the doorframe. "Isn't Y/N's apartment bigger?"

"Yes," you said quickly, grinning. "Thank you, Karen."

Matt exhaled sharply, clearly losing ground. "I'm sensing some bias here."

Foggy shook his head sympathetically. "Buddy, maybe it's just a good idea to let this one go."

You turned to Matt, grinning triumphantly. "See? Even your partner agrees."

Matt sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. We'll move into your place."

You raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smirk. "Just like that?"

Matt tilted his head toward you, lips quirking up slightly. "I’m a lawyer. I know when I’ve lost a case."

Foggy chuckled quietly. "Smart man."

You leaned closer, slipping an arm around Matt's waist. "Don't worry, devil boy. I'll still let you keep your little rooftop play area."

Matt huffed quietly, sliding his arm around your shoulders. "You're too kind."

You grinned, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Someone has to be."

Foggy made a face, taking another bite of his sandwich. "Please move soon. Watching this flirtfest daily is killing me."

Karen smirked, nudging Foggy lightly. "Don't lie, you secretly love it."

Foggy rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. "Yeah, yeah. Maybe a little."

Matt smiled softly, squeezing your shoulder gently. "Fine. We'll start packing soon."

You beamed, satisfied. "See? Compromise."

Matt chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I don't think this qualifies as compromise, angel."

You grinned widely. "That's because I won."

Matt smiled softly, voice warm. "You always do."

---

A few weeks later, Matt’s apartment was completely boxed up. The only thing left to do was move everything to your place.

Matt tilted his head slightly as he reached his apartment door, pausing as he recognized the familiar, slightly awkward voice coming from inside.

"—really didn’t mean to drop it, Y/N, I swear!" Peter said hurriedly. "It just kind of… slipped."

You sighed patiently. "It's fine, Pete. Just… be careful. Some of this stuff is fragile."

"Right," Peter said sheepishly. "Sorry. Again."

Matt opened the door, stepping inside with an amused expression. "Should I be worried?"

Peter spun around quickly, knocking another box off the table. He caught it mid-air, face flushing as he carefully set it down. "Hey, Mr. Murdock."

You smirked, folding your arms. "Peter offered to help."

Matt raised an eyebrow. "And how's that going?"

"Great," you said dryly. "If you ignore the minor heart attacks from the near-constant drops."

Peter winced. "I'm usually way more coordinated. This isn't normal, I swear."

Matt chuckled softly, setting down his cane. "Relax, Peter. We appreciate the help."

Peter exhaled, clearly relieved. "Oh, good. Because I was starting to worry you'd regret letting me in."

You grinned, nudging his arm. "Never. You’re always welcome, web-head. Just maybe handle fewer breakable things?"

Peter smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, good plan."

Matt tilted his head toward you, smiling faintly. "How much more is left?"

"Just these few boxes," you said lightly. "The movers already took most of the furniture this morning."

Peter’s eyes widened. "Wait, movers were an option? Why am I carrying boxes?"

You snorted. "Because movers cost money, and teenage superhero labor is free."

Peter laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "Well, when you put it that way…"

Matt smiled, reaching out and catching your hand gently. "Let’s finish this up."

You squeezed his fingers lightly. "Finally ready to admit my apartment’s better?"

He sighed softly, a smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe."

Peter looked between you two, eyebrows raised. "Wow. You guys are really serious, huh?"

You smirked. "Moving in together tends to indicate seriousness, Pete."

Peter laughed sheepishly. "Right. Obviously."

Matt chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Let’s get these boxes out before Peter breaks anything else."

Peter groaned quietly, picking up another box. "I said I was sorry!"

You laughed softly, patting Peter’s shoulder as you passed. "We know. But you make it so easy to tease."

Peter sighed dramatically. "Everyone says that."

Matt smiled, reaching out to squeeze Peter's shoulder reassuringly. "You're doing fine, Peter. Come on."

Peter brightened, lifting the box carefully. "Thanks, Mr. Murdock."

Matt smiled softly, gently pulling you toward the door. "Let’s get home."

You smiled warmly. "Gladly."

---

Matt would never admit it, but your apartment was much nicer than his. The bed wasn’t hard and lumpy, the floors didn’t feel like they were going to give out, and it didn’t smell like mold and asbestos.

"You’re thinking very loudly," you teased, nudging Matt lightly from your spot beside him on the couch.

Matt tilted his head slightly toward you, a small smile forming. "What makes you say that?"

"You’ve got that little crease," you murmured, reaching up and tapping gently between his eyebrows. "The one you get when you're stubbornly refusing to admit something."

He chuckled softly, gently catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your palm. "I wasn't aware you were keeping track of my facial expressions."

"You have a limited selection," you teased lightly, leaning comfortably against his side. "Makes it easy."

Matt exhaled a soft laugh, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "I suppose you're proud of yourself, then."

"Extremely," you said warmly, cuddling closer. "Especially since this apartment is objectively better, and you know it."

Matt sighed dramatically, tilting his head back against the couch cushions. "I admit nothing."

You laughed quietly, running your fingers idly along his chest. "Mhm. Just like you won’t admit you actually like my throw pillows."

Matt scoffed softly. "Those things are purely decorative. There's no practical use."

You smirked, poking him lightly. "Except when you pass out on the couch after a rough night and wake up using one as a pillow."

He paused, lips twitching. "That's a coincidence."

"Three times in a week?"

Matt huffed, smiling despite himself. "Fine. Maybe they have some use."

You beamed victoriously. "And the scented candles?"

Matt groaned softly. "Those things are overwhelming."

"You mean pleasant," you corrected, grinning. "Lavender is relaxing."

He sighed heavily, amusement clear on his face. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

You leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. "Just a little."

Matt chuckled softly, fingertips tracing idle patterns on your arm. "I just think you're enjoying finally getting your way."

You hummed, amused. "You say that like I don't always get my way."

His lips curved upward slightly. "True."

You rested your head comfortably against his shoulder, fingers tangling with his. "I'm glad we finally did this."

Matt tilted his head slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "Me too."

"Even if it meant surrendering your moldy apartment?" you teased lightly.

He laughed quietly, squeezing your hand. "Even then."

You smiled warmly, settling against him comfortably. "I'm happy you're here, Matty."

He exhaled softly, his voice quiet. "I'm happy I'm here too, angel."

You nudged him playfully. "Now say my apartment's nicer."

Matt huffed softly, shaking his head slightly. "You're impossible."

"And yet…" you murmured, smirking up at him.

He smiled gently, finishing quietly, "Here I am."

---

Matt stumbled slightly as he climbed back into the apartment, easing himself carefully through the window with a quiet grunt.

You glanced up from the couch, eyebrows raised. "You do remember we have a perfectly good front door, right?"

He paused, lips quirking up. "I thought you were asleep."

"You hoped I was asleep," you corrected softly, standing and crossing the room toward him. "Bad night?"

He sighed quietly, leaning against the wall. "Not great."

You reached for his mask, pulling it off gently. He winced slightly as your fingers brushed over a bruised cheekbone.

"That looks painful," you murmured softly.

"It's fine," Matt said automatically.

You shot him a skeptical look, lightly pressing your fingertips to his ribs. He flinched visibly.

"Sure it is," you muttered. "Come on, let’s get you patched up."

He followed you into the bedroom without protest, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed. You grabbed the first aid kit, pulling out gauze and antiseptic.

Matt tilted his head slightly. "You seem annoyed."

You shook your head lightly, kneeling between his knees as you dabbed antiseptic on a cotton ball. "I'm not annoyed, Matty. I just don’t like seeing you hurt."

He exhaled softly. "I know. I'm sorry."

You sighed quietly, fingers brushing gently across a cut above his eyebrow. "Don’t apologize. Just be more careful."

He smiled faintly. "I try."

You raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Do you, though?"

Matt chuckled softly, wincing slightly. "I really do."

You hummed quietly, focused on cleaning the cut carefully. After a moment, Matt’s fingers curled around your wrist gently.

"Are you mad?" he murmured quietly.

Your eyes softened immediately, shaking your head. "I'm not mad. Just worried."

Matt exhaled, head dropping forward until his forehead rested against yours gently. "I'm okay, sweetheart."

"You say that every time," you whispered quietly.

He nudged your nose gently with his own. "And every time, I mean it."

You sighed softly, leaning back slightly to apply the bandage to his cut. "I know. I just wish you'd—"

"What?" Matt interrupted softly, fingertips brushing along your jaw.

You hesitated, shrugging slightly. "Let me help more. Tell me what's going on out there. Not just patch you up afterward."

Matt’s thumb brushed gently over your cheekbone. "You already do more than enough."

You smiled faintly, leaning into his touch. "But I worry less when I know more."

Matt paused, considering your words. "You want me to talk to you more about Daredevil?"

You nodded gently, meeting his eyes sincerely. "I want to share that part of your life, too. Even if it's hard sometimes."

Matt exhaled slowly, a small smile forming. "I didn't realize you felt that way."

You tilted your head slightly, lips quirking. "Well, now you do."

Matt chuckled softly, leaning forward to brush a soft kiss to your lips. "Alright, angel. I'll talk to you more about it."

"Good," you whispered warmly, returning the kiss gently. "And maybe try not coming home bruised so often?"

Matt smiled softly, fingertips sliding lightly through your hair. "I'll do my best."

You sighed dramatically, resting your forehead against his again. "I suppose that's the best I'll get from you, devil boy."

Matt chuckled softly, his voice warm and gentle. "Unfortunately for you, yes."

You smiled quietly, reaching up to gently trace the line of his jaw. "Lucky I love you anyway."

Matt’s expression softened completely, his thumb brushing gently across your bottom lip. "Yeah. Lucky me."

You leaned in again, kissing him slowly and tenderly, the warmth of his touch reassuring you that, at least for now, he was safe and right where he belonged.

---

A week later, you met Matt on the rooftop of the apartment building, you had gotten off work late since you had to finish your quarterly reports.

“Why’d you want me up here, devil boy?”

Matt smiled slightly, tilting his head toward you. "Remember when Stick first showed up at the orphanage?"

You raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised. "Uh, yeah. Mostly because you wouldn't stop showing off all the cool spins and kicks you learned."

He huffed quietly, shaking his head. "That was me trying to impress you."

You smirked. "Worked, didn't it?"

He chuckled softly, stepping closer, his voice gentle. "You remember how to throw a punch?"

You blinked, confused. "Uh… yeah?"

Matt tilted his head skeptically, clearly amused. "When's the last time you actually did?"

You paused, squinting slightly. "Okay, never. But I think about it a lot—especially at work. You’d understand if you knew my team."

Matt laughed quietly, shaking his head. "I thought so."

You narrowed your eyes playfully, nudging his shoulder. "Are you implying something, Matty?"

Matt smiled softly, reaching for your wrist gently. "I'm implying that I should probably teach you. Just in case."

You raised your eyebrows, amusement dancing in your eyes. "You think I need to learn how to punch someone?"

Matt squeezed your wrist softly, tugging you gently toward him. "I'd feel better if you knew how."

You huffed a quiet laugh, stepping closer. "Fine. Show me your moves, Daredevil."

Matt grinned, stepping back slightly. "Alright. Feet apart, shoulder-width."

You mirrored him, adjusting your stance. "Like this?"

He hummed approvingly, circling you slowly. "Good. Keep your weight balanced. Hands up, protect your face."

You raised your fists awkwardly, eyebrows knitting together. "Now what?"

Matt smiled faintly, his voice warm and encouraging. "Punch forward with your dominant hand. Quick, firm motion. Rotate your hips into it."

You tried, punching awkwardly into the air. Matt shook his head, stepping close behind you and gently placing his hands at your waist.

"Turn your hips," he murmured softly, guiding your movement gently. "Like that. See?"

Your breath hitched slightly, heart skipping as you felt his solid warmth against your back. "Yeah, got it."

"Again," he said softly, stepping back slightly.

You punched forward again, more confident this time. Matt smiled, nodding slightly. "Better."

You smiled back, lowering your fists slightly. "Think I could take you in a fight now?"

Matt chuckled quietly, stepping closer again, fingers gently brushing your jaw. "Maybe if I were unconscious."

You laughed softly, leaning into his touch. "Wow. Rude."

He smiled softly, tilting your chin up gently. "You know I'd never underestimate you, angel."

Your gaze softened, and you smiled warmly, reaching up and brushing your fingertips gently across the smooth red fabric of his suit. "Good. Because you'd lose."

Matt laughed quietly, pressing his forehead softly to yours. "Probably."

You smiled, closing your eyes as you tilted your head up, capturing his lips softly. He hummed quietly against your mouth, pulling you gently closer.

You pulled back slightly, smirking softly. "Thanks for the lesson, devil boy."

He smiled warmly, voice quiet. "Anytime, sweetheart."

---

Turns out, knowing how to throw a punch wouldn’t help you in this situation.

You had left Stark Tower and made your way to the parking garage, only to have a rag thrown over your nose and mouth. Your pepper spray—along with your keys and purse—fell uselessly to the ground.

When you woke up, your hands were tied behind you as you sat on an uncomfortable metal chair. You blinked at the large man standing in front of you; you were so drugged up you swore it was Jason Momoa.

“Aquaman? I thought you weren’t real.”

The man blinked slowly, looking momentarily baffled. "I’m not—I'm not Aquaman."

"You sure?" you squinted at him, shifting uncomfortably. "Because you're huge. Like, Jason Momoa huge. Not complaining or anything—wait. Actually, I'm definitely complaining because you've tied me up. Why exactly am I tied up? Did Stark fire someone again? Is this about Levi flooding the lab? Because I already told HR, it's not my fault he’s a walking disaster."

The big guy's jaw ticked, clearly confused. "What? No—this has nothing to do with Stark."

"Nothing?" Your eyebrows shot up, almost offended. "Nothing? Seriously? I'm literally lead engineer. I'm a pretty big deal, okay? I mean, there’s tons of classified stuff I know—security protocols, blueprints. If you're kidnapping people, I feel like I should be targeted for my career, at least. It just seems rude otherwise."

He stared at you, mouth slightly agape. "You—you talk a lot."

You scoffed indignantly. "Okay, rude again. But it's not like you've asked me any decent questions. Aren't you supposed to interrogate me? Who taught you how to kidnap? Actually—please don't answer that. I really don't want details. I’ll be honest, I'm not really good with scary stuff. Horror movies? Instant nope. I can't even get through Coraline. That movie traumatized me as a child. Button eyes? Seriously, who thought that was okay for children? I'm genuinely asking."

"Stop," the guy groaned, rubbing his temples. "You need to—"

"Is this because of Daredevil?" you asked suddenly, realization dawning. "Oh my God, is this because you saw me kissing him? Because, look, he's cool and everything—but do you know how annoying it is to have your entire identity revolve around being Daredevil's girlfriend? I've got a master's in engineering, okay? From MIT. MIT! But all anyone cares about is that I kissed Daredevil."

The man stared at you blankly, entirely exhausted already. "I—we don't care about—"

"And honestly, he's not even the coolest superhero I've met," you continued conversationally. "Spider-Man brings me snacks sometimes when he visits. He climbs in through our window. Kind of like you guys did—wait, you didn't come through a window, did you? I was totally knocked out, so I'm genuinely curious."

He let out a deep sigh. "We brought you through the front door."

You tilted your head thoughtfully. "Really? Interesting choice. Wait—did you take my purse? Because my pepper spray is in there, and it's really expensive. Stark Tech-level expensive. I need it back."

He rubbed a hand down his face, visibly exhausted. "You're seriously not gonna shut up, are you?"

You shrugged innocently. "You're the interrogator. You're supposed to make me shut up. Are you new at this?"

He looked toward the door, muttering to himself. "I need backup."

"Maybe try someone a bit friendlier," you suggested helpfully. "Good cop, bad cop kind of thing? You seem like the bad cop type—no offense."

He turned sharply toward the door, calling out desperately. "Hey! Someone get in here. Please."

Another man stepped inside, eyebrows furrowed. "What's the problem?"

"She won't stop talking," your interrogator groaned. "She hasn't even answered one question."

You narrowed your eyes indignantly. "You haven't asked me any questions!"

The new guy folded his arms, annoyed. "Fine. What's Daredevil’s real name?"

You scoffed loudly, giving him an incredulous look. "Oh, right, because I'm definitely gonna tell you that. Listen, buddy—I have confidentiality clearances so high even the president would need permission to know half the stuff in my head. Do you really think I'd tell you Daredevil's name?"

The interrogators exchanged a long glance, clearly regretting their choices.

You leaned forward slightly. "Okay, fine. I'll give you one guess. Go ahead, guess his name."

"I'm not playing this game," the big guy muttered tiredly.

"You're really no fun," you huffed, leaning back. "It's Steve, by the way."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Steve?"

You nodded confidently. "Yep. Steve Daredevil. That's definitely it. Wait—shit. That actually sounds believable. Forget that. His name is Bruce Wayne."

The second man frowned. "Isn't that Batman?"

You sighed dramatically. "Wow. You caught me. Fine. You got me—his name is Daredevil."

The big guy clenched his fists, looking increasingly desperate. "Jesus Christ."

You perked up slightly. "Oh, are you religious? Because honestly, Daredevil's kind of Catholic. It's complicated. He does this whole guilt complex thing and confession and—"

"Stop," he groaned, pressing his fingers to his temples again. "For the love of God, stop talking."

"You literally kidnapped me to interrogate me," you said incredulously. "I feel like this is your fault."

The second guy shook his head slowly. "Honestly, she's got a point."

"Thank you!" you exclaimed. "See, this guy gets it. What's your name?"

He blinked, confused. "Um—Joe?"

You smiled warmly. "Nice to meet you, Joe. I'm Y/N. See, that's how proper introductions work."

Joe stared at you, utterly bewildered. "Right."

"Listen," the first guy finally snapped. "We're supposed to be threatening you. Can you just be quiet for a second so we can threaten you properly?"

You frowned deeply. "Not a fan of threats. Especially vague ones. Can't we skip it?"

A loud thud echoed from outside, followed by muffled shouts.

You brightened immediately. "Oh! Hey, sounds like he's here."

The two men shared another tired look.

A moment later, the door swung open, revealing Matt—fully suited as Daredevil, jaw clenched tightly.

The big guy exhaled in relief. "Thank God. Please—take her."

Matt tilted his head slightly, clearly confused. "Excuse me?"

"He means please save me, Daredevil," you clarified helpfully. "Because I’ve been kidnapped by really ineffective interrogators. You really should give them some pointers."

Matt sighed, clearly suppressing amusement. "Did you... annoy them into submission?"

You tilted your head thoughtfully. "Honestly, probably. But to be fair, they kidnapped me because of you. Not even for the highly confidential Stark Tech info I have. It's insulting, honestly."

Matt stepped further inside, voice quiet but amused. "I'm sure your ego will survive."

You shrugged dramatically. "Barely."

The big guy huffed again, exasperated. "Dude, seriously—take her."

Matt smirked faintly, voice dry. "Are you surrendering?"

Joe nodded rapidly. "Yes. Please."

Matt stepped toward you, quickly untying your wrists. "You okay, angel?"

You stretched slightly, rubbing your wrists. "Yep. Just annoyed. Next time, they should really pick someone who doesn't ramble when nervous."

Matt sighed softly, fighting a smile as he gently guided you toward the door. "I'll pass that along."

You shot a wave back at the two kidnappers. "Nice to meet you, Joe. Aquaman—please consider a different career."

Matt shook his head slightly as you stepped outside. "You are impossible."

You smiled sweetly, leaning your head against his shoulder. "And yet—"

He exhaled softly, finishing quietly, "Here I am."

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