hey i have a question about romance should i just do
oc x oc
what are your guys opinion on it also non hearm is winning the race
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"Dammit!" I shouted, hurling another cube with the Fantastic Four logo on it. This was my 10 pull, and once again, nothing useful.
Staring at the ceiling of the castle in frustration, I finally pushed myself up and walked over to the workbench in my lab. Dropping into the chair, I leaned my head against my right hand, feeling the weight of another failure.
Just then, Emma entered the lab. Without hesitation, she leaned her head on mine, wrapping a hand around my neck in a comforting gesture. Her voice carried its usual sarcastic tone as she spoke. "Another bad pull?"
I gave her a pointed look and gently removed her hand from my shoulder.
"Yeah," I said, my voice distant. "Everything was either useless or a downgrade from stuff I already have."
"Don't worry," she said, ruffling my hair in a way that was more annoying than soothing. "You'll get something useful eventually."
"Yeah, you're right. But can you stop doing that?" I asked, swatting her hand away.
"But I thought you liked it," she replied with a mischievous smile.
"I never said that," I shot back. Changing the subject, I asked, "Have you prepared for Batman's invitation?"
She straightened up, adopting a more serious demeanor. "Yes. Most of the arrangements are ready. I'd say there's a 90% chance he'll lift his suspension on me."
She wandered over to one of the bodysuits hanging near the workbench, tracing her finger along its sleek material. "This is the suit I'll wear under my clothes, right?"
"Yes," I said without hesitation. "You're heading to Gotham, which is basically hell on Earth, so you're wearing the armor. For your safety."
Her lips curled into a playful smile, and she brought her hands to her chest in mock gratitude. "Oh my, I didn't know you cared about me so much. Here I thought I was just your cash cow. I'm truly touched!"
I stared at her, unamused. "Your death would complicate a lot of my plans."
Her dramatic expression dropped as she let out a snort. "Yeah, sure, Mr. Sentimental."
Here's a polished version of your text with a smoother flow and enhanced narrative style:
"You, stop distracting me. I have work to do," I said, gesturing for Emma to leave the lab.
"Okay, okay," she replied, throwing up her hands in mock surrender before leaving.
I turned back to my workbench, my focus returning to the project at hand: the Mark 4, also known as the Steel Spider suit. While Emma kept Batman and his army of child soldiers busy at the gala, I'd infiltrate the Batcave, gather the data I needed, and install a backdoor into his systems. It was risky, but the payoff would be worth it.
The day of the invitation had finally arrived. I wasn't wearing a dress but a tailored black suit that complemented my dark, raven-black hair. It was sleek and professional, perfect for blending into Gotham's elite crowd.
Stepping out of my room, I walked into the living area where Emiya was lounging on the sofa, his eyes glued to his phone.
"Boss, how do I look?" I asked, spinning slightly to give him the full view.
He looked up at me for a few seconds, his eyes scanning my outfit, then quickly turned his gaze back to his phone. "You look beautiful," he said, the words rushed and awkward.
"Why are you still standing here? You've got a party to attend," he added, still avoiding meeting my eyes.
I smirked at his flustered demeanor but decided not to tease him further. There was work to be done, and tonight would set the stage for whatever game Emiya was playing.
[ batman]
I hate these kinds of events—parties, the endless showing off. But all of this is necessary to maintain the illusion of a carefree playboy, so no one connects the dots and suspects I'm Batman. Tonight, however, isn't just about appearances. It's also the night I confirm my suspicions about Stark Industries.
The emergence of Iron Spider had raised more than a few questions. He came out of nowhere, fully equipped and operating with technology that rivaled my own. I'd spent considerable time, resources, and money digging into his background, and I was now almost certain who—or at least what—he was.
My gaze settled on Emma Frost, the enigmatic CEO of Stark Industries. On the surface, she appeared to be an ordinary businesswoman. Most people would leave it at that. But I wasn't most people.
After months of research, I discovered that almost all of her documentation was fake. There was no verifiable record of her existence before two months ago. That, paired with the sudden rise of Iron Spider, made her the prime suspect in my investigation.
I moved toward her, a practiced smile on my face. My training with over a hundred masters around the world—experts in body language, psychology, and deception—had given me the ability to read people with uncanny precision. I could spot fake smiles, detect hidden emotions, and, more importantly, mask my own thoughts effortlessly.
As I approached, I noted subtle details about her. The way she carried herself didn't scream "trained warrior," but that could just as easily be a carefully practiced facade.
"Mr. Wayne," she said first, her tone confident yet cordial. She extended a hand toward me. "Thank you for the invitation."
"The pleasure is mine to have a beautiful woman like you attend my family charity event," I said with a warm smile, shaking her hand.
"Thanks for the compliment," she replied, her lips curling into a small smile as she accepted a glass of wine from a passing waiter. "But I'm sure you say that to every woman you meet."
"No, I don't," I said, shaking my head slightly.
"Oh?" she said, raising an eyebrow, her tone playful but inquisitive. "Then what business do you have with me? My company is nowhere near as big as yours or many of the others here." Her smile lingered as her black eyes shifted downward, settling on the ring adorning her hand. Her fingers gently rubbed over it in a way that seemed almost unconscious.
my gut was telling me that the ring was important to her so I decided to ask, "May I ask where you got that ring?"
"Oh, this ring?" she said, glancing at it as her fingers continued to rub over its surface. "It's nothing special—just something I bought when I was starting my business." She smiled warmly, but I could sense that her words didn't quite match the truth.
I decided not to push her on it, at least not directly. Instead, I took another approach.
"So," I began, leaning slightly forward, my gaze locking onto hers, "can you tell me about your life before these past two months?"
Her smile faltered for just a second, barely noticeable, but enough for someone paying attention. She recovered quickly, meeting my stare with an almost practiced ease.
"What exactly are you curious about?" she asked, her tone light yet carefully measured.