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veritasangel · 1 month

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Angel in Disguise

Ft. Nanami, Gojo, Geto

sum: what videos caused the jjk men to gain traction? (p!star au)

warnings! fempov, piv/a (unprotected), porn/sex tapes, thigh riding, established relationship in geto's/gojo's, cum swallowing, restraints, sub!gojo, denial?, pegging, use of dildo, oral (reader giving), spanking, degradation

wc: 4.3k - masterlist

a/n: i hate this but posting anyway...might do a part 2 at some point with choso, toji and sukuna

Satoru Gojo

Someone that he worked with suggested he switch it up, try filming something new.

He's normally not the one tied up but if they want something new, he'll give that to them.

And who better to help than his own partner?

Satoru's body is a symphony of tension, his limbs tied to the bed with silk, leaving his broad chest exposed. The sight of him-helpless and blindfolded-is quite beguiling. His cock, stands at attention-swollen and leaking-while his balls ache heavy with need.

His lean, muscular frame is a testament to his discipline, but right now, it's just a canvas for your pleasure.

He is a picture of vulnerability, a man who was able to command a room with his presence, now reduced to a quivering mess at your touch. His cerulean eyes, usually so piercing and confident, are now nothing more than a pair of pools of need, desperate for your gaze.

Satoru's body is a living, breathing illustration of desire, a man who's willing to give himself wholly to the one he loves. Now, at this very moment, all of him is yours, and the intoxicating power you have over him by simply existing is endless.

His team asked him if he wanted to try out a submissive video; the only person he ever considered for that was his real-life partner, you. It was the only way he'd ever go vulnerable, and he insisted on your face not being made visible with some sort of covering as Satoru was laid out in all his glory, his body taut, ready for the experience. Those were his rules.

But it was a raw rendition of submission and longing that would be delivered only willingly by a man in deep love, captured by the cameras as it unravelled. It was a testament to the bond between Satoru and you.

You start tracing your fingers down his body, trailing them over his chiselled chest and toying with his nipples, hardened into tight peaks. You circle the hard buds, flicking and pinching them, the action drawing a series of moans and whimpers out from Satoru.

You move lower, reaching his abs and delicately running your hand even lower, continuing downwards and Satoru's breathing grows more irregular.

Finally, your hands reach Satoru's throbbing cock and firmly clasp it. You give it a gentle pump, and he gasps, stroking it real slow to savour the sound of his desperate whimpers. You lean in, leisurely running your tongue along the underside of his shaft, savouring the taste of his precum. Teasing the tip before taking him into your mouth.

Satoru moans loudly, his hips bucking up involuntarily, seeking more of your warm wet mouth. You suddenly pull back, denying him the fullness he craves, and focusing on teasing his balls, licking and sucking softly.

"Please, baby," Satoru begs, his voice hoarse with need. "I need more. I need you to suck me."

You smirk, enjoying the power you hold over him. You blow cool air over his wet cock and he shivers; before you take him back into your mouth, but only halfway. You bob your head slowly, lightly grazing his shaft, teasing him with the promise of more.

Satoru is whimpering, his hands fisting in the sheets, desperate to touch you, to guide your head. But he's helpless and at your mercy.

"You'll take what I give you," you say, your voice firm. "And right now, I'm not giving you anything."

Satoru whimpers, his body quivering with desire. "Yes, baby- fuck- I'll be good. I promise."

You take his cock in your hand, as you spit on it, coating it with your saliva. You pump him slowly, torturously, hardly grasping at all, but just enough to drive him wild with need. Leaning down, you flick your tongue out to lick the tip of his cock before pulling away again, much to his frustration and evident by his whining.

You, still relishing the look of desperation on Satoru's face, lean out of frame as you grab a dildo from off-screen. The silicone toy is thick and veiny, modelled to resemble the real thing. “Open.” you say softly.

Satoru's eyes are frantic as he follows through on the instruction, taking the silicone cock in his mouth. The girth and length of the dildo prove to be a challenge, so his mouth has to stretch to accommodate it. He is forced to take it in small increments, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks, his hands straining against the silk that binds them. The sound of the dildo as it hits the back of his throat rings throughout his desperate moans, his body shaking with need.

As Satoru sucks on the dildo, your other hand returns to his cock, teasing the sensitive tip, rubbing your thumb over the slit, making him whine in a mix of pleasure and frustration. You watch as his eyes roll back-a sign that he is going to have an orgasm.

"Not yet, Satoru," you tell him, your voice firm, pulling your hand away again. "Not until I say so."

Satoru whimpers, his body trembling, eager for release. Once you’re satisfied with the wetness of the dildo, you take it from his mouth as you squirt a generous amount of lube on your hand, which you then rub against his entrance, placing the dildo at his tight hole. You smirk at his sight of quivering, his body tight in expectation.

"Relax," you command, firm of voice. "Take it like a good boy, like you always do."

Satoru takes deep breaths, trying to relax his muscles, his body shaking with need. You make sure it’s properly lubricated as you push the dildo slowly into his ass, making him moan loudly, his body arching off the bed.

"Fuuuck, baby, shit-" he moans, his voice thick with pleasure and need.

You keep pushing the dildo in, inch by agonising inch, and Satoru just moans and whimpers, his body shaking with every thrust. You're determined to make him feel every inch of that toy-to stretch him, to fill him up until he's begging for more.

The cameras ensure that they record even the minute details of Satoru's submission: his body shaking and trembling, small beads of sweat flowing from his forehead down his cheek, and a look of pure, unadulterated pleasure etched across his face.

The moment you begin pumping the dildo in and out of Satoru, his cock twitches and pulses strongly, its head swollen as it starts to leak precum. It’s intoxicating to see him near the brink so fast. Satoru's whining escalates, his body arching off the bed, straining against the silk that binds him. His eyes are half-lidded and his face a picture of blissful agony.

"Pleaseplease-, I'm so close," he begs, his voice hoarse with need. "Please, let me come." The dildo fills him, stretching him, and the sensation is near too much to bear. Satoru's hips buck, his body trembling with the need to come.

"Say please again." You say, leaning down, your face hovering above his, but just out of reach. He tries to lean up to kiss you, touch you, but the silk knots keep him in place.

"Please, angel," Satoru begs, voice shaking. "Please, let me come. I need you, god-"

His eyes plead, his body trembling with his need. He is on the brink, yet you're still in control-the one that can give him the release he so desperately desires.

The dildo continues in and out of him, thrusting by your hand as he moans and writhes, his body on fire with need. That smirk is on your face, enjoying the view of him begging for you—for the release you can give or withhold at your whim.

"Can't hold it," Satoru whines, his cock leaking so much precum as his body shakes, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. "Need it so badly"

His voice rings with desperation, his body on the brink of shattering, the need to come threatening to overwhelm him. You watch, enjoying the sight of him begging, of him so completely at your mercy.

"If you can make it up to me, then sure," You tease, your voice sending a shiver down Satoru's spine. You lower yourself back down, your lips brushing against his cock, making him moan.

As you kiss his cock, Satoru's body arches off the bed, his hips bucking, trying to get closer to you, to feel your mouth on him. You smirk, enjoying his desperation, before taking him into your mouth, your lips wrapping around him, tongue flicking over the head.

"Ohh- baby-" Satoru moans, his body trembling, his grip on the sheets tightening. "Fuck, yes."

You suck his cock, your hand moving to play with his balls, making him moan even louder, his body quivering with need. You're determined to give him the release he craves, but only after making him beg, making him work for it.

Satoru moans louder now, his body arcing. The cameras get all the raw erotic seconds of the scene-the sight of Satoru, on the verge of collapse and in need of you. Satoru's body goes taut, muscles straining against the silk holding him in place, his back arching off the bed as he comes. His cock throbs, pulsating with the force from shooting it into your waiting mouth.

"God, yes," he moans, his voice breaking, his eyes rolling back as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over him. His body shakes, riding out the huge sensation. “Fucking hell-”

You continue sucking, prolonging his pleasure. You swallow every drop, a satisfied smirk on your face.

When the waves of his pleasure subside, Satoru collapses back onto the bed, his body spent. His chest heaves with his laboured breathing. You release him and licks your lips, savouring his taste.

As Satoru starts to come down, you rub your thumb across the sensitive head of his cock; he shudders, still so sensitive from the profound orgasm. He whimpers, his hips bucking slightly as his body hasn't quite recovered yet.

"Sensitive?" you ask, your voice teasing, your lips curled into a smirk. You keep rubbing, enjoying his reaction of the shuddering and whining with every touch.

Satoru nods, his eyes half-lidded as his trembling body shakes. "Yes-" he moans out hoarsely. "Too sensitive." You laugh softly, pulling out the dildo, and he whimpers in protest.

You lean down to press a soft kiss against his lips. Satoru returns the kiss, mind reeling from his pleasure. You break the kiss, leaning back, your hand moving to caress his cheek.

"Good boy," you say softly, a satisfied smile on your face. "Now let's get you cleaned up."

Satoru smiles, his body still shaking, his eyes filled with love and adoration for you. He nods, his body still buzzing from the pleasure you’ve given him.

The cameras capture this tender moment of intimacy between you and Satoru, love and desire so evident in your eyes. This is one of those scenes that will definitely leave a mark, evidence of a bond shared between you both, as you begin to untie him and the cameras shut off.

Suguru Geto

Not even intentional, he's not a p!star, just wanted to upload a small video with you and people go crazy for it.

It's honestly a bad quality video on his phone but people want more, he's not even doing anything, just looking pretty with a hot voice.

He definitely makes one of those twitter accounts to share it on when he sees the attention it gets.

He adjusted his phone to capture the perfect angle, his hand still on your hip, squeezing it gently. "You look beautiful," he breathed, his voice low and seductive while he watched you grind against his thigh, breaths coming in pants that matched his own.

Your pussy was already wet, the wet of your arousal seeping through your panties into the fabric as his thigh. Suguru watched you grind against him, his eyes darkened with lust, his cock throbbing in his pants. "Fuck, you're so sexy," he groaned, his hand sliding up your thigh. "I want everyone to see how good you look like this."

He could feel the heat radiating from your core, and he groaned, his erection straining against his pants

He leaned in closer to you, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "Would you like that, beautiful? Would you like to use my thigh right here on camera?"

His hand slid higher up your thigh, his fingers grazing the damp fabric of your panties. "I can feel how wet you are, baby. You're so turned on. You want me to touch you, don't you?"

His teeth nipped at your earlobe, and the hotness of his breath sent a shiver down your spine. "Go on, beautiful. Grind against me. Let me see how much you want it. Show me how bad you need my cock."

You didn't need to be told twice. You continued grinding against him, your hips rolling and bucking in a desperate need for release. You could feel the heat between your legs, the dampness between your legs. It was Suguru's words that spurred you on, wanting him even more. You wanted to show him how much you needed him, how much you wanted to be fucked by him. You continued moving, your body following his instruction while your pussy throbbed for his touch.

"Come on, baby," he urged you forward in a low husky tone. "Grind against me. You want my cock, don't you? You want me to fill you up and fuck you until you can't walk, hm?."

His hand slid to your ass, squeezing on the plushy flesh as he hauled you harder against him. "Come on beautiful. Show me how much you want it. Show me how bad you need to come."

Suguru groaned with every slight movement. He could feel your arousal, and it was driving him wild. His hand slid up your thigh, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties and tugging them to the side. The wetness glistened, and in his eyes, there was a deep-seated lust.

"Look at yourself, baby," Suguru ordered, his voice husky with lust. "See how desperate you are for me. So gorgeous, so wet, so needy. I want everyone to witness how desperate you are for my touch, my cock."

He continued to massage your ass, his fingers pressing in as he watched you grind against him. "Keep going, baby. Keep showing me how much you want it. I want to make you the star of this video." Suguru gave your ass a firm spank, and you jumped, making him chuckle. "Show them what they're missing because you're mine."

He wrapped his arms around you, planting a hard kiss on your lips as his tongue slid into your mouth. One of his hands started playing with your clit while you kept riding his thigh.

The camera would've caught it all-the two of you, hands digging into each other's hair as your lips connected, Suguru's hand working your clit. You could feel the heat between your legs, the ache growing more with each touch.

His hand quickened along your clit as he kissed you, his tongue dancing against yours. "Come on, baby. Let go for me. Let go for the camera."

Suguru's eyes had darkened and his hand was tighter in your hair as you rocked against his thigh harder, creating more friction. "Fuck, you're so close, baby," he groaned against your lips. "You're going to cum all over my thigh, aren't you? You're going to show everyone what a good little pornstar you are."

He could feel your body trembling, the heat between your legs becoming almost unbearable. His cock strained against his pants, begging to be released, to be buried inside you.

Suguru had responded to the increased pace by sucking on your nipple through your clothes, teeth light and nipping at the hardened bud. His hand slid further up your body, his fingers tugging at your top and pulling it up to expose your breasts. He groaned; his eyes were dark with lust as he leaned down to your nipples, his tongue flicking over them and making you moan, leaning into his touch.

The camera captured it all, your hands in his hair tugging as he sucked and nibbled them.You could feel the orgasm building inside you, growing in tension with each touch. Suguru's cock was throbbing against his pants, his arousal growing with watching you ride his thigh, your body in desperate need of release.

"I'm close, sug-" you whine

Suguru's eyes snapped up to meet yours, his mouth still attached to your nipple. He could feel your body trembling, your hips moving faster against his thigh as you chased your release.

"Yeah?" he groaned, his mouth moving to your other nipple as his teeth tugged on the hardened bud. "Come on, baby. Let me see you cum for me."

Suguru could feel your body tensing, your hips bucking against his thigh as you reached your peak. Your eyes rolled back, your body arcing as you cried out, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave. "Fuck, yeah," Suguru growled low in your ear, his hand working your clit again. He could feel your body shaking, the wetness coating his sweats as you came for him.

The camera captured the moment: your body trembling, your face flushed with pleasure as you rode out your orgasm. He almost felt like he could cum in his pants just from looking at you-god, was he painfully hard right now.

As your orgasm slowly subsided, Suguru let go of your nipple, his eyes dark with lust. "Fuck, you're incredible."

He pulled you close, his lips brushing against yours, his hand sliding down your body, his fingers tracing the wetness you left behind. "You're going to make my cock explode, baby. I can't wait to be inside you."

Smirking, his eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned over to turn off the camera. "I think that's enough for now, beautiful. We don't want to give away all our secrets, do we? Besides, I have a feeling our little video is going to be popular. People will pay if they want more."

Kento Nanami

All his videos involve a gentle and sweet Nanami, but the director of this shoot wanted something a little different.

His usual style is amped up a little and he indulges in stuff he wouldn't usually.

But the people end up loving it, though it's still not really his style.

You were leaning over a cabinet, your panties around your ankles and your skirt up over your hips. Nanami was standing behind you, his eyes nearly dark with hunger as they raked over you. Nanami's hand came down on your ass once more, the sting of it making you yelp. He spanked you again, this time harder, his hand leaving a red mark on your skin.

You clutched the cabinet, your whole body shaking with every movement. It was the sound of skin hitting skin that remained in the air, and you could feel your skin burning up. Each spank had been done with more vigour than the last; with each strike, a moan had escaped your lips. "You like this, don't you? You like being punished like the dirty little slut that you are." He growled, his hand landing hard upon your ass.

"You’re such a good girl for taking this, aren't you?" Shivers ran down your back with his words.

He continued to spank you, the force of each impact increasing with more intensity. You bit your lip, your body trembling with each spank, and your arousal growing.

Nanami's words, mixed with the pain, were driving you wild. Nanami's hand came down on your ass once more, his grip tightening on your hair. "You gonna’ be a good girl and make me feel good?" He growled, his voice low and demanding. "Make it up to me, yeah?"

You nodded, your body quivering. "Yes, I'll make it up to you." You promised, your voice breathy.

Nanami pulled you up, spinning you around so you faced him. He grasped your chin, his lips crashing down onto yours in a bruising kiss as his hand slid down your body, squeezing the flesh. He deepened the kiss, biting down slightly on your lip before pulling away.

“On your knees." His tone was firm and you obliged without hesitation. He unbuckled his belt, cuffing your wrists, leaving you on your knees, hands at your back. The buckle was a little rough around your skin, but you uttered no word.

Nanami positioned himself in front of you and his already hard cock was throbbing. He tugged on your hair, yanking you closer until your face was against his erection.

"You know what to do." His voice was so low that it barely reached your ears, yet you knew what he wanted.

Nanami looked down at you, his eyes narrowed. He didn't say anything, but his grip on your hair tugged a little tighter, and he was clearly getting impatient, which you knew better than to make him.

You leaned forward and took his cock into your mouth, sucking on the head, and swirled your tongue around it, tasting the salty pre-cum that had already leaked out. Nanami let out a low groan, his hips bucking forward slightly. He wanted more, and you were determined to give it to him.

You started bobbing your head up and down, with each movement taking a little more of his length into your mouth. Your tongue worked along the underside of his shaft, tracing the thick veins that pulsed with every beat of his heart.

Nanami's pull on your hair grew painful, but you wouldn't relent. You resumed sucking, trying to take him deeper. He started thrusting his hips, practically using your face for his own pleasure. And still, you didn't stop, you didn't pull away.

Nanami groaned, his fingers in your hair tightening. He watched you work your mouth around his cock and felt his stress melt away. He wanted to be rough-to punish you-and the way you took him in your mouth, the way you obeyed him, was the perfect outlet for his frustration.

Nanami watched you with the gaze of a predator, his eyes dark and hungry. The more you took him in, the more he enjoyed it. He could feel his orgasm building and wanted to hear you beg for his release.

"You're such a good little slut, aren't you? You’re loving sucking on my cock, aren't you?" His tone was belittling as he tugged on your hair, making your gaze meet his.

You didn't answer, and he growled. "I said, didn't I?"

You nodded, your eyes watering from the pain in your scalp.

Nanami tutted, shaking his head as he spoke in a condescending tone, "I can't hear you."

You moaned around his cock, the vibrations making him shudder. "Yes, Kento- I love it-”

Nanami's hips bucked as he let out a moan. "That's my good girl. You're going to swallow every drop of my cum, aren't you?"

You nodded again, your mouth still full. “Please, wan’ it-”

Nanami's cock throbbed inside your mouth, and he could feel an orgasm building. He watched you worship his cock-swirling your tongue around the head, sealing your lips around his shaft.

He tugged on your hair with both hands, forcing you deeper. "That's it, take it all like a good girl." He growled, his hips snapping forward. He wanted to feel your throat around his cock, to feel you gag on his length.

You took him deeper, your nose pressing into his pelvis. You could feel his cock pulsating in your throat and knew he was close. Nanami groaned loudly, his hips bucking wildly. "Fuuck, I'm going to cum." his grip on your hair grew tighter. He thrust into your mouth one more time, cock pulsating as he shot his load down your throat.

You swallowed every drop, your throat working to take it as Nanami's grip on your hair loosened and he pulled you off his cock with a pop.

You opened your mouth, your tongue flicking out to show that you had swallowed every drop of his cum. You looked up at him, your eyes shining with submission.

Nanami smiled, a curl of his lips as his hand reached down to stroke your cheek. "Good girl." He whispered lowly as his thumb brushed your bottom lip.

The scene faded and the cameras shut off, and the instant it did, Nanami's demeanour changed. He helped you up with gentle motions, his hands sliding down your arms to unfasten the cuffs from around your wrists. "Are you okay?" he asked, voice soft and concerned.

You nodded, rubbing your wrists where the belt had been. "I'm alright, just a little sore." and that was true not only of your wrists but your arse too.

Nanami winced; his thumb rubbed circles on your wrists. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you." He said softly. "You really should've told me, I would've let up."

You smiled softly, placing your hand on top of his. "It's okay, I knew what I was getting into." You reassured him. Nanami's lips curled into a smile, his thumb still rubbing your wrist. "How about after we clean up and get off set, dinner's on me?" He suggested, his voice lightening up a bit more.

You smiled, nodding your head. "Sounds perfect." You replied, your hand still atop his.

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phlebaswrites · 8 months

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Unique in All the World

Summary:

Tobirama knows his life.

But there is always more to learn.

Rating: Teen And Up Fandom: Naruto Relationship: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Izuna Word Count: 675 (Complete)

Entry for @izunaweek

Day 3 - February 6: Hiraishin | Stargazing | Professional Sports AU

This story is for @kurakura0-0 who told me that kudagitsune, pipe foxes, are also known as Izuna!

Tobirama looks up at the sky and traces the dance of the stars with his eyes.

Onmyōji his clan may be, but he doesn't need those cold and uncaring lights to know his own future. Unlike the man who just came to consult with him under the cover of darkness, he will never find a woman to love and marry, and his household will forever be as small as he can contrive.

Not by his own choice, for it's a lonely existence, but simply out of necessity.

No, ever since the day when he accidentally woke a kudagitsune, his life has not been his own.

Read the rest on AO3.

#IzunaWeek2024 #Day 3 | Prompt: Stargazing #Day 3 #Prompt: Stargazing #Phlebas Writes #Naruto #fanfiction #Story: Unique in All the World #Series: To Establish Ties #Series: Izuna Week 2024 #Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Izuna #Senju Tobirama #Uchiha Izuna #okay to reblog

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ovaryacted · 20 days

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WISH YOU KNEW || CH. 1

─ KISS THE GIRL

─ Logan Howlett/Wolverine x fem! reader

SYNOPSIS: Another mundane afternoon rolls around that quickly turns into a new beginning after Logan abruptly meets one of Wade's close friends.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. NO SMUT. Worst! Logan / Variant! Logan. Friends to lovers vibes. Mutual pining. Sexual tension. Close proximity. Flirting. Playful Banter. Kissing. Alcohol Consumption. Profanity. Logan catching feelings. Wade being an instigator. Age gap implied [Logan is his canon age, reader is mid to late 20s]. Reader has an established friendship w/Wade. Descriptions of reader's clothing. Mentions of other characters.

WC: 7.9K

A/N: Super excited to be posting this today, I hope everyone enjoys it as much as I enjoyed writing it despite it taking me a little while. This whole story and first part is an extensive addition to these headcanons I posted a while back. Huge thank you to @ozarkthedog for the proofread and encouragement to finish this project, and shoutout to my baby @joelsdagger for helping me with the aesthetics and vibes of this post. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT PART | AO3

Leaping into a new reality after everything he’d been through was far from the strangest things Logan had to experience in his incredibly long life. If anything, he was secretly appreciative to be given a second chance, a way to redeem himself from the horrors of his previous timeline and possibly live up to the expectations of his former self.

Though, he imagined things would be much more different. He thought that by now, he’d be living independently with a stable source of income outside of taking odd mercenary jobs alongside Deadpool, of all people. Crashing on the couch of the culprit that brought him into this mess was far from what he wanted, but getting adjusted to this new way of living was taking much longer than he anticipated.

Wade whistled to himself as he stayed busy in the kitchen. Still dressed in his pjs, the pink kiss-the-cook apron was neatly tied around his waist, paired with an obnoxiously crisp chef’s hat. He poured some batter into a flat pan, watching it puff up and sticking his tongue out in concentration as he flipped the pancake, ensuring the edges didn’t burn.

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, usually full of playing reruns on the TV and sleeping off the previous night of copious whiskey drinking. The alternative was dealing with Wade’s get-togethers, where his friends stopped by for game night. Logan could, in theory, stay behind and beat everyone at the table in a good game of poker, but having so many individuals in the tiny one-bedroom apartment he was already sharing with two other people and a dog could be overstimulating.

The doorbell ringing disrupted the rarely calm atmosphere, sending the hairs on Logan’s nape to rise. He didn’t think it could be Blind Al coming back home so soon unless her daily walk was cut short. Wade made quick work of the pancakes in the current stack, setting them to the side and striding into the entryway to look through the peephole. Squealing to himself, he gave the grumpy man on the couch one more glance as a warning to behave and swung the door open to let an unknown figure come into view.

In walks a new stranger, someone Logan hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting personally. He was presented to Wade’s inner circle once he was brought into this world, surprised at the diverse group of people who tolerated his behavior longer than he had. Your face was refreshing compared to who he usually saw, and your abrupt entrance captivated him.

He diligently observed how you rummaged through the kitchen, tearing open the overhead cabinets and searching for something he couldn’t quite decipher under your mumbles. You have yet to sense an additional presence in the apartment, and you’re too busy in your quest to take a peek at the couch.

“Where the hell did you put my wine, Wade? I told you to hold it for me, not pop it open.” Your voice cut through the room, hitting Logan’s discerning ears. As strange as it was, he thought the pitch of your voice suited you, or at least what he suspected would closely resemble it.

“Well, happy Sunday to you too, honey bunches. Are you looking for it? Sorry to burst your bubble, but Blind Al drank all of it,” he joked with a devilish grin. There he was again, jerking someone’s chain when given the chance, and yet Logan found himself curious about your dynamic with his roommate.

“Since when did Althea drink wine? I swear if you opened my rosé without telling me, I’m never bringing you anything again,” you playfully threatened as the corner of your lips curled up in a smirk.

A righteous aha! came from you as the bottle manifested in your hand, smiling widely at your successful find. You turned around, spotting Wade in his apron before your eyes moved further to the right, noticing the aged man for the first time since you barged into the apartment. He could see how your pupils dilated at taking him in, the cogs turning in your head as you tried to figure out who he was and his association with Wade.

“Who’s the big guy?” You jutted your chin toward the mutant, forcing Wade to take the initiative to bridge the introduction between you two.

“Ah, him. Yeah, that’s Logan, the Wolverine. Kinda resurrected him as Marvel Jesus and brought him from his timeline into ours after saving the world. Now we’re happily married with a kid,” Wade said with full confidence, another one of his meddling tactics.

“Oh, oh. This is Logan?” You tilted your head to study the man in question, all while he fought the urge to raise an eyebrow. Has Wade mentioned him to you before? “So you two are…”

“No, no we’re not,” Logan finally spoke, quickly rising from the couch to end the dubious dialogue. A pout formed on Wade’s face at his friend’s intrusion, no longer feeding into the delusion that they were somehow more than cohabitants.

“Don’t know what he’s told you, but I’m crashing on the couch since your friend brought me here.” Somehow after the brief explanation of how he got here, it sounded even worse coming from Logan’s mouth.

“Peanut, do not embarrass me right now. I know you’re shy about our true love, but sugarplum here is very much an ally,” Wade lifted a finger at him, more comical than the overall discussion, as Logan sighed in annoyance. He figured he might as well introduce himself properly since he’s gotten this far.

“Logan,” he opened his palm to offer a handshake, catching your name grace your lips as you clasped your hand over his. The squeeze you gave him was reassuring, and he reciprocated in kind, holding your gaze and drawing his hand away.

“I’m guessing how you got here is a long story?” Your eyes dashed to Logan in interest, sparing him the embarrassment of denying the initial claims your mutual friend made without his knowledge.

“Very long.” Before Logan could smack his hand over Wade’s mouth, he closed his eyes, waiting for the raunchy commentary soon to follow.

“That’s what she said!” Wade clapped his hands, receiving a groan from the older man and a chuckle from you.

“You’ll have to tell me about it some time then. I’ll never understand Wade’s quests, all he talks about is who he kills and how much fun he has doing it.”

“Honey, the complexities of the space-time continuum are way too extreme to explain in one sitting. I’m going to need a podcast and a projector to elaborate on it,” while Wade kept responding to you, Logan observed the exchanges between you two, making mental notes as he read your body language.

“I think you’re banned from the tech stores within the tri-state area, but maybe you can try Amazon,” you offered him, the same lively smile popping up once again. “The new season of Love Island USA drops this weekend. Are we still on for our watch party?”

“You must be fucking crazy if you think I will miss this premiere,” he beamed at you, mimicking your expression of delight.

“Then I’ll bring some of those sweet ‘n salty pretzels you and Althea like next time I stop by,” you announced, kissing Wade’s wrinkly cheek to honor the words threaded onto his apron. Your hand hovered over the front door handle, meeting hazel eyes to the right. “I hope to see you around Logan.”

One final glimpse at them, and you were out the door, the silhouette of your shadow no longer in the older mutant’s peripheral. Wade returned to the kitchen to continue cooking his late breakfast, putting strawberries and maple syrup on a stack of chocolate pancakes and cutting into the sweetened heap.

“Is she another one of your friends?” Logan asked, his encounter with a new face birthed a sense of novelty that flickered in his mind.

“Mhm. Met her at a grocery store when I was finding something for Blind Al and kept bumping into her throughout the city. We just became friends, plus Althea loves her, probably because she’s always bringing her sweet treats,” Wade answered casually, his mouth half stuffed with the pancakes he bit into.

“Hmm. So I should be worried about seeing more people entering this apartment?”

“She comes for our religious reality TV and movie nights. It’s no biggy, she’s like everyone else I know. Think of me, but with a brain, and maybe not with the whole ‘immortal’ thing I got going on here,” he clarified, the thought of having to deal with anyone remotely similar to Wade filled Logan with inexplicable anxiety. Yet, all he did was shake his head and cross his arms across his chest.

“Great, the more the merrier.”

“You know, maybe if you weren’t such an asshole, you could actually have friends in this world, or even get laid. But instead, you’re too hellbent on being a grouch,” Wade replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Maybe I’d have friends and get laid if people didn’t think we were fucking all the time,” Logan reacted defiantly, grabbing hold of Mary Puppins and attaching the leash to her collar, getting ready to take her out on a walk around the neighborhood.

“Live in your truth, Wolvie. Be who you are!” Wade exclaimed again, ignoring Logan’s curses as he stepped through the front door to get some fresh air.

Logan held on to the leash with one hand as he walked down the block with Dogpool, taking in the acquainted streets and ignoring the looks that came his way. Thankfully, after being in Wade’s world for a while, the stares have transitioned from hate to mere tolerance, aiding his adjustment. As he turned the corner, his intrigue spiked as he thought more of his brief interaction with you, another of Wade’s friends who will inevitably return for a visit.

Who are you?

Sticking to Wade’s words, you stopped by the apartment more than Logan expected. You’d come by and drop off some dinner and pastry dishes bought on your way home from work when you had the chance, and you shared what you got with Wade and Blind Al. For the most part, you made delivery stops to Wade’s place once every other week, walking into the space with a couple of pans of food and placing it on the nearest kitchen counter. You’d stay for a few minutes talking to either Wade or Althea, giving each of them a friendly kiss on the cheek or the top of their head before heading home.

Logan wouldn’t always be around when you visited the other two, missing you by a few minutes when he would be fulfilling a job or out and about. Still, when he was home, he’d be in the background observing you, talking to everyone while keeping himself at arm’s length. You supposed he had the whole grumpy, mysterious vibe that made him tough to approach. So, instead, you’d offer him a cordial wave and a mutter of his name, at least something that acknowledges him when he was in the same space as you.

Week by week, your face became a regular thing for Logan, mainly on Saturdays when you joined Wade in watching whatever current reality TV show was occupying your attention. The brutish man would be on his way to the local bar when you rang the doorbell, dressed in some comfy loungewear and your tote bag full of snacks.

Logan made it a habit not to intrude on your time with Wade. He was already with him for most of the day, the least he could do was respect your time when granted. That didn’t mean he wasn’t wondering what you were like outside of being friends with his companion.

Eventually, he got his moment.

A Thursday afternoon rolled around when Logan came home from the gym to an empty apartment, a rare occurrence he planned to relish. A note on the fridge from Wade mentioned he was out with Big Al and Mary Puppins doing God knows what, not that he wanted to know nor ask. He took a shower to rinse off the grime from his workout, threw on a ribbed tank and sweats, and headed to the kitchen for a cold beer. Popping the bottle cap off, he managed to take one sip before the front doorbell rang, his eyes squinting at the entrance and internally sighing as his moment of tranquility was interrupted.

Leaving the bottle on the counter and opening the door, he was surprised to find you on the other side of the threshold with a covered tin foil pan, no doubt containing something edible. You were still in your work clothes: a pencil skirt and button-down shirt on your body with heels to match, your purse hanging off one of your shoulders.

“Oh, hey, Logan. Came to drop this stuff off for Wade. Do you mind?”

“Nah, ain’t a problem,” Logan shifted to the side to grant you entry, eyeing the back of your head as you wandered past him and into the kitchen.

“I’m guessing Wade and Al are out?” you asked the man as you handled your business, inserting the tin pan into the fridge and closing it with your hip.

“Yeah. Probably doing something I shouldn’t worry about.” You laughed at that, a light sound that he preserved in the imprints of his consciousness.

“Let’s hope they don’t bring back some cocaine. Lord knows the last thing that lady needs is a sniff of powder.” It was Logan’s turn to chuckle, the rumble of a hum you considered equivalent to a laugh.

“So it’s just you in here?” you said as you placed your work bag on the nearest surface, an attempt to rest your arm from lugging the extra weight around.

“Just me,” his broad shoulders lifted and dropped as he leaned against the kitchen wall. “They’ll be back in a bit. You can wait for them if you want, and I can head out.”

“You don’t need to do that. Do I really make you that uncomfortable?” you raised an eyebrow at him as his features softened at your inquiry.

“Uncomfortable isn’t the right word,” he shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest again, the muscles in his biceps tightening as he did so. “You and Wade, you’re close, were close before I got here. Not trying to bother what you two have going on.”

You hummed then, standing straight on one leg and entering a more relaxed stance. Logan could tell by your body language that you weren’t disturbed or intimidated by him, which he assumed was a good sign.

“Sure, I’ve known Wade and Al for a while, but I don’t mind having you around. You’re a little hard to talk to. Figured you were one of those types who liked to brood in silence, at least from what Wade told me.”

“What exactly did he tell you about me?” Logan contested, looking directly at you when he could.

“Do you want to hear the pg-13 or the explicit version? He had a lot to say. Not sure you’d be too happy about it, though,” Logan’s lips pursed, and his eyebrows furrowed at the thought. Knowing Wade, he probably said more than enough, and everything under the sun that wasn’t true.

“Fucker has a big mouth,” he almost took back what he said until he caught your nod of agreement, easing him a bit.

“He doesn’t know when to stop talking, but I can’t hate him for it. He’s just…honest, maybe a little too honest,” you claimed. “If you’re that worried about what he said, I didn’t take any of it literally. You’ll just have to prove him wrong.”

Logan’s sight bounced to you, curiosity laced in your stare as you glanced at him. For a moment, he was taking another read at you again, debating if you were as trustworthy as Wade makes you seem. He sensed your heartbeat and the steady pulse at your neck, even in pace, without a singular beat missing in rhythm. You were already here, and he reasoned he’d have to get used to all of Wade’s acquaintances sooner or later. Why not add you to the mix?

“Guess so,” his lips slightly turned upwards as his focus remained on you, deeming it acceptable to quit hiding in the background. A beat of silence filled the kitchen, one watching the other and your eyes unmoving from Logan’s face. For a split second, your pulse spiked with an intake of breath and releasing it, shaking you out of the sudden trance.

“I gotta go, but tell the deadly duo that there’s tiramisu in the fridge. You can take a piece too, I know they can be stingy,” you grabbed your work bag and threw it over your shoulder again, heading for the front door and offering Logan one last smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”

There you were, out the door again and off to your place with only the conversation you shared and the tiramisu you brought as proof of your presence. Logan huffed a breath and reached for the beer bottle sitting on the counter, making his way to the couch. He plopped down, sipping away at the lukewarm beverage and throwing his head back along the edge, staring at the ceiling with your words playing on loop in the space between his ears.

Don’t be a stranger.

He tries to deny the slight tug of warmth fluttering in his chest, manifesting into an exhale and a shake of his head, followed by another sip of his drink to wash it down.

He makes sure he won’t be.

Integrating Logan into your established dynamic with Wade and Althea was seemingly effortless. You didn’t make a big fuss about forcing him into joining the weekly TV binging when he was home, but it was nice to hear more of your voice directed at him occasionally. Whenever you stopped by Wade’s place with baked pastries or dishes, Logan hovered in the backdrop, returning your gestures when you threw one his way.

He liked having you around, not to mention the food you dropped off would fill him with a sense of comfort he hadn’t felt in a long time. Once, you handed Wade these red velvet cookies Althea liked from a downtown bakery. Logan side-eyed them munching away at the baked goods, silently judging them for satisfying their sweet tooth to such an extent. His facade was maintained until the middle of the night when Wade and Al were asleep in the bedroom, walking on muted footsteps to finish the rest of the cookies in the pan. He goes back to playing the part of being the nonchalant roommate once the sun rises, pretending to be shocked when Wade starts pointing fingers and gets into a blaming match with the blind woman he shares a bed with.

It was a matter of time before you offered more than just food, keeping the newest member of your friendly circle in mind the next time you decided what to bring to the household. There was a double knock on the door, and Wade was on the other end, waiting for you with girlish excitement.

“Hey, Wadey. Hi Althea,” you wiggled your fingers at the elderly woman. Dropping the pans on the dinner table, everyone gathered around the middle of the apartment, anxiously lingering to see what you had brought.

“Finally, I’ve been waiting for this all fucking week,” Wade approved happily, nudging you by the shoulder. “Show daddy the goods! Come to papa.”

You giggled and unwrapped two tin containers, unveiling baked lasagna and penne a la vodka. You could practically hear everyone’s stomach rumbling at the collective awe of the food in front of them, still warm to the touch as the scent of the meal wafted through the apartment.

“Thought Italian would be good, so I called this restaurant a while ago to set some dishes aside for pick-up. Got devil’s food cake too, I hope you’re in the mood for chocolate,” you voiced, smacking Wade’s hand away that threatened to dip into the pasta.

“Honestly, I think we should get married. You don’t even have to see me at all. As long as you bring me food like this, I’ll give you one kill a week.” Wade’s proposal made you smirk. Though it was tempting, you knew better than to get associated with the mess of his job.

“Don’t want to be a homewrecker,” you gestured to Logan, who rolled his eyes. “I did bring something for the grump, too. Consider it a very late welcome to this world gift.”

He watched as you handed him a paper bag, your fingers wrapping around what appeared to be the neck of a bottle. Logan held the familiar weight in his large hands, peeling back the bag to drag out a nicely sized whiskey bottle, Johnnie Walker, to be exact.

He didn’t realize how high his eyebrows raised at receiving a gift, much less something from you. The food containers did get bigger after Wade complained about somebody eating everything after 24 hours. But knowing you were somehow thinking about him revived that pulse in his chest.

“Thank you,” he said genuinely, russet irises focused in your direction. “Really, this is nice.”

“It’s the least I could do since I’m always coming over here,” you said, appreciating Logan’s kindness and mirroring his grateful expression.

There it was again, the beat of silence that entranced the both of you when you entered the same room. The space between Logan’s ribs ached, a strange and unnerving thumping that carried a wave of unfamiliarity.

“Are we going to fucking eat or what?” Blind Al muttered out loud, disrupting the moment you shared with Logan.

“Aht aht, being greedy isn’t nice, Althea. I’m still pissed you ate the corner piece of the brownies I called dibs on last week,” Wade squinted his eyes as he blamed the elderly woman for a crime she didn’t commit. That was, in fact, Logan.

“Motherfucker, if we stand here any longer, the lasagna will get cold,” Althea criticized, the two bickering amongst themselves beside you. You shake your head in disbelief, going to the kitchen to grab some plates, with Logan following behind to help you bring the utensils and cups.

“You want to stay a while?” The suggestion tumbled out of him without thinking, anxious that he had just shot himself in the foot. When your smile reappeared, his worries passed.

“Yeah, I got time,” you held a few plates, heading to the dinner table to join the others in fighting over the pieces of lasagna.

Logan reached other milestones in your bond over the upcoming weeks when you invited them to dinner at your apartment to celebrate your recent job promotion. He didn’t know why he stressed about which shirt to wear or how to style his hair, wanting to put some effort into his appearance this time. Deciding on a red flannel and a leather jacket, he didn’t say a word when Wade was messing around with wigs to wear for the evening.

After a few threats of slicing Wade’s head off if he didn’t hurry the fuck up, they were on their way to your place. An 8-minute walk around the neighborhood and a buzz of the intercom later, you happily greeted the two men at the front door. Stepping aside to let them both pass, you briefly eyed the breadth of Logan’s back flexing under his jacket as he trekked inside, closing the door behind them.

“Al didn’t come along?” you questioned, half expecting the elderly woman to join you.

“Nope, she’s fast asleep. You know how old people are, strict curfews and powdery smells,” Wade quipped, glancing around the table to see what you had prepared.

“Surprised you don’t have a wig on right now,” you lightly jested, straightening the collar of Wade’s polo and approving of his outfit choice.

“I was deciding between a short bob and a tapered fade when Logan threatened to tear me limb from limb. I think that’s his way of flirting.”

At the mention of the other male, your gaze landed on him as he surveyed his surroundings. Your apartment was nice, small yes, but homey, just enough for one person. The living room consisted of your TV and a plush couch, a colorful blanket thrown over its edge, and a leather armchair beside the windows draped in sheer curtains. Two sets of bookshelves rested on the walls closest to the entryway, a collection of books and knick-knacks filled the shelves, a mix of genres from thrillers to romance to fantasy. He took in the setting of your space one last time before pivoting to face you.

“Sorry, Wilson, but you’re not my type,” Logan replied, his hands digging into the pocket of his jeans.

“He’s in denial and emotionally constipated. Don’t worry, Wolvie. I will wait for you forever, as long as you return home to me.” Logan ignored him, mumbling a quiet shut the fuck up under his breath.

The rest of the night went by smoothly, and Logan used it as an opportunity to learn more about you. Through conversing with Wade, he discovered you work at a media studio further downtown. Initially, you were just a journalist pitching stories that would sometimes be published or given the spotlight. Your promotion now makes you the head of your department, giving you more creative control over the stories you want to be told, something you’ve worked hard to get. In your own words, you were happy that bitch Janice at your office didn’t get the role, and now she will have to deal with you being her superior.

Logan liked how you smiled from ear to ear after being so accomplished, and when he mentioned he was glad it worked out, the way your face lit up wasn’t overlooked.

Munching into the lamb chop you cooked for tonight, Wade retells the stories of the recent mercenary jobs he’s completed with Logan by his side, throwing innuendos and graphic details of his missions between every couple of sentences. You listened to him talk, drinking your wine and resting your chin on your hand, nodding and providing commentary when needed.

At some points in the conversation, Logan would jump in when Wade allowed him to, roping him in to tell you about the cool shit he can do with his claws. Your eyes sparkled at Logan’s words, hanging on to whatever came out of him and holding it close as if it would be the last time you’d hear him speak. He couldn’t bring himself to deny that having your attention on him felt good, and when he let Wade control the dialogue again, his eyes would stay on you for a second longer, sipping on the beer you saved for him.

He hopes you didn’t notice.

Other times, Logan joined you and Wade on the couch for reality TV and movie nights, something he figured would help him become more of a social butterfly. Though he didn’t always understand the current events of 90 Day Fiancé or Love Island USA, you didn’t mind catching him up on the episode that played despite Wade itching to give out spoiler warnings.

You’d be situated between them on the small couch, the popcorn bowl on your lap, and sharing it with Wade, who wore his patterned PJs. Although Logan was relatively quiet while you watched the TV screen, you’d let him take a handful of popcorn, washing it down with a drink to enjoy a somewhat tasteful combination.

What he didn’t expect from you was how welcoming you were of his touch. Of course, given that the couch wasn’t that large, you’d be hip to hip with Logan and Wade on either side of you. The larger man did his best to stay in his corner of the couch and to manspread less to give you space, but you stayed close to him.

Maybe too close.

One night, his arm slipped from its perch on the edge of the couch, dropping on your shoulder and causing you to jolt from the sudden contact.

“Shit, my bad,” he was fast to mutter an apology, but you were just as quick to shake your head, quelling his worries.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind, really.” You were permitting him to leave his arm on your shoulders, and he wasn’t going to say no to that, the heavy bulk of muscle making a new home over the width of your back.

The fleeting touches persisted when you watched Australia for Wade’s sake, suddenly growing fascinated with the main male character and proclaiming Logan somehow favored him. He grumbled, zoning out of the movie and not realizing Wade had fallen asleep within the first hour. It was just you and him for a while until you also dozed off near the two-hour mark, still with 45 minutes left.

Logan had lost track of the plot within the first 30 minutes, so he no longer cared for the film. He focused on your torso, slowly leaning into his body on the couch, gravitating toward his warmth. Instinctively, he moved his arm on your shoulder, bringing you closer so you were flush with his chest, snuggling against the stability of his figure.

Logan swears he could hear a happy hum fall from your lips in the form of a sigh, getting more than comfortable against the man who had become a new addition to your life. If you were awake, he was sure you could hear how hard his heart was beating inside of him, providing a comforting squeeze to your arm to signal he was still here with you.

For the next little while, he’ll enjoy his current position without qualms, and he can imagine just for a second that this was a part of your usual interactions. This is as close as he’s going to get anyway.

“You like her.” Wade’s voice filtered through the static noise of Logan’s channel surfing, settling on a Tom and Jerry episode that played in the background, his head twisting to scrutinize the pain in the ass he called a roommate.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, you know,” he grinned mischievously, “Honey bunches, you have the hots for her.”

The neurons in Logan’s brain fired at rapid speed as he comprehended what his friend was insinuating. Sure, he liked having you around and looked forward to when you stopped by every week to sit on the couch. He ignores how you smell or breathe next to him or how you don’t mind when his arm is on your shoulder. He doesn’t care that you inch the slightest bit closer to him, hip to hip, eyes still on the screen during movie nights. He dismisses how you look at him, how you smile when he’s in your space, and how his heart skips a beat when it happens.

“No, I don’t." He knew he was lying.

“Really?” Wade’s Cheshire smile broadened, dissecting Logan by the minute. “You sure, Logan? Are you sure your stone-cold skeleton doesn’t melt when you graze your fingers together?”

“What is this? Couple’s therapy? Shut the fuck up and drop it.” Logan’s mask was cracking the more Wade badgered him about his suppressed emotions, and frankly, he wasn’t sure how long he could keep the truth from his friend or himself.

“Oh shit…Wolvie, you’re in denial. Are you scared of rejection?” Wade covered his mouth in faux shock, taking Logan’s deep scowl with pride as he hit a nerve. “It’s alright, Casanova, no need to be worried about your unrequited love life. I’ve watched enough episodes of The Bachelor and The Bachelorette to put romancers to shame. I will make this happen.”

“Wade. Drop it.” The threat came out with a paired growl, the mutant’s fingers curling into a tight fist as the skin of his knuckles split to unsheath the blades embedded between them.

“This is now a telenovela baby. Just imagine how much we’d make with you two as the leads. ‘Loving the Wolverine.’ The title is a work in progress, but we’ll revisit that later.”

“Wilson.” Logan’s nostrils flared, the metal claws fully out with a sharp schling. The vein in his forehead bulged as his blood pressure skyrocketed from his anger, ready to slice the man any second now.

“You can be angry all you want, but feelings are feelings. And if you don’t say something soon, I fucking will!” The apartment filled with a loud squeal as Logan pierced Wade’s thigh with one hand, the other aiming for his torso, puncturing him through his hoodie.

As pissed as Logan wanted to be towards Wade, he knew he was right. Whatever sentiments had developed between you and him were undefined, and he hated himself for believing there was a chance it could be anything beyond friendly. You were younger than him, a given anyway, with an established life he didn’t want to ruin or get too involved with. Why would you choose him when you could have anyone else?

It wouldn’t work, not in his book. As Logan continued to puncture Wade’s body like a voodoo doll in the name of stress relief, he still had a hard time ignoring how he felt. He doesn’t think he will anytime soon.

His inner turmoil peaked when Wade hosted another get-together at the apartment, and of course, he invited you. He mentioned this would be a chance to set you guys up, and Logan tried his hardest not to shove his claws into his head or ruin the vibe before the party started.

The people closest to the host bustled into the apartment the following Friday night, along with the few new additions brought back from the void. Logan was entertained by talking to Laura and watched the entryway every few minutes to see when you’d walk through it. The time couldn’t come soon enough, the familiar notes of your scent hit his nose the second Wade opened the front door to let you inside, showing the assortment of alcohol bottles you brought to make cosmopolitans.

From where he sat on the couch, he studied your appearance. He raked his eyes over the casual jeans that hugged your thighs and the low neckline of your top, the jewelry adorning your neck brought more than enough attention to the dip of your collarbones.

Logan must’ve been starting too hard when you caught him in the act, your mouth bending up when you noticed him. Without a word, he only smiled at you, drinking his beer to wash down the incessant pounding in his body.

You busied yourself with making drinks in the kitchen, periodically darting to watch Logan while he mingled as much as his social battery allowed. You chatted with the other partygoers, catching up with Vanessa to ask how things were going with Wade and talking to the bubbly Yukio, who stood beside her girlfriend as you joined in teasing the host for the party hat on his head.

Everyone eventually had a red solo cup in their hand, uttering their thanks to you as the influx of a new alcoholic thirst quencher streamed through their bodies. The space to the right of Logan was empty after Laura rose to steal more chips from the dinner table. You took your chance, having a plastic cup in one hand as you strolled over to the gentleman sitting comfortably on the couch.

“That seat taken?” you asked, the bister eyes you’ve come to adore ran over your features, glinting slightly under the hanging light above.

“It’s free now,” Logan jerked his head to gesture you to sit beside him, the smell of your perfume hitting his senses when you walked past him. He swallowed his beer again, hoping it would help curb his growing urges.

“Avoiding me, huh?” The lively tone of your voice conveyed something he couldn’t precisely define despite it making him nervous. “Didn’t get up to say hi or anything…”

“You were busy making drinks for everybody, wanted to have you focused. Don’t want anyone to get alcohol poisoning from fucked up proportions.” You chuckled at his words, rolling your eyes and spinning the ice in your cup.

“Surprised you’re even here. Did Wade force you to stay around this time?”

Yes, he did. That was what he wanted to say, but one glance at your face, and he couldn’t be mad that he listened to the bastard for once.

“Decided to be a little social,” he answered calmly, the tip of his bottle lined up with his lips.

“You? Social? That’s a first.”

“Are you complaining, bub?” he remarked, turning to you with a raised eyebrow and a teasing attitude.

“No, not at all,” you shook your head, giddy in anticipation of what qualified as “social” for the man next to you. “Nothing wrong with trying new things.”

The world tuned out as you conversed with the older mutant, taking every word in stride. Believe it or not, Logan could talk for a while if you ignore the curse words he adds every other sentence. Still, it was nice to just talk to him, even if your sight wandered. On your second cosmo and probably Logan’s fourth beer, the distance between you on the couch closed with each shift of your hips, leaning into the back of the couch and facing him while he rested against the length of it.

With each passing word from Logan, you watched his jaw flex and his lips part as he spoke—counting the wrinkles of skin beside the slight hints of gray at his temples. You took another sip of your mixed drink, discreetly running your eyes down the column of his throat and his collarbone, peering at the coarse hair that peeked from his flannel’s first two undone buttons.

You didn’t know if he could read the signs of your desires or sense the palpable tension brewing in the air, but you remained willfully ignorant. Oblivious to you, the notion was reciprocated when you spoke, rambling about stuff with your job to bits and pieces of your childhood. Logan’s eyes never left your face, landing on the shimmer of your glossy lips or the pendant that dangled on your chest when you weren’t looking.

In the next breath, the topic changed to something concerning Wade’s most embarrassing instances and jokes that would only come from him. Logan must’ve said something right when you broke out in a fit of laughter, deep and hearty, as it came straight from your stomach and emitted through your chest. He didn’t say anything to disturb your moment, commemorating your eyes scrunching up and your mouth opening wide to laugh harder. He didn’t jolt when you smacked his sternum a few times, the warmth of your touch radiating through the layers of his clothes.

He craved more of it.

“I think you’re spending too much time with Wade. He’s rubbing off on you,” you calmed down from your laughing fit and wiped the tears that threatened to spill.

“Maybe. Gotta tolerate the guy,” Logan was carefree as he spoke despite the stirring emotions.

Your hand was still on his chest, resting comfortably on his body. You didn’t move it as quickly as you should, nor would Logan tell you to take it away. Grazing your thumb over the fabric of his shirt, you whizzed lowly to yourself, the alcohol pumping through your body, loosening your inhibitions as you continued to touch him.

Much to Logan’s disappointment, you pulled your hand away, looking over his shoulder to see Peter showing off the chain that connected his nipples to whatever was underneath his pants. Downing the rest of your beverage, you placed the cup on the coffee table, sitting up straighter.

“I think that’s my cue to leave. It’s getting late anyway.” The nagging voice in your head pressed a question you wanted to admit, an invitation you knew wouldn’t work if asked incorrectly. Thankfully, you didn’t need to speak out loud.

“Let me walk you home,” Logan suggested through the racket, firm and determined in his proposition. “Could use the fresh air if I’m being honest.”

You didn’t need much effort to say yes.

“Sure.” You rose from the couch to say goodbye to everyone, giving kisses on the cheek and hugs when warranted, your last stop being Wade. He looked between you and Logan, throwing the older man a thumbs up as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

Side by side, you walked down the block, Logan keeping you on the opposite side of the street and serving as a barrier between you and the road. He didn’t reach out for your hand despite the urge to hold you steady, nor did you hold on to his bicep as you strode beside him. But you both talked on your joint stroll, confessing things amongst yourselves that would otherwise be omitted by all the noise.

He followed you through the lobby of your apartment complex, up the flights of stairs that dropped you off on the second floor to your front door. He remained vigilant, standing behind your figure as you inserted your key into the lock, guarding you until your door opened and looming as you spun to face him again.

“Thank you for walking me. It was nice,” you expressed, the cosmopolitans you consumed earlier heightened the glassiness in your eyes.

“Ain’t a problem. It was good to get off the couch,” his hands went to his pockets. “You gonna be alright by yourself?”

“Yeah, I’m a big girl. I can handle a little alcohol,” you snorted, the sound bringing a grin to his face.

As your hazy vision landed on him, he felt the pull in his chest again, the one that comes when time and space stop moving in that beat of silence shared only between you two. He sensed the change in your demeanor, the increased pumping of your heart, and the rush of your blood flowing faster.

Logan halted his breathing when you stepped forward. You preemptively set a hand on his chest and tipped upwards to kiss his stubbled cheek.

“Really, thank you, Logan.” Your serene voice was muted when you said his name, sweet on your tongue that drew him in like a siren’s song. He’d do anything to hear you say it like that again, and again, and again.

“Any time,” you held his gaze, eyes going from his tawny pupils to the tip of his nose and plush lips. He was right there, right in front of you, and the only thing you had in mind was to get a proper feel of him.

There was a jolt of hesitation, taking a step back to get more space between you until you felt the heavy weight of Logan’s palm reaching for your hip. He kept you in place, squeezing your frame and curling his hand to your lower back. Your heart hammered in your ribcage, glimpsing up at him one more time as his head tilted towards you, the only signal you needed to get what you both yearned for.

Your lips landed on his, soft and gentle, testing his reaction. Logan didn’t let you venture too far from him, holding you close and kissing you more fervently, opening his mouth to make room for your tongue as it traced his bottom lip. The groan that reverberated deep within him grew louder when your hands went up to drive through his hair, changing your position to have your back against the entryway of your apartment.

You whimpered when he squeezed your waist, a sound that would haunt his dreams for the next upcoming nights, causing him to push further against you. Your fingers tugged at the collar of his flannel, seeking more of him than you could reach. The metal of his belt buckle pressed into your lower stomach, a faint moan tumbling out of your mouth that Logan hungrily swallowed.

��Do you want to come inside?” you breathlessly invited him as you pulled away, face heated to the touch and body thrumming with a need you didn’t expect. He could read your reactions, almost smell your arousal in the air, but the last thing he wanted to do was fall into the pattern he was familiar with when it came to partners. You deserved better than that, better than just a fun night, even if that’s what you wanted.

“I want to, I do,” Logan tried to say, already noticing your look of disappointment at his upcoming rejection. “But, maybe we can try this again when you don’t taste like fucking vodka and cranberries?” You laughed a bit, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, relishing the tingling sensation left behind from his kisses.

“Thought you didn’t mind alcohol?”

“Vodka isn’t my favorite. More of a dark liquor kind of guy.” Even as he spoke to you, his hands stayed on your body, a reassuring weight you didn’t want to leave your midriff.

“Then you can make it up to me with dinner. That sounds good?” You were cheeky in your response, refusing to let the prospect pass you by, and Logan wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he warmed at your proposal and accepted one more kiss as he let you part from him.

“I’ll see you around, Logan.”

It was the last thing you said to him before you closed your front door, leaving him in the hallway to deal with the feelings washing over him. He could still discern your heart beating on the other side of the door, probably grounding your breathing and walking further into your apartment. His eyes fell to his feet, mind running a mile a minute and exhaling, deciding to take the longer way home back to Wade and Blind Al.

The apartment was empty when he came back. Althea had fallen asleep in bed, and Wade was busy cleaning up the leftover mess in the dining room. The lopsided party hat was still on his head, brown eyes scanning Logan’s features and analyzing him.

“Well, that was fast. Thought you’d last a bit longer, peanut,” Wade mocked with a grin, detecting the leftover gloss on Logan’s lips and a spot on his face. “I’m guessing Cupid was successful tonight?”

“Not another word,” Logan was back to his prickly mood, murmuring under his breath that he was going to the bathroom to take a piss, locking the door behind him.

He looked in the mirror and noticed the faint shimmer of your lip gloss still on his features, leaving your mark on him without realizing it. He chuckled, smirked wide to himself, and privately enjoyed the remnants of your touch.

He’ll make a note to pick places to take you out in the morning. For now, he’ll appreciate this feeling for as long as possible.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett xmen #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett #logan xmen #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #hugh jackman #deadpool and wolverine #ovaryacted fic series: wish you knew #ovaryacted fics #⋆♱ nic works ♱⋆

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hellishjoel · 5 months

Text

chokehold

1.6k / pairing: tattoo artist daddy dom!joel miller x sub f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | notifications blog | ko-fi

chapter summary: Joel teaches you how to face fuck.

chapter warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, unspecified age gap, established relationship, reader is described to have hair and is able-bodied (but otherwise, unspecified), swearing, dirty talk, smut, lots of pet names (sweetheart, angel, little bunny, etc.), dacryphilia (kink = getting aroused by tears), dom/sub dynamics, innocence kink, praise kink, degradation kink, daddy kink, face fucking/oral (m!receiving), size kink

A/N: very lightly edited, but I wanted to give a little love to joel and little bunny since the third chapter is taking me some extra time! divider is by @firefly-graphics! and always a thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this over and endless encouragement <3

Joel’s eyes roll to the back of his head, slow and steady, because that’s just the pace you’re taking him.

Facefucking is still experimental to you. He’s your first partner, and you’re nervous to impress.

What you don’t know is that Joel would never judge your inexperience. All sexual pleasures involve trust, praise, and a little direction.

Joel stokes your hair affectionately, growing more possessive as he gently guides your mouth up and down his thick length.

You can feel the power shift as your knees dig into the floor, eyes hesitantly meeting his while you try to take more of his shaft. You want more, you’re willing to push your limits.

Joel seems to sense your loss of inhibitions, your twinkling eyes meeting his whiskey ones.

“Want me to use that pretty little mouth of yours?” Joel’s words vibrate through the room. He pulls his cock from your lips, smearing his tip from one corner of your mouth to the other as you catch a breath. His warm pre-cum slips onto your tongue, and all you crave is more.

Watching you desperately try to get him past your parted lips again is enough to force out a dark, low chuckle.

“Wanna hear y’say it, baby.”

Your impatient whine and eager hands on the back of his thighs make you beg, “Please, Joel,” in that wrecked voice that he loves so much.

Joel presses his hips forward once more, watching his tip slip past your puckered lips and back into the hot heat of your mouth. “Yeah, right where I belong, huh, baby? Right where that cock belongs.” Joel’s hand comes to cradle your face, tracing the bulge of his length against your cheek with a sinister smirk.

The further he pushes on, your tells start to show. He admires the way your eyelashes flutter, gagging and coughing around him but insistent not to let yourself off. A stray tear slips down your cheek. He collects it with his thumb and brings it past his lips, tasting what you give him.

“Even your tears taste pretty, sweetheart,” he mutters predatorily, watching as your eyes blow wide, shyly moaning against his length.

“When it gets to be too much, try to stay on. Swallow around me,” Joel gently nods his head. “Go on.”

You obey, swallowing around the thick trunk of his cock, throat feeling a little looser now. You’re oh so willing to take on the discomfort just to please him. Anything for Joel, because he’d do anything for you.

As his hips pick up a lazy pace, Joel encourages you to drop your hands from the safety blanket of his thighs. Like the good girl you are, you ease them to the base of your spine and lay one wrist over the other. He’s tied you up in that position more times than he can count, allowing Joel to take control and use you as he pleases. Such a good fucking girl.

Tears pool along the top of your cheeks, the sight of glassy eyes igniting a fire deep in his belly. The overflow of saliva trickles out along the corners of your mouth, pooling down to his length and soaking the coarse hair on his balls.

Joel watches as you shift anxiously on your knees, eyes pleading because somehow you want more.

“Oh, honey,” he drapes in a degrading tone, stroking your hair away from your wet face and letting you catch a breath as his hips halt. “Need more, don’t’cha, doll?” He drawls, cooing softly as you lay your head against his thigh. Your orbs lazily look to him and nod weakly, still measly sucking on his tip.

You bravely flick your tongue along his tip’s sensitive slit, toying at the idea of getting a rise out of Joel.

A hiss is released past his clenched teeth, his whiskey eyes turning wild. And then you do it again.

Joel’s hips jerk like that of a bucking bull. His hand in your hair turns to a fist, causing you to clench your eyes closed at the scorching prickle along your scalp. Joel scoffs as you fucking moan against him.

His grin turns wicked, twisted at the thought of you enjoying some rough love.

“Fuckin’ naughty, aren’t ya, little bunny? Yeah, bein’ a damn brat,” he chastises, watching as you frown around his tip and sucking it insistently. “Think m’gonna have t’finish deep down that pretty throat of yours, make ya choke on it,” he remarks as he repositions your head with a newfound need to punish.

Joel gathers your hair into two sets of pigtails, fisting them between his large palms. He watches you struggle to stay upright and drags you into position. “Keep that cock in your mouth, don’t let it go, sweetheart,” he gripes as you struggle to maintain him. It almost feels like a twisted game the way he nearly slips loose from your heat.

Your mouth was full, jaw aching for a break that was nowhere in sight. Your fingers intertwine to keep them locked at the very base of your spine, whining nonsense against his cock. Soaking wet and dripping onto the hardwood, your pussy clenches around the ghost of what is currently occupying your mouth.

You wanted to touch yourself so fucking bad. The self-discipline it took to keep your hands together makes your stomach churn. Your pearl twitches with enthusiasm, drenched in your own arousal.

The muscles in your thighs are tight, your chest heaving and causing your bare breasts to rise and fall at a quickened rate. The overflowing spit that drips down from his balls lands on your chest. Joel can’t seem to stop staring at the gleam.

Your nose brushes against his thick pubic hair as he buries your face against the base of his stomach, and you sputter up a cough. Lungs squeezing, throat tightening, you will yourself to swallow around him and stay right where you are. I’m yours, Joel. Please, take me, use me.

“Fuck,’ he growls upon yanking you off his cock, smirking widely as you gasp for lost breaths. “Love that goddamn throat,” Joel mutters before reaching past you and pulling your hands to the front of his thighs, which quickly form a home for you. It’s grounding, to feel him, to feel his blood pumping through his body, and etch mine on the inside of his upper thigh mindlessly.

“Got me so close, honey,” he starts, and you’re already eagerly nodding. Joel brings his thumb to your throat and slowly circles one spot against the column of your flesh. “Wanna feel myself right here, think you can do that, sweetheart?”

Your eyes soften at the depth he wishes to go, but you’d do anything for him. You nod shyly and drop your jaw, flattening your tongue just for him. Always for him.

Joel’s pace is gentle at first, working up a rhythm that has your throat molding perfectly around him. You gag each time he thrusts all the way, knowing when to swallow and when to breathe, Joel has taught you this new erotic art.

The saliva dripping down to the base of his cock greets your chin repeatedly. You hollow your cheeks around him, and he moans naughty filth.

“Such a pretty slut for this cock, make me feel so fuckin’ good- god damn,” Joel pauses with his length fully down your tight throat, grinding himself against your mouth as you clench your eyes close and gag. Joel places his thumb on that sacred spot against your neck, and he can feel his tip bulging against the column of your throat. You’re so fucking full of him, and it’s enough to make him spill.

The hold he has on your hair tightens, scalp prickling as you cry out along his length. Salt bitters your tongue, weakly swallowing back load after load of his warm, thick finish. You swallow around his length and moan lowly, all muffled and messy for him as he crashes harshly through his own concocted orgasm.

Your nails etch half-moon shapes into the back of his thighs, keeping him there, pushing for him to cross the finish line. And it was all for you.

Tears of happiness stream down your face as you let him finish painting your throat, releasing with a dramatic pop as you do your best to swallow every last dribble. You’re careful as you give his sensitive tip a few sweet kitten licks. His hands are at the ready in your hair as he hisses harshly, ready to control you if it’s too much overstimulation for your poor old Daddy.

Sponging kisses down his softening length, you lay your head against his thigh, and he cards his fingers through your hair. A soothing hum leaves your throat, fluttering your eyes closed as his thumb comes along to brush away the stray tears.

It’s easier to ignore the throbbing between your legs now that Joel has found peace. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you listen only slightly as he begins to coo gentle affirmations for you.

Joel holds your hands and helps you stand, your arms already tiredly linking around his neck as you lay your head on his shoulder.

“Such a sweet girl,” he whispers, “always make Daddy so happy, you know that?” Your head bobbles loosely. His sweet remarks make your muscles even more pliant in his arms as he easily sweeps you off your feet and moves you to lie across the bed.

Joel takes all of you in. Sweat glistening along your temple, parted lips lacquered in spit, the extra effort it takes you to swallow, how perky your nipples are, and the slick that’s all but made a mess down your thighs.

“Shit, she’s so pretty f’me,” Joel whispers as you grin weakly.

“My turn now?” Your wrecked voice squeaks, to which Joel slowly nods, helping you pitch your legs up on the edge of the bed.

“Your turn now, little bunny.”

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yannawayne · 2 months

Text

i. what's up danger?

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." PAIRING: Older! Damian Wayne/Fem! Reader TAGS: Established relationship, Mild sexual jokes, Making out, Blood, Explosions, Mentions of Child Abuse, Good Aunt-Mom Selina Kyle AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

 NEXT ->

༻⊰───⋅

“Uh, good morning?” you offered weakly, trying to give a casual shrug despite the mess around you. “Mom, this might sound insane. But, I think I might have accidentally discovered superpowers.”

Selina stared at you, blinking slowly as she processed the scene before her. Her lips twitched as if she were trying to hold back a laugh or perhaps some form of disbelief.

“Accidentally discovered superpowers?” she echoed. “I think you've been around your boyfriend and his family too much. Baby—”

Before she could finish, your hand instinctively reached out. With a flick of your wrist, a web shot from your fingers and latched onto the door behind her. In a heartbeat, the door was yanked from its hinges, splintering as it flew across the room and crashed into the wall with a resounding thud.

Selina’s eyes widened in shock as she turned to face the now doorless doorway. She blinked at the empty space where the door had once been.

“Well,” she said, “I guess that’s one way to explain things.”

༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 9:02 PM - Catwoman’s Apartment, Gotham City.

SELINA'S DEFT FINGERS SLID over the fabric of the dress, adjusting and smoothing it until it drapes perfectly over your figure. The elegant emerald gown shimmered softly under the dim apartment lights, the material flowing luxuriously against your skin.

"You didn’t steal this, did you?" you murmur, adjusting the necklace that rests delicately around your neck. "I’d rather not end up in jail tonight."

"The dress? No, it’s one of my old ones," Selina scoffed, turning away and handing you a pair of black heels. "But if anyone asks about the necklace, just say it’s a family heirloom. Which, technically, it is."

You shot her a pointed look. She rolled her eyes with a smirk.

"Oh, hush. I haven’t stolen anything in... at least a month," she drawled.

"A month, wow! That’s a new record," you teased, slipping into the heels.

Selina laughed and shook her head. "Don’t get too comfortable. Just because I’m on a hiatus doesn’t mean I’ve gone straight."

"Well, let’s hope your hiatus lasts at least through tonight," you winced.

She smirked, giving you a once-over. "Trust me, darling, tonight is all about you."

You were about to respond when Selina suddenly snapped her fingers.

“Before I forget...” she said, reaching into one of her drawers. She pulled out a thigh strap and wrapped the leather around your leg, fastening it securely.

Then, she slid one of her blades into the strap. You rolled your eyes but accepted the gesture with a resigned nod. It was Gotham, after all—being prepared was always a need.

“Damian’s got me covered tonight,” you say, trying to reassure her. “You don’t have to worry so much.”

Selina paused, her hands still on the thigh strap, and gave you a skeptical look. “Sweetheart, I worry about you all the time. It’s not that I don’t trust Damian—he’s solid. But Gotham? That’s a different story. Where those Bats go, trouble’s sure to follow.”

You chuckled, adjusting the strap to make sure it was secure. “We’ll manage, mom.”

Selina Kyle might not have been your biological mother, but she became your mother the moment you were placed in her arms years ago. In that instant, the blood that bound you was inconsequential compared to the unspoken promise she made to protect you.

To Selina, you were her child. Not because of any legal ties or shared genetics, but because she chose to be your mother every single day.

And to you, Selina was more than just an aunt. She was the lifeline who stepped in when everything else had crumbled around you.

Selina and Maggie, your biological mother, had both grown up in a fractured family. Their father was a vicious drunkard. Their mother, Maria, was a ghost in their lives—emotionally absent and detached.

When Maria died, the world turned colder. The sisters were torn apart: Maggie was adopted by a warm, loving family, while Selina was abandoned to the unforgiving grip of Gotham’s orphanages. Those grim streets, steeped in shadows and danger, carved her into Catwoman.

But darkness has a way of creeping back into the light, no matter how hard you try to keep it at bay. Maggie, who had managed to build a life of stability and warmth, became a target for the shadows of Catwoman’s past.

Black Mask.

Kidnapped, tortured, and left to die, Maggie was nothing but a ghost by the time the attack was done. Her husband was slain in the carnage, and the only remnant of their family was you— barely a toddler, too young to grasp the gravity of your loss but old enough to feel its weight.

With no other family to turn to, she took you in, binding her fate to yours and vowing to protect you from a world that had already taken so much from both of you.

Her life wasn’t easy. She was young, barely in her twenties, struggling to make ends meet in one of Gotham’s most unforgiving neighborhoods. The meager jobs she managed to scrape together were barely enough to cover the rent, let alone the needs of a growing child.

Selina's decision to take up the mantle of Catwoman was never about the thrill of the heist or the allure of jewels; it was about survival—yours and hers. Gotham demanded a price, and she chose to pay it herself, risking her life each time she donned the suit to give you a chance at something better.

You grew up with a keen sense of the world, your intelligence uncovering bits and pieces of her double life. The mysterious disappearances, the luxurious items that mysteriously appeared—each clue painted a picture that you slowly began to understand.

When the time came for the truth to be revealed, it wasn’t easy

Selina’s hand glided across her vanity, fingers brushing over the cool surface before settling on a sleek black clutch. With a flick of her wrist, she turned and handed it to you.

You accepted it with a gleam in your eye, stepping back as you held it close. A playful twirl sent the emerald fabric of your gown swirling around you, catching the light in a way that made it shimmer.

“Well? What do you think?”

Selina’s stern look melted away like ice under a warming sun. Her gaze swept over your outfit, absorbing the delicate neckline, the tailored fit around your waist, and the gown’s fluid cascade to the floor.

In this small, quiet moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift. For just a heartbeat, she allowed herself to pretend that the two of you were simply a normal mother and daughter, sharing a simple, beautiful moment together.

“You’ve always had a way of making everything around you look better,” she purred. “You’re going to knock the whole school off their feet. Damian’s going to need a crowbar to keep the other guys away.”

Selina reached out to adjust the straps on your dress, her touch precise and caring. Her fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, the movement as gentle as a whisper.

“Just remember, darling,” she spoke slowly, “it never hurts to stay safe.”

Ruby-red manicured nails tapped your cheek as she straightened up, a knowing look in her eyes.

Pause. Your eyes widened as you caught the hint of her meaning. “You’re not saying I—”

“I was at that age,” she interrupted with a mock-serious tone. “I’m just saying you should be prepared. Especially with the way that boy looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger. Make sure he wraps something else too.”

A flush of embarrassment rose to your cheeks. You sputtered and fumbled with the clutch in your hand. “Mom! What the hell?! I think that’s enough advice for one night!”

BEEP!

Just as Selina was about to respond, a car horn blared from outside, slicing through the evening’s quiet. Both of you turned towards the window, where a Porsche 911 emerged from the darkness. It looked painfully out of place against the backdrop of your neighborhood—cracked sidewalks strewn with trash, graffiti-streaked walls, and the occasional flickering streetlamp battling the encroaching shadows.

“Looks like your chariot awaits,” Selina said, her hands sliding up your shoulders as she gently nudged you toward the door. “Have a great time, but keep your wits about you. Gotham’s never as calm as it seems.”

With one final hug, you stepped out of the apartment and descended the narrow, dimly lit staircase. As you reached the bottom, you emerged into the cool night air, where Damian stood by his car parked right under a street lamp.

He was impeccably dressed in a deep black suit that seemed to swallow the surrounding light, giving him an almost smoky allure. An emerald button-up shirt peeked from beneath the jacket, its rich hue a perfect match for the striking color of your dress.

Damian’s smoldering gaze warmed as he saw you approaching, a small, approving smile curling at the corners of his lips. He lifted two fingers in a beckoning motion, and though you rolled your eyes, you stepped forward.

“Beloved,” he greeted, extending a hand to you. “You look stunning.”

“Hi, handsome,” you grinned, taking his hand and stepping closer to press a gentle kiss against his lips. Damian responded with a soft hum, his arm slipping around your shoulders as he tilted his head slightly. The kiss deepened just enough to make the moment linger, leaving a warmth that held between you.

Just as you were about to lose yourself completely, Selina’s voice sliced through the night air.

“You’re going to be late!”

Damian pulled away from you so abruptly that it looked as if he’d been yanked back by an invisible force. His face flushed a patchy red, a blend of embarrassment and irritation. He shot a sidelong glance at Selina, his eyes quickly shifting back to you.

Damian huffs, releasing a sharp exhale through his teeth. “Shall we go?”

The click of the car door echoed as Damian opened it for you, his lips twisting into a scowl. You settled into the plush passenger seat, the soft fabric of your gown rustling as Damian carefully lifted it to prevent any creases.

While you adjusted yourself in the seat, you glanced back and waved at Selina, her silhouette framed against the windows. A snort escaped you as you noticed the deadpan look Damian shot in her direction.

Damian was always somewhat awkward around Selina. As Robin, his view of Catwoman was clear-cut—she was a criminal to be dealt with. And yet, he still held a deep respect for her as your mother.

Once he settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine, the car roared to life with a smooth, powerful purr. The sleek vehicle glided down the streets with impressive speed, Damian navigating through traffic with a confidence that bordered on recklessness.

As he shifted gears, the radio flicked on, filling the car with a soft, pulsing beat.

This may be the night that my dreams might let me know All the stars are closer All the stars are closer All the stars are closer This may be the night that my dreams might let me know

Tilting your head back into the seat, your hair bunching around your shoulders, your thoughts drifted to the first time Damian took you for a drive. Both of you had been sixteen then, and his aggressive maneuvering had left you gripping the seat, your heart racing as if you were in a high-speed chase. Now, though, the thrill was familiar, adrenaline thrumming steadily in your blood.

The ride was brief but exhilarating, and soon the car pulled into the school’s parking lot. Sleek cars and limousines lined the lot, each more extravagant than the last. Students and their dates, dressed in their finest formal wear, mingled and laughed, making their way toward the entrance.

Stepping out of the car, the crisp night air greeted you like a refreshing embrace, carrying the delicate scent of fresh flowers and the faint strains of classical music wafting from the entrance. The soft glow of string lights and lanterns illuminated the path ahead, casting a warm, golden hue over the scene. Damian drew you close, his arm slipping around your waist as you walked together.

The ballroom was stunningly elegant.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, their shimmering prisms scattering colorful reflections across the polished marble floor. Tables draped in white linens, adorned with fresh roses and flickering candles, lined the room. The dance floor gleamed under the ambient light, already alive with couples swaying gracefully to the gentle strains of Franz Liszt.

The whole scene practically screamed old money.

You were going to die.

You’d never quite get used to events like these. Over the years, you’d been to your fair share of galas and charity balls, mostly because of your relationship with Damian and that brief, awkward phase when Selina was involved with Bruce.

Each time, you had a knack for stumbling through social minefields, unintentionally insulting high-profile guests or spilling wine on someone’s multimillion-dollar gown And, without fail, the next day’s press would seize the opportunity to spotlight you and your social faux pas.

Gotham Academy, with its glossy veneer and elite crowd, was just another arena

It was a breeding ground for rich fucks, each one more insufferable than the last. The halls echoed with the chatter of kids who had everything handed to them, their lives a far cry from yours. The only reason you’d managed to slip through those gilded gates was thanks to the Martha-Wayne scholarship. Without it, you’d still be stuck in the middle of nowhere with your mother, scraping by on whatever scraps you could find.

“Ya amar, are you going to keep staring at the floor? Or may I have the honor of requesting a dance?”

Damian’s voice cut through your self-deprecating spiral as he snapped his fingers in front of your eyes.

Blinking up at him, you pursed your lips. “I don’t know... this is a really interesting floor.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Oh, really? Pray tell, what makes it so interesting that you’d rather stand here instead of dancing with me?”

“I don’t know. I could stare at it all night,” you hummed, crossing your arms. “Plus, we’ve got to keep our thing going, you know? I can't give in that easily.”

“Our thing? What thing?” Damian blinked.

“The thing where we act like we hate each other but still want each other carnally,” you said, throwing your head back as you laughed.

"Tt," Damian deadpanned, reaching out to grab you by the waist. He lifted you off the ground, your feet barely brushing the polished marble beneath. You wrapped an arm around his neck and giggled, holding on as he carried you toward the center of the ballroom.

“You never miss an opportunity to mortify me, do you?” Damian scolded, gently setting you back down on the floor. Both of you assumed a waltz stance, your hands finding their places on each other’s shoulders and waist.

“I think I just enjoy keeping you on your toes,” you replied with a grin, swaying gracefully with him as the music enveloped you.

Damian's lips curved into a wry smile, despite his grumbling. "You know how much I despise these games you play, Cat."

“Oh? Cat?” you laughed, the rich, velvety fabric of your dress brushing against Damian’s sleek suit as you danced. “Are we going for the classic Batman and Catwoman trope here? Because once Selina retires, I could always take up the mantle of the next Catwoman.”

Damian’s smile dropped, replaced by a look of exasperation. “Please do not. I fear what will become of you then."

“Why not?” you asked, batting your lashes coyly. “Does the idea of me as Catwoman not thrill you?”

Damian made a noncommittal sound, his ears tinged with red as he averted his gaze.

“Don’t get shy on me,” you said with a grin, your voice dropping to a teasing purr. Your hand glided up his jaw, your touch lingering just enough to be felt.

A shadow of something intense flickered in the depths of his jade-green eyes. Damian’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, his gaze narrowing into a mock glare that barely concealed the warmth beneath.

“I guess I would not... be entirely opposed to that idea,” he muttered.

He led you into a slow dance, his movements fluid and graceful, reminiscent of those quiet, moonlit nights in his manor’s kitchen. You recalled late evenings when the room was bathed in the soft, silvery glow of moonlight streaming through the windows. On those nights, the world outside felt far away, leaving just the two of you swaying gently to the soft strains of music playing from his phone’s speakers.

It was moments like these that peeled away his walls. In the soft glow of the ballroom lights, the tender, affectionate side of him emerged—like a rare flower blooming in the quiet of twilight. Each layer revealed a deeper, more intimate part of him, offering you a special kind of attention that made every shared glance and touch feel intimate.

“This crazy, almost maddening attraction I have for you makes me feel like I want to stab myself,” Damian murmured as he spun you around, the fabric of your dress flared out like a blooming flower at his feet.

“Wow, you really have a way with words,” you said with a smile. “Admit it—you love every second of it, don’t you?”

Damian’s lips curled into a smirk.

“Perhaps,” he conceded. He drew you back into his embrace as he guided you across the dance floor, your bodies moved in perfect harmony, like two pieces fitting together in a delicate puzzle.

The world around you seemed to blur into a gentle haze of soft music and swirling lights. Damian’s gaze, however, remained sharp and vigilant.

“I don’t like how they’re staring at you,” he murmured, his green eyes narrowing as they scanned the crowd. His voice carried the familiar edge of possessiveness. “Perhaps they need a reminder of whom you belong to.”

“Damian, no—”

Before you could protest, Damian leaned in, closing the distance between you with a smooth turn of his head. The kiss was tender yet heated, his teeth gently tugging at your bottom lip.

Anyone who glanced your way would see Damian Thomas Wayne with his lips pressed against yours, making it clear who he was with. It wasn’t the first time he’d been so overt—there was that incident when you both ended up in detention because he couldn’t keep his hands off you by your locker.

You whined softly, trying to pull away, a thin strand of saliva connecting your lips in a delicate, glistening thread. “We’re in public—”

“Shut up,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough yet tender, before diving back in. The breath you had been holding escaped in a slow, shuddering sigh, mingling with his as he drew you closer, his hands firmly cupping your hips.

Damian seemed to swallow every sweet sound you made, chuckling softly as you mumbled curses against his lips, your grip on his tie tightening. The world around you blurred into insignificance, leaving just the two of you enveloped in a bubble of intense sensation. Your breaths came in ragged bursts, eyes fluttering open and then closing again, lost in the heat of the moment. When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless and flushed, the lingering electric buzz of the kiss still crackling in the air between you.

Damian and you locked eyes, his face blank until a shit-eating grin slowly spread across his face.

"I hate you so much," you scowled. “You’re impossible, Damian Wayne.”

“Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice a low, teasing whisper. He leaned in, using your own words against you. “Admit it—you love every second of it, don’t you?”

Before you could respond, he tilted your chin up, his lips brushing lightly against yours as he whispered, “Let them see. They’ll just have to get used to the sight.”

The kiss was softer this time, more tender, as you swayed gently against him, savoring the moment of calm.

BOOM.

Without warning, the tranquility was shattered by a deafening explosion.

The sound of shattering glass and a violent burst of energy tore through the ballroom, turning the once elegant space into a scene of utter chaos. Crystal chandeliers swung erratically from the ceiling, their light flickering in disorienting patterns as debris rained down like confetti. The room erupted into a frenzy of screams and frantic movement as everyone scrambled for cover.

“Holy shit!” you gasped, your voice barely piercing through the screams and destruction.

CREAK.

A sudden, ominous groan echoed through the room, drawing your gaze upward. The chandelier, swaying precariously, seemed to shudder as its support gave way. Then, with a heart-stopping creak, the massive fixture began to fall.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Damian’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm with a firm grip.

“Move!”

You scrambled to keep up with his rapid pace, but your long gown snagged on the edge of a flipped table, sending you sprawling to the floor with a jarring thud. Your hand slipped from his grip, and Damian, realizing you were no longer beside him, turned back in a surge of panic.

With no time to guide you gently to safety, he yanked you up from the floor. He pulled you both behind the overturned table, using it as a makeshift barricade.

The chandelier crashed down with a thunderous roar, sending shards of glass, splintered wood, and shattered fragments spiraling through the air. As the debris rained down, you screamed and reached out desperately for Damian. Without hesitation, he rushed to your side, enveloping you in his arms. He pulled you close, pressing your face into his chest and shielding you from the rain of debris with his body.

Finally, the noise of destruction faded into a heavy silence. Damian lifted his head slightly, peering down at you.

“Are you okay?” he panted, voice edged with worry.

Shaken up, you heaved and shook your head vehemently, unable to find the words through your trembling fear.

“What the fuck was that?”

"I don't have a single clue," Damian shrugged, eyes still scanning the room as he peeked over the edge of the table.

From the smoke emerged a middle-aged man, suspended in the air by his mechanical arms—sleek, metallic, and bristling with a variety of intimidating gadgets. The arms whirred and slashed through the air with deadly force, carving through the walls and sending more chunks of debris down.

“You think you can just throw away everything I’ve built?” the man roared. “This school, this place, it’s all been a mockery of my work, my life! I’ve sacrificed everything for this and you’ve repaid me with nothing but scorn!”

Damian cursed under his breath. He settled back down, biting off the fingertip of his glove and pulling it off with a grunt. Pulling up his sleeve, he tapped an emergency button on his wrist, activating a silent alert to his family.

“We have to go,” Damian whispered. He shrugged off his suit jacket and wrapped you in the fabric, pulling you close. He lifted you effortlessly, cradling you in his arms as he sprinted through the chaos.

He carried you swiftly through the building’s hallways, the shrill sound of distant alarms and the echo of your hurried footsteps reverberating off the walls. When you finally reached a safer location, he paused briefly, his sharp eyes scanning the area for any further threats.

“I’ll be okay,” you said, your voice trembling as he gently set you down. You gripped his hands tightly, trying to steady your breath. “Do—do you have your suit?”

“It’s in the car,” Damian grumbled, frustration evident in his voice as he ran his thumb over your knuckles.

“I’ll stay here and start helping with evacuations,” you say, already moving to slip out of your heels, the shoes discarded onto the floor.

Damian opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off, shaking your head firmly.

“No,” you said firmly, your scowl sharpening. “None of this again. I make my own decisions.”

Damian’s expression hardened. “You’re not a trained fighter. You’re not supposed to be in harm’s way.”

"It's just evacuations. I’m not going to be fighting," you met his gaze as you stood up straight again. “And I’m not going to stand by while others are in danger.”

“Fine,” he said begrudgingly, “but stay hidden and keep away from the villain.”

“I know,” you said softly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. You met his gaze lovingly before turning to re-enter the chaos. The corridors were now a frenzy of frantic students and faculty, desperately trying to evacuate.

Damian shot you one last look before sprinting back toward the parking lot.

You slipped back into the ballroom, heart pounding in your chest. The smoke swirled around you, as decor and debris lay strewn across the floor. Amid the chaos, you spotted a girl trapped beneath a toppled table, her muffled cries barely reaching your ears. Clutching your dress in your hands to avoid tripping, you hurried over to her.

“Hey, we need to move!” you called out, shoving aside the debris and wrestling with the heavy wood. With a determined push, you finally freed her from the wreckage. She wobbled as she stood, but you swiftly caught her, your grip steady and reassuring. “You’re okay now. Let’s get out of here.”

“Where’s everyone else?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Everyone’s heading for the exits. We need to move quickly,” you replied, guiding her toward the nearest emergency exit. The sounds of the villain’s rampage echoed through the room, punctuated by the distant wail of sirens.

Once the girl was able to get back on her feet and run on her own, you rushed to assist another group, directing them towards the exits and making sure they stayed calm.

SWISH.

There was a sudden, sharp slice, and you snapped your head back toward the ballroom. Damian had reappeared, now clad in his suit.

“Robin?!”

With a decisive, diagonal slash, his katana cleaved through one of the villain’s mechanical arms. The blade sliced through the metal with a sharp, resonant hiss, and the arm’s severed end burst into a cascade of dazzling sparks. Pieces of twisted metal flew through the air like shrapnel, their jagged edges catching the erratic light from the shattered chandeliers.

His cape, a deep, blood-red shroud, billowed behind him like a dark wave, trailing in his wake as he moved. The clash of his katana against the villain’s mechanical arms echoed through the room, each strike a precise blur of red and black.

Amidst the fight, your eyes were drawn to a figure huddled in the far corner. The student, paralyzed with fear, was frozen in place, eyes wide and fixed on the destruction unfolding before them.

Without a second thought, you sprinted towards them, nimbly navigating through the scattered debris and overturned tables. As you reached the student, you crouched beside them and gently placed a reassuring hand on their shoulder.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. Alright? We’re going to get through this, but you need to move—now!”

The student’s terrified eyes flickered with a glimmer of hope as they slowly began to rise with your help. Their breath came in shallow, panicked gasps, each exhale mingling with the smoky haze that filled the air. You grunted, your muscles straining as you slipped your arms beneath their shoulders, lifting them to their feet.

"Move!" you urged, guiding the student toward the doors. Their feet stumbled over the debris, but you kept a firm grip on their arm, pulling them along through the chaos. As you hurriedly navigated the wreckage-strewn floor, you felt a strange tingling sensation creeping up your leg.

It started as a subtle prickle, almost like static electricity, but quickly grew into an unsettling sensation that made your skin crawl. You glanced down, trying to pinpoint the source, but the shifting shadows and debris obscured your view.

The legs of a spider, sleek and shadowy, crawled up the fabric of your emerald dress. Its tiny, pulsating body was nearly camouflaged against the rich material, and its eight eyes glinted with an eerie green glow, peering out from the shadows of the gown.

Oblivious to its presence, you continued leading the student toward the safer part of the ballroom, focused on ensuring their escape.

The spider’s glow intensified, its eerie green light pulsating with an ominous rhythm as it crawled up your arm. Just as you pushed the student to safety, a sharp, burning sensation erupted where the spider sank its fangs deep into your skin. A piercing scream erupted from your lips. The searing pain surged through your body, radiating outwards from the bite like a fiery wave. In a frantic, instinctive reaction, you slapped at your bicep, your nails digging into the skin.

Panicked, Damian’s head snapped in your direction, eyes widening in alarm as he spotted you writhing in pain. In his moment of distraction, a metal arm swung violently towards him. The arm connected with a sickening thud against his side, the force of the impact sending him hurtling through the air.

Damian crashed into a wall with a bone-jarring slam and his body crumpled to the ground, the force of the impact visibly shaking him. He lay there, gasping for breath, spit and blood spilling from his chin.

Groaning, he raised his head, feeling the crack in his mask press against his face. Strands of dark hair fell over his single exposed eye, partially obscuring his vision. Squinting through the haze of pain, he cursed under his breath as he saw the villain advancing toward you.

The spider's venom surged through your veins, a wave of searing, unbearable pain radiating from the bite. You stumbled and collapsed to the floor, struggling to stay upright. Pain tore through you as you crawled toward a nearby pillar, your fingers clawing weakly at the surface

Through the haze of your deteriorating vision and the throbbing fog that clouded your mind, you could barely make out the figure of the villain advancing toward you. His mechanical arms whirred with a menacing hum, their sharp, glinting edges catching the dim light of the ruined ballroom.

The last thing you saw before darkness swallowed you was a blur of red.

With a snarl, Damian lunged, his katana slicing through the air with deadly intent. The blade crashed into the villain's mechanical arm, the impact resonating like a gunshot. Sparks exploded from the severed joint, showering the room in a cascade of crackling light as the villain staggered, his metal limbs convulsing with malfunction.

Sliding across the debris-strewn floor, Damian executed a perfect skid, coming to a stop on his knees. He positioned himself between you and the advancing threat, his katana held in a poised, defensive stance.

“Is this all you’ve got?” Damian seethes. “A pathetic tantrum because your grandiose plans fell apart? You’re nothing more than a washed-up has-been clinging to your failures.”

“You think you know what it’s like to sacrifice everything? To watch your life's work crumble? You have no idea what I’ve lost! My research was going to change the world!”

The villain’s mechanical arms flared up in response, their whirring growing louder as he prepared to strike again. Just as an arm was about to land, the piercing whir of a batarang sliced through the air. It struck the villain’s mechanical arm with precision, a bright explosion erupting from the impact. Damian grunted as he braced himself, holding firm against the shockwave, his muscles straining to keep steady. One hand instinctively dropped to your head, shielding you from the force.

The villain recoiled in surprise, momentarily disoriented by the sudden blast, his movements faltering as the shockwave threw him off balance.

Suddenly, the room was engulfed in darkness. The lights flickered and died, plunging the space into a pitch-black void. Shadows danced along the walls, punctuated by loud bangs and the crackling of debris.

Through the darkness, Batman emerged, his imposing figure cutting through the shadows. The sound of his cape rustling was almost like a herald of doom as he got into a fighting stance.

“Robin,” Batman’s voice was a low, commanding growl, “take the girl. I’ll handle it from here.”

Damian wasted no time, swiftly scooping you into his arms. The icy chill of your skin against his own drove a spear of terror through him. The panic clawing at the edges of his mind was a monster he couldn’t afford to face, not now. He focused on keeping you as steady as possible, though your limp form felt like dead weight against him.

He tore out of the ballroom, his shoes skidding on the polished floor as he barreled into the hallway. His breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale burning in his lungs, but he didn’t slow down. He couldn’t. The entrance was just ahead.

Bursting through the doors, Damian propelled himself into the open air. The scene outside was pure pandemonium. Parents screamed for their children, kids clung to each other in terror, and the harsh wail of sirens pierced the night. Ambulance lights flickered like distant stars in the dark, red and blue blurs.

Now outside, Damian spotted a group of paramedics and, without a second thought, sprinted toward them. His hands shook slightly as he laid you down on the gurney, the coldness of your skin searing itself into his memory.

“She’s unresponsive,” he rushed out in a pant. “Pale skin, cold to the touch. Vital signs are unknown. She needs immediate attention.”

As he spoke, Selina rushed over, her fur coat billowing with each urgent step. The strands of her short, dark hair whipped wildly around her face, framing eyes wide with fear.

She bent down to your level, her breath visible in the cool night air as she placed a trembling hand on your forehead. Her fingers, warm against the alarming chill of your skin, recoiled slightly at the clammy coldness that greeted them. Selina winced, her gaze hardening as she took in the stark contrast between your deathly pallor.

“What happened?” she demanded, her voice taut with concern.

A paramedic, swiftly assessing your condition, replied, “We think she’s in shock. We’ll stabilize her and check for any other issues.”

Selina’s eyes, reflecting a storm of emotions, darted between you and Damian.

“Go,” she urged Damian, her voice carrying a firm edge despite the underlying tremor of her fear. “I’ve got this under control. Go take down that bastard and make him pay for what he did.”

Damian hesitated for a heartbeat, his gaze lingering on you. Every muscle in his body screamed to stay, but there was still a threat that left no room for hesitation. He nodded and without another word, turned and sprinted back toward the building. His cape flared out behind him, a streak against the night sky.

Selina's eyes followed Damian's retreating figure momentarily before refocusing on the paramedics. She watched them with sharp eyes, taking in every action and every word. Her hand never left your forehead, each pass of her thumb trying to provide comfort that her heart couldn’t.

As the haze of unconsciousness began to lift, you slowly became aware of your surroundings. The dim, unfamiliar light filtered through your closed eyelids, and a dull, persistent ache from the bite lingered in your arm. You winced, raising a hand to your arm to find that the pain had subsided, leaving only a faint, dull throb. There was no scar, just a vague sense of discomfort.

Was that just a dream?

Before you could think about it anymore, your aunt's face was already in your peripheral.

Selina's voice caught in her throat as your eyes began to flutter open. Her grip on your hand tightened involuntarily, a mix of relief and worry playing across her features.

"Hey, there," she said softly. "You gave us quite a scare, sweetheart."

You stared at her in confusion, teeth chattering against the biting cold. Selina’s eyes softened and she shed her coat, the plush fur rustling softly as it slipped from her shoulders. With gentle hands, she draped the coat around you, the dense, velvety texture brushing against your skin. The rich, warm scent of her perfume mingled with the coat’s embrace. As the coat enveloped you, its heat began to seep into your shivering body, gradually easing the icy grip of the cold.

“You’re going to be okay,” she whispered, the words more for her own reassurance than yours.

The night was supposed to be a celebration, a rite of passage, a milestone to cherish. Instead, it had turned into yet another brutal reminder of what Gotham’s streets truly were: a merciless battleground that chewed up hope and spat it out with a sneer.

God, this city was shit.

Selina sighed, pushing those thoughts aside for the moment. The priority now was clear: get you home and into dry clothes.

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly, her fingers tracing a path along your cheek as if trying to reassure herself that you were truly okay.

“Dizzy,” you mumbled. A soft groan escaped your lips as you tried to shake off the haze clinging to your senses. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, only to snap open again with a jolt as a sudden realization struck you.

“Damian—where—” you gasped, your voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. In a frantic attempt to sit up, you tried to push yourself upright, but the paramedics and Selina were quick to intervene. Their hands gently, yet firmly, guided you back down onto the gurney.

“Whoa, easy there,” Selina murmured soothingly. “Don’t push yourself. The paramedics said you’re in shock. You need to stay still for now.”

You could feel the gentle pressure of her hands, steady and reassuring, as they anchored you in place. Her eyes, bright green, locked onto yours, conveying more than words ever could. She took a breath, her gaze flickering to the paramedics who were working swiftly around you.

“And Damian is... with his father,” she said, her voice trailing off as she gave you a look, the unspoken meaning in it clear.

Selina’s gaze shifted back to the paramedics with her usual air of confidence. She squared her shoulders, her tone now authoritative.

“Is there a chance I could take her home?” Selina asked, brushing her fingers through your hair with a gentle but firm touch. “It’s getting late, and I’d really rather have her safe in her room.”

The paramedic, a no-nonsense woman named Helen, gave Selina a critical once-over before shifting her gaze to you. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, took in your pale face and the faint tremors still running through your body.

“Well, she’s stable enough for transport, and we’ve done the basic stabilizing procedures,” Helen said, her tone pragmatic. “But she’s still in shock, and it could be risky to move her too quickly. Are you sure you can handle her?”

“She’s my kid. I’ve dealt with worse, believe me,” she replied with a wry grin.

Helen’s gaze softened slightly, though her voice remained stern. “Alright, but she’ll need monitoring for the next 24-48 hours. Light meals, plenty of rest. And no strenuous activity. She should see a doctor as soon as possible.”

Selina’s fingers idly traced patterns on the back of your hand as she listened intently to Helen’s instructions.

“I’ll make sure all of that’s taken care of. Thank you,” Selina said, her voice carrying a rare note of sincerity. Helen nodded, seemingly satisfied with Selina’s response. She handed Selina a card with basic instructions and a phone number to call if any complications arose.

Despite your reluctance to leave while Damian was still knee-deep in the battle, your hazy mind and Selina's insistence eventually led to you being pushed into the back of your aunt's sleek convertible.

The drive was a blur of city lights and concerned glances from Selina. You leaned back, your head resting against the cool, smooth leather of the seat. The gentle hum of the engine beneath you was a steady, rhythmic comfort, a small solace amidst the turmoil.

"Don't worry," Selina murmured, her eyes flicking to the rearview mirror to check on you. "Damian can handle himself. And the Bat will make sure he's safe. You rest. I'll tell you if anything happens to him."

Her words were a quiet promise amidst the rush of the city outside. You nodded weakly, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing heavily on your eyelids. As the city sped by, its neon glow and shifting shadows blending into a dreamlike haze, you closed your eyes. The fatigue finally overtook you, and you drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

༻⊰───⋅

Sunday , 9:02 AM - Your room, Catwoman’s Apartment.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

There was a deep, throbbing ache in your arm, an insistent rhythm that seemed to pulse with each heartbeat, dragging you reluctantly from the depths of sleep. Your eyelids fluttered open to the soft, golden light spilling through the curtains, bathing your bedroom in a warm, comforting glow.

Through the thin walls, the distant murmur of the waking metropolis began to seep in—honking horns, the rhythmic rumble of early morning traffic, and the intermittent chatter of pedestrians starting their day. Occasionally, a siren's wail pierced through the background noise, a sharp reminder of the city's ceaseless pulse.

Faintly, through the walls, the muffled sound of the living room TV drifted to you.

“Good morning, Gothamites! Looking for another beautiful day here in the city. Clouds to start off with, but a pleasant afternoon ahead. Temperature’s in the high 40s—”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

With a groan of frustration, you reached out to silence the blaring alarm clock. As you swung your arm toward it, the clock was crushed under the force. It slammed into the table, which splintered and buckled under the impact. Wood cracked and shattered, sending fragments skittering across the floor. The sudden and violent destruction jolted you fully awake. You stared, wide-eyed and disbelieving, at the mess, your arm still extended in mid-air as if it was frozen.

“What the—?” you muttered, your voice trailing off as you inspected your hand. It looked like your hand, perfectly normal and familiar. Just a normal hand.

Carefully, you climbed out of bed, wincing as you surveyed the mess of splintered wood and scattered debris strewn across the floor.

You paused. A sudden, sharp tingle pulsed through your arm, like an electric jolt that raced beneath your skin. It was both invigorating and disorienting, sending a rush of awareness through your senses. Instinctively, you turned your head, your reflexes sharp as your hand darted out to catch a fly that had buzzed too close.

To your shock, your fingers closed around the tiny insect with a reflex you didn’t know you possessed. You stared at the fly, trapped gently between your fingers. Carefully, you opened your hand and let the fly go.

It darted away, disappearing into the room.

“Okay... That was new,” you muttered, shaking your head as if trying to clear away the confusion.

The tingling in your arm surged again, sharper and more insistent this time. You winced, the sensation both alien and unsettling, your mind struggling to grasp what was happening. Instinctively, you extended your hand, your gaze fixed on it in growing confusion.

Then, without warning, your fingers curled involuntarily, and something shot out from your wrist. A thin, silvery thread erupted into the air, glistening with a strange, iridescent sheen.

THWIP.

The web snaked through the room, swift and fluid, before anchoring itself with a solid thunk against the wall. The sight of it—a web, unmistakably organic, stretching taut and firm—left you gaping in shock.

“What the actual fuck,” you freaked out. You took a hesitant step forward and tugged on it, half-expecting it to dissolve under your touch. But the webbing held firm.

You tried to pull it away, but it stayed stubbornly in place. Grunting, you pressed a foot against the wall for leverage and yanked harder. The webbing resisted with surprising strength, and a series of warning cracks echoed before a chunk of concrete broke away, crumbling under the strain.

The sudden release caught you off guard, sending you stumbling backward. You lost your balance and fell hard onto the floor, the impact knocking the breath out of you. For a moment, you just lay there, sprawled across the hardwood, your chest heaving as you tried to make sense of what just happened.

“What the fuck did I just get myself into?” you muttered to yourself, a disbelieving laugh bubbling up in your throat.

When you finally moved to stand, curiosity got the better of you. Experimenting, you aimed your hand at different parts of the room, determined to understand this strange new ability.

This time, when you extended your hand, the web shot out with precision, latching onto a nearby lamp. You gave it a pull, and the lamp skidded across the floor toward you.

There was another tingle, and you perked up. The sensation was almost electric, a ripple of anticipation that seemed to focus on your bedroom door. As you turned toward it, the door swung open and Selina stepped in, dressed in her pajamas.

"What's with the noise...?” she trailed off and froze in the doorway, her eyes widening as they took in the chaos of the room. Broken wood and scattered debris covered the floor, interspersed with strands of glistening webbing clinging to the walls and lamp.

“Oh,” Selina murmured in surprise. She stepped cautiously over a particularly large piece of broken wood, her eyes darting around the room. Her gaze lingered on the webs, her brow furrowing as she raised an eyebrow at you.

Selina stared at you, blinking slowly as she processed the scene before her. Her lips twitched as if she were trying to hold back a laugh or perhaps some form of disbelief.

“Accidentally discovered superpowers?” she echoed. “I think you've been around your boyfriend and his family too much. Baby—”

Selina’s eyes widened in shock as she turned to face the now doorless doorway. She blinked at the empty space where the door had once been.

“Well,” she said, “I guess that’s one way to explain things.”

You stood there, face heating up as you tried to pull your hand back. “Y-Yeah, I think I need to work on my control.”

Selina shook her head, a frown on her lips. “Okay. First... Let’s get this mess cleaned up before the landlord starts asking questions. And maybe—just maybe—try not to redecorate the whole apartment with your... spider silk.”

༻⊰───⋅

A warm mug of coffee was placed in your hands as Selina settled beside you. You took a sip, but your knee continued to bounce in an anxious rhythm. She had called the school earlier to inform them that you would be taking it easy for the week, citing sickness as the reason.

You cast a glance at the puncture marks on your wrists with a mix of disgust and unease.

Oh, you felt sick alright.

"Alright," Selina said, taking a sip from her own coffee mug and setting it down with a clink. "We need to figure out what’s going on and how to handle it. The sooner we get a grasp on this, the better."

You nodded absentmindedly, flexing your fingers around your mug.

Selina sat with a laptop positioned between the two of you, its screen a chaotic mosaic of open newspaper articles and news websites. Humming softly to herself, she clicked through the pages, her eyes darting across headlines and images. The rhythmic clatter of her clicks was punctuated by occasional pauses as she focused on key details.

“Am I a meta?” you blurted out, staring at your reflection in the dark liquid of your coffee.

"Well," Selina began, her tone measured, "based on what we've seen so far, you're likely displaying meta-human traits. Though," she added with a wry smile, "I'm pretty sure I’m human despite the whole cat shtick. Same goes for your mother. Your father...well, that’s a different story."

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean by that?"

"Secretive guy. Kind of insane," Selina murmured to herself. "He did genetics research—"

She paused.

"Wait a minute," she said, her voice trailing off as she seemed to piece together something significant. "Your father was involved in genetics research..."

Selina licked her lips before grumbling and typing into the laptop. The screen flickered, and she pulled up a dense academic paper with your father's name prominently displayed. The title read: "Genetic Enhancement through Arachnid DNA Integration: Potential and Pitfalls."

She stared at the screen for a moment, a mix of disbelief and concern crossing her face. "Total nutjob," she muttered, shaking her head.

You squinted at the screen, trying to make sense of the technical jargon. "So... what’s it say?"

Selina’s fingers danced over the keyboard, scrolling through the dense paragraphs. "It describes experiments involving spider DNA to enhance human traits—strength, agility, and reflexes. Medical use too."

RING!

The sharp ring of your phone shattered the silence, jolting you both. Startled, you fumbled with the mug in your hand, which slipped from your grip and tumbled toward the floor. Your reflexes kicked in, and your foot shot out, catching the mug mid-fall with a swift kick, sending it flying back up into your hand. You blinked.

Selina’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, her gaze flicking from the mug in your foot to you. She grabbed a notepad from the desk, her pen already poised, and began scribbling furiously.

“Fast reflexes,” she muttered.

You scrambled to set the mug back on the table, your hands slick with sweat as you snatched your phone off the couch.

"Hello?" you answered, nervously wiping your damp hands on the fabric of your jeans. "W-Who’s this?"

"Beloved?" Damian’s voice crackled through your phone, sharp with an edge of worry. Arabic curses slipped through his words. “I’m sorry for calling so late. I didn’t mean to. I was knocked out after the confrontation.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You got knocked out? What happened?”

"Just a minor inconvenience for someone of my skillset," he said dismissively. "I’m fine now. But what of you? Father mentioned that Selina told him about your sudden absences from school.”

You hesitated, glancing at Selina, who shook her head vehemently. She pressed a finger to her lips, urging you to stay silent about the spider situation.

"Fine!" you squeaked. "Totally fine. Just... family matters."

Damian’s voice was laced with skepticism. "Family matters? Are you sure you’re alright?"

"Yep," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the strain. "Absolutely. Just... you know, the explosion rattled me a bit. The paramedics said I needed some rest for a few days.”

"I can head over to care for you—"

Selina rolled her eyes and extended her hand.

“Give me the phone,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. You hesitated for a moment, but the stern look on her face made it clear you had no choice. Reluctantly, you handed it over.

"Damian," she greeted him with a sickly sweet tone, "this is Selina. Everything is under control here. There’s no need for you to come breaking into my apartment."

There was a grunt before Damian responded, "Miss Kyle, I insist. It’s no trouble. I should be there to help. As any partner would."

Selina’s eyes flashed with irritation as she leaned against the couch, arms crossed. "I appreciate your concern, kid. But it’s really not necessary. She’s fine."

"Fine?" Damian’s voice took on a mocking tone. "After a confrontation like that? I highly doubt it. Recovery after such an incident can be complicated.”

Selina scowled. Her voice cut through the phone line with a sharp edge. "Damian, do you seriously doubt my abilities as a guardian?"

There was a pause.

"With all due respect—"

"I've got this!" Selina hissed. "She's safe, she's resting, and you're not needed here right now. Understood?"

There was another pause before Damian reluctantly agreed. "Understood. But if anything happens—"

"You'll be the first to know," Selina assured him "Now, go take care of yourself. I have got this handled."

"Fine," Damian said, still sounding begrudging. "Take care."

Selina handed the phone back to you, her expression exasperated. “He’s persistent, I’ll give him that.”

“You couldn’t even imagine,” you snorted as you pressed the phone back to your ear. “Hi, baby.”

Damian’s voice crackled through the speakers, the faint static only adding to the gruffness of his tone.

"Tt. Hello," he grumbled, his tone falling flat. You couldn’t help but snicker, the sound escaping despite your best efforts to stifle it.

“Don’t be mad,” you whisper into the phone. “I’ll only be gone for a week. You’ll survive. Mom's right—I’m in good hands. You need to focus on recovering too.”

“Anything at all. Father and Alfred have confined me to my bed, but the window to my bedroom remains open. The sheer ignorance of their restraint measures astounds me—they failed to account for my skills in evading such confinement.”

"Please, don’t try to escape through your window on my behalf. I really don’t need Bruce lecturing us again,” you groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead.

“Very well,” Damian said with a hint of a pout, “but do remember, I am at your disposal if you should require anything.”

“Uh huh,” you hummed. “I’ll see you soon. Take care of yourself, Dami.”

“And you, my beloved,” he said, his voice softening. “Until then.”

There was a beep, and the call ended. You sighed, letting your hand drop.

Selina took a sip of her coffee, her lips curling into a wry grin. “He’s just like his father—equally obsessive and protective. Must run in the genes. That or we just have a knack for ensnaring emotionally constipated men.”

You laughed, a light, nervous sound that filled the room. As you tried to drop your phone back on the couch, you were met with unexpected resistance. The phone stubbornly adhered to your hand, as if it had decided to become a permanent accessory.

“Uh…”

You squinted at the phone, wriggling your fingers and trying to shake it off. No matter what you did, the phone remained firmly in place, glued to your palm.

"Sticky hands?" Selina suggested, glancing at the notepad in her hand now filled with scribbled notes and observations. She made a note with a touch of amusement, her pen moving quickly across the page.

Grumbling under your breath, you made a few more attempts to pry the phone off your hand. “Looks like it. Just another thing to add to the list of weird,” you huffed.

With furrowed brows, you used your other hand to grip the phone, attempting to twist it away. In your distracted state, you failed to account for your newfound strength. The device crumbled under your grip, shards of plastic and glass exploding across the couch.

You stared at the wreckage in disbelief, your heart sinking. Not missing a beat, Selina quickly scribbled down “Enhanced strength” on her notepad.

You grumbled as the remnants of your phone fell to the floor, a mix of frustration and embarrassment washing over you.

"Can't we—can't we call Batman for this?" you asked, your hand nervously tangling in your hair. "Why'd you stop me from telling Damian anyway?"

Selina’s expression turned severe. Her hands gripped your shoulders firmly, guiding you to face her.

"Listen to me. Batman, Damian, or anyone else cannot know about this right now."

"What—Mom—"

"Not a word," she cut in sharply. "This is meta-level stuff we're dealing with. The Bats don’t handle metas well. We need to keep this under wraps until we fully understand it. The last thing I need is Bruce doing something to hurt my daughter."

Your face fell as her words sank in.

Selina’s grip on your shoulders relaxed slightly, and her gaze softened. Her voice took on a gentler, more empathetic tone. "Power frightens people, especially when it’s something they don’t understand. When they encounter something extraordinary, their confusion often morphs into fear. And fear... well, fear can make people see threats where there are none."

She took a deep breath, her expression grim. "Batman, in particular, has contingency plans for every potential threat, even for his closest allies. We—I can't risk him viewing you as one." Her fingers tightened on your shoulders, a silent plea for understanding.

"Alright," you said quietly, trying to steady your voice. Lying to Bruce was one thing. But Damian... Damian was different. The thought of deceiving him felt like a weight pressing heavily on your chest.

Selina seemed to sense your hesitation. Her gaze softened, and she placed a hand gently on your shoulder. “I know it’s not easy,” she said, her tone soothing. “Damian is—”

“Different,” you finished for her, the word catching in your throat. “He’s always been there for me, and now... I’m just lying to him.”

Selina nodded. “I understand. But you know, that boy looks up to his father. There’s no telling he won’t spill something. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

"I get it,” your lips pursed. “But... what do we do now?"

Selina’s expression shifted from intense to thoughtful as she took a step back, her grip loosening. She glanced at the scattered remnants of your phone, then at the notepad filled with her hastily scribbled notes.

"Well," she sighed, "we need to find another space. I think you've done enough damage in our apartment."

 ༻⊰───⋅

NEXT ->

#the suffering begins!#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #batfamily #dc robin #damian wayne al ghul #damian wayne imagine #selina kyle #bruce wayne #batman

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thebirdsandthebats · 1 year

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Okay @s-p-r-i-n-g-t-i-m-e I’m sure you know plenty BUT I’m going to use your wonderful and hilarious comment on this as an excuse to talk about Bernard, bc I realized recently that there are plenty of ppl who haven’t read most of the comics he’s been in. So get ready for my long overdue:

UNPACKING BERNARD DOWD + HIS TRAUMA (for those who cannot keep up with comics but want to get to know him)

So to start, Tim met Bernard years ago ofc, when they were in high school. It’s established pretty quick that Bernard is an extremely Unserious guy LMAO, the first thing he does is literally circle Tim and try to feel him out socially, see what kind of guy he is. He’s the kind of guy who gets himself in trouble with his big mouth, and seems to enjoy poking at Tim and testing his patience. By the time we meet Bernard again in the recent years, he’s grown a lot, but at his core he’s still the light-hearted, fun, goofy guy with very strong opinions. Just less stand-offish, maybe

Throughout the time Tim spends at this school though, Bernard does experience some wild shit. He lost Darla (somebody he really cared about), he experienced a shooting at his school, and then Darla came back from the dead, kind of scared the hell out of him, and used him to contact Tim again. It was kind of played for laughs, but like. That’s gotta fuck you up. (Robin #140)

Obviously this is the kind of thing that maybeee has a lasting effect on you. And BECAUSE Tim Drake: Robin got cut so short and the writer had to rush to wrap up the series, we’re left to fill in a lot of gaps and draw conclusions about the years we didn’t see Bernard ourselves. But we absolutely get some insight as to his life after Tim left that school and we stopped seeing him in the comics. Spoiler alert: it was hard.

In TDR, Bernard discusses the the cult that he’d been in that Tim saved him from in Urban Legends. He says that “he’d accepted himself”, but others hadn’t. Obviously there’s the natural reading that he means his queerness (which has me chewing through drywall), but I think that he’s speaking very broadly too. Bernard is a very odd example of a civilian, because he’s always getting dragged into things much bigger than him. And even before that, he had his big ideas, his conspiracies, his loud personality. He tended to rub people the wrong way in high school. Then in issue #7 of TDR (the Bernard pov issue my most beloved, weird pacing aside) Bernard refers to this “oozy, sticky feeling” that he ALWAYS feels when Tim isn’t around. He says when he’s alone it’s harder to put one foot in front of the other. To keep GOING. To wake up every day.

I think that Bernard has always felt like an outcast. (Robin #121, he doesn’t fit into any clique). He wasn’t as okay with it as he acted. And I think he wasn’t getting any attention from his parents. (Batman: Urban Legends #5, Bernard’s parents nonchalance to the days leading up to his kidnapping)

So just like Bernard explained to Tim, that feeling got bad. and he wanted to let go. The chaos monsters, the cult, all of it was a means to an end. But then Tim agreed to see him again, and I think that sparked something in him. Because he started learning to fight. When he was tied down to that alter and Tim was saving him, I think it fully sank in to Bernard that he didn’t want to die. Reconnecting with Tim gave him hope and made him really feel something good for the first time in ages.

So now that they’re dating after the cult fiasco, we get to know this current Bernard. A less goading, maybe calmer Bernard. But he’s still himself, of course, rambling about his ideas and making bad jokes and sticking to his guns (he has NEVER been a pushover, no idea where people get that idea?). I think a lot of people complained that Bernard mellowed out too much in terms of attitude, but I think if he seems “nicer” it’s because 1) he’s grown now. It’s been a while since we last saw him, and he’s clearly changed a lot. And 2) because he’s dating Tim now. He likes him a lot, and he’s an affectionate partner. He wants to lift Tim up.

But the fact that he was pulled into a cult still remains. And as lighthearted as Bernard tries to be, that traumatic experience still happened. It said in Urban Legends #5 while Tim was searching for him that Bernard had welts on his arms and legs and had been acting different, so it’s not like he was just snatched up on a whim. He’d spent significant time there. For those who haven’t read much abt the ways cult trauma specifically can fuck you up, I recommend doing a search if you’re in a good headspace for that and want to understand him more. because it’s pretty bad.

And then! yeah. you guessed it. Bernard gets kidnapped again. Chained up next to a BOMB that’s counting down. RIGHT WHEN HE’S WORKING ON HEALING FROM ALMOST BEING SACRIFICED BY A CULT.

And surely this can’t get crazier. He’s almost died twice in the past 6 months. except, remember his parents? In TD:R #7, we really see a little more of his relationship with his parents. He doesn’t live up to their standards, and his dad specifically seems to just want to argue with him. The restaurant they’re at is attacked, and everything goes to shit, and. you know, I think these panels really speak for themselves.

And for the record, when it’s revealed that everyone is seeing their worst fears, Bernard’s parents fears are not about him.

So now Bernard has to deal with that. And we start to see that Bernard is really not as okay as he’s tried to be. He keeps a baseball bat by his door because he’s been kidnapped twice now. And just when he’d likely thought things couldn’t get worse, he heard the Chaos Monsters were back. I can’t imagine he feels safe. He lashes out for the first time since all this has happened and yells at Kate and Tim, because while they’re doing what they feel is necessary to save more people (AND I DONT BLAME THEM AT ALL), Bernard can’t talk about it.

And I will forever be sad and insist that TD:R got cancelled too soon, just before we could get into the really juicy stuff, because things had to be wrapped up pretty quick and this was the only comic Bernard was consistently appearing in. But when Tim is giving himself up to the chaos monsters, Bernard goes out and rallies anyone he knows can help. Things were rushed because there was no more time to flesh out the story the way it could have been, but I’m including these panels just because I love Bernard Audacity Dowd using a fucking flashlight and shadow puppet to call Batman. geeking out for a minute. And then leading the battalion to save Tim with a SLEDGEHAMMER. gay people rule.

So yeah! While I see the vision of how a lot of Bernard’s trauma was meant to be semi-resolved and let him come to peace after saving Tim back, we just didn’t have the time for him to heal properly. I’d give anything to get inside his brain again. UHH IF YOU READ THIS I HOPE YOU LOVE BERNARD NOW and don’t come at me if I left something out, some of my comics aren’t with me rn. Bonus TimBer for the road:

#WHEW IT TOOK A WHILE TO ORGANIZE THESE PANELS #Hes NOT BORING he is SO FASCINATING TO ME #i think his character is just not being utilized the way it could be #I didnt source every panel so just ask if you want to know where something is from!#bernard dowd #batfamily #dc comics #tim drake #timber #timbern

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imfoive · 6 days

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Trophy Husband - Chapter 1

Hyunjin x Reader (fem.) Genre: Arranged Marriage au!, Marriage of Convenience-ish, Romance, Angst, Frenemies-to-Lovers, NSFW (eventual) mdni Warnings: tw-panic attack, mentions of cheating, cursing, crude language, somewhat proofread WC: 6.1k A/N: did anyone catch the easter egg for this series in last chapter of “The Youngest Son”👀. ALSO, had to create a surname for y/n for plot sake. Feedback, Reblogs, Likes are greatly appreciated! Happy reading! ── MASTERLIST

Synopsis: Two individuals with polar opposite lifestyles are thrown into an arranged marriage for the benefit of both their families, or so they claim. One is a frivolous playboy, living off familial wealth, while the other is an overly controlling workaholic. Navigating their marriage with a business-like approach, their relationship is marked by a whirlwind of bickering, banter, and societal pressures. Amid misunderstandings, they uncover layers of unexpected qualities, eventually discovering a sweet love neither saw coming.

CHAPTER 1 ───────────────────

It was common, very common amongst the elites to let their children mingle, to marry them into wealthier families, alliances through marriage that brought benefit for both parties.

Yet, even after living amongst them, growing up with such a common custom. One that automatically came to those in the upper tax bracket, like a built-in lifeline, Y/N could not grasp exactly what was happening to her.

No.

She understood. But why was it happening to her?

Y/N was the only child of wealthy parents who had poured their souls into building their business, yet as their only child, she felt an immense disdain for their corporate empire and everything that came with it. From a young age, she was told it all belonged to her. Groomed to inherit it. The deals, the ties, the connections.

The headaches, the stress, the immense boredom of it all.

From a young age she was told that it was her duty, to ensure it continued to thrive, continued to grow bigger than it was. A duty to fulfill her father’s ambitious vision. To nurture an inner ambition that her parents didn’t realize, is not a quality one inherits.

Y/N harbored no such ambitions.

Her heart beat to the rhythm of creativity, her fingers itching to paint, to sculpt. Drawn to the array of colors that lured her with their vibrancy. Passions she had managed to hide away from her parents’ scrutinizing eyes.

Until she couldn’t.

The discovery of a double life that led to countless fights, trashed materials the young girl filtered out the dumpster. Cold shoulders, arguments ending with tears and leaving home quite often. By the time it reached that turning point where her father realized he could no longer control her rebellious streak, he sat her down.

A discussion that ultimately resulted in what one would only describe as a compromise.

“You get what you want now, and one day you pay me back.”

The then teenager keenly agreed, her aspirations of going to art school, and starting her own gallery with her father’s aid, took the front seat.

She chased after those colorful streaks.

Over time, busy with the whirlwind of establishing her own artistic success, her freedom, she almost managed to forget the bargain she thought she struck with her serpent-like father.

Almost managed to.

Of course it came back to bite her in the ass.

Y/N stared at her father incredulously, hoping his next words would reverse the bombshell he’d just dropped.

“Tell me you’re joking—no, you have to be joking.” Her voice wavered with disbelief as she looked back at his stern expression.

“Hwang Hyunjin!? HGroup’s second son, Hwang Hyunjin? Dad, have you gone crazy?!” Incoherent stutters left her lips in disbelief.

“No, this must be a prank.” Her head darted around the room, eyes raking the emptiness in hopes that someone would pop out with a camera.

Someone would laugh in her face saying “haha, got you!”

But no one does, and she only stood under the intent gaze of her father.

The older man’s stern expression intensified, and he sucked in his teeth sharply before pointing at her, his finger wagging as he spoke.

“That’s no way to talk to your father.” He admonished firmly. “You heard me right. HGroup has sent a proposal for your hand, and I’ve accepted.”

She blinked rapidly, clearly caught off guard by the news delivered so quick, one after another. A repeat of the crazy talk he had ambushed her with the moment she had arrived.

“What is this, the nineteenth century?” She retorted incredulously.

“Why in the world would you accept without consulting me? I’m never marrying that-that dimwit!” She huffed, watching as her father’s expression hardened, unyielding.

“I’m your father, I know what’s right for you. Marrying into that family is not only going to be good for you, but good for us as well. Don’t you understand? They view you in such a positive light, itching to make such an accomplished woman a part of their family. They jumped at the opportunity.”

She let out an unamused laugh, but it quickly stilled into clenched teeth, a sign of her frustration and anger simmering beneath the surface. Coming to one conclusion.

“Dad…Then just say you’re selling me off.”

Her father furrowed his brows deeply, pointing at her once more, but this time he was at a loss for words. He couldn’t immediately retort to her objections, maybe because he was stunned by the absurdity of them.

Or maybe deep down he knew there was some truth to what she had said.

She could see it in his eyes.

“There’s no way you’re doing this for me. It’s obvious why you’re doing this. Your company needs HGroup to back it up. And you’re just using me to get to them—maybe even taking it out on me because I didn’t want to inherit your business.” She asserted firmly, arms crossing over her chest, her eyes brimming with frustrated tears.

A speck of silence settled between them, before the old man’s expression softened, hoping that perhaps a cooler tone would allow his steadfast daughter to at least hear him out.

“I need someone to take over once I retire. You think I could leave it in the hands of that good-for-nothing cousin of yours?” Her father countered, finally revealing his true intentions, his voice was tinged with exasperation.

“—And you thought Hwang Hyunjin is a better choice? Dad! Don’t you know what kind of person he is? He’s the farthest from responsible!” She refuted, her voice only growing louder, more defensive.

Once again, her father found himself unable to respond to her pointed objections. Instead, he reached out and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. An action that made her flinch because she knew what he was trying to do.

“Right, I know he isn’t the best choice. But with his family’s backing, and perhaps a push from you, our business can flourish for many more years.” He reasoned, his tone softening even more so, as he tried to persuade her.

As if he was on her side.

Except Y/N wasn’t five anymore, no longer the little girl who skipped around her father. She brushed his hand off her shoulder, taking a step back.

“Then listen closely. There is no way I’m going to do this.” She declared firmly, her voice wavering slightly with emotion.

Turning on her heels, she moved towards the door, hastily wiping away the tears that had slipped down her cheeks.

“If you want to keep that art gallery of yours standing, you’ll do exactly as I say. Remember, you owe me this.”

Her father’s words were cold, the softness in it long gone. The daughter halted in her tracks immediately. Her figure tensed with surprise and disbelief as she slowly turned back towards him, wide eyes staring in shock at the weight of what he had just uttered.

How could he hold this against her?

She must have been foolish indeed.

Similarly in another part of the city, the Hwang Hyunjin in question, stared at his father in the same contempt and shock.

“Father!” His shout had resonated, rising abruptly from his chair and staring down at his father behind the desk in disbelief.

“Marriage? Are you kidding me?”

The father, who would have ignored him if it was up to him, handed his assistant some files as he spoke, not even sparing Hyunjin a glance.

“No one asked your opinion. We’ve agreed to marry you into the Yeom family.” His father replied coolly, unaffected as he leaned back in his chair.

“That makes absolutely no sense. Do I not get a say?” He demanded, looking towards his father’s assistant for support, but the older man remained silent, avoiding eye contact.

“You’re serious? This isn’t some kind of drama. Why are you jumping to such extreme measures—” His frustration peaked, but before he could continue, his father’s hand slammed loudly against the desk with a resounding slap.

The sudden noise stunned Hyunjin into silence, and he took a step back, his angry expression replaced by wide-eyed stunnedness.

“You think this is just about you getting arrested? You good-for-nothing slob. You’re damaging both your and HGroup’s image, and I’ve been letting you get away with it for far too long.”

Hyunjin narrowed his brows, feeling the weight of his father’s words bearing down on him. He couldn’t find a way to argue against the truth in what the man was saying.

“I’ve had enough of it. This time you’ve gotten your brother involved and I’m not going to let you ruin his reputation as well.” His father continued, his tone firm and resolute.

Hyunjin’s eyes shot up in surprise and stiffened at the mention of his brother, instinctively falling silent as he processed the gravity of his father’s statement. Sure, there was a small hiccup, sure he had been taken to the police station, his brother rushing after to prevent him from being thrown behind bars, but it was not all Hyunjin’s doing.

But would his father even understand if he told him it really wasn’t his fault this time? That his brother only got involved because he just happened to be there? That he didn’t start that drunken brawl.

Hyunjin chose to stay silent, listening to his father berate him, eyes cast downward.

“There will finally be something good attached to your name and you’re refusing? Hah!” His father’s laughter dripped with sarcasm, and he pointed at his son, glaring.

“Listen closely. You are getting married to that Y/N Yeom, and staying out of trouble. Got it?”

Hyunjin stayed silent, his angry gaze silently screaming at his father, who refused to give in this last time.

“If you don’t, I’m cutting off your expenses. If you want to be a homeless slob, be my guest.” ─────────────────────── The gallery director’s arms crossed tightly over her chest, her face twisted in displeasure as she observed her to-be husband from a distance. He sat with legs crossed, nonchalantly sipping iced coffee, sporting black sunglasses on his nose. His relaxed figure, leaned back against his chair as he tapped on the cafe table, glancing around, as if he’s come sightseeing.

She sighed deeply, steeling herself to approach him. Determined steps finally approaching him. Clearing her throat to get his attention, she leaned forward, closing the gap between them at the table. The dark-haired man peered over his glasses, observing Y/N as she stood tall, almost towering over his seated figure.

Hyunjin slowly took off the sunglasses, hooking them onto his shirt, his expression studying her frigid figure once more, easily guessing she wasn’t too thrilled to see him.

“You.” Her tone was laced with bitterness.

“Are you aware that because of you my human rights are being violated? Why in the world did you agree to marry me? We barely know each other?”

Hyunjin blinked, a little taken back by her sudden bombardment of questions before his brows relaxed if he’d come to a conclusion. She was definitely not thrilled to see him.

Y/N’s emotionless tone managed to catch his attention. Her gaze, her words, were oozing of some superiority complex, clearly looking down at him, like everyone else around him does.

He eyed his future wife up and down once more before clearing his throat and setting down his glass.

“Why? Anyone would be ready to marry me. Don’t I have the perfect face for the future son-in-law of Yeom Co.?” He leaned in, cupping his face in his hands, parading his looks with a pretty smile.

Y/N rolled her eyes and let out a sarcastic laugh. The sound of her chair being pulled back, harsh as she settled into it and sat across him.

“You think I want to marry you? Don’t be fooled, you’re nothing but your pretty face.” She stated, arms crossing over her chest.

Hyunjin’s smile faltered at her harsh but truthful words. He leaned back, squinting at her upset expression before finally letting out an exasperated sigh. His head dropped for a second before looking at her.

“Look, we’re both in the same boat. It’s tiring trying to argue about it. We just have to get along, that’s all.” He answered nonchalantly, as if his father hadn’t threatened him only two days ago.

The headache Y/N was getting from conversing with him was inexplicable. Running a frustrated hand through her hair, she took a deep breath.

“I don’t want to be in the same boat as you. From which angle do the two of us look like a good match?” There was a bitterness dripping from each word she spoke.

His lips twitched, fingers tapped on the table, suddenly sitting up and leaning closer. Offended slightly.

“And exactly what makes you a catch? What makes you so high and mighty?” He asked, tired of the insults she kept throwing at him.

Her mouth fell agape for a brief second, stunned by his directness and the shift in tone. The stupid expression on his face was no longer apparent, instead replaced by a cold gaze she was surprised to see.

“Hey, Hwang Hyunjin, you idiot. My father’s ready to sacrifice nine years of my hard work just for you.” Y/N exclaimed, incredulous.

He glared at her, biting the inside of his cheek.

It wasn’t like Hyunjin himself had gone to her father to ask to marry her. This woman he only encountered in social settings, getting glimpses of her face here and there. The only similarity shared between them was the school they attended together. But even then, they didn’t even exchange a glance, let alone a conversation.

“You’re not the only one being threatened.” Hyunjin began.

Then a thought zoomed passed in his mind, a sudden question that he didn’t want to ask because he had an inkling he knew what her answer would be.

But still he asked. As if he was actually looking forward to being further insulted.

“Would you have been happier if it was my brother sitting here instead?” He asked, studying her frustrated expression.

His gaze had narrowed into a slight frown as he asked. But she only rolled her eyes. Clearly disgusted by even that idea.

“I dislike both of you. If I had a choice, I’d rather stay single forever. Besides, what did your father threaten to take away from you—no, what do you even have to protect?” Her blunt words stung, further aggravating the usually cheerful, usually patient man.

The dark-haired man sitting across fell silent, his expression unreadable.

“Listen to me straight, speak to my father. Tell him you’re against this marriage—”

“Nope.” His abrupt refusal cut her off.

“I’m gonna marry you. I’m gonna make sure you become my wife.”

His gaze was no longer playful, instead replaced with an anger and darkness she had never seen in them.

“H-hyunjin…” Her voice trailed off, realizing his ego was preventing him from listening to her, though her provoking hadn’t helped either.

But something about this wasn’t right.

He sighed, noticing her expression. Amused that Y/N could even make such a face.

Hyujin chuckled. His fingers covering his mouth to stifle his laugh. Amusement in her shocked expression, in the big eyes she stared back at him with, unsure of exactly what was so funny in their situation.

“I’m joking. I’m really not a fan of all this as well.” He chuckled, observing her blink in confusion.

“But I really have no say either. You’re giving me too much credit for even thinking your father would hear me out.”

Neither of their opinions seemed to matter, an arrangement so ridiculous she kept having to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming such a horrible dream.

But why wasn’t her opinion valued?

Why was she suddenly being pushed to reform the screw-up Hwang son?

She looked at him silently, her mind processing his words. Her eyes trailed over his smug expression, the tug of his lips that thinned into a pitiful smile. Perhaps pitying himself. Their situation.

Hwang Hyunjin, the black sheep of his family, a fact as clear as day.

Whenever responsibilities came knocking at the door, he would find a way to slip out another exit.

This had been the pattern ever since Y/N had known him, known of him.

Their acquaintance, though distant, spanned quite a long time. They had grown up together, their small social circle ensuring frequent encounters that neither of them particularly cared for to remember. And though they had never been close, his reputation made sure everyone knew of him.

Hwang Hyunjin was the embodiment of a pampered rich kid. While his older brother dutifully managed family affairs, Hyunjin indulged in a lavish lifestyle. Wore the trendiest clothes. The shiniest accessories. He vacationed in the most exotic places, had passion for flying planes, driving sports cars. Preferring excitement over corporate boardrooms, suffocating under the intent gazes of the corporation, the suits and the pale, dull walls.

His personality was clearly written on that beautiful face of his.

Carefree. Careless.

Meanwhile, Y/N, the daughter of ambitious, business-oriented parents, had fought hard to carve her own path away from their influence. Just when she believed she had finally gained independence, fate intervened, entangling her deeply in a complicated situation involving none other than this greatest playboy Hwang Hyunjin.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“Mmmm… I’m gonna have to end it.” He shrugged, as if it were no big deal.

She rolled her eyes, not entirely surprised by his response. That was Hwang Hyunjin for you. Tales of his flings and situation-ships managed to reach even her ears every now and then.

But a sudden thought gnawed at her. An imaginary scenario arising in her thoughts, one that made her stare at him with a sudden intensity.

“And what if I had a boyfriend. One I truly loved?” She questioned with a raised brow.

Everyone knew there was no such guy. That the only thing Y/N Yeom truly loved was her gallery and her career.

Still, he nodded, as if considering the possibility. “I know you’re depressingly single, but since this is a what-if situation—” He began, while her expression darkened at his jab.

“You can continue it behind closed doors, I won’t judge. You’re in love after all.” He grinned, pretty confident that it was an ideal answer, the right one she wanted to hear.

But instead, her expression fell, and she clenched her jaw in frustration.

It was clear where his morals lay, and she really didn’t want to continue sitting here, let alone be associated with him.

Except she could only recall her father’s words. No, his threat replayed in her mind once more.

The only thing that kept her sane amid the suffocating environment, the success she thrived in, independent from her father’s empire, was being dangled in front of her. It made her blood boil, and seeing her “to-be husband” sitting in front of her, nonchalant about the whole ordeal, left a bitter taste in her mouth.

It angered her that her father thought this man was worthy of her. This man that had zero care for anyone but himself. This man that had zero value for marriage, let alone respect for his “to-be wife” even if they were practically strangers.

Y/N slammed both her palms against the table between them, an action that startled him.

“Listen here. There’s one thing that’s not going to happen if we go through with this ridiculous ordeal. That is infidelity.”

He narrowed his brows, confusion etched on his face.

“Surely in a perfect marriage, but everyone has their needs—”

“Jerk Off.” She cut him off, stunning him with her response.

“Watch porn if you’re that desperate! But If I ever catch you having some extra-marital affair, I swear to god, I will make your life a living hell.” There’s anger on her face, words laced with a sudden disgust that finally poured out.

It was clear to the stunned man across, the notion of cheating was a touchy topic for her, but Hyunjin only narrowed his brows.

...Cheating?

Would it even be cheating if they didn’t really love each other?

But Hyunjin wasn’t really hung up on that. Instead, he wondered if she demanded such a thing because she looked down on him. That she thought he was a loose man who had no control over his play-boy instincts.

“Why? Afraid I’ll show up in an article? ‘Hwang Hyunjin of HGroup, caught cheating on his wife, daughter of Yeom Co.!’” His voice carried a mocking edge, as though he were already reading the headline from a real newspaper.

A laugh escaped his lips, tinged with a hint of self-deprecation. His jaw tightened at the sight of disgust in her eyes.

She could only take a deep breath, shaking her head. Y/N exhaled, pondering his words.

“There’s that too... but that is where I draw the line.” She stated, sitting back in her seat and crossing her arms again.

He let out an exasperated sigh once more, clear frustration on his face. They suddenly sat in a tense silence, furrowed gazes observing, watching each other. But neither budged.

Neither wondered why they still sat there when it was clear as day that they would never get along.

Their thoughts differed, their values didn’t align. Like oil and water, things that could never mix together, no matter how hard you stir.

And finally after a long moment of consideration, Hyunjin gave in with a sighed “fine...”, though she’s not totally convinced.

“Look.” She softened her tone, sitting straight in her seat, closing her eyes tightly for a brief second, unable to believe what she was about to say.

“You don’t have to do anything. Live your life, spend money. Flash some pretty smiles every once in a while. Like the perfect trophy husband. How does that sound?”

Y/N wasn’t sure when the tables had turned, how she was the one now convincing this rake to agree to her terms of their impending marriage. One that was starting to become clear in their near future. Because deep down she knew she had no other choice.

Well she did have another choice, but this was the easiest path. One that would bring nothing but headaches, having to stare at this pretty but insufferable face. It was better than giving up on her career...right?

A part of her tried to to see where her father was coming from. He valued his hard-work, his company, his empire. She tired to understand, as a business woman. As the ambitious daughter who chased after her own dreams.

Perhaps her father was right. If she could mold Hwang Hyunjin into a husband that doesn’t get in her way, push him into a role that didn’t require too much of her attention, this all might work out. Even though the idea of even standing next to him still aggravated her.

The dark-haired man let out a deep breath, annoyingly sipping the last bits of his drink, the ice clinking loudly against the glass. While she only watched in an irritation that grew with each smug smile he shot her between his sips. Purposefully grating on her nerves.

“Deal.” He finally voiced.

His acceptance didn’t offer Y/N any comfort though. Instead, it confirmed her worst fears, that this absurd marriage was truly going to happen after all.

That Hwang Hyunjin, who she had avoided like some insect growing up, was going to be attached to her side, tied to her in the pretense of whatever sham of a marriage that was going to happen.

“Will you marry me, Y/N?” He asked, his lips thinning into a grin.

He extended his hand for a shake, sealing a deal that had suddenly been made, and although she wanted to walk away from all of this, she sighed because she knew she was going to return his handshake. ─────────────────────── The wedding was as grand as one expected it to be.

Why wouldn’t it be?

It was celebrating the union of two of the wealthiest families in high society.

There were whispers about the unexpected couple. Murmurs of curiosity and excitement.

The rumors that were spread, created a love story straight out of a movie. That the couple had crossed paths again at a high-profile auction. Instead of falling for the pretty paintings and glimmering trinkets, Hwang Hyunjin’s eyes were drawn to Y/N Yeom, who seemed radiant as she shared her insights about a particular piece, her passionate ramble captivated him. Enough to make him forget his playboy past and hand her his heart.

It was an ideal scenario. Curated specifically for this crowd of their elite society, eating up the narrative, the romantic drama. The gossip.

Yet, amidst all the grandeur, Y/N sat in the bridal room, staring at her good-for-nothing cousin who had just dropped yet another bombshell on her.

Anger and shock simmered beneath her calm facade as she crossed her arms over the silk of her wedding gown. She composed herself.

“I already knew. I’m surprised you found out this late. Did you expect me to throw a tantrum and walk out of here?” Her lie was remarked coolly, though inwardly, that’s exactly what she wanted to do.

She actually had no idea what this idiot was talking about. But she couldn’t give him an opening. Allow him to attack her when she was vulnerable, allow him to get under her skin, something this parasite was really good at. Before he could utter more nonsense, she cut in, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.

“Get the hell out, I’m not done getting ready.” She muttered.

Of course he huffed and puffed. Probably the only thing he was good at, before he exited. As soon as his figure disappeared out the sliding doors, the sound of it clicking close, Y/N’s legs instantly faltered.

Alone at last, the weight of the situation and the sudden onslaught of information hit her like a tidal wave. Her cousin’s words repeated in her mind, wide eyes stared into the shine of the tiles. Her legs gave out, and she staggered against the makeup station, clutching onto its hard surface to steady herself. Makeup products scattered around her, but her eyes seemed to disassociate from the chaos in the room, welling up in tears.

The silence was deafening, yet a ringing sound in her ears was getting louder at each passing second. Normally, Y/N wouldn’t have reacted in such a way. Maybe she would have said something snarky, make the younger cousin cry from frustration even. Something she was good at. But it seemed like everything was finally crashing down on her, as if it dawned on her all over again that this was really happening.

There was a knock at the door that she barely registered amidst her struggle with her rising panic attack. Without waiting for a response, the door slid open, revealing her future husband’s lean figure as he let himself in.

“What are you trying to pull now?” Hyunjin’s voice cut through her turmoil, but Y/N couldn’t bring herself to reply.

Her fists balled tightly. So hard, her nails dug into her palms, she tried to calm her trembling figure. But tears streamed down her face uncontrollably, her eyes catching his reflection in the mirror. His narrowed gaze morphed into shock immediately, concern etching his face.

Hyunjin was taken aback for a moment before swiftly spinning on his heels to peer out the large doors, checking if anyone was outside, then closing them with urgency.

“Woah, what’s wrong with you?” His voice was laced with worry this time, as he hurriedly locked the tall doors.

Turning to face Y/N, he found her almost folding onto the ground, and rushed to her side.

The groom had come to check if his outfit clashed with his bride’s wedding gown. Despite their agreement to be civil through the wedding preparations, she still failed to show up at the dress shop to pick out their attire. Something about being too busy, of course. Though Hyunjin truly had no care for any of this either, he didn’t want to look tacky standing next to her.

In their ideal scenario, of the Y/N who met Hyunjin at the auction, she might have complimented him on his striking appearance in his black tuxedo, and he might have looked at her with love-filled eyes.

But that couple did not exist. Just part of a curated story.

Nothing about this was ideal.

Hyunjin did not expect to find her in such distress. Yet he almost froze as he looked down at her trembling form, almost gasping for air.

He had been called a lot of things, but he wasn’t heartless. He could not ignore her. Although he wasn’t sure what to do either. He crouched down, awkwardly extending his hands to graze her back, gently patting it as his voice dropped to a stern whisper. Soft pats that slowly fell into a rhythm.

“Breathe.” He coached her.

Her fingers tugged at his free hand almost desperately, trying to follow his instructions. Trying to soothe that burning feeling that seemed to ignite her fully.

“Deep breaths. Slowly.” He continued, squeezing her hand softly, brows knitting with a worry he didn’t think he’d have.

But as his eyes trailed over her crouched figure he felt a sting.

The silence between them was heavy as she fought to regain control. Her nails dug into his skin, and he found himself breathing deeply, loudly, hoping she would mimic his steady breaths.

“Yes, keep breathing.” He urged softly, exhaling slowly, trying to match his breaths to hers.

And after what felt like an eternity, Y/N began to breathe steadily, the burning sensation in her chest eased, leaving a dry, scratchy feeling in her throat.

She glanced sideways and saw Hyunjin still beside her, his face etched with concern as he took in her disheveled state. An expression she didn’t think he could make.

“Did you know?” She finally croaked, tears smudging her makeup further.

“About?” Hyunjin’s confusion was evident.

She closed her eyes briefly, composing herself.

“It was my father who proposed this marriage. Yours accepted because I would fit well into your family. I could keep you in check, the ideal daughter-in-law for his screw-up of a son.”

Hyunjin blinked, his expression softening despite her sharp words. He had assumed she had known all along about their families’ arrangement. One which her father had proposed with sweet talk and buttery words.

But even she was left in the dark.

Probably because Y/N was capable of actually having the courage to back out of all of this if she truly wanted.

His silence confirmed her suspicions, and she let out a bitter laugh, almost pitiful for herself, realizing the full extent of her father’s schemes.

“He planned for this since he made that deal with me all those years ago…My father did sell me off after all.” There was a mix of hurt and bitterness in her voice that she had tried to bury, that came out pouring with her tears.

Hyunjin sighed aloud before he slowly stood, gently guiding her to sit properly in front of the makeup station, his touch lingering on her arms as she staggered into the seat.

He wasn’t sure what he could say to make her feel better. What he could do to make all this less shittier than it was.

Hyunjin had already weighed the outcomes of marrying Y/N. And although it sucked that he didn’t have the option to choose his own partner, he truly did not see how this marriage would affect him negatively.

It seemed only she had gotten the short end of the stick. And it tinged at his heart, making him feel guilty for a decision he did not make.

Hyunjin was not heartless.

“We can go out there and ruin everything right now if you want. I’ll create a scene, and truly live up to my screw-up reputation.” He offered with a half-smile, brushing a tear-stained strand of hair from her face, a move that came almost naturally.

“Or, we can get married and then figure out a way to screw all of them over.” He suggested seriously, meeting her gaze with a determination she hadn’t seen before.

“Your choice.”

Y/N looked at the man she had branded an asshole since they first met, the man who would soon be her husband if she agreed. The man who looked at her with a new intensity. Steadfast... worried.

At that moment, she realized.

She had really been stuck on the same boat with Hwang Hyunjin, ever since she made that deal with her father nine years ago.

Everything felt like a blur. Y/N wasn’t sure what had happened or how she managed to compose herself as she walked down the aisle.

Was she even smiling? Did she appear to be the shy but happy bride everyone had created an image of?

The bouquet felt heavy, the dress even heavier. She felt like she was trudging. She felt herself focus on her steps. Right, left, right...

Suddenly, Y/N found herself standing before Hyunjin, his eyes locked onto hers.

The officiant had to call her name a second time, pulling her back to the question he had asked. One she hadn’t heard through the chaos in her mind. Though she hadn’t heard anything he had said at all since she stood here.

The silence in the hall and the intensity of Hyunjin’s gaze snapped her out of her thoughts. He squeezed her fingers in his grip.

Now was the moment. It was clearly written in his eyes.

She swallowed.

“I do.”

Suddenly, they were married.

The cool touch of the wedding band felt foreign.

Surreal.

She already felt like she was dreaming. Everything felt so unreal. So when Hyunjin’s lips pressed onto her, she froze. A kiss that had truly caught her off guard.

It was something they had briefly touched on during the endless preparation meetings. Ones Y/N managed to show up to but hadn't paid any particular attention, allowing Hyunjin to take the reigns, which he reluctantly did. Of course, since he didn't have anything better to do after all.

Still, she was surprised. Amidst the whirlwind of all her emotions, she had forgotten entirely about the kiss newlyweds typically share, though she expected only a peck. Perhaps just a light graze even. A brief press of their lips for the cameras to snap.

But Hwang Hyunjin had a reputation to uphold.

Hwang Hyunjin had to show everyone he was truly in love. With the girl he supposedly fell head over heels for at that high-end auction.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, fingers latching tightly onto her hips, pulling her close to engulf her lips with his.

A kiss that made her gasp into his mouth. Eyes growing big with surprise at his sudden action.

She could feel his smirk against her mouth, his breath warm and teasing.

A new emotion bubbled within her. One that made her furrow her brows. Hyunjin’s daring act pushed away the anxious thoughts that still had seemed to cloud her mind. Instead, it was replaced with a sudden competitiveness.

Refusing to let him taunt her like that, Y/N responded to his kiss, fingers gripping at the smooth fabric of his blazer to pull him closer, to kiss him deeper, feeling him grow stiff. A surprising action he did not expect her to return with more intensity.

Hyunjin had perhaps met his match.

The audience erupted into applause.

The groom stared at his bride, stunned eyes taking in her content expression as she pulled away, a hint of mischief in her gaze.

“Smile.” She muttered, her lips thinning into a smile themselves, turning to face the crowd with a wide grin.

Hyunjin inhaled sharply, mirroring her expression, playing his part. Waving to their guests who cheered the newlyweds on. Yet he couldn’t help but glance at Y/N. His bride who was full on laughing now, at the camera flashes, at their families, the wide smile on her face radiating as they started making their way down the altar as a couple.

As if minutes ago she wasn’t lost in her thoughts.

As if her hands weren’t trembling in his.

Hyunjin’s chest tightened. An unknown feeling that pricked him. A little irritated that she could so easily mask her inner turmoil with show-smiles.

A little upset that she had to make those expressions, her eyes twinkling, her smile bright.

A little of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

The new bride and groom seemed to radiate under the spotlight.

Waving, smiling, pretending.

Suddenly they were married. And that unknown feeling persisted. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ to be continued.

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