#approved steel door

[thedailymobile]

“Stamp of Approval”

© EricBrazier.com

[official-cvntified-gay]

TAMING THE BRAT masterlist

pairing: bodyguard!rio x spoiled brat!reader

warnings: smut

wc: 2.3k +

Rio Vidal is accustomed to working with brats. Especially one as infuriating as you.

Your temper was as sharp as the knives she kept tucked into the many pockets of her tactical vest, your every movement exuding a mix of defiance and arrogance. It grated on Rio’s nerves, but there was also something strangely captivating about your stubbornness—your refusal to bend, to yield.

She had been assigned to you as your bodyguard—protection for a supermodel who found it too much of a burden to follow simple orders. You were her charge, her responsibility. But that didn’t mean Rio was not fed up to your little tantrums, especially when you stomped around the hotel room like a child who didn’t get what she wanted.

“Stop acting like this,” Rio’s voice was calm but firm as she stood between you and the door. You were already seething, and she could feel your anger radiating off you, but there was no way you were leaving. Not without her approval.

You sneered at her, the lines of your designer dress practically cutting into your skin with how tightly you crossed your arms. “I can do whatever I want. You’re just my bodyguard, not my jailer.”

The words bit at Rio, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she took a step forward, her body perfectly still. She didn’t let your haughty expression distract her. No, she was focused on the task at hand: keeping you safe, even if you couldn’t see the importance of it.

“I know,” she said, voice low and laced with steel. “But this is what you don’t get, sweetheart. You’re not getting past me.”

With a frustrated growl, you turned on your heel, intent on marching toward the door again, your heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. But Rio was faster. You barely had time to react before her arms locked around your waist, pinning you in place, holding you firm against her chest.

“Get your hands off!” you shouted, squirming in her grip as she dragged you away from the door. She was unyielding, her hold stronger than anything you could muster.

Rio could feel your struggle in the way your body pressed against hers, a mixture of heat and anger seeping through the thin fabric of your dress. She didn’t flinch, didn’t let you go. If anything, she pulled you closer, tightening her grip around your waist.

“I’m not letting you out of this room princess, not until you calm down,” she murmured into your ear, her voice a silky whisper that only made your irritation burn hotter. But there was a subtle tug in her words, something that reached down to places inside of you that you’d prefer to ignore.

You tried again to fight her off, twisting, kicking your heels against her shins, but it only made her hold tighten, her hands gripping the curve of your body with unrelenting precision. The scent of her cologne mixed with the sharp tang of her presence, filling the space between you.

“Stop fighting, doll” she coaxed, her lips dangerously close to your ear now. “You know you’ll only make this harder for yourself. I’ll always win.”

Your body was starting to betray you, the friction between you both making your breath quicken, your chest rising and falling sharply. Despite yourself, you couldn’t ignore the pull between you—the way her grip on you felt almost possessive, the way she anchored you to the present, making you aware of every inch of her body pressed against yours.

“Why are you doing this?” You could barely get the words out as her chest heaved against your back, the warmth of her body seeping into yours, making you feel trapped in more ways than one. You wanted to argue, but your voice had faltered. Rio knew your attraction to her and she used it.

Rio’s answer came not in words but in the slow, deliberate way her lips brushed the side of your neck, a kiss so light it made your knees weak. “Because you need to be kept in line. Your dad will kill me if you left this apartment. And because you want me to.”

You froze, every muscle in your body going rigid, though you were still trapped in her arms. You could feel the steady rhythm of her heart against your back, could feel her breath against your skin, and it sent a jolt of something electric through you.

She leaned in, lips now dangerously close to your ear. “I’m here to protect you. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll realize that my way is the only way.”

The intensity of her words hit you harder than you’d expected. And despite your pride, despite your resistance, a small, treacherous part of you began to acknowledge the truth in them.

And just like that, Rio Vidal’s control over you didn’t feel so suffocating anymore. It felt almost… inevitable.

As she tightened her grip, pulling you flush against her, your breath hitched. “Stop pretending you don’t want this, bratting out more than usual to have me react like this ” she said, her tone low, predatory.

It was the challenge that did it. You knew she was right—you couldn’t deny the pull between you anymore. In that moment, Rio Vidal had tamed the brat you’d been, and what replaced that was something even more dangerous: need.

Rio didn’t hesitate, not for a second. The moment your defiance wavered, she took control. She always did.

She could feel it—the subtle shift in your posture, the brief crack in your otherwise perfect facade. You were still angry, still trying to fight it, but there was a dangerous tension brewing beneath that exterior. Something raw. Something real.

With a swift motion, she turned you around, her hands firm at your waist, pressing you against the nearest wall. The sudden shift left you breathless, your body now trapped between Rio’s steady presence and the cold wall behind you. You tried to squirm, but the warmth of her body pressed against yours, impossibly close, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt your resolve start to slip.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Rio’s voice was low, her words carrying a weight that sent a shiver down your spine. Her lips were a breath away from your ear, teasing, taunting you in the most deliciously maddening way.

You hated how it made you feel. How her presence made everything inside of you tighten. You hated how your breath was already shallow, how your body was betraying you in the way it leaned into hers.

Rio could sense the change. She could feel the vulnerability creeping into your defiance. With a quick motion, she captured your chin between her fingers, tilting your face up to meet her gaze. Her eyes were dark with a promise—one that you could not escape, no matter how much you wanted to.

“You’re not leaving this room until I say so,” Rio murmured, her lips ghosting over yours in a barely-there kiss. It was a tease, a challenge. You could feel her control, her dominance, and yet there was something in her eyes that promised something else—a pull, a connection that made you feel both terrified and alive.

You tried to push her away, but your strength was nothing compared to hers. She was unyielding. Her lips crushed against yours with a hunger you weren’t prepared for. She kissed you deeply, forcefully, her hands sliding into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer.

For a moment, you forgot to fight.

Your body melted into hers as she took control, and you didn’t have the strength to stop her. Not anymore.

Rio’s hands roamed your body with practiced ease, pushing you deeper into the wall as she explored, claiming every inch of you with her touch. She made no effort to hide the way her fingers lingered, how she caressed your skin like she owned it—and for this moment, you realized, she did.

You gasped as she pulled away, her breath hot on your neck as she pressed herself against you, her body demanding submission in the most intoxicating way. "You think you’re in control?" she whispered, her voice full of amusement and authority. "You’re mine, sweetheart. And you’ll learn that the hard way."

“You think you can keep fighting me?” Her voice was a low growl against your ear, lips grazing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. The scent of her cologne was intoxicating, mingling with the heat of her breath as she pressed her body into yours, pinning you so you had no room to move.

Your dress was already half unzipped, hanging precariously off your shoulders, but Rio didn’t bother with the rest. Instead, her fingers hooked into the fabric, pulling it down, exposing the curve of your collarbone. Her eyes darkened as she took you in, a predatory gleam lighting up her gaze.

“Such a pretty little brat,” she murmured, her lips brushing down the side of your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You could feel her smile against your skin when your breath hitched—a sound you couldn’t quite stifle. “You like this, don’t you? Having someone put you in your place.”

You wanted to snap back, to deny it, but the words died on your lips as her hands roamed lower, claiming the exposed skin of your waist. Rio’s touch was both demanding and teasing, fingers ghosting over your body with a precision that left you aching for more.

Your knees nearly buckled when her hand slipped under your dress, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. She watched your reaction with a satisfied smirk, enjoying how your bravado crumbled under her touch.

“Tell me to stop,” she challenged, her voice a sultry whisper against your lips. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

But you couldn’t. Instead, a strangled gasp escaped you when her hand cupped you through the thin lace of your underwear, her fingers pressing on your clit just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Just as I thought,” Rio murmured, a dark chuckle escaping her. “You need someone to take charge, don’t you? To show you exactly where you belong.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Her lips crashed into yours, kissing you with a hunger that stole the air from your lungs. Her fingers slipped beneath the lace, finding you already soaking wet, and a groan of satisfaction rumbled in her throat.

You moaned into her mouth as her fingers found a rhythm inside your walls, slow and deliberate, each stroke sending sparks of pleasure through your body. The way she touched you, with such confidence, such control, made your head spin. There was no room for defiance now, no room for anything but the fire she stoked with every movement.

“Look at you,” she purred, pulling back just enough to watch your flushed expression, your eyes half-lidded with desire. “So desperate, so needy… I could ruin you right here, couldn’t I?” You tried to reply but your words are incoherent as they are replaced with your whines and whimpers

Her words sent a jolt of arousal through you, your body responding with a shudder as her fingers slid deeper, curling just right, hitting that perfect spot that had you arching into her touch. You tried to bite back a moan, but it came out anyway, soft, high-pitched, and broken, a sound that only seemed to encourage her.

“That’s it,” Rio coaxed, her voice a dark melody in your ear. “Let go, sweet girl. Let me hear you.”

The pleasure built rapidly, an intense wave that threatened to consume you. Your hands found their way to her shoulders, clutching at her for support, as she drove you closer and closer to the edge. Her movements were relentless, a perfect mix of pressure and speed that left you helplessly writhing in her grip.

“Say it,” she demanded, her breath hot against your ear. “Tell me who’s in control.”

“You are,” you gasped, the words slipping out before you could stop them, your voice breaking as the pleasure became too much to bear.

A triumphant smirk tugged at her lips, and with one final, perfectly timed thrust of her fingers inside your cunt, she sent you tumbling over the edge. Your release hit you like a tidal wave, your body shaking in her arms as she held you up, her fingers never stopping their torturous rhythm until you were completely undone.

As you came down from your high, your body still trembling, Rio pressed a soft, almost tender kiss to your temple. “That’s my good girl,” she whispered, her tone softer now, though still laced with that dark edge of dominance. “I told you I’d tame you.”

You were too breathless to respond, your mind still reeling from the intensity of what had just happened. But as Rio pulled you into her arms, holding you close, you couldn’t deny it—something had shifted between you. You weren’t just a brat to be tamed; you were hers now, in a way that left you feeling both vulnerable and strangely exhilarated.

let me know what your thoughts are, request box is open my loves<3

[yannawayne]

ii. 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 AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

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“Hey, I’m Jason. Don’t freak out, but I think he’s cheating on you.”

Damian’s protest was immediate and alarmed. “I am not! Todd!”

Jason waved a dismissive hand, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Pretty sure I saw him with some redhead just last week—”

In the background, the distinct clink of Damian’s katanas being unsheathed was audible. The phone jerked violently as the struggle intensified, Tim’s voice cutting in with panic. “Alright, alright! Don’t stab him! Here’s your phone back.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Monday, 11:15 PM - ???, Gotham City.

THE METAL DOOR GROANED as it was forced open, releasing a cloud of dust that sent you into a brief coughing fit. Selina chuckled softly, her figure silhouetted against the dim light filtering through the grime-coated windows. She stepped inside, her movements graceful, each footfall echoing in the vast emptiness of the warehouse.

"One of my safehouses," she explained, the door clanging shut with a heavy thud behind you both. "Secluded, off the grid."

The walls were lined with old crates and rusting metal shelves, their contents long forgotten. Selina flicked a switch, and a single, flickering bulb sputtered to life, casting a dim, yellowish hue over the room.

"We can lay low here for a while. Think of this as your personal hideout," she added, brushing dust off a table. "No one knows about this place—not even Batman."

You hummed in acknowledgment, your eyes scanning the room. The space had clearly fallen into neglect, the floor scattered with debris, and the windows fogged with years of grime. The overhead light flickered intermittently, casting shifting shadows that danced eerily across the walls.

Selina leaned against a stack of crates, her watchful eyes following you as you explored. She gave you a moment to take in the space, the silence between you filled only by the soft creaks of the old warehouse. Eventually, she pushed herself away from the crates, her steps almost silent as they pressed into the thick layer of dust that coated the floor.

Her hand found your shoulder, firm but reassuring, guiding you gently to the side. "Come on," she said. "I want to see something."

You followed her through the cluttered space, weaving between old barrels and rusting equipment until you reached a clearing. Here, the walls were less covered by debris. The area was bathed in a slant of sunlight streaming through a dirty skylight, illuminating the dust motes that floated lazily in the air.

Selina stopped and turned to face you, pointing to a wide stretch of wall. "Show me what you can do. Use those hands again."

"Sure," you replied with a nod, a faint smile attempting to mask your nerves. You shook out your hands, trying to rid yourself of any lingering nerves. "Seems easy enough."

You approached the wall, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You placed your hand on the cold, rough surface, feeling it grip back. With a careful lift, you brought your other hand up and pressed it against the wall, then followed with your feet.

Before long, you were clinging to the surface, limbs spread wide. You began to climb, your start slow and careful, but as you settled into the rhythm, your confidence soared. You ascended effortlessly, and with a final leap, you swung up to hang from the ceiling, a playful grin spreading across your face as you looked down at Selina.

Selina craned her neck to watch you, a glint of pride in her eyes as she applauded slowly. 

"Not bad," she called up, warm and approving. "Now, let’s see if you can get down."

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the jump. Channeling the superhero landing techniques you’d seen on TV, you leapt from the ceiling, aiming for a smooth descent on your knees. But reality had other plans.

SLAM!

You landed with a jarring thud, your knees slamming into the floor with a loud slam. The shock shot up your legs, making you wince as pain flared through your joints. You let out a half-groan, half-laugh, collapsing to the floor in a heap and clutching your knees. 

“Oww, damn it,” you muttered, wincing as you rubbed your knees, trying to ease the sting. “Okay, superhero landings: they look badass, but they sure as hell don’t feel badass.”

Selina stifled a snort, a smirk playing at her lips as she watched you.

"You know," she drawled, "in real life, landing like that is a surefire way to mess yourself up." She arched an eyebrow, raising a finger. "Lesson one: don’t slam all your weight on your knees or legs. Roll with it and spread out the impact. Trust me, your joints will thank you."

With that, Selina moved to demonstrate. She climbed onto a low shelf, her posture perfect as she stood poised on the edge. With a graceful leap, she descended smoothly, her landing controlled. She rolled into a crouch, looking ready to spring into action. 

"See?" she said, brushing off imaginary dust with a smirk. 

You shot her a glare from where you were still hunched on the floor. "Okay, okay. I get it. No superhero landings."

Selina gave you an approving nod. "Exactly. Now let’s see if you can pull it off without turning me into a laughing mess."

"Alright, I'll give it another shot," you said, pushing yourself up. "But if I end up in a heap of broken crates, it's totally your fault."

 ༻⊰───⋅

Training with Selina was a crash course in everything you thought you knew but didn't. 

Parkour was the first hurdle—literally. 

Each day kicked off with stretches and warm-ups before diving headfirst into rolls, jumps, and twists. Selina made it look like an art form, smooth and effortless like she was swimming through the air. You, on the other hand, had a style that was less about grace and more about grit—rough around the edges, but uniquely your own. It wasn’t pretty, but it got the job done. The city started to feel like your playground, and with every jump and scramble, you got better at making it your own.

Once you got a handle on the whole not-falling-on-your-face thing, Selina moved you on to flexibility training. Yoga quickly became your new frenemy. On the one hand, it was the calmest part of your day; on the other, you didn’t know it was possible to sweat so much while standing still. Then came gymnastics. Flips, spins, and handsprings made you feel like you’d signed up for a circus performance. You found yourself attempting gravity-defying moves that left you either soaring through the air or tangled in a heap on the mat.

Web practice was a whole different beast, mostly because Selina didn’t have much advice for swinging around the city like a manic Tarzan. The first few swings had you gripping the sides of buildings like a terrified cat. But after a while, something clicked. You stopped worrying about plummeting to your death and started enjoying the ride. Swinging through the air started to feel natural—like you were born to do it. 

Then there was hand-to-hand combat, where Selina decided bare-knuckle boxing was the way to go. Turns out, punching things with super strength was way harder than it looked. You didn’t just hit things; you obliterated them—cracks in the floor, dents in the walls, and one unfortunate punching bag that went on a one-way trip out the window.

And, of course, there was that time you got a little too cocky, tried to throw a fancy combo, and ended up clocking yourself in the face. That bruise was a harsh reminder that super strength was great—until you’re the one on the receiving end. 

Every one of these skills was drilled into you, over and over, until it was muscle memory.

Of course, it wasn’t all smooth sailing. There were days when you felt like you’d made zero progress and nights when your body ached like you’d been hit by a train.

Selina had a knack for pushing you to your limits—right to the brink, but never over. It was like she had some weird sixth sense for when you were about to break—she'd pull back, giving you just enough room to catch your breath before diving back in.

There was something oddly comforting about it too, like she was slowly molding you into something more, even if she had to drag you kicking and screaming the whole way.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 4:01 PM - Catwoman’s Apartment, Gotham City.

5 Days Later.

Right now, you were in your bedroom, the soft afternoon light filtering through the curtains and casting a warm glow across the room. The clock on the wall ticked towards four, and according to your new training schedule, it was time for yoga.

You found yourself in mid-crow pose, balancing on your hands with your knees resting on your upper arms. A YouTube video played on the floor nearby, the instructor’s calming voice offering a steady stream of tips and encouragement.

“Focus on your breath,” the instructor advised. “Keep your core engaged and your gaze forward.”

You exhaled slowly, settling into the pose with a growing sense of ease.

Just as you were beginning to settle into the routine, your laptop rang with a FaceTime request. With a quick shift of weight to one hand, you reached over and tapped the screen of your phone to answer the call. You nudged the video to full screen with your free hand, giving your full attention to the incoming call.

Damian’s face appeared on the screen, blinking in surprise as he took in the sight of you. His hair was tousled, and he was dressed in a fitted black shirt that accentuated his physique. He was lounging in bed, surrounded by the comfortable chaos of a well-lived-in space: rumpled sheets, a few scattered books, and a delicate, ornate cup of chai karak on the nightstand. 

“Habibti. Are you... doing yoga?” he asked, a slight red tint on his ears

You tried not to grin too widely as you held the pose. “Yeah, believe it or not. It’s part of my new training routine.”

Damian’s eyebrows shot up, clearly surprised. His eyes briefly traced over the tensed-up muscle of your arms, a hint of admiration flickering in his gaze. “Training? I wasn’t aware you had an interest in such pursuits.”

You hummed softly, stretching out your legs with practiced ease, each movement a dance. Your body, defined and taut, seemed like a sculpted work of art against the soft light filtering through your bedroom. Damian’s gaze followed the elegant curve of your back, lingering over every contour as if he were trying to memorize each detail.

“Well, Selina's been pushing me to get better. Uh... self-defense and all. It’s been intense, but I’m actually enjoying it.”

Damian nodded slowly, his eyes never straying from you. His usually steely gaze softened into something warmer, almost embarrassingly dopey, with hearts practically swimming in those steamy forest greens. He shifted on his bed, fingers drumming absently on the edge as he continued to watch, utterly captivated.

You followed up with a few air push-ups, grunting slightly as you bent your arms down.

The effort seemed to spur Damian more than you’d expected. His cheeks flushed deeply, and he quickly raised his phone's camera to the ceiling, desperately trying to hide his flustered face. He had always admired strength and discipline—traits he prided himself on and valued in others.

After a moment of awkwardly staring at the ceiling, Damian cleared his throat and adjusted his position, attempting to appear nonchalant as he lowered the camera back down. His attempt at casualness failed miserably. He was about as subtle as a brick being thrown into a window when it came to how much he thought you were beautiful.

“Well, I must admit, I’m rather impressed. I didn’t expect you to exhibit such dedication.”

You completed your set of air push-ups and settled back on your heels, a satisfied grin lighting up your face. “Thank you. It’s been challenging, but I’m making progress. Mom’s a tough coach, but her methods are effective.”

Damian’s gaze softened as he watched you ruffle your damp hair with a towel, the warmth of the setting sun casting a golden halo around you. The light painted your face with a soft, ethereal glow, highlighting the contours of your cheeks and the sparkle in your eyes. He shifted, lying on his stomach with his face buried in a pillow, but his emerald eyes peered out with a look of pure adoration.

"You're beautiful."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, but you quickly cleared your throat, trying to regain your composure. “Thanks,” you replied, your voice betraying a hint of the fluttering emotions you were trying to hide.

Just as the moment settled, a loud crash shattered the calm. Damian flinched, his phone tumbling sideways, leaving you staring at the ceiling. Incoherent shouting and raucous laughter spilled through the background, punctuated by the unmistakable sound of someone barging in.

“Grayson! You insufferable, blundering imbecile! How many times must I tell you to knock before you manage to comprehend basic manners? You’re a barely tolerable nuisance, a wretched excuse for a brother. Get out before I lose my temper!”

Oh.

You snorted and continued to listen as more voices joined in.

“Oh, Damian’s got himself a little video call buddy. I hope you’re making a fool of my little brother, whoever you are.” A tuft of dark hair with a white streak appeared briefly before the phone was yanked away, giving you a downward view of someone’s face.

Tim’s grinning mug filled the screen next, and he gave you a lazy wave. “It’s his girlfriend.”

Before you could react, Damian’s voice erupted from somewhere off-screen. “Drake, give me my phone back this instant!”

Dick’s head popped into view next, his blue eyes the only part of him visible as he peered at you with a mischievous grin. “Y/N! Give me the phone. I wanna say hi too!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, waving to the two of them. “Hey, guys. Glad you could crash my call.”

Tim shrugged, still holding the phone. “Sorry about this. You know how it is here.”

Damian’s voice grew louder and more insistent, practically vibrating through the phone. “If you don’t give me my phone back right now, I will—”

Before he could finish, the screen shifted again. The phone wobbled as Damian wrestled for it and Tim tried to pull it back. In the background, Jason’s voice cut through with a snarky tone. “No way she’s actually real. I thought she was just a figment of his imagination.”

“Stop! Unhand it! None of you insipid fools have any concept of how to behave with respect!"

Jason managed to snatch the phone away with a triumphant smirk, his eyes narrowing as he took you in. Among Damian's brothers, he was the one you saw the least. You wouldn't be surprised if he didn't remember you. 

“Hey, I’m Jason. Don’t freak out, but I think he’s cheating on you.”

Damian’s protest was immediate and alarmed. “I am not! Todd!”

Jason waved a dismissive hand, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Pretty sure I saw him with some redhead just last week—”

In the background, the distinct clink of Damian’s katanas being unsheathed was audible. The phone jerked violently as the struggle intensified, Tim’s voice cutting in with panic. “Alright, alright! Don’t stab him! Here’s your phone back.”

Just as Tim was about to hand it over, Dick swooped in one last time, his face filling the screen with a very unflattering close-up of his mouth. “Wait! I didn’t get my turn!”

Damian’s screams and the scuffle of feet continued in the background. The phone changed hands again, this time revealing Alfred’s face as he peered down at the screen with a raised eyebrow.

“Say hi, Alfred,” Dick’s face appeared beside him, and the butler gave a warm smile.

“Good afternoon, Young Miss Kyle. I trust you’re well? We were all quite concerned after the incident at prom.”

You managed a small, sheepish smile, running a hand through your damp hair. “Thank you, Alfred. I’m doing much better now.”

Alfred nodded, his expression softening. “I’m glad to hear that. Please take care, and don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything. Master Bruce sends his good wishes as well.”

Dick’s grin widened as he gently nudged Alfred aside and took back the phone. “See, even Alfred wants you to come over. It’s unanimous! Right, Cass?”

The screen shifted again, briefly showing Cass giving a thumbs-up and nodding. You signed a quick "hi," and she responded with a warm smile.

There was a final chaotic burst of shouting, tangled limbs, flying fists, and laughter before the screen spun once more, the sound of a door slamming shut echoing. Damian’s grumbling face reappeared, his expression a mix of frustration and relief.

“Apologies for the disturbance,” he muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “It’s fine, Damian. Your family’s just... lively.”

Then, squinting with a playful grin, you added, “Is your shirt... ripped?”

Damian glanced down, noticing the tear in his shirt for the first time. The rip ran diagonally from his shoulder down to his ribs, exposing the defined contours of his muscles beneath. The golden light from the setting sun danced across his form, casting soft shadows that highlighted the ridges of his physique. His cheeks flushed.

“Typical,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Damian set his phone down and moved to his closet. The aftermath of the earlier chaos was evident: a pillow half off the bed, books slightly askew on the shelf, and one of his katanas leaning precariously against the wall.

You whistled as he pulled off his torn shirt, admiring the way his back muscles shifted and flexed with the movement. Damian glanced over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. After a moment, he retrieved a clean black shirt, slipping it on. He picked up the phone again, his face coming back into view. 

“Better?” 

“Much better,” you replied, still smiling. “Though I wouldn’t have minded if you took a little longer.”

Damian rolled his eyes, but his expression was warm. “Idiot.”

He settled back down, setting his phone on his lap, which gave you a perfect view of his arms as he leaned over. The muscles in his forearms flexed slightly as he adjusted the angle, and you couldn’t help but admire how his strength showed through even in such simple movements.

"So... Is it true? Do you really have a secret redhead on the side?" you teased, a playful grin tugging at your lips.

Damian's eyes widened, and he straightened up, instantly defensive. “What? No! Todd’s insufferable, and his only goal in life is to make me suffer. I would never—! I’m completely devoted to you. Their teasing is just a pathetic attempt to rile me up. I’m all in with you, no one else.”

You couldn’t resist, a cheesy grin spreading across your face. “All in, huh?”

“TT.” Damian’s face flushed even more, and he quickly hid his face from the camera, groaning in embarrassment.

You chuckled softly, deciding to shift the mood. “Are you going on patrol tonight?”

Damian’s face reappeared, more composed but still slightly flushed. “Yes, the usual rounds. Gotham never sleeps.”

You nodded, trying to sound casual despite the worry creeping in. “Just... be careful, okay?”

Damian’s expression softened. “I will. And if anything happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

You smiled, feeling a comforting warmth. “Good. I’ll hold you to that.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Sunday, 2:20 AM - Catwoman’s Safehouse, Gotham City.

THWIP.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” Selina taunted, her voice dripping with mockery as she effortlessly sliced through the webs you cast with a flick of her claws. “I thought you were better than this.”

The dimly lit warehouse echoed with the rapid sounds of your movements as you and Selina sparred. At 2 AM, the night’s calm had long since dissipated, leaving only the two of you engaged in a relentless back-and-forth. 

You grinned, focusing on your next move. “Oh, I’ve got plenty more. Just warming up!” You flicked your wrist, sending another burst of webs toward her, aiming to trap her legs.

Selina nimbly leaped over the webs, landing gracefully. “Warming up? You’re going to need more than that to catch me.” She charged at you, claws extended, slicing through the air.

You flipped away just in time, twisting mid-air to narrowly avoid her claws. You landed lightly on your feet. “You know, for someone who’s supposedly training me, you sure like to make things difficult.”

Selina smirked, turning to face you. “Aren’t you at least a little curious?” She teased. “Training isn’t supposed to be easy. If it were, it wouldn’t be worth the effort.”

You dropped into a boxing stance, fists raised and ready. 

“Easy? Who said anything about easy?” You shot back with a quick jab aimed at her midsection. Selina dodged with a bend. Unfazed, you followed up with a powerful cross, your fist just grazing her cheek.

 “Let’s see if your skills can match that mouth,” she sneered.

Frustration simmered, and you launched into combo of punches—left jab, right cross, left hook—occasionally shooting webs. Selina danced around them with cat-like grace. When you swung a particularly forceful uppercut, you shot a web at her feet. She leaped clear, laughing as she did.

“Getting better,” she admitted, landing a bit rougher than usual. “But still not quite there.”

You readied yourself again, stance firm. “Not yet, but I’m catching on.”

Selina lunged again, her speed almost blurring. You ducked under her swipe, but she adjusted mid-move and closed in with a sudden burst of speed. Her claws grazed your jaw, and you stumbled backward, trying to regain your balance.

“Damn,” you cursed, wiping a trickle of blood from your chin. 

“Learning yet?” she replied with a smirk. 

“Oh, you’ll see.” 

Charging forward, you fired a burst of webs that latched onto Selina’s torso. With a sharp yank, you reeled her in, closing the distance between you. As she was pulled within reach, you shifted your weight and threw a punch. 

JAB!

The force of your punch connected solidly with her chin, knocking Selina backward. She hit the ground with a grunt but was quick to recover. 

Huffing slightly, she sprang to her feet, brushing off the dust and massaging her jaw with a wry smile. “Nice hit.”

“Didn’t hit you too hard, did I, Mom?” you asked, genuine concern in your voice as you started to undo the wraps on your knuckles.

Selina chuckled, brushing off a stray web from her hair with an exaggerated flick. “Hardly. I’ve been hit harder by a wayward cat toy."—An obvious lie, you were a very heavy hitter—"But I appreciate the effort.”

You relaxed your stance, feeling a rush of accomplishment. “Just trying to keep up with you.”

"Is that so?" Selina said, gliding over to a table to grab a handful of ice, which she pressed against her jaw. She then slipped into a sleek, black jacket that accentuated her lithe frame. As she turned to you, her eyes sparkled with mischief, and a playful smile danced on her lips. “Still have some energy left?”

You rolled your shoulders, savoring the satisfying ache of a solid workout. “Yeah, I’m not quite ready to hit the hay yet.”

Selina gave a nod of approval as she bent to lace up her boots. “Good. We’re going out.”

Your eyes lit up, and you couldn’t hide your excitement. It had been days since she’d let you get out and test your new skills, and you were itching for some action. “Really? You mean it?”

“Yep,” Selina said with a sly grin, pulling a stray web from her hair. She tossed the ice pack aside, the cubes clinking as they hit the metal table. “Time to see what you’ve learned. Go get ready.”

You nodded and did as told. 

You slipped on a red varsity jacket—Damian’s from the school’s soccer team. He was the star player, but he never actually wore it, so you decided to "borrow" it for yourself. The jacket was oversized on you, but it offered that familiar warmth and carried the faint scent of his cologne. Underneath, you kept on your training clothes: leggings and a sports bra, still damp from the warehouse workout. On your feet, you pulled on your red, ratty Converse, their worn-out soles feeling oddly comforting.

It wasn’t long before you and Selina were leaping across Gotham's rooftops, the city below a sprawling tapestry of glowing lights and deep shadows. The cool night air rushed past you, carrying the distant hum of traffic and the occasional whoosh of a passing vehicle far below. Each leap sent adrenaline coursing through your veins, the thrill of the city’s pulse beneath your feet.

“Keep up!” Selina’s voice cut through the wind.

On cue, she vaulted off a high ledge, her body twisting mid-air like a dancer in flight. The moonlight glinted off her jewelry and caught the sharp focus in her eyes as she executed a flawless landing atop a streetlamp. The lamp swayed slightly under her weight, but she held her position with poise, a smirk playing on her lips.

With a grin, you shot a web at the streetlight, using it to swing in a wide arc around the pole. The momentum propelled you into a series of rapid spins, your laughter blending with the whistling wind as you twirled through the air. Releasing the web, you pulled yourself up and off the lamp, flipping effortlessly before landing in a smooth roll on the adjacent rooftop.

“Nice moves,” Selina called out. She leaped from the lamp with a fluid dive, twisting gracefully mid-air before she landed beside you, her boots barely making a sound on the rooftop.

Both of you continued moving, the exhilaration of the chase fueling your every step. The city lights streaked past in a blur of neon and shadow, each leap and swing a burst of adrenaline. As you bounded across another rooftop, something caught your eye—a large billboard, its bright screen flickering with the latest headlines. 

The text burned across the display. 

“Gotham High Senior Prom Interrupted by Villain Connected to Sionis Crime Family: Chaos Erupts.”

You came to an abrupt halt, your shoes skidding against the gravel roof. Breathing heavily, you tilted your head slightly and turned to face the billboard, your gaze fixed on the glaring headlines. The screen flickered to a live feed of a stern-looking news anchor. 

“Last Saturday, prom at Gotham High was disrupted by a violent attack. Eyewitnesses reported a scene of utter chaos where a villain equipped with mechanical arms infiltrated the event, resulting in a brief but intense altercation. Several students sustained injuries. The assailant, identified as Octavius Burton, was apprehended by Batman and his partner, Robin.”

Tucking your hands into the pockets of your jacket, you turned as Selina began to make her way to you, your brow furrowing with concern. You could see her fingers flexing at her sides, a telltale sign of her mounting frustration. She pulled her sleek, black jacket tighter around her, the fabric rustling softly. 

“Burton, a former professor at the academy, was terminated following inquiries into his activities connected with the Sionis Crime Family, an organization with known affiliations to the criminal figure known as Black Mask. Authorities are continuing to investigate the motives behind this incident.”

Black Mask was a touchy subject between the two of you, subtly pulling at threads of pain that neither of you fully addressed. His name seemed to drift into conversations like a ghost, stirring up the quiet ache of past losses—the kind that felt like a fresh wound, reopening old scars that neither of you had fully healed from.

“Have you seen anything strange lately?” you asked, trying to gauge her reaction.

Selina gave you a sideways glance, her expression thoughtful. “Funny you should ask. I’ve picked up on some strange shifts. The gang’s movements have been off—more frantic, almost like they’re gearing up for something.”

“And what do you think it means?” you asked carefully, trying to avoid pushing too hard.

Selina shrugged. “It’s hard to say. They’re usually pretty secretive, but something feels different this time. Like there’s a bigger play going on.”

You chewed on your inner cheek, feeling a familiar tightness in your chest. This was the most you’d managed to get her to talk about Black Mask or any of the darker aspects of her other life. It wasn’t often Selina opened up about such things, and the rare glimpses she offered were often fleeting, like shadows slipping through your fingers.

“Have you picked up any solid leads?” you asked, tugging at the sleeves of Damian's jacket. “Anything that might give us a clue about what’s coming?”

Selina’s expression grew more guarded. “Not much. Just fragments and whispers. But whatever’s brewing, it’s got those boys on edge. And when they’re on edge, you know something big is about to go down.”

You nodded, feeling a knot of anxiety in your chest. You shut your eyes for a brief moment, gathering the courage to voice your thoughts. When you opened them again, your gaze was steady. 

“I want to check this out,” you tell her. 

Selina froze. “I’m sorry, what?”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “I can’t shake the feeling that everything’s connected. There’s too much coincidence here to ignore.”

Selina’s eyes narrowed, her posture stiffening as she took a step back. “What are you getting at?”

You ran a hand through your hair, trying to keep your voice steady despite the knot in your throat. “Look, think about it. My parents died because of Black Mask. Then, this villain linked to him shows up at the prom. The next day, I wake up with spider powers, and my dad was working on spider-human DNA stuff. All these pieces—”

Selina cut you off. “You’re not seriously suggesting you want to dive into this mess yourself, are you?”

“I have to! It’s all connected somehow. I need to find out what really happened with my father. I need to piece it together myself,” you sputter.

Selina’s eyes widened slightly, and she let out a disbelieving laugh, her hand coming up to her forehead as if to steady herself. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Kid, don’t get ahead of yourself. Just because I trained you for a week doesn’t mean I’m about to let you go and get yourself tangled up with the Sionis Family.”

You bristled at her dismissive tone, stepping closer, you waved your hands around in desperation. “But you don’t get it. I can’t just sit back and ignore this!”

Selina’s expression hardened, her protective instincts flaring. “You think I don’t get that? I lost your mother—my sister—too. I know how hard it is. But rushing into danger without understanding everything is risky. The Sionis Family isn’t just a petty gang; they’re dangerous, with connections and resources that could put you in serious danger.”

You took a step back, feeling the sting of her words. “You think I’m too weak to handle it, don’t you? That I’ll just fall apart like everyone else you’ve seen?”

Selina’s eyes widened. “That’s not what I meant—”

“But that’s exactly what you’re implying!” you shot back. “You’re treating me like I’m still a kid like I can’t make my own choices.”

“You’re my daughter,” Selina said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. “You are a child whose whole world was turned upside down with no explanation. You were left there all alone, on my doorstep. And I took you in because I couldn’t stand to see you lost and alone. Now, you’re asking me to let you dive headfirst into a world that killed everyone I loved and nearly destroyed me.”

You shook your head, trying to protest, but she silenced you with a raise of her hand.

“I know you're confused. I know you're angry. So angry about your mother's death. And, baby, I am too,” she whispered. “But you have so much ahead of you, and I don’t want this world to consume you before you’ve even had a chance to truly live. This life, it’s... it’s not what I want for you.”

“But what if this is what I want?” you asked quietly, looking back up at her. 

“You’ll regret it,” she croaked. Her eyes were clouded with something you couldn't quite place—fear, maybe, or sorrow. As she pulled you into a tight embrace, her shoulders sagged, the tension seeping out of her in a slow, painful release. “I see myself in you, in all the ways I wished I could have been something different, something better. It scares me because I know all too well what this life can do.”

The news report had long since faded, replaced by a garish commercial that blared across the billboard. The vivid reds and yellows bathed both of you in an almost surreal glow, distorting the moment into something dreamlike and distant.

The relentless noise and flashing lights felt like they belonged to another world, far removed from the quiet tension between you. You simply nodded, your throat tight, and clung to Selina, the weight of her words settling into your chest as you hugged her back, holding on just a little tighter.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Sunday,  3:43 AM - Catwoman’s Apartment, Gotham City.

The newly bought alarm clock, a hasty replacement after the old one met its demise the night after prom, glared at you with its green-tinted screen. Its bright blue neon numbers cut through the darkness, each digit pulsing with impatience:

3:43 AM.

You were seated at your desk, robin-themed socks snug on your feet and a green blanket draped around you for warmth. The soft glow of your laptop screen illuminated your face as you pored over a labyrinth of links and tabs, your eyes scanning for any scrap of information related to Octavius Burton. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the computer and the occasional click of your mouse.

Both you and Selina had returned from the run just an hour ago, the air between you still charged with unspoken words. Selina, visibly exhausted, had offered you a final, goodnight kiss on the cheek before retreating to her bed. The weight of your conversation had clearly worn her out, but you remained restless.

CLICK.

You clicked through a few more links on your laptop, but the information was frustratingly sparse—just fragmented reports and vague mentions that led nowhere. Restlessness gnawed at you, making the room feel too small, too stifling as if the walls were inching closer with each passing second.

Your gaze flicked to the window, where the city lights barely penetrated the thick curtains. The cool night air called to you, a whisper of freedom. An idea began to take shape, stirring a familiar itch beneath your skin—the urge to move, to escape, to find answers.

You grabbed your laptop and closed it with a decisive snap. The screen went dark, but the soft green light from your alarm clock still bathed the room in an eerie glow. You slid your feet into your shoes and approached the window.

Opening the window quietly, you peered out into the night, the cool air splashing against your face like a cold, refreshing wave. Using your spider powers, you crawled effortlessly up the side of the building. Once you reached the rooftop, you settled onto the edge, your legs dangling over the side. 

Cool and refreshing, a welcome change from the stuffy room. You pulled out your laptop.

As you continued your search for information, the quiet of the night enveloped you, broken only by the occasional distant sound of the city below. It felt like the world had opened up just a little bit more.

With a click, you redirected your search to something more personal. You began scrolling through the company pages of Oscorp Industries, the old company where your father had worked. 

You skimmed through employee directories, old press releases, and archived news articles. You paused at a page detailing the company’s history. Among the names and dates, you spotted a familiar one: Octavius Burton.

The text described him as a former lead researcher who worked at Oscorp Industries for a brief three years before his abrupt departure. Huh. 

Shaking off your unease, you shifted your focus to a research site where your father had published his work. Searching for his name, you navigated to his profile. 

Scrolling through his list of publications, you examined the coauthors and acknowledgments. Your heart skipped a beat when you came across a paper that mentioned Burton in its acknowledgments section. It read:

“Special thanks to Dr. Octavius Burton for his invaluable insights and technical expertise during the development of this project.”

A knot formed in your stomach as you closed the laptop, your head beginning to throb. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fit together, but the edges were still blurred, the full picture just out of reach. 

Scowling, you rubbed your temples, trying to soothe the growing tension that had built up behind your eyes. But before you could find any relief, the unsettling tingle of your spider-sense flared to life. It started as a faint prickle at the back of your neck, quickly escalating into a sharp, insistent warning that sent your heartbeat into overdrive.

!!!

Your body reacted before your mind fully processed the danger. You snapped your head around, every nerve on high alert. A shadow moved in the corner of your vision, and in the next instant, a figure dropped down from above, landing with a nearly imperceptible thud just a few feet in front of you.

Without thinking, you sprang into action. Your laptop tumbled from your lap as you lunged forward, your fist arcing toward the intruder's face. The impact was solid, your knuckles meeting the side of their jaw with a satisfying crack. The figure staggered, but quickly recovered, straightening.

"What? Looking for some more?!” you growled, swinging another punch aimed at the intruder. But before you could connect, a gloved hand shot up, catching your fist with surprising ease.

"Beloved?" The familiar voice cut through the adrenaline-fueled haze, laced with both surprise and a hint of irritation.

You blinked and looked up to see Damian, clad in his Robin suit. His jaw was already showing a deepening bruise, a mottled patch of red and purple swelling rapidly.

"Oh my god!" you exclaimed, mortified. The realization of who you had just struck hit you like a wave, your cheeks burning with heat. "I—I'm so sorry! I didn’t mean to—"

Damian adjusted his stance, wincing slightly as he gingerly touched the sore spot on his jaw. “Really? Is this how you greet everyone who drops by? I’m both impressed and deeply insulted.”

He gave you a scrutinizing look, the white slits of his mask narrowing. “That punch—while forceful—was a bit too eager. A more controlled approach would be better. Precision and control usually work better than raw power.”

You stared at him, taken aback. “Are you... judging my punch?”

Damian’s lips curled into a smirk as he went on, clearly enjoying the moment. “And your balance was off. You need to keep your center of gravity more stable. Alignment and posture are key to effective strikes and maintaining stability.”

You rolled your eyes. “Brat.”

“Well, if the shoe fits,” Damian said with a self-satisfied smirk, adjusting his gloves with a flourish. “It’s only fair that I offer some guidance. A bit more finesse and you might have neutralized me more efficiently.”

Your eye twitched. Men and their egos, you thought, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. 

“Oh, sorry for not meeting your high standards,” you shot back, sarcasm lacing your words. “Maybe next time, I’ll make sure not to punch the person who’s here to give me tips.”

Damian chuckled, crossing his arms with a grin. “It was a decent hit. You’ve managed to impress me. Think of it as a compliment. Most people don’t even get the chance to lay a hand on me.”

“I hate you,” you grumbled, but the words lacked any real bite. Despite your irritation, you found yourself stepping closer, wrapping your arms around his torso, and burying your face into his chest.

Damian simply huffed, amused, and placed his arms over your shoulders, the warmth of his embrace comforting in its familiarity. Even when he was being insufferable, there was something about him that made it impossible to stay mad for long. 

“Why did you drop by anyway?” you asked, lifting your head to look up at him.

Damian’s arms tightened around you as he responded, “I was in the neighborhood. Curiosity got the better of me. And it seems I was right to investigate,” his gaze flickered toward your laptop, still lying on the rooftop.

You narrowed your eyes, not buying it. “Really? You just happened to be passing by? You know this is Catwoman’s territory, right? Seems a bit out of your way.”

“Tt,” Damian scowled, looking away as a faint blush crept up his neck. The tips of his ears turned a telling shade of red. “It’s not like I was actively searching for you,” he added, trying to sound indifferent. “Just a fortunate coincidence, I suppose.”

“Mhm. Sure, babe,” you murmured, reaching up to gently touch Damian's face. Your fingers traced a scar near his jaw with a tenderness that made him pause, his breath hitching ever so slightly.

“Idiot,” you said affectionately, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“Hardly,” he replied, a subtle warmth breaking through his tone. Before you could react, he scooped you up into his arms with ease.

“Put me down,” you groaned, half-heartedly resisting. “I’m heavy.”

Damian’s lips curled into a smug grin, his breath warm against your skin as he scoffed, “Beloved, my bench press warm-ups weigh more than you.” The gravel in his voice took on a teasing edge, smugness bleeding into your ear. “Watch.”

Before you could react, Damian’s arms tightened around you, and with a quick, effortless motion, he tossed you into the air.

A startled scream escaped your lips as you flailed, instinctively shooting out a web. The sticky thread hissed as it latched onto the rooftop edge, pulling tight and catching Damian’s attention. His head whipped around, confusion clouding his features as he tried to make sense of the sudden blur of movement.

In the split-second of panic, you plummeted back toward him, landing safely in his arms.

Shit. 

Without missing a beat, before he could fully look back, you grabbed his jaw and pulled him into a kiss. Damian’s eyes widened in shock, but as you deepened the kiss, his surprise gave way to something else. His arms wrapped around you, and he kissed you back with a fervor that matched your own. 

After a few minutes, Damian tried to pull away, his curiosity still evident in his eyes. But you weren’t having any of it. With a soft, pleading whine, you drew him back in, your hands sliding over the contours of his armor. You whispered his name against his lips, the warmth of your breath mingling with his.

Beneath the hardened exterior and the carefully constructed armor, Damian was achingly soft. The mere thought of kissing you, of feeling your lips against his, had managed to distract him so thoroughly that the facade he worked so hard to project fell away like fragile shards of glass.

Damian’s attempt to pull away was fleeting as if he were tethered by an invisible thread pulling him back to you. His hands tightened around you, one sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, the other pressing firmly against your lower back, drawing you closer. He swallowed the honeyed sounds slipping from your lips, savoring every breath and murmur.

Your hands roamed across the edges of his mask, fingertips tracing the ridges and contours, teasingly attempting to slip it off.

Damian’s groan of your name was a low, throaty rumble that vibrated through your chest. His lips followed a fiery path down to your neck, each kiss a heated brand that made your breath catch, as if he were etching his mark on you with every touch. 

Suddenly, the sharp crackle of Damian’s earpiece sliced through the intimate moment. His body tensed, and with a swift, almost robotic motion, he leaped several feet away from you, landing with a heavy thud. He straightened up, his posture rigid as he fiddled with the earpiece.

“Dam—Robin,” came Tim’s voice through the earpiece. “Eugh. What the hell is that noise? I thought you were on patrol. Are you seriously making out on the job? Redhood and I are getting an earful of... whatever that is.”

“Yeah, thanks for the front-row seat to the romance, demon brat. I’ll be sure to add that to my list of things I didn’t need to hear tonight. Next time, maybe give us a warning before you make me want to shoot myself.”

“TT,” Damian’s face turned a deep crimson as he yanked the earpiece from his ear with a grimace. In a burst of frustration, he slammed the device down, reducing it to a pile of broken plastic.

“Oh,” you said with an amused grin as he spun on his heel with a sharp, almost frantic movement and leaped off the rooftop in a swift, disappearing dive.

“Next time, maybe keep the earpiece off!” you called after him, the grin still playing on your lips. Damian responded with a speedier exit, vanishing into the night.

As the echoes of his departure faded, you let out a deep sigh, your grin slipping away. Turning around, you saw the web you had shot still clinging to the rooftop, its glistening strands catching the moonlight with an almost ethereal shimmer. Panic bubbled up inside you as you approached it, your hands trembling slightly.

Fuck. That was too close.

Taking a steadying breath, you carefully picked up the web, its sticky texture making your fingers feel oddly weighed down. With a swift motion, you tossed it off the roof, watching as it drifted into the darkness below. The night seemed to grow eerily quiet in the aftermath, each distant siren or rustle of leaves making your heart race with an anxious thrum.

You scanned the rooftop one final time, making sure no trace of the night’s events remained. Grabbing your laptop, you felt its reassuring weight as you turned and headed back to your room.

"I have got to be a lot more careful," you sighed to yourself, the words barely more than a whisper. 

 ༻⊰───⋅

Monday, 2:19 PM - Chemistry Lab, Gotham Academy.

“...and as you can see, the rate of reaction increases with temperature, which in turn affects the activation energy required. Remember, it’s crucial to maintain consistent variables to ensure accurate results. Any questions?”

The room buzzed with the soft rustle of papers and the occasional murmur as students exchanged glances and half-heartedly raised their hands. A question from one of the students prompted Dr. Foster to shift to a new segment of the lecture.

You slouched over your desk, trying to focus on the textbook despite the monotonous drone of the lecture. The room felt stifling, the endless rows of lab benches and flickering fluorescent lights adding to the sense of tedium. Your pen drifted absently across the paper in your notebook, sketching spiders—each more intricate than the last. It was the third-to-last class of the day, and you found yourself counting down the minutes until freedom.

This was one of the only classes you didn’t share with Damian, and his absence made the wait for dismissal feel even longer.

With a sigh, you sketched a detailed spider, giving it a little mask and cape for amusement. The classroom’s buzz of activity continued around you, blending into a dull hum as you lost yourself in your sketches.

“You like spiders?” came a voice, interrupting your idle doodling.

You turned to find your seatmate, Morgan, looking at you with a curious expression.

Morgan Stark—her full name rolling off the tongue like something out of a high-fashion magazine—was your lab partner in Chemistry class and a standout at Gotham Academy. Top student, robotics prodigy, and the heiress to Stark Industries

You blinked, slightly taken aback. “Oh, um... yeah. I guess so. Just an interest.”

Morgan leaned closer, her chestnut hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. “Really? Most people find spiders creepy. What got you into them?”

You glanced at your notebook, where intricate doodles of spiders and webs sprawled across the page. 

“I don’t know,” you began, pausing as you searched for the right words. “They’re just… fascinating. I like their webs.”

Morgan nodded thoughtfully, a small smile playing on her lips. "That's pretty cool.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a bit more at ease. As the bell rang, signaling the end of class, students began to gather their belongings with a collective sense of relief. The clatter of backpacks and the rustling of papers filled the room.

Morgan leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms with a small smile. She tilted her head, studying you with a curious gaze. 

“What’s your name again?” she asked, her hand moving to adjust the glasses perched on her nose.

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the question. After months of sitting next to her, you'd assumed she’d have gotten it by now. Hell, you two did tablework assignments together, shared notes, and even collaborated on that tough group project last semester. 

“You... don’t know my name?” you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Her eyes widened slightly, a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her notebook. The blush deepened, contrasting with the freckles dusting her skin.

“Oh, I know your name,” she lied horribly, her voice faltering just a bit. “I… just want to know if you know it.”

A smile crept up your cheeks as you gathered your notebook and packed it away, your movements slower and more deliberate.

“I’m Y/N Kyle,” you said, offering a gentle smile.

“Nice to meet you,” Morgan said with a smile, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Maybe next time we can trade more than just doodles and spider talk.”

“Sounds good,” you replied, sliding your backpack over one shoulder and standing up.

As students filed out of the classroom, you and Morgan exchanged a final look. She gave you a quick, playful wink before turning to join her friends, who were already waiting by the door.

Walking out of the classroom, the hallway was alive with the usual end-of-day hustle. Students rushed to their lockers, chatted animatedly, or headed to their clubs. The walls were lined with lockers, some ajar and spilling over with books and personal items. Conversations and occasional bursts of laughter echoed off the walls.

As you pushed through the crowd, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out, glancing at the screen. It was a message from Damian:

SUGAR DAMI:

Beloved, I'm afraid I can't drive you home today.

I have soccer training that will extend until 5 o'clock.

You sighed, a touch of disappointment creeping in. Selina was out on a heist for the whole day, leaving you to your own devices. The thought of spending the rest of the afternoon cooped up in your apartment didn't exactly thrill you.

With a quick huff, you typed a response:

YOU:

No worries, I'll figure something out. Good luck with training!

You hit send and slipped your phone back into your pocket. Adjusting the strap of your backpack, you made your way toward the back entrance of the school. As you pushed open the heavy double doors, the crisp afternoon air greeted you with a refreshing coolness.

Stepping outside, you were met with a clear blue sky, dotted with only a few wispy clouds drifting lazily. The sun bathed the school grounds in a warm, golden glow, while the distant hum of traffic blended with the cheerful chirping of birds. 

You made your way to a secluded corner of the school grounds, checking over your shoulder to make sure no one was around. With a nimble leap, you cleared the fence and landed lightly on the other side. Slipping into the narrow alleyway, your footsteps echoed softly off the brick walls as you made your way to the fire escape.

You scaled the metal steps with practiced ease, pulling yourself up to the rooftop. Once there, you rolled your shoulders, loosening up before taking in the expansive view. Your apartment was visible in the distance, but that wasn't your destination today.

With a final glance back at the school, you took off across the rooftops.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Monday, 3:25 PM - Catwoman’s Safehouse, Gotham City.

The journey to the safehouse was quick, the cityscape blurring by as you made your way. As you pushed open the heavy doors of the safehouse, the familiar scent of old wood and metal greeted you, a stark contrast to the crisp afternoon air outside.

With a tap on your phone, you opened Spotify and selected a playlist, the tunes soon filling the room from the speakers resting on a nearby table.

Don't wanna be an American idiot One nation controlled by the media Information age of hysteria It's calling out to idiot America

Still in your school uniform, you took off your blazer and tossed it somewhere on the floor, leaving you in your shirt and tie, slightly rumpled from the day's wear. The warehouse felt cooler without the extra layer, and the air against your skin was refreshing.

Using your shooters, you spun a hammock between a few panels of the wall. You jumped onto it, the webbed fabric creaking slightly as it adjusted to your weight. The hammock swayed gently as you settled in, the rhythmic motion easing the tension from your muscles.

As the music played on, you bobbed your head to the beat, letting the lyrics wash over you.

Welcome to a new kind of tension All across the alienation Where everything isn't meant to be okay Television dreams of tomorrow We're not the ones who're meant to follow For that's enough to argue

Settling deeper into the hammock, you pulled out your phone and began scrolling idly through the latest news reports. The headlines were grim, detailing the latest string of crimes committed by Black Mask. As a Gotham native, you were used to the constant stream of bad news, but it still made your stomach churn slightly.

One headline caught your eye.

"Multiple Tech Industries Robbed: Black Mask Suspected in High-Tech Heist Spree"

You click on the article, your eyes scanning the details.

"In the past week, several leading tech companies have reported break-ins and thefts, resulting in the loss of millions in high-tech equipment and proprietary technology."

The article detailed the affected companies and the nature of the thefts. Wayne Enterprises had reported missing nanotechnology components. LexCorp was missing cutting-edge encryption devices, while Queen Consolidated had reported the disappearance of prototype energy sources.

Your brow furrowed as you took in the list. Black Mask was stepping up his game. He was gutsy, you'd say that, targeting Wayne Enterprises when Gotham was practically owned by the company. Maybe you could ask Damian for info. He might have some insights that could help you in your personal little mission.

!!!

Then there was a tingling sensation, a familiar prickle at the back of your neck, like tiny electric currents dancing along your spine. It heightened your senses, sharpening your focus as if the world slowed down for a brief moment. You turned just in time to see Selina swinging in with her bullwhip, landing on the ground with a graceful yet forceful thud.

Smirking, you raised a hand in greeting. “You didn’t roll. You know that’s really bad for your knees.”

“Oh, please, honey. Turning my own words against me? I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you,” she said, rolling her eyes. She straightened up, her black leather suit catching the dim light that filtered through the dusty windows.

"Why so early?" you hummed. "Thought you were out for the whole day. Got caught by Batman again?"

"Caught? Please, I never get caught. I just let him think he has a chance," she scoffed, sauntering over to you, her boots clicking against the concrete.

She held a small, black bag in her hand and, with a casual flick of her wrist, tossed it your way. The bag flew smoothly through the air, landing with a soft thud against your stomach. You grunted slightly and caught it in your arms.

“What’s this?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Just a little something I picked up on my way back,” she replied, leaning casually against a nearby crate. “Figured you could use a bit of excitement.”

As you opened the bag, you discovered a sleek, black suit inside. The material felt smooth and durable—definitely Kevlar. It was similar to Selina’s suit, but when you turned it around, a spider symbol was stitched onto the back.

“A suit?” you marveled, pulling it out for a closer look.

Selina smiled, lifting her goggles and moving to sit beside you. “I made it myself. Took a while to get everything just right, but I think it’ll suit you perfectly.”

You traced the spider emblem with your fingers. “I thought... you didn’t want me to go out into that world?”

Selina sighed softly, her expression softening as she watched you. “I was hesitant at first. You know how dangerous it can be out there. The streets of Gotham aren’t forgiving, and I’ve seen too many people get hurt—or worse—because they weren’t prepared. But I also understand why you feel the need to do this. It’s in your blood, just like it’s in mine. We’ve both got that itch.”

She paused, her gaze distant for a moment before focusing back on you. “When I first started, I was headstrong, eager to prove myself. I took risks, some stupid, some necessary, but I learned. This is my way of making sure you can learn the ropes without getting in over your head.”

"You're going to let me patrol?" you gasped out, a grin so wide it spread across the ends of your cheeks.

Selina’s tone sharpened. “Don’t think for a second this means I’m giving you free rein. I’ll be watching. One wrong move, and I’ll be right there to pull your little spider-butt back. But for now, consider this my way of making sure you’re ready.”

“Fuck yes,” you cheered, smiling as you hopped off the hammock.

She smirked, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Now, get suited up. Let’s see how you look in action.”

You took the suit and headed to a makeshift changing area in the corner of the warehouse. The material felt surprisingly light and flexible, molding perfectly to your body. You glanced at yourself in a cracked mirror propped against the wall. The sleek, black suit clung like a second skin, with the spider emblem standing out against the dark fabric.

Stepping out of the changing area, you caught Selina’s eye. She circled you once, then twice, before nodding in approval.

“Not bad,” she said with a smirk. “You look like you mean business.”

You smirked cockily, crossing your arms over your chest. “I do mean business.”

Selina raised a clawed finger, her tone turning serious. “Now, before anything, let’s set some rules. First, no killing—under any circumstances. That’s non-negotiable.”

You nodded solemnly.

“Second, stay away from gangs. That means no getting tangled up with Black Mask or his crew. They’re trouble.”

You deflated a bit but agreed.

“Third, avoid the Bats. Don’t go near their patrol routes or get involved with them. No crossing paths.”

“No patrolling on school nights – your education is your priority..”

“No associating with Catwoman – you can’t be seen with me in costume. It raises too many eyebrows and could lead Batman or others to figure out who you are.”

“So... I get to go solo?” you grinned.

Selina rolled her eyes. “Yes, but I’ll be tracking your every move. Stick to small, street-level threats like muggings, burglaries, and assaults. No big jobs or anything that could draw too much attention.”

“After patrols, come to the warehouse first – don’t go straight to the apartment.It’s safer to lay low here.”

“And no mixing with civilians—keep your crime-fighting life separate from your personal life.”

You nodded, committing the rules to memory. “Got it. No killing, no gangs, no Bats, no school-night patrols, no Catwoman, warehouse first, and no civilians.”

“Good. Stick to those rules, and we might just keep you out of trouble. Any small slip-up or any inkling of suspicion from the Bats, and you're out. Got that?”

Her eyes bore into yours, glaring into your soul. You gulped and nodded again, more firmly this time. "Got it. No room for mistakes."

Selina gave a satisfied nod and tossed you a mask. You caught it and inspected it closely. The mask was sleek and full-faced, featuring large, white mesh eye covers bordered in black. Subtle, almost invisible web patterns were etched into the surface.

"You know, for someone who doesn't follow the rules, you sure do have a lot for me," you snorted, running your fingers over the webbing, appreciating the craftsmanship before slipping it onto your face.

“That’s because I’m Catwoman and you’re not. I know when to break the rules and play. You’re still learning.”

“Do I at least get a cool name?” you asked, adjusting the mask to fit snugly.

“The press usually decides that, honey. How do you like the sound of Spider-Girl?”

“Spider-Woman,” you corrected with a huff.

“Spidey might be cuter,” she teased.

“Spidey,” you hummed, rolling the name around in your head. “That has a nice ring to it.”

“Spidey it is, then.”

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

 ༻⊰───⋅

dududun there's a stark

surely putting this child into vigilante work is a good idea

i am very sure spidey will be responsible and not at all destructive like every other peter parker ever

also! you fight like spider noir because both of you use bare-knuckle boxing

[rahuratna]

Suited up

More fatherly goodness from the gentleman sorcerer, Nanami Kento. This time, featuring Ino!

Ino was excited. Not in the usual sense, when he had a mission with Nanami lined up. Today was different. Today would be the day he nailed that sweet, sweet grade one sorcerer recommendation from his mentor, the sorcerer he admired the most.

Ino had been watching, you see. He couldn't do without his own signature ski mask, as that was completely necessary for the functioning of his unique cursed technique. There were other things he had taken note of, however, that might be worth a change.

For starters, the suit. No matter where the mission, whether in the sparkling heart of Tokyo or in the depths of the most squalid sewer, Nanami would always appear in his impeccable and tasteful suit. Tailored to perfection, sitting perfectly at the wrist and ankles, comfort and flexibility reserved at no expense to the clean, fitted outline on the powerful frame they enclosed, Nanami's suits were a thing of beauty.

Then, the handkerchief. Nanami never went without. There was always a clean square of linen, folded in a perfect square, in one of his pockets. Nanami had used his handkerchief to help Ino mop blood off his face once, and, although the cloth had been ruined, Ino knew that the threadcount on that little square made it more valuable than the entirety of his baggy shirt and trousers.

Of course, there were the shoes. Nanami's sturdy leather brogues, hand sewn and always polished to high shine, saw a lot of wear. Of course they would, considering the speed and power of the sorcerer who wore them. But no matter how soiled and worn they were by the end of the mission, the care invested in their restoration was evident. Nanami would show up the next day with his shoes back in such good condition you could see your reflection in them.

Then, there was the way he wore his tie, the way he combed his hair, the coveted wristwatch. But there would be time enough to speculate on those things later. For now, Ino would be satisfied to see Nanami's reaction to his own get up.

The mission was straightforward. They had been assigned to clear out an old warehouse on the docks near the harbour. A curse infestation had been reported in the area, probably triggered by the recent wage protests the dock workers had engaged in due to cutbacks. Of course, Ino's affinity for crowd control would come in handy, and so, he had been dispatched with Nanami as a two-man team.

As he stood on the sidewalk not far from his apartment, Ino shifted from one foot to the other, still growing accustomed to the outfit he had on. As a grade two sorcerer, he earned a fair salary. He'd saved up for a month or two to splurge out on these clothes.

He had invested in a good tailor and had a dark grey suit made to fit. He wore a black polo shirt beneath and the best leather belt he could find. His socks were polyester, but comfortable enough and wouldn't slip or bunch inside his new black leather shoes. Ino had neatly combed and parted his hair, using a high hold pomade that gave a shine he wasn't sure he liked. It would prevent his hair from going haywire when he had to use his ski mask, though. And he had a handkerchief, of course. Bought cheaply in a pack of five because he'd been in a rush, but who would be looking that closely, anyway?

A dark sedan pulled up to the kerb where he waited and Ino felt a clench of nervous anticipation in his stomach. Would Nanami approve of his new look? Had he gone overboard? Did he look like some kind of copycat freakshow now? Steeling himself, Ino opened the rear door and slid inside, sending a tense greeting to the experienced sorcerer who sat beside him.

Nanami greeted him back and then stopped short. Sweating slightly, Ino kept his gaze straight ahead as Nanami's eyes travelled from his perfectly combed hair down to his new shoes. Ino coughed slightly and fidgeted with his belt.

"So ... any ideas on how we should tackle the warehouse?"

Nanami regarded him in silence for a moment, before pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and tapping his fingers on his knee, as he sometimes did when he was thinking deeply about something.

"We'll approach as we usually do. I'll go in and guage the strength of the spirits before making a tactical retreat. We perform a second sweep, with you flanking me. Then we use your targeted attacks to hone in on any remaining curses that may be concealing themselves."

"Got it."

There was a short spell of silence.

"That's a fine suit you have on."

"You think so?"

Ino released a breath he had been holding, elation swelling in his chest.

"It is." Nanami paused. "Having said that, there are a few pointers I'd like to give you, as you've chosen to dress in this manner today."

"You will?"

Ino could barely contain his excitement now. Nanami nodded and folded his arms.

"Yes. For starters, have you worn those shoes before today?"

"Uh, no. Didn't want them to ... you know. Get all dusty and stuff before the mission."

"Place your feet against the seat in front of you right now and bend your toes."

"Huh?"

"Like this."

Nanami demonstrated, and Ino followed suit, slower due to his confusion.

"Leather always needs to be broken in. I've been wearing these shoes for close to a year now. And I alternate between pairs, so that I minimize wear and tear and allow the leather to rest, especially if I've been out in wet weather. If you go in as you are, the new leather will not have had time to take on the shape of your feet. You'll be in some discomfort a few hours in."

"For real?"

Balancing in his seat, the younger sorcerer hurriedly began to rock his feet back and forth against the seat in front of him, wondering how he couldn't have noticed how stiff the leather was. He could thank his lucky stars that Nanami had forewarned him.

"There's more, Ino."

"There is?"

"That pomade you have on your hair ... it's going to form stiff peaks as you perspire inside the ski mask. Next time, opt for a softer styling wax."

"Ohhh, damn. I didn't know that."

Nanami now reached across and ran his fingers along the hem of Ino's jacket, then grabbed one of his sleeves and tugged.

"Oh dang, what is it?"

"I'd also advise you to lose the jacket when you go into combat. I ask my tailor to perform a specific type of stitching that allows for more freedom of movement. You're going to need to remove the jacket if you want to move freely and effectively."

Ino's bubble of excitement was rapidly deflating. He'd wanted so badly to impress Nanami today, but all he'd succeeded in doing was showing off his inexperience and making himself look like some kind of desperate wannabe. He cleared his throat and straightened his posture, giving Nanami his signature bright smile and thumbs up. He hoped that he had somehow concealed how embarrassed he was feeling.

"Thanks Nanami. I promise I won't let you down today!"

By the end of the day, Ino was feeling a lot less chipper. Scratch that, he was feeling downright miserable.

The mission had started off promisingly. They'd found the warehouse infested with cursed spirits, some of them rather powerful. After drawing the bulk of the spirits out into the open, Nanami had retreated as planned, so that Ino could use his Reiki to shield himself from attacks and move swiftly between the raging curses.

This was where Ino's problems had started.

Due to the huge amount of cursed energy he burned through, and the highly physical nature of his technique, Ino perspired a lot in combat. His baggy clothing normally allowed ample air circulation around his body, letting him cool down faster, but the polo shirt and the thicker material of his new trousers did no such thing. 

As sweat poured down to sting his eyes, Ino was hyper aware of how the soaking material clung uncomfortably to his chest and back, how his legs felt like they were encased in a damp, restricting vice.

The leather shoes had started out comfortable enough thanks to the stretching Nanami had had him perform, but even they lost elasticity over time. Sore red ridges had been rubbed into his ankles and the area around his toes felt as if it had been chafed raw.

To add insult to injury, a vat of putrid fluid, that had been lying stagnant for God knew how long, had been upended all over Ino by one of the cursed spirits, ruining any chance he'd had of salvaging some dignity and completely ruining his outfit. Somehow, Nanami had dodged the spray of fluid and darted towards the offending spirit, ending it with a deadly, but elegant stroke of his blade. 

Ino had given it his all, of course. He'd fought with every ounce of determination he possessed, and they'd eventually decimated the spirits that infested the warehouse. At great cost to his body and dignity, of course. His muscles were screaming because of the unnatural strain he'd put them through, and his shoulder throbbed where a spirit had grabbed him and damn near dislocated it.

By the time they left the warehouse, Nanami was striding along at his usual pace, suit spotless, collar open, cufflinks gleaming, hair stylishly dishevelled, while something that looked like a veritable swamp monster hobbled along at his side, emitting feeble groans now and then.

"Ino."

"Y - Yeah?"

"Take off those shoes now."

"But - "

"Do as I say."

The shoes came off with a very distinct and soggy noise. Undaunted, Nanami reached for them and scooped them up so that they hung from the fingers of one hand. He then went down on one knee, facing away from Ino.

"Get on."

" ... what?"

"Climb on. Your can't make it all the way to the car in this condition."

"But - but I'm filthy, Nanami! I'll get this smelly shit all over your clothes!"

"Don't worry about that. The dry cleaners I frequent are excellent and ... accustomed to my requests by now."

With a great deal of reluctance, the young sorcerer climbed onto his senior's back, head flopping forward in sudden exhaustion when Nanami lifted him in piggy-back fashion. They made their way back to where the car awaited them.

"Nanami?"

"Yes?"

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"How do you manage to look like ... you know. Like you can do anything you put your mind to. And why in a suit, of all things?"

The strong shoulders beneath Ino's chin jerked in a small huff of amusement.

"I'm not sure what you mean, but I suppose experience is the best teacher. I've been on my fair share of missions. I know what to expect and plan accordingly. As to why I wear a suit, well ... "

His voice trailed off, but Ino remained silent, aware that if he stayed like this he might probably hear something that would give him greater insight into the man he admired above all others.

"Hmm. I suppose, it was something I learned when I worked as a salaryman. In society, the clothes you wear define who you are. They speak to others of your personality, your preferences, the way you want to be perceived and your standing in a certain social setting. I chose my clothes so that I would blend in. I wanted ... an ordinary life. A life that would let me pursue ordinary goals and let me retire in comfort."

"But you came back. Back to being a sorcerer, I mean."

"It wasn't that I missed this life. It wasn't that I wanted to be a sorcerer either. But my talent for working efficiently, and working hard, was best put to good use in a manner where I could help others."

"But you still kept the suit?"

"Indeed. The suit reminds me of who I am, at heart. I've never wanted more than a regular life. I never will want more. If I have to exorcise spirits looking like I used to as a salaryman, then so be it. Let the spirits experience my effort, my work ethic, my real and very ordinary self."

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of Nanami's footsteps on the damp paving stones that led to the car park. Ino gave a weak chuckle.

"Ordinary? You know, I think I can get behind that."

"You can?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty much a regular guy too. But you know, Nanami ... "

The younger man's voice trailed off, and for a moment, Nanami thought he had drifted off into an exhausted sleep. Then Ino spoke again.

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit. There's a reason I wanna be like you, more than other sorcerers. If being a run-of-the-mill guy means always choosing to put other people first, if it means choosing to do what you feel is right, and if it means ... that when you're gone, someday in the future, people will always remember the things you taught them and miss you like hell, then you wouldn't call yourself that ordinary, would you?"

Nanami was quiet for a long time after that.

Ino had never felt greater relief than when he was able to shower at Jujutsu Tech later that night, sling on a clean tracksuit and receive some treatment from Ieiri for his bruised and twisted shoulder. Feeling far more human, he made his way down to the foyer, wondering what he could have for a late-night snack.

To his surprise, Nanami was waiting for him.

"You're still here? I thought you'd have left already."

Namami held up a small bag.

"You left your jacket behind in the car."

"Ah." Ino scratched the back of his head. "Thanks. But I don't think I'll be wearing that again."

"Understandable. But, if you like, I can take you to my tailor to make some ... additions to your regular work clothes. You can still look your best, even while comfortable, you know."

Ino brightened considerably at this.

"Oh? I never thought of that."

"And I suppose you're hungry after the mission. We can go and get fried chicken and beer."

Whooping slightly, the younger sorcerer loped happily out the front doors, before stopping and glancing back at Nanami sheepishly.

"Uh, I'm kinda broke right now after splashing out on that suit ... "

"I'm paying."

"Now we're talking!"

[ragingbookdragon]

It’s an incessant knocking that pulls him from the fragile sleep he’s managed to get himself into, barely tugging on the balaclava before he opens the door, damn the risks, if someone wants to kill him at his own front door, he’ll let them. That is until he cracks the metal door from the frame and sees her standing there in her nightclothes, tear-streaked face in the cool Birmingham night.

He opens the door for her. “What are you doing here? Where are the children?”

“Left them with Denise.”

Denise. The only babysitter he approved of to watch his newborn daughter and six-year-old son.

“What’s going—”

She isn’t even two steps inside the apartment and she’s falling into his arms, dry sobs escaping her throat as she cries, “He’s gone, Simon. He’s gone.”

His eyes widen, she’s just now finally coming to terms with the fact that she buried her husband two days ago. Once a proud army wife, now a frenzied, exhausted widow, unsure how to raise two children by herself and go on.

“He’s gone. John’s—oh God, Simon, he’s dead.” She stares at him wide-eyed and gutted. “My John, he’s, he’s gone.” She cried out all her tears a few days ago when they first showed up at her door, and he watches as she raises her hands to her face, fingers caged around the sides of it as she sobs, “He’s gone, Simon. What am I going to do?” She’s working herself into a grief-driven anxiety attack. “What am I gonna do? How am I going to raise our—our children, oh, Simon, she’ll never know him.”

Tears finally come to her eyes, and she stares up at him in his arms.

“My sweet Morrigan will never know him,” she whimpers. “Oh, my sweet girl. She’ll never know how much he loved her.”

“She does,” he says, and he takes her chin in her hand. “Now you’ve gotta stop this. You can’t do this. You have to get it together.”

“But he—”

“Johnny’s dead. But your children need you. JJ and Morrigan need you.” It’s harsh but it dries up her tears as she stares at him with a pitiful look.

“I can’t do this alone,” she whispers. “I need him. He…John made it better. He always made it better. Without him…” she gazes at him. “What am I supposed to do, Simon? I’m all alone.”

“You’re a fool to believe that,” he replies and pulls her close; he misses his best friend too, unable to stop the tears that come to his eyes. He inhales shakily, feeling dampness grow in his sweatshirt, remembers how he had to sit down and explain to little JJ that his dad was gone. How he made a six-year-old boy promise to be strong and be the man of his home and watch his sister and mum, while the child in Simon was grieving the exact same thing.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers into her hair. “C’mon love, I got you,” he says, holding her tight as she breaks down into sobs again.

***

It’s horrible. His best friend hasn’t even been dead for a week and already Simon can’t help but feel his heart yearn for her. It’s a little cliché, laying the sleeping widow in his bed, smoothing her hair as be bends down and kisses her forehead. There’s something about the way her tear-stained cheeks glisten in the moonlight but he looks away and grabs the pillow from the other side of the bed and a blanket from the closet before he lays out on the floor beside her. Her hand falls over the side of the bed, and damn Simon’s soul, forgive me, Johnny, he props his elbow up and takes her hand, gently squeezing it in his large one, feeling her faintly squeeze back.

Strongest soldier you’ll ever meet, tough as nails, hard as steel.

But at Simon’s core, he is, a weak, weak man.

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Six-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Blackmail, Degradation Kink, Jealousy, Possessive Behaviours, Manipulation, Angst, Violence, Aggression, Blood, TomRiddle, Slapping.

***FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

"Emily, are you sure I look okay?" You said, your voice a mix of stress and anxiety. "Did you get my baby hairs? The ones in the-"

"Yes, I got them." Emily said, cutting you off as she took a few steps back, focusing her attention on your uniform now. "You look perfect. Beyond perfect."

In the soft glow of your dormitory's lamplight, you moved toward the mirror, your reflection illuminated with a warm, golden hue. You released a long, tension filled breath as you eyed your appearance, your Ravenclaw uniform clinging to your form with tailored precision, the royal blue fabric complementing your complexion and accentuating your confidence. The pleats of your skirt fell in perfect symmetry, and your tie was knotted with care, each fold a testament to your attention to detail.

As you met your own eyes in the mirror, your irises sparkled with determination and purpose. Your makeup, subtle yet enhancing, highlighted your features without overshadowing your natural beauty. With a final, approving nod at your reflection, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the meeting ahead. You wanted to make sure that every element of your appearance spoke volumes about your professionalism and attention to detail. Confident and composed, you spun back around, meeting your blonde-haired friend  with a subtle smile.

"Emily, I can't express my gratitude enough," you sighed, your voice tinged with a mix of appreciation and unease. "I can't fathom why I'm so terribly nervous about this."

"It's Tom bloody Riddle; anyone would be nervous," Emily replied, her tone holding a touch of amusement as she lounged on her bed, her eyes fixed on you. "You know, he could be really good for you."

Your breath caught in your throat, and your eyes widened in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I'm just saying," she continued, sensing the growing tension in the room. "It's astonishing how you've spent seven years at Hogwarts without really getting to know him. You and he, you're like kindred spirits--both quiet, effortlessly brilliant...I could see you two hitting it off."

You felt a shiver race down your spine at the very idea, yet you quickly dismissed it with a forced, light-hearted chuckle. "Now, that's quite a leap, my friend."

"Make sure to remind me of my prediction when it comes true," she teased, a smirk dancing on her lips as she stifled her giggles. "Off you go now, don't keep Tom Riddle waiting.”

With a grumble of a goodbye, you took a steadying breath before pushing open the door of your dorm room and entering out into the bustling corridor. The familiar buzz of students filled the air, everyone seemingly lost in their own little world as you briskly made your way down to the library, your stride full of a tense determination. As you finally entered, your eyes scanned the room in search of Tom, and when you spotted him--engrossed in books, his demeanour calm and composed at a table in the far corner; your heart rate involuntarily increased.

But then, you spotted movement out of the corner of your eye--and when you shifted your gaze toward it, your pulse plummeted, heart stopping dead in your chest.

Mattheo Riddle, the man who, in his entire seven years at this school, had ventured into the library fewer times than he could count on one fucking hand--was surrounded by his friends on the far couches, a bright-eyed brunette girl seated dangerously close, her eyes glued to him as if he held the universe in his hands. The scene sent a jolt of conflicting emotions through you--creating a visceral reaction that made you want to retch.

You blinked, unable to believe your eyes, witnessing the source of both your irritation and inexplicable attraction, appearing utterly untroubled amidst his social circle. The sight should have been inconsequential--a mere blip on your radar, considering your vehement dislike for him and everything he's put you through.

Yet, as he met your eyes from across the room, that familiar, breath-stealing, devilish smirk teasing the corners of his perfect fucking lips, it felt like a punch to the gut, a twisting turmoil in your chest that you couldn't quite comprehend.

You knew you shouldn't care about who he was with or what he was doing. After all, you despised him, his arrogance, and the way he seemed to effortlessly entangle you in his web. But the inexplicable pang of jealousy clawed at your insides, leaving you both irritated with yourself and unsettled by the intensity of your emotions.

Trying to shake off the feeling, you clenched your fists, reminding yourself of your purpose here--to meet with Tom Riddle and discuss the mentorship guild. Despite your internal turmoil, you focused on the task at hand, determined to ignore the distractions and maintain your composure, and began to make your way across the room toward Tom.

Straightening your posture, you took a deep breath to steady your nerves. As you approached him, you cleared your throat to announce your presence.

"Mr. Riddle," you greeted, your voice steady despite the chaos inside you. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I've heard great things about the mentorship guild, it's been a longtime goal of mine to be a part of it."

Tom's eyes, a sharp contrast to his brother's, held a depth of intellect that seemed to penetrate your very soul. His appearance was the polar opposite of Mattheo's--clean kept, professional; gelled hair and fresh robes--all attributes you'd never find on his messy haired, couldn't-care-less sibling. Tom regarded you with an assessing gaze, nodding appreciatively.

"I'm pleased you're interested," he replied, his voice smooth and composed. "Let's find a quiet spot to talk, and please, call me Tom."

With those words, you gave him a small smile before  following him through the isles of shelves and towards the back of the room, reserved only for quiet studies, leaving the unsettling sight of Mattheo and his entourage behind, unable to ignore the heat of his eyes on you from across the room as you moved. In the hushed confines of the library's quiet study area, you settled into a seat across from Tom, the anticipation of the conversation ahead mingling with a sense of relief.

Away from the prying eyes and distracting presence of Mattheo, you felt a newfound confidence building within you.

"Thank you again for considering me, Tom, you have no idea what this opportunity means to me," you said, your voice steady as you met Tom's gaze. "I've always admired your achievements and your approach to academics. I believe I can learn a great deal under your guidance."

His eyes, a captivating shade of deep brown, held yours in an unwavering gaze. "Please, the pleasure is all mine," he replied, his tone dipped in charm. "I've heard remarkable things about your intellect and dedication, Dumbledore spoke very highly of you. I anticipate our collaboration to be mutually beneficial…I have high hopes for what you can achieve."

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, and you offered a grateful smile. Encouraged by his words, you felt a surge of motivation. "I'm eager to contribute in any way I can."

Tom's eyes glinted with approval. "That's precisely the attitude we value. With your potential and determination, I have no doubt you'll find your place within our guild."

As the conversation progressed, you found yourself immersed in discussions about your academic aspirations, the guild's objectives, and the various projects they were involved in. With every word, you felt a sense of belonging, as if you had finally found a community where your intellect was not only recognized but celebrated.

As you observed Tom while he spoke, it was clear that he was someone you could relate to on a profound level. Like you, he poured his heart and soul into his studies, the pursuit of knowledge a shared passion. His quiet confidence mirrored your own determination, and his dedication to academic pursuits resonated deeply with your own values.

In Tom, you discovered a like-minded soul, someone who, like you, appreciated the sanctity of the library's quietude and the solace found in the pages of a well-worn book. While Mattheo's antics might overshadow his brother's achievements, you recognized Tom's brilliance as a beacon of inspiration, a reminder that there were others in Hogwarts who shared your unwavering dedication to intellectual pursuits.

As the discussions came to a close, Tom straightened his posture in his chair, adjusting his pristine Slytherin robes.

"It's truly refreshing to meet someone as passionate and driven as you," Tom said, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "I believe you have a lot to offer, and I truly look forward to seeing your potential unfold."

You offered a grateful smile, though his lingering gaze left a trail of warmth beneath your skin. "Thank you, Tom. I'm admittedly quite antsy to prove my dedication."

With a charming smile, Tom leaned over the table toward you slightly, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

"I must admit, I'm not only intrigued by your dedication to intellect," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "There's something else...something undeniably alluring about you."

"Is that so?" You murmured, head tilting.

His words sparked something inside you that made your pulse increase. You weren't sure what the fuck you were doing right now, but admittedly, you couldn't help yourself. If the Riddle brothers had anything in common outside of their devastating good-looks, it was their effortless bloody charm.

"Indeed, it is," he matched your playful tone, a sly grin playing on his lips. "I'd relish the opportunity to delve deeper into your thoughts...outside of the Thursday evening guild meetings, of course," he said, his eyes glinting with intellectual curiosity. "How about we make it a habit, meeting one-on-one regularly? Tuesday evenings sound splendid, don't you think?"

Internally, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions stirred within you. The idea of regular one-on-one meetings with Tom was undeniably enticing, and would do wonders for your reputation, yet the fear of Mattheo's reaction held you back. As you hesitated, an unsettling vision of Mattheo's disapproving expression flashed in your mind, causing your response to stall.

"I...I appreciate the offer, Tom," you finally managed to say, your voice slightly shaky. "Tuesday evenings should work. I look forward to our discussions."

Your response came out a bit stilted, your internal turmoil seeping into your words, and Tom, ever perceptive, noted your apprehension with a slight eyebrow raise, but clearly chose to dismiss it.

"Wonderful. I look forward to it as well." He said, pushing up from the table and shooting you one last professional nod, "enjoy the rest of your night."

You smiled. "You too, Tom. Thank you.”

And with that, he spun, making his way down the dimly lit isle of the library, your gaze fixated on him until he was entirely out of sight. And once he was, you slumped back in your chair, releasing a stifled breath, acknowledging that his flirtation added a new layer of complexity to the already intricate web of your emotions--but, considering the fact that Mattheo was nothing more than selfish asshole who was currently cuddled up with another girl at this very moment, you refused to wallow in the thought of him any further.

You pushed up from your seat and delved deeper into the library's hushed corridors--the muted ambiance and the scent of old parchment surrounding you as you moved. With purposeful steps, you maneuvered through the labyrinth of bookshelves, gliding down the dim aisle of your choice, your eyes scanning the titles, seeking the specific astronomy book essential for your upcoming exam.

Finally, you came to a halt in front of the S category, your fingers gently tracing the spines as you read their titles, lost in the tranquility of the moment when out of nowhere, a vice-like grip clamped over your mouth, stifling any sound, and you were forcibly pulled backward--your body colliding with a strong, powerful chest, the abrupt impact momentarily jarring your senses.

As the initial shock faded, and the lingering smell of cigarettes and firewhiskey filled your nostrils, calloused palm tightening its hold over your lips, you knew there was only one fucking man that this could be. Mattheo Riddle's unyielding hand muffled any protest, and the fingers on his free hand dug into the wooden shelf beside your head, his silent strength radiating a chilling intensity that left you frozen in fear.

"Playing with fire, aren't you, Raven?" His hot breath danced on your ear as he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "You know, playing too many little games might get you in trouble, princess..."

Pinned against the shelf, your fingers clung desperately to its edge, seeking stability as your body pressed firmly against the unforgiving wood. Mattheo's presence enveloped you, a low growl escaping him as he tugged your face to the side, pressing your temple against the row of books, his lips grazing your ear--holding you captive like a fragile little bird, ensnared in the coils of the big bad serpent.

"Tuesday nights, huh?" His voice was deeper than you'd ever heard it, your heart pounding in your throat as you realized he'd must have heard your conversation with Tom--and clearly, wasn't very happy about it. "I knew you'd fall for his fucking bullshit, Raven...you seem to have a knack for falling into traps, don't you?"

Rage coursed through your veins, a primal growl building up in your throat as you pressed against his restraining hand, your thoughts ablaze with a multitude of scathing comebacks. The fervent desire to unleash your fury clashed with the harsh reality that he had more to say, leaving you seething in silence.

"You're delusional if you think he's actually fucking interested in you..." he breathed, pressing his lips directly to your ear now. "You're just his new prey...his new little protégé...take you in and make you feel special, just to discard you once he's done with you..."

A chill crawled down your spine, settling in the pit of your stomach like a lead weight. His words stung, and you struggled against his grip, his fingers digging into your skin, reminiscent of a snake coiling around its prey. Despite your attempts to break free, his hold tightened like a serpent constricting its victim, leaving you feeling trapped and vulnerable--involuntarily eliciting a sensation between your thighs you wished to ignore.

"Maybe that's what you want though, huh?" He taunted, voice dripping with disdain. "Maybe I've already ruined you...maybe you like being a little slut so much now that you're willing to throw yourself at anyone who offers..."

Your groan of frustration mingled with a futile attempt to break free, but his grip on your mouth remained unyielding. The hand that had been braced against the shelf now shifted to your hip, anchoring you firmly in place, his touch possessive, commanding--sending shivers down your spine, even in the face of his despicable words. The sheer force of his hold had an intoxicating allure, leaving you trapped in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, unable to fully resist despite your burning anger.

"Do you want to fuck him, Raven?" His voice tightened, twisting your head back further to meet his eyes, the painful angle making you wince, your lids fluttering shut as a result. "No, no. Open those eyes. Look at me."

Your stomach churned with unease, and you reluctantly complied, his fingernails digging into your cheek as he forced you to meet his dark, possessed gaze, the smell of alcohol radiating off his breath.

You swallowed. It was a bloody Thursday--why was he drunk on a fucking Thursday?

"Is that what you want?" He muttered, his voice softening, though his grip remained firm. "Because he's going to try...believe me, he's going to fucking try."

In the vice-like grip of his fingers, you growled low, a surge of irritation coursing through your veins like molten lava. How dare he presume to control your actions, as if he held any genuine concern for your well-being? His selfish motives were as transparent as glass, his only interest lying in your submission to his sexual desires. Meanwhile, he shamelessly paraded his affections for other girls, a cruel reminder of his callousness. There was no way you would yield to his manipulative tactics, your determination burning brighter than ever amidst the storm of his toxic influence.

And with a surge of sheer madness, you bared your teeth beneath his palm, sinking them into his rough flesh with a viciousness that mirrored the intensity of your anger, determined to inflict any pain you could in your struggle for freedom--and as your teeth dug into his skin, he recoiled, a sharp hiss escaping his lips as you tried your hardest to draw blood.

His grip momentarily loosened, allowing you a gasp of precious air before he tightened his hold once more--his eyes, ablaze with a mix of fury and surprise, bore into yours, capturing your defiance and turning it into a challenge. With brutal force, he spun you around, your back colliding with the unforgiving shelf; the impact sending shivers of pain racing through your spine, and the back of your head met the harsh wood with a sickening thud--your vision momentarily blurring, your heartbeat echoing in your ears like a war drum, punctuating the silence of the library with the harsh reminder of your vulnerability in his grip.

Your eyelids flickered, blinking rapidly to clear the haze, unveiling his intoxicated form, a menacing silhouette against the dim light. His eyes, blacker than the midnight sky, bore into your face with predatory focus, dissecting every flicker of emotion that crossed your features. Your eyes widened in sheer shock, somehow just now fixating on the new cut over his nose, dried blood trickling down from his nostrils and staining his chin, throat and uniform like macabre tears.

"Yeah, that's right..." he muttered, grin crawling over his lips, "take a good fucking look, princess."

Trapped beneath his unrelenting palm, you pleaded, your voice barely audible amidst the fear that gripped your throat. Desperately, you tried to shake your head, your eyes widening in horror as the sinking, sickening sensation in your chest deepened.

Your heart raced with dread, praying vehemently that the blood staining him had nothing to do with Tom.

"I warned you," he sneered, his head tilting as he leaned closer, his palm pressing your head back against the shelf with savage force, as if he was anticipating your impending reaction. "I told you exactly what I'd do to him if he fucking tried anything..."

Your heart fell, shattered, and scattered into a million shards on the cold library floor. Anguish surged through you, transforming into a fierce, unyielding determination, and without hesitation, your hand left your side, a trembling force of defiance as it harshly connected with his cheek--sending his face whipping to the side, his messy hair bouncing against his forehead with the impact.

The sharp sound reverberated through the silence of the library, and his grip on your lips faltered just enough to allow you to break free. Before he had a chance to do anything else, you gripped his wrist, holding it in place, your chest heaving with the weight of your emotions.

Your voice trembled with a mix of disbelief and anger, words escaping your lips in a choked whisper. "I can't...I can't fucking believe you," you stammered, your heart pounding in your chest like a frantic drum. "Mattheo, do you even realize what you've done?"

He blinked, his cheek tinged with a rosy hue from the impact of your slap. "Do you?"

"What the fuck do you mean?" Your lungs seized, anger threatening to collapse them. "How the fuck am I supposed to explain why you fought your own brother over me? How the fuck am I going to justify that in any way? We aren't supposed to...we aren't-"

Your words cut through the air, heavy with incredulity and a profound sense of betrayal. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, leaving you at a loss for words as you struggled to comprehend the tangled mess he had created.

"He doesn't know it was over you," he muttered, ripping his wrist from your hold. "It's not the first time I've fought my brother, Raven."

"Oh, so it's just one big coincidence that you suddenly pick a fight with him after he meets with the girl who's been tutoring you one-on-one for the last few months, right Mattheo?" You snapped, your words laced with bitterness and frustration, the tension between you hanging in the air like a storm waiting to unleash its fury. "Do you understand that if anyone fucking finds out about us...literally anyone...my post graduate career is fucking ruined, and all of this has been for absolutely nothing? Do you understand how many rules I've broken, how much I've risked, just to allow you to use me however you’d like? And this is how you repay me?"

With a sudden movement, you brought a hand to his chin--your fingernails biting into the skin of his jaw, the sharp edges of your frustration cutting into him as you held him firmly in place. The intensity of your grip mirrored the storm brewing inside you, the forceful pressure a physical manifestation of your raging emotions.

"You have absolutely no fucking right interfering in on my life like this...not while you're cuddled up with another girl on the couch...not when you've made it clear as day that I'm your fucking toy and nothing more." You seethed, your voice cutting through the air like a knife. "You have no right to paint him as though he's some demon when you haven't once dared to look at your own fucking reflection."

Mattheo's eyes met yours, his usual confidence flickering for just a moment as the weight of your accusation settled upon him. "You have no idea what he's like...you can't-"

"I know what you're like." You hissed, dropping your hand from his jaw. "And not many can be worse than you."

"That's where you're wrong." He retorted, spitting the words through barred teeth. "That's where you're absolutely fucking wrong."

"Admit it, right now, Mattheo." You snarled, words like venom as you spat them off your tongue. "Admit that I'm nothing but your fucking toy, nothing but a naive little slut for you to manipulate...admit that I'm-"

Your words hung in the air, abruptly silenced as Mattheo's vice-like grip clamped onto your jaw, the intensity of his hold promising to leave marks on your skin. He pressed your head back against the shelf, your body stiffening in response to his overpowering force. The heat radiating from his frame enveloped you, intensifying the sense of confinement as his free hand slammed onto the shelf beside your head, adding to the mockery of your helplessness.

"No," he growled, his voice low and intense, the frustration palpable in the air. His grip on your jaw tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, and you winced, the pain jolting through you. "You're fucking not."

"Bullshit," you hissed back, your defiance flaring despite the pressure of his hold.

His eyes narrowed, his gaze locked onto yours with a fiery determination. "If you were just some conquest, just some notch on my bedpost, why the fuck wouldn't I have fucked you already, huh?" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, the intensity making your stomach twist in knots. "I've had countless chances, Raven...and Merlin knows I fucking want to."

Your voice trembled, the vulnerability seeping through your words like a crack in a dam holding back a tidal wave of emotions. "Want...to...what?"

"Fuck you," he admitted, his grip on your jaw loosening, his confession dripping with both desire and frustration. "I want to fucking rail you, Raven, what the fuck else would I be talking about?"

"But?" you whispered, your voice barely audible, your heart pounding in your chest, desperate for an answer you already fucking knew. "What's stopping you?"

He exhaled, his jaw tensing. "You're a fucking virgin...I've never...I wouldn't feel right if I-"

"Exactly my fucking point," you said, cutting him off, your words slicing through the tension between you. "It wouldn't feel right because I'm just a fucking toy, Mattheo...I'm just a means for you to get your release and then throw away when you're done, what you said just fucking confirms it..please don't stand here and try to pretend otherwise..."

The truth hung in the air, heavy and raw, the silence that followed echoing with the weight of your unspoken feelings, leaving both of you engulfed in a suffocating sense of reality.

"You said you had no interest in taking my virginity." You whispered, reluctantly meeting his eyes. "You fucking said that, before any of this started."

"I know," his throat bobbed as he swallowed. "I know what I fucking said.”

"So, let me get this straight." You spat, eyebrow cocked. "You want me to continue being your toy, breaking every rule in the book in exchange for your tutoring cooperation and improved grades in order to help me impress Dumbledore, while you continue to be with other girls, but get controlling and fucking crazy when your own brother comes near me, even though you know we could never be together and you have zero intentions of making that happen away...yeah?"

As he blinked, remaining silent, you huffed, releasing a frustrated breath. "Can you at least do me one little fucking favour and explain that hypocrisy to me, Riddle? Or-"

Cutting you off, Mattheo's fingers gripped your jaw for what had to be the hundredth time in ten minutes, pulling you into a kiss that felt like an explosion of chaos and passion--the taste of blood, firewhiskey, and the lingering scent of cigarettes filling your senses; a potent mix that somehow pulled a low moan from your throat. His tongue brushed past your lips, exploring your mouth with a fervor that left you breathless, your entire body reeling from the raw desperation in his touch. The world around you faded into oblivion as his hands slid into your hair, anchoring you to him, pressing you against the shelf with an irresistible force, neither of you willing to separate despite your urgent need for breath.

After what felt like an eternity, Mattheo's lips reluctantly left yours, trailing a path of fire down to your jawline. His hot breath, laced with the taste of whiskey and desire, washed over your skin as he panted, and the room seemed to pulse with the aftermath of the passionate exchange. The two of you stood there, heaving, as if trying to fill your lungs with enough air to regain composure--the intensity of the moment lingering, leaving you both breathless and yearning for more, even though you both knew it was a stupid, idiotic, dangerous game you were playing.

"How is it, that the one woman I can never get enough of, is the one I can't have..." he whispered, his voice so low you swore there was no fucking way you heard him correctly. "When I think about it, I guess it's a fitting punishment, for a monster like me..." his hands fell to your hips, softly holding you against him. "To hold something in my hands and know beyond a bloody fucking doubt that I'll never deserve it."

Your lungs stalled, your heart stopped, oxygen fleeing you as though it was running from a fucking fire. He took a step back, releasing you fully.

"You're right, I had no right doing what I did." The words slammed your chest like a fifty pound brick. You couldn’t do anything except blink. "But I couldn't control myself, and it's not your fault, it's mine. I can’t get over myself. Just be my tutor, and let’s forget anything ever happened between us…I hope my brother makes you fucking happy.”

Without giving you a chance to respond he shifted, making his way down the isle and disappearing around the corner before you even had a singular chance to decipher what the fuck had just happened.

————-

Chapter Seven->

[buckets-and-trees]

Unexpected In the Shower

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Nick Fowler x curvy!female Reader Word Count: 1.7k Summary: You're thrown off and left wanting after Ari's visit to your room in the middle of the night. You're craving more - clarity and ravaging - but unsure what to expect next.

Content Warnings: modern AU, smut, shower sex, nipple play, kissing, clit play, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, oral (male receiving)/throat fucking, slight aftercare

Author Notes: Surprise! Sharing more for my 2200 Follower Celebration! A follow up to soft!dark Ari at the lake house didn't win the poll, but it was pretty high up, and... I had a little idea brewing that the muse facilitated finishing off for this weekend.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

After Ari snuck into your room uninvited last night and woke you up with the sole purpose of torturing your pussy with his mouth and his hands, extracting orgasm after orgasm out of you until you were boneless and blissed out, it might have been a good idea to lock your bedroom door.

But you didn’t.

Because it scared and thrilled you.

And

Ari hadn’t even given you his cock.

You had at many points begged him for it, but he had just chuckled and refused.

He told you it was only the first night.

And then, maddeningly, all day he’d acted as if he hadn’t snuck in and then out of your room in the middle of the night.

Whatever game he was playing, you knew you weren’t winning.

But in a game like this? You had no complaint if losing meant you got lost in unbelievable bliss and somewhat forbidden or at least questionable entanglements with your brother’s best friend.

As night fell, you decided to take a shower, hoping the warm water would soothe your tense muscles and racing thoughts. You stepped into the steamy bathroom, peeling off your clothes and letting them fall to the floor. The hot spray cascaded over your body as you entered the shower, and you closed your eyes, letting out a contented sigh.

Lost in the sensation, you didn't hear the bathroom door quietly open. A shiver of anticipation ran down your spine as you sensed a presence behind you. Your heart raced, assuming it was Ari coming back for more. You kept your eyes closed, not wanting to break the spell. Warm hands suddenly grasped your hips, and you gasped as you were pulled back against a hard, muscular body.

Large hands roamed your wet skin, teasing and caressing. You leaned into him, your body responding instantly to his touch. His fingers found your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples as his mouth left a trail of hot kisses down your neck.

"Please," you whimpered, not even sure what you wanted, only that you wanted more.

Lips brushed your ear as a familiar voice whispered, "I had a feeling you’d want this."

You gasped and whipped your head around to look at him, because although that voice was familiar, it wasn’t Ari.

“Nick!” you whimpered.

His steel blue eyes locked with yours, dark with desire. A wicked smile played on his lips as he pressed you against the shower wall, the cool tiles a stark contrast to your flushed skin.

"I saw how you looked at Ari today," Nick murmured, his hands still roaming your body. "I heard you last night, begging for more."

Your mind reeled, torn between shock, guilt, and an undeniable surge of arousal. This was wrong on so many levels, but your body betrayed you, responding to his touch with shameful eagerness.

"Nick, we can't—" you started, but he silenced you with a searing kiss that made your knees weak.

"Maybe we shouldn't," he corrected, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down your throat. "But we both want to. I've wanted you for so long. You want this too."

His hand slid between your thighs, finding you already slick and sensitive from the previous night's activities. He groaned in approval, circling your clit with a clearly practiced ease. You moaned, your hips bucking involuntarily against his fingers.

"That's it," Nick growled, his fingers working you expertly. "Tell me you want this," he demanded, his voice husky with need.

You hesitated, torn between desire and the knowledge that this would complicate things even further. But as Nick's fingers worked their magic, you found yourself nodding frantically.

"Yes," you moaned. "Please, Nick."

With a triumphant growl, he spun you around and pressed you against the cool tile wall. The contrast of temperatures made you shiver as Nick lifted your hands above your head, and then caught your lips in a rough, hungry kiss. Demanding, possessive.

Nick's free hand roamed your body, tracing every curve as if committing it to memory. You gasped into his mouth as he ground his hips against yours, his hard length pressing insistently against your lower belly.

"I've waited so long for this," Nick murmured against your lips. "Watching you, wanting you. And now, knowing what Ari did to you..." He nipped at your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. "I'm going to make you forget all about him."

He spun you around, and then his free hand slid down your side, gripping your hip as he positioned himself.

"Finally you’re going to be mine," he murmured against your ear, his voice strained with barely-contained desire.

In response, you pushed back against him, silently begging for more. With a low groan, Nick slowly pushed inside you, stretching and filling you in a way that made you gasp and arch your back. He set a steady rhythm that had you seeing stars.

The shower continued to rain down on you both, hot water mingling with the sweat on your skin. Nick's thrusts grew more forceful, and you braced yourself against the tile wall, meeting him thrust for thrust.

Your mind was spinning, overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions and intense pleasure coursing through your body. This was your brother's other best friend, someone you'd known for years. He’d been that charming presence you thought you would never be able to indulge in, never given the chance to, and not someone you should pursue even if you wanted to.

Nick's hand snaked around to rub tight circles on your clit, and you cried out, your body trembling with the dual sensations. Nick's fingers worked expertly, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, and you felt the familiar tension building deep within you.

"Fucking lose it," Nick growled, his breath hot against your ear. "Come for me. Let me feel you."

His words, combined with the relentless stimulation, sent you careening over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you in waves of intense pleasure, your inner walls clenching around Nick's length as you cried out his name. Your legs trembled, threatening to give out, but Nick held you firmly against the wall, his arm wrapped around your waist as he continued to thrust into you.

As you came down from your high, Nick slowly withdrew, leaving you feeling achingly empty. He turned you to face him, his blue eyes dark with desire. Without a word, he gently pushed down on your shoulders, guiding you to your knees.

The shower spray cascaded over your back as you looked up at him, water droplets clinging to his chiseled abs and running down the defined V of his hips. His cock stood proudly before you, thick and glistening with your combined arousal.

Nick's hand tangled in your wet hair, guiding you closer. "Show me what that pretty mouth can do," he murmured, his voice husky.

You looked up at Nick, water droplets clinging to your eyelashes as you slowly ran your tongue along his length. He groaned, his fingers tightening in your hair as you took him into your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with each pass.

Nick's hips jerked forward, pushing himself further into your throat. You tried to relax, suppressing your gag reflex as he hit the back of your throat. "Fuck," he growled, his voice strained. "That's it, take all of me."

You gripped his thighs, steadying yourself as Nick began to thrust into your mouth. The shower spray mingled with your saliva, creating a deliciously slick sensation as he fucked your face with increasing intensity. Your jaw ached, but you reveled in the feeling of him using your mouth for his pleasure.

Nick's movements became more erratic, his breathing ragged. "Gonna come," he grunted, tugging your hair roughly. You moaned around him, the vibrations pushing him over the edge. With a final, deep thrust, he spilled himself down your throat, holding your head in place as you swallowed every drop. Your eyes watered from the intensity, but you didn't pull away until Nick's grip on your hair loosened.

He gently pulled out of your mouth, helping you to your feet. His eyes roamed over your body, taking in your flushed cheeks and swollen lips. Then he pulled you close for a deep, languid kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, mingling with his own unique flavor.

As the hot water continued to cascade over your intertwined bodies, reality began to seep back in. You broke the kiss, suddenly overwhelmed by the magnitude of what had just happened.

"Nick, I..." you started, unsure of what to say.

He pressed a finger to your lips, silencing you. "Shh. Don't overthink this," he said softly. "We both wanted it. We both enjoyed it."

You nodded, unable to deny the truth in his words. Nick reached behind you to turn off the shower, then grabbed a large, fluffy towel. He wrapped it around you, then got a towel for himself.

As he dried off, Nick's eyes never left yours, a mixture of satisfaction and something deeper swirling in their blue depths. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt, thinking about Ari and the night before. As if reading your thoughts, Nick stepped closer, cupping your face in his hands.

"I know what you're thinking," he murmured, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "But don't. This doesn't have to complicate things. It can be our secret."

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. Nick leaned in, pressing an unexpectedly soft kiss to your forehead before stepping back. He wrapped the towel around his waist and headed for the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.

"Sweet dreams," he said with a wink, slipping out of the bathroom and leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts.

You finished drying off in a daze, your mind replaying the events of the past two nights. As you pulled on your pajamas, you couldn't help but wonder what the next day would bring. Would Ari return for another late-night visit? Would Nick act as if nothing had happened, just as Ari had?

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[awkward-walking-potato]

“I couldn’t find a costume, so I just decided to go as your [partner/bf/gf].” that's a Remy line if i've ever heard one. Remy x reader, please?

Trick or Treat

The hallways of the X-Mansion buzzed with excitement. Decorations were scattered all around—ghosts hung from the ceiling, pumpkins lined the steps, and eerie green lighting bathed everything in a festive, spooky glow. The team had been planning the Halloween party for weeks, and you—new to the X-Men—had been eagerly anticipating your first real opportunity to bond with everyone.

You’d received the invitation the night before, scribbled in Rogue’s bold handwriting: "Halloween Party: Must Be in Costume or No Entry!"The requirement had made you nervous. You didn’t want to show up without a costume and risk feeling left out, but you also didn’t want to overdo it and look ridiculous in front of your new teammates.

After pacing back and forth for a bit, you finally settled on something cute but simple: a rabbit costume. It wasn’t anything too elaborate—just soft bunny ears, a white cotton tail, and a cozy dress that you hoped would strike the perfect balance between fun and low-key.

As you walked through the mansion’s corridors, your nerves built with each step. You smoothed out your dress and adjusted the bunny ears, making sure they were perfectly in place. With one final deep breath, you headed for the room where the party was being held, faint laughter and music spilling out into the hallway.

However, before you reached the door, a figure caught your eye.

There, leaning casually against the wall, was none other than Remy LeBeau—Gambit himself. You’d heard the stories about him, his charm and his flirtatious nature, but you hadn’t interacted with him much since you joined the team. He was dressed in his usual attire: a dark leather trench coat, fingerless gloves, and his signature red eyes glowing mischievously beneath his tousled hair. No costume.

You raised an eyebrow, coming to a stop just a few feet away from him. “No costume, Gambit? I thought the invite said ‘costume or no entry.’”

He looked up with a grin that could melt steel, his gaze sweeping over your rabbit outfit with obvious approval. He stood up straight and slowly approached you, taking his time to make sure you felt the full weight of his attention.

“Chère,” he said, his Cajun accent dripping with charm, “I couldn’t find a costume in time.”

Your brow furrowed. “So… you’re not going in?”

He leaned in slightly, his lips curling into a playful smirk. “Actually, I decided t’ go as somethin’ easy.”

You blinked in confusion. “What’s that?”

Remy’s eyes locked onto yours, and with a wink, he replied smoothly, “Your boyfriend.”

The air between you seemed to crackle with heat at his words, and your cheeks instantly flushed as you stared at him, your heartbeat picking up. “M-my what?” you stammered, your brain taking a second to catch up with what he was implying.

“My costume, ma belle,” he repeated, stepping even closer. His voice dropped to a teasing whisper as he looked into your eyes. “Couldn’t think of anything better than pretendin’ t’ be the lucky guy who gets t’ be with a cute li’l bunny like you.”

Your mind went blank for a second, but you quickly regained your composure, though your face remained warm with embarrassment—and maybe a little bit of excitement. “That’s… that’s not exactly how costumes work,” you managed, crossing your arms in mock indignation, though you couldn’t hide the amused smile tugging at your lips.

Remy chuckled softly, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Oh, I think it works just fine,” he teased, taking one of your hands and lifting it to his lips. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the back of your hand, his eyes never leaving yours. “Besides, I think we make a pretty good pair, don’t you?”

The gesture sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your face. “You really are shameless, you know that?”

“Only when it’s worth it,” Remy replied, his voice low and smooth. He let go of your hand, but not before brushing his thumb lightly over your knuckles in a way that made your pulse race.

Just then, Rogue appeared at the door, her hands on her hips and an amused smirk on her face as she took in the scene. “Remy, y’all best be gettin’ a costume or you ain’t getting in, sugar,” she called out teasingly. “Rules are rules.”

Remy shot Rogue a knowing grin, then turned back to you, leaning in close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. “Guess I better find a real costume then,” he murmured. “But, I’ll be back for that dance with my little bunny. Don’t hop away, *chère.*”

Before you could respond, he winked at you again and sauntered off, his trench coat swaying as he disappeared down the hallway, leaving you flustered and amused in equal measure.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and turned back toward the party, shaking your head with a smile. Remy LeBeau was definitely trouble—trouble with a grin and a dangerously charming accent. And somehow, you couldn’t wait to see what kind of trouble he stirred up next.

As you stepped into the party, your mind replayed his words over and over, wondering just how many more "costumes" Remy had in store for you.

[kakujis]

you only call me on the weekend.

warnings: afab!fem reader, situationship, unrequited feelings, oliver can't admit he loves you, praise, creamp*e, implied multiple rounds, that should be it! not proofread.

ft + wc: oliver aiku hehe. around 1.6k

a/n: THIS IS A REPOST! I'm trying to get back into the swing of things, but alas, I am extremely busy with end of semester stuff. This got fl*gged so I'm hoping this repost can make it to more ppl, mwah to all the new Oliver lovers!!

you hate oliver aiku. you hate the missed calls, the times he’s stood you up, and the amount of times he’s left you on read. but when your phone chimed that night and you saw his name etched across the brightly lit screen of your phone, you didn’t hesitate to open it. 

oliver♡: hey baby, you free tonight? 

don’t respond. don’t fall so easily. don’t give him what he wants. this is the mantra that you tell yourself every time he pops up, whenever the other girls he pursues turns him down and he tries to come crawling back to you for the sake of getting his dick wet. 

but you’re weak for him and that’s why you respond without fail every time. 

y/n: i might be. why? 

you bite your lip, fuck, you know why. 

oliver♡: i miss you, pretty girl. that’s why. let me come over, yeah? 

that stupid phrase has your thighs rubbing together and you can feel your resolve, what little you had anyway, cracking. 

y/n: mm, dunno. 

oliver♡: you don’t miss me? 

say no, your mind screams, for once, don’t let him get his way. 

y/n: …maybe a little. 

oliver♡: be there soon, <3. 

y/n: that doesn’t mean come over! 

you sigh, frowning and turning your phone off before tossing it to the side. you try to immerse yourself back into the show you were watching, but the prospect of oliver coming made your hands clammy and you’re unsure if it’s due to nerves or excitement.

there’s a knock on your door and your stomach drops, fuck that was fast. of course he was nearby, he knows you can’t say no. and that's the annoying part, that he was waiting nearby, planning, no, knowing that you would let him in.

as you walk over, you steel yourself, you’re gonna give him a piece of your mind this time. if he wants to keep fucking you, then he needs to put a little more effort in. yeah, that’s it, that’s what you’ll say. 

but as soon as the door opens, he’s on you. you can’t even get a syllable out before he’s slamming you against the wall and crashing his lips onto yours. he kisses you like he’s starving, like you’re the first meal he’s had in years.

you can barely breathe, the air sucked out of your lungs as he picks you up, your legs naturally curling around his waist, while your nails are digging into his shoulders as he turns and kicks the door shut. 

he’s fast, barely stumbling down the hallway as he walks you to the bedroom. throwing you down onto the bed, you’re given a moment of respite, gasping. 

“oliver-“ you try, but he’s back on you instantly, slipping his tongue in, while some drool runs from your mouth. he tugs at the waistband of your shorts, before sliding them off.

his fingers ghost your clothed pussy, groaning when he feels the wet patch on your undies. he leaves your mouth to leave sloppy, wet kisses across your cheek before he’s growling in your ear, “you’re always soaked when i’m around, aren’t you?” 

you whine out a needy and breathless, “mhm,” mind already hazy and resistance long gone. you tug at his shirt and he gives a light laugh, that makes your heart ache, before pulling it off. 

“your turn.” he says and you scramble to take yours off. “god, you’re so pretty.” he hums, hand trailing through the valley of your breasts, making you tremble. you burn under his hungry gaze, trying to look away, but he catches you. your chin caught between the pad of his thumb and pointer finger, “eyes on me.” 

you watch as he takes your panties off next, another hum of approval from him when he sees your glistening folds. he was right, you were soaked and eager, your body reacting to every touch or word he gives.

you hate oliver aiku. you hate how he makes you burn with the desire, how every touch of his hand across the expanse of your skin has you whimpering. you hate that he always knows what to say to keep you wrapped around his finger, his words keeping you collared to him. 

but god do you love the stretch of his thick cock as it slides into your dripping cunt, mewling as he sinks down, inch by inch. he grits his teeth as he bottoms out, stilling a bit to let you adjust, before he’s driving into you like he hasn’t seen you in years. 

sometimes, you think you were made for him. the way no other fling ever brings you as high as oliver does. his cock hits all the right places, your face contorted in pleasure as the slap! of skin against skin reverberates within the room. or maybe, you think like that because he tells you that. “fuck baby,” he hisses, “ah, you were fucking made for me, shit.” 

oliver knows you like the palm of his hand. he knows when you want him to talk to you sweetly. he knows when you want him to growl obscenities in your ear. but most of all, he knows you always want him to fuck you stupid. 

your whines are like music to his ears, as he thrusts into you, heavy balls against your ass. your head falls back against the pillow, eyes closing as you let the pleasure wash over you. but oliver tsks, hooking his thumb into your mouth and jerking it downward. your eyes fly open as he grunts, “i said, eyes on me.” 

“s-sorry,” you whimper, trying to maintain eye contact with him, “ah, fuck!” but you just can’t, each thrust against your sweet spot has your eyes rolling back. you feel his hand on the back of your head, making sure you can’t throw it back, he wants to see it all, every fucked out expression you’ll give him. 

it’s part of his ego to see you come undone on him. he loves that such a pretty thing like you lets him ruin you. in fact he craves it so much that he’s basically stopped sleeping around with others. he thinks you’re the cutest thing to cream on his cock, especially when you paw and whine that “ts too much!” 

unfortunately for him, he’s not gonna be able to hold back this time. the noises you’re making are too pretty and the clench of your pussy feels too good. he’s sure this is the closest to love he’s ever gotten. 

“‘m gonna,” you gasp, glassy eyes gazing up into his, “oliver, i’m-“ 

“i know, baby,” he coos, “you’re, ah, gonna cum right? cum for me, yeah?” 

it’s embarrassing how quickly you do, the legs wrapped around him trembling as you clench down on his cock, vision blurring. 

“that’s it,” he praises, fucking you through your high, “good fuckin’ girl.” and it’s not long til he’s coming undone too, groaning as he fills your pussy up, painting it in hot white ropes. 

he pulls you in and you squeak, before he’s pressing a deep kiss into your lips. it’s the first time he’s done this and you’re caught off guard by the intimacy. but you don’t fight it, closing your eyes as he gives you kiss after kiss. 

“let me stay the night.” he says in between kisses and you pull away, pushing his face back with your hand. you blink at him, perplexed. did he get hit in the head? not only has he not pulled out, but he’s even asking to stay the night? 

“… who are you and what have you done with oliver aiku?” but he laughs at your confused expression. 

“c’mon, i drove all the way here princess.” he teases and you tilt your head, brow furrowed. it’s annoying, as if you’ve never done that for him before. he’s not sure you notice the way that turns him on, but the blood’s already started rushing to his once softening cock. 

you do notice and you frown, “you just wanna fuck me again.” 

“what’s so wrong with that?” he asks and you groan, pushing him off hard enough that he slips out of you. you roll over, curling up into your side, feeling his seed drip onto the sheets. 

“ugh, just go away oliver. i need to take a shower.” you feel stupid, dumb, and a little used but you refuse to cry in his presence, making a mental note that you really need to cut things off. but settles in next to you, throwing his arms over you and pulling you close. 

“that’s not the only reason,” he sighs and your heart flutters,  “besides, have i ever told you you’re my favorite?” 

“not funny.” you deadpan, it’s stupid but your heart does feel a little lighter. you feel his hands wander over your body and you curse yourself for being so weak, feeling his stubble brush against your skin before he presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“i just wanna spend some time with you, i missed you.” he murmurs, breath hot on your ear. your breath hitches as he finds your puffy clit, rubbing slow, sticky circles. 

“fine… but only because i love you.” you whimper as you spread your legs for him again, giving in for the nth time. you hate oliver aiku, but only because you’re so stupid in love with him. he knows, but he bites back the urge to say it back and let you know that you don't have to worry about it. you're not just his favorite, but his one and only.

“good girl.” he growls, before hooking a hand on the back of your knee, spreading you wider. maybe one day he’ll say it back. 

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (1/?)

“I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand,” you say, hands retreating into the pockets of your white coat. Leigh takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knows will be a difficult conversation.

“I recently found out that my husband was cheating on me,” she says, her green eyes boring into yours. “With you.” Or the one where you fall in love with the widow of an ex-lover you never knew was married.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6k+ | Warnings: None for now | A/N: I wrote about 30k words of the Succession Wanda but hit a wall in terms of plot progression. So that's on hold. Allow me to apologize with this two-shot. P.S. I've always wanted to write for Leigh, and this idea came out of nowhere. Loosely based on canon.

Masterlist | Next Part

-

Leigh wakes up in a bed that’s not hers for the first time in months, and the unfamiliar scent of freshly cut grass and cedarwood almost immediately overwhelms her senses, suffocating her with its cloying sweetness.

“Jules?” she croaks out, her mind clawing its way through the fog. When it lifts a few seconds later, Leigh realizes where she is and what she’s done.

And how she’s very, very naked underneath the sheets. 

The person lying next to her in the bed starts to move. Right away, she knows it's not her sister, unless she's somehow caught up in a prank she doesn't find amusing at all. And so, she braces herself for her dead husband’s brother's voice to shatter the silence.

But it never comes. Instead, an arm drapes itself across her stomach, pulling her towards warmth. Leigh gets the sudden urge to vomit, except she skipped dinner and there isn’t anything to bring up. Last night, in a desperate attempt to fill the void left by Matt's absence, she had reached out to someone she shouldn't have. Someone Leigh didn’t even like to begin with. A knot tightens further in her stomach as she considers what her husband’s ghost would think. 

Would he approve? Would he feel betrayed or disgusted as she does?

Careful not to disturb Danny, who still sleeps soundly beside her, Leigh slips out of bed with the grace of a cat. She gathers her clothes from the floor and dresses herself with heavy limbs, each garment reminding her of how Danny had taken them off her body. 

As messed up as it sounds, Leigh can't help but draw parallels between him and Matt. They share the same blood, but there's not a single trait in Danny that triggers memories of Matt. With Danny, it's all about his own desires, his movements reflecting his wants. But with Matt, it's like he's always bending to Leigh’s will, submitting to her.

It tears Leigh’s heart anew. 

As she finishes dressing, Leigh glances around searching for her watch. She second-guesses whether she even wore it last night, the disarray of her thoughts mirrored in the disarray of the room. Her eyes scan the bedside table, the floor, and the dresser, but there's no sign of the timepiece.

A sudden sound from Danny startles her, and she freezes in place. She doesn't believe she can prevent herself from literally bolting out of the house if he so much as breathes her name. She’s rooted in her spot however, waiting for his breathing to steady, her heart pounding in her ears. Only when she's certain he's in a deep slumber does she release a pent-up breath, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. In that moment, she mentally curses herself once more, acutely aware of the mess she's created, before tiptoeing towards the bedroom door and abandoning the search for her watch altogether.

As she considers her options, she entertains the idea of escaping town altogether. Maybe if she leaves, she can avoid Danny for the coming days, possibly forever. Leigh wonders if she ever made Matt feel this trapped, inadvertently pushing him to leave in the only way he knew she could never follow.

-

Several days after ignoring Danny’s calls and attempts to talk to her, he retaliates by telling her the most absurd thing about his brother.

He tells Leigh she wasn’t the only one. There had been two others in the last year. 

And the last one, he fell for hard. Or at least that’s what Danny believes.

“I don’t believe you,” she says, her eyes beginning to sting a little. “If you think making me hate Matt would change my mind about us, then—”

“I’m not trying to manipulate you, Leigh,” Danny interrupts calmly, shaking his head. “I just believe you deserve to know the truth. Maybe it'll help you stop blaming yourself and move on.”

“It just seems a little too convenient that this 'truth' works in your favor to tarnish Matt's reputation, doesn't it?” Leigh points out with a humorless smile. She’s always thought the worst of Danny, but she never imagined he’d go as far as fabricating a story just to get her on his side.

“I understand your skepticism, I do. I couldn’t believe it at first either,” he says, his gaze dropping to the ground as if the transgression he’s confessing were his own, not Matt’s. “But think about it. Have you ever walked in on Matt just as he's ending a call? Noticed how he's suddenly started spending more time at work, consistently twice a week? And what about his sudden interest in going to the gym and being conscious about what he eats? These are all signs, Leigh.”

His words push her to think about it, even though she doesn't want to. Leigh starts to reflect on how Matt had stopped leaving his phone unattended during showers, how he had suddenly logged off his social media accounts from her laptop, or the noticeable enhancement of his physique—all juxtaposed against a lingering decrease in his appetite for intimacy with his wife.

“I…” Leigh hesitates, searching for a rebuttal but finding none. Then Danny gives her a look—one of pity and longing that makes her want to crawl out of her skin—and suddenly she finds herself vehemently denying all of it.

“I still don’t believe you,” she says, desperately clinging to the last shreds of the illusion she had crafted around her marriage.

Danny's expression remains unreadable and it drives her further up the wall. “Fine. Believe what you want, Leigh. I'm just trying to look out for you.”

Leigh's jaw tightens. “Regardless of what you say—whether it’s real or not—I know what I want, and it's not to be with you.”

He keeps up the stony facade, opting instead to pull a card out of his wallet and hand it to her. Leigh accepts the card, her fingers quivering, as a solitary tear finally breaks free and trails down her cheek.

Danny begins to reach out, intending to brush away her tear, but hesitates at the last moment, withdrawing his hand. 

“See for yourself. Goodbye, Leigh.”

-

Just two days later, Leigh finds herself in front of the small animal clinic you own, situated a short walk away from Beautiful Beast—the fitness studio her mom owns and where she works. 

Though the sun hangs low in the sky, she's been awake long before it began to rise. She waits for the receptionist to flip the sign from “Sorry, we’re closed” to “Come in, we’re open,” ignoring the curious glance directed her way when the receptionist notices she isn’t accompanied by a furry companion. With a determined smile on her lips, Leigh pushes open the door and steps into the clinic knowing she'll leave it with answers—whatever they might be.

The receptionist looks up from her computer, her expression shifting from curiosity to concern when she sees the look on Leigh's face. “Can I help you?” 

Leigh clears her throat, trying to steady her voice. She tells her she’s looking for you, her words coming out in a rush.

The receptionist furrows her brow. “Do you have an appointment?”

Leigh shakes her head, blinking rapidly as she comes up with an excuse. “No, it's... it's urgent,” she stammers. “I need to speak to her right away.”

The receptionist appears mildly annoyed, but it doesn’t faze Leigh in the slightest. “I'll check if she's available. Please take a seat,” she says.

Leigh nods mutely and sinks into one of the chairs. She clasps her hands together tightly in her lap, trying to quell the rising tide of panic threatening to consume her. She imagines Matt’s ghost watching her this very second, frowning at her doubts about their relationship by coming here in the first place. 

And what if she’s wrong? What if Matt wasn’t cheating on her after all? But Leigh had to come here to put the issue to rest. Matt would understand why she needs to do this. He always did. 

A few moments later, the door behind the reception desk opens and the receptionist emerges from it, motioning for Leigh to enter. 

Leigh finds you standing behind your desk, your back to her, arranging a stack of medical records on the shelf.

“Dr. Y/N?” Leigh calls out softly.

You turn around at the sound of her voice, and when she sees you for the first time, Leigh immediately knows.

Danny was telling the truth. It takes everything in her not to break down in front of a stranger her husband fell in love with.

You, however, don’t recognize the woman standing before you, thinking perhaps she's simply one of your past clients. You offer Leigh a contrite smile. “You wanted to see me? Miss…?”

“Leigh Shaw.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell either, but you keep a friendly smile on your face. 

Leigh hesitates for a moment before continuing, her voice sounding fragile. “I need to talk to you about my husband,” she says, studying your clueless face. You're stunning and accomplished—a doctor and a businesswoman. You have a smile that could brighten even the darkest room.

Matt never stood a chance, did he?

“I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand,” you say, hands retreating into the pockets of your white coat.

Leigh takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knows will be a difficult conversation. 

“I recently found out that my husband was cheating on me,” she says, her green eyes boring into yours. “With you.”

-

After leaving your clinic, Leigh heads straight to Matt’s grave, stomping angrily on the sparse sheet of grass that has begun to sprout from his resting place.

“You're such a fucking liar!” she spits out at the unsusceptible headstone, the heat of fury spreading through her veins and to every molecule in her body. The cold wind lashes through her hair as Leigh drops to her knees, feeling like the entire world is bearing down on her. She reaches out to touch the cold marble of the headstone, still seeking solace from the one who caused her so much hurt.

“Why, Matt?”

She knows there will be no answers—only the cold silence of death.

Leigh feels a surge of anger rise within her once more as she recalls the way you looked at her—the pain in your eyes when she revealed to you that Matt had died. What you two had was real, as real as what she had with him. She had been hoping it was at least just a fling, but alas, she couldn’t be further from her assumptions.

“I can't believe I ever loved you,” Leigh mutters bitterly. She wants to scream, to rage against the injustice of it all. But all she can do is clutch at the grass beneath her, her nails digging into the earth as if trying to anchor herself against the torrent of pain crippling her chest. Tears stream down her face as she finally collapses to the ground, assuming a fetal position, whispering, “I can't believe I still do.”

-

You continue to stare at the space that Leigh previously occupied for a good ten minutes, not moving an inch from where you stood—shocked, hurt, confused. Matt, the man you had been seeing, was dead. And not just dead, but married. Married to someone else, someone named Leigh Shaw, a name so important but he managed to hide from you for weeks. 

Matt had never mentioned a wife, never wore a ring, never hinted at the existence of someone waiting for him at home. If he had, you would never have let him get as close to you like he did. You've always respected boundaries and families—and now you've discovered that unwittingly, you've destroyed one.

Leigh's departure was swift, just as soon as you confessed to having feelings for her husband and how Matt reciprocated those same feelings. Leigh, ruthless in her questioning, demanded to know if you had slept with Matt. You swore you never did, detailing how Matt abruptly ghosted you after your first kiss, leaving you with nothing but unanswered texts and missed calls. 

You wanted so badly for Leigh to believe you, and you think she did. However, none of it mattered in the end. He cheated all the same. He hurt the woman he made a promise to love and stay faithful to. 

Because of you.

You feel sickened by your own naivety; by the way you have allowed yourself to be fooled by his lies. And yet, amidst the anger and self-recrimination, there is a profound sense of loss. Despite the circumstances of your relationship, you had cared for Matt deeply. Maybe even loved him.

But how much of it was real? How much of it was not about him running from his problems with his wife and using you as a distraction? The ease with which he slipped out of your life suddenly fits into place.

While his passing deeply rattled you, it's now largely overshadowed by thoughts of his widow.

Leigh Shaw.

Earlier, even though you said sorry over and over, it felt like it wasn't enough, and you wanted to do more to make her feel better. What stopped you was the realization that you're likely the last person she would want comfort from. A sense of helplessness washes over you as you come to the conclusion that there's nothing you can do to undo the damage that's been done. Matt is gone, and Leigh's world has been shattered in ways you can't even begin to imagine. 

Moving on from Matt is something you know you could do. He wasn’t the first person to break your heart, be it through deceit or demise. But the situation with Leigh is unfamiliar territory.

How do you fix this for her? 

Will she even let you?

-

When Leigh tells Jules about Matt’s infidelity, her sister fixates on the detail that she slept with Danny. It’s not the response Leigh expected. She anticipated shock, and maybe even a bit of outrage on her behalf. But instead, Jules latches onto the one detail that seems to pale in comparison to the enormity of Matt's betrayal.

“But how could you?” Jules asks, her voice incredulous as she chews on a dumpling. “How could you sleep with Danny?”

Faced with her sister's disapproval, Leigh finds herself clamming up. “Are you kidding? I just told you that Matt was cheating on me, and your response is to judge me for hooking up with a single guy while I'm single?” Leigh retorts, hastily wiping her lips with a napkin.

Jules just shakes her head, putting down her chopsticks. “Leigh, I get it. Matt’s betrayal is awful, and you have every right to be angry. But the ‘single guy’ you hooked up with isn't just any guy, and you know it. You don't think it's weird? What would people think? That all this time, sleeping with your husband’s brother has always been an option?”

Leigh's eyes widen in shock, and for a moment, she's speechless. She hadn't—didn't want to entertain the idea of what sleeping with Danny would imply. She was chasing a feeling; any feeling that wasn’t emptiness. And with Danny, she did feel something, even if it was regret and shame. At least it proved she was still capable of feeling at all.

“It… just happened,” Leigh murmurs, rubbing her temples. Hollowness and migraines, she's almost forgotten.

“And? Is it going to be a ‘thing’?” Jules probes, eyebrows raised.

Leigh lifts her gaze, biting back a defensive retort. Instead she simply says, “Absolutely not.”

Jules seems satisfied with that, knocking back the rest of her beer. “Good.”

But as Jules moves on, Leigh’s left stewing in her own thoughts. Telling Jules felt like yelling into a void—exhausting and utterly pointless. Now she’s dreading the thought of breaking the news to Drew. If Jules’ reaction was any indication, she’s in for another round of disappointment. 

Being a young widow already sets her apart, but nothing makes her feel more alone than her family's inability to truly grasp her grief. She guesses she's been feeling alone for years, long before Matt came into her life and subsequently left it.

Jules, catching the tail end of Leigh's distant look, leans in and asks, “So, what's the plan now? You still going to that grief counseling group? Danny's been showing up there, right?”

Leigh's gaze sharpens, a bit taken aback by the sudden shift back to practicalities. “Are you asking about my plans with Danny? Because I already told you, that's over. I'm never seeing him again.”

Jules raises her hands in a placating gesture, mindful that one wrong move could tip Leigh over the edge for good. “Not really, no. I'm asking if you're still keen on processing your grief. Now that it turns out Matt was... well, a snake.”

Jules calling Matt a snake doesn't sit well with Leigh even with his cheating coming to light. But she supposes it's Jules' way of being on her side every once in a while. It's a clumsy attempt, but an attempt nonetheless.

“Yeah, I'm still going,” Leigh finally says, her gaze dropping to her lap before meeting Jules' eyes again. “Not for Danny, not for anyone else, but for me. Turns out, finding out your rotting husband was living a double life does a number on you. Who knew, right?”

Jules cracks a small, rueful smile at that and says, “Who knew indeed.”

Leigh thinks back to the time when she believed she knew Matt inside and out, a belief so deeply ingrained it felt like a cornerstone of her identity as his wife. She prided herself on their connection, convinced that they shared everything—every thought, every fear, every dream. It was a pride rooted in the belief that she knew him better than anyone else could, and he, her, in the same intimate manner.

It was the kind of recognition that’s not only about knowing his favorite color or the way he took his coffee. It’s deeper and more layered. She knew the exact tone of voice he'd use when he was about to apologize, the look in his eyes when he was holding back tears, the subtle shift in his posture when he was trying to be braver than he felt. And she thought he knew her just as intricately—the silent language of her sighs, the meaning behind her quietest smiles, the small, everyday details that they believed only they could understand about each other.

“It's hard, you know? Feeling like you're mourning someone who never really existed,” Leigh mumbles after a long pause.

“Yeah, I can't even imagine,” Jules responds, reaching across the table to give Leigh's hand a brief squeeze. “But I'm here, okay? Even if I don't always get it right.”

Jules, Drew, Danny, her mom—all of them—rarely get it right. It has always been Matt. 

He has always been all she has and needed. 

Even if Leigh wasn't aware that she was probably just getting his scraps.

-

Maybe it was me, Leigh keeps thinking over the next several days. Maybe I pushed him to it.

It doesn’t help that there’s a new member who has also been widowed, and she’s sharing about her late husband who had quite a number of mistresses throughout their eighteen years of marriage.

Leigh listens, her fingers twisted together in her lap, as the woman talks about the signs she missed, the lies she believed.

“I just keep thinking,” the woman's voice breaks, “if I'd been more attentive, more... I don't know, less demanding, maybe things would've been different.”

Maybe it was me, Leigh keeps screaming inside. Maybe I pushed him to it.

-

It took Leigh a long time to return to the apartment she shared with Matt after his passing. 

Mostly, it's because Leigh found it difficult to confront the scattered remnants of him that would remain untouched in his absence. No longer would he be picking up his favorite shirt or completing another page of his crossword puzzle book. Yet, these belongings would remain his, just as Leigh felt she still belonged to him.

So it’s ironic that now, surrounded by the same belongings in her bedroom at her mother’s home, she's being overwhelmed by the impulse to turn them all into ashes. In a sudden frenzy, Leigh grabs a box and begins to throw everything inside. The sound of her ragged breathing fills the room, only matched by the soft thuds of objects landing in the cardboard. 

“Stupid fucking toys!” she shouts, tossing a figurine with more force than necessary.

“And this shirt—what were you thinking?” She grabs a garishly patterned fabric, shaking it at the empty air as if expecting an answer.

Her voice cracks, “You're not even here, and you're driving me crazy!”

As Leigh's wrath burns through the remnants of Matt’s life, her thoughts take a dark turn. The things he owned, the pieces of his life flying from her hand—it all leads her back to the one person who had a piece of him, a piece that was never hers.

The thought of your face, the one that belonged to him too at one point, flashes in her mind, and she's on the edge of losing all control. 

If only Leigh could throw you into the box too.

Finally, she finds the book he gave her for her last birthday, the one she never read, and for a moment, her movements pause. Then, with a cry of anguish, she tosses it in as well. When the box is full, she kicks it. Once, twice, thrice—each kick releasing a burst of pent-up fury until she's gasping for breath.

A knock at the door startles her. It's soft but persistent, making it obvious that whoever is outside has heard the commotion in her room. “Leigh, honey, are you done in there?” Amy's voice seeps through the wood.

Leigh wipes at her eyes. “Almost. I, uh… just give me a minute,” she calls back. She’s not done—not really. But she’ll probably set the house on fire if she doesn’t stop here.

Pushing herself up, Leigh opens the door. She knows the sight she presents isn't pretty—eyes swollen red, nose a mess, and those dark circles. But her mom has seen this look more times than either would care to count.

“You okay?” her mom asks, though the answer's written all over Leigh's face.

Leigh shakes her head, no energy to pretend.

“Want some breakfast?”

Again, “No,” slips out.

Then, “Need a ride to the studio?” her mom tries again.

“Yes,” Leigh finds herself saying, clinging to the offer like a lifeline, a small acknowledgment that life, somehow, must go on.

-

The following day, Leigh looks at the box, then at everything around her. She mutters, “Screw this,” and starts pulling everything out of the box, putting it all back where it came from.

-

Leigh's back at running, not because she loves it, but because the sun insists on poking her awake before the rest of the world stirs. It's an old hobby, dusted off to fill the gaping mornings before her first yoga class. 

It’s easy to do because she realizes she’s good at it. Leigh’s only been at it for just a couple of weeks and already she's feeling fitter, faster. She likes the pain too, not being aware before that there are different kinds of pain, and some of them do feel good—addicting even. 

Mid-thought, her routine jog takes a wild left turn: stranded in the middle of the bustling traffic is a French Bulldog, looking decidedly out of place. Ignoring the honks and the near misses, Leigh bolts across the street. It's a bit of a mad dash, dodging cars that are swerving and braking hard. She scoops him up in her arms and doesn’t stop to think about the close calls. 

It hits her then—she's surprised at her own gutsiness, not even pausing to think that she could've been clipped by a car not paying attention. Maybe all this time spent wrestling with thoughts of death has brought her to a strange peace with it and is no longer scared of it. It's like she's danced with death so much, it's just another shadow she passes by—not something that paralyzes her in place anymore.

Leigh’s not sure if being this fearless is actually a good thing though.

After cooling her heels on the sidewalk for half an hour, with no owner in sight, she shrugs and decides he’s coming home with her.

Jules gives her a scrutinizing look the moment she walks in. “What, you went out for a run and decided to get a dog?”

“Rescue mission,” Leigh shoots back, setting the dog down. “Found him in the middle of Second Street. Seems he’s lost.”

Jules doesn't miss a beat, heading straight for the newcomer. She kneels, her hands gently petting the dog, her eyes softening in a way that Leigh rarely sees. The dog, clearly pleased with the attention, wags its tail vigorously. Her eyes are practically giving her away, so it sounds almost funny when she looks up at Leigh and says, “Just don't get too attached, okay?”

“I won’t, which is why I named him Visitor. It’s temporary,” Leigh says with a smile, looking very proud of the name she came up with.

Jules chuckles, standing up and brushing off her knees. “Nerd. Matt would've gotten a kick out of that.”

The room just freezes at the mention of his name. Talking about Matt is like walking into a glass door you didn't see.

Jules tries to backpedal, “Hey, sorry, I—” But Leigh's quick to brush it off with a shrug. 

“Don't worry about it. Let's just figure out where Visitor here belongs, okay?”

As they refocus on Visitor, Jules can't help but notice the way the dog favors one leg as he trots over to sit snugly between Leigh's legs, looking up at her with those big, trusting eyes. “Looks like he's got a bit of a limp,” Jules points out.

Leigh frowns and leans down to get a closer look, her fingers gently probing around Visitor's leg until she finds a tender spot. The moment she applies a little pressure, Visitor yelps, pulling away sharply and retreating a few steps.

Jules winces at the reaction. “Yeah, that's not good. Maybe we should take him to a vet?”

Leigh can barely hold back a grimace as her brain immediately links you to the situation.

“What's wrong?” Jules notices the sudden shift in Leigh’s mood. “There's St. Mary's Animal Clinic nearby. I heard they're great.”

That's your clinic. Leigh's throat tightens at the thought, the memories of her visit flooding back. “Are there others around here?”

Jules looks puzzled at the question. “I mean, I can look it up, but what's wrong with St. Mary's?”

Leigh considers whether she should tell Jules about meeting you. Part of her really knows it’s unfair to dislike you, especially if you genuinely didn't know Matt was married. But she knows Jules too well—tell her, and it'll turn into a whole thing. Leigh's not sure she's up for that drama.

Despite her reservations, Leigh decides to bite the bullet, her curiosity getting the better of her. Besides, if she can’t be brave enough to talk about this in her counseling group, she should probably at least tell Jules.

“Actually, Jules,” Leigh begins, “St. Mary's Animal Clinic is where... where she works.”

Jules's eyes widen in shock, her hand flying to her mouth. “Wait, you mean... you mean her, as in…?” she stammers, disbelief written all over her face.

“Yup,” Leigh confirms, smacking her lips forcefully. 

“Oh my god—that bitch,” Jules spits out, her voice dripping with disdain before Leigh can even brace for impact.

“She didn’t know Matt’s married,” Leigh clarifies quickly.

“And you bought that?”

“I had a feeling she was telling the truth. Besides, I can’t imagine Matt being that brazen to pursue someone while married. He can be a little self-righteous sometimes,” Leigh says, only half-sure of her statement. Recently, she has to remind herself that maybe she never really knew him at all.

Then, an idea sparks in Jules's mind. “You know what?” she says, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Maybe this is a good opportunity. After all, she owes you one, right? Maybe she'll treat Visitor for free, to make up for being... well, you know.”

Leigh rubs her nose, skeptical of the idea. “I don't know, Jules. I don't want to impose…”

Jules leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I mean, if she's the reason you're hurting, maybe she should make it right?”

She isn't hurting because of you, not directly. That's why Jules’ suggestion hangs in the air, unappealing. Leigh remembers the pity in your eyes from that morning, and she doesn't want it. She doesn't want anything from you at all. Her resolve instantly hardens like ice. 

“No,” Leigh finally says. “I don't want her charity. I'll pay for Visitor's bills myself. And I'll keep the receipts for when his real owners show up.” It's a decision that feels surprisingly empowering, a small reclaiming of control in a world that's felt off-kilter for too long.

Jules merely sighs; she knows better than to push Leigh when her mind’s made up. 

“Have it your way.”

-

Leigh brings Visitor to St. Mary’s the very next day.

There's a certain set to her jaw, a readiness for something less than pleasant. She doesn’t need to go through reception this time because she spots you right away, escorting a client to the door, cradling their puppy in your arms. Seeing you with a pet makes Leigh realize why you’ve chosen this profession. You fit right in among the animals, she muses bitterly.

It's with a sense of satisfaction that she watches your smile dissipate as soon as your eyes land on hers. 

She strides confidently towards you, dog in arms, forcing you to quickly hand off the puppy back to its owner. Yet, you recover with a swiftness that's begrudgingly admirable as you give her a look that’s equal parts professional and friendly—like you were actually looking forward to seeing her again.

“Good morning, Leigh. How can I help you?”

Without a word, Leigh extends the dog she’s carrying towards you, a silent transfer of trust, or perhaps, necessity. You gesture towards the consultation room, an invitation she accepts with a terse nod, following you into the space where you effortlessly shift into doctor mode.

As you begin to charm her dog, she can't help but narrow her eyes. It irks her, watching Visitor take to you instantly, as if you were old friends. “What's his name?” you ask, looking up at Leigh.

“Visitor.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the name, just in time for your irises to capture the light seeping through the office blinds. They glow a hazel-brown, disarmingly so. Leigh forces herself to focus back on the purpose of her visit. 

Leigh continues, “He’s limping on his left hind leg. I’d appreciate it if you can prescribe him something. I'll try not to take up too much of your time.”

Ignoring the undercurrent of Leigh's insinuation, your attention remains undividedly on Visitor. The well-being of the dog before you eclipses any personal sentiments, as it always does. 

“I'm sorry, but before we can consider any medication, I need to examine him thoroughly. It's possible he might require some lab tests to rule out anything serious,” you tell her. Despite sounding apologetic, Leigh interprets it as your polite way of telling her to fuck off and let you do your job.

As you palpate the dog's leg carefully, you begin your routine questions. “Can you tell me his birthday? Any vaccination history?”

They’re basic, but they seem to catch Leigh off guard anyway. “He’s not mine. I found him on the street yesterday,” she reveals with a reluctant sigh.

The news prompts a more detailed response from you. 

“I see. In that case, we should definitely line up some tests for Visitor. We need to ensure he doesn't have distemper or any other airborne virus that could be affecting his mobility,” you suggest, already mentally cataloging the necessary procedures.

You start detailing the tests you intend to perform, explaining their purposes and associated costs. Leigh is clearly deluged by it all and you decide to take pity on the poor woman by adding that it’s still up to her which tests to proceed with, if any at all.

“Your call, Leigh,” you tell her.

Leigh can't shake off the vibe that you're throwing a gauntlet down in front of her. It's like her inner competitor wakes up, refusing to back down. “Do all of them,” she declares, tipping her chin up towards you. “Whatever you think is best.”

“That’s a good decision. We’ll take care of it right away,” you say, already picking up the phone to call the reception for assistance. 

Leigh's still trying to get a read on you. Was her arm twisted into this choice, or did you genuinely have Visitor's best interest at heart? She's not about to hand out trust like free samples, especially when she could end up misjudging you. It’s a tricky spot, especially because she’s clearly been wrong before.

-

The tests take their time, roughly an hour, after which Leigh finds herself pacing the lobby. An additional quarter-hour trickles by before the receptionist finally calls her back into the consultation room.

“Good news,” you start, making sure to catch her eye. She meets your look briefly before her attention shifts to Visitor. “It's only a sprain. The X-ray revealed no breaks or other issues. But,” you pause, checking to see if she's still fully engaged, “his blood tests indicated a low platelet count and evidence of an infection.”

Leigh listens intently, nodding along.

You explain what this means in a clear, concise manner, avoiding medical jargon as much as possible. “It's something we can manage with medication. I'll prescribe some antibiotics for the infection and pain medication to help with his discomfort. It's important that he completes the course of antibiotics to clear the infection completely.”

You watch Leigh closely, gauging her reaction and ready to answer any questions she might have. “We'll need to keep an eye on his platelet count, so I'd like to schedule a follow-up visit next week. This will also give us a chance to check how his leg is healing.”

“Will he be okay?” she asks without looking up from Visitor, busy scratching behind his ears.

“He'll be just fine,” you reassure her, adding, “Any questions about what we discussed?”

Leigh stays silent and you take it as your cue that she doesn’t have any thoughts on the matter. As she wraps up without saying much more, you realize it's time to wrap things up too. But there's something niggling at you, something that's been on your mind since the last time she was here. You're about to let her go, but then, out of nowhere, you feel this urge to clear the air about that whole mess with Matt. 

“So, uhm, about the other week when you…” you trail off, suddenly feeling like you're balancing on a tightrope without a net. You’re not so easily spooked by confrontations, but Leigh makes you nervous in a way you can’t explain. “I guess I just wanted to say sorry… for your loss, and for—”

“Does he really need to take pain medication for seven days?” Leigh cuts you off suddenly. It’s sharp enough for you to shut your mouth and abandon your attempt to get personal.

“Yes, the full course is important to ensure he's comfortable and that the inflammation goes down properly. It's just as crucial as the antibiotics for his recovery…”

Leigh nods, carefully scooping Visitor into her arms, preparing to leave.

You try one last time. “Leigh, I really am sorry–”

“I’ll see you next week, Dr. Y/L/N,” she says dismissively and then she’s gone.

[sphireath-wisp]

Can I make a Blue Lock request With Headcanons? With the boys, Reo Mikage, Michael Kaiser, Rin Itoshi (with a female reader who is a k-pop idol (she's in a girl group, I love them ❤️🎀) And they are coming out, + all individual)

The theme of the female Reader's group can be whatever you want, although I would like its concept to be something school-like or cute in the style of TWICE or OH MY GIRL, (You can write them as adults or teenagers, as you wish)

Fluff 💕

#사탕처럼 달콤하다는데~

Sypnosis: I'm not too sure exactly what you mean by 'they're coming out', but I'll be writing general headcanons + soft/hard launching your relationship with them to the public.

Warnings: Not proofread, the reader has to conform to idol standards, the reader is described as feminine (girl-crush/girl-next-door concept), All aged-up

Featuring: Reo Mikage, Michael Kaiser, Rin Itoshi x F! Idol! Reader (in that specific order)

With one hand, you hug a large bouquet of pink roses to your chest. There's a silk, velvety ribbon that ties the bundle of flowers together and it's so big compared to your face. Well, the giddy smile on your face may rival it. Yet, that's not even the biggest feature of your post. No one could miss the deep violet of REO MIKAGE'S hair in the frame of your mirror. Your other arm is hooked around his neck with your phone in your hands, the purple phone charm hanging off of it - it's no coincidence that the colour of the charm matches his hair. He has his back facing the mirror and his hands rest on your hips to support you up onto the couch. Even though no one could see his face, it was clear to everyone who he was to you. yn-archives 'mom approved <3'

"aint no way she snatched up the HEIR OF THE FUCKING MIKAGE CORPERATION??" "my girl yn had standards that reach the heavens" "their chemistry must be insane"

I just KNOW he's so whipped for you, both in public and private

Definitely attends your concerts with Nagi and Chigiri (he drags them along for good measure)

Before your (lowkey hard) launch, people just assumed he was there to enjoy himself and was a fan of your music - not that he was literally YOUR MAN

Not a big fan of the girl-crush concept, but he supports it because it's you!! (I'm telling you, this guy likes his woman mature... probably whipped for the mature concepts though)

I'm telling you, the signs were OBVIOUS before yall even posted this

"@yn-archives your biggest fan <3" ok Reo Mikage, #1 fanboy...

"@officialmikage-reo good game!! (idk what was going on, but I'm you're #1 cheerleader)" just say yall are in love at this point...

Yall act like you're SO SLICK when he stares at you in the crowd of people and effortlessly finds you, when you always somehow get front-row seats reserved for VIPs, when you purposefully find out his seat number in the crowd to interact with that section of the crowd...

Always pays even when you remind him that you're literally on of the top idols out there (like you're thriving, but he still insists on paying anyway)

When a reporter asked the members of Manshine City their opinions on you, Chigiri had to shut Reo up because he swore that "he was growing ears and a wagging tail, like a dog". Nagi took over and said you were nice. It went something like...

Reporter: "What do you think about the idol (Name)?"

Reo: "Oh! I'm so glad you asked, she's-"

Chigiri: "nice!"

Reo: "and she's!-"

Nagi: "good at singing."

Nagi's not on social media much, so once, he accidentally mentioned that you were with Reo after your soft launch post and went, "Oh, forget I said that." "we know already." "oh ok, they're cheesy."

When MICHAEL KAISER posts updates, it's usually about training for his upcoming game or sometimes the new luxury watch he bought spontaneously. This time, however, fans are bewildered, to say the least. It's a single photo - one taken at a low angle. He has a woman on his lap, the mermaid trail of her steel blue dress drapes down to the floor and covers one of his dress shoes. The dramatic slit on the flowy dress is pulled up to your thigh by Kaiser's hand, preventing it from falling and revealing what's meant for his eyes only. His other hand, meanwhile, is on her shoulder. That smug, signature grin is plastered on his face, but the upper half is cut off in the photo. The mystery girl faces Kaiser, at an angle where you could only see the pearl earrings that tie the whole outfit together. "Post it," that's what he told you that night when you were showing him the pictures you took in front of the full-body mirror at the lobby, all with his hands nestled comfortably in his pockets and a casual smirk. He would laugh as you mentioned the chaos it would cause and all of the hassle that comes afterwards, "so what? Just do it, Meine Liebe." and look what happened when you decided to listen. kai.serimp 'got a lot on my hands'

"this is wild" "who tf is yn and why are so many people talking about her" "emperor x empress"

I think he's the type that prefers being indoors for dates, especially since both of you are famous figures (The risk of being spotted in public and the hassle it would bring is something he does not want to deal with, especially when all he wants is to have some time with his girl)

Movie nights, dinner dates at home, baking together, reading dates, he's all for it

He'll buy you something special every now and then, but I think he's more of a 'gestures' person than giving gifts

He'd attend your bigger concerts, but I don't think he would attend every single one since he doesn't expect you to attend every single game he plays - you both have your own lives and you both are busy people 🤷‍♀️

Forget about reporters asking whether he's dating someone, this guy looks like a womanizer

The moment you both confirm it on camera that you're dating, he becomes the MOST dramatic kisser, holds your lower back and waist while leaning forward so you have to wrap your arms around his neck to prevent yourself from falling - like we get it, you're proud (He does it once or twice on camera then stops unless you ask)

I think he'd prefer to keep most of his love life private, but he's cool with posting your anniversaries, birthdays, etc.

Kaiser probably isn't a big fan of the girl-crush concept as the relationship marinates, especially if the whole 'cutesy' act isn't you (lowkey thinks it's funny people still buy your whole 'aegyo' act and probably jokes about off-stage when it's just the two of you, I guess it's good that not many know you like he does)

Lowkey... I bet he compares how much yall make on each gig (definitely gets a free ego boost if he makes more than you)

I think the gameshow idols have to go to would be a good source of entertainment for Kaiser, 100% enjoys seeing you win in the strangest of games

"That's my girl," or something of the sort

It's a simple photo, really. You didn't mean to start such an outrage with a Polaroid. It was a picture of you and RIN ITOSHI in a photo booth. You can still remember what happened that day. 3... and he had one hand cupping your face, thumb and index digging into the plump flesh of your cheeks. You were puzzled, to say the least, but your instincts kicked in and you flashed a bright smile to the camera. 2... craning your neck up, you could see what seemed to be a semblance of a smile from your peripheral vision. He leaned down slowly as you babbled on about how "the photo's gonna be taken!' and "Rin, not now!"... despite all the times he told you not to shout out his name in public. 1! You could barely make a straight face and you internally thanked all of the lessons your manager would make you attend to instil that 'effortlessly photogenic' face you put on the moment the camera flashes. Yet, even with all your training, the blurry photo can't mask the heart in your eyes and the red in your cheeks. And the photo gets printed out. "Wanna post it?" You grin at him and he shrugs at you - 'I don't care', or something along those lines. You grab your lipstick, applying a fresh coat before pressing it onto the polaroid - to half-heartedly cover his face. yn-archives 'dear diary, i met a boy."

"MISS YN???" "did I just lose my chance to a soccer boy" "soccer boy? mf that's RIN ITOSHI"

You all kept it under wraps quite well!! No major signs

He's neutral about the girl-crush concept - thinks it's cute though. If you both met when yall were younger and still in school, I think he'd be especially fond of it

Now that the secret's out: when reporters ask, he'd sigh, look at you in the crowd for a split second/look at his phone if you're at home, then say yes blankly.

It's not that he's embarrassed by you or anything, but he's tired of the question and you'd probably be bombarded with the same treatment, "aren't you all here for the game/show?"

You know how idols live-stream sometimes? Once you all didn't need to hide your relationship, Rin would accidentally walk in to you live-streaming because - out of all the places you could have chosen - you decided to record in HIS APARTMENT.

"Do you wanna watch a-" sees camera, face drops even more, "ok," and he slams the door

That was the last time you streamed at his house

He'd like 'lazy day' dates too, definitely a fan of staying at home and just melting in each other's presence

Despite saying that he didn't care whether you posted him or not, he doesn't exactly enjoy the newfound attention on your relationship - it irked him for a bit, but he got over it

He's definitely an aftercare kinda guy, disciplined and sticks to his routine almost religiously - he doesn't outright say it, but he likes it when you join him to stretch or cool down. It's a moment of peace for him and being with his favourite person only leaves a sweeter taste on his tongue

He'd be amused if your group did a Japanese cover or a Japanese song (like Twice's doughtnut, etc.), he'd be a big fan of that

If your group decides to try their hand at mature concepts, oooo boy, you're in for a ride... "you're allowed to do that on camera? what the fuck?" (I think he'd be more accepting of it if he pretended it was just for his eyes)

Taglist: @dewwberry, @mikmwehehe

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 8th

Day 8: Flogging // Swallowing // Cock Warming

Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Need, aggressive kissing, undressing, vaginal penetration, cock warming, comfort, angst, solace

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It’s not often that Javi doesn’t want to fuck away his frustrations or worries. To lose himself in the pure physicality of hammering into your body and pulling a satisfying orgasm from you before he cums. 

Sweaty and breathless, riding a high of endorphins and coming down from it while lazily blowing smoke up to the ceiling while smoking that post coitus cigarette. Pretending that none of the troubles from work can get to him here. 

This is saved for those days when he feels like he’s losing his soul. When he feels like his heart is about to crack open and bleed out. When he craves the closeness but he needs to just surround himself with you. 

You can always tell when he needs you. Javi comes through the door with either passion or need in his body as he finds you. Most of the time it’s a combination of both. Desperation in his kiss and his hands are almost shaking as he starts to pull your t-shirt out of your jeans. 

It’s late. He had called and said he didn’t know when he would be home, so you hadn’t really been expecting him. Not until he hit the door and you could barely see the horrors in his eyes before he swallowed you in a needy kiss. 

Javi talks with his body, it can sometimes be subtle, but often he is very straightforward with his needs. Now, he is dragging his jacket off, almost shuddering as he unclips the badge on his hip and tosses it down on the coffee table. The gun comes next, thumped down a little more delicately but then his hands are back on you again. Stripping your shirt off and swooping in for another kiss. 

He’s in too much of a hurry to even drag you into the bedroom, the sofa is as far as he can make it. Cursing as he peels your jeans down and dragging your panties down with them. His impatience makes you giggle slightly but you bite your lip, feeling the tension in his arms as you move to unbutton his shirt. 

It doesn’t take you long to get both of you stripped down and Javi is dragging you onto his lap, his fingers stroking your clit and you can hear the groan of approval when he finds you soaking wet. 

He’s adjusting your hips, pressing against your entrance and pulling you down on his length. Using his leverage to break you open on the thick, hot steel of his cock. Every quarter of an inch pulling a soft groan from you, kisses pressed to his lips. 

You let him move you like he needs, your arms wrapping around his shoulder and running up the back of his neck. That light touch is enough to make him shudder and close his eyes, leaning in and resting his head against your throat. 

This is when you know that it’s been an unusually hard day for Javi. That there’s been something that he’s seen or dealt with that is hard for him to process. He’s not taking it out on your body, railing into you until your entire body is aching and craving more. 

Instead, he’s just holding you close, breathing you in while your cunt is wrapped around his cock. Just holding him and pulsing when he twitches slightly. 

You don’t talk, you know that the words won’t help. Javier feels things deeply, holds them and buries them until they threaten to overwhelm him. Often to his own detriment when his judgment is clouded. So you don’t offer platitudes that will be brushed aside. 

The comfort of your body is what he needs. The slow, soft breathing as the two of you sit together. He feels like he is relaxed when he is buried to the hilt inside your body, cock protected by the walls of your sex and contact of skin to skin touch is soothing. 

Running your fingers through his hair, you let him hold you just as close as he needs to. There are times his arms tighten, feeling like he’s going to crush you. As if he is afraid that you will slip away if he lets you go. 

Javi sighs, unable or unwilling to do more than just sit right now. Closing his eyes and blocking out everything but the way he can feel your heart beating, the slow and steady pulse of it around his cock. Your body squeezing him tight ever so often, and the way you hold your hips, trying not to move. 

This is his solace, his peace. Everything that he has had happen to him is slowly starting to edge out of his mind. It won’t be forgotten, but it’s not a beat that is screaming in his head. It’s muted, as if had happened to someone else. His hands can’t shake when they are gripping your skin. Using you as an anchor so he doesn’t lose his mind. 

Despite there being no movement, Javi doesn’t get soft. He’s still hard and throbbing inside you. The subtle clenches of your cunt nearly have him panting and you aren’t doing anything more than just holding him. 

He feels like he can finally catch his breath, every inhale of air filled with you. Your sweet scent surrounding him and making him forget about the blood, the death. You replace that. The warmth of your body, the heat of your core wrapped around him pushes away the clammy cold hand of death. 

Minutes go by, but time is suspended right now. You don’t push him, kissing along his shoulder and your fingers move from his hair until you are caressing his back. You can feel the stress, the way his muscles are bunched up - slowly starting to unknot. 

Relaxing into your body and sighing again. His eyes are still closed, thankful that you aren’t demanding that he move. You never push him when he needs you like this. You let him bleed himself into you. You do more for him than you could ever imagine, simply by just sitting on his cock. 

[milfhunter6698]

Under pressure

synopsis: Upon joining the NYC firm as a new associate, you quickly find yourself facing the pressure of working under the firm’s star senior partner, Victoria neuman. With a reputation for excellence and an eye for potential, she was searching for a junior partner who can meet her exacting standards. You, with your impressive credentials and unwavering ambition, seemed like a perfect fit…until the pressure of meeting those high expectations started taking their toll. 

Warnings: 18+ eventual smut, no use of (y/n), cursing, no describing reader’s appearance, explicit language, fluff, angst, teasing, hurt & comfort, power imbalance, slight AU, some similarities to cannon, mentions of the boys characters (Hughie), slight age gap, rival associates, young!reader, older!Victoria, slow-burn. 

notes: Woah thank you guys for the support on my recent posts, so sorry I haven’t been more active on here just been busy with life! But finally I had enough time to finish this story. Like I said before I’ve been cooking up a little something that’s a bit slightly different than usual and well here it is, this is kind of inspired by suits if you couldn’t already tell I love that show so much Anyway a little reminder that it’s an AU so Vic isn’t a supe she isn’t married and she doesn’t have a daughter, reader has a conflicted love interest, only in the beginning. Also just a small age gap (reader’s like 2 years younger). And well that’s it!! I will be posting a new chapter every week really anytime I can but until now I don’t have a specific posting schedule yet, now enjoy.

chapter 1

wc: 2k

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the gleaming glass and steel interior of the building, one of the most prestigious law firms in New York City. You took a deep breath, smoothing out the front of your suit jacket. You had literally dreamed of this moment walking into a top firm as a freshly minted Harvard Law graduate—but the reality of it felt far more overwhelming than you had anticipated.

An assistant greeted you the moment you stepped into the bustling reception area. “Welcome, I’m Claire, and I’l be showing you around.”

Before you could respond, a commanding voice cut through the ambient noise of ringing phones and low murmurs of legal conversations. “Claire, I’ll take it from here.”

Turning, You saw Victoria neuman standing near the glass partition of her corner office. She was even more striking in person than she had been in the firm’s profile you had studied religiously. Sharp cheekbones, sleek long dark hair, and an air of complete control. Her expression, unreadable but undeniably powerful, was enough to make even the seasoned attorneys in the firm glance her way with deference. She strode toward you with an assured grace.

“I was expecting you,” she said, offering a firm handshake. “Welcome, I’ll be conducting your orientation personally.”

Claire gave a polite nod and retreated, leaving You alone with Victoria. You tried to keep your cool, even though standing in front of the firm’s most formidable senior partner sent a surge of adrenaline through you. Holy shit this  is it, you thought. This is where it all begins.

Victoria’s gaze was intense, eyes scanned your figure appraising you without a word for a few beats longer than comfortable. You could feel your own heartbeat quicken in response. Then, with a subtle nod of approval, she motioned for you to follow.

“Come. I’ll show you around,” she said. “I want to ensure you understand exactly what’s expected of you.”

As you walked, Victoria didn’t bother with the typical pleasantries. Instead, she dove straight into the firm’s culture and expectations. “At this firm, we pride ourselves on delivering results. Clients expect nothing less than perfection. You’ll be expected to hit the ground running, and I don’t tolerate mistakes. Learn fast, think faster.”

She led you past rows of open offices, filled with sharp-suited attorneys hunched over laptops or on hurried phone calls. The energy in the room was palpable, like a live wire buzzing beneath the surface.

“You came highly recommended,” she continued, glancing at you sideways, “so I assume you’re ready for what this job demands. Your education is impressive, but that won’t matter much if you can’t perform here. I don’t give second chances.”

You arrived at a glass-walled conference room. Victoria paused in front of it, turning to face you fully. “This is where deals are won and lost. Every conversation in this room has the power to change the course of someone’s life—or their career. You’ll need to be as sharp as a blade if you want to survive here.”

You swallowed, nodding, the weight of her words settling heavily on your shoulders. hmm no pressure, you thought wryly.

Victoria’s expression softened for a fraction of a second. “You’ll be working closely with me. I expect dedication and loyalty above all else. You deliver, and you’ll go far. Fail, and—well, let’s just say you won’t have time to pack your desk.”

The edge in her tone sent a chill through you, but it also lit a spark. This was exactly what you wanted—the chance to prove yourself, to become someone worthy of standing in such a firm like this. The stakes were high, but so was the reward.

“Any questions?” Victoria asked, crossing her arms, waiting.

You shook your head. “No, I’m ready.”

Victoria’s lips curved slightly, just shy of a smile. “Good. We’ll see about that.”

You returned the smile and watched as she trailed down the hallway, your eyes fixated on the way her curls danced with her every movement. The sway of her hips hypnotized you, a vision you couldn't tear your gaze away from. Her delicate blossom pink skirt hugged her body, outlining her curves that made your heart skip a beat.

You spent the rest of the morning buried in a flood of emails, client files, and case briefings that had been stacked neatly on your desk. It was a lot to take in more than you had imagined—but you welcomed the challenge. 

The buzz of the office continued around you phones ringing, associates pacing with urgent phone calls, and the distant hum of printers churning out documents by the dozen.

As you settled into your cubicle, you felt a presence lingering nearby. Glancing up, you saw a guy, another associate—tall, sharp-dressed, and carrying the kind of swagger that suggested he had something to prove. You had seen him briefly during your orientation but hadn’t yet exchanged words.

“It’s you, right?” He leaned against the edge of your cubicle, arms folded across his chest. “Heard you’re the new associate.” His tone was casual, but there was something in his eyes that felt like a challenge.

You nodded, unsure of where this was going. “Yeah, just started today.”

“Harvard, huh?” He scoffed slightly, shaking his head. “Well, let me give you some advice. This place doesn’t care where you went to school. All that matters is how fast you can keep up, and—” He paused, leaning in slightly, lowering his voice. “—how well you play the game.”

You raised an eyebrow, What the?- not entirely sure what this guy was getting at, but before you could even respond, a sharp voice sliced through the conversation.

“Hughie,” came Victoria’s voice, cutting through the air with a tone that brooked no argument. She was striding down the hall, her eyes fixed on him. “Quit wasting time, and get back to work. I need you in my office now.”

Hughie stiffened, his cocky expression dropping in an instant. Without another word, he pushed himself off your desk and muttered, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” before turning and following Victoria down the hall.

You watched them go, Victoria not bothering to glance back as Hughie trailed after her like a scolded schoolboy. You turned back to your desk. 

Shaking it off, you focused back on the files in front of you. You didn’t have time for distractions. And Victoria had made it pretty clear that there was no room for error here, and you were determined to prove that you were more than just another Harvard graduate with a shiny diploma.

The office was quieter now, the once-bustling space reduced to a few late-night workers finishing up their tasks. You, exhausted but resolute, packed up the last of your paperwork and headed for the exit. The dim lighting cast long shadows across the hallway as you made your way towards the elevators.

Passing by Victoria’s office, you glanced in through the glass panels to see her still working, her silhouette illuminated by the glow of her desk lamp. You were about to step into the elevator when you noticed her approaching.

“Late night?” She asked as she arrived beside you, her tone softer than it had been during the day.

“Just trying to get up to speed,” You replied, pressing the button for the elevator.

She nodded, her gaze thoughtful. “Hey um, listen about earlier. Hughie can be a bit… intense. I’m sorry if his behavior was off-putting. He’s known for his competitive nature and his, well, cocky personality. It’s not personal.”

You raised an eyebrow, nodding appreciating the gesture. “Thanks for letting me know. It’s been a bit… overwhelming.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. You both stepped inside, the small space cocooning you in an unexpected moment of quiet. Victoria glanced at you, her professional demeanor giving way to something more genuine.

“Just keep your head up and stay focused. You’ve got potential, and that’s why you’re here,” she said, offering a small smile.

You nodded, feeling a flicker of reassurance from her words. “I will. Thank you.”

The elevator came to a gentle halt on the ground floor. As the doors opened, Victoria stepped out, pausing to give you one last look.

“Good night,” she said, her voice carrying a note of warmth. “See you tomorrow.”

“Night,” You replied, watching as she walked away down the corridor to the lobby.

You trudged up the stairs to your apartment, exhausted after the demanding day at the office. You fumbled with your keys and finally managed to unlock the door. Pushing it open, the dim light from the hallway barely illuminated the space as you stepped inside.

Your hand instinctively reached for the light switch, only to find the room already bathed in a soft glow. Your eyes were drawn to the figure sitting on the couch, arms crossed, a silhouette against the light. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Oh hey, you scared me,” You said, letting out a sigh of relief as you recognized the figure. You jingled the keys nervously and held a hand to your chest. “What are you doing here?”

Her eyes were fixed on the floor, her expression a mix of frustration and sadness. She didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch.

“What’s going on?” You asked, stepping closer. You reached out to lift her chin to meet your gaze, but she turned her head away, brushing your hand aside.

“We need to talk,” She finally said, her voice trembling slightly.

Your brow furrowed. “What’s wrong? You’re acting like something’s terribly wrong.”

Her frustration boiled over. “It’s not just ‘something’—it’s everything! You’re always working. When you’re home, you’re so distant. It’s like you’re not even here.”

Your face hardened. “I’m working hard to build my career, This job is important. I thought you understood that.”

She stood up abruptly, her face flushed with emotion. “I understand that you’re working hard, but at what cost? You’re neglecting us. You’re never around, and when you are, it’s like you’re so preoccupied that you don’t even notice how this is affecting me!”

Your frustration matched hers. “Are you saying that my career is more important than our relationship? I’m doing this for us, to secure a future. What more do you want from me?”

Her voice cracked with anger. “I want you to be present! I want you to be here, with me. I want us to have a future together, but not if it means you’re absent from it!”

Your jaw clenched, your anger and guilt conflicting inside you. “You think it’s easy for me? I’m doing the best I can, and it feels like no matter what I do, it’s never enough. You’re not making this any easier by attacking me like this!”

Her eyes filled with tears as her anger reached its peak. “I’m not attacking you. I’m telling you how I feel. I need to know that you’re committed to us, not just your job. But it seems like that’s not something you’re willing to do.”

She turned towards the door, her movements sharp and decisive. “I can’t keep doing this anymore, I need someone who’s truly here for me, not just physically but emotionally. And right now, that’s not you.”

Your voice faltered. “Hey, wait. please I’m sorry. I’ll try to make things right.”

She paused at the door, her back still turned to you. “Words aren’t enough anymore,” she said quietly. “I need actions. Until you can show me that, I need some time.”

With that, she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. The door closed behind her with a definitive click, leaving you standing alone in the dim light of your apartment.

You knew the decisions and the sacrifices you had to make balancing your personal and professional life, when you applied for this position, but the choice was becoming increasingly unbearable. 

The job was intense sure, but your relationship with your girlfriend was just as crucial to you. The thought of losing her was eating you alive, gnawing at your concentration and filling you with a deep sense of anxiety.

With a deep sigh you sank down onto the couch, your heart ached at the emptiness of the place that now felt suffocating. 

[woniedarlin]

Rich in Heart pt.2: Yang Jungwon

pairing: Jungwon x rich girl! reader

synopsis: Today is the big day for Jungwon. He's feeling a bit nervous…or maybe a lot more anxious because he's about to meet your father, who is a very successful businessman. Of course, he wants to make a great impression – who wouldn't? But he's worried that your dad might not like him because he's not as wealthy. But one thing is for sure, he’ll be sweating like buckets.

warnings: Jungwon is very anxious in this 🥹😭 He just wants to impress your dad, YOUR DAD IS SOMEWHAT INTIMIDATING BUT HE JUST LOVES HIS LITTLE GIRL SM, your dad kind of threatening the poor boy, mentions of punching, a lil cursing, bloody nose, chasing after a thief and mini you protesting in middle school 😭 Let me know if there is more!

note: Hello my darlings! I've received requests for a part 2 in Rich in Heart. So, here you go! Think of it as a thank you gift just for existing 🙈🫂

Caution: You might find yourself feeling a bit sorry for the nervous boy. He’s just too cute in his attempts to win over your dad ✊ Let’s go support our wonie!

permanent tag list: @sol3chu @13tter @chlorinecake

If you haven't read Rich in Heart pt. 1, please do so before continuing to read this!

Jungwon was nervous. More nervous than he had ever been in his life. He couldn’t stop pacing back and forth in his room, his mind running a mile a minute. He checked himself in the mirror one last time, making sure his hair was perfect and his clothes were wrinkle-free. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. How was he ever going to impress your father? He was just a normal, poor, average guy. Would your father even approve of him dating you?

But then, a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. “Baby? Are you ready?”

Jungwon nearly jumped at the sound. He walked over to the door and opened it, revealing you standing there, looking beautiful as ever. He forced a smile and tried to sound calm, but he couldn’t hide the slight shakiness in his voice. “Yeah. I’m ready. You look very beautiful, as always.”

“And you look so handsome, my love,” you said, cupping his face with your hands and gently stroking his cheek with your thumb.

He placed his hand over yours, gently holding it against his face. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment to savor the warmth. “You think so?” he asked quietly, the doubts still lingering in the back of his mind. “I’m so nervous, what if I mess up? What if he thinks I’m not good enough for you?”

“Of course,” you replied, leaning in to peck his lips. “You’re perfect just the way you are. My dad will see that too.”

The kiss momentarily distracted him from his nerves and worries. He chuckled softly, trying to mask his anxiety with humor. “Are you sure your dad’s gonna like me? I mean, he’s this big, important guy, and I’m just… you know..”

“Yes, he will. Just be yourself. He’ll see what I see in you,” you reassured him, your voice full of confidence and love. “Besides, you have this charm that no one can resist.”

Jungwon nodded slowly, trying to calm the butterflies in his stomach. “Alright, I’ll try. But if he doesn’t like me, I’m blaming you.”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “Me? I’m offended. I’ve never made a bad decision in my life, and choosing you was definitely one of the best.”

Jungwon chuckled, feeling a bit more at ease. He wrapped his arms around your waist. “Yeah, you. If your dad decides I’m not worthy of you, it’s totally your fault for choosing me in the first place.”

“It was never a mistake choosing you,” you said softly, looking into his eyes with sincerity. “You make me happy, and that’s all that matters.”

Jungwon’s smirk softened into a small smile at your words. “I’m glad you don’t think so.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the meeting ahead. “We should get going. Don’t want to keep your dad waiting.”

You nodded, taking his hand in yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s do this together. Everything will be fine, I promise.”

He took a moment to gaze into your eyes, drawing strength from your confidence. “Thank you, baby. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d probably be pacing a hole into the floor,” you teased lightly, earning a chuckle from him.

“True,” he admitted with a grin. “But seriously, I’m really grateful to have you by my side. You make me feel like I can do anything.”

“And you can,” you said firmly. “We’re a team, remember? We’ll face whatever comes our way together.”

With one last look at each other, you both headed out, ready to face whatever awaited.

Jungwon walked with you outside, holding your hand tightly as he trailed behind. He nodded at the driver, feeling a bit out of place in the extravagant car. He was used to taking the bus, not private cars driven by personal drivers. He sat down next to you in the backseat, his mind racing with anxiety.

🎩

Jungwon’s palms were sweaty as the car came to a stop outside a large, luxurious building. It was a hotel and a nice one at that. Not at all what he was used to. He took a shaky breath, mentally preparing himself for what awaited him inside.

“Breathe, Jungwon. Breathe. You look like you are about to shit yourself,” you said with a concerned look. Poor baby…

Jungwon chuckled weakly at your comment, giving you a sheepish smile. “Yeah, that’s because I feel like I’m about to.” He muttered under his breath. “I’m about to piss myself as well.”

You nodded sympathetically. “I get you. A lot. I know the feeling when I met your parents.” You winced at the memory.

Jungwon laughed softly, his shoulders relaxing a bit at your admission. He took your hand in his. “Well, glad I’m not the only one then. I don’t know what’s worse, you meeting my family or me meeting yours…”

“My dad will like you, alright, baby?” you said, trying to reassure him.

Jungwon wanted to believe you, but his nerves were getting the best of him. He nodded shakily, still gripping your hand tightly. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. He’s gonna like me, no biggie…” He repeated, trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince you.

“You are sweating,” you pouted and whipped out a handkerchief, gently wiping his forehead.

“Thanks, love.” He murmured, his heart warming at your caring nature. But the butterflies in his stomach continued to flutter with nerves.

You held both of his hands, looking into his eyes. “Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” He managed a weak smile, still slightly nervous but feeling a bit calmer thanks to your presence.

You tilted your head with a playful smile. “Kiss first?”

Jungwon felt a small, genuine smile form on his lips at your request. Despite being nervous as hell, he couldn’t say no to a kiss from you. “Yeah, c’mere.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips gently against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. His free hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin tenderly. The kiss, though simple, made him feel more at ease.

You pulled away slightly, savoring the moment. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice with sincerity.

Jungwon smiled at your words. “Love you too, princess.” He took a deep breath and straightened up, ready to face whatever came next.

“You ready for the battlefield?” you joked, nudging him playfully.

Jungwon laughed, a bit of the tension easing from his shoulders. “I think I need some armor and a sword. You got any of those in your fancy car?”

You giggled, shaking your head. “Nope, just that handsome face of yours.”

“Great,” Jungwon said, rolling his eyes. “I’m totally screwed.”

“You’ll be fine, Jungwon. Just be yourself, and everything will be alright,” you reassured him, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah, yeah, easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to impress a guy who probably owns half the city,” Jungwon muttered, his nerves flaring up again.

“Hey, you’re amazing, and my dad will see that. Just relax, okay?” You leaned in and kissed his cheek, trying to calm him down.

Jungwon sighed, trying to take your advice to heart. “Alright, alright. I’ll try to relax. But if he challenges me to a duel, I’m running.”

You burst out laughing, and Jungwon couldn’t help but join in. The laughter helped to ease some of his nerves, and he felt a bit more confident as you both exited the car and headed into the hotel.

🎩

Jungwon was still holding your hand as the hotel worker led the way. As they entered the private room, he felt his heart beat faster once more.

He looked around the room nervously, taking in the elegant setting and the luxurious furniture. He couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place like he didn’t belong in such a fancy and upscale environment. He was acutely aware of the contrast between his own life and the lavish world you resided in.

"This is it," you muttered under your breath.

"This is it," he echoed softly, his voice filled with a mixture of trepidation and determination. Despite the butterflies in his stomach, he held your hand tighter, refusing to let go.

He wasn’t going anywhere without you.

You walked inside, spotting your dad sitting at one of the seats at the table. "Hi, daddy!" you called out with a bright smile.

Jungwon felt a pang of anxiety as you let go of his hand and moved to hug your father. He followed closely behind, his steps feeling heavy and his palms starting to sweat once more.

Your dad's face lit up with a wide smile as he hugged you tightly. "Sweet pie! How I’ve missed you. How have you been?" he asked, his voice full of warmth.

"Oh, come on, daddy. We just saw each other a few days ago, but either way, I’m fine, and I miss you too," you replied, laughing softly.

Your dad chuckled, his fond smile never leaving his face. "Yeah, yeah, I know, but still. I can’t help but miss my little girl whenever you’re not around." He finally noticed Jungwon standing nearby and raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

Jungwon felt like he was about to pass out as your dad’s gaze landed on him. He could feel the older man’s eyes appraising him, studying him from head to toe. Jungwon tried his best to show a polite smile. "Good afternoon, sir. It’s nice to meet you." He greeted, his voice slightly shaky as he offered a small bow in respect.

Your dad chuckled at Jungwon's somewhat nervous greeting. He gave the boy a subtle once-over, taking in his appearance. "Ah, so you're the infamous Jungwon my daughter has been telling me about," he finally spoke, his voice calm...a little too calm. "She is right, you are very handsome."

Jungwon felt his cheeks heat up slightly at your dad’s compliment. Being complimented by someone as influential and important as your father felt surreal. He then gave a gentle smile. "Thank you, sir. You are handsome as well."

Your dad laughed heartily at Jungwon's response. "Well, aren't you a charmer? No need to be so tense, son. Have a seat." He gestured towards the chair next to the one he was sitting on.

"Son?... He called me son?" Jungwon thought to himself, his mind racing.`

"Yes, of course, sir. Thank you." He said before walking over and taking a seat in the indicated chair. The butterflies in his stomach were flapping their wings furiously.

Jungwon felt relieved as you took the seat next to him, your presence a small comfort in this nerve-wracking situation. He sneakily reached under the table and grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers tightly.

"So, Jungwon, my daughter has told me a bit about you, but I’d love to hear more. Tell me about yourself," your dad asked, his eyes fixed on Jungwon.

Jungwon swallowed hard, his throat suddenly feeling dry. He tried to gather his thoughts and recall any interesting tidbits about himself worth mentioning. "I’m a student at the same school as her," he started, then continued, "I enjoy photography, and I hope to be a professional photographer someday."

Your dad nodded, seeming to mull over the information Jungwon provided. His face gave nothing away as he looked at the boy. "A photographer, hm? That's a nice career choice," he said, his tone neutral. "And what do your parents do, if you don’t mind me asking?"

Jungwon felt his heart kick up a notch at the mention of his parents. He gripped your hand tighter under the table. "My mom is a nurse, and my dad works as a mechanic."

"A nurse and a mechanic? Those are admirable jobs, respectable professions," your dad said, his tone genuine.

You decided to chime in. "Absolutely, daddy. His parents are also very nice and welcoming. It would be nice if you got to meet them."

Your dad looked over at you, a small smile appearing on his face. He didn’t miss the slight protective tone in your voice, nor the fact that you had interjected on Jungwon's behalf. "Ah, I’m glad to hear that," he said, his gaze returning to Jungwon.

Jungwon tried to hide the small, grateful smile at your interruption. He appreciated your defense and the support you provided, though he also felt slightly guilty for making you speak up for him. He nervously met your dad's gaze, feeling like he was under a microscope as the elder man looked at him with sharp eyes.

"I must say, Jungwon, you seem like a good kid. Polite, respectful, and clearly very much in love with my daughter," your dad said.

"Yes, sir, I am," Jungwon confirmed, his voice earnest. He caressed your hand gently as if telling you that he was indeed very much in love with you, just as your dad had said.

You felt your heart warm. Gosh, you really love that man.

A small smile appeared on your dad’s lips, but he quickly turned it into a more serious gaze. "But let me be honest with you. I have high expectations for the person who dates my daughter."

"Daddy!" you said, exasperated.

Dads are really... sigh...

Your dad knew he was being strict, but he wouldn’t apologize for it. Not when it came to making sure you were safe and happy. "Hush, sweet pie. It’s my right as a father."

Jungwon nodded with confidence. Even if your dad was terrifying to him, he needed to prove that he was worthy of being your boyfriend. "Of course, sir. I understand."

"I hope you genuinely care for her. My daughter deserves nothing less than absolute respect and love," your dad said, his tone softening.

Jungwon nodded. "I do, sir. I promise I will always treat her with the love and respect she deserves."

"I'm counting on it," he said before letting out a small sigh and shaking his head. "She's grown up so fast, I can't believe she's already dating," he said, acting as if you weren’t there.

"And you are getting old too fast. I can see lots of grey hair on you," you retorted playfully.

"Excuse you, young lady." Your dad let out a small scoff, acting like he was offended. He reached up to touch his hair, running a hand through it as if checking for grey hairs. "I'll have you know, those are just a part of aging gracefully."

Your dad's response made you laugh. You were used to teasing him, and you knew how to push his buttons. He always tried to be strict and serious, but you had a knack for making him crack a smile or two.

Meanwhile, Jungwon couldn’t help but let a small smile slip as well, enjoying the playful banter between you and your dad.

He could see where you got your humor from.

Though…

Despite the comforting atmosphere, you really needed the urge to pee. “Alright, I think I should go to the ladies’ restroom,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

(Do you think Jungwon is the only one nervous at the meeting? Nah, you really felt the need to excuse yourself.)

Jungwon, feeling anxious again, gripped your hand tightly and looked at you with wide, pleading eyes, as if silently begging, “Don’t leave me with your scary dad!”

“I’ll go with you,” Jungwon quickly said, standing up abruptly and pulling you up with him, both hands still clasped together.

Your dad raised his eyebrows in amusement. Jungwon going to the ladies’ restroom as well?

“You don’t have to,” you insisted, trying to hide your own nervousness.

But Jungwon’s eyes pleaded with you, and he muttered, “I need to.”

“Um, alright,” you relented, then turned to your dad. “We just need to go to the restroom right quick.”

“Alright, sweet pie,” your dad said, watching the two of you leave. He tilted his head, thinking to himself, “Am I that intimidating? Is that why Jungwon didn’t want to be alone with me?”

As you walked down the hall, Jungwon let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “I wasn’t ready to be grilled by your dad alone.”

You chuckled softly, squeezing his hand. “I figured as much. He can be a bit overwhelming, but he’s just looking out for me.”

Jungwon nodded, taking a deep breath. “I know. I just… I want to make a good impression.”

“You’re doing great,” you reassured him, stopping in front of the restroom. “Just breathe, okay?”

Jungwon took a moment to gather himself, then nodded. “Okay. I can do this.”

You smiled and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before heading into the ladies’ room. As you disappeared behind the door, Jungwon leaned against the wall, taking deep, calming breaths.

A few moments later, you emerged, looking more relaxed. “Ready to face the lion’s den again?” you teased.

Jungwon laughed softly, feeling more at ease with you by his side. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Hand in hand, you walked back to the private room, Jungwon feeling a bit more confident. As you entered, your dad looked up and smiled.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Much,” you replied, giving Jungwon a reassuring squeeze before taking on your respective seats, still holding hands under the table.

You just heard your stomach growling as you took your seat. You rubbed your stomach. “Well, now I’m hungry.”

Your dad chuckled at your declaration. “Of course you are. Alright, let’s order food then.” He called over a waiter.

As you all perused the menu, your dad took it upon himself to suggest dishes to Jungwon, often giving him detailed descriptions of each item.

“Oh, the steak is excellent here. Well-marbled, perfectly cooked.”

“The seafood platter is always a good choice.”

Your dad made it his mission to ensure that Jungwon tried some of the fancier, more expensive dishes on the menu. “But of course, it’s up to you, son. Pick whatever you like. It’s on me.”

Jungwon found himself feeling more and more overwhelmed as your dad continued to suggest dishes to him. He wasn’t used to such opulence, and the prices listed beside the meals made him feel a bit panicked. “Ah, thank you, sir. I, um, probably the steak then.”

You noticed his face and gently squeezed his hand under the table. “You don’t have to get the steak if you don’t want to, baby. Is there something else you really want to try?”

Jungwon looked over at you, grateful for your understanding and consideration. Of course, you would notice his discomfort; you always did. He took a moment to glance back at the menu, his eyes flicking over the various options. He didn’t want to choose anything too expensive, but he also didn’t want to disrespect your father by being too picky. “Um, I don’t know. Maybe the seafood platter?”

You nodded. “Alright, baby.”

“Good choice. Seafood is quite refreshing, excellent for the palette,” your dad nodded in approval.

When the food arrived, every plate looked like a work of art. The steak was perfectly cooked, the red meat glistening and tender. The seafood platter had an array of seafood, all arranged beautifully. It looked like something out of a gourmet magazine.

Jungwon’s mouth dropped at the sight of the food. The thought of eating a meal worth more than his entire week’s worth of pocket money made him feel a bit dizzy.

Your dad chuckled at Jungwon’s reaction. “Go on, dig in.” He picked up his utensils and began to eat.

Jungwon had to let go of your hand, unfortunately and took a small, hesitant first bite. The food melted in his mouth, the flavor bursting on his tongue. He stifled the urge to make a sound of how delicious it was.

“Try this, wonie,” you said, offering him a piece of your steak on your fork.

He smiled at you before opening his mouth and accepting the food, trying to ignore the fact that he could feel your dad’s eyes on him. “Mmm, it’s good.”

Your dad watched the interaction with a small, approving smile. “So, Jungwon, tell me more about your photography. What do you like to photograph the most?”

Jungwon swallowed his food and took a sip of water, trying to gather his thoughts. “I enjoy capturing moments that tell a story. It could be anything, really—people, nature, everyday life. There’s something special about freezing a moment in time.”

Your dad nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a noble pursuit. It takes a keen eye to see beauty in the mundane. So you said earlier that you wanted to pursue it professionally?”

Jungwon nodded. “Yes, sir. It’s my dream to become a professional photographer one day. I’ve been working on building my portfolio and improving my skills.”

“That’s commendable. I admire your passion and dedication,” your dad said, genuinely impressed.

You beamed with pride, squeezing Jungwon’s hand under the table. “He’s really talented, daddy. You should see some of his work.”

Your dad smiled at you, then looked back at Jungwon. “I’d love to see your portfolio sometime. Perhaps we could even discuss ways to support your aspirations.”

Jungwon felt a surge of relief and gratitude. “Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me.”

Your dad nodded, pleased with Jungwon’s response. “You’re welcome, son. It’s important to support each other’s dreams, especially when they involve someone as special as my daughter.”

Jungwon felt his nerves dissipate further, the warmth of your dad’s words reassuring him. “I promise to always support her dreams too, sir.”

Your dad smiled, clearly satisfied. “I believe you will.”

🎩

Your dad continued to regale Jungwon with embarrassing stories from your childhood, much to your embarrassment. But somehow, it made the atmosphere more comfortable. Jungwon found himself chuckling at the stories, imagining a younger version of you doing those silly things. He glanced over at you, enjoying the way your cheeks turned pink with embarrassment.

“Is that true that you punched the kid who bullied your friend?” he asked, teasingly, as he looked at you.

“Yeah, it didn’t end well for him. Got a bloody nose,” you winced.

Jungwon let out a small laugh, imagining the scene in his mind. He could easily picture you, young and fiery, standing up for your friend and dealing out your justice. “I can believe it. You’ve always been fierce and protective.”

Your dad chuckled. “Oh, that’s nothing. You should hear about the time she single-handedly organized a protest in middle school because they tried to cancel recess.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, looking at you with newfound admiration. “A protest? You really are something else.”

You shrugged, feeling both proud and embarrassed. “Someone had to stand up for our right to play.”

Jungwon smiled, his affection for you growing even deeper. “You’re a lot tougher than you look, you know.”

Then Jungwon decided to tell the story of the time when you chased after a thief who stole your Prada bag.

Your dad let out a hearty laugh at the story Jungwon told. He couldn’t help but find the image of you chasing after a thief and resorting to violence to get your bag back both hilarious and oddly endearing. “That sounds exactly like something she would do.”

“She was chasing after the thief in heels, sir,” Jungwon added with pride. He was still proud of you up to this day.

Your dad burst out laughing again at the mention of you running after the thief in heels. The idea of you in expensive designer heels, running down the street and throwing projectiles at someone, was too much for him.

He leaned back in his chair, his laughter dying down to chuckles as he shook his head. “Oh my god, only you.”

“Can you blame me? That was Prada,” you shrugged.

Your dad shook his head, still chuckling. He couldn’t fault you for being protective of your fashionable possessions. He knew how much you loved your designer items, and it was no surprise to him that you would go to any lengths to get them back.

“You and your Prada,” he said, rolling his eyes dramatically before taking a sip of his wine. “Well, Jungwon, it seems you have your hands full with this one.”

Jungwon smiled warmly, glancing at you with affection. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, sir.”

Your dad nodded, a pleased look on his face. “Good answer, son. Good answer.”

🎩

After finishing the meal, the three of you sat chatting for a while longer. Your dad regaled Jungwon with more stories, making the atmosphere light and comfortable.

But eventually, your dad glanced at his watch and sighed, a slight reluctance in his voice. “Well, I hate to cut this short, but I have another meeting to attend.”

“Aww,” you pouted, your lips forming a perfect little bow.

Your dad shot you a sympathetic look, clearly not wanting the evening to end just yet. But he had responsibilities and couldn’t blow off his work. He quickly paid the check before standing up from the chair and walking toward you. “I’m sorry, sweet pie,” he said, smoothing down your hair affectionately. “I wish I could stay longer.”

You stood up and gave him a tight hug, your arms wrapping around him with warmth. “Thank you for this, daddy.”

Your dad wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. He pulled back slightly, looking at you with a small smile. “Of course, sweet pie. I enjoyed our time.” He gave you a little pat on the head before turning his gaze to Jungwon.

Your dad turned to Jungwon, his expression turning serious once again. He gave the boy a curt nod of acknowledgment, his eyes fixed on Jungwon. “Jungwon,” he said, making sure he had the boy’s attention.

Jungwon stood up, straightening his back. “Yes, sir.”

“You better take care of my little girl, you hear me?” he said, his tone both of fatherly concern and subtle warning.

Jungwon nodded. He met your dad’s gaze with as much confidence as he could muster, his voice steady and sure. “I swear, sir. I promise to take good care of her. I won’t ever let anything happen to her.”

Your dad saw the sincerity in the boy’s eyes and heard the conviction in his voice. It reassured him, knowing that you were in good hands with Jungwon. He patted Jungwon on the shoulder, a small sign of approval. “Good. I’m trusting you with my most precious treasure.”

Jungwon nodded again, meeting your dad’s gaze firmly. “I understand, sir. I won’t let you down.”

Your dad smiled at Jungwon, his expression softening. “I hope not. Because if you do…” He trailed off, letting the implied threat hang in the air. His face turned serious for a moment, letting Jungwon know he wasn’t fooling around.

Jungwon shivered internally. Your dad was very intimidating, but Jungwon understood because he was protective of you as well. “I understand, sir. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

“Daddy!” you scolded your dad at the threat, feeling bad for Jungwon. You stepped closer to Jungwon, intertwining your fingers with his and leaning your head on his shoulder for comfort.

Your dad smiled at your scolding. He knew he was being a bit overprotective, but he couldn’t help it. He was a dad, after all. “Sorry, sweet pie. I just want to make sure my little girl stays safe.”

You pouted and wrapped yourself around Jungwon’s arm, resting your head on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Daddy, I trust him.’’

Jungwon felt a rush of warmth as you wrapped your arm around his. He looked down at you, a small smile on his face as you rested your head on his shoulder. He couldn’t help but adore the fact that you were being so open and clingy with him in front of your dad.

Your dad hid a small smirk and cleared his throat. “Alright, lovebirds. I should get going now.”

Jungwon nodded at your dad. “Yes, sir. Have a good day. Thank you for the time and the food.”

Your dad nodded and walked away, but not before saying, “I have eyes and ears everywhere. So be good, you two.” He said this half-jokingly, but also seriously.

“Bye, daddy! Love you,” you said, still clinging to Jungwon’s arm, your eyes following your dad as he walked away.

Your dad smiled at you, his face softening as he heard your words. “Bye, sweet pie. Love you more.” He gave you a small wave before turning and walking away.

As your dad walked away, Jungwon glanced down at you, still wrapped around his arm. “That was intense.”

“It was,” you agreed, feeling the tension ease out of your body now that your dad had left.

Jungwon had felt a bit intimidated, if he was being honest, under your dad’s watchful eye. But now that he was gone, he could relax a bit. He looked down at you again, his gaze softening as he took in your clinging form. “You’re like a koala. Always attaching yourself to me like this.”

“Because I love you,” you said, your voice a soft murmur as you looked up at him with wide, adoring eyes.

He smiled at you, his eyes sparkling with affection. “And I love you too, baby.” He gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

Your head lifted from Jungwon’s shoulder. “Well, now that Dad is away, want to order more dessert?”

“Alright, one more dessert. But just one, okay?” His stomach was still full from the meal, but his sweet tooth was always up for dessert.

You pouted, your lower lip jutting out adorably. “But why one?”

“Because we just ate a big meal, and too much dessert isn’t good for you. One more, that’s it.” He said this firmly but with affection in his voice. He knew he was weak when it came to you, and he had a feeling he was about to give in.

“What about two?” you added, your eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Two. That’s it. No more.” He said this firmly but still fondly, knowing that he was giving in to your whims.

“Three,” you then said, pushing your luck.

“Three. That’s my final offer. No more after that, got it?” He said, trying (and failing) to sound stern.

“Don’t worry, it’s only a small serving,” you said like it was a good thing.

“Right. A small dessert. Definitely not some giant cake or anything…” He said, giving you a playful look.

“No, I promise, baby,” you whined, your voice taking on a pleading tone.

Jungwon let out a sigh. “Alright, alright. You can have three desserts. But if they’re big, indulgent treats, you’ll only have to eat one and we’ll share.”

“Fine,” you agreed, preparing to call a waiter when a ping sound went off on your phone. You opened it, and it was a message from your dad.

‘Don’t eat too much sweets. I know you. You’ll get a small one only because I love you, sweet pie.’

‘And by the way, Jungwon is a keeper.’

[delicrieux]

—𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭, ch.1: things of present and future importance

pairing—carmy berzatto x f!reader genre—drama, romance, age gap, boss/employee relationship warnings for this chapter—trauma, anxiety, swearing, and sum depression as dessert word count—2k

uh-oh, carmen is losing it again, this time in front of his new employee, too. 

author’s note: give me this wet dog of a man and give him to me NOWWWWWWWW

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | read on ao3 . next >

important! some of the dialogue scenes are written as a script & dialogues that overlap are marked in [] <3

there’s a lot of things wrong with this situation, but carmen does not have it in him to care. maybe he never will, and that’s okay, because it’s his fucking restaurant and he knows he could be kinder, could be gentler, could, maybe, keep all of those splinters in his gut from hurting too bad if he took a few deep breaths just how they say in therapy. deep breaths, slow breaths, and then they look at you like you’re a toddler having a meltdown in the middle of the street and suddenly, suddenly, it’s all go fuck yourself and the door slamming shut.

carmen’s an abandoned puppy – disheveled hair and round eyes that have been unloved (by him, most of all), with his head bent and shoulders tense, not sure whether to flee or attack, but offense is the best defense and just like a bad dog he bites when frightened. it’s all teeth and anger and desperation; jaws lock and teeth sink and he doesn’t let go because he’s starving, even if what he’s fighting for is nothing but a cadaver of a place, space, body – brother? no, don’t think of mikey. he’s starving, has been for ages – approval? don’t say that – and that hunger bubbles to the surface when confronted by a minuscule imperfection, like sauce on the stove left to simmer for too long.

it’s a bad first impression, second impression, third, what the fuck, he’s good at food and not very good at math, unless math comes to food and then, maybe, he can sort it out. still bad, still fucking terrible, to be honest, and somewhere in the frying tangles of his mind he knows that yelling doesn’t help, and that yelling in front of the new hire doesn’t bode well for retention. the last enzymes of his sanity warn him – calm down, just, just calm down, carmen, you’re making it worse, you’re making it fucking worse – but the to-go machine keeps beeping, and the kitchen is too hot, and his staff is too anxious, and everything is amplified tenfold by his brother’s looming shadow that exists to him only. don’t think of mikey.

“can someone please turn that fucking thing off?” it’s his voice, laced by such scorn and a barely contained anger that makes him tremble by the pans. he’s losing his mind. sweat collects on his temple and his eyes sting from the fumes billowing onto his face, “sydney!”

“yes, chef.”

sydney’s a trooper, doesn’t bend under pressure like steel, and he sees her maneuvering in his peripherals, quick and agile to not get into anyone’s way, least of all his. briefly, he thinks about burning this place down. he blinks. the beeping stops – she ripped the cord out of the socked, dropped it onto the floor that sent an echo.

the new hire watches this shitshow unfold by her station, eyes wide and weary, ears perked for orders. her hands move – strong hands, swift hands, long fingers and rough palms that cradle a knife the way a mother would cradle a child. she doesn’t look at what she cuts, but she chops and slices and it’s all automatic – trained response? – and if carmen were to take a ruler and inspect the pieces, he’d be impressed to find that most are even and none are crooked. he’d hum, then, skim through the folders of his mind to re-check her experience, re-check the college she went to. he’d say something like, “good work, chef,” and maybe she’d smile at the bare bones of the compliment he’d given her, and when he’d be alone in his dingy office he’d pull out her resume and examine it with more interest because he’d be too embarrassed to ask.

he’ll grow familiar with those hands, with the dips and curves of knuckles and the tiger stripes of scars running down their expanse; he’ll grow familiar with the touch, too, soft despite the callouses, but only to him. not yet, though, not for another few months till a completely expected storm will halt the trains and he’ll have to drive her home. it’ll be weeks after that awkward silence in the car and stolen glances at soaked t-shirt-clad skin.

her form is unfamiliar to him – he hadn’t any interest to look, nor would he find anything curious when all is covered in oversized fabric and a blue apron. at present, she’s his colleague, nothing more, and a young one at that, too young and too talented to be stuck in such a place and with him running it.

but he will look. sooner than expected, and not for any devout reason, unless loneliness can be considered holy.

he’ll feel bad about it, too, and he’ll feel worse when everything escalates, because it always does.

for now, he cooks by the open flame, letting hot oil sizzle on his hands and the fire lick his fingers, and maybe, just maybe, he likes the pain because he knows nothing else. it’s become empirical to him. an indication that he’s still alive. that he’s still in control of something, even if he isn’t.

richie, richie, good fucking god, richie always picks the worst moments to bitch about.

“are you fucking with me?” carmen’s voice, again, a bit higher this time and just a gruff. doe eyes narrow at the bell-tower named richard jerimovich that has the audacity to look clueless, “do not fucking fuck with me right now.”

richie: shove that stick outta [fuck you] your ass, cousin carmen: are you deaf? richie: boutta go deaf if you keep yapping [don’t got time for this]; listen, i just [you just?] came to talk [talk? now? talk?] yes, to talk, look carmen: now you wanna talk? now? you wanna [jesus] fucking talk right now?

the tension in the air is sharp enough to slice through skin. everyone pointedly pretends not to hear this conversation. carmen doesn’t want to hear this conversation, either. there’s a line of people waiting. he reminds richie of that, and richie reminds that oh, he knows, and –

“richie!” it’s sydney, cheeks glowing with sweat and bandana crooked, “not now.”

richie huffs, looks at carmen with a certain exasperation, a wordless question of ‘really? really? you’re letting her run the show, now?’, and carmen needn’t be a genius to know that richie’s gonna bring this up later. he’ll never hear the end of it, he scarcely does now. it’s a headache in the making. his heart skips, or maybe stops, and for a moment he feels white-hot panic shoot through his veins. it passes with a shiver he doesn’t show. he breathes just a tad quicker – not enough air, not enough fucking air, jesus.

richie retreats with his arms raised in surrender, amused and annoyed simultaneously. a quiet follows his departure, and carmen looks at the staff, gaze jumping from one to the other before settling on her. she’s unperturbed by the chaos, working, watching, assessing, and later he’ll learn she wears that face the same way he wears his anger – as armor.

eyes meet and there’s a certain understanding that glimmers in the depths of her iris. but what could she understand? three weeks from now, he’ll come to learn that she’s used to rough edges and loud voices: he’ll learn that she’s the daughter of the chef that made his life hell back in new york, he’ll learn that she took up cooking because she wanted to appease her father, he’ll learn that her parents have split and her mother is sick and that she’s not calm but disconnected and that she tends to live in her head just like him.

but he doesn’t know that now, so he blames the shitty lighting that blinks and buzzes and, “fak, for the love of fucking god, please fix it.”

he said please this time, and it means he’s cooling off. he thankfully misses the quick look the staff shares – a mixture of relief and pity. either would have been devastating to recognize.

the only upside is that the day goes by fast. too much to do, too much to stress about, and carmen’s used to running on nothing but nicotine and adrenaline and an odd spout of desolation, and he manages everything, keeps the pieces glued together until eventually everything becomes too much and then he crumbles. still picks them up gently, like handling broken glass. he visits the storage often. closes the door for a moment and just lets himself breathe, reminds himself how to. doesn’t calm, only collects, reigns in the anger that coats loneliness. don’t think about mikey.

the staff cleans in a similar silence that douses after a storm.

the night's clear, crisp air compounded with cigarette smoke. he leans on the wall of the restaurant, staring into space, listening to the white noise of a restless city. by now, sydney has flipped the CLOSED sign; by now, his new hire is probably thinking about quitting, elbows deep in cleaning detergent as she scrubs the floor. he’ll have to go over her work and double-check. just in case there’s something more to do for hands that are always restless.

he tries to think but his head is scrambled. too many thoughts rushing in and out, loud, obnoxious, too quick to leave a lasting impact. he’s tired. he’s always tired. he wants lay on his bed and let sleep swallow him whole, but he knows that won’t happen. if he sleeps, he dreams of new york, he dreams of fire, he dreams of voices coming from the other room. one, in particular, holds a familiar rasp and drawl, punctuated by laugher, weaving a tale and stop it, don’t think about it anymore, just stop it, don’t think about –

he tosses the cigarette, watching the embers burn.

don’t think about mikey.

he enters through the back exit, stalks through the restaurant like he's haunting the place. briefly stops to stare at the mirror behind the bar. doesn't really recognize the man staring back.

the clock reads 00:30 am.

marcus was the last to leave, or so carmen assumed by the silence that shrouds the place, but as he makes his way to his office, he hears a locker shutting, and the sound rattles him so much his heart beats in his throat. all of that previous exhaustion ignites into anxiety that makes his limbs lock up.

she halts by the mouth of the kitchen, hair matted from sweat and lower lip marked where her teeth sunk, drooped eyes widening a fraction as she regards him. he can only stare at her in return, at her messy hair and pinched eyebrows and the slight downward curl of her lips.

“you could use a coffee,” she utters, and her voice is jarring – not for any unpleasant reason, but for the fact that he didn’t expect to hear it. he’ll grow to like it, crave it, even, because it’s a lovely cadence and it’ll sound even lovelier when she says his name.

he’s frightened by it now, if one can be scared of such a thing. so he bites.

“it’s almost 1 am.”

“right,” she mutters dryly.

“why are you still here?” he questions, and it almost sounds like an accusation, because he thought he was alone, only to suddenly be proved wrong. feels like an invasion of privacy, to be fucking honest, “your shift ended like an hour ago.”

“oh, I, uh, had some things to finish, so…” she trails off, but she still looks at him, and it’s unnerving, really, how she doesn’t budge under the weight of his stare. he bends under hers, though; the floor is spotless, he has nothing left to do. he misses the visible tension in her face, misses the quick swipe of her tongue on her lower lip as she opens and closes her mouth. it’ll take two whole weeks to grow entranced by the sight. misses the polite smile, too, but hears it in her voice anyway, “night.”

her sneakers squeak and echo and the door shuts. silence settles heavy on his shoulders. he’s not sure if he’s more distraught by her sudden appearance or abrupt departure. both somehow feel bad. in less than half a year, he’ll come to realize that the latter is worse.

ch.2: thank you, love you

[jumbojazzcats93]

I'm Not Nice - Ghost

Summary - A Queen driven to resent her King by his lack of consideration for her in relation to his mistress.

Tags/Warnings - royalty, infidelity, love to hate, angst, inspired by Please, Please, Please by Sabrina Carpenter

Banners by @/saradika-graphics @glossysoap @quietlyignoringyou @lordlydragon @grizzersmamma @ivymarquis @violet-phantoms @gremlingottoosilly

"Your Highness... you should not delay any further."

The poor attendant... he's too old to be subject to stressors such as this.

"Do you suggest I enter without His Majesty?"

The question wasn't meant to be discourteous, but the attendant dabs a handkerchief at his forehead nonetheless. You purse your lips. He's with that woman. You know it. He knows you cannot enter alone without there being damage to your influence as the queen, yet still, he's late. You close your eyes as they sting with tears of frustration and look up. Deep breaths. You cannot be seen as having been bothered by this. It'll just make you look weak.

"A decision, Your Highness?"

You steel yourself and smooth your hands over your dress. Swallowing hard you announce, "Five more minutes. We must afford His Majesty some more time before we make any brash decisions." The attendant simply bows. "Yes, Your Highness."

Clenching your jaw, you face away. Late to his anniversary ball... Simon Riley... please don't bring me to tears when my makeup has been done just so.

The fairytale books made no mention of scheduled nights to lay with your husband. Neither did your mother, your tutors, or your ladies in waiting. There you sat on the bed of your marital chamber. The doors were shut, but it didn't stop the conversation right outside the door from leaking in. You listened to her beg him, your husband, not to lay with another woman.

Another woman.

As if you weren't her queen. Her monarch. The servants and guards were surely waiting with baited breath to share the news of the Kings mistress interrupting his time with the Queen once again. You knew that where the begging and sweet words failed, the tears would win. For the last several weeks Simon had rebuffed you in favor of her. Within minutes of his entrance to the marital chamber, the guards would announce her arrival and request for a moment of his Majesty's time.

But you would not be rejected again tonight.

You stand from the bed and slip your robe back over your chemise. You pay no more mind to the conversation outside the door as you drink down the rest of your wine and make your way across the room. Yet before you've even made it half way, the door opens and Simon appears. "My Queen, let-" "No need, my dear husband." The title of husband has carried a sour taste as of late. "I shall retire for the night and leave you to your affairs." Glancing behind him you see no one but the guards.

"You're leaving?" Surprised, you look back to Simon. For him to look so disheartened.... it saddens and angers you. You clench your jaw and swallow. "You clearly have other things to attend to. I will not keep-" "I turned her away." Simon rushedly cuts you off. "My Queen. My wife... please stay." You feel your pride fizzling away. Your eyes are wide and your body shivers. How could you turn down such a request? It's all you've wanted since your wedding. The attention of the man you were raised to love and adore.

"Of course I'll stay."

"Who has approved of this!?" You cry out. "Surely not His Majesty, The King!"

The squire begins to confirm to you, that it was indeed the king, but you stand and cross the room before he can finish. You're out the door before your attendant can even rise from his seat in your office. A choruses of "Please, wait!" and "Your Highness!" echo after you in the hall as you beeline for the King's office. The guards cannot even finish announcing you before you're opening the doors and storming in.

"Your Majesty, surely you've sent me this request in jest." The document is placed squarely in the center of the desk over the rest of his papers. "Surely you do not intend to build a palace for your mistress with funds from the queens allowance."

It's only then, in horror, that you notice her. As Simon opens his mouth to answer you, a woman's voice interrupts. Her voice. "Your Highness, it is very uncouth of you to arrive in such a way unannounced." She acts completely scandalized as if she is the owner of this palace. It makes you sick, but you must maintain a semblance of composure in order to save face among the servants. "My Lady, I'd like to speak to my husband in private. Would you please leave us?" Being in her presence is the only time you address Simon so informally in public. It's a desperate act to remind her of her place that never seems to work. She looks at Simon. He works his jaw for a moment before dismissing her with a nod. The audacity to ignore you, The Queen, as if she has some position over you by being holding some of The Kings affections. Your blood pressure spikes at the exchange.

At the sound of the door shutting Simon sighs and leans back. "My queen... your allowance was barely cut into. Why would such an insignificant amount of gold provoke this type of reaction?" "Your Majesty, do you feign muteness to drive a reaction from me?" His expression gives nothing away. He must genuinely think this okay. You take a deep, shaking breath. "My husband... can you truly see no issue in taking from your wife, to give to your mistress?" His jaw shuts with a click of his teeth. Its a disgusting realization. That he must think of you as only The Queen, not as his wife.

You feel a familiar burn in your eyes.

One hand reaches and brushes it's fingers along the edge of his desk. "I believe I will be retiring early for the day, Your Majesty." Your hand retracts and folds in front of you again. "I'll be taking my evening meal in my chambers, you'll not be seeing me." As he rises from his seat he begins to hurredly speak. "My Queen-"

Your voice raises slightly, "I pray your evening is pleasant." And with an elegant curtsy, you take your leave.

"Your Highness, the delegation has arrived in the banquet hall."

"Thank you, madam."

Your hands are wringing in your lap. He better not be late this time. You've worked on this treaty for months and for you to be embarrassed on your first meeting with the delegation would be the final blow to you pride. All you can do is sit in the Solar and wait, though. Your irritation growing by the minute. Even your lady's maid looks anxious. You decide to quietly ask, "Where was he last seen, Madam Dia?"

She hesitates and it answers the question before she even utters a word. "His Majesty was last reported to be in her chambers, Your Highness. Im sorry." The pity in her voice makes your stomach turn, but the anger that fills your chest overtakes your embarrassment like a tide. You take in a breath to calm yourself, so deep it hurts, and stand up. "I cannot wait this time. We must enter the banquet hall and greet the delegates." "Yes, Your Highness. I will notify the attendants." She begins to hurry to the door, but it abruptly swings open before she can reach it. Simon swoops into the solar with haste. Your lady's maid bows deeply before hurrying out the door. He looks at you out of breath. "Your Majesty, you must be truly set on fraying away every last one of my nerves."

Cringing, he responds, "Lady Tanya, kept me longer than I anticipated. Please forgive me." To utter her name in front of you... he must truly have taken leave of his senses. It enrages you even more. Your eyes flare and the anger loosens your tongue to a dangerous extent.

"Dear Husband, I could handle personal slights and dismissals, but for such important public events..." Your breathing is shaky, but carefully controlled. You approach until you're chest to chest, fixing him with a brutal glare. "Heartbreak is one thing, my ego is another. I beg you do not embarrass me today."

He's floundering for words as you walk past him and head for the Banquet Hall's entrance.