#selina kyle one shot

[olailamajnoon]

Dick: Bruce, you look down in the dumps.

Bruce: How do you know that's not just my face?

Dick: Because your face usually says 'existential despair', not 'terminal illness'.

Bruce: Well. It's nothing. Anyway...

Dick, shutting the laptop: Bruce I'm not moving from here until you tell me.

Bruce: *sighs* Fine. Selina doesn't want any children. We've been talking about our future together, after marriage.

Dick: Oh.

Dick: Wait.

Dick: You want more children?

Bruce: Well...isn't it a normal, healthy instinct?

Dick: Bruce, I think you've left normal and healthy a couple of light years behind you. You have six children, dammit!

Bruce:...

Bruce: Do you think I have a problem?

Dick: Well....

Bruce: *puppy dog eyes*

Dick: Absolutely yes.

[ditzybat]

I know we get a lot of Catlad!Jason or Stray!Tim au’s, but just this once can we get a Stray!Bernard au? A Bernard who was caught trying to steal something big in a spiteful teenage phase of rebellion and getting caught by Catwoman of all people, who immediately snatches him and makes him her apprentice- because if the bat can have protégés so can she. And a just freshly made Robin Tim having to chase around that annoying cat who happens to be his civilian best friend (not that either of them realize it) And just - Bernard is just a silly cat having his bat chase him around rooftops in an excruciating slow burn romance that takes both miscommunication and civilian life drama to make it to endgame.

[ladyantiheroine]

Unfinished Business

Summary: Selina Kyle returns to Gotham and decides to resolve the tension between her and the city’s notorious vigilante. Read on AO3.

Pairing: dom!Selina Kyle x sub!Bruce Wayne

Warnings: Explicit sexual content.

Word Count: 5.8k words

Tags: Loss of virginity, dom/sub undertones, riding, hand jobs, sweet/hot.

Breaking into Wayne Manor proved easier than Selina Kyle expected. As experienced as a thief as she was, she expected the richest man in Gotham to have better security. But within minutes of climbing that dark, rain-soaked roof she was able to crack open a window, throw a rope down, and glide herself down inside. She landed on her feet and looped the rope around her belt.

She’d been tempted to break into Bruce Wayne’s opulent hermit hole for a long time. In part, because he had so much to steal, and how much cash did one guy need? Plus, there was the thrill of the hunt. For any good burglar in Gotham, Bruce Wayne was the crown jewel of heists.

But Selina had no interest in money or jewels. Not tonight at least. Those were not the reasons she came to breach his defenses.

It had been months since Selina had been in Gotham. The city was no longer flooded, but there were still plenty of signs of damage. It was healing, but Selina knew that this city could open its wound as fast as it could cover them.

She slipped silently out of the pitch-black room she entered through and into the hallway. Wayne Manor resembled more like a Gothic mansion than the residence of Gotham’s favorite bachelor. At night, with thunder and lightning looming outside, it was especially eerie.

She tried to move silently down the hall, but a pair of heeled leather boots were not the most quiet shoes on marble floors. Selina walked slowly to silence her steps.

At that moment, she heard someone just downstairs. A pair of footsteps heading up the spiral staircase to the second floor. Selina instinctively froze.

“Master Wayne?” a voice called.

It didn’t sound like Batman or Bruce. It must have been someone who worked for him.

“Are you awake, sir?” he called. “I thought you went to bed?”

The footsteps grew closer up the stairs. Selina quickly ducked into the closest door and shut it quietly behind her. She ducked down and held her breath, listening to the sounds of footsteps moving from the stairs down the hall.

Selina watched the hallway light from under the crack in the door. Two shadowy footsteps appeared. Her heart quickened in her chest as she waited for the door to open.

It didn’t. The two shadows disappeared from beneath the door and down the hall. Moments later, the butler’s footsteps started moving back down the stairs. Selina heard him walk through the front hall, heard the heavy front doors open with the pattering rain, then shut behind him. The butler left the house, and all that was left was silence.

Selina released her breath. She was usually better at break-ins like this. She normally wasn’t this sloppy. But now that Bruce Wayne’s one house staff member was gone, that had to make sneaking around a bit easier. She just needed to get her answers and—

No sooner than Selina could finish her thought, she turned around and realized where she was. The light was dim, only the amber glow from the streetlights beyond the window. But in that dim light, Selina could make out shadows and shapes of furniture, a fireplace with a mantel, a chandelier on the ceiling, and a large, silky bed.

A large, silk bed with one shadowy occupant.

Selina’s heart lurched in her chest. She took a tentative step forward and eyed the figure on the bed. She heard a soft, masculine sigh and as she grew closer she got a better look at his face. Bruce Wayne.

Just the sight of him made her heart stop for a second. Of all the rooms she could have slipped into, it just had to be right where the richest recluse in Gotham was sleeping. Selina’s eyes flicked up to a nearby window. Her instinct was to run, to get away before she was caught. But she needed to know. She came back to Gotham, to this mansion, for one reason. And she wasn’t going to return to Gotham until it was resolved.

Selina turned her eyes back to Bruce. He looked serene when was asleep. No brooding intensity. He mumbled a little in his sleep, his head swirling with midnight dreams. She leaned over to get a closer look at his face.

She never saw the Batman without his mask. All she had to go off of was his lower face, his lips, his mouth. Selina’s fingers twitched with the urge to trace her nails on his jaw. Feel his face like she did on that sky tower, see if it felt familiar. Lord knows she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of it since.

It’s him, she thought to herself. It has to be him.

And then, he opened one eye.

Every nerve in Selina’s body sprung into action. She darted towards the window, but before she could fling it open, a pair of hands grabbed her waist and pulled her back.

“What the hell?” Bruce growled.

That voice. Selina heard that voice before. It had been haunting her head since she left Gotham all those months ago.

“Let go of me,” Selina hissed. Her claws went flying at his face, and she scratched his cheek just enough for him to drop her.

She fought him back, but just like their fight back at the former mayor’s home, they were both evenly matched. Even without the suit on, he could hold a fight. Selina jumped on a nearby chair and hurled herself at him. He grabbed her waist, spun her around, and her back hit the bed. He pressed her down, and in the dark, she could hear his ragged breathing on her face.

Selina was struck with memories of the last time they were close like this. On a table in the mayor’s house a few feet from where he was murdered. Back when they were both wearing masks.

Except now, Selina was prepared.

I’m sorry to do this, baby she thought.

Selina lifted a foot and kicked him in the chest. Bruce Wayne tumbled backward until his back hit the bedroom door. Selina quickly gathered to her feet and lifted her hands.

“Baby,” she said. “It’s me.”

Bruce’s breathing was heavy, his brain and body high on defensive adrenaline. But he paused, his eyes straining to see her in the dark, taking in her familiar silhouette.

“That voice,” he said.

Bruce’s hand fumbled on the wall by the door until his fingers found the light switch. The room alighted from the sconces on the wall. Without the dark, the two could fully see each other.

Selina had only seen Bruce Wayne in pictures that were plastered over newspapers and television screens. In his rare public appearances, he always looked so put together. Clean-cut in a dark suit and an intense, unreadable expression on his face.

But that wasn’t the man Selina saw now. Bruce was dressed in only his nightwear, which consisted only of long black pajama bottoms and a long robe. His hair was a mess from having just been plucked from his bed.

His eyes were fixed on her with a mix of disbelief and confusion. And then, without realizing it, her name tumbled from his mouth.

“Selina?” he said. 

There it was. He recognized her name, her face. Something crossed Bruce’s eyes and he covered his mouth. He’d given himself away.

Selina shrugged.

“Yeah, it’s me,” she said. 

“What are you doing here?”

Despite knowing the answer, Selina was struck by the question. She came here to find the truth about Batman, but she hadn’t planned on speaking to him. Now that he was in front of her, she had to search for her words.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she said. She offered him a small smile. “I came to visit an old friend.”

In the faded light, Selina could see a sliver of his chest between the folds of his robe.

Bruce tucked the folds tighter over himself and looked Selina in the eye. He looked as wounded as a lost puppy, as helpless as a kitten in the rain.

“How’d you figure out it was me?” he asked.

Selina crossed her arms and shrugged.

“I thought about it, and some pieces came together,” she said. “I remember what I said to you before. How you seemed like someone who grew up rich.”

She took a few steps closer to him.

“And then I started thinking…Batman has that suit, and those weapons, that car…all that tech. A guy without money couldn’t afford all of that. And so I started thinking, of all the rich guys in Gotham, who could it be?”

She stood right in front of him, tipping her head back to look him right in the eye.

“And that’s when I realized,” she said. “It has to be the tech billionaire who is rarely seen leaving his house and has a personal reason to fight crime.”

Bruce looked at her, his brain rolling with a hundred thoughts, then nodded.

“I’ll admit, you fooled me good,” Selina said. “Fooled everyone good. I’m surprised I didn’t think of it sooner. That anyone didn’t think of it sooner.”

Bruce shrugs.

“I guess no one expects a sheltered rich kid to hold his own in a fight.”

“Maybe.”

He stepped closer until he was right in front of her. He held her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye.

“Selina,” he said. Something was begging in his voice. “You cannot tell anyone about this.”

Selina gave him a small, reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, Vengeance,” she said. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

Bruce nodded then let her go. There was a strand of black hair hanging over his face. Selina felt the urge to brush it out of the way.

“Why’d you come back to Gotham?” he asked. “What about Bludhaven?”

Selina let out a sigh.

“Not much to find in Bludhaven,” she said. “It seems most targets are taking their money and investments elsewhere. Further from Gotham.” She lifted her eyes to his. “I figured, Gotham’s a mess, but at least it’s never boring.” She moved her eyes away and shrugged. “I’ll admit, I kind of missed this fucked up city.”

There was something else under her words that she couldn’t bring herself to say: I missed you. 

“You missed Gotham?“ Bruce said.

Selina pursed her lips and nodded.

“This city had gone astray,” she said. She looked at him and gave him a smirk. “And you know how I feel about strays.”

Bruce gave her a long look.

“I do,” he said.

A stretch of silence passed between them. Selina’s eyes wandered down to the slit in his robe, the flesh waiting just underneath.

Selina had never made her attraction to Batman a secret. From the moment they first locked eyes at the Iceberg Lounge, she never bothered to hide it. The moment she kissed him on the tower had given her only a taste of him. Now, with his suit and cowl gone, with so much flesh exposed, it only made her hungrier.

Moreover, without the mask, Selina could better read his face. With nothing to hide behind, Bruce was open as a book. She could see something cross his eyes. He knew she was looking at him, what she was thinking, and he didn’t dislike it.

Selina stepped closer to him and stood close enough that she could feel his breath. His eyes looked down into hers with an enticed anticipation, waiting for what she might do.

“I’ll admit, baby,” she said. “I came here to confirm if my suspicions about the Batman were right.” She lifted a hand to his shoulder. “And it’s true. I did.”

She gently brushed her hand from his shoulder down to over his chest. Just under the velvet fabric of the robe, she could feel his hard flesh underneath. And the heartbeat quickening just beneath it.

“But I’m not gonna lie, baby,” she said. She lifted her eyes to him. “Even if I was wrong, I still would have tried to find you. Somewhere out there in the dark, dressed in all that armor.”

Her fingertips brushed over the folds of his robe, teasing lightly over the material. His heartbeat was racing so fast, she just wanted to feel it closer.

“I’ll admit,” she whispered. “I missed you.”

She waited for him to pull away, to show any sign of resistance. But he didn’t. If anything, she felt him subtly lean into her touch. Like her fingertips were magnetic and he was helpless to resist the power they had.

“I missed you too,” he said. His voice was soft as a whisper and sent a shiver down Selina’s spine.

Selina grinned and released a small chuckle. She traced her hand up his neck over his Adam’s apple. Bruce froze under her touch, but he didn’t move away. He let her run her hands wherever she wanted. She felt his skin shiver and his heartbeat race after in his ribs.

Her fingers found his lips. She lightly traced along his mouth, pressing down on his bottom lip. Her face grew hot remembering their kiss on the tower. How cold yet soft his mouth was, how she wondered what the rest of him felt like.

“I think you and I have some unfinished business,” she whispered into his lips. “And I’ve come back to finish it.”

She moved her fingers along his jawline. Bruce was looking at her with an intense, enticed gaze.

“I’m glad you did,” he whispered.

Selina smiled. She brushed her lips against his, and that alone was enough to make him shiver.

“Selina,” Bruce murmured.

It was so strange to see him like this. The most feared man in Gotham wasn’t so big and scary once the suit was gone. When the doors were closed and the lights were on, Bruce Wayne was as soft and warm as one of Selina’s stray kittens.

Selina moved her hands to Bruce’s chest, right where the material of his robe split. She gave him a teasing look.

“Mind if I?”

Something passed across Bruce’s face, something Selina couldn’t quite read. But he gave her a nod.

“Go ahead,” he said.

Selina slid her hands under the velvet fabric. His flesh was hot and solid underneath despite how pale he was, and Selina felt a hot flush run down her body. She parted the folds of the robe until she slipped down the back of Bruce’s shoulders and into a velvety pile on the floor.

Selina’s eyes traced him up and down. His body was a piece of lean muscle and dirty scarring you’d expect from a vigilante. He stood still as she ran her hands along his chest, his ribs, his torso, feeling every part of him now that there was no leather to conceal it. Selina heard a soft sound in his throat like a purr.

“What’s all this?” she said, tracing her hands gently along his back. She could feel the cuts and indents of some more intense scarring along his back and shoulders.

Bruce shrugged.

“It gets rough on Gotham streets,” he said. “You should know that as well as me.” His voice lowered. “Remember, it’s still Batman you’ve got in your hands.”

Selina raised an eyebrow.

“Is Batman who I’m touching right now?”

Bruce pursed his lips and shrugged. Selina shook her head.

“No,” she said. “No Batman. Not tonight. None of this hiding behind a mask and armor bullshit.”

She glided her hands up his neck and into his hair. She gripped him lightly so his eyes fixed on hers.

“Tonight, I want Bruce,” she said.

She brought her lips to his collarbones and then placed a small, chaste kiss. She began kissing along his neck, mumbling his name into his pale flesh.

“Bruce…Bruce…Bruce…” 

Bruce’s eyes fluttered shut and he tipped his head back. His body seemed to get weaker, growing limp, like any moment Selina may have to catch him from falling.

Instead, Selina took his face in her hands and then brought her lips to his. Bruce made a surprised, muffled sound but then sunk into her. This was different from the kiss on the tower. It was hungrier, and with no mask to hide behind, Bruce didn’t hold back. He groaned deep in his throat as Selina nibbled at his lower lip.

Selina pulled out of the kiss and then took Bruce by his shoulders. She turned him then moved him backward and sat him on the edge of the bed. Bruce’s lips parted, but before he could say anything, Selina climbed into his lap. She straddled on top of him, her knees to his hips, sitting right over his hard erection.

She took his hands and moved them to the back of her catsuit. His fingers fumbled for the zipper, then slowly lowered it down. Bruce’s lips parted as Selina peeled off her suit along with her boots until she was down to her underwear, For a moment she swear he was about to start drooling.

It was cute. Selina knew Bruce was reclusive, but surely this wasn’t the first he got naked with a girl, right?

Selina shimmied out of her underwear and then scooted further up Bruce’s lap. She brushed over Bruce’s burning crotch. Bruce’s eyes ran her up and down like he couldn’t decide where to look first. 

Selina gave him a teasing look.

“What’s wrong, baby?” she said. “Don’t have enough girls hanging off you during the day?”

Bruce’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped.

“No,” he said.

She took his hands and moved them to her waist. His hands smoothed up her back to the hooks of her bra. His fingers fumbled to unclasp the hooks and the straps fell from Selina’s shoulders. Selina pulled her bra from her shoulder, dropped it on the floor, then pressed her mouth to his. Bruce groaned and grazed his hand up her stomach to her chest.

Selina’s body was burning hot all over. She’d been dying to get the Batman out of that armor ever since she met. She wanted to touch him, feel him, get him inside her. Every noise percolating from his throat only made her wetter.

Selina pushed deeper into the kiss. Bruce leaned back onto the bed and she crawled on top of him. The mattress creaked under their weight. She was about to reach for his waist when his voice stopped her.

“Selina,” he mumbled against her mouth.

His hand took her wrist before she could undo his pants. Their lips parted. Selina ran a hand along his cheek.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “It’s…I haven’t…I’ve never…”

The realization came to Selina slowly.

“This is your first time?” she said.

Bruce bit his lip and looked at his lap, his pale cheeks turning red. Selina couldn’t quite believe it at first. How could the prince of Gotham, the city’s most eligible bachelor, be a virgin? He was rich and handsome enough to be a playboy. But it made sense the more she thought about it. Bruce Wayne was an extremely private man, almost a recluse. She could see how a guy like him, with a past like his, didn’t get too close to many people. 

Until now.

Selina gently took his chin and lifted his face to hers. Bruce’s eyes, dark and soft and full of moonlight, held her gaze.

“Do you want me to keep going?” she asked.

She felt Bruce’s face flush under her touch. He bit his lip and then nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “Please.”

Selina moved her hand to cup his cheek. He was blushing bright red. Bruce pressed his hand over hers and shifted his face to kiss her palm. He sunk into her touch like it was something precious. Selina moved her face closer to his and whispered into his lips.

“Don’t worry, Vengeance,” she whispered. “I’ll be gentle.”

She pressed her lips to his again. She crawled further on top of him until she was straddling his lap. Already she could feel the heat rushing down his body and the hard bulge in his pants. 

She trailed kisses down his neck, her lipstick leaving a pattern of stains on his flesh. Bruce tipped his head back and moaned. Who knew how long it had been since anyone had gotten this close to him before? Perhaps never. Bruce Wayne had never been touched like this before, and that knowledge sent a strange thrill through Selina.

Bruce Wayne. The Batman. One of the most powerful and feared men in Gotham. Now he was a moaning, whimpering, blushing mess under her touch.

Her hands trailed down his back and she felt him shiver.

“Has a girl ever touched you here?” she asked. She brushed her lips along his neck to his collar. “Or here?” Then to his chest. “Or here …”

Bruce bit his lip so hard it turned white.

“No,” he groaned. His voice shuddered from his throat like he was trying to suppress whatever was bubbling inside him.

Selina grinned.

“You’re as untouched as they come, are you?” she said.

Bruce didn’t even try to deny it. He dropped his face so a strand of hair fell in his face.

“Yeah,” he said.

Poor baby. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” she told him. She traced a playful finger down his chest. “Just makes it a little extra special.”

Bruce looked down at her hand, then grabbed it and brought it to his lips. He kissed each of her fingers and then looked up into her eyes with a pleading look. His body was hot and shaking at once and his eyes begged, fuck me .

Selina smiled and pressed her teeth to his neck. Bruce moaned louder as she sucked a hickey on his neck. He clasped an arm around her lower back. The sensation hit him so strongly that it made him shiver.

“Does that feel good, baby?” Selina whispered into his neck. She ran his hands around his ribcage and could feel goosebumps.

It felt so nice to tease him. This poor boy had been starved of touch his whole life, and now she was giving him just a taste, enough to drive him feral. Having that kind of power over a man like Bruce Wayne…it was intoxicating.

Bruce’s eyes were shut and his head was tipped back.

“Yes,” he sighed. “Please. Keep going.”

Selina smiled and pressed her teeth lower down his neck. As she planted another hickey, her hand slithered down to the front of his pants. She unbuckled his belt and pulled down the zipper. She could already feel his hot, throbbing erection just begging for her.

“I think you’ll like this, baby,” she whispered in his ear. Her hand slithered down the front of his pants.

Bruce dropped his gaze to her.

“What are you— haaah… ”

She reached under his boxers and her fingers curled around his cock. Bruce let out a loud gasp. He pressed a hand behind him on the bed to steady himself,

“Selina,” he whimpered. “I…”

Selina smirked.

“What's wrong, baby?” she asked. With her free hand, she grabbed the hair at the back of his head and pulled to force his face towards hers. “You never did this for yourself, before?”

Even in the dim light, she could see Bruce’s face flush ever redder. He gulped then nodded.

“Yes,” he whimpered. “I have, but I…”

He gasped as Selina tightened her grip on him. Her fingers teased him down below and he let out a shuddered breath.

“Right,” she said. “But it’s more fun with someone else, isn’t it?”

Bruce was tense beneath her, every nerve in his body focused on where she touched him. She could feel his heart racing beneath his ribcage and all the heat in his body rushing down.

“Selina,” he whimpered. 

“Shhh,” Selina whispered in his ear as her hand began to work his cock. 

Oh, the sounds he made. If all of Gotham could hear the noises the Batman was making now, no one would fear him again. Bruce whimpered like a kitten as Selina teased her hand and fingers over his cock.

Before he could get too far, Selina released her grip and pulled his hands out of his pants. Bruce opened his eyes and looked at her, his face a flustered mess.

“Why did you—” 

Selina stopped his mouth with another kiss. His breath was ragged, hot, and desperate, his body begging for release. 

But there was also a trace of something else in his eyes. A look is someone who wasn’t sure what to expect. Batman was a meticulous planner. He liked being prepared for any situation that came his way. But he seemed nervous now that he was under her. It was quite a thing to see. The guy who chose to get the shit beat out of him every night was stumped when the girl of his dreams was on top of him.

Selina gave him a small, teasing smile.

“Don’t worry, baby,” she said. “I’ll take good care of you.”

She took his cock in her hand, then lowered herself slowly on top of him. Bruce gasped like he’d been punched in the gut.

“Fuck,” he croaked. His hands fisted the sheets between his knuckles. “ Fuck .”

Selina grinned.

“Doesn’t that feel nice?” she said. “Nice, hot and wet?”

Bruce looked at her with those wide blue eyes, his face bright pink. A sigh shuddered through Selina’s chest. God, he felt so good. Bruce Wayne may have been a virgin, but his body was sinful. As Selina shifted him deeper inside her, her eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted in a deep moan.

When she opened her eyes, Bruce’s hands had moved from gripping the sheets to gripping her hips to balance her on top of him.

Selina smiled, gripped his shoulders, then pushed her hips forward. His fingers gripped her hips as they rolled smoothly over his cock.

“Selina,” he moaned.

His deep, gravelly voice sent a shiver down Selina’s spine. She smiled and moved her hand to his face. Her thumb pressed against his bottom lip as she continued to fuck him.

“Say my name, baby,” she said. “Say it as much as you want.”

“Selina,” he sighed.

Her name stumbled from his lips thoughtlessly. With every swerve of Selina’s hips, every creak of the mattress beneath them, Bruce seemed to forget every word except her name.

Selina moaned as she rode him deeper into the bed. She parted her lips and circled them with the tip of her tongue. He felt so delicious between her thighs. What a beautiful body wasted on virginity.

“Baby,” she sighed. “You feel so good.”

Bruce bit his lip and turned his face aside into the pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut and Selina swore she saw tears well up in the corner.

“Mhm,” Selina mumbled. She grabbed Bruce’s face and turned it back to her. “Eyes on me, baby.”

He looked up at her with wide, helpless eyes. He was looking at her like she was some angel who descended from the clouds. Or a goddess who came to ravish him.

She rode him deeper into the mattress. Bruce lay still beneath her as she pounded his body into the creaking bed. With every delicious swerve from Selina’s hips he whimpered at pleasure pulsing up his body.

He was beautiful. He was winter-pale from years spent in the dark, but his body was sculpted to perfection. Strong, lean, with some cuts and scarring from rough nights out. How could a man this beautiful remain untouched for so long? Selina’s thoughts became a hot swirl in her head as she tore through his virginity.

“Bruce,” Selina moaned. Her eyes fluttered open. “How dare you hide away all of this ?”

Her hands squeezed his shoulders. She couldn’t touch him enough. She wanted to ride nd lick every inch of that unfucked flesh of his.

Bruce started getting louder, going from stifled moans to high-pitched whimpering. Selina could feel his body bracing, burning hotter and hotter. He wasn’t the only one. She could feel herself seconds from barreling over the edge.

Selina thrust her hips harder, faster, moving until she could feel sweat dripping between her breasts. Her breath was ragged and she couldn’t dream of stopping.

Bruce’s body tensed beneath her. His face was red and dripping with perspiration. He was biting his lips so much Selina thought he would draw blood.

If there was one thing true about Batman, it’s that he loved control. He was used to it. But right now, Selina needed him to let it go.

She ran her hands up and down his chest.

“Don’t fight it, baby,” she cooed. “Just let it come.”

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut, tearing up in the corners. He threw his head back on the pillow.

“Selina,” he whimpered. “Fuck, I…” He grew louder, his pitch raising. Words tumbled from his lips with every breath. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me .”

His pleas sent Selina over the edge. Pleasure shot up her body like a sparkler. She tossed her head back, bucking her hips harder, moaning louder the deeper his cock pushed inside her.

“Come on, baby,” she moaned.

Bruce was dripping sweat underneath. In a sudden movement, he sat up and gripped an arm around her waist. He bucked his hips to meet hers, pushing himself inside her as his ragged breaths filled her ears.

“Selina,” he grunted. “ Fuck , you’re gonna make me—“

The two of them came together at once, as hard and fast as a glass bottle shattered against a wall. Selina clasped an arm around Bruce’s shoulder, scratching her nails into his flesh. She tipped her head back

The comedown was slow. Selina's hips ground to a steady halt. Both of them were sweating so much that their flesh glistened. For a moment, they stayed where they were, their eyes locked and their tired breaths mingled together. Bruce was looking at her like she was something else, like he couldn’t quite believe she existed.

Selina gave him a grin.

“Not too bad for a first-timer,” she said.

A small hint of a grin crept onto Bruce’s face. After a moment, he collapsed backward onto the mattress. Selina caught her breath as she watched his chest rise and fall. He was trembling ever so slightly like his body was still reeling from what just happened. Even Selina herself felt a bit shaken.

“I guess I should…” Selina said. She shifted to lift herself off of him. She made a mental note to take her pill the very next morning. As much as she was convinced she and Bruce would make stunning babies, things were far too early for that.

Suddenly, almost instinctively, Bruce’s hands grabbed her hips before she could move off of him. He looked at her for a moment, his fingers pressing into her side.

Selina chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t want me off yet?” she teased.

Bruce blushed then slowly removed his hands from her hips. Selina hoisted herself up, moaning a little as he slid out of her. She stood up on her knees, towering over him, and brushed her hands along the shiny wetness dripping down her inner thighs.

Selina smirked and gave him a teasing smile.

“You’ve made quite a mess, haven’t you?” she said.

Bruce’s face turned several shades redder and he lifted the duvet over his head. Selina chuckled and her heart squelched. The big, bad Batman wasn’t so scary anymore.

“Oh, no,” Selina said. She grabbed the duvet and swiped it off of him. “You don’t get to cum inside me and then hide away.”

Bruce stared at her. He was in complete disarray. His face was red, his hair was a mess, and his neck and chest were covered in a smattering of lipstick stains. He was a well-loved, whimpering mess and it was all because of her.

Selina crooked her finger at him.

“Come here, baby,” she said. “I want you close.”

Bruce shifted closer to her until his body was pressed against hers. Selina pulled him to her chest and wrapped her arms around his head. She could feel his lips and breath between her breasts, and he wrapped his arms around her waist.

Bruce held her tight to his chest, like if he let her go for even a moment, she would disappear in a puff of smoke. Reveal herself to just be a dream or late-night figment of his imagination. Selina smiled and started trailing kisses along his neck and chest. She kissed him and touched him and squeezed him to remind him that she was very much real.

“How do you feel?” she asked. She lay her head on his chest over his heart.

It took Bruce a moment to answer. He shrugged and petted his fingers along her short hair.

“Not very different,” he said. “I didn’t really expect to.” He paused, then kissed her neck. “I’m happy it was with you.”

There was no tease in his voice. It was so earnest it made Selina pause. Warmth blossomed in her chest and grinned so hard it hurt her cheeks. She nuzzled her face into the top of his head.

“You feel nice too,” she said. “You’re so tender under all that armor.”

The two of them lay there in serene silence for several minutes. The rain and thunder were pounding outside, but inside Wayne Manor, it was warm and quiet.

Bruce broke the silence

“Does it…” he said. “Does it always feel that good?”

He almost sounded embarrassed to ask. It was so adorable Selina’s heart squelched. She smiled and threaded her fingers in his hair.

“It can,” she said. And then, because she couldn’t resist, she leaned down and whispered in his ear. “And that’s just in one position.”

Bruce’s face went cherry-red and Selina dropped her back on the pillow and laughed.

“You’re cute, Vengeance,” she said. She pet her hands through his hair. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got plenty of other things to show you. I’m not done with you yet.”

Indeed, she did. Her mind was already cataloging the various things she wanted to try with him. Now that his cherry was popped, she had a lot more to teach him, a lot more enticing things to try.

Bruce lifted his eyes to her. They were round and puppy-like, and seemed to whisper, Is that a promise? 

Selina smiled and kissed him on the head.

“Not tonight,” she said. “We both need to sleep.”

Bruce nodded then nuzzled into Selina’s chest, squeezing his arms tighter around her waist. In seconds he was sound asleep, his sweet, soft breathing filling her ears.

Selina drifted to sleep with the Batman tucked close to her heart.

[vanillael]

ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʙᴀɪʟᴇᴅ ᴏɴ

Bruce plans a date with Y/N but ends up not going.

Y/N was in her bedroom picking out an outfit for her date night with Bruce. It’s been a few weeks since she last saw him, so she tried to look her best. It was almost like getting ready for their first date again, except they’re already 1 year into the relationship. 

She wanted to impress him, but also subtly show him everything he’s missed. She wore her best fitted dress, curled the ends of her hair and wore bold makeup. 

Y/N and Bruce’s relationship was complicated. Of course it was complicated, she’s literally dating Batman! They can go weeks or even months without seeing each other. 

It’s actually not Y/N fault, she tries her best to keep the relationship going. She wants to make sure it never gets awkward the few times they actually meet. 

Bruce however sometimes forgets he’s in a relationship. He’ll get reminded every once in a while when Y/N sends him a scandalous picture. 

Y/N knew getting into a relationship with Batman would mean little spare time just for them to hang, but she wasn't expecting it to be so little.

She looks at the mirror and giggles. Who wouldn’t be happy to see their boyfriend after a long time?

She picks up her phone and sends Bruce a message. 

“I’m leaving the house now, can’t wait to see you ❤” 

She nervously bites her lip before taking one quick glimpse at the mirror and walks towards the door. 

AT THE RESTAURANT 

Because Y/N and Bruce had a reserved table at the restaurant, Y/N was allowed in to wait inside. She ordered a glass of water and slowly sipped on it patiently waiting for Bruce. 

The time was already 9 PM and Bruce was supposed to be there, but the man was nowhere to be seen. Y/N didn’t want to seem annoying so she assumed he was running a bit late.  

The time was now nearing 10 PM. She was more worried than upset so she wrote to Bruce in hopes he’ll answer. 

“Hey, I’m already inside. Where are you?” 

She knew she wouldn’t get an immediate answer but her eyes were still glued to the phone waiting for Bruce's status to go from ‘offline’ to ‘online’. The status never changed and he never answered. 

10.35 PM

Y/N legs were furiously and uncontrollably bouncing up and down under the table. She was having a lot of anxiety. She was scared that Bruce was locked up somewhere getting tortured. 

She tried to ignore those types of thoughts but it was still something that bothered her. Messages such as; “Where are you?”, “Honey, answer please”, “Should I come over?” were being sent to him. 

The distressed woman tucks some hair behind her ear as she looks at the empty seat in front of her. 

11 PM

At this point Y/N had given up on sending messages. She had lost her appetite and ended up playing mobile games to spend time. She was so into her game she didn’t notice the well dressed man in front of her. 

She finally noticed a presence in front of her. As she was looking downwards she saw black dress shoes making her happily look up

“I knew you’d come-,” she said excitedly. Her excitement quickly cut when she saw the face. It wasn’t her man. 

“Ma’am, we are forced to ask you to leave as a young couple rented the entire  restaurant for themselves. They should arrive in a few minutes so you unfortunately have to leave.” 

Y/N looked down at her phone to check if she’d gotten a message. None. 

She weakly smiled at the man before getting her purse and walking towards the door. When she got into her car she immediately burst into tears.

As she was about to drive off her phone buzzed. She wiped her tears before picking the phone up and read the message. 

“Sorry I couldn’t make it. I had a few things to discuss with Selina Kyle. Hope you have a good night, I love you.”

You’d think the “I love you” would make her feel better but instead she burst into tears once more realizing her boyfriend bailed on her for another woman. Ouch. 

(A/N: Hi. Hope you enjoyed reading this short little one-shot I recently thought of. I’ve been meaning to post something on this account and today I had some spare time to actually sit down and seriously try to write something. 

You’ll have to excuse my choice of words and grammar as English isn’t my first language (it’s not even my 3rd🤭) but yeah.. Hope you enjoyed it and don’t forget to follow, BYEEE!!)

[fastboatsmojito]

☾⋆⁺₊⋆ DC Masterlist ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

☆ → smut, ☾ → angst, ♡ → fluff, ☼ → suggestive

Adrian chase;

hate fuck - blurb/req ☆

Clark Kent;

Selina Kyle;

[hannahhook7744]

This might be stupid but I still think this is one of the funnier things I've written;

[eek-a-tron]

OH MY GOD THIS HAIR DIALOGUE

STARK: Why don’t you grow out your hair?

SELINA: Why don’t you?

STARK: Hrmf.

SELINA: Tough guys don’t have long hair, is that it?

STARK: Uh huh.

SELINA: Well then, I guess I’m a tough guy too.

From Catwoman: Selina's Big Score (2002) by Darwyn Cooke

[vertigoartgore]

Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman in TimBurton's Batman Returns.

[timmydraker]

During a patrol in Gotham one night, Red Robin comes across a strange sight.

A young woman stands over a crumpled body with a sling shot primed and ready, aimed a man with a rather large hand gun. It’s clear she’s protecting the woman who looks like she’s been hit over the head and had her bag nabbed, as it’s ripped and contents are spilled everywhere.

The girl sits shaking, she isn’t scared at all, standing strong with a shard of glass aimed at the man’s crotch.

Tim jumps down and disarms the man smoothly before turning to the young girl, who upon closer inspection seems to be around thirteen years old.

“Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head and stares at him for a moment with awe in his eyes before her eyes widen and she turns to the person behind her, “But she is! That guy was cornering her and I tried to help but he hit her and-“

“Alright, I understand. Would you like to help me get her to the ER a few blocks away?”

The girl nods with a determination Tim remembers seeing in Dick and Jason in their Robin days and he smiles.

He doesn’t ask her what her name is because side he knows he’ll follow up and find something to feel guilty about, but the girl seems to have her own plans.

She shows up a couple of days later, standing on a tall building with a cheap Robin outfit on.

Tim is confused before he drops down and she gives a big grin and mock salute, “How can I help?”

Tim smiled a little before shaking his head, “Taking the title of Robin, are you?”

She nods, now more bashful, “Well, I want to help people. I don’t want to fight exactly, but… well, sometimes you bats are too busy with the villains to notice the little guy and- bro to say you’re a bad hero-“

“You’re right, it’s okay. We can only do so much and sometimes preventing more damage being done saves more lives, but there will always be a cost.”

She smiles, bright orange, and impressively curly, hair getting in her eyes and sticking to the poor quality glue of her fake domino.

“I want to help. I… can help, please.”

Tim answers after a solid minute of silence, “What is your name?”

She frowns, “Aren’t I supposed to have a secret identity?”

He smiles in answer, “Yes, but I know what you look like and I can find out, I’m asking out of politeness.”

The girl looks like she could pout and Tim feels strangely old at the sight, even if he’s still got a few months before he can even legally drink.

“Carrie. Caroline to be specific.”

Tim smiles, “Well, Carrie, here’s the deal. I will meet you here or somewhere like here every night and until, and only until, you can land a hit on me will I agree to let you help.”

While Carrie doesn’t look pleased she nods, a clear sense of hope in her eyes even as she looks nervous.

She looses the first fight, and the second and third and fourth, but she gets better and better.

Tim doesn’t tell anyone about Carrie Kelly, nor does he tell her that he does end up doing a back ground check and finds two dead beat parents more focused on weed than their incredibly skilled daughter.

When she proves to be relentless in her desire to save lives he sends her to a teacher to help her stay hidden and safe. He’s not like Bruce, he doesn’t send her overseas to some dangerous people, but close by and to someone he trust to not hurt her nor tell anyone else about the strange young girl whose managed to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Selina Kyle is more than happy to take in the girl when she watches her sling shot fire crackers at muggers.

When Carrie comes back and meets Tim on a rooftop, she not only manages to hit him but knocks him off his feet.

Tim grins at her, pride filling his mind and making him understand Bruce just a little more.

But unlike Bruce, he isn’t throwing her into the fight at all.

Tim Drake is the one who pays for her school pills while her yippie parents refuse to work or spend money on her, and sends her real time footage of medical lectures in various collages across the country.

Carrie doesn’t become Robin, nor did she even wear that suit after the second night and he gave her a basic training outfit that properly covered her eyes and hair, but she does become something else.

She becomes Cardinal, the vigilante that swoops in to save civilians and provide the medical care that saves hundreds of people and allows the ambulances and hospitals to have a chance.

When she makes her debut the other bats worry about a new kid making bad choices, probably inspired by them, but Tim ignores it if only because he’s actually proud of her and trust her in a way he hasn’t trusted teammates in years.

After a year of this, a young girl asks for a meeting with Mister Tim Drake at his company and, purely so he wouldn’t have to do more pointless numbers, he lets her in after she passes the security check.

The girl who comes into his office is barely ten, cute little clips in her dark bob hair and a big book bag almost half her size behind her.

Tim recognised her instantly once he sees the bright yellow shoes she’s wearing.

This little girl, name Mia Mizoguchi, has been stalking him and Carrie for a few months now.

After he enrolled Carrie at Gotham Academy, the young girl nicknamed ‘Maps’ had been asking Carrie a lot of questions. Carrie had been good at avoiding incriminating answers, but had fallen for the younger girls clever trap as she casually spoke out infomation that could help with cases and Carrie delivered it back to Tim.

As soon as he realised that Maps had done exactly what he had done and figured out who Carrie was he was impressed. Because even if Carrie was new to the game, she had a skill for tricking people into looking away from her and had done well to stay low.

Maps had made the connection back to Tim, apparently.

Luckily, unlike Bruce, he wasn’t ignorant to their little stalker and actually knew her family from a few galas and charities. To be fair, Tim also wasn’t clouded by grief, but as he lets the girl explain how she totally doesn’t know who Red Robin is but if she did know who he was she would want him to know that a new drug trade route was actually being covered by a cotton candy company and she has over sixty pages worth of proof.

When he shows up to The Nest (named by Carrie) with Maps behind him, he finds Cardinal waiting with an excited gleam in her eyes.

Due to her being so young, Tim doesn’t allow Maps to go into the field until she’s the same age as both he and Carrie were, but she’s quick to show her worth taking over coms and doing an insanely detailed level of detective work that Tim can’t help but be a little jealous of.

Just like Carrie, who has been trying with Selina about only becoming Catgirl if Catwoman stops being a criminal for a few weeks now, he sends her to someone else for mentor ship.

Maps is a sweet girl, but she loves to talk and has a lot of friends who have most of the same interest, so he sends her to the one bat member he trust most.

Cassandra Cain immediately tells Tim that he has to adopt both of them and can’t quite understand why them both having living parents matters.

It’s Cass who gives Maps her vigilante name, Sparrow.

[luludeluluramblings]

The Wedding Planner (Blurb)

Neglected!Reader ends up planning Bruce and Selina's wedding. The wedding goes great. Reader's life does not.

GN!Reader

You should've know being a Wayne would come back to bite you in the ass. Even though you had chosen to remain ignorant to the comings and goings of the family since you had moved out, for your own peace of mind of course. It had still managed to come back and take a massive bite out of your ass.

When you had moved out of the manor and started trying to make it on your own you luckily had some wealthy and non-wealthy friends. Friends that were more than happy to let you couch surf. Or, guest room surf in some cases. Your big break came when one of those dear friends had asked you to plan their wedding. You had accepted graciously, happy to help and wanting to thank them for all they had done.

It was stressful and eventful. There were tears, a little bit of blood, a shit ton of lace, and a mountain of flowers. But, God, was it satisfying. Watching your own plan coming together. The way you had prepare for everything that could have possibly gone wrong on such an important day. The tide pens, the red wine, the back up camera for the photographer. You had tamed the volatile chaos into a gorgeous and memorable symphony.

After that, you had found your calling. It wasn't anything heroic or noble. But, it was human and all you. And, you were damn good. It wasn't long until you had built a reputation of planning The best wedding in Gotham on any sort of budget. And, all the while, that forever distant family of yours left you the fuck alone. In fact, they had forgotten all about your existence. Which you didn't exactly mind. Avoiding the bat-shit, you called it.

Still, it came back to haunt you, eventually. Things rarely stay dead in Gotham it seemed. To bad you weren't in the business of planning funerals or your might have known that.

It all started when you took on a prestigious client that made you sign NDA after NDA before the first meeting. (Your first hint.) One of Gotham's richest and wealthiest your newly hired secretary had told you. (Your second hint.) You meet with the fiancé of this wealthy individual. A lovely and vivacious woman of sharp taste and wit by the name of Selina Kyle. Who had told you her future spouse was quite the sweetheart despite his serious demeanor. (Final hint, your out.)

Imagine your surprise when your own father comes striding into your office giving your client a kiss before turning to face you. In a way you felt proud of how you could easily read the shock on Bruce Wayne's face even after years of never speaking to him. When you plaster on a professional smile - having perfected the professional persona over your years apart - and hold out your hand for him to shake, it fills you with satisfaction to watch him falter. You damn near giggle when you go over the guest list and notice your name nowhere on it. You saw the way Ms. Kyle shot him suspicious looks at how shaken he seemed at meeting you.

You'd have paid to be a fly on the wall when she finally confronted him about it after they left the meeting. You'd still pay to be a fly now. Because if you were going to be trapped in a web, you'd rather be trapped in one that would kill you quick. Not in this web that was bound to slowly choke you and move your limbs like some macabre puppet.

Suddenly, after that fateful meeting, the family that had long forgotten you it now trying to burrow their way into the life you have built for yourself. And, they don't care how many holes they leave in it. As long as they had the pieces of you in their own lives, nothing else mattered.

Not like you didn't break your heart years ago trying to give them those same pieces they’re now tearing you apart for. Only for them to have been tossed aside until you picked them back up and finally moved on.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Sooooooo, I know I haven't posted much, but I ended up coming up with a few other Reader concepts and they have taken up most of my headspace. But, this was an idea based of of Smalltown!Reader. (The oc Smalltown!Reader is based off of always ends up a wedding planner as a back up plan.) Which I have the rough draft of Part 8 written for. I swear it's coming.

A/N: I should also start cleaning out my ask box. And, my drafts. (Been throwing things in there for later.)

A/N: I feel like I should expand on this at some point. Might be something to consider.

[yannawayne]

iii. 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, Gunshot wounds, Violence, Surgical procedures AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

 ༻⊰───⋅

“Repeat that,” he said, his voice tight.

A wave of stunned stares passed around the table. Tim quickly typed something on his laptop, his fingers moving with practiced speed. He then turned the screen around for everyone to see. The headline on the screen read:

“Wayne-Stark Feud Escalates: Damian Wayne’s Girlfriend Takes Top Honors in Stark Industries’ Prestigious Young Innovators Program”

Dick’s eyes widened in surprise, and Jason whistled again, this time in genuine admiration. 

“Well, damn. She really knocked it out of the park.”

Bruce’s expression shifted to a frown.

 ༻⊰───⋅

GOTHAM WAS BEAUTIFUL. The city's lights stretched out below you like a glittering sea, each pinprick of light a mesmerizing dance of color and shadow. The towering, sleek skyscrapers stood tall and proud, their glass facades reflecting a mosaic of neon hues and starlight. Between them, narrow alleys wove like dark veins through the city's heart, their secrets hidden from view. The flicker of billboards and the intermittent flash of police sirens were the rapid, erratic beats, sudden bursts that pierced the otherwise steady thrum of urban life.

Even from above, the city's heartbeat was loud, a living, breathing entity that pulsed with a desperate rhythm. No matter how one might describe it or what reasons one might offer, you found Gotham to be beautiful. Even now, despite the terror you felt in the moment.

From the shadows, Selina's gaze was sharp, her helmet reflecting the fragmented light of the city. She leaned casually against the metal railing, watching you carefully.

You took a deep breath, the cool, crisp air stinging your lungs and sharpening your senses. Every muscle in your body tensed as you focused on the edge of the building. The drop was dizzying, a thousand feet of dark emptiness that seemed to call out to you with both a thrilling invitation and a stark warning.

"All it takes is a leap of fate," Selina’s voice cut through the wind. 

Once you jumped, there was no turning back. It was a point of no return, a decision that would define the trajectory of your night and perhaps your life. 

"That's all it takes."

Her words echoed in your mind, mingling with the roar of the wind and the hum of the city. Slowly, you moved, your foot pressing forward until you were on the side of the building. The glass beneath you felt like a lifeline, each shift of your weight sending a jolt of adrenaline through your veins.

A leap of fate.

With one final, steadying breath, you adjusted your stance, your legs bending in preparation.

And then, with the night sky as your backdrop and Gotham as your stage, you leaped. The glass shattered beneath your feet, a shower of fragments raining down as you soared into the void. The world below rushed up to meet you, the sensation of falling merging with the thrill of flight.

For a fleeting moment, you were suspended between sky and earth.

Then you reached out with a steady hand, launching your web into the night.

THWIP.

The web shot upward, a silken thread connecting you to the distant skyscraper. In an instant, you were soaring through the air, the rush of wind against your face and Gotham a blur of lights below.

You were flying. 

Swinging through the city, you rushed past streets and towering buildings. People looked up in awe, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights as they followed your form.

You shot up and soared past the metro tracks, the rhythmic clatter of trains below blending with the distant hum of the city. Each swing carried you further, higher, and faster, weaving through the urban landscape with the freedom of flight. 

Gotham unfolded before you, a sprawling playground, and for a brief, exhilarating moment, you were unstoppable.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Friday, 2:32PM - Chemistry Lab, Gotham Academy.

A Few Months Later.

Over the past few months, you had quickly settled into your role as Spidey. The initial buzz of your debut had faded, leaving you working in Gotham's shadows. You were recognized by locals and criminals but had yet to make a significant impact on the city's larger stage. The occasional mention in articles was nice, but it mostly felt like a footnote compared to Gotham's big-name heroes.

Headlines were dominated by the likes of Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin. They were the ones who made the news, while you were still working your way up from the minor leagues.

In the beginning, Damian—Robin—seemed to have made it his personal mission to keep tabs on you. You’d spotted him a few times, lurking in the shadows with those white lenses glaring at you like he was waiting for you to mess up. It was almost amusing, if not a bit intimidating. It felt like he was waiting for you to do something spectacularly dumb, just so he could swoop in.

But as time went on, it became clear you weren’t exactly shaking up Gotham’s chaos. Your focus was on street-level crimes, dealing with the petty crooks and local thugs who didn’t warrant much more than a scowl from the bigger players. Damian, realizing you were more of a nuisance than a game-changer, gradually eased off. It was like you’d been demoted from “potential problem” to “minor annoyance,” and with that realization, he redirected his attention to Gotham’s bigger, more pressing issues.

And well, it was fine. You played the part of the neighborhood’s friendly Spidey with ease, dishing out smiles and saving the day. On the surface, everything seemed under control. But beneath the mask, a different story brewed. Restlessness gnawed at you, a persistent itch you couldn’t quite scratch.

The city’s shadows felt darker these days, more oppressive. You’d heard the whispers and seen the signs—Black Mask was back, and he was even more violent than before. 

It was like he was putting on a show just for you, as if he was daring you to do something more, to be more. 

Welcome to the Hotel California Such a lovely place (such a lovely place) Such a lovely face Plenty of room at the Hotel California Any time of year (any time of year) You can find it here—

Your music is abruptly cut off when your earbuds are yanked from your ears. You groan and turn, only to find Morgan smirking at you, casually swinging your earbuds between her fingers.

Over the past few months, you and Morgan had grown incredibly close—best friends, if you would call it that. Morgan’s hair was now cropped into a short pixie cut, and her wardrobe seemed to be mirroring yours more and more. Whether this influence was good or not was still up for debate in your mind.

“Asshat, give those back!” you snarl, reaching for the earbuds.

Morgan just smirks and leans out of your reach. “Oh, come on. What’s got you so pissy today?”

You groan and slump into your seat, burying your face in your jacket. “Just a lot on my mind. Ugh. I want to go home.”

“You’ve been in a funk for days. What’s up? You’re acting like the world’s about to implode.”

You roll your eyes, not bothering to look up. “It might as well. Things are getting insane out there.”

“It’s Gotham,” Morgan shrugs, tossing your earbuds back. You catch them with one hand and stuff them into your pocket. “Thought you’d be used to this crap by now.”

“I am used to it, but what’s that supposed to do, Starky?” You roll your eyes again, and Morgan grimaces at the nickname. “Am I just supposed to dance it away? Pretend everything’s okay when it’s clearly not?”

Morgan’s eyes narrow, and she gives you a hard stare. “Look, I get it. Shit’s messed up. But moping around isn’t gonna fix anything.”

You sigh and lean over your finished worksheet, erasing some of the leftover pencil scribbles. “It’s easy for you to say. You live in a penthouse with a view of the city. For you, it’s like Gotham’s just a playground.”

Morgan raises an eyebrow, a sly grin creeping onto her face. “Well, if you’re so stressed, maybe you need a little pampering. I could always offer to be your sugar mommy.”

You snort, shaking your head with a small chuckle. “You'd go broke trying to pay for my therapy. Gotham’s therapists charge extra for dealing with our kind of crazy. Hell. One of them literally became a villain herself.”

“Oh, come on," Morgan’s grin widens as she leans closer. "You’ve already got a sugar daddy anyway, don’t you? Damian’s practically a walking trust fund.”

“Had to secure my future,” you grin back, leaning over her side of the table. You point to one problem on her worksheet, circling a mistake with your pencil. “By the way, you got that wrong.”

Morgan looks down, eyes widening in surprise. “Damn. I thought I had that down. You’re really good at this.”

“Weeks of practice and 3AM cramming sessions,” you say with a shrug, leaning back in your seat. “It’s nothing.”

Morgan seems to think for a moment before glancing back at you. “Speaking of securing your future, have you ever thought about applying for an internship? I know a spot at Stark Industries that’s opening up soon.”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in your tone. “Stark Industries? Your dad's company? Why would I want to go there? Isn’t that where all the corporate rivalries come into play?”

“Not all of them," Morgan laughs, shaking her head. "I get it, though. There’s definitely some bad blood between the Waynes and the Starks. But this internship could be a game-changer for you. You’d get real experience, and it’d look impressive on your CV.”

You hum, your fingers drumming on the table. “I don’t know. Damian might maul me.”

Morgan rolled her eyes and nudged you playfully. "Come on, just think about it. It's a great opportunity, and I'd be there to make sure you don't get lost in the corporate jungle. If you're going to be Damian's trophy wife, you need to get used to dealing with this stuff. Who knows, you might actually enjoy it."

You sigh, considering her offer. “Alright, I’ll think about it. But no promises. Things are a bit... chaotic right now.”

Morgan nods, clearly understanding. “Fair enough. Just keep it in mind. It could be a real game-changer for you.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep it on the list,” you say, managing a small smile.

Class ends and you both gather your things, making your way into the hallway. The corridor is a chaotic swirl of students, their chatter and footsteps echoing off the lockers and tiled floors. Damian is leaning against your locker, his usual stony expression slightly marred by an air of impatience as he waits for you.

Morgan, walking beside you, suddenly reaches out and gives your ass a playful slap. You yelp in surprise, causing Damian to straighten up and cast a sharp, puzzled look at Morgan, who just grins mischievously.

“What the fuck,” you laugh, shoving Morgan lightly.

“Call me if you need anything, alright? And don’t keep me waiting too long,” Morgan smirks. Her gaze lingers on you for a moment, then shifts to Damian, who’s watching her with a fiery, barely disguised jealousy. She turns and strolls away, Damian glaring daggers into the back of her head like he’s trying to burn a hole through it.

“Later!” she calls over her shoulder with a wave, her grin as smug as a cat who’s just pissed in your shoe. 

You walk up towards Damian, moving a hand to squeeze at his bicep. “Dames, are you okay?”

“She’s quite forward, isn’t she?” he murmurs, placing a hand over yours.

“She’s my best friend. Just loves to mess with me,” you snort. Standing on your tiptoes, you lean in and press a quick, affectionate kiss against his cheek. “And don’t worry, I’m all yours—no matter how much she tries to steal me away.”

Damian’s scowl softens slightly, though a trace of irritation still lingers in his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today."

He pushes himself off your locker with a subtle sigh. His gaze flickers with a hint of hesitation before he clears his throat and turns his full attention to you.

“Would you care to join my family for dinner tonight?” he asks, shifting on his feet. “I’m planning to take the night off from patrol. It’s been far too long since we’ve had some time together. You could stay the weekend if you’d like.”

You hesitate, your mind occupied with your own plans. “Thanks for the offer, Damian, but I’ve got a lot to catch up on at home. I’m really looking forward to a quiet night there.”

Home being the safehouse. Quiet being patrol. You wanted to kick some ass tonight.

Damian’s face visibly falls, his nose scrunching up in disappointment.

“Oh,” he says, his voice dropping slightly. “I see. I guess I should have expected that,” he adds, his attempt at indifference coming off as strained.

He shifts his stance, straightening as if to regain his composure, but a subtle downturn of his lips betrays his frustration. “Are you sure you can’t spare a moment? I thought we might enjoy some uninterrupted time together.”

You shake your head gently and smile as you smooth your hand through his hair, fixing the few stray strands that have gone askew. “I really have to go. There’s too much on my plate right now, and Mom wants me back early.”

Damian turns his head to the side, gently batting your hand away before reaching up to fix his own hair, running his fingers through it. His shoulders slump, and he clenches his jaw, clearly struggling to hide his disappointment. “Fine. If you have to put other things ahead of spending time with me, I guess there’s nothing more to be said.”

You notice the strain in his posture and chuckle, reaching out to squeeze his arms. “I’ll see you soon. Promise.”

Damian’s eyes soften a little as you lean in and press a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips. His eyes close momentarily, long lashes brushing against his cheeks.

When you pull back, Damian’s gaze meets yours, a touch warmer than before.

“Very well,” he says, his voice dropping to a softer, more tender tone. “I’ll be waiting for your call tonight.”

You offer a reassuring smile, then turn and head off, feeling his gaze on you until you blend into the crowd. Damian watches you go, the tension in his posture easing as he takes a deep breath. With a frustrated huff, he reaches for his car keys and makes his way to the parking lot, grumbling to himself.

He'll make sure to lift extra hard tonight.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Friday, 8:32PM - Personal Gym, Wayne Manor.

The gym at Wayne Manor is bathed in a subdued, moody light that stretches long shadows across the polished floors and sleek, high-tech equipment. The air is thick with the lingering scent of sweat, mingling with the low hum of an overworked air conditioner trying—and failing—to keep up with the rising heat. 

Damian stands in front of the deadlift bar, wrapping straps around his wrists with a practiced grip. His rough hands pull the straps tight, the material digging into his skin as he secures them. He flexes his fingers, feeling the familiar tension in his muscles.

Please could you stop the noise? I'm tryna get some rest From all the unborn chicken Voices in my head What's that? (I may be paranoid, but not an android) What's that? (I may be paranoid, but not an android)

Music thunders through his headphones, creating a personal soundscape that drowns out the rest of the world. He's dressed in black sweats and a black hoodie, both soaked through with sweat. 

Bending down, he grips the bar, his knuckles turning white. With a powerful grunt, he starts the lift. The barbell, loaded with an impressive weight, rises steadily. Damian’s face contorts with the effort as he concentrates on keeping his breathing steady and controlled. 

Sweat beads on his forehead, and damp strands of hair fall over his molten eyes, clinging to his skin. Normally, Damian keeps his hair cut short, maintained to match his routine. But lately, his schedule has been packed, and his bangs have grown longer than usual. He grits his teeth, pushing through the lift, doing his best to ignore the annoying feel of hair brushing against his sweat-slicked face.

CLANG!

After a few seconds, Damian drops the bar with a resounding crash that echoes through the gym, the metal slamming against the floor and ringing off the walls. His headphones slip off his ears, falling onto the floor. With a sharp, frustrated snap, he flings his weight belt aside; the leather slaps the ground with a solid thud. Letting out an irritated scoff, he breathes heavily, his anger evident in each exhale.

In another corner of the gym, Tim is deep into his calisthenics routine, his body moving fluidly as he pulls himself up on the bar. His back muscles ripple with each movement, sweat glistening on his skin. He casts a curious glance toward Damian, his eyebrow arching at the loud crash.

“Not joining Bruce for patrol tonight?” Tim calls out.

Damian, clearly irked, casts a sidelong glance at Tim. “Grayson and Todd are out, as is Batwoman. They are more than capable of handling themselves. Unlike certain individuals I could name.”

Tim, ignoring the jab, looks at him with wide-eyed disbelief. “Seriously?”

“I have a life outside of Robin,” Damian retorts. “Unlike you, who seems to think that withering in front of the Batcomputer is the epitome of existence.”

Tim, rolling his eyes, sneers, “You’re just being a jackass because you’re stuck here sulking. It’s like I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

Damian’s scowl deepens. “It’s about clearing my head. Sometimes pushing myself physically helps with... other stuff.”

For most of them, working out is just a way to blow off steam or handle their emotions. Damian’s go-to routines are cardio and weights—anything that lets him channel his inner rage and frustration into something productive. Tonight, though, he’s taking it to another level.

Tim heads over to the water dispenser, his footsteps light as he moves. As he passes Damian, he delivers a playful but firm punch to Damian’s arm—not hard enough to cause real pain, but definitely with some intent. Damian scowls, rubbing his arm and shooting Tim a sharp look.

“Whatever works, I guess,” Tim shrugs, taking a chug from his water bottle. His Adam's apple bobs with the effort as he swallows.

“Patrols have been a washout the past few days,” Damian murmurs, wrapping his knuckles as he prepares for a boxing session. “I doubt anything of importance is going to happen.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 1:04 AM - Queens District, Gotham City.

"WOO!"

The night breeze rushes past you, a cool whisper against your face as you spin through the Gotham skyline. Below, the city sprawls in a chaotic mosaic of flickering lights and deep shadows. You glide through the air, the fabric of your suit rustling softly in the wind. Beneath you, the streets are a patchwork of cobblestones and cracked asphalt, each corner a reminder of where you’ve fought, protected, and survived.

Tonight is unusually slow. A surprise considering the area you patrol is a district near Crime Alley.

The vicinity around Queens in rundown Gotham, urbanized but not as bustling as the busier business districts, usually teems with activity. The area, close to the docks, is a maze of clustered buildings and the occasional factory, their smokestacks cutting dark silhouettes against the night sky.

The distant hum of machinery from the factories blends with the occasional sound of waves lapping against the docked ships. From your vantage point, you can see the bridge stretching out in the distance, its lights twinkling against the darkness.

Just as you start to think the night might pass without incident, you hear a distant commotion—a series of hollers and shouts echoing through the narrow streets. Your eyes narrow as you scan the area, searching for the source of the disturbance.

Then you spot her: a woman sprinting frantically down the street, her cries of terror slicing through the night air. Her short-cut hair whips around her face, and her wide eyes reflect sheer panic. Hot on her heels, a group of men give chase, their grotesque laughter bubbling up from their throats like a pack of pigs rooting through garbage.

Your heart skips a beat as recognition slams into you. 

It’s Morgan.

Wait—what the hell is she doing here?

Morgan, who has no business being anywhere near this part of town—especially not at this hour—stands out like a sore thumb. She lives miles away in the heart of the city, far removed from this grim neighborhood near Crime Alley. Queens Street feels like a different world compared to her usual haunts.

Without hesitation, you dive down from the rooftop, landing with a thud that cuts through the night’s tension like a knife. The sudden appearance of your figure causes an immediate hush.

"Hey, kid! Stay behind me," you call out, changing your voice to sound deeper. "I’ve got this covered."

Morgan, clearly relieved but still visibly shaken, nods and takes a step back, her trust in you evident despite the fear in her eyes. 

Cracking your knuckles, you address the would-be assailants.

"Gentlemen," you say, “Shall we resolve this quickly, or do you wanna continue your charade?"

One of them sneers, “Look who decided to crash the party. Here to play hero?”

You tilt your head, scratching at your neck. “Wow, I must be slacking if I’m getting an invite to parties like this. But hey, if you’re offering free entertainment, who am I to refuse?”

THWIP.

With a swift flick of your wrist, you shoot a web at one of the thugs, lifting him off his feet and sending him flying up to dangle from a nearby street lamp. He struggles and curses as he hangs there, the webbing holding him securely.

Another thug charges in, swinging a crude metal pipe. You leap over him effortlessly, grabbing the pipe mid-air and twirling it like a baton. “Wow, talk about a swing and a miss. I’d say better luck next time, but I’m not really into giving second chances.”

"Whoop!" You deliver a swift kick to his side, sending him sprawling into a nearby alley. He crashes into a heap of garbage with a muffled thud. 

The remaining thugs, now visibly annoyed, glance at each other, clearly weighing their options. One of them, the largest and most boisterous of the group, musters up some bravado. He cracks his knuckles and sneers, “You think you’re funny, huh? I’ll show you funny!”

You raise an eyebrow and sigh dramatically. “Oh, come on. Don’t you want to have a nice chat?” You flick your wrist and a web shoots out, sticking over his mouth. “There you go! Now we can all enjoy some quiet time.”

He charges at you with a muffled, bull-like roar, but you easily sidestep, letting him stumble past. As he tries to regain his balance, you shoot a web at his feet, yanking him back and sending him crashing into a stack of wooden pallets. The crates topple over with a loud clatter, and he ends up sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain.

!!!

Your senses tingles just in time. Another thug lunges at you with a wild swing, and you catch his fist mid-air, twisting his arm with a practiced flick. Using his own momentum, you deliver a sharp uppercut that sends him reeling backward. He crashes against a nearby wall, dazed and disoriented. Quickly, you shoot a web at him, pinning him against the wall.

The last thug, now clearly outmatched, takes a step back, his form shaking. “You’re not worth it,” he mutters, raising his hands in surrender.

You laugh and walk over to him with a thumbs up. “That’s the best decision you’ve made all night.”

You shoot a web at his feet, pinning him in place. “Why don’t you just sit tight and enjoy the show? I’m sure the boys in blue will be along shortly.”

With the thugs now subdued and securely webbed up, you turn to Morgan, who’s watching with wide eyes. She lets out a shaky breath, clearly relieved.

“You know,” you say slowly, deepening your voice, “I didn’t expect to see Tony Stark’s daughter in a place like this. What’s the story?”

“Oh. Oh, you… know who I am,” Morgan says, catching her breath and chuckling weakly. “Well, I was just out for a... walk, and I made a wrong turn. Next thing I know, I’m being chased by a bunch of guys.”

"Uh-huh," you say, shaking your head with a hint of disbelief, the slits of your mask narrowing as you scrutinize her. "You’ve got a real knack for picking your strolls. Queens is kind of a crime magnet, you know. And you, being as famous as you are, might as well have a bullseye on your back. Just saying."

Morgan’s expression shifts to embarrassment, red flushing her cheeks. “Yeah, I know. I actually came here to meet someone about some tech. You know, to see if I could get my hands on something... a bit more... advanced.”

You raise an eyebrow, perplexed. “Advanced tech? You’re like... Tony Stark’s daughter. You have more tech at your disposal than most governments. Are you sure it's not drugs?”

"I am not a crackhead!" Morgan scowls and sends you a glare. “Sometimes, it’s not just about having access. It’s about finding unique pieces or... getting a better deal. Plus, sneaking out to do something on my own—well, it’s a bit of an adventure.”

You chuckle, shaking your head in disbelief.

"Teenage angst? Really?"

"Where’s the fun in having everything handed to you on a silver platter?" Morgan smirks. "A little thrill never hurt anyone.”

You just wave a hand at her, shaking your head again. “Fair point. Just please try not to make it a habit of going out at night alone. You uh... got a ride home?"

Morgan licks her lips, her expression thoughtful. "Guess... Guess I could call my dad."

You nod, giving her a thumbs up. "Good idea. And remember, if you ever find yourself in a pinch again, don’t hesitate to call for help. I patrol Queens. Just... don't make this a habit."

Morgan lets out a chuckle, her nerves easing. “I’ll do my best. Thanks for the rescue.”

With that, you turn and leap into the night, your form quickly vanishing into the darkness as you swing away. A sudden tingle on the back of your neck makes you glance back, but you see Morgan still standing there, her gaze fixed on where you disappeared. 

You brush off the feeling—must have been a false alarm.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 3:18 AM - Queens District, Gotham City.

After a few hours, you decide it’s time to call it a night. Returning to your warehouse, you strip off your suit and slip into civilian clothes. Stepping out into the dimly lit streets, you keep your head low and your pace casual, blending seamlessly into the nocturnal cityscape. Gotham's alleys and shadows are no place for the spotlight, and drawing attention could be dangerous. Here, the key to staying safe is blending in—letting the city's dark corners swallow you up.

You pull out your phone and dial Damian’s number. Sure, you can handle yourself, but right now, you're out in your civilian identity. Better to play it safe.

Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na…Batman!

The Batman ringtone echoes softly in the alley, its familiar chime cutting through the muted sounds of the city. You can’t help but smile at the stupid thing—the Batman brand (made without Batman's permission) has become so popular that it’s practically a commercial empire. Bruce, of course, loathes it. He's filed at least twenty lawsuits trying to shut it down, but the brand keeps growing.

There’s even Robin merch, which you’ve collected obsessively over the years, much to Damian’s embarrassment. He’s never quite gotten used to his persona being reduced to a collectible item, but your enthusiasm for it is well-known.

After a few rings, Damian picks up, his voice steady and unmistakable. “Habibti?”

“Hey, Dames,” you reply, keeping your tone light. “Just checking in. How’s everything on your end?”

There’s a brief pause, and you can almost hear the faint rustle of paper or fabric in the background before he responds. “Everything’s fine. Just buried in homework. Why are you calling so late?”

You detect the edge of concern in his voice, and it makes you smile. “Oh, just heading home. Got a bit wrapped up with some errands. Didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”

Damian’s tone sharpens, his concern clearly growing. “Errands? At this hour? Gotham isn’t exactly a walk in the park after dark. Why are you out alone? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is?”

“I’m fine, Damian," you reply, sidestepping a wet puddle on the street. "Just a few things I needed to take care of. I’m heading home now, so no worries.”

“You shouldn’t be out so late, especially not alone,” he insists, his voice taking on that familiar stern tone. “Do you realize how many things can go wrong? You could be in grave danger..”

“I promise, I’m being careful," you assure him. "I’ll be home soon. Just wanted to check in and let you know I’m okay.”

Damian doesn’t relent. “Fine. But stay on the line until you’re home. I need to know you’re safe.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you tease lightly. “But okay, I’ll stay on the line.”

There’s a soft huff from him, as though he’s trying to suppress a smile. “Good. And, for the record, I’m not being dramatic. I’m being cautious.”

“Whatever you say,” you reply, your tone light. “By the way, are you free tomorrow? There’s this new comic shop I wanted to check out.”

Damian perks up at that. 

Finally.

It’s been weeks since you’ve had the chance to enjoy a proper date. The usual routines—dinner out, a movie, or just hanging out—have been squeezed out by the demands of Gotham. Damian felt the lack more than he’d like to admit. He’s missed them—missed you. 

“Yes, I’m available," he says, almost too quickly. He doesn't want to seem overly eager, but the anticipation is hard to hide. "I’ll make time and pick you up. What time, beloved?"

“How about noon?” you suggest, swinging your keys lightly as you approach your apartment building. “That should give us plenty of time to explore the shop and maybe grab lunch afterward.”

You reach your apartment building and slip inside, the familiar creak of the door signaling your return. Glancing around to make sure no one's watching, you crouch and bound up the flight of stairs in quick, powerful jumps, reaching your floor in mere seconds.

Heading down the hallway, you adjust your phone and catch the end of Damian’s statement just in time.

“—I’ll be there at noon,” Damian confirms, the warmth in his voice unmistakable.

“Great,” you smile as you fumble with the lock. The sound of the key turning in the door echoes softly in the quiet hallway. You let out a sigh of relief as you finally open the door, stepping into the comforting familiarity of your home.

"I'm looking forward to it,” you continue, kicking off your shoes and setting them neatly by the door. “I’m home now, by the way! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

On the other end, Damian’s voice comes through the phone, warm and laced with the faintest hint of affection. “I shall see you then,” he replies, his care evident even through the small, digital speaker. “Goodnight, beloved.”

There’s a moment of silence as his words linger.

“Goodnight,” you reply softly, letting the warmth of his voice settle before you slowly lower the phone from your ear.

You slip your phone into your pocket and step into your living room, where the soft glow of the television fills the room. A Filipino drama plays on the screen, its melodramatic dialogue and heartfelt scenes subtitled in English. The rest of the room is shrouded in dimness, with only the flickering light of the TV breaking through the darkness.

As you make your way towards the kitchen, you notice Selina perched on a bar stool at the counter. She’s cradling a steaming cup of coffee, its rich aroma wafting through the air. Her gaze lifts to meet yours as you enter, curiosity etched across her features.

“You’re home a lot later than usual, honey,” she comments.

You pour yourself a glass of water, the quiet clink of the glass against the faucet a small comfort. You sit down across from her, the chair creaking slightly under your weight. “Yeah, it’s been one of those nights. I wrapped up patrol and ended up dealing with some trouble. Nothing major, though. But I did run into someone.”

Selina takes a slow sip of her coffee. “Who?”

“Morgan,” you say with a grim look. “She was out in Queens on some sort of tech hunt. Had to give her a little lecture about roaming Gotham alone.”

 “The redhead? That’s definitely unusual. What was she after?”

“She was hunting for some tech—apparently, even with the best gadgets at her disposal, she thought Gotham had something special,” you explain.

Selina chuckles, shaking her head. “Typical Stark. Always chasing the next shiny thing. Did you know her dad’s been trying to worm his way with the Bats lately?”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really?”

Selina takes a sip of her coffee, her expression bemused. “He’s been throwing money at them, trying to fund their operations. He’s got this obsessive need to upgrade superhero tech. Batman’s been turning him down flat. I guess his ego took a hit.”

You laugh, taking a swig of your water. “Can you imagine Tony Stark trying to ‘help’ Batman?”

“If those two could ever check their egos long enough to actually collaborate, it’d be a miracle,” she scoffed. 

“Speaking of which,” you say, dumping your cup back into the sink, “on a scale of one to ten, how much do you think Damian or Bruce would freak out if I accepted Morgan’s invitation for a Stark internship?”

Selina’s grin widens. “Oh, honey, that’s a show I’d pay to see. Damian would hit a 100 on the scale of overreaction. Bruce might be a bit more restrained, but he’d definitely hit an 11.”

You roll your eyes with a laugh. “Lovely. Just what I need.”

Selina chuckles, shaking her head. “Remember when Bruce tried to offer you an internship? The look on his face when you turned him down was priceless.”

A twinge of awkwardness settles over you, and you rub the back of your neck. “Yeah, that was... something. It’s like he had this whole script for how he wanted the conversation to go, and when it didn’t, he kind of just... froze.”

Selina’s gaze softens a bit. “He thinks of you like family. And with you and Damian getting serious, he’s probably bracing himself for the long haul.”

You groan as you push yourself off the sink and head toward your room. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true!”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 12:03 PM - Empire Comics, Gotham City.

RING.

The bell above the door jingles as you and Damian step into the bustling comic shop. The aroma of ink, paper, and coffee fills the air, blending with the hum of excited conversations and the occasional laugh.

You’re sporting a casual look: a red cap with a Robin symbol on it, jeans, a white Batman shirt, and Damian’s soccer jacket draped over your shoulders. Damian is clad in his usual fit—a dark turtleneck, crisp cream pants, and black boots. He looks every bit the model for a high-fashion magazine, even in a comic shop.

The walls are lined with shelves packed full of colorful comic books and graphic novels. Display cases highlight rare editions and collector’s items, their glass gleaming under the shop’s lights. You’re in your element, eyes wide as you scan the rows, your fingers brushing the spines of the comics. 

Grabbing one off the shelf, you flip it over with a grin, admiring the glossy cover. It’s an edition you’ve been eyeing for a while—a real gem.

“Do you want that?” Damian asks, his eyes flickering from the comic in your hands to your face. There’s a sharpness in his gaze, as if he's trying to dissect you with his eyes.

You nod, barely containing your excitement. “Definitely. It’s one of the limited editions I’ve been after.” You flip the comic over, eyes lingering on the price as you clutch it a little tighter.

Without a beat, Damian reaches for his wallet. “Let me handle it.”

A protest rises in your throat, but Damian cuts you off with a look that could freeze lava. His scowl deepens. “No arguments. It’s a treat for today.”

You open your mouth to argue, but Damian swiftly pulls the hood of your jacket over your eyes. “If you keep insisting on paying, I’ll just take back my jacket.”

“What?!” you hiss, instinctively clutching the jacket closer around you. “No way! You don’t even wear this.”

“Precisely. Which means I can reclaim it as a bargaining chip.” Damian’s lips curl into a smirk, smug satisfaction dripping from his voice. “Now, if you don’t let me handle this, the jacket’s going back to my closet. I suggest you reconsider.”

It takes a few more minutes of his gentle but insistent threats, before you finally give up. As he heads to the counter, you glance around the shop, taking in the array of comics and collectibles.

A newspaper rack catches your attention. The headline boldly reads:

“Spidey Foils Attack on Morgan Stark: Hero Swings in to Save the Day”

Damian returns shortly after, handing you the paper bag with a triumphant smirk. You beam at him, leaning in to press a kiss on his cheek. Damian hums at your affection, wrapping an arm around you to keep you close. 

Emerald eyes flick to the newspaper on the rack, his expression shifting slightly. 

“Stark was in an altercation?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of disbelief. He leans closer, the scent of freshly printed ink mixing with the rich, smoky aroma of his cologne.

You glance at the newspaper, the pages rustling softly as you turn them to face him. “Looks like it. It’s been a while since I saw a headline like this. Spidey doesn’t get as much press as you guys do.”

“Speaking of Morgan,” you say slowly, deciding it’s time to rip off the bandage. You lean against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric of your jacket. “I was actually thinking about applying for an internship at Stark Industries. It could be a great opportunity, you know? She’s offered me a spot.”

The moment the words leave your lips, Damian’s expression shifts from casual interest to a full-blown scowl. His lips curl back, revealing a flash of teeth, and the muscle of his jaw rolls beneath bronze skin.

“Wayne Industries is far superior.”

Rolling your eyes, you allow a hint of amusement to creep into your voice. “Oh. I know. But Morgan’s offering me a spot. And honestly, it could be a huge opportunity.”

Damian’s eyes narrow, frustration evident in his voice. “I’ve offered you spots and programs at Wayne Industries before. Why accept hers but not mine?”

You deadpan. “I’m your girlfriend. They’d just see me as a nepotism hire.”

Damian grumbles in response, his expression darkening as he reaches for the newspaper. His fingers brush against the glossy paper with a soft rustle, and his gaze locks onto the photo of your vigilante form, captured mid-swing through the city. The image is dynamic, full of motion and energy, but Damian’s eyes narrow as he scrutinizes it.

You shift on your feet, the squeak of your Converse against the floor drawing his attention. Trying to break the tension, you clear your throat. “So,” you begin, your tone light but with a hint of curiosity, “have you ever encountered Spidey on the job?”

Damian’s expression hardens at the mention. His lips thin into a line, and a look of disapproval settles over his features. 

“The Spider?” he scoffs “From what I’ve seen, they’re nothing more than an amateur.”

You feel a pang of offense at his harsh words but manage to keep your expression carefully neutral. “Really? I’ve heard they’ve done some impressive things.”

Damian’s emerald eyes lock onto yours, the frustration behind them clear as day. “Impressive?” he retorts, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “If you consider reckless behavior and a complete lack of tact impressive, then sure. But to me, it’s far from professional.”

Ouch. That was expected, but it still stung.

“Everyone has their own style,” you say, your eyes fixed on the floor as you run your tongue over your lips. “What might seem clumsy to one person could be strategic for someone else.”

“Strategic?” Damian spits out in a laugh. The newspaper crumples under his grip. “Their approach is more about spectacle than substance. They swing around like a circus act, with no real strategy. It’s a wonder they manage to accomplish anything at all.”

Frowning, you look back at Damian, who stands rigid, his shoulders tensed. “Maybe their methods look a bit rough, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t making a difference. They’ve managed to help a lot of people.”

“Helping people isn’t just about flashy moves and headlines,” he says, his voice rising slightly. He shoves the paper back onto its shelf, the paper crumpling from the force.

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, struggling to control the anger rising within you. As much as you loved Damian, his insufferable egotism could be unbearable at times. Your eyes focus on the comic book display, the vibrant covers searing into your retinas.

“You’re one to talk,” you can’t help but snap. “Robin and Batman are practically on the front pages almost every week. And what, you’re saying their efforts are worthless just because they don’t meet your standards? That’s pretty unfair. Just because they deal with lesser threats doesn’t mean they’re any less of a hero than you guys are.”

“What exactly are you trying to say?” Damian hisses, his tone sharper than intended. The sting of your criticism and his bruised ego fuel his words.

Damian craves validation more than he likes to admit. His entire life has been a constant battle to prove himself—whether it’s measuring up to his father’s expectations, competing with his peers, or affirming his place within the shadow of his legacy. He’s used to being the one in control, the one whose actions are seen as perfect. When that perception is challenged, it’s not just his skills or methods that are questioned; it’s his very worth.

The irony, of course, is that your approval matters more to him than anyone else’s. Your opinion matters to him, and your criticism hits harder than any public scrutiny ever could.

“I’m saying that they’re trying to help!” you snap, your voice rising to match his. From behind the counter, the cashier gives you a wary glance. “They’re doing things that you guys can’t always do.”

Damian’s expression hardens, his eyes narrowing. “What can’t we do?”

“Helping the little guys!” you snap, your frustration boiling over. You gesture toward the crumpled paper, your movements sharp and erratic. “Spidey—they stand for exactly what you stand for—the belief that everyone deserves protection and justice.”

Damian’s jaw tightens, his pride visibly wounded. “Maybe you should reconsider what you’re so willing to defend. It’s important to recognize when someone’s approach is flawed, even if it’s someone you admire.”

You shake your head, refusing to back down. “I’m not saying Spidey is perfect, but they’re out there trying. That counts for something.”

With a sigh of resignation, you tug his jacket off and shove it into his arms. Damian’s face scrunches up in hurt, the gesture cutting deeper than he lets on.

“I’m going home,” you say quietly, turning on your heel and heading for the exit.

Damian watches as you slip out of the shop, a bitter taste lingering in his mouth from the argument. But as he catches a glimpse of the hurt in your eyes, his anger begins to dissolve into regret.

Without hesitation, he follows you, his footsteps quickening until he catches up. Gently, he grips your shoulder to stop you.

“Beloved,” he calls out softly, his tone now tender. His earnest gaze meets yours, regret pooling in his eyes. “I apologize.”

You stop and turn to face him. “Apologize for what, Damian?”

Damian hesitates, searching for the right words. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken feelings. 

You try to move past him, your steps feeling heavy. “I just need some space right now."

Damian doesn’t let go. “At least let me drive you home.”

“No. I need to walk and blow off some steam.”

With a final, apologetic look, Damian steps back, giving you the space you need. You turn and start to walk away, the heat of the sun only intensifying your already heated emotions. The city, bustling with life, seems to close in around you as you move deeper into its more crowded parts. The shops grow closer together, the crowds thicker, the noise louder, and the streets narrower with every step.

Lost in thought and simmering with frustration, you’re suddenly jolted back to reality by an alarming noise—a commotion coming from a nearby alleyway. The muffled voices and scuffling footsteps cut through the city’s din, pulling your attention.

A group of masked individuals are cornering someone in the alley. The victim, pinned against the wall, is desperately trying to fend off the assailants. The attackers are demanding valuables, their threats laced with violence. Despite the bustling city around them, no one seems willing to intervene. The crowd keeps a safe distance, choosing to look away rather than get involved.

You glance down at your civilian attire—a shirt and jeans, not exactly ideal for a fight.

But someone has to help, and if you’re the only one who will, then so be it.

Taking a deep breath, you step into the alley.

“Hey!” you call out, trying to draw their attention away from the victim. “Pick on someone your own size!”

The muggers turn their attention toward you, and suddenly, their target comes into sharp focus. Tousled red hair spills out from beneath a white beanie, and thick black frames are crookedly perched on her nose.

Your eyes lock with hers, and you freeze—Morgan.

What is it with this girl and finding trouble?

Her eyes widen in sheer disbelief at the sight of you, practically screaming, Are you out of your damn mind? You can almost hear her thoughts. You flash a reassuring smile, throwing in a thumbs up that you hope translates to, “Relax, I’ve got this,” even though you’re pretty sure you’re both in deep shit right now.

Shaking your head, you refocus on the muggers. There are ten of them in total. Your goal is to keep their attention away from Morgan and buy time until help arrives—or if help arrives.

“Ten on one, huh? Not exactly fair, but hey, I’m feeling generous today,” you say, your voice steady despite the overwhelming odds. “Let’s make this interesting. If you take me on and win, I’ll buy you all a round of whatever you’re drinking. And if you lose”—you flash a cheeky grin—“well, let’s just say you’ll be spending the night in a cozy little cell, courtesy of the GCPD.”

The muggers burst into laughter, clearly entertained by the sight of an unathletic-looking eighteen-year-old in a Batman shirt stepping up to them with such bravado. You just grin, letting their amusement roll off you.

“Yeah, I get it,” you say with a shrug, rolling up your sleeves to your shoulders. “I might not look like much, but I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. So, who wants to take the first swing?”

The laughter fades as the muggers size you up. One of them, a lanky guy with a scruffy beard, steps forward, cracking his knuckles and sneering.

“Alright, girly,” he taunts, “unless you want to back out now, you’re about to get a taste of what we’re all about.”

Before he can react, you pull your arm back, focusing on the momentum. With a swift, forceful punch, you drive your knuckles straight into his jaw. The impact lands with a solid thud, sending him crashing into the alley wall, his head snapping to the side.

One.

The other muggers freeze. They exchange glances, their earlier laughter choked off. Morgan’s mouth falls open in shock.

“What the fuck,” she mouths at you. 

A grin stretches across your face as you size up the remaining muggers.

“So,” you whistle, “who’s next?”

One of them steps forward, but you’re ready. A brutal left hook catches him square on the cheekbone, and he staggers back, blood erupting from his nose. He collapses to the ground, clutching his face in agony.

Two.

A woman with a wild, frizzy mop of hair barrels toward you, snarling menacingly. You sidestep her clumsy swing and deliver a powerful uppercut. Her head snaps back with a satisfying crack, and she crashes into the alley wall with a loud clang, blood streaming from her split lip and chin.

Three.

Before you can catch your breath, a wiry man with a rat-like face tries to dart around you, aiming for Morgan. But you’re quicker. You grab him by the collar, yank him close, and drive a vicious knee into his gut. He doubles over, gasping for breath, and you follow up with a hard right hook that sends him sprawling into a puddle of muck.

Four.

Adrenaline surges through your veins, and the earlier argument with Damian feels like a distant storm driving your fists. Each punch lands with a mix of frustration and resolve, the anger you’re trying to process fueling your strikes.

Two more muggers, a lanky guy with a snake tattoo and a burly man with a scarred face, charge at you simultaneously. You sidestep the lanky guy’s wild swing, then deliver a brutal, bone-crushing kick to his ribs. He crumples with a pained gasp, collapsing to the ground with a wheezing groan.

Five. 

You pivot to face the burly man, deflecting his punch with a forceful block. With a grunt, you slam an elbow into his gut, making him double over, gasping for air. Before he can recover, you drive a fierce knee into his face. He crashes into the alley wall, blood and sweat mingling as he slides to the ground, clutching his face in agony.

Six.

That’s around half of them. You turn to face the rest.

“Last chance,” you blow a stray strand of hair away from your face. “Either you leave now or join your buddies in the hospital.”

The remaining muggers scramble, retreating as fast as they can down the alley. The noise of their hurried escape fades into the distance, leaving you and Morgan.

Breathing heavily, you survey the scene. The alley is littered with fallen muggers—some groaning in pain, others unconscious. Blood stains your hands and the ground, and your knuckles are bruised and swollen.

Morgan slowly rises from her crouched position, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and awe. Her gaze flickers over the scene—the battered muggers, the bloodstained ground, and you standing amidst the chaos, breathing heavily.

“That was…” she starts, shaking her head as if to clear the shock. “You’re something else. What the hell?! I didn’t know you could fight like that!”

You give a wry, tired smile. “Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Morgan steps closer, her expression softening from disbelief to something akin to admiration. “Seriously, though, that was insane. I thought we were done for, but you—”

DANGER.

Your instincts kick in with a jolt of alarm, making your hair stand on end. Everything slows to a crawl.

You see it: one of the muggers, still on the ground but moving, starts to stir. His fingers slip into his jacket, reaching for something concealed. Each movement seems to stretch out in excruciating detail, from the twitch of his fingers to the barely perceptible shift of his body. Morgan, still caught up in her surprise and relief, is too busy chatting to notice.

The mugger’s hand emerges from his jacket, revealing a glinting gun. You quickly fire a web, aiming to disarm him. The webbing sticks to the gun, but the mugger has already squeezed the trigger.

Without a second thought, you react instinctively. 

“Get down!” you shout, pushing her aside.

BANG!

The sharp crack of the gunshot reverberates through the alley, and you feel a searing pain in your ribs. A hot, burning sensation spreads through your side, intensifying with every heartbeat. Morgan’s scream pierces the air, her horror evident as she watches you stagger.

You stagger back, clutching your side. 

Well... shit.

“Motherfudger—” you grit your teeth, the pain in your side intensifying. You turn your focus to the mugger scrambling to flee, his gun now ensnared in your webbing. 

With a swift flick of your wrist, you shoot another web, pulling him toward you. As he comes within reach, you slam his head against the wall, the impact knocking him out cold.

Morgan rushes back to your side, her face pale. “Are you okay? Holy shit! Holy shit! You're shot.”

Her gaze then turns to the webs scattered across the alley, her eyes widening in realization.

“You’re—”

You hush her, slamming a hand over her mouth. “Quiet!”

She mumbles into your palm, eyes darting nervously. “Y-you’re Spidey!”

“Listen,” you say softly but firmly, removing your hand once you're sure she won’t start screaming, “we need to keep our voices down. I’m hurt, and we need to get out of here before more trouble shows up.”

Morgan bites her lip, running a hand through her frazzled hair, white beanie long discarded on the ground. “But you’re hurt, and the police—” She trails off, glancing around at the mess and the moaning muggers scattered on the ground.

“I’ll be fine,” you cut her off. “We don’t need the police right now. Just help me get out of here.”

Morgan’s face twists but she nods. “I know where to go.”

Both of you soon find yourselves swinging through the alleys. You grit your teeth, pushing through the burning pain in your ribs and focusing on the task at hand. Ignoring the searing ache, you accelerate, swinging through the city with Morgan clinging to your side. You take the longer route, weaving through the shadows to avoid detection.

Finally, you drop down into an alley beside her penthouse building. Morgan’s eyes widen as she takes in the sight of the blood seeping through the fabric of your shirt, a stark contrast against the white. She steps back, shock and concern etched across her face.

“Damn,” she curses. “You’re really hurt.”

“‘Tis but a flesh wound,” you grunt, pressing a hand against the wound to staunch the bleeding. “Now, let’s get inside before I bleed out or pass out—whichever decides to happen first.”

Morgan doesn’t waste a second. She grabs your arm and pulls you toward the back door of her building. The heavy steel door creaks open, and she nearly shatters the elevator buttons with the force of her pressing.

You lean heavily against her as she steps into the elevator with you. The harsh fluorescent lights inside the elevator are glaringly bright, intensifying the pain in your ribs with their sterile, clinical glare. As the metal doors close with a soft, echoing thud, the outside world fades away. For a fleeting moment, you find some relief as the lift begins its ascent, the gentle hum of the machinery offering a small distraction from the throbbing ache in your side.

Morgan keeps glancing at you, nervously biting her lip. “Just hang in there. We’ll get you patched up in no time.”

You manage a shrug, despite the discomfort. The pain isn’t as overwhelming as it might be for most, thanks to your spider abilities, but the real kicker is the identity reveal. 

"Did I at least look badass?"

"Oh my god. I literally hate you."

When the elevator finally dings open, Morgan practically drags you out, guiding you swiftly down the hall to her penthouse. The door swings open, and she ushers you inside.

You collapse onto the plush couch, wincing as you sink into its cushions. The pain in your ribs throbs with each breath, and as the adrenaline fades, you feel every ache more acutely.

Without wasting a second, Morgan strides across the room and shouts into the air, her voice echoing off the sleek, modern walls.

“PEPPER, I need you!”

You’re caught off guard as a series of robotic arms extend from sleek panels in the walls, their metallic surfaces catching the ambient light. The arms are intricate, equipped with various tools and sensors, whizzing towards you.

One of the arms reaches out, its end featuring a gentle, flexible grip. It carefully tugs at your shirt, and you reluctantly slip it off, exposing the wound on your side. The arm’s sensors begin to glow softly as it scans your injury.

The room fills with a soft, synthesized voice. “Scanning gunshot wound. Location: left lower rib, depth: 4 cm. Severe damage, high infection risk. Blood loss: 150 ml. No internal bleeding. Administering anesthesia. Cleaning and debridement soon.”

Tiny robotic tools emerge from compartments within the arm—sterilizing swabs, a precision scalpel, and a fine, retractable syringe. The anesthetic solution is applied gently, its cooling sensation numbing the pain.

“Uh, what the actual fuck is going on?” you blurt out.

Morgan watches with a stony expression, her focus fixed on a tablet in her hands as she monitors your vitals closely.

“Oh, that’s PEPPER. She’s a Stark Industries AI I’ve had integrated into the penthouse. She’s pretty good at this kind of thing. Coded her myself."

The robotic arm emits a soft beep before starting the process of removing the bullet. You feel a series of sharp, targeted tugs as the bullet is gradually extracted, each pull sending a brief jolt of pain through your side. The bullet clinks as it drops onto a metal tray.

“Isn’t... isn’t PEPPER your mom’s name? Damn, you actually coded this?” you ask, your voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

Morgan gives a small, proud smile, her eyes meeting yours.

“I’m the next in line for Stark Industries, after all,” she says. “So yeah, I figured out how to make this kind of tech. And yep, Pepper’s named after my mom. She used to patch up my dad whenever he got into trouble.”

A fleeting, wistful look crosses her face, but she shakes it off quickly. “PEPPER stands for ‘Personal Emergency Protocol and Protective Emergency Response.’ It’s a tribute, and it’s supposed to handle everyday stuff and emergencies like this.”

The robotic arms continue their work, the AI’s voice providing updates. “Bullet extraction complete. Administering wound care and infection prevention. Proceeding with final checks.”

“Just hang tight,” Morgan says. “We’re almost done here.”

"This is—this is insane! It’s insane," you hiss at her, leaning back as the machine starts bandaging you. "Is this what rich people do? Build robots that can do fucking surgery?!"

Morgan chuckles softly, her eyes still focused on the tablet as she adjusts the settings. “When you have the resources, why not make the best use of them?”

The robotic arms complete the bandaging, applying a final layer of antiseptic and securing the bandages with a gentle press. The AI’s voice announces the end of the procedure with a soft chime. “Wound care complete. Vital signs stable. Patient recovery in progress.”

You let out a deep sigh of relief as the robotic arm finally withdraws. You stretch out your shoulders and take a moment to appreciate the absence of pain. “Well, thanks for the help. I guess I owe you one... or maybe a lot.”

Morgan’s smile is faint but warm, her eyes softening as she looks at you. “Well… you did save me today. And… on that night. I’d say we’re kinda even now.”

Suddenly, a new chime interrupts the moment. Morgan’s brows furrow as she glances at the tablet, her confusion giving way to awe.

“Whoa,” she breathes, eyes widening. “You’re healing at an insane rate... Your tissues are already regenerating. This is... freaky. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

You wince slightly as the last of the bandages is applied. The robotic arms retract with a soft whir, leaving behind a faint, antiseptic scent. You manage a tired smile, though your face is still flushed from the pain and the adrenaline crash.

“It’s the spider stuff,” you explain. “Enhanced abilities. Healing and pain tolerance are part of the package.”

Morgan’s expression shifts from shock to a wry grin, her eyes sparkling with a mix of disbelief and admiration. “No shit. You treated that gunshot like it was just a scratch.”

The redhead places her tablet on a nearby table and takes a seat directly in front of you. Her demeanor is a blend of fascination and a newfound respect.  “So, you’re Spidey? I mean, I knew you were something special, but this...” She gestures to you with a grin. “This is next-level. 

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing grin spreading across your face. “You think I’m special?”

Morgan’s cheeks flush slightly as she stumbles over her words, clearly flustered.

“Uh, well, yeah. I mean, I think you’re really smart and capable—like, a genius. I mean, your skills with chemistry and science are incredible. The way you analyze problems and come up with solutions, it’s like you’ve got a grasp of things that usually takes years to master. And then there’s the tech you’ve built—it's insane. Seeing you in action like that? It’s next-level. I didn’t expect you to be, like, superhero-level special.”

You blink in surprise, caught off guard by her enthusiastic praise. “Well… thanks,” you say, a wry grin spreading across your face.

Morgan, still flustered, clears her throat and tries to change the topic. “So, how long have you been doing this?”

You shrug, rubbing your eyes as the weight of the day settles in. “A while. It’s... been a lot. Sometimes it feels like the more I do, the bigger the threats get.”

“Huh,” Morgan leans forward, her eyes locking with yours. “I guess I’m in it now, too.”

“Woah,” you laugh, raising a hand. “No, no. I see where this is going. I’ve read too many comics. I know what you’re about to say.”

Morgan’s gaze narrows. “Oh, really? And what’s that?”

You lean back with a groan, your head tilting back against the sofa. The action causes your chest to rise and fall more rapidly, sweat clinging to your skin. Your throat bobs with each breath, and the effort makes your neck arch slightly. 

Morgan’s eyes wander, taking in the sheen of sweat on your chest and the way your skin glistens. Her face flushes deeper as she stares.

You waggle a finger at her with a grin. “I know where this is headed,” you say, voice dripping with mock seriousness. “I’ve seen the trope before. The whole ‘I’m in this now too’ speech. And trust me, it’s usually followed by—”

“By what?” Morgan blinks, snapping out of her daze. 

You give her a knowing look.

“Okay, fine, you got me,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “And before you say anything, I’m not just looking to tag along for the excitement. I genuinely want to contribute. I’ve got resources, skills, and—”

She gestures to the high-tech surroundings of her penthouse, where one of the robot arms gives a casual wave. “—I can do more than just sit on the sidelines.”

Pursing your lips, you nervously bite on your fingernails, glancing away. “See, this is where I’m supposed to give you the ‘I can’t put you in danger’ speech. The whole ‘this is too dangerous’ line. Normally, in a story like this, you’d be the love interest.”

Morgan slumps. “I appreciate that, really. But I’m not just some bystander here.”

“Morga—”

The door creaks open, and a soft, synthesized voice echoes through the apartment, cutting you off.

“Welcome home, Tony.”

Both of you freeze.

The front door swings fully open, revealing Tony FUCKING Stark himself. 

His face is stony as he takes in the scene. His eyes dart from you—shirtless and in nothing but a bra, with bandages wrapped haphazardly around your torso—to Morgan, who looks flustered and disheveled.

You and Morgan stare right back, just as wide-eyed. There’s a beat of awkward silence as Tony’s brain catches up with the situation. He glances at you, then at Morgan, and back at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh, hey, Dad,” Morgan says, her voice hitting a pitch that could break glass. She scrambles to smooth her hair and adjust her clothes, her face a portrait of embarrassment.

Tony’s eyes narrow, clearly trying to piece together what he’s walked into. “Well, this is... unexpected. I didn’t realize I was interrupting... whatever this is.”

You, still sprawled on the couch, cross your arms over your chest, your face blazing red. “Um. Hello, Mr. Stark. This... looks exactly like it’s not what it seems.”

Tony’s gaze sharpens as he scrutinizes you. His eyes narrow, and he points a finger at you with a blend of suspicion and recognition. “Wait a second. Aren’t you that Wayne kid’s girlfriend? The youngest one. Darryl, right?”

“Damian,” you correct, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Yeah, him.” Tony squints. “So, what’s the deal? Am I looking at a tabloid scandal in the making here?”

Morgan’s face flushes a deeper shade of red, clearly mortified. “Dad!”

Tony’s expression shifts to one of mock seriousness as he holds up a hand, covering his eyes with exaggerated drama. “It’s okay! I’ll be in my workshop, pretending I didn’t see a thing. Just... try not to make any more headlines while I’m gone.”

“Sh—she’s not—!” you start to protest, but Morgan cuts you off with a rapid, high-pitched explanation.

“She’s the Stark intern I told you about!” Morgan lies straight through her teeth, sending you a look that screams, 'Go along with it!' “I was just showing her how some of the bots work!”

Tony squints at Morgan, then at you, and back at Morgan with a grimace. “For the love of tech, Morgan, next time you give your intern a hands-on demonstration, maybe keep it... less hands-on?”

Morgan sputters and gapes, but Tony is already turning on his heel and strutting out of the room. Over his shoulder, he adds with a shout, “Be who you are!”

The door swings shut behind Tony with a soft, final thud, leaving you and Morgan in an awkward silence. 

“Does this mean I actually have to become an intern for your dad's company now?”

“Yes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Couldn’t you have come up with a better excuse? Like, say, that I’m just a really good friend or something?”

Morgan rolls her eyes and flicks your ear. “Dude, chill. I can get you cool tech. I mean, who wouldn’t want access to Stark Industries’ gadgets? I can be the guy in the chair and all that cool Oracle stuff. Think of it as a tech upgrade for your superhero gig.”

“You want to be the guy in the chair? Seriously? I am not letting you be the guy in the chair.”

Morgan gasps in disbelief. “Why not?! I’m perfectly capable of providing a little tech support. And! I just showed you how I can help with your injuries.”

“I’m not sure if I want to gamble my safety on your ‘tech support.’”

“Come on, it’ll be fine!”

“I’m not letting you be the guy in the chair.”

“You’re just repeating yourself.”

“You keep pushing the ‘guy in the chair’ thing.”

“Well, you keep rejecting me.”

“Because you’re a civilian!"

"Am I?! Are you seriously doubting my tech skills?”

“More like your impulse control.”

Morgan huffs dramatically, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Ha, very funny. You’re one to talk! May I remind you who exactly got shot between us?”

“Fine!” you snap, throwing up your hands in defeat. “You win! You can be the guy in the chair!”

Morgan’s face lights up with a smirk as she pushes her glasses up with a satisfied flick of her fingers. “Perfect. But just so you know… I’m not planning on getting into any alleyway brawls.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Not like you could do anything with your spaghetti arms."

"Ass!"

“Also," you add. "You say that now, but I’ve seen how people get when they’re itching to help. You’re not allowed to step a foot into any of my alleys. You stay where it’s safe, understood?”

Morgan raises her hands in mock surrender. “Got it."

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 8:12 PM - Crime Alley, Gotham City.

The moon casts long, eerie shadows across the grimy streets of Crime Alley, its pale light barely penetrating the oppressive darkness. The night air is cool and sharp as you swing effortlessly between buildings.

Morgan clings tightly to your back, her grip firm. Her breath comes in quick, exhilarated bursts as the wind howls around you, whipping through her hair and making her voice rise with the rush of the night.

“This is incredible!” she shouts, her words lost momentarily in the roar of the wind. “I had no idea you were so… so agile! I’m practically flying!”

You chuckle, tightening your grip on her. “Glad you’re enjoying it. Just remember to keep this between us, okay? I already texted my mom, told her I was working late on an internship. She’d totally lose it if she knew the whole story. I wasn’t supposed to let anyone know.”

Morgan nods enthusiastically, her laughter mingling with the wind. “Secret’s safe with me! Besides, this is way cooler than any boring internship!”

As you approach the warehouse, you swing gracefully from the rooftops, landing lightly on the building’s edge. You gently set Morgan down, her eyes wide with curiosity. You lead her to an open window, and together you step into the warehouse, emerging into the loft area that overlooks the cluttered first floor.

Tables cluttered with tools, spare parts, and old electronics fill one side of the warehouse. Shelves stacked with various gadgets, blueprints, and half-finished projects line the walls. A makeshift bed, complete with a thin mattress and a worn blanket, sits in a corner, flanked by a few of your personal touches like a small stack of comic books and a faded poster of a vintage comic.

“It’s a bit scrappy, but it gets the job done,” you explain, glancing around the space. “I’ve done a lot of work here over the past few months.”

Morgan sets her gear down on one of the tables, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. She starts pulling out a few gadgets, laying them out with a smile. You watch her with interest as she reveals the basics for now: a comm device, a sleek laptop, and a set of earpieces.

“Alright, so here’s the rundown,” Morgan says, holding up the comm device. “This little beauty will keep us in touch no matter where we are. It’s got encryption and a few extra features that’ll come in handy for tracking and coordinating.”

She places it on the table and picks up the laptop, opening it to reveal a high-resolution screen. “This is my command center. Well... laptop. It’s loaded with security protocols and a few surprises. I’ll be able to monitor everything from here, plus it has advanced analytics.”

Finally, she holds up the earpieces with a grin. “And these are for communication and hearing everything clearly, even in the middle of a mess. They’re noise-canceling and have a range that can reach the entire country.”

You stare at her blankly.

"You are... oddly prepared for this."

Morgan shifts her weight and shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m really into heroes, okay?! Stark Industries has some pretty cool special projects.” She coughs lightly as she sets the equipment down, arranging it on one of the tables. “Just wait until you see what else I’ve got in store."

You shake your head with a smile, letting her dive into the setup. As she busies herself with the tech, you move to the corner of the warehouse where you’ve set up a small training area. You pull out a yoga mat, your muscles aching from the day’s activities and the previous night’s adrenaline rush.

Spreading the mat out on the floor, you begin a series of stretches and exercises to ease the tension in your body. The quiet hum of the warehouse is soothing until suddenly, your ringtone starts blaring through the speakers.

Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na… Batman!

You perk up, eyes wide, as the theme song fills the room. Morgan’s snort echoes through the space as she looks over at you, clicking something on her laptop.

“Nice fucking ringtone,” she laughs. “Damian’s calling.”

You squint at her, then glance at your phone, which is sitting a few inches away on the table. “Did you just hack my phone?”

“Hacked,” she corrects with a smirk. “You’d be surprised at what I can do with Bluetooth and a laptop.”

You roll your eyes and settle back down to squat on the floor. “You know, I thought I was supposed to be the tech expert here.”

Morgan shrugs nonchalantly. “Consider it a skill I picked up. Besides, if you’re going to have me as your tech support, you need to get used to this kind of thing.”

The ringtone continues to ring, and Morgan raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Are you going to answer that, or do you want me to handle it for you too?”

You wince. “We had an argument.”

“Trouble in paradise,” she squints before pointing to the door of the warehouse. “Maybe you want some privacy?”

You glance at the screen, where Damian’s name is flashing. With a resigned sigh, you reach for the phone and press the end button. Morgan whistles and grimaces.

“Yikes.”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes, trying to brush off the discomfort. “I’ll talk to him when I feel like it. Let me do my yoga in peace.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

"I'm sorry, this caller cannot be reached—"

With a sharp, irritated breath, Damian swipes the call away, the screen of his bike’s console dimming to black.

You didn’t want to answer? Fine. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

The bike’s engine roars to life with a deep, throaty growl, cutting through the night air like a predator on the hunt. Damian deftly navigates Gotham’s tangled mess of traffic, weaving between honking cars and startled pedestrians. The bike’s tires bite into the wet asphalt, the city lights reflecting off its sleek frame as he darts past another red light. 

Tonight’s patrol is anything but routine. High-profile cases, gang activity, and urgent calls stack up like a never-ending to-do list, and Damian can already feel the weight of the week ahead pressing down on him. Gotham’s underbelly churns with unease, as if the city itself is bracing for something darker on the horizon.

BUZZ!

Just as he begins to settle into the rhythm of the ride, the steady hum of the bike’s engine is interrupted by the sharp buzz of his comm link. He glances down at the small screen embedded in the bike’s console, his eyes narrowing.

“Robin? You there? I’ve got something I need you to check out. It’s near your location.”

The familiar voice of Oracle crackles through the earpiece, cool and composed, but with a hint of urgency that sparks Damian’s interest. A digital map flickers to life on the dashboard, zooming in on a narrow, dimly lit alleyway nestled deep within one of Gotham’s most rundown districts. 

“I’m picking up unusual activity,” she explains. “There’s a gang meet-up happening in that alleyway near Queens. From the chatter, it sounds like they’re discussing something big—possibly a new drug shipment or an upcoming operation. Get some eyes on them.”

“Understood. I’ll check it out,” he replies curtly. Damian’s grip tightens on the handlebars as he adjusts his course, the bike’s engine growling in response as he veers sharply toward the indicated location.

It only takes a few minutes before Damian pulls up to the alleyway. He slows the bike to a stop, the tires skidding slightly on the wet pavement before he parks it in a shadowed corner, blending in with the darkness. The engine’s deep rumble fades to a low, menacing purr before it finally falls silent.

Damian pulls off his helmet, his hair tousled from the ride. He shakes his head slightly, letting the cool night air ruffle through his dark locks. The city’s muted sounds reach his ears—the distant wail of sirens, the occasional shouts, the drip of water from a nearby pipe.

The alleyway ahead is cloaked in darkness, illuminated only by the occasional flicker of a faulty streetlamp. Shadows stretch and twist along the grimy walls, creating an unsettling landscape.

He dismounts and approaches the entrance to the alley with silent steps. As he ventures deeper, the muffled sounds of voices become clearer. The air grows heavier, thick with the smell of smoke mingling with an acrid tang of something burning and the less pleasant odors of old beer and rotting food. 

Damian reaches into his earpiece and taps the control for his embedded mic. The small device activates with a soft, almost imperceptible beep and he begins recording.

“Did you hear about latest shipment?” One voice says, his accent thick and unmistakable, the words rolling off his tongue with a heavy Russian lilt. “It’s stolen Stark Tech. Black Mask, he’s making big moves, yes? Big tech deals coming soon.”

Another voice, sharper and edged with a typical Gothamite drawl, chimes in. “Yeah, I heard. Looks like he’s tryin’ to offload some high-end stuff. Somethin’ to do with the Octavius project.”

A third voice, younger and nasally, adds, “Octavius? Isn’t he locked up in Blackgate? Why would he be involved in any of this?”

"Money," the Russian explains, "Black Mask, he uses connections, push deals forward. Octavius, he is in prison, yes, but influence, it is not gone. We get in on this... payout could be very big."

Damian’s eyes narrow as he tries to move closer, but something tugs at him from behind. He glances over his shoulder and freezes when he sees a thin, webbed strand clinging to the edge of his cape. It’s almost invisible in the dim light of the alley but stands out starkly against the dark fabric of his cape.

Spidersilk.

Scowling, Damian tugs at his cape, attempting to peel away the stubborn webbing. It clings tenaciously, resisting his efforts with an almost defiant grip. Frustration flares as he yanks harder, the strained fabric slapping against the nearby wall with a loud snap.

The voices in the alley fall silent, replaced by the shuffle of feet and urgent whispers. Damian curses under his breath

Damian curses under his breath. He quickly snaps off the cape, leaving it behind in the shadows, and just as he does, a gang member swings a crude metal pipe toward him. Damian reacts instinctively, raising his forearm to block the attack, the clang of metal echoing through the alley.

Snarling, Damian wrenches the pipe from the thug’s grip and drives it into the man’s ribs with brutal force. There’s a sickening crack as bone gives way, and the thug emits a sharp, agonized wail before crumpling to the ground, clutching his side in pain.

Standing tall, Damian slowly steps out of the shadows, the darkness sweeping across his face like a shroud. The white of his mask catches what little light there is, giving it an eerie, spectral glow. 

With a deliberate, almost ritualistic slowness, he draws his katana from its sheath. The blade catches and distorts the scant light, gleaming with a sinister, predatory sheen. As he spins the weapon with precise, practiced ease, the razor-sharp edge slices through the darkness, emitting a soft, chilling hiss.

“Here’s a piece of advice,” Damian sneers, his voice distorted into a menacing growl by his modulator. “You’re all out of your league. I suggest you leave now, before you make this any worse for yourselves.”

One of the gang members, either too reckless or too foolish to retreat, lunges at Damian with a rusty knife. The blade catches the scant light, its edge glinting menacingly as it arcs toward Damian’s side.

With a fluid, practiced motion, Damian sidesteps the attack, his hand shooting out to grasp the thug’s wrist and wrench it sharply. The knife clatters to the grimy ground as the thug lets out a pained cry. In a seamless follow-up, Damian flicks his katana, slicing across the thug’s torso with a precise cut that wounds but doesn’t kill.

Damian follows up with a brutal strike to the thug’s face, slamming him against the alley wall. Blood spatters onto the cracked pavement as Damian’s punch leaves the thug’s face a bruised, bloody mess.

“Had enough?” Damian growls, his voice a chilling rasp. The thug, dazed and barely able to stand, makes a feeble attempt to swing at Damian. 

Damian easily deflects the pitiful attack, then brings the hilt of his katana down with a sharp crack against the thug’s temple. The thug crumples to the ground, unconscious before he even hits the pavement.

“Let this be a lesson, Damian calls out to the other men. He twists his wrist, adjusting his grip on the katana, letting blood drip from the blade in a slow, deliberate descent. As he advances towards the remaining gang members, the metal scrapes against the ground with a harsh, grating sound.

“That next time, you won’t be so lucky,” he continues, his carved jade eyes darkened with flecks of shadow, swirling like wisps of smoke.

The thugs, now visibly terrified, back away slowly, their bravado gone. The oldest of them, a burly man with a scar that cuts through his rugged face, steps forward.

“Alright, alright, we’re done here,” he growls, his voice betraying a tremor of fear. “We’ll leave. Just... just don’t kill us.”

Damian flicks his sword back. “Smart choice. Now get out of here, before I change my mind.”

The men scramble to their feet, their panicked retreat echoing off the narrow walls as they disappear into the shadows. The sound of their hurried footsteps gradually fades, leaving Damian alone in the quiet aftermath.

He sheaths his katana, the blade slipping into its scabbard with a soft, final click. His breathing is steady, but the adrenaline still buzzes beneath his skin. He scans the alley, taking in the mess left behind—smears of blood painting the pavement

His comm link crackles to life again, Oracle’s voice cutting through the silence. “Robin, report. What’s the status?”

“I recorded the conversation for you,” Damian replies, his voice steady as he turns. His boots crunch on the asphalt, the sound piercing the quiet as he kneels down to retrieve his discarded cape. He scowls at the stubborn webbing still clinging to his cape.

“That, and I’m starting a personal case,” he adds. He moves closer to examine the webbing, his gloved fingers deftly tearing away part of the fabric. The strands of webbing glint faintly in the dim light.

“A personal case?”

“Yes,” Damian confirms. He tugs his torn cape back into place, the frayed edges fluttering slightly as he smooths the fabric over his shoulders. He takes a moment to scan the alley one last time, the glinting remnants of webbing still catching his eye. 

“I'm going on a hunt."

 ༻⊰───⋅

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you trudge up the creaky, worn stairs of your apartment building, your footsteps pounding against the wood. Your muscles protest with every step, body aching from the lack of sleep. 

Both you and Morgan were up all night setting up communication devices and sketching out possible upgrades for weapons and gadgets. Your mind is a foggy mess of blueprints and circuitry, making it hard to focus on anything but the thought of finally collapsing into your beloved bed.

Reaching your door, you fumble with the keys, and push the door open. The familiar scent of home—a mix of Selina's favorite lavender incense and the lingering aroma of last night's takeout—hits you, momentarily soothing your tired mind.

Inside, the windows are drawn open, and sunlight illuminates the living room, casting warm, golden beams across the worn-out furniture. Selina is sitting on the couch, engaged in an animated conversation with someone. You blink in confusion, your brain still foggy from sleep. Since when did you guys have guests?

You squint, then do a double-take.

Tony Stark. The Tony Stark is lounging on your couch, looking like he belonged there.

Maybe you were hallucinating.

You blink again, but he’s still there, looking impossibly real with his feet propped up and an easy smile on his face. It’s not a hallucination. This is real.

“Uh, Mom?” you manage to stammer out.

Selina turns and gives you a warm smile. “Look who finally decided to join us. Honey, you didn’t tell me you topped the rankings for their program!”

You… did?

“Uh, I did?” you ask, bewildered. You have no recollection of even applying for anything. The only time Tony knew about your existence was yesterday when you were literally shirtless at his apartment.

Tony chuckles, standing up and extending his hand. “You sure did, kid. Impressive work. I’ve been keeping an eye on the top candidates, and your projects really stood out. Thought I’d come by personally to congratulate you and talk about the next steps.”

You shake his hand, still in shock. His grip is firm, and his presence is undeniably magnetic. “Thank you, Mr. Stark. I’m… honored?”

“Honored, impressed—whatever you want to call it,” Tony says with a smirk, nodding at Selina before clapping a hand on your back. “Just know I’ve got big plans for you.”

Something feels off. 

Your spider senses are buzzing like a live wire, setting your nerves on edge. 

You force a smile, trying to mask the unease gnawing at you. The room feels too small, the air too thick. The sunlight streaming in from the window seems blindingly bright, almost as if it's glaring through a veil of distorted reality, making everything feel unreal.

As everything whirls into tunnel vision, the only thing you can focus on is Tony Stark, who seems too calm, too composed.

“Mom, would it be alright if I talked to Mr. Stark outside? We’ll be back,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel.

Without waiting for a response, you yank Tony toward the door. The latch clicks shut behind you with an ominous echo, and you steer him down the narrow, dimly lit hallway of the apartment building. The corridor feels tight and constricted, with the flickering lightbulbs casting uneven shadows that dance along the peeling wallpaper.

Once you reach the corner and are out of earshot, you turn to Tony. “Okay, what’s really going on?” you ask.

Tony raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Straight to the point, huh? I like that. I needed to talk to you about something important, and this seemed like the best way to get your attention without causing a scene.”

You furrow your brow, struggling to piece together what’s happening. “I don’t even remember applying for any program. Morgan just mentioned it to me. Are you sure you have the right person, Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s expression turns serious as he pulls out his phone. With a few swipes, he activates a holographic screen. A video begins to play, and your heart sinks as you recognize the scene. 

The video shows you from months ago, in your Spidey suit, captured by a bystander's shaky phone camera. The camera focuses on the moment when a car, careening out of control, crashes through the guardrail of a bridge. A web is shot, the thread catching the car just before it plunged into the river below. There's a grunt from you as you strain to pull the car back onto the bridge, the muscles in your arms and shoulders visibly taut under the suit. Onlookers gasp and cheer when you succeed, landing lightly on the bridge beside the car. 

Tony’s eyes bore into yours. "That's you, isn't it?"

Your heart skips a beat. The hallway seems to close in around you, the walls pressing in. You feel a bead of sweat trickle down your back as you stammer, "What? I—I don't... No?"

Tony's gaze remains fixed on you, his expression unreadable. "Come on, kid. Don't try to play me. I know it's you. Holy shit. What a catch! 4,100 pounds?"

"I really don't know what you're talking about," you lie and swallow hard. "That's probably fake you know right? It's probably some edit on Youtube."

"Oh, sure," Tony purses his lips and pulls up another screen. Your eyes scan it and you wince. "Guess this is fake too, huh?"

The screen displays medical records of your injury from yesterday—a gunshot wound that healed unusually fast. The data outlines the severity of the wound and highlights the rapid recovery process. Tony’s finger traces the timeline, pointing out the abnormal speed of your healing.

"Wowie," Tony gasps in mock-surprise. "Not exactly a normal recovery rate for a regular teenager, wouldn't you say? What the hell does your mom feed you, kid? Magic beans? And this—"

He pulls up another screen. It's a scan of your DNA. The image is a dense matrix of colorful strands and data points.

“Would you look at that,” Tony continues, crossing his arms. "You got some Spider DNA on you, kid. This is some next-level genetic crossover."

You exhale deeply, pressing your fingertips to your temples in an attempt to quell the rising tide of anxiety. “Did Morgan tell you about this?”

Tony shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Nope. I have access to the records and all data from the bot. Guess she forgot to clear it.” He slides his phone back into his pocket. “And before you ask, I don’t just dig through people’s private stuff for fun.”

He points a finger at you, a self-assured smile growing on his face. "So. I’m right? You’re the... Spiderling. Crime-fighting Spider?"

"Spidey," you correct, leaning against the wall and crossing your arms. "Look. Mr. Stark. What do you want?"

Tony adjusts his glasses, peering down at you with a look of genuine appreciation. "Well, first, I want to thank you for saving my girl. I owe you one for that."

You nod, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

"Second," Tony continues, his tone shifting to business, "I’m here with a proposition. I’ve seen what you can do, and let’s just say I’ve got some big plans that could use a spider-shaped wrench in the works. Plus, I’ve got some nifty gadgets to keep you happy.”

You wince and shake your head. “Mr. Stark, I’m not looking to upgrade.”

"Well, you’re in dire need of an upgrade," Tony says, pulling up a picture of you in your suit and making a gagging face. He adjusts his glasses with a look of disdain. "Systemic. Top to bottom."

You roll your eyes.

"But before we get into that," Tony adds, his tone shifting to something more thoughtful, "I’ve got to ask: why do this? Why play the hero? Is it guilt? A sense of responsibility? Or just a really bad habit? What's your emo backstory, kid?"

You shift uncomfortably against the wall, the cool, rough surface pressing against your back. 

"It’s... complicated," you finally say, your voice low. "When you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you. I can’t just stand by and act helpless."

"So, you’re playing the hero for the little guys, huh? Who else knows about this gig of yours?" Tony mutters

You exhale a heavy sigh, rolling your neck to ease the tension. "Morgan knows, and... Selina. And now, you."

Tony nods slowly, his fingers idly peeling back a section of wallpaper. "How’d would you like to spend a month at Stark Industries, kid?"

You sputter, "I can't just... What? Start living with you?"

"Well, yeah. I'm not exactly down to make the three-hour commute to your place."

"Okay, who said I was agreeing to this?"

"I did," Tony whistles and starts to move toward your apartment door. "Unless you want me to tell your ridiculously hot aunt that her kid got shot—"

THWIP.

Tony freezes, his foot now stuck as the sharp sound of the web echoes through the corridor. He looks down, eyes widening slightly as the web wraps around his ankle. 

You stand with your hand outstretched. “Don’t tell Mom.”

Tony raises an eyebrow in mock surprise. “So, what’s it going to be? Make a decision now, or do I need to start spilling secrets to get your attention?”

You groan, your head thudding against the wall as you wrestle with the decision. After a moment, you exhale sharply, pushing the doubt aside. “Alright, Mr. Stark. I’ll take you up on your offer. But if we’re doing this, I need to be in the loop on everything. No surprises.”

Tony’s smirk widens as he extends his hand. 

“Deal. Welcome to Stark Industries. You’re going to fit right in.”

"..."

"Now. Can you... get me out of this?"

 ༻⊰───⋅

The dining room at Wayne Manor was unusually lively this morning, a rare and welcome shift from the usual quiet. Bruce, seated at the head of the long, polished mahogany table, was partially hidden behind the day’s newspaper, only the top of his head visible as he read. The rustle of paper was the only sound he made as Alfred moved around his chair, silently refilling his coffee cup with a fresh, steaming brew.

To Bruce’s right, Dick and Jason were engaged in conversation. Every so often, their banter would erupt into laughter, the sound warm and familiar. Tim sat across from them, his laptop balanced precariously beside his plate, its glow reflecting off the food he barely touched. His eyes darted between the screen and the table, more absorbed in whatever was on his laptop than the breakfast laid out in front of him. At the far end, Cass cradled her latte in both hands, taking slow, thoughtful sips as her gaze wandered out to the gardens, lost in some distant thought.

Amidst the calm, Damian was anything but. His face was locked in a deep scowl as he hacked away at his breakfast, the knife in his hand scraping harshly against the plate, leaving deep, jagged scratches. Each slice seemed to require more effort than the last, the grating sound of metal against porcelain cutting through the room like nails on a chalkboard.

"Are you trying to eat your plate?"

"Die."

Bruce peered over the top of his newspaper, his brow furrowed in concern. The rustle of the paper paused as he glanced at his son, his gaze shifting from the newspaper to Damian. "Is something wrong, son?"

Damian’s grip tightened around his knife, his knuckles white. His jaw was clenched so tightly that it looked like it might crack. "The burger is insufficiently cut."

Tim, fingers flying across his laptop keyboard, barely looked up from the screen. He let out an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. "He’s mad because his girlfriend hasn’t been replying to his messages."

Damian’s eyes shot a sharp glare at Tim, but the anger in his gaze softened just enough to betray the truth in his brother’s words. His jaw twitched as he tried to maintain his scowl. Bruce raised an eyebrow, his concern now tinged with curiosity.

"Damn," Jason said, pausing mid-bite of his eggs. He leaned back in his chair, waving his fork around with a smirk. "What did you do? Did she finally get tired of you?"

"Don’t start, Todd," Damian snapped, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Jason. "My relationship status is none of your concern."

Dick leaned back in his chair with a chuckle. "Busy, or just avoiding you? There’s a difference."

"She might just be busy," Tim chimed in, taking a leisurely sip from his coffee cup. He set it down with a deliberate clink and met Dick's gaze with a knowing look. "Did you know she topped the Stark Industries Young Innovators Program?"

The table fell silent for a moment, the hum of conversation abruptly cut off.

The newspaper, now forgotten, slipped from Bruce's fingers and landed on the table with a soft thud. His jaw twitched, and his lips pressed into a thin line, fighting to control the storm of emotions churning beneath his otherwise stoic facade. He looked as though he were struggling to choose between bursting into laughter, breaking down in tears, or punching a hole in the wall.

“Repeat that,” he said, his voice tight.

A wave of stunned stares passed around the table. Tim quickly typed something on his laptop, his fingers moving with practiced speed. He then turned the screen around for everyone to see. The headline on the screen read:

“Wayne-Stark Feud Escalates: Damian Wayne’s Girlfriend Takes Top Honors in Stark Industries’ Prestigious Young Innovators Program”

Dick’s eyes widened in surprise, and Jason whistled again, this time in genuine admiration. 

“Well, damn. She really knocked it out of the park.”

Bruce’s expression shifted to a frown. 

“Of course, I had already known she was impressive,” Bruce said slowly, his voice dripping with a hint of petty resentment. “It’s just… wonderful to see someone finally acknowledging it. Stark finally catching up.”

“Looks like he’s stealing your kid,” Jason snorted, shaking his head. "Who do you guys think is going to win the custody battle?"

“Tony,” Tim said with a laugh.

Bruce’s head snapped up, betrayed. “Tim—”

“Tony,” Tim repeated, scrolling through the article. “She accepted. She’ll be spending a month in Stark Tower’s living quarters. All expenses covered.”

“What.”

“Yep,” Tim said, not looking up from his screen. “All the perks of the job. Stark’s rolling out the red carpet.”

Damian’s scowl deepened, his frustration now entirely focused on his offending meal. He resumed his aggressive cutting, the knife scraping furiously against the porcelain, each slice resonating with his irritation.

Bruce slammed his coffee cup down on the table with a sharp clink.

“Stark,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and edged with bitter resignation. “Of course, Stark.”

Stares and knowing grins were exchanged around the table. 

“Can’t believe I’m being outmaneuvered by that billionaire showboat,” Bruce grumbled. “Not a drop of responsibility in that man. How on earth is he going to handle being a… mentor to her? Stark’s idea of responsibility is throwing money at a problem and hoping it magically solves itself. He’ll probably just have her parading around his tech labs, showing off to his high-profile friends while she’s supposed to be learning. It’s all a game to him. He’s just going to pat her on the back and call her a genius while he takes all the credit.”

“Oh my god,” Dick grimaced, trying to stifle a laugh. “The adoption senses are tingling.”

Bruce shot him a withering glance but was interrupted by Alfred’s calm, yet pointed voice. “You’re taking this a bit personally,” Alfred said. “If I were you, I’d be congratulating the young miss for her accomplishment. It’s a remarkable achievement, and it reflects well on her character.”

Bruce’s scowl didn’t fade, but his expression softened slightly. “I’m not questioning her achievement,” he muttered, his tone begrudging.

“She’ll be fine. If she can handle you, she can handle Stark,” Alfred snapped.

Bruce gasped in offense.

Alfred continued to move around the table, placing a pitcher of water in the center. As he wiped his hands with a cloth, he hummed thoughtfully. “Young Miss Kyle is more than equipped to manage whatever Sir Stark throws at her. Let’s all take a moment to appreciate her success and perhaps focus less on the competition.”

He glanced at Bruce with a hint of a smile. “We can invite them for a celebratory dinner, Master Bruce. It would be a fitting way to honor her achievement and show our support.”

CLANG!

A sudden, explosive smash shattered the calm of the room, followed by a harsh metallic scrape. Damian’s knife came down with such violent force that the plate beneath it cracked audibly, sending shards skittering across the table.

Alfred’s weary sigh broke the tension, and he glided over to collect the shattered remnants of the plate, his practiced hands carefully avoiding the jagged edges.

“I hope you enjoy cereal, Master Damian."

༻⊰───⋅

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

im a hoe for comments/reblogs/asks/kudos

it fuels me <3 pls send more

[olailamajnoon]

Bruce got up from a coma to find that the Manor had become the site of a baking contest, with everyone who was anyone in the superhero community participating, either as contestant or judge.

"What the fuck," he croaked to Alfred the moment he could.

"Steady on, Master B," Alfred said staidly. "You had so many visitors in your...state, that I'm afraid Miss Cassandra and Miss Stephanie took horrible advantage of it. Master Richard reluctantly agreed, citing morale as the reason, although I suspect it may have just been his sweet tooth that won the day."

"Alfred," said Bruce wearily. "How likely is it that my awakening will go unnoticed."

"Your 'awakening', as you put it, although that word rather implies that you are a mummy—"

"...Alfred!"

"—will be noticed in no time. Master Clark has been...quite assiduous in his visitations."

"How assiduous?"

"He visits everyday, and checks on you twice or thrice. There is just no keeping him away. He has brought over Masters Jon and Conner. They are rather ahead on the scoreboard."

"There's a scoreboard?" Bruce rubbed his face. "Alfred, please tell me you have not taken part in any of this tomfoolery."

Alfred looked mildly guilt-stricken. "Well I'm afraid you see, sir, that I am...head judge."

"What about Selina?" asked Bruce, his head wandering.

"Miss Kyle has submitted her lioness, Nala, along with Master Damian's pet tiger, to the 'animal judges' section of the baking contest."

Bruce grit his teeth in annoyance. "The more I learn, the more I wish I had stayed in bed. But, I suppose, every buffoonery must end."

Alfred stopped in his tracks. "Buffoonery, sir?"

Bruce looked up at him, sliding on his gown. "Well surely you don't agree this should have been done?"

Alfred looked still. "Well, sir—"

He looked away. Bruce's hackles rose. "What?"

"You forget. The participants of this contest were not here for this...buffoonery, as you put it. They were here because they cared about you enough to drop their lives and come to your home, and stay with your children in their grief, and bake silly cakes that they probably had no interest in baking. They stood here as your heart rate fluctuated and stabilized, they supported each other and were stronger together. And the thing that bonded them was you, sir." Alfred turned to the heart rate monitor, and turned it off. He still had his back to Bruce. "Most persons would be lucky to have half so many people their lives, who cared half as much."

Bruce's face grew still. "Alfred, you don't think—that I don't appreciate it."

"Of course not, sir," said Alfred soothingly. "I know you have a hard time expressing your feelings. And some of the blame, I'm afraid, rests with me."

"No—"

"Yes, sir. I never taught you how to say thank you. You have many virtues, but I'm afraid gratitude's one that was missed." Alfred gathered up the sensors, and stuffed the syringes, tidying up. "So you can start with me, and work your way up."

He looked up at Bruce expectantly.

"Thank you," said Bruce, in an abashed voice. "I know I haven't been the best at—"

"You're welcome, dear boy," said Alfred, his wrinkled face illuminated with a smile. "You're always going to be welcome."

Bruce leaned forward and hugged Alfred. Alfred's lean body returned the hug with a fierceness that Bruce had not expected from the seventy-year-old man.

"Now," said Alfred, after they both had cleared their throats and looked away in embarrassment. "The winners of the contest are to be given their prize by you. So I suppose there will be multiple reasons for people to be happy you have awoken."

"Who has won?" Bruce asked, thinking about the people who visited him in his coma: strong firm hands that held his and did not let go, a woman's subtle perfume that enveloped him with one kiss, and a small boy's warm tears that fell on his father's face.

"Hal Jordan," announced Alfred, checking the scorecard.

Bruce groaned. "Not that man."

"I'm afraid so. The judges were unanimous, after tasting his soufflé. I suspect he used extra-terrestrial ingredients, but although that went against the spirit of the competition, it did not go against the letter of it." Alfred smoothed down the sheets. "I must inform you, Master Harold has been instrumental in keeping Master Damian's hopes up, in regards to your recovery. 'Your father is one tough bastard to beat', I believe were his words."

Bruce stood up. "Well, I suppose I can give Hal Jordan his stupid prize." He corrected his sleeves, brushing lint off them. There was something stupid in his heart. He suspected it to be fondness. When had so many good people started caring for him? And why would they care for a fuck-up?

As usual, Alfred read him to a tee. "Let us put our self-doubt to rest, Master Bruce. Go upstairs and be a bloody good host."

Bruce sighed, although his heart was almost content, for once. "Yes, Alfred."

[incorrectbatfam]

What your LEAST favorite batfam member says about you

Dick Grayson: You think life is over and people become shriveled-up hags at 30

Jason Todd: You're an Arrowfam stan

Tim Drake: Your favorite Robin is either Jason or Damian

Damian Wayne: You call children "crotch goblins"

Duke Thomas: You own something from your childhood that would be worth a lot of money now had you not taken it out of the original packing

Cullen Row: You've spent a lot of your early teens struggling to accept your identity and in doing so behaved like a douche on Roblox

Stephanie Brown: You created a TikTok to make fun of TikTokers but that doesn't change the fact that you're still on TikTok

Cassandra Cain: You were weirded out by the alt kids in school only to realize later in life they had more courage than you by expressing themselves without caring about what others think

Barbara Gordon: You had a college reading level in 6th grade that stopped mattering once you entered college where everyone was the same as you and you're still salty about it

Harper Row: Your parents didn't let you dye your hair

Carrie Kelley: You had an unhealthy relationship with a stranger on Discord where you learned the meaning of gaslighting firsthand

Kate Kane: You didn't like the Barbie movie

Helena Bertinelli: You had a crush on someone who was way out of your league but took a shot anyway and they rejected you and now every time you see someone pretty you seethe with envy

Luke Fox: You think you can take a grizzly bear in a fight when your only hobby is watching Twitch streamers and eating cool ranch Doritos

Bette Kane: You had a Wattpad Mary Sue self-insert who had all the members of One Direction falling for her and was a vampire wizard demigod that won the Hunger Games but that's a secret you plan on taking to your grave

Alfred Pennyworth: Britain fucked over your country

Selina Kyle: You know a lot about sex for someone who hasn't even gone on a date

Bruce Wayne: You stand by your guns when you say eat the rich and don't make exceptions for the "wholesome" billionaires

[ladyantiheroine]

The Paris Suite

Summary: After eloping from Gotham, Bruce and Selina enjoy a steamy honeymoon night in Paris. Read on AO3.

Pairing: Sub!Bruce Wayne x Dom!Selina Kyle

Warnings: Knifeplay, kinky sex

Word Count: 2.6k words

Tags: Honeymoon, eloping, femdom, shibari, bondage, edging, knifeplay, strip tease, alcohol, face-sitting, cunnilingus, oral sex, dom/sub, roleplay, sexual roleplay, pegging, hand jobs, hotel sex, married couple.

“Those pearls look beautiful on you.”

Selina paused and realized she was fiddling with her necklace. She glanced up at Bruce as the elevator pinged its way up another floor. She grinned.

“Thank you,” she said. “A very handsome friend of mine gave them to me.”

“How handsome?”

“Enough that I might marry him. Maybe.”

Bruce smirked and fiddled his wedding ring with his thumb. Martha Wayne’s pearls had been a gift to Selina right before they eloped. They were the only thing that Bruce brought with him once they decided to leave Gotham together.

Well, except for millions of Wayne bucks that could buy a luxury honeymoon in the City of Love, of course.

The elevator doors parted and Selina followed Bruce down the hall to a set of double doors. Bruce pulled a gold room key from his pocket.

“The Royal Suite,” Selina read on the plaque by the door. “You really went all out for this one, did you?”

Bruce smirked as he turned the key in the lock. Just as he instructed the staff upon making the reservations, the DO NOT DISTURB sign was already hanging from the doorknob.

“The occasion calls for nothing less,” he said. 

He held open the door for Selina to step inside. Her high heels clicked against the marble floor and her eyes took in the expansive chateau.

“Impressive,” she said.

The suite was nestled on the top floor of the hotel, offering an impeccable view of the city’s golden glow below. Black marble countertops, crisp white furniture, and gold accents. All were illuminated by the glittering diamond chandelier that hung from the ceiling. The place even smelled expensive. 

Bruce removed Selina’s coat and placed it on a hook before stripping off his black trench coat. His eyes ran along the place, past the fully equipped kitchen to the living room where the fireplace was already crackling.

“Nice for them to light this for us,” he said. “Wish they could’ve left us some champagne in an ice bucket.”

“Oh, they did,” Selina said.

Bruce turned to Selina just as she pulled a sleek bottle from his handbag. He smirked.

“Impatient?” he asked.

Selina returned the smirk.

“I don’t like waiting for what I want,” she said. She reached behind her and locked the suite door. “Can you grab some glasses for us, darling?”

Bruce did as she asked and approached the upper cabinets in the kitchen. He found a neat row of tell champagne glasses inside and brought two to the counter. Selina set the bottle down between them with a glassy thud.

“Planning to get me drunk right out the gate?” Bruce teased.

Selina snorted.

“Like I would have to get you drunk to do anything,” she said.

“Are you certain about that?”

The two held each other’s teasing eyes. Bruce’s eyes lingered down to Selina’s fingers around the stem of the bottle. The diamond on her wedding ring glinted in the pale light. Twenty-four carats. The kind of stone only Wayne money could buy.

His breath still hitched whenever he saw it. He looked down at the gold band on his own finger.

He was married to Selina Kyle.

They fled Gotham, had a modest ceremony in Florence, and now whisked themselves away to Paris. It all happened so quickly that Bruce still felt like it was a dream. Like any moment he would wake up back in his cold, oversized bed in Gotham, the taste of Talia Al Ghul on his lips and Rachel Dawes heavy in his chest.

Now, he couldn’t even remember a time he loved any other woman.

“There should be some chocolate strawberries in the fridge,” Selina said. “Could you check for me, baby?”

“Sure,” Bruce said. He turned to the stainless steel fridge. “Made some arrangements with room service?”

“I like having something to eat with my drink.”

Bruce opened the fridge door. Behind him, he heard the champagne gurgle into the glasses. Indeed, the fridge was empty save for a box of decadent chocolate strawberries. He reached for them before closing the door.

Bruce turned back around just as Selina finished pouring the second glass. He brought the box over and popped it open. Before he could grab one, Selina reached over and plucked one from the box.

“Last time I had something sweet, it was laced with something not-so-much,” She gripped the strawberry by its green stem and held it to Bruce’s lips. “Can you taste this and tell me if it’s okay?”

Bruce grinned, then opened wide for Selina to push the tip of the dessert inside. He held her eyes as he closed his lips over the fruit and bit down, chewing slowly and moaning at the sweet taste in his mouth.

“Are you trying to tease me, Bruce?” Selina asked.

He swallowed.

“Is it working?”

Selina smirked, then flicked the remaining stem into the waste bin. She plucked her champagne glass from the counter and Bruce followed suit.

“To a new chapter,” Bruce said, raising his glass.

“To cities of love, not cities of fear,” Selina said.

They clinked their glasses together and Bruce took a long sip. Already, he could feel the foamy buzz settle in his veins. He felt light and giddy and suddenly much sleepier than he’d been even a minute ago.

“Jesus…” he mumbled. “What do the French put in their…”

He clasped a hand on the kitchen counter as he felt his knees buckle beneath him. Selina stood there, swirling her unsipped glass in her hand, watching Bruce with a mischievous look as he collapsed onto the floor.

~

The pain was the first thing Bruce felt when he came to. Not the pounding, headache pain of a hangover, as the lingering taste of champagne on his tongue would have him think. Not the sharp pain of a stabbing or gunshot wound. It was the aching, numbing pain of sore muscles that had been contorted for too long.

His eyes fluttered open and he was met with the glaring sparkle of the chandelier hanging above him. To his right, he felt the heat radiating from the fireplace, and behind his body was the soft, white fur carpet.

“Selina…” he said.

He tried to move, then groaned in pain when he realized his hands were bound behind him. Bruce dipped his gaze down his body. He’d been stripped down to his tighty-whities, and his body had been looped with rope. Strong, firm rope.

Either Bruce had gotten rusty in the year since he left Gotham, or Selina was exceptionally good at tying knots, because no matter how hard he struggled he couldn’t break the rope. Bruce was inclined to believe the latter. He groaned as he tried and failed to snap the rope binding his hands behind him.

“Selina,” he called louder. He glanced around the suite, which from his angle on the floor, seemed empty. “Very funny, Selina…very clever…”

Bruce squirmed on the carpet. She didn’t stop at tying his wrists together at his back. His legs were bound up two, keeping his knees bent and his thighs spread apart.

Shibari, he thought. Of course she knows Shibari.

Why was he surprised?

Somewhere behind his head, he heard the bedroom door open and the telltale click-click-click of Selina’s black pumps. A shadow passed over his face and he rolled his eyes up a long pair of legs to the woman towering over him.

Looks like he wasn’t the only one she stripped down. The simple black dress Selina had arrived in was gone, replaced with black lingerie, nylon thigh-highs with garters, and a familiar-looking black mask. All of it topped off with the pearls shimmering at her collar.

“I think you had a little too much to drink,” she said. “You’re very vulnerable when you’re drunk.”

Then, Selina reached into her bra and pulled out a black metal object. Bruce’s breath hitched when she flicked it open to reveal a pocket knife. The sharp end glinted in the light, piercing the glare into Bruce’s eyes so that he had to squint. 

“You should really be more careful,” she said. Her voice was low, drawn-out, as cold as an arctic breeze. “Someone could hurt you like this.”

She stood over him with his body between her legs, then lowered down to him. She held the knife to Bruce's throat and teased the dull side against his neck. Bruce shivered at the icy touch of the metal, afraid if he moved an inch, she would draw blood.

The thought tantalized him as much as it frightened him.

He chuckled. Of course, Selina would want to play one of her games as soon as she got him alone in their room. He should have known this was coming. 

Thankfully, Bruce was the kind of prey who was happy to be chewed in his predator’s mouth.

“Well, Mrs. Wayne,” he said. He shifted beneath her and met her eyes. “It seems you’ve caught me in a bind. What do I have to do to earn my freedom?”

Selina’s face stretched into a wicked grin. Her lips were bloody red, a shade Bruce bought her as a present, called Maneater. How appropriate.

“You don't have to do much, Mr. Wayne,” Selina said. 

She moved the knife from Bruce’s throat and rose to her feet. Bruce watched her step out of her high heels and set them aside,

Then, she lifted one nyloned foot and pressed it down on his crotch.

Bruce released a shuddering moan. Selina pressed down on his bulge, teasing his length with her toes, sending pain and pleasure down between his thighs.

“All you have to do,” she said. “Is just lie there and look pretty.”

“Selina,” Bruce croaked.

Every nerve in his body angled itself to where Selina pressed down on his erection. His body burned to move, to wiggle out from under her, but the ropes kept him in place. The only part of him that could move freely was creating a bulge in his underwear.

Selina giggled girlishly and ran her toe along his length. His tip was already leaking precome, leaving a stain on the fabric.

“Wet already?” she said. She clicked her teeth. “Bruce, what kind of fucked-up man gets wet from something like this?”

Bruce huffed and reported back, “What kind of woman gets wet from holding a man at knifepoint?”

Selina lifted an eyebrow. She pressed the point of the knife against Bruce’s Adam’s apple, pressing down just enough to create a prick of pain, but not too much to break the skin. She gently teased the tip down his throat, his chest, all the way down to his waist. Bruce’s heart stopped as an image of castration crossed his mind.

“Selina…” he said. “What’re you…”

Selina nudged the tip of the blade into the fabric of Bruce’s underwear, just barely missing his cock. In one slow motion, she tore through the material. The threads ripped apart and the whole thing fell apart on the floor. Bruce’s red, throbbing cock was bared on display, like butcher’s meat she served on a platter.

Bruce watched Selina kneel down again, straddling his leg. She slowly wrapped her long, slender fingers around his cock. By this point, Bruce was visibly shaking and sweating.

“Poor baby,” she said. “Need some help?”

Slowly, she started working her hand up and down his cock. Painfully slow. Bruce sucked in a gasp of breath and hissed between his teeth.

“Selina,” Bruce said, his voice more desperate. “Please…please…”

Selina grinned but didn’t stop her busy hand on his cock. She moved faster, pulling more whimpers and whines from her husband. She gradually quickened her pace until Bruce's hips started jerking and she could feel he was close.

Then, just before he could come, Selina pulled her hand away.

Bruce snapped his head up and looked at her.

“Wah…” he said, his breathing hitched. “Why’d you stop?”

Selina grinned and pressed her chin to her knuckles, her eyes flicking over him like he was some animal she caught in a cage.

“You want, baby boy?” she said. She leaned forward, her smile dropping and her voice turning ice-cold. “Then beg for it.” 

She teased her fingers along his cock, touching him just enough to make him hiss between his teeth. Bruce was panting like a dog and he wished for nothing more than to tear his hands from their binds and jerk himself off at her feet.

“Please, Selina,” he whimpered. “Please…I’ll do anything you want…just…fuck, please, it hurts…”

Selina pursed her lips and frowned.

“Aw,” she said. “Your poor baby.”

Her mocking baby talk only made him harder. Bruce was in agony. He tried to jerk his hips up and rub his cock against her hand, but the ropes were too tight.

“Please, Selina…” he whimpered softly. “Don’t torture me like this…”

Selina paused to look at him for a moment, letting him stew under her considerate gaze and then stood up. She underclipped her garters and they fell from her thighs.

“I don’t know if I want to let you off so easy,” she said. “I’m not an easy woman, Mr. Wayne. You need to earn something from me, first.”

She hooked her thumbs into the side of her lacy panties, and then slowly pulled them down her legs. Bruce was damn near drooling and he started twitching and grunting beneath her. Just the sight of her bare pussy made him feel like a feral dog foaming at the mouth.

Her hands stripped away slowly, taking their time until the lace was at her ankle. She moved forward up his body, positioning Bruce’s head between her thighs. Bruce’s nose filled with her scent and his mouth instantly watered.

“You want it, baby?” she said. “Then give it to me first.”

She lowered herself down onto Bruce’s face and Bruce wasted no time. He plunged his king, velvety tongue inside her and moaned at the taste. Fuck, that was good stuff.

Selina’s eyes fluttered shut and she sighed. She threaded her fingers through Bruce’s hair and curved her hips into his mouth.

“That’s it, baby…” she purred. “Right there…”

Selina arched her back and tightened her grip in his hair.

“Uh huh, baby,” she said. “Just like that…”

Bruce growled between her thighs. He loved her taste, the sounds she made, her soft flesh against his face. Bruce would’ve given anything to rip his wrists from the ropes and dig his fingers into her thighs.

He lapped at her pussy like a hungry dog, her hot juices trickling down his throat. Selina moaned louder and her hips twitched as she fucked his skull into the floor.

“Fuck,” Selina moaned, gripping his hair with both hands now. “Fuck, Bruce…”

Bruce didn’t slow down. He sensed her getting close and he wanted to send her hurling over the edge. He wanted her to unravel on top of him, a bit of cheeky revenge for drugging his champagne.

Selina yanked at his hair and tipped her head up to the ceiling.

“FUCK!” She hissed through her teeth. Selina came like a glass bottle shattered against the wall. She rode Bruce’s face until every drop left from her was trickling down his throat.

Even after she finished, Selina’s hips kept jerking and twisting. Bruce didn’t want to stop. He could’ve stayed on the floor licking her dry all night. But Selina drew a heavy sigh and lifted herself from his face.

“Cute,” she said, using her thumb to wipe the shiny come from Bruce’s mouth. “This is a good look for you.”

Bruce grinned and licked the residue from his lower lip.

“Are you happy?” he asked.

Selina scoffed and gave him a smug grin. She stood up and stepped back into her high heels.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “Very happy.”

“So, are you gonna use that knife to let me go now?” Bruce asked.

Selina twisted her mouth and glanced down between Bruce’s thighs. His bulge was still erect and leaking profusely. 

“Not yet,” she said. She pointed the knife at it. “I have to take care of that business first.”

Bruce’s skin prickled with anticipation. He expected her to join him back on the floor and ride him into the carpet. Maybe she’d blow him and leave that red lipstick on his cock, marking her territory. Maybe she’d just finish that handjob she tortured him with.

Instead, he watched Selina’s heels click past his head and into the bedroom. Bruce tried to glance behind him to see where she was going.

“Selina?” he called.

Bruce didn’t hear a response. However, he did hear the distant clink of metal and the stretch of leather straps. His heart ricocheted in his chest.

Oh, he thought. Oh yes. 

He thought she would stop at the ropes. He had no idea that she brought extra toys with her as well. Clearly, he underestimated Selina and how thorough;y he planned to fuck him senseless during their honeymoon.

She’s perfect, he thought. Perfect woman. Perfect wife. 

Goosebumps erupted across Bruce’s whole body. He instinctively clenched his ass hole. The ropes around his body suddenly felt ten times more restricting and he was giddy to the point of nearly giggling.

“The bedroom door creaked open and Bruce heard Selina’s high heels approaching.

Bruce rolled his head to face the ceiling. Selina clicked her heels right up to his head, and Bruce’s vision of the chandelier was blocked by a long, protruding shape.

“I bought it brand new before the flight,” she said. She ran a finger along the length. “I even got it in black, just for you baby.”

Bruce licked his lips and stared up at the plastic cock. His gaze lingered down to the leather harness grasping Selina’s thighs, the metal buckled that glinted in the light. His body was shivering even in the firelight.

“I guess I can’t escape, can I?” Bruce said, an enormous grin on his face. “There’s no way I can get out…Nowhere I can run to…I’m completely at your mercy...”

Selina gave him a sadistic smile. Bruce Wayne, billionaire and notorious former vigilante, was now quivering at her feet. The sight of it alone could have brought her to climax right there.

“I’m afraid so,” she said. She dug her toe under Bruce’s back, then flipped him onto his stomach. Her new husband let out a delicious moan of pain. “You’re all mine to play with…my favorite little toy…”

Selina kneeled down close to Bruce’s bare back. She grabbed a small vial of lube from her bra and lathered up her cock. Then, she lathered her fingers and went to work wetting Bruce’s hole.

Bruce winced and sighed as his new wife massaged her fingers inside him, teasing his prostate just the way he liked. He could never get enough of this. After years of relentless control, it felt heavenly to surrender to someone else. Especially someone like Selina Kyle.

No, Selina Wayne.

Selina pulled her fingers out and readied herself at Bruce’s entrance. With one firm thrust, she pushed her length inside him. The lube allowed her to slide deeper inside him, and the deeper she went, the louder Bruce whined

“Shush, baby,” she purred. “Don’t want someone calling security on us with all the noise.”

Selina paused her hips to straighten up and reach behind her neck. Bruce could barely look over his shoulder to see what she was doing. Then he heard a strange clicking sound.

Selina unclipped the pearl necklace and balled it in her fist. She leaned forward and grabbed Bruce’s jaw from behind.

“I’m gonna have to keep you quiet,” she said.

She shoved two fingers in Bruce’s mouth and his jaw instinctively unhinged. With his mouth open, Selina quickly removed her fingers and shoved the balled-up necklace inside him.

“Urgh,” Bruce grunted. 

His saliva dribbled over the necklace. The pearls smelled, even tasted , like Selina’s skin, and that stopped him from immediately spitting it out. Selina grabbed his hips and continued to pound into him.

At a certain point, Bruce’s body went limp like a ragdoll’s. He surrendered to the fur carpet and let her ruin him from behind. Her movements were quick but precise, pressing into his prostrate so well that it took only a few minutes for him to feel a swelling inside him.

Selina dug her sharp nails into his muscular shoulders, leaving red lines across his flesh. If only Gotham could see their dark knight now, face to the floor and his dick pressed to the carpet, spilling a pool of precome.

Bruce’s whimpers turned to moans and then desperate pleas. Any stoic front melted away in a mess of sweat and tears of pleasure. He tried to moan words, but the pearls in his mouth only allowed a gurgle of noises to spill from his throat.

Selina spanked a hand against his rear end, getting a loud grunt from him.

“What’s that, baby?” she said. “You want it harder?”

Selina grabbed his hair, forcing his back to arch, and she thrust her hips faster. A bead of sweat ran down her neck between her breasts and her heart knocked against her ribs. Bruce was teary-eyed, blubbering mess beneath her.

“Mmmmm, good boy,” she purred in his ear. “Come for me, baby.”

With those words, Bruce released a hissing, pained cry from his throat and burst onto the floor. Selina kept thrusting and fucking until every drop of him was gone. Even when he was finished, she kept pushing inside him and gave another snap to the ass for good measure.

Once they were both out of breath and slicked with sweat, Selina pulled out and stood up to remove the harness. She dropped the whole thing on a nearby chair.

“You look cute from up here,” she teased. “Maybe I should just leave on the floor all night.”

“And leave half the bed cold?” Bruce retorted. “On a winter night?”

Bruce heard Selina unsheath her switchblade again. She grabbed his hand and sawed at the ropes until they split away. A cool breeze brushed over Bruce’s skin and the circulation smoothed in his wrists.

“Too tight this time?” Selina asked.

Bruce scoffed. “Never too tight.”

He turned onto his back. His body was slick with sweat, and the heat from the fireplace and the fur carpet on his back did little to cool him. Selina crawled on top of him and pressed her forehead to his.

“You look a bit parched,” she said.

“Yeah,” Bruce said.

“Need a drink?”

Selina reached up and pulled the champagne bottle out from behind a footrest. Bruce chuckled and watched Selina rise up to straddle him and pop it open.

“Promise this one isn’t spiked?” he said.

Selina chuckled.

“Oh, Bruce,” she said. “A few days into marriage, and already you don’t trust me?”

Bruce smirked and watched Selina take a swing of the bottle. Then, she hovered it a few inches over his face.

“Open wide,” she said.

Bruce did as she said and parted his lips. Selina dribbled the foamy drink into his mouth. Some of it landed on his tongue, the rest spilled on his lips and nose. Droplets went flying onto the carpet.

“You’re going to leave a hell of a mess for the maids tomorrow,” Bruce said.

Selina raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe I should make you lick it off the carpet,” she said. “Make you crawl on your hands and knees, and stay like that until it’s all gone.”

Bruce gave her a look, as if to say, "Is that a challenge?” 

Selina set the bottle aside and stretched out on top of Bruce. Bruce circled his arms around her and Selina smacked a kiss on his cheek, leaving a crimson stain behind.

Champagne bottle half-empty and too sleepy to stand, the Bat and the Cat dozed off as the fireplace embers cooled to wisps of smoke.

[siolixz]

~Veils Of Crimson~

Chapter 5: part 2

<chapter 1> <chapter 2> <chapter 3><chapter 5: part 1>

The truth is here and so is the ending of the story. I'm glad to be over with it and maybe start another project like a one-shot or something. It was so much fun to write it and if you read all of it- you have my deepest thanks and gratitude. This story takes a darker turn and you can decide to just ignore that it exists if that's not your cup of tea.

This is a work of fiction and all the characters are 18+.

I took my inspo from Driving Miss Falcone by (https://www.tumblr.com/genevievedarcygranger here on tumblr), check out the story if you can.

Enjoy, give feeback if u want ily xoxo.

Warnings: mature language, violence towards the reader, angst, smut (a bit of non-consenual too- so just be aware of that)

Your driver was still your husband's employee, so his loyalty remained with his boss- if you wanted to leave, you had to do it when Oswald wasn’t at home. But today, luck was on your side. 

Oz left promptly at noon, buried in business you hoped would keep him occupied for hours and you slipped out, a quiet rebellion that had your heart pounding in your chest.

The one thing that irked Oz the most was when he didn’t know where you were or how long you would be staying, he only allowed you to visit certain places at certain times and you usually had a bodyguard with you or two but this time you had none, just you and your driver.

If everything goes according to plan, you would be back before he knew it.

As you sat down in front of the glass window separating you and your sister, you anxiously turned the letter in your hands. What were you even going to say to her?

Sofia looked so different, her eyes were empty and her voice was almost a whisper.

“Why are you here?” she asked, her tone devoid of emotion.

“Sofia, I—” Your voice wavered as the nerves coiled tighter around your throat. “I received a letter.” You held up the envelope, fingers trembling. “It’s from a woman named Selina Kyle. She says she’s our half-sister. She could help us. Help me get you out of here.”

A moment passed in suffocating silence as she stared at you- studying your face.

“I got one too,” she said finally.

Relief surged through you, a wave so strong you nearly sighed out loud. But Sofia’s expression remained stone-cold. The relief curdled into confusion.

“I’m so glad, Sofia. I—”

“How do you sleep next to him?” she interrupted, her voice sharpening like a knife. “Knowing what he did? To me. To Alberto.”

Your breath caught. “Excuse me?”

Sofia’s eyes narrowed, the hollowness flickering into something darker. She leaned closer, the harsh overhead lights casting shadows across her face.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know?” she squinted her eyes at you. You took a deep breath- your heart was beating out of your chest- what the hell was she talking about?

“He killed him. He killed Alberto and stuffed his body in the back of a car.. like a piece of trash; he lied and manipulated us. Just so he can play king.” 

“No,” you whispered, but it came out weaker than you intended, sounding more like a plea than a denial. You shook your head- no. No. No, this can’t be. 

“You’re lying-”

“Why would I lie? I don’t have anything to lose now.” 

“What?” you were too shocked to say anything more- ask more questions

“He got what he wanted in the end. He’s got the girl and the power.” her voice was sharp- judging you “You ate right out of his hand. He spun his web of lies and you listened.” She gave a deep breath. 

You placed your elbows on the table, hands on your mouth- God, you wanted to throw up right now.

“You know—” she started, her tone taking on an almost mocking edge. “I visited his friend, Eve. She was his alibi—she told me all about him.”

You closed your eyes, trying to get yourself away from this place mentally 

“He would make her dress up like you. Y’know that?” Sofia’s voice broke, the brief flash of amusement mingling with pain. “Make her walk and talk like you—then he’d fuck her.”

“Wha-” 

“From your dresses to your purses- she had almost exact replicas. Sick fuck.”  She shook her head in denial. 

Your phone dinged in your purse but you were too caught up in what she was saying to pay attention to it. 

It must’ve been hours- Hours, since you arrived though it felt like seconds. This was the longest conversation you’d had with your sister in what felt like a lifetime, and it peeled back every lie you had clung to. 

The guards, bribed into silence, loomed in your periphery, but they were irrelevant now.

Sofia recounted everything—how Oz orchestrated the club, the arrest, every meticulously planned step. He’d severed your contact with her, veiled you in a life built on manipulation, and ensured you were too blinded by his charm to see the truth.

You felt the anxiety wash away and be replaced with something stronger, anger.

Anger at him and what a monster he was. Anger like you’d never known gripped your chest, tightening until you could barely breathe. Anger at yourself for believing him.

How could you?

As you said your goodbyes, you made sure to swear on your life you were going to get her out of there. 

You left in a hurry and as you checked your phone in the car you finally bursted out crying. He called you- multiple times but you were in no mood to talk. You knew you were going to get berated back home but that was pushed to the back of your head. You had to think- you replayed all your past memories with him in your head.

Oz called your driver too- who told him he was with you. You tuned out most of the conversation after declining to speak to him in the car. 

The ride home was a blur- you didn’t wait for the driver to open the door for you so you jumped out of the car and got in the elevator as soon as you could. 

As you climbed up the levels and it finally dinged you heard a voice that made your body feel filled with- fear?

“Fuck have you been?” he yelled.

The anger almost toppled you over as you saw him.

No, this isn’t wise you thought. If you were to tell him what you know now, it would probably end badly for you. He probably drank something as he came home and he was capable of anything. 

“I- I-” you started, averting his gaze. You weren’t that good at lying, especially not in moments like this “I visited my brother and dad.” you whispered and tried to walk by him.

He grabbed your arm and forcefully pulled your face up towards his. 

“Don’t fucking lie to me” his breath- laced with whiskey and tobacco was hot in your face “Where were you?”

The anger started bubbling up inside of you. You knew the house staff could hear you two and the Gazette would go mad with gossip if they heard of this confrontation.

“Lower your voice” you whispered back in his face

“Don’t tell me how to speak in my own fucking house!” His voice was a shout now, ricocheting off the walls. If he wanted a scene, you would give him one.

You studied his face, from the big scar on it to his furrowed eyebrows and almost black eyes in this light. 

“I went to Arkham- to speak to Sofia.” your words were precise. A glimmer of something went through your husband's eyes- was it uncertainty? 

His eyes narrowed as his voice got deeper and quieter.

“You listened to her lies- she ain’t right in the head.” He was lying.

“She told me I have the devil in my house and I believe her. You lied to me Oswald- you manipulated me and you have me right where you want me.” You looked up at him- staring in his eyes. You were afraid, yes- but you were also very angry.

His eyes darkened, the mask slipping. You saw the raw, dangerous man beneath- your husband was not the kind of man to be crossed. But you pushed on, refusing to cower.

“Watch your words-”

“Or what are you going to do Oswald?!” you screamed at him- your eyes stung with the memory of your brother and sister and of you.

How gullible you were.

No more.

You heard the sound of footsteps as one of your maids scurried off.

“Are you going to kill me?” you whispered.

His eyes grew wider, nostrils flaring and but you continued.

“Like you killed my brother?” you whispered to him. “Like you killed Vi-Victor too probably?”

The impact of the slap almost sent you toppling over if he didn’t have a close grip on you and you gasped as his heavy hand made impact with your cheek.

You blinked- trying to stop your world from spinning.

You looked at him again and he looked like a complete fucking monster. That’s who he was. A monster.

“Fuck you.” you told him. God your cheek was stinging, you felt tears in your eyes but you didn’t let them fall. 

“Everything I do, everything I did, was for you—for us!” He tightened his grip on your arm, gesturing wildly around the room. “All of this!”

“You don’t have power over me anymore- I’m not that little girl you used to lie to-”

Wrenching free from his grasp, you stumbled into the living room, heart pounding as you sought refuge in one of the spare rooms. The sting of his slap lingered on your cheek, you let your tears stream down your face hot with fury and shame.

You had to leave him.

Screw all these expensive clothes and this fucking life- you don’t want it. Not anymore. Not if it was alongside a man that did that.

He was worse than Maroni or Carmine- he didn’t feel anything as he lied to you. Did he feel love for you? Was it real? Or was it all a game he played? To have you all to himself because of his sick obsession.

You got him in all those high circles, your friends remained the same. All now women who married into power- you got them to talk to their husbands.

To meet you two at your gorgeous penthouse ‘to do business’- you helped him. Bastard. You hated him. You will get Sofia out and you will leave him. You have to.

In the back of your mind you knew it was impossible, but you had to try.

Late that night, dressed in your pajamas, while standing near the bed. The door creaked open, and your heart raced, dread pooling in your stomach.

You didn’t need to look to know it was him. 

The way he shut the door and took a deep breath told you everything- his presence filled the room.

He was dressed in the same black suit he had downstairs but his jacket was gone and his top buttons undone. Oz’s cologne filled any room he was in and you wanted to throw up just smelling it.

He stared at you, eyes unreadable, as though you were the one who had wronged him.

He said your name but you ignored him, the pain of everything almost hitting you again and you tried not to cry.

Your head was hurting from all the crying. 

He called out your name again and you ignored him, the tears were coming back and you hated it- hated to make him see you cry. 

He came closer to you, grabbed you from behind- wrapping his arms around you and shushing you.

You tried to break free from his grip, but he only pressed you harder against him. Wrapping his arms against you to the point of it being uncomfortable- his fingers dug into your skin.

“Let- let me go.” you cried

“I love you.” he whispered in your hair “I love you.” as you struggled against him again.

You cried against his chest- you wanted to hit him, slap him across his dumb face just like he did you- you wanted him to feel lost and sad as you felt.

“You can’t leave me” he whispered “i won’t let you” 

Your sobs were louder now, how could you have been so naive. You actually thought you could leave him- that you could get Sofia out of Arkham; you were a fool. 

He grabbed hold of your face with his big hand, squeezing your cheeks together and bringing them closer to his face in a painful hold. 

He kissed you, pressing his lips together and it felt like an eternity before he let you breathe.

God you wanted to bury your head in the ground with shame.

He kissed you again; harder this time and you felt him groan in your mouth. Fighting against him was useless; he was three times your size and much- much stronger.

You felt him press himself against your ass- was he? Was he hard? 

“I hate you.” you said as he let your lips go. He smiled and you saw his gold teeth. You hated him.

Sick man was getting turned on by you saying you hated him.

“There’s nothing you can do about it.” he leaned down to be at your level- stare you in the eyes as he told you that.

You narrowed your eyes at him in disgust. He was like a giddy schoolboy- knowing you were hopeless. 

“You’re sick-”

As he turned you around to face him he grabbed both of your ass cheeks in his hands.

You pressed your palms against his chest- trying to push him off.

 He chuckled as he pressed your bodies together and tried to kiss you again but you looked to the side.

You didn’t want this- you pressed again- harder this time against his broad chest until you had some distance between you two.

“No Oswald- No.” you pleaded.

You weren’t in the mood for him right now- especially right now.

He grabbed the hem of your pants and pulled them down in one swift motion. 

“Oswald!” you repeated, louder this time. You looked at his pants and his boner- this fucking bastard. 

He pushed you down the bed and you tried to sit up, really you did. 

He got on the bed and removed your pants fully. You started to go back on the bed and he only leaned down on you- palming your pussy with his hand. 

The fucking cheek on him- to try to fuck you after he slapped you and you said no. Fuck him. 

You brought your hand up- before you could think about it. Before you could think about what you were doing or the consequences of your action. 

His face barely moved when you slapped him and you shocked yourself in your boldness. 

He grabbed your throat and pushed you down the bed. Your anger came back- harder this time. 

“I hate you.” He only smiled at you. 

Your body didn’t move on the bed as he pulled your legs up on either side of you. “Stay” you weren’t sure if you felt this much embarrassment in your whole life. 

“You were always such a fucking brat” he pulled his suspenders off of him 

“I fucking hate you.” you muttered as you put your legs on his chest- pushing yourself out from beneath him.

He grabbed them and forcefully spread them to the point of pain “You’re hurting me!” you yelled out- truth is, the pain wasn’t that great and it certainly wasn’t the only time he got you in this position- you wanted to embarrass him, yell as loud as you could “Get off of me!”

 Either way no one was coming to save you.

“Shhh.” he readjusted himself between your legs as he unzipped his pants

“Always giving me orders- like I was your dog.” he shook his head as he relieved the memories. Were you always giving him orders? Well that was his fucking job!

“You were my fucking dog.” you spat at him and saw his brows furrow again- rage flashed across his eyes and you thought he was going to hit you again- let him try you said.

Your hand was itching too.

“So fucking ungrateful” he ripped open your blouse sending the buttons flying everywhere

“You would come home and drag me around with you everywhere-”

“Yeah? I dragged you around?” you asked as he pulled his cock out and palmed himself- you almost laughed before you said

“Don’t fucking kid yourself Oz- I know about your whore and I know you made her dress up as me. You fucking creep” you giggled, maybe in desperation to feel something else; anything but fear- maybe because you thought it was actually funny, you couldn’t say.

Your heart was beating out of your chest and your stomach was in knots at your predicament right now.

This really- really wasn’t the moment to laugh at him, but you just couldn’t help yourself ! 

Always so nice, always so devoted because he wanted you to be his girl- he asked about you, countless times- when he saw you his eyes went all over your body. Did he get hard then too? Did he get hard in the car as he drove you around- trying to sneak glances under your skirt? Oz was like a dog, devoted to you. Obsessed. 

He smiled back at you- the mask came off and now there were no more lies between you two.

He didn’t even try to hide the fact that he DID make her dress up as you.

In this moment of absolute terror- where you should be afraid of him, you both laughed. He grabbed on of your legs with his free hand- making sure you weren’t about to escape again.

Oz was laughing like a kid that was just found with his hands in the cookie jar and you more at the absurdity of the situation. What has your life come to?

“He saw the way you looked at me- like a prize to be won.” you sneered at him

“-Really?” his eyes widened- like he just found this out. Shocking. 

 “Bet you fucked your hand to the thought of me beneath you whenever my dad or brother yelled at you.” He pressed himself on top of you- his hand almost touching your body as he rubbed himself. 

“You’re sick- fucking disgusting. Forcing yourself on top of me- did you fantasize about this too? I hate you-

“Oh baby- the way I’m about to fuck yo-” 

“Fuck off” He chuckled as he saw you struggle. You tried to pry yourself off from under him- to no avail. But you tried; his much larger body was holding you down and the more you struggled the more he pressed himself into you.

Now it was actually becoming painful. 

He placed a pillow under your ass and grabbed both of your arms and pressed them against your chest as he positioned himself- having finally had enough and as he entered you- you almost let out a yelp of pain. 

The size of him was uncomfortable and this position only made you take him deeper- you felt your eyes get teary.

“You gonna cry, sweetheart ? Lemme see them.” He sounded like he was talking to a toddler- No. He will not see them- think about something else besides the feeling of having him shove himself inside you like you were a prostitute. 

“You’re always goi-going to be just a driver-” you muttered loud enough for him to hear 

He grabbed one of your legs from besides him- throwing it on his shoulder as he fucked you. Now you really were in pain. You removed your hand out of his grasp and slapped him again. 

“Ooo- take it easy sweetheart.” he grabbed it again and you knew he wanted to hit you too- his eyes changed

“You’re so beautiful.” He smirked before it was replaced with another expression of pleasure as he fucked you. This man- this beast, he looked like a bear on top of you. You hated him and you hated how wet you were getting- you knew he felt it too.

“I wanted you for so long” he grabbed your thigh as he held your leg on top of his body. “Fuck the real you…you’re so wet and tight doll” 

“EAT SHIT Oswald.” 

He lowered himself on you and it felt like he split you in two; combined with the weight of a 250 pound man too busy with burying himself balls deep time and time again to not press himself too hard down on top was also your poor leg up on his shoulder. 

His breath was on your face as he stared into your eyes. “You’re hurting me- you’re too heavy” you exhaled- trying to catch your breath -your voice was breaking and now you were sure you were about to cry again.

He kissed your forehead and pressed his cheek against yours.  From this position- he could easily brush against your g-spot time and time again.

You felt a familiar sensation built in your lower stomach- threatening to wash over you. No. Not like this. 

He placed his hand under your head, holding you in place- his pace became rhythmic and you began to actually moan- like really hard this time.

"You gonna cum baby? You’re gonna cum on your driver’s cock?”he chuckled mocking you- he always won in the end. You could barely talk- your chest was in pain, but it felt so good.

“S-stop…please.” You didn’t want him to stop. Your leg was almost shaking from its place near his head.

Oz kissed your neck- near your ear, softly nibbling on it. Your moans right near his ear only encouraged him to keep going, keeping the same pace and wanting you to come undone.

He looked at you again as you squeezed your free leg near his body- he knew you too well, knew you were close.

Always ever observant. 

You closed your eyes as you came- not wanting to give him the satisfaction of watching you like this. You felt yourself grip his cock time and time again until you felt spent. You stomach was aching.

You stopped feeling the pain- there was only tiredness and the same headache as before. He removed himself from on top of you and you could finally breathe.

God you were sweaty. 

He unbuttoned his shirt all the way before he manhandled you on your hands and knees.

You were too tired to fight- partly because of your orgasm and partly because you knew, you knew you had no chance against him. 

He placed another pillow beneath you- raise you up to his level so it won’t be too uncomfortable for him.

He was breathing so heavy- god this place all smells like him; a mix of cologne and tobacco. 

He brought your shirt up towards your neck- to see your back and ass better as it arched on his bed. You almost closed your eyes- maybe you could- 

The sting of the smack across your ass made you yell

“Ow!-” he smacked you again harder this time- on the other cheek. You wanted to look back at him, curse him again- but you won’t give him the satisfaction. You bundled up the comforter beneath your face- hiding your cries of pain in it. 

“I should’ve done this a long time ago-” He grabbed hold of your ass as he spread you apart- you heard him spit before he entered you again- you moaned in the comforter. 

The familiar feeling of having his penis inside you was very welcomed by your body- unfortunately. 

He gripped your waist as he fucked you, probably checking how you took him in the meantime too.

The sound that your bodies made as they colided was incredibly shameful, you felt your cheeks burn.

A few minutes ago you were cursing him out and slapping him now you were fucked like a bitch. How shameful.

“You fucking brat-” he sneered from on top of you and slapped you across your ass again “I should’ve bended you over back then too.” 

He heard your muffled “Fuck you” in the comforter set and pulled your hair back 

“Fuck did you say?” he switched the hands he was holding your hair with- conveniently smacking you again over the other ass cheek

“Look at me.” he let go of your hair and you pressed your face down again- cheek on the bed and closed your eyes. 

“Look at me I said!” 

You moved your head and looked forward again. 

“You little shit- I'm gonna take the belt and give you a real beating if you don’t- “ 

Alright, you looked at him.

Only the thought of getting your ass smacked with one of those heavy leather belts accompanied with gold buckles sent a very unpleasant shiver down your spine- you knew he wasn’t kidding either.

“There you go-” he gave you a smile- those gold teeth glinting at you

“You look so sweet- with those gorgeous eyes of yours.” His grip on your hips was becoming very forceful and his strokes erratic

“Tell me.” His mouth opened in pleasure- pleasure in anticipation of what you were going to say

“Say it.”

This was so embarrassing- you hated having to look him in the eyes and tell him this. This monster enjoyed you so much- enjoyed your pain and embarrassment. 

“SAY IT.” He bellowed out “Tell me.” You knew what he was referring to.

“I love you.” you were so exhausted- your legs and back were hurting from the position he had you in and your stomach was hurting even more from the way he pressed himself inside.

He started to fuck you even harder- the death grip on your waist almost made you cry out in pain.

He groaned as he came and pushed your smaller frame down even harder on the bed. 

Oz groaned as he removed himself from you and you could finally stretch out your poor legs- the relief you got was immeasurable.

You almost forgot what you were talking about before. 

He sat on the bed- breathing heavily. You sat up and got in his face again.

“I hate you-”

“It’s gonna pass-”

“Fuck you” you went to the bathroom.

Your legs felt like jello and you could barely walk but you didn’t let him see that.

He thinks he can take everything from you and win- you’ll show him. You will. 

He couldn’t know about Selina or Sofia. You had to wait- like he did. Wait until it was the right moment and then press on. 

He went to the bathroom too- to start the shower. 

“Got a fuckin’ headache because of you.” He looked at his cheek in the mirror and started to undress himself. “You better stay put from now on.” 

You stared at him. Your brother didn’t die for nothing, your sister wasn’t in the looney bin for nothing- you had to do something. 

You'll show him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's note: From the moment I saw what sort of shit he did in the finale I knew it was going to end this way.

Thank you so much for reading. Have a great day.

[thebigbadbatswife]

He Let Me Steal You Like A Thief In The Night

Pairing(s) - (Starts with) Bruce Wayne x F!Reader, (Ends with) Selina Kyle x F!Reader

Summary - After Bruce Wayne continues to not treat you the way that you deserve, Selina Kyle decides to steal you away from him.

Warnings - Inspired by the song Diamond Girl by Set It Off. Bruce is a dick, Angst, References to cheating, Implied sexual content, Fluff and a happy ending, Bisexual!Reader. (If I missed anything, lmk!)

A/N - So, several months after saying I was working on this fic it's finally finished! It's also now my longest one shot to date which is cool! Anyway I hope the wait was worth it and that you all enjoy 💜

Word Count - 10k

As you finish putting your earrings in, you pause and look at yourself in the mirror. You look good tonight, you think. Your dress hugs your figure and accentuates your breasts and ass, but in a classy way that’s fitting for the charity fundraiser that the two of you are going to tonight. Your jewellery and makeup is much the same. Classy. Nothing too flashy. You wonder if Bruce will even notice the effort you have put in to make yourself look nice. He hasn’t the last few time. Hell, the last time he took you out to an event like this, he not only barely payed any attention to you, but he completely vanished from the venue. Leaving you alone and having to call Alfred to pick you up and take you back to your apartment.

Though Alfred had done a good job that night to try and hide it, you had still been able to tell he was absolutely fuming at Bruce. As are you each time that you think about it. Though you do have to keep in mind that he has been very stressed recently in regards to his company. While he hasn’t told you exactly what’s going on, you know it’s left him with a lot on his mind, a mountain of paperwork and has led to him being forgetful. You’re positive that it will all pass once he’s figured things out and then everything between you and him will go right back to the way that they were before. 

Back when he would text you while in the middle of a meeting because he was thinking about and missing you. Or when he would call you, usually in the middle of the night, because he was miles away in another country and desperately wanted to hear the sound of your voice. And there were the times when you and him would curl up on a couch and watch a movie for date night instead of going out to some restaurant, away from the constant flashing of cameras that often left you becoming overwhelmed very quickly. Or there was that time…

Your train of thought is broken by a knock against the door of the en-suite. It’s probably Bruce wondering what’s taking you so long to get ready.

“Yes?” you call out.

“Master Bruce was wondering when you would be down.” It’s Alfred… Wait… Alfred? Bruce couldn’t even be bothered to come up and check on you himself? You push the thought away.

“I’ll just be a couple of minutes!” you call back. 

“Of course, dear. I’ll let him know.” 

With Alfred now gone, you turn you attention to the two bottles of perfume on the counter. One of the bottles is an expensive perfume that Bruce bought you for your birthday. It’s not your favourite scent in the world, but it was a gift from him and you have yet to wear it. The other is the perfume that you wore on the night that you and him finally went all of the way. Maybe if you wear that one he might actually pay you attention. The scent of it making him remember that night hopefully. After a moment of debating you decide to go for the latter. Tonight you wish to stay hopeful.

Once you have spritzed the perfume onto your pulse points, you grab your clutch and make your way out of the en-suite and bedroom and to where Bruce is waiting for you in the foyer. As you make your way down the stairs you expect him to look up at the sound of your heels clicking on the wood. Instead his eyes remain glued to his phone screen like a teenager; his fingers typing out a message just as fast as well.

You do your best to hide your disappoint, keeping your face blank, but it must have shown briefly because, as you reach the bottom of the stairs, Alfred suddenly clears his throat. The sound catches Bruce’s attention and he finally looks up from his phone. Before he’s allowed to say a word though, Alfred is speaking.

“You look lovely, dear,” he tells you. His compliment has you smiling. At least someone noticed.

By now, Bruce’s phone is back in his pocket and he’s stepping toward you. He checks you out, his eyes lingering on your breasts a little longer than is gentlemanly. His smile that genuine one he only ever gives you. 

“Absolutely beautiful,” he says, his hand coming to rest beneath your chin and tilting your head up a little. “Aren’t I the luckiest man in the world?” You can feel your cheeks heating up at his words and the way he’s looking at you, as he breathes in your perfume. He presses a kiss to your lips. It’s a light one so that he doesn’t end up ruining your lipstick. “Come on. We’re going to be late.” He pulls away and takes your hand in his. 

You and Bruce grab your coats and say goodnight to Alfred, who wishes you both a pleasant night. He leads you down the stairs to the car already parked out front. 

The drive is a silent one. Neither of you saying a word nor him even bothering to put some music on. It has you yearning for the days when you both couldn’t stop talking, discovering all of these new things about each other or even discussing how you’re going to sneak away from the event at some point. Usually so that you could do other things together. And then there were the times where the speakers of whatever car you were in at the time would be blasting music as you and him sing along loudly to whatever song was playing.

Not being able to listen to the silence any longer, you decide to break it yourself. 

“What’s the charity that’s being supported tonight?” you ask him. You don’t remember him ever mentioning a name, just that there was a fundraiser.

“Uh, it’s something to do with endangered animals,” he replies.

“What sort of animals?” There’s so many of them this day and age that are in trouble and you doubt that tonight is going to cover every last species.

“I believe it’s for big cats, but I honestly can’t remember. We’ll find out for sure once we get there.”

“Right. Of course.”

The car once again falls into silence as you struggle to think of what else to talk about. What even is there for you to say? How that was the longest you have spoken to him without his phone ringing and him walking away to answer it? And it’s not like Bruce is trying to fill the silence either. Is it just as awkward for him? Or does he simply not care?

You turn your attention to your window, watching as the city passes by as he drives. Silently, you continue to hope that things will get better once you arrive and he is no longer focused on getting to the venue.

Upon arriving, Bruce does help you out of the car and keeps you shielded from the vultures who are sat outside of the venue, waiting. The bright flashes from their cameras is blinding as they do their best to surround both of you, making large dots dance in front of your eyes. You’re sure that you would be stumbling blind if it wasn’t for him keeping you close and guiding you toward the entrance. Even after you both are inside the building and the doors are closed behind with security making sure that the paparazzi cannot follow, he keeps his arm linked with yours. Despite the harrowing experience with the paps that has left your heart hammering against your ribcage, not once does Bruce ask if you are okay. Perhaps he assumes that since you have been with him for the past year and a half that it no longer fazes you? You honestly can’t imagine it ever not fazing you, how invasive those people can be. 

You are about to say something to him, ask him why he cares enough to try and shield you, but not enough to actually check on you, yet you’re not given a chance to as you’re already stepping into the main hall. All eyes are on you both. Bruce is already smiling that dazzling billionaire smile of his and you quickly follow suit, shoving your irritation away. The last thing you need is headlines about how pissy you look. 

Your arms stay linked together for the majority of the night. Though they might as well not have been considering he spends the night basically ignoring you. You sip on champagne while Bruce talks to men who have no interest in the good cause that they are all suppose there for and would rather try and get him to invest in their company.

It’s not like you expect him to have his tongue down your throat (though that did happen a few times very early on in your relationship). And it’s not like you’re just standing around expecting him to pick up that something is wrong simply by your mood. You’ve tried talking to him, but each time he dismisses you. You’re honestly starting to feel like the only reason he brought you is for you to be his arm candy. The thought has you wanting to be anywhere, but here with him. And you would call Alfred and leave if you thought that you wouldn’t end up on the front page news thanks to the cockroaches sitting in wait outside. 

Even with that said, you still don’t want to be around him right now and this is a big hotel. There’s got to be somewhere for you to retreat to for a little while. Some sort of garden or courtyard perhaps? You’ll find out once you slip out of the ballroom.

You pull away from him, unhooking your arm from his, as you tell him that you need to get some air. He doesn’t look you, not even a glance, as he replies with an “okay” and continues talking to the three men in front of him. As you make your way through the ballroom, you place your half finished glass of champagne onto the the tray of a passing waiter and leave the room through the nearest exit.

You wander the halls of the hotel for a little while, following the various gold plated signs that eventually lead you outside to the flower garden. A majority of the flowers are in bloom, leaving a very floral and sweet scent in the air and there are lamps in the ground between the flowerbeds, lighting up the pathway for you. You follow it until you reach a bench, where you decide to stop and take a seat.

It’s nice and quiet out here. The perfect place for you to be left alone with your thoughts. All of them about Bruce. You honestly do not even know when things started to actually change. It’s like one morning you woke up and he went from being totally and completely head over heels for you to not giving a damn about you. It leaves you wondering if the girls, who had approached you shortly after your relationship became public knowledge, were right. Has he grown bored of you? Is he really only keeping you around while he looks for someone new? 

What if he’s already found that someone new and is with them on the nights that he doesn’t come back to the manor? 

Almost as soon as the thought has entered your mind, you’re shoving it away again. No. No! You know Bruce. You’ve seen the way that he looks in disgust at the people in these rich people circles who are cheating on their spouses. You’ve listened to how he talks about them, a sharp edge to his voice. He hates cheaters so why would he turn around and do that to you? No. Absolutely not. He would never. Maybe… maybe this is just the end of what they call the “honeymoon phase”? At least, that’s got to be part of it. And you cannot forget how busy he is. But the more that you think about it, the more you think about these last few months, the more the doubt starts to trickle in. What if you’re wrong? What if you don’t know him like you think you do?

The more that you think about it, the more upset you become. So much so that you can feel tears threatening to spill, but as much as you want them to fall, you can’t. You’ll ruin your makeup if you do and as upset as you are, you don’t want that. It took forever and you do look really good tonight. Not that the man you got all dressed up for even cares about the effort that you put into your look tonight. Other than back at the manor, he has barely even looked at you.

And that thought alone is enough to finally get the tears rolling. After all what the hell does it even matter if he doesn’t care? 

As you cry, you don’t even hear her. You don’t hear her heels against the stone pathway that leads to the bench you’re sitting on. You don’t even feel her as she sits down next to you. You only become aware of her when her hand comes in contact with your back and she rubs your back. You don’t jump at the sudden contact, you’re just confused as you look up at her, brow furrowed. 

You go to speak. You’re not sure what, maybe to apologise for the state you’re in? You honestly don’t know, but it doesn’t actually matter as she doesn’t let you say anything, shushing you softly. The woman pulls a handkerchief from her purse and uses it to dab away your mascara filled tears. As she does that, through your tear blurred vision, you do your best to make out her appearance. Perhaps you know her?

She has striking green eyes, almost like a cat’s, and long, curly black hair. She’s gorgeous. That much is clear to you, even in your heartbroken state. And you’re certain that you do not know her. You would remember if you did.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

You shake your head, not trusting that the second you try to speak that you won’t turn into a babbling mess as your tears start to fall again. And it’s not really fair to burden a stranger with all of the reasons why you think that the man you’re in love with likely doesn’t love you. The look she gives you is one full of sympathy, which only makes you feel worse.

“A woman as beautiful as you shouldn’t be crying over a man like him,” she tells you.

“But things were so good in the beginning,” you say. All reservations that you had a moment ago about not burdening a stranger with your problems are suddenly out of the window. As you talk you half expect her to come up with an excuse to leave, most people would, but she doesn’t. Instead she stays and listens. The more you tell her the more annoyed she seems to get, but it doesn’t feel like it is directed at you. More likely she is getting annoyed at your boyfriend. Hell, now that you’re talking about it, and therefore thinking about it more, you are starting to get annoyed at him yourself as well.

“I’m sorry. That’s a whole load of information that you really did not need. I haven’t asked you your name.” And now you’re completely embarrassed. So caught up into your own shit that you completely forgot about basic manners. She doesn’t seem to have minded though. She smiles softly.

“Selina Kyle,” she introduces herself. “And you are?”

You introduce yourself. For some reason her name strikes a cord of familiarity with you. It takes you a second for you to know where. Tonight’s fundraiser, of course! She’s the one who organised tonight; you remember seeing her name on the notice board just outside of the ballroom. She must be so busy tonight yet she’s still taken time to make sure you are okay and she doesn’t even know you? It has you feeling rather touched.

“We should probably be making our way back,” she begins, “but first let me help fix your makeup,” she offers as she reaches into her purse.

After she helps you fix up your makeup, making it look you had never cried to begin with, you and Selina make your ways back to the hotel’s ballroom. Not long after you have reentered the room you lose sight of her. Not that you expect her to spend the rest of the night with you. You are strangers, after all, and she is busy. Instead you set yourself your own mission; finding the bar. You don’t care to look for Bruce. He didn’t bother coming to look for you despite how long you were gone for, so why should you look for him?

It doesn’t take you long to find the bar. You order your drink of choice and take a seat. Now that you’re here, your only interest is drinking as much as the bartender will allow.

As soon as the two of you re-enter the ballroom, Selina leaves your side and quickly, but gracefully moves through the room. Her eyes scan the area as she moves, looking for someone in particular. 

Honestly she can’t believe him. Actually, maybe she can. This is Bruce after all. It still infuriates her. How is it that he has a beautiful woman like you in his life, who very clearly loves him, and yet he treats you like you are just another one of those models he used to “date”? And, from what you have told her, things weren’t all this way.

She can easily think of what’s changed. It’s the exact same thing that led to her leaving, several years ago. No matter what. One way or another, Batman will always end up taking priority over everyone else. Clearly, he needs a serious wakeup call. 

It doesn’t take her long to spot him. He’s with several other men and honestly looks extremely bored. Yet he would instead give them his time than give it to you. She scoffs and rolls her eyes. Typical. 

Bruce takes notice of her quickly, doing a double take as his eyes widen for a brief moment. He regains his composure, the shock disappearing as his eyes narrow and his brow furrows, his lips set in a grim thin line. He’s not happy to see her and, quite frankly, she’s not too pleased to see him either. A cat does not easily forget those who have wronged her. 

She had been hoping that she would not have to interact him at all tonight. Simply take his money for her charity and then leave this city once more. Maybe forever. But things rarely go to plan in a city like Gotham. 

Selina raises an eyebrow at him before gesturing with her head for him to follow her. She doesn’t look back, doesn’t wait for confirmation that he will. She knows he will follow. His curiosity always gets the better of him whenever she’s involved. Almost like it’s a law of life like gravity.

She weaves her way through the crowd once more, leaving the ballroom behind her. She decides to head back toward the hotel’s flower garden. It’s the perfect place to talk away from he nosey busybodies that make up Gotham’s higher society.

“Hello, Bruce,” she says, turning around to face him.

He scoffs. “Really? After all of this time that’s all you’ve got to…” he shakes his head. “I’m already with someone else. I–”

“Oh I know,” she cuts him off. “I’ve already met her. She’s beautiful, it’s just a shame that she’s so sad.”

Bruce frowns, an eyebrow raised. “What are you talking about? She’s fine.”

“She’s not, but you would know that if you were actually paying attention.” Selina steps toward him and leans in close. “Let me put it this way, clean up your act and start paying attention to her or I will.” 

It’s toward the end of the night when you finally see Bruce again. You feel all warm from the alcohol running through your veins and each step that you take isn’t very coordinated, especially in these ridiculous heels.

“There you are,” he says as he approaches you. You’re currently using a pillar to steady yourself after almost tripping over your own feet. He looks troubled, but you don’t care enough to ask him what’s wrong. As of right now you really don’t see why you should. “Come on.” He links his arm with yours again, bringing you close to him to support you. “Let’s get back to the manor.”

You follow him back to the car. You’re so in your own head, focused on how good the drinks have made you feel, that you don’t even notice that there are barely any paparazzi around now, as he helps you into the car.

Much like the drive to the hotel, the drive back is silent. Of course you really don’t think you can hold a conversation properly any how. You’re sure to slur your words and, damn, your eyelids feel so heavy right now. It wouldn’t hurt to close them for a few minutes. Your last thought is how you’re going to have a killer headache in the morning.

The cafe had been busy when you had first entered, but the more that time passes and the lunch rush ends, the emptier the place becomes. You were suppose to meet Bruce for lunch, but while you showed up, he hasn’t. He hasn’t even bothered to reply to any of the texts you have sent him either. Instead they have all been left on read. You put his contact on mute. If he can’t be bothered to even reply to you then you can’t be bothered to talk to him full stop.

What makes it all worse is that, the day after the fundraiser, when you were somewhat recovered from your hangover, he had promised. He had promised that things would change and that you were important to him. And things had changed… For about a week. Once again you are left wondering whether or not the man that you love even loves you anymore.

The looks of pity and sympathy the other customers keep sending your way have you wanting to disappear forever. It’s humiliating. You decide that, as soon as you are done with your hot drink and food, you’re going straight back to your apartment and never leaving it again. You do your best to finish your drink and food as quickly as possible while also trying to not draw anymore attention to yourself.

As you are finishing up your drink, the chair across from you is suddenly pulled out and a woman sits down. Despite getting drunk, you recognise her instantly. Selina Kyle, from the fundraiser. Even now you still feel embarrassed about that night, crying and venting to a complete stranger about your relationship issues.

“Sorry I took so long, traffic was a nightmare!” She says it so casually, like she is the one who you were meeting today. She gives you a smile and wink. She doesn’t have to do this, hell you don’t even know why she is doing this, but you play along with her anyway.

“It’s fine. You’re here now,” you reply.

You briefly get up from the table to get another drink. After you have sat back down, the two of you beginning to talk. It starts off as basic small talk. The weather, the city’s current state, the money she had raised through the fundraiser and the good it was going to do for the big cats. She even leans across the table to show you pictures of her many, many cats. All of whom are, of course, utterly adorable.

As you take a sip of your drink, she asks you the question that you have been waiting for from the moment that she sat down at your table. 

“That boyfriend of yours was supposed to meet you, wasn’t he?” she asks you. Though, you suspect, that she already knows before you answer her.

“Is it that obvious?” 

She nods and, immediately, you want to disappear completely once more. She regards you for a moment, before speaking once again.

“Forget about him,” she tells you. “At least for tonight.”

“If I’m forgetting about him for tonight, what will I be doing instead?”

“You’ll be coming out with me to have some fun.” 

The way that she says it. Like they are plans that have already been made and you are not allowed to back out. You don’t want to anyway. It sounds like fun, a night out with Selina, leaving Bruce alone and wondering where you are for once. It’s the least of what he deserves. Maybe it will be the wake up call he needs. And if not… You don’t want to think about that right now. He’s pissed you off, but he is still the man you love and, even with the way he has been treating you recently,  you still cannot imagine a life where he isn’t in it. 

So, you agree to going out with her and you exchange phone numbers. For the first time in a while you were actually looking forward to something.

The nightclub is loud, the base thrumming through you and you cannot hear yourself think. The place is packed and so many bodies close together has you feeling hot, and you haven’t even done any dancing yet! 

These types of places are not usually your scene. You find them far too loud and there are far too many people around, but it’s hard to focus on all that with the woman in front of you. Selina’s outfit and makeup is casual, a strapless black top, jeans, a simple cat eye and red lipstick, yet she is easily the hottest person in the room. Sure, you’re in a committed relationship with Bruce, but you’re not blind and you can appreciate still. You are sure that he does.

She grabs your hand and leads you through the crowd and toward the bar. Much like the rest of the club, there is quite a few people around the bar. Definitely not enough room for the both of you to approach, so you tell her your preferred drink to order and she disappears amongst the crowd to get it.

You’re not entirely sure what to do with yourself, while you wait for her. Which has you feeling rather awkward. It doesn’t really help that people keep looking over at you. They’re likely just checking you out, but, standing here by yourself in your own head, you start wondering whether or not they are just judging you and the outfit that you have picked out for tonight. You aren’t left to fall down that rabbit hole for long though as Selina repappears, drinks in hand.

You do your best to shout over the music to thank her, but after the third time she finally moves in close to you. So close that her body is now touching yours, which leaves your heart thumping hard against your ribcage. Now that you have been able to thank her, she somehow moves closer, bringing her lips up to your ear. You can feel her breath fanning across you skin, making goosebumps raise across your skin, despite the heat of the nightclub.

“If you want to thank me, relax and have some fun.”

You almost laugh at her words. Is your nervousness that obvious? You had been hoping that you would be able to hide it more from her, but it seems she doesn’t miss a thing. Your nervousness doesn’t last. With the alcohol of a couple more drinks flowing through you, any doubts or anxiety you had before are quickly forgotten about. As are any thoughts of Bruce.

Hours fly by without you noticing as you dance and drink with Selina. Your laughter is loud, though still drowned out by the base, but she hears it easily enough. The green of her eyes seems to almost sparkle each time the neon lights hit them. The same way that you remember /his/ eyes lighting up when he first met you. Though you’re sure that it’s just the alcohol making you see things. She knows that you have a boyfriend and there’s not possible way she could be interested in you like that. (Though there had been a time you had thought the exact same when it had come to Bruce).

As the night draws on and the club starts to empty once curfew has hit, instead of finding your way back to your apartment, you and Selina find your way in a diner. With how late it is, the diner is mostly empty. The only other two customers there being a couple of cops taking a short break on their night shift. She leads you to the booth furthest from the cops, side eyeing them like she expects them to do something.

The waitress brings over a couple of menus. You thank her and take one of the menus while Selina declines, ordering only a coffee. After looking over the menu, along with your own coffee, you also order a burger and fries. While you did eat before coming out tonight, all of the dancing has left you absolutely starving.

While you wait, you decide to have a quick look at your phone. You quickly wish that you hadn’t. There’s dozens of messages, voice mails and missed calls from Bruce. He is very obviously worried and it has you feeling guilty. Maybe you should give him a call and let him know that you are okay?

“Your boyfriend?” Selina asks, breaking the silence that had fallen.

You nod. “Yeah. Maybe I should give him a call,” you say. “He seems really worried.”

“Does he call you when you send texts worried about him?”

You stop to think for a moment. “No,” you finally reply. “He usually only sends a short text.” Almost immediately, you understand what she is getting at. He doesn’t call you, only texts. So that’s what you do. A short text that reads “I’m fine. Still out with a friend.” Then you turn off your phone’s screen and return your attention to Selina.

Within that time, the waitress returns with yours and Selina’s coffees and your burger and fries. You both thank the waitress before returning to your conversation. You talk quietly, mostly about tonight. Despite your originally anxiety about tonight, you did end up having a lot of fun that you otherwise wouldn’t of had, had she not met you in that coffee shop and suggested it. As you talk, between taking bites of your burger, she steals a few of your fries, causing you to smile and shake your head.

“If you’re hungry, why didn’t you order your own fries?”

She shrugs. “They taste better when they’re not actually yours.”

Her reply makes you laugh and nod in agreement. After all, you are guilty of having done the same thing a few times, in the past.

The food and coffee does a good job at sobering you up. Not that you had been super drunk. Certainly not nearly as much as you had been after that fundraiser. Once you’re both finished, you reach for your bag to pay, but Selina beats you to it.

“You can pay next time,” she tells you.

You raise your eyebrow at her. “There’s going to be a next time, is there?”

“Of course there is.” She says it so matter of factly, like it’s already a done deal despite there not even being a discussion. Not that you mind. You would be more than happy to come out with her again.

With the food and drinks paid for, you and Selina leave the diner. Her driver is already waiting out front for both of you, ready to drive and drop you off at your apartment. You thank her again for suggesting that you go out with her tonight and that you definitely wouldn’t mind if there was a “next time”. You both say goodnight to each other and you make your out of the car and into the building.

Your apartment is pitch black and you fumble in the dark for a few seconds before your fingers finally find the switch. Despite the fact that you were expecting it, you still wince as the sudden brightness of the lights blinds you for a moment. You’re actually surprised to find your apartment so empty, you would have thought that Bruce would drop by unannounced, he has a key and you remember the endless messages and voicemails left by him, that you saw just a couple of hours ago. You haven’t checked them since then. Maybe you should do so now, but first your feet are killing you and you desperately need to get your shoes off.

With your shoes finally off, you collapse onto the couch. You pull your phone out of your bag and have a look at your messages. Since the one text you sent while at the diner, he’s only sent you one other text.

”Why didn’t you let me know? I had something planned tonight.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t going to make it to lunch?”

As soon as you hit send, you decide to put your phone on do not disturb mode. You will deal with Bruce in the morning. Now that you are home, the high of the night is starting to wear off and you are starting to feel really tired. All you want to do is get your makeup off, get into your pyjamas, curl up and go to sleep. So that’s exactly what you do.

In the weeks that follow, you end up spending a lot of time with Selina. She takes you to the other nightclubs that are dotted around the city and you often meet up for lunch. You learn a lot about each other during these lunches. Like how she came to have so many cats and the passion she has in the various causes that she supports. In turn you tell her about your own work. As you talk you honestly expect her to lose interest and not pay any attention. You expect various hmms and huhs and to see her looking either at her phone or at something else in the room instead of you, but it doesn’t happen. The entire time her attention is always focused on you and she actually asks you questions. You have got so used to being ignored that you had forgotten what it was like to actually be listened it. 

It’s not like Bruce didn’t ever not listen to you though. He did, in the beginning at least. But like everything else, with the honeymoon period being over, he just doesn’t do it anymore. All of it leaves you to continue to wonder whether or not he does actually love you or if you were just another “conquest” in a long line of them. But it’s not like you can even ask him. Right now Bruce is half a world away from you, thinking that sending endless gifts, flowers and chocolates is a good way to apologise. Which is not the effect you had hoped ignoring him that first night out would have. And even if he wasn’t half a world away from you, getting him to stay and talk to him is nearly impossible since you can never seem to hold his attention for more than a few seconds.

It’s late at night and you’re laying wide awake in bed. You can’t stop thinking about Bruce and not in the way that you used to. More like you have no idea how you even feel about him anymore. Do you love him? Before you had an immediate answer. “Yes, of course I do.”. Now though? You can’t answer it anymore because you don’t know what the answer is. 

And then there’s Selina. The way that she looks at you from over the table during lunch or the way that she touches you when the two of you are dancing together. It makes it feel like there are butterflies fluttering around your stomach and your heart pounding hard against your ribcage. More often than not you have found yourself looking at or dreaming about her lips, wondering how it would feel for her to kiss you…

Almost as soon as the thoughts come to you, you shove them away. They really aren’t helpful to your current dilemma when it comes to you trying to figure out how you feel about Bruce.

You groan and bury your head in your pillow. When did things in your life become so complicated?

“You seem distracted,” Selina says. You look up from the plate where you have just been pushing the food around, like a child.

“Sorry,” you reply. She invited you out to dinner a few weeks ago, at one of the fanciest restaurants in Gotham and you’ve spent the entire time distracted because you can’t stop thinking about Bruce and how you feel about him. It’s been plaguing your mind for a few weeks. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks. 

“I…” While you have thought the words a couple of times now, you don’t think you are ready to say them out loud. Especially in public with so many eavesdroppers. You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Selina frowns, clearly not believing you, but she doesn’t push it. Which you are thankful for. Saying those words out loud will make them really real and you don’t know if you are ready for that. How did the relationship you had once been sure would last forever end up turning into this?

For the rest of dinner, you do your best to push away any and all thoughts about Bruce and your relationship with him. He will be back from his business trip by the end of the week and you can deal with your feelings then. Though, as you eat and talk with Selina, it briefly occurs to you that he had once promised to take you, but never did. It leaves a somewhat bitter taste within your mouth.

You pull your coat close to your body as you and Selina leave behind the warmth of the restaurant and step out into the cold Gotham night. She links her arm with yours and pulls you close as you start walking down the street, back toward your apartment. It’s not a long walk, only a couple of blocks. 

Selina knows why you have been distracted, not only tonight, but for the past couple of weeks. She’s felt the way you have responded to her touches and she’s seen the way that you have been looking at her. She has also seen how you are around Bruce now, during various events he’s taken you to. You are no longer looking at him, waiting for him to pay attention to you, instead you are looking around for her.

She hasn’t missed the way you react to her when she touches you, while you are dancing with her. And she certainly hasn’t missed the way that you look at her. Especially her lips.

She hasn’t made a move to kiss you yet though. While you’re drifting away from him, you haven’t actually broken up with Bruce yet. And you have so much inner turmoil right now she doesn’t think it’s fair to add on to it. But if you were to suddenly decide to kiss her, well, she certainly wouldn’t stop you. In fact, she would like it a lot. 

Does Bruce even know? She wonders. He prides himself in being the world’s greatest detective yet, as far as she can see, he hasn’t caught on to the fact that you’re drifting away from him. Or that she is the cause. 

At least he hasn’t caught on to it until tonight.

Out of the corner of her eye, high above on a rooftop on the opposite side of the street, she catches the sight of a large black mass billowing out into the wind. He lied to you. You have told her that he said he would be back at the end of the week, yet here he is. Using his mask to spy on you instead of the usual crimefighting he’s so passionate about. 

Knowing that he’s watching, she pulls you closer to her.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“It’s colder than I thought it would be tonight and you’re nice and warm.” 

She knows that Bruce can hear the two of you speaking and she knows that it must be driving him crazy that he can’t just swoop down and interrupt. There’s people everywhere and, from what she can tell, you have no idea what he does when the sun sets. Things probably wouldn’t be as bad between you and him if you did know about his nightly activities. Or, maybe, if you did know, you would have already left him.

“Do you want to come in?” you ask her, once you and her have reached your apartment and you’re opening the door. 

“Normally I’d love to, but something has come up with the land I was hoping to turn into a cat sanctuary,” she explains. Selina has her phone out, open on the email she received at the start of the week. It’s not a complete lie. She has hit issues involving that land, but she’s not dealing with it tonight. 

Your face drops for a second before it’s quickly gone and replaced by a well practised understanding smile. Even the words you say “Of course, I understand,” sound rehearsed. He has done a number on you and it has her feeling a little guilty. How many times has he pulled this move on you? And now she’s doing the same thing. She steps forward and takes ahold of your hands. 

“Are you free tomorrow?” she asks, “We could have lunch, maybe even check out that new jewel collection at the museum? You know, to make up for me having to suddenly leave.”

You look at her for a moment, like you weren’t expecting that. “Oh, I’ll have to check my schedule, but I think I should be able to. I’ll text you?” 

“Of course.”

As soon as you are in your apartment and the door is shut, Selina is gone. Back out into the night, into her car and then back out into the night once more; wearing a completely different outfit. It’s not long before she is swinging high above the streets of Gotham, with a certain pointy eared man following after her. 

It doesn’t take him long to catch up to her. She feels the change in the air around her as his hand closes around one of her arms and her world spins briefly as he grabs and spins her around, slamming her against a wall.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing Selina?” he growls, the white lenses of his cowl narrowed. His act might work on the common criminal, but it has never phased her one bit. Calmly, she removes his hands from her arms and pushes him away. 

“I warned you, Bruce,” she says as she steps away from him, putting space between them. “Don’t you remember? I told you what would happen if you didn’t change how you were treating her."

“What? I didn’t think…”

“You never do. If it makes you feel any better she hasn’t kissed me yet. Maybe there’s still a chance for you, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

“Why?”

“It’s rather simple, you weren’t treating her correctly so I decided that I would.” Her shrug is causal, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Which it should be to the person who considers himself a detective. “And maybe it’ll make you think twice before you decide to treat another woman like this.”

She doesn’t wait for him to say anything. She walks to the edge of the roof, not even taking the time to look back like she once did a long time ago, and jumps. He doesn’t follow. Likely too caught up within his own inner turmoil about the revelations of tonight.

If she was anyone else, Selina wouldn’t be able to understand how or why you are still with him. But she does understand the how and why because she was you several years ago. It’s easy to get caught up in a man like Bruce Wayne. With his looks and the way he talks, that silver tongue of his. The way that he makes you feel like the most important person in the world just with one look. 

Though, she really does wish that you would break up with him and soon. 

This may have started out with her proving to you that you deserve so much better than putting up with the way that he treats you, but she has grown to like you. A lot. And she would rather see you with her than him. Though, she supposes, it’s only a matter of time before that happens. She simply needs to have some patience.

When you wake up it’s to a couple of texts from Bruce. Telling you that he’s coming home early and wants to meet for lunch. You reply telling him you can’t, you already have plans. So he offers dinner at the manor, away from the prying eyes of the public. Just you and him. Normally the premise of having a quiet and private night with him would excite you. Finally having him all too yourself far away from flashing cameras and gossipers. Instead, you don’t feel… anything. There’s no more looking forward to seeing him. No quicken of your heartbeat against your ribcage, or between your thighs, as you think of him. No wanting to blow off any other plans so that you can see him sooner. Hell, you don’t even want to see him. Not really.

As you sit there in bed, looking over the text messages again, those words comes back to you. The ones that you have been struggling to admit out loud. Though, with this newest revelation, you know that you need to and sooner rather than later. It’s not fair on either of you if you don’t.

Lunchtime feels like it takes forever to arrive as you do some chores around your apartment. You only just saw her last night, like every time, you can’t wait to see her again. And that excitement has the hours ticking by so slowly. There is a part of you that does have you pausing for a moment, wondering if this new feeling of excitement will end up the same. But you remind yourself she isn’t him. 

You meet Selina at the same cafe that you had when she had suggested going out and giving Bruce a taste of his own medicine. You often meet her here. The place essential becoming your “spot”. Like how the park had once been yours and Bruce’s.

She’s already at the table, waiting for you. She has her hair done up in a bun and she’s wearing a red dress. You feel your heart almost skip a beat when you lay eyes on her. There’s already a latte on the table. 

“I’m not late, am I?” you ask as you sit down. There had been some traffic on your way, but you had been sure you would still arrive on time. 

“You’re on time,” she says before covering her mouth and yawning, “I didn’t get much sleep last night,” she explains. “I already ordered you your usual.”

“You’re not going to lose that land are you?”

“With all the work that I did last night, I would say that it’s safe and sound now,” she replies with a smile.

“That’s great news.” 

She looks you over for a moment, her smile now gone and replaced by a small frown. “Something’s still bothering you,” she states.

“Bruce texted me this morning, he’s back early and wanted to meet for lunch, but I wasn’t about to cancel plans with you, so we’re having dinner instead tonight…”

“But you don’t want to go.” 

“Is it that obvious?” You glance around the cafe, wondering if anyone is listening to your conversation. This city is filled with people who don’t know how to mind their own business. Especially when you are dating the renowned “son of Gotham”. 

“I just… I know I have to face him because it’s unfair on both of us to keep this going, but I feel so guilty. He’s got no idea.”

“He would had he been paying attention,” she says. You can’t help, but agree. 

Much to your disappointment the lunch goes by relatively quickly and before you know it your back at your apartment, getting ready for your date with Bruce. Just as your finishing up, there’s a knock at your door. 

You answer the door to Bruce, who’s holding a bouquet of red roses and that genuine smile that he has only ever given you. You honestly weren’t expecting him to show up. Instead you had been expecting him to send Alfred.

“Hey, baby,” he greets you, using his free hand to pull you close and pressing a light kiss to your lips. Doing his best not to mess up your lipstick. “You look beautiful.” 

The way he’s looking at you and kissing you has your heart skipping a beat. For weeks now this is all you have wanted. Your man looking at you like he actually loves you and wants you. All of his focus on you. But a voice in the back of your head reminds you of what he’s been like for weeks now and that he’s only acting like this now so that you don’t leave him. Chances are, as soon as he’s sure you won’t leave, things will go straight back to him ignoring you again until you think of leaving and the cycle will repeat.

You can’t go through that again. You won’t go through that again.

“I need a few more minutes,” you tell him as you let him inside of your apartment. 

“Of course. I’ll put these in water for you?”

“You can just leave them on the side if you want. I’ll deal with them later,” you reply. 

“It’s no trouble.”

You really wish that he would just leave the damn flowers alone. After tonight you’re only going to end up throwing them out. By the time you’re finished up and leaving the bedroom, he’s put the roses into a vase of water and set it onto your coffee table.

“Ready?”

The more that you look at him, the more you can see the man that you fell in love with to begin with. The way that he looks and talks to you, touching you, making you feel like the only woman in the world. But, once again, you can’t forget the way he’s been. Going from the most attentive boyfriend ever and then completely ignoring you like you aren’t his girlfriend, just another acquaintance he has on his arm and back again. And other than your heart skipping when he kissed you earlier you’re not feeling anything else. Your heart’s not even skipping anymore.

You haven’t eaten a thing all night. You usually love Alfred’s cooking, but tonight you have absolutely no appetite. It makes you feel worse than you already do, even if Bruce has barely touched his own food. You push your plate away from you.

“Sorry, I’m just not hungry,” you say.

“Same here,” he replies, shoving his own plate away. He sighs before taking a sip of his drink. 

A long awkward silence falls between the two of you. Just as you start to think about saying something, perhaps the words that you have been too chicken to finally say, he breaks the silence.

“It’s over, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, Bruce. I just… I don’t love you anymore.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who’s sorry. It’s my fault. Maybe if I had been more attentive or something. I don’t know. Maybe I could have saved this.”

“I still should have said something sooner.”

“Maybe, but at least this way I got to see you one more time.” Bruce gets up from his seat. “I’ll go get the car and I’ll drive you home.”

“I really am sorry,” Bruce says. His hand is cupping your face, thumb softly stroking your cheek. You expect him to kiss you for the last time, but he doesn’t. He pulls away, letting his hand fall away and back to his side. “Maybe we could have made this work if I was a different person leading a different life or maybe we would have ended up here anyway. I don’t know, but don’t blame yourself, okay?”

You nod. “I think I’m going to miss what we could have been,” you reply. 

“So will I.” He steps forward and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Goodbye,” he says your name softly, as if it hurts him to say it. “Good luck with the rest of your life.” 

“Goodbye Bruce.”

As soon as he’s gone, and you’re back inside of your apartment, you’re pulling your phone out of your purse and dialling Selina’s number.

“I thought you were supposed to be on a date,” her voice comes over the phone, sending butterflies swirling through your stomach.

“I was. Are you home?” you ask. 

“I am. Why?” You picture her smiling, like she already knows why you’re asking.

“I have something to tell you, but honestly, I need to say it in person,” you explain.

“Oh? Well I certainly won’t say no to you coming over. You know my door’s always open to you.”

“Good because I’m on my way over.”

Your heart is hammering against your chest as you stand in front of Selina’s apartment, waiting for her to answer. It feels like forever before the door finally opens, which only makes the butterflies worse. Her hair is flowing over her shoulders and the only thing she’s wearing is a short red silk robe, that’s barely containing her breasts. 

“I broke up with him,” you tell her. 

“Well it’s about time,” she replies. She pulls you close. Her fingertips on your skin, sending electricity jolting through you. One of her hands remains on your arm while the other comes to cup your jaw. Her green eyes flicker down to your lips before quickly returning to your eyes. Understanding her silent question, you make your move and lean in. Your heart is somehow beating even harder, feeling like it’s trying to burst from your chest while everything else seems to slow down. Seconds feel like they trickle by before her lips finally connect with yours, making everything stop.

Selina kisses you slowly and sweetly. Her lips are even softer than you imagined them being. Kissing her is even better than you imagined. Your hands find her hips and you move forward, stepping more into her space until your bodies are touching. She smiles against your lips and pulls away. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” she says. Both of her hands are cupping your face now and that look in her eyes has your stomach doing flips. 

“And you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to do that,” you reply. That makes her laugh softly. 

“Come inside?” she offers. You agree eagerly and let her pull you inside of her apartment. 

The feeling of kisses being pressed to your face slowly bringing you out of your sweat dreams. You grumble as you turn over and try to bury yourself further into the covers. Laughter reaches your ears and has you feeling warm and fuzzy inside. She keeps kissing you. Pressing them to your neck and shoulder blades. You sigh as you finally lift your head and look over your shoulder at Selina.

Playfulness sparkles in her green eyes. Her hair is a mess, but you think she looks as radiant as ever. You sit up and pull her close to kiss her. She kisses you back with fervour and heat rushes through you. Before you know it, she’s straddling you and has you pinned down against the mattress. You whine when she pulls away. You do your best to chase after her lips again, but she holds you down.

“As much as I would love to keep you in bed, we’re only here for a couple more days and we still have a long list of places to check out,” she says. She gets up off of the bed and walks over to the curtains where she pulls them open, letting the daylight into the hotel room and showing the view it has of the Eiffel Tower. 

You and Selina had come here to Paris after visiting and exploring London. Shortly after getting together, you and her had decided you both needed a change of scenery, far away from Gotham. Before the two of you had left she had let you know about her secret double life. 

She didn’t want there to be secrets. She knew how quickly they could break down a relationship so she told you about Catwoman. Stealing from the rich and how she was the East End’s self appointed protector, keeping the women and children safe from the men that prowled the area.

You didn’t believe her to begin with. That was when she showed you her catsuit and her bullwhip. You couldn’t not believe her after that. While it had come as a shock, it didn’t change how you felt about her. You love her.

“Don’t you mean you have a long list of places to case so you can take from them?”

She turns around to face you, hands on her hips, completely unashamed of her nakedness. Not that you’re complaining as you run your eyes over her body. “They’re not all for me. Picked out a few spots that I know you’re going to love.”

As soon as you have showered and you’re dressed, you and Selina leave the hotel. You let her lead the way, like always. First she takes you to a small cafe for breakfast. The food and drink is good, though your company is certainly better. Once you were both done eating she takes you by the hand and you continue your tour of the city. 

She takes you to a couple of different museums, sharing with you her favourite exhibits. And then she’s taking you to almost endless jewellery and clothing stores. Neither of you buy anything from any of the stores you visit, but you know, beyond a doubt, that she is shopping. You don’t know the ins and outs of it, it’s safer that way if the cops come knocking, but in the fifteen minutes you’re in each store, she already knows what she wants and how she’s going to get it without tripping the security systems. And she knows what you want as well, keeping an eye on whatever your eyes linger on for just a moment too long.

As evening time rolls around, you and Selina decide to end your long, yet enjoyable, day at a rooftop restaurant. The Eiffel Tower acting as the backdrop, like you’re in some ridiculous cheesy romance movie. 

Though you both arrived back at the hotel to change for dinner, she leaves long before you. You know why, but if anyone was to ever ask you where she is was on any particular night, you already have an answer. “Yeah, she was with me all night.”

Selina doesn’t leave you waiting at the restaurant for long, arriving five minutes after you. She arrives breathless, but looking perfect. Ringlet curls, a smokey cat eye and purple lipstick that matches her dress. Your mouth almost drops open at the sight of her. 

“I didn’t keep you waiting long, did I?” she asks as she sits down.

“Of course not. You never do,” you reply. 

Dinner goes by quickly which isn’t hard with how caught up you and Selina are with each other. The subtle touches sending goosebumps across your skin and how she looks at you. Only this time there’s no guilty when you think about kissing her. And you can kiss her. Nothing and no one in your way to stop you. And you do love kissing her. 

“I’ve got you something,” she says. She reaches into gift bag she brought with her and presents you with a blue rectangle box, complete with a green bow. It’s light and doesn’t make much noise when you gently shake it. 

You undo the bow and remove the lid. Inside of the box is the diamond bracelet that you had been eyeing up earlier. You smile at the sight. She leans over to help secure it to your wrist.

“You shouldn’t have.” 

She shrugs. “It’s not like it cost much,” she laughs.

After dinner, you go for a walk together through a nearby park. You walk hand in hand, talking and laughing quietly. She suddenly stops in her tracks and before you can ask what’s wrong she kisses you. It’s not a peck either. Her full lips move against yours, tongue working your mouth open and stealing away your breath. Not that it’s hard for her to do that.

She rests her forehead and you can’t stop thinking about how happy you are. It’s strange for you to think that there had once been a moment not too long ago when you had thought you knew what happiness was. You had been wrong. Standing here with her, you know what real happiness is supposed to be.

“Let’s sit,” she says. You agree, thankful for the chance to sit, your heels are starting to hurt. She leads you toward a nearby bench where you take a seat.

With that feeling of happiness that’s flowing through you and the realisation you have come to, you decide to take a chance.

“I love you, Selina,” you tell her. 

She looks a bit taken back which has you panic. Is it way too soon to say that? It only lasts a moment though as she smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling before she’s leaning back in to kiss you again. 

“I love you too,” she replies. Hearing those four words has your heart feeling like it might burst from how happy you are. You can’t hide your huge smile, nor would you want to. She then leans in close and lightly strokes your hair. “How about we go back to our hotel room and, should we make it the bed, we won’t leave it for all of tonight and tomorrow hmm?”

You agree eagerly.