#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]

Goodwill Towards Men (And Women)

Summary: It's Christmas Eve in Gotham, and the lonely Bruce Wayne is visited by an old friend who disappeared the year before. Read on AO3.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Selina Kyle

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 5.3k words

Tags: Christmas fluff, wholesome, melancholy, reunions, mistletoe, love confessions, tooth-rotting fluff, cozy, sweet, yearning.

Author's Note: These two deserve a sickly sweet happy ending, dammit.

��The blizzard is looking awfully severe,” Alfred said. 

The butler gazed out the window onto the deep blue night. Gotham was blanketed with white slush, the sky a dark blur of snowflakes and high-pitched winds. No doubt even that the large and illustrious Wayne Manor could be snowbound by morning.

“Well, that’s Gotham for you,” Bruce said. “It blizzards in winter, rains the rest of the year.”

The Wayne heir was seated on the red couch in his lounge. After his final Batman outing of the year, he traded his bat suit for pajamas, a robe, and a pair of warm knitted socks. He sat with his feet propped up by the crackling fireplace with a detective novel opened in his lap.

Alfred had convinced him to take some time off from vigilante work until the new year. Bruce has agree to it, but only because it seemed like most of Gotham’s criminals had dialed back their activities this December. On his last few patrols, Bruce only came across a few petty burglaries and muggings. At one point, he got so bored and was tempted to chase down a car going over the speed limit.

Regardless, Gotham had seen its lowest holiday crime rate in a long time, and that was the only reason Bruce agreed to a break. Perhaps it was because of the blizzard. Perhaps it was because of the fiasco with the Penguin that took place one year before. It seemed like Batman wasn’t needed this Christmas season.

Bruce had to admit, it was nice, if a bit strange, to be spending an entire evening at home with no plans. A dinner of warm soup and a robe fresh from the dryer felt comforting on a frosty winter night. It brought him memories of childhood Christmases, of old holidays songs ballooning from his family’s record player and sipping hot chocolate.

However, Bruce quickly realized the downside to too much free time: Boredom. One chapter into the book he was reading, and he’d already guessed the killer and the entire plot twist. The power was fuzzy due to the storm, so Bruce couldn’t watch television. He sat in a massive house with nothing to do.

Alfred lifted a white-gloved finger to the window and drew a smiley face in the condensation. He chuckled to himself, then turned to the Christmas tree in the corner and adjusted one of the flickering lights.

“If not for the storm,” he said. “Perhaps you could have thrown a party. Invited Gordon, perhaps Dent, a few others. Sounds like a much better way to spend Christmas Eve.”

Bruce shrugged.

“Even if there wasn’t a storm,” he said. “Harvey and Jim have families. I’m not going to take them away from them on Christmas Eve.”

“It is good to spend this time with family,” Alfred agreed. He flicked his eyes over his shoulder. “But that includes you too, Bruce.”

Bruce smirked and raised an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you my family, Alfred?”

“Of course, sir. But I don’t think an old man like me alone is fit to keep a man like you entertained.”

“Don’t speak so badly about yourself, Alfred.”

“All I’m saying,” Alfred turned to face him. “This is not a night of the year to be alone with your employee.”

Bruce pursed his lips. The butler had a point.

Alfred shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I told you to rest and I’m giving you trouble.”

“No, Alfred,” Bruce said. “It’s fine. You’re…you’re not wrong.”

The old man nodded, then straightened his coat as if to brush the topic off.

“I’m craving a mug of hot coco,” he said. “Would you like me to make you one as well, Master Bruce?”

“Yes, Alfred. Thank you.”

The butler promptly dismissed himself from the lounge and headed to the kitchen. Bruce slapped his book shut and set it down on the coffee table. He leaned back with a sigh and watched the snowflakes whirling on the wind outside the window. The heat from the fireplace warmed the bottom of his feet.

He mulled over Alfred’s words in his head. The old man wasn’t wrong. Bruce did often feel a creeping loneliness glimpsing him just over his shoulder. Wayne Manor, and its adjacent Batcave, were large and cavernous, filled with long hallways and towering ceilings not meant to contain just one person. His home echoed even the faintest footsteps, reminding you of all the empty space there was.

Sure, Alfred was excellent company. But he was Bruce’s butler as much as his surrogate father, and he could only give him so much. And on nights like this, without a vigilante mission to distract him, Bruce was left alone in Wayne Manor with all its silence and ghosts.

He recalled the last few times he had real guests over. Not just business associates from Wayne Enterprises, but friends he brought over simply for the company.

One name that came to him was Vickie Vale. The sharp and intelligent reporter who used to work for the Gotham Globe. She saw right through him, knew he was more than he pretended to be, and the first person he allowed himself to get close to.

As much as they cared for each other, Bruce was not completely surprised that the relationship dissolved. It was hard to reconcile Bruce Wayne with Batman, not to mention the stress of seeing your loved one walk out the door every night and not knowing for sure if he’d come back alive.

Vickie had left Gotham a long while ago now, no doubt thriving in her photojournalism career somewhere else. In a better city, with better people. Perhaps sleeping in the arms of a man who suited her better. One who was as open as a book with no messy complications that demanded her to contend with, who didn’t require her to stay up at night worried if he would make it home in one piece.

Bruce sighed and rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t been right for Vickie. It seemed like he wasn’t right for a lot of people. 

He struggled to imagine someone who would understand, who knew what it was to have this other half. To disappear into someone else as the night fell, someone else that the world could never see.

Then, something flickered like an old, dusty bulb in his head. A memory, two faces that came together, one of a meek blonde secretary and the other of a thief clad in stitched black leather.

“Selina Kyle.”

Her name fell from his mouth. It had been a year since he uttered it and it felt both strange and familiar on his tongue. Selina. Another intelligent, bespectacled blonde who wasn’t fooled by Bruce’s brooding billionaire front (Alfred joked that he had a type). Her memory brought back physical sensations. Her blonde curls in his fingers, her red lips on his mouth, her feline purr in his ear.

Bruce hadn’t thought of her in twelve months. Or, more accurately, hadn’t allowed himself to think of her. Probably because on some level, he knew she had…well, sunk her claws into him more than any other woman. His past paramours had either been temporary flings or public stunts. Simply decorations for his carefully crafted playboy persona. Vickie had come close to something genuine, but even that couldn’t last once Bruce and Bat became one before her. The duality didn’t make sense to her.

But Selina…got it. 

Bruce had sensed it even before they learned each other’s identities. Before the masks were unveiled, it’s like they were kindred spirits. Two unusual people—freaks—playing the role of normal adults in the daylight.

But once night fell…the bat and the cat came out to play.

Selina innately understood Bruce in a way no one else did. She knew what it was to have this darker half, this Mr. Hyde to one’s Dr. Jekyll. To know that certain things could only be achieved by putting on a mask and calling yourself something other than…well, you.

The last time Bruce spoke to Selina, he made her an offer: Stay with him. Live in Wayne Manor, where they could finally join as equals. But Selina refused, and with Penguin defeated, she disappeared into the darkness. All that was left of her was a black cat that found its way to Bruce from an alleway.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Bruce heard a soft meow from the door. He turned to see the black cat, the one he found just last year, sauntered into the room. It leapt onto the couch and curled into his lap.

“Hey there,” Bruce said softly. He grinned and stroked a hand down the cat’s back. The creature purred and nuzzled into him.

He named the cat Lucky, as it was believed black cats were bad luck, but hoped the name would cancel that superstition out. Lucky had been living in Wayne Manor, mostly keeping to himself and licking from milk bowls that Bruce left out.

For a moment, Bruce entertained the fantasy that Selina had left Lucky behind purposefully. Like a substitute, since she couldn’t stay herself. As pleasant as Lucky’s company was, Bruce imagined what this year’s Christmas would look like if Selina had chosen to stay with him. He pictured her seated next to him on the couch, the two of them close together in comfortable silence. Lucky would nestle on Selina’s lap while she flipped through her own book, sipping eggnog from a mug. She would be in a lovely nightgown and robe, maybe some cat slippers, curled next to him like they were an old married couple.

Bruce chuckled. After all this years, he didn’t think he had that kind of sentimentality in him. But he kept imagining it, her blonde frizz resting on his shoulder, dozing off in the warmth while the outside world drew colder and darker. The scene in his head made something curl into him, made something tighten in his chest.

“Coco, Master Bruce.”

Alfred’s voice snapped Bruce from his reverie. Alfred appeared in the doorway with two steaming mugs in his hands.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce said as his butler handed him a mug.

The old man took a sip from his own cup, wiping the brown residue from his mustache. He glanced down at the black feline in Bruce’s lap.

“Good to see Master Lucky has come out of hiding for Christmas Eve,” he said.

The two of them sipped from their mugs. Alfred finished his quickly and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief.

“I’m feeling a bit tired, sir,” he said. “I think I may go to bed early tonight. Unless you need anything else.”

“I’m good, Alfred,” Bruce said. “Thank you. Get some rest.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

Alfred disappeared down the hall. Bruce set his half-full, lukewarm mug on the coffee table. He sighed and absentmindedly pet Lucky between the ears.

He hadn’t thought of Selina for a year. And now that he started, he couldn’t stop. Her name looped in his head like a record,

Selina. Selina. Selina. 

Bruce’s eyes wandered over to the liquor cabinet in the corner of the room opposite to the twinkling tree. A strange part of him felt crude for craving a glass. Christmas was a time for hot chocolate and eggnog, not bitter brown whiskey.

For a brief moment, Selina’s mischievous voice whispered in his ear. One glass won’t hurt, will it? 

He smirked.

He wondered where she was spending the holidays this year. Was she staying in a better apartment in a better city? Was she still running her hands along diamonds and art exhibits? What did she want for Christmas? Maybe some new collars for her cats? A new coat to keep her warm when she walked home in the chill? A new pair of boots when the old ones worn out from nights running on rooftops?

Bruce halted his thoughts. He was doing it, wasn’t he? He shook his head to rattle the images from his head. There was no point in fantasizing about a woman who wasn’t his. Selina made her decision clear that night in the sewers.

Miss Kyle has been a mousy secretary once, one who berated herself for her loneliness and single life. And it made her miserable. Becoming Catwoman was possibly the best thing that happened to her. She was finally free, uninhibited, unashamed. And Bruce was not one to try and declaw a wild creature.

After all, was he not also a wild creature who didn’t want his wings clipped?

Bruce gently moved Lucky off his lap and stood up. The clock on the mantle told him it was nearing midnight. Tomorrow was Christmas and Bruce needed some sleep.

Before he could put out the fireplace, he paused. His ears perked up, listening past the crinkle of the flames. There was a faint sound coming from the library. Bruce paused for several moment, listening just beyond the door.

One of the perks of becoming a vigilante was that your senses were sharpened. You trained your body to see and hear better, to detect enemies faster. And every one of Bruce’s instincts were telling him someone was in the library.

He began taking quiet steps towards the library. His hands were slow on the doorknob, turning it and pushing it open, all the while his ears perked.

The library was pitch black, save for the moonlight spilling from the arching windows. There was a thickness in the air. Space being taken up, oxygen being sucked up. Bruce stepped inside and flicked his eyes around.

“Someone here?” he called.

A cold breeze brushed through the room. Bruce found a lightswitch on the wall by the door and alighted the room. In a split second, he saw a shadow disappear behind one of the bookshelf. Maybe he was just seeing things, but he swore he saw the zipper of a black leather boot.

“Come on out, now,” he said. “Show your face, and I maybe I won’t call the police.”

No verbal response. Bruce moved slowly into the library, his socks quiet on the wooden floor. Meanwhile, Bruce heard a click that could only come from a pointed heel on a hard wood floor.

“You know,” he said. “If you’re going to break into someone’s home and steal from them, it probably helps to have practical shoes.”

Bruce turned and walked down an aisle between two shelves. He could hear a very soft breath on the other side of the shelf. They were the kind of double-sided shelves that public libraries had. Slowly, he pulled a large, thick book from the shelf. He peeked through the gap into the aisle over.

There, just as he suspected. In the book-sized gap, he saw a swath of black latex with silver stitiching.

It was her.

Catwoman.

Suddenly, the feline thief rushed out of the aisle in the direction of the library door. Bruce darted out the aisle to see Catwoman’s leather silhouette running toward the exit. He hurled the heavy book at the door, and it just missed her head as it pushed ti shut and activated the automatic lock. 

“Shit!” Selina hissed.

Bruce hurried over and as Selina tried to pull open the heavy door. She sneered down at the hefty, hardcover volume on the floor.

“The Complete Works of William Shakespeare,” she read on the cover. “That thing could have knocked my head off.”

“My apologies,” Bruce said. “If I knew I’d have to stop you, I could have picked some Charles Dickens.”

Bruce trailed his gaze over her. Clearly, it wasn’t just Selina’s wit that hadn’t changed. For a brief moment, Bruce felt like it was twelve months prier, and he was sitting on the couch in the parlor, across from a smirking blonde secretary who made his heart skitter. Or dangling from a building while she sneered at him through a mask.

A normal man would have been shocked to find someone breaking into his home. To see someone from his past emerge from the shadows after a year.

But Bruce was not normal. And neither was the woman in front of him.

“I thought you were dead,” he said.

Selina turned to face him and held his gaze. Bruce’s eyes were soft and his hands were where she could see him. No hidden bat toys on him. Her posture loosened a little when she realized he wasn’t going to fight her.

“I thought you would have better security,” she said. “You’d think the richest man in Gotham would have more cameras.”

“Why would I? It keeps interesting company out.”

A brief smirk crossed Selina’s lips.

“I thought you’d be asleep by now,” she said. 

Bruce slipped his hands into the pockets of his robe. His eyes kept flicking to the whip looped around her belt.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” he said. “No one sleeps tonight. Children are up waiting for Santa Claus. And apparently I’m up waiting for cat burglars.” 

He glanced up to the glass hole Selina cut from the glass ceiling. It was just big enough for a person of Selina’s size to shimmy through it with a rope. Miss Kyle was thin, but the hole was still large enough to send a flurry of moonlit snowflakes inside.

Bruce brought his gaze back down to Selina.

“Care to explain why you’re letting a draft into my library?” he asked.

Selina wouldn’t look him in the eye. She gazed to the side on the carpet and shrugged.

“Just came back into town,” she said. “Someone else has already snatched up my old apartment…and the hotel rooms have gotten pricier since last year.”

Selina pursed her lips and Bruce sensed there was an “And” she wasn’t saying. She came to Wayne Manor to steal. Money, jewels, anything she could use to get a warm place to sleep for the night.

But she’d been to Wayne Manor before. She knew the estate was remote, not the place you stumble upon by accident. And it wasn’t like Bruce Wayne was the only guy in Gotham with rich valuables lying about his house.

Selina didn’t just steal from the first house she saw. But Bruce kept his lips sealed.

“I guess this is the part where you call the cops and arrest me,” she said. “I’m sure the GCPD still wants me for the murder of Max Shreck.”

Call the authorities. Another thing that a normal man might do in these circumstances. But once again, Bruce was not a normal man. 

Bruce shook his head.

“You know, Selina,” he said. “If you needed some extra cash, all you had to do was ask.” He took a few tentative steps closer to her. “I know you’re not the kind of woman who likes to rely on men for that stuff. But there’s nothing wrong with asking a friend for help. I wouldn’t expect anything in return.”

He stopped a few feet in front of her and waited for a response. Selina’s eyes flicked him up and down.

“I didn’t think you considered me a friend,” she said. “After the way I left you last time.”

When she rejected his proposal to stay with him. When she was shot multiple times. When she disappeared after electrocuting Max Shreck.

“No hard feelings,” he assured her. “I understand why you left.” He chuckled a little and shook his head. “Honestly I’m…I'm just happy to see you’re okay. You know, after all this time.”

Not just okay. Alive. Back from the dead like a literal Ghost of Christmas past.

Something softened in Selina’s eyes. She reached up and pulled the stitched mask off her head. Her blonde frizz sprung free from the latex. A puff of snowflakes fell from the hole in the ceiling.

“It’s freezing in here,” Bruce said. He turned and unlocked the library door. He held it open for her. “It’s warmer in the parlor, if you’d rather talk in there.”

Selina raised an eyebrow, a smirk creeping onto her face.

“Just promise not to lock the doors while I’m in there,” she said.

“Promise not to break my windows,” Bruce retorted.

The two of them retreated into the parlor and Bruce shut the door behind them. He kept waiting for Selina to pounce, to race to nearest door and get out. Instead, Selina’s eyes glazed over the fireplace, the Christmas tree and the lights strewn about the walls.

“Does the whole manor look like this?” she asks.

“Just about,” Bruce said. “Alfred likes to decorate.” He nibbled his lower lip. “And I kind of do too.”

Selina smirked and turned on her heels to face him.

“A big house,” she said. “A lot of work for a home with only two people in it.”

“Well…I haven’t been as busy as usual. A lot more time on my hands recently.”

“You poor thing.” Selina sauntered closer to Bruce. “Gotham hasn’t been feeding its…nocturnal animals, recently?”

Bruce snickered.

“I guess even criminals need a holiday, do they?” he said.

At that moment, a loud gust of wind past the windows and made the glass shake. A chaotic swirl of snowflakes past the window, mingling in the mist that obscured the horizon.

“That blizzard is getting worse,” Bruce said. “How the hell did you travel through that?”

Selina twisted her lip.

“I caught a ride to Gotham,” she said. “Wasn’t so bad when I got here.”

“Still, weren’t you freezing? I don’t know how temperature controlled that catsuit is.”

Selina didn’t respond. Her eyes lingered at the window, the dark evening that was growing fatally cold as the time ticked past midnight. Bruce could tell what she was doing. She was calculating the risks of leaving, going back out into the streets and trying to find a lodging before hypothermia could get her. Shivering on the road like a stray cat.

Bruce just couldn’t let that happen.

“Selina,” he said.

Selina turned to meet his eyes. Round, pale blue eyes like moonstones. The kind that could glow in the dark. See through the dark.

“I won’t ask you to stay,” he said. “But, if you need somewhere warm to stay for Christmas…you’re welcome here.”

Selina looked at him for a long moment. Bruce didn’t expect a yes from her. She came and got what she wanted. She had no reason to stay and he didn’t expect her to.

So it was a pleasant surprise when her eyes flicked him up and down, twisting her lips in consideration. She sauntered up closer to him, close enough that she would almost sense his heartbeat under his robe.

“I’ve got most of my stuff in storage,” she said. “I really don’t want to go to sleep in this thing.”

Bruce glanced down at the right leather clasping her from head to toe.

“I don’t have any women’s nightwear,” he said. “But…I’ve got some oversized shirts that might be more comfortable.”

Selina smirked and grazed her hand down the back of Bruce’s head.

“Sounds cozy,” she said.

Her voice was a low breath on his lips. Bruce was going to tell her that Wayne Manor had several bedrooms that could serve as a guest lodging, but that thought escape him.

“That California king you mentioned at the charity ball,” he said. “I managed to snatch it up after Shreck’s shut down.”

“Really?” she said.

“It’s nice. But…I don’t think it was made for one person to sleep in.”

Selina pet her fingers through his hair and pressed her other hand to his chest. Her fingers brushed just under the folds of his robs over his white undershirt. 

“Big house of lights, big empty bed,” she mused. “You’ve got a lot of empty space that needs filling, Bruce.”

Bruce pressed his forehead against hers.

“Yeah, I do,” he said.

The two of them were quiet for a few minutes. Selina’s eyes flicked up to the diamond chandelier on the wall. That’s when she saw it, handing from the center point of the ornate fixture: A leafy fleck of green with white berries in a red bow.

Selina looked at Bruce.

“Did you put that there on purpose?” Selina asked.

“If I say yes, will you think I’m clever for it?” he asked.

Then, Selina’s smirk softened into a smile. She cupped a hand on the back of Bruce’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss. Bruce’s heart riccochetted in his ribs. It had been so long since Selina kissed him that he’d almost forgotten the effect it had on him. He melted into her, a small sigh escaping his throat.

When their lips came apart, Bruce was red as a cherry and he knew even the dim chandelier lights couldn’t hide. Selina giggled at his expression.

“I guess you were right,” she said. “A kiss can be deadlier if you mean it.”

Bruce felt something cool on his lips. He touched his bottom lip with his finger and it came back rouge red.

“Fresh lipstick,” he said. “Do you freshen up for all your robberies?”

“A girl likes to be put together,” Selina said.

“Did you come here planning to kiss me?”

“If I say yes, will you think I’m clever for it?”

Bruce chuckled and threaded his fingers between Selina’s. Within a few minutes, the fireplace was reduced to a smouldering woodpile of smokey wisps. Upstairs, the door to the master bedroom was firmly shut.

~

Selina woke to sunlight on her eyelids. It took her a few moments to recollect where she was. The bedsheets beneath her body were freshly clean, the mattress thick and fluffy, the duvet of luxurious silk. If a woman like her was sleeping in a bed like this, that meant there was one place she’d stumbled back to.

Sunlight spilled from the arching window of Bruce Wayne’s bedroom. It draped across the bed as Selina sat up and rubbed her eyes. Her makeup was still on, as she saw her eyeliner and mascara black on her fingertips. Clearly, she was too distracted last night to wash up in the bathroom.

Her mind gathered together the memories form last night. She returned to Gotham, and what started as a robbery of Wayne Manor ended with her stumbling into bed with Bruce Wayne. She smiled and her lips buzzed with memories of smearing his skin with rouge.

While it was sunny on the snow outside, it was still late December and a wintery chill ran through the house. Selina was dressed in one of Bruce’ oversized shirts and her underwear, her suit a pile on the floor. She quickly found one of his spare robes on a hanger and wrapped herself in it. It was warm, despite benign fresh from the wash, it still smelled like him.

Downstairs, she heard music playing from a record player. One of those Christmas oldies that languished in the air like the smell of coffee. As Selina approached the kitchen, she heard a sizzle of a pan and the savory scent of bacon.

In the kitchen, Alfred was standing at the stove cooking. Bruce sat at the table, drizzling maple syrup onto a tall stack of chocolate chip pancakes. He sat up straight, his eyes alighting when Selina sauntered in.

“Just in time for breakfast,” he said.

Selina pursed her lips and grinned. She wasn’t sure if she’d be staying long in the morning, but the third plate and silverware set up on the table across form Bruce told her otherwise.

“Merry Christmas, you two,” she said.

Alfred moved the bacon off the pan onto a plate, then turned to face Selina. Over his uniform was a white apron with cartoon Santa Claus on the front.

“Miss Kyle,” Alfred said. “I take it you slept well.”

Selina’s face flushed warm and she glanced at Bruce. He slowed his mouth over a forkful of pancake and gave her a wink. He must have informed Alfred with morning that they had an unexpected guest. Selina grinned.

“Yes, I did,” she said.

“Take a seat. Pancakes are ready, and bacon will be soon.”

Selina tightened the knot on her robe and took a seat across from Bruce at the table. She reached for the stack of pancakes and began piling her plate.

“Hope you don’t mind I borrow the robe,” she said.

“Of course,” Bruce said. He gave her a sly look. “Only if you remember to return it.”

Selina returned the look.

“No promises,” she said. She shrugged. “I can be a bit forgetful.”

Alfred brought over the plate of bacon and Selina’s stomach audibly gurgled. She stacked a few strips on her palte, drizzled her pancakes, then went to eating. At some point during breakfast, she noticed some spots of color on Bruce. His neck. His jawline, a faint one on his cheek. Little remnants of Selina’s lipsticks where she kissed him there…and there…and there…

Selina finished her bacon and wiped the grease from her lip with a napkin. She reached across the table and rubbed at the stain on Bruce’s cheek.

“I made a mess, did I?” she said.

Bruce scoffed and glanced shyly at his lap.

“Alfred was teasing me this morning,” he said.

“As he should.”

The two of chatted for an hour more until both their plates were scraped with syrup, grease and smudges of chocolate. Alfred put their dishes away in the washer before excusng himself to the bathroom. Selina glanced at Bruce across the table and fiddled with a loose thread on her sleeve.

“I guess I should be leaving soon,” Selina said. “The blizzard is past. It should be safer to commute outside.”

“On Christmas Day?” Bruce said. He reaced across the table and placed a hand on hers. “I don’t know I can allow that.”

Selina raised an eyebrow.

“You want to spend Christmas with a thief,” she said.

“I want to spend Christmas with Selina Kyle, the woman I fell in love with.” 

Those words sent a tremor through the room. Selina’s eyes widened and her lip parted. Even Bruce seemed a little thrown off by what he said. But he pursed his lips and squeezed her hand. 

“I’ve missed you, Selina,” he said. “I’ve missed you since last year and I’m not ready to watch you leave again.”

There was something pleading in his gaze. Selina felt something strange curl in her stomach. It was an unusual situation to find herself in. Someone was asking her to stay. Someone wanted, pleaded, for her to stay in their company. She couldn’t recall a time in the past that someone longed for her like that.

She bit her bottom lip and grinned.

“I guess one more day couldn’t hurt,” she said. “Only if Alfred is cooking dinner. That man is magic in the kitchen.”

“He is,” Bruce said. “He’s making a Christmas turkey with mashed potatoes. Open a bottle of red. Have some Christmas pudding for dessert.” He smiled. “Maybe you should stay for New Years too. I’ve already ordered a bottle of champagne and Alfred and I aren’t finishing it on our own.”

Selina covered her mouth while she tried to suppress a laugh.

“Is this a visit or a vacation, Bruce?” she said.

“It’s an invitation,” Bruce said. His face softened. “My offer from last year always stands, Selina. I won’t make you do anything, but…I want you to stay. I want to make you happy. You deserve it after…well, everything.”

Selina’s heart squelched in her chest.

“I can’t promise I’ll behave,” she said. “I’m not the girl I was last December, Bruce. I’ve changed a lot. I can’t promise that Catwoman didn’t come with me when I returned to Gotham. And she’s not an animal I can tame.”

“I hope so,” Bruce said. “Gotham’s been awfully boring without her.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” Selina pursed her lips. “I’ll consider it. I’ll give you until the new year to convince me.”

Bruce grinned and squeezed her hand.

“Challenge accepted.”

[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!!)

[betustamorla]

Catcop

1990

“Come on, Jim. Let me meet him, I promise I’ll keep quiet.”

Jim Gordon glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, closed the file threw it in a pile, and grabbed another one from another file. “I don’t know who we’re talking about, Officer Kyle.”

“Of course we know whom we’re talking about, Detective Gordon.”

Jim sighed and muttered something under his breath. “The great part of why I didn’t want to see you in blue was this.”

“But you said you were proud of me just a couple of days ago.”

“Yes. A couple of days ago.”

Selina laughed and spun a pair of handcuffs around her index finger.

“Besides, you’ve already met him.”

“Not officially, nor how I would’ve liked.”

“Ah yes. I forgot you hate being a damsel in distress.”

Selina’s eyes narrowed, “I didn’t need help.”

“Sure you didn’t.” Jim coughed—of a patched throat not out of sarcasm, he smoked too much. Not that she could blame him after the divorce… The dark bags under his eyes, the creasing lines across his face…Part of this impromptu pestering was trying to get a look at Batman, but the other was just to distract Jim for a while. Damned workaholic he was.

“Fine. Fine. Maybe a helping hand wasn’t out of the way,” She admitted with distaste and locked the cuffs around the air.

“Just the unwelcome way I’m sure. You’d rather get shot than show him some lame spectacle that could have been perfectly avoided just by waiting for backup.” The accusation was an old recurring one, especially since one of these times in her short year as a cop had gotten a bullet grazing her arm. Nothing too serious but, scary nonetheless… For Jim more than her, unfortunately.

Selina scrunched her nose and tugged at the handcuffs she was playing with as if she were checking if they were holding fine. “That’s the other reason why you didn’t want me in blue…I know, you’ve said it before. But they were too slow, Jim. They would have gotten away by that time.”

“They would have gotten away anyways, only you’d had a new bullet scar if you got lucky.”

“Oh, you’re such a worry-wart.”

Jim moved his upper lip which made his moustage dance from one way to the other and took a sip from his coffee. “Call me old-fashioned but I’d never found it pleasant to have someone from my family get in danger so often.”

“Oh~ Jim, you know I love it when you turn into such a sentimental old man.”

Jim coughed again after a short laugh, “Old and sentimental all right.”

Selina frowned, “You should stop smoking so much—” After she saw him take a long gulp of coffee she added— “and learn to drink some water.”

“I don’t remember you being this nagging, kid.”

“You rubbed off on me.”

“I guess I did…that and the cop thing.”

“Unfortunately.” Selina smiled sharply. “But it’s better to the alternative, you said so yourself.”

“I wasn’t being literal.” Jim bent down and opened one of the lower drawers of his desk and pulled out a bottle of water.

“Then you should’ve said so in the moment!”

Jim popped open a bottle of water and gave her an emphatic look showing her he was listening to her nagging. After a sip of water he looked at her thoughtfully, “And what would you be now then? Some mafia boss?”

“No, no. You know how much I hate them… A thief is more like it. You know, going down ropes and cutting perfect circles on glass panes and plucking some nice pretty diamonds and sparkly stuff,” She said making the motion of grasping something through that imaginary perfect circle cut glass.

Again Jim snorted, “That’s right, you were fond of pickpocketing weren’t you?”

Selina hummed, she still kind of was. But he didn’t need to know that. She always returned the things…unless they didn’t need them.

“So you’d be some costumed phreak then. Cat something probably.”

“I like that actually…the Cat Thief? No, Cat Burglar—that’s too long. Oh! Catwoman!”

Jim coughed this time out of disbelieving amusement, which was what she’d been aiming at, “Catwoman? I see. A perfect match for Batman isn’t it?”

“Exactly! Can you imagine? Me making the big bat chase me all over town~” She sighed. “Maybe I’ll quit after all.”

“Too bad you already gave away your identity to a cop.”

“You’re such a spoilsport…speaking of which. Weren’t you going to speak to tall, dark, and brooding tonight?”

“Just forget it, Selina. If you want to meet him that bad for—I don’t even want to guess what your thought process is about him—just get in trouble again—as you will undoubtedly eventually do, and ask him for his number…”

“I thought you didn’t even want to guess—”

“I don’t. Leave the man alone, he’s trouble—you’re trouble, and he has enough troubles already.”

“But none as charming as me.”

“For all you know, he might be married and with seven children.”

Selina gasped. “Is he?”

“The hell would I know? Now, move along Catwoman, your patrol time is about to begin.”

Selina scowled and pocketed the cuffs she’d been playing with all this time. “I just want to say hi,” she muttered. She walked out of his office and went to her desk to grab her belt, gun, jacket, and hat. Selina hated the uniforms, they were so ugly and boring, she wanted to rush through the courses and accumulate enough hours so she could be assigned as a detective and work alongside Jim…and Big, Dark, and Brooding.

[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.

[olailamajnoon]

The Gotham Zoo was being attacked by Condiment King and his sidekick Spice Girl, who sprayed ketchup and mustard, along with a secret mixture of hot sauce, onto unsuspecting people.

The air smelled overwhelmingly of a spicy tang that burned everyone’s nostrils. Civilians wandered around in various states of sticky horror, their clothes splattered with bright red and yellow. A disgruntled man waved his tie in the air like a white flag of surrender.

“This tie cost $300!” he shouted, his face as red as the condiment on his shirt.

“And this is a limited edition concert tee! You can’t buy these anymore!” another woman cried, fanning the shirt as though it might somehow un-mustard itself.

Nightwing walked and lounged beside Batman, his boots sticking faintly to the ketchup-coated pavement. “You know,” he said, “you’d think the Gotham Zoo would stop hosting ‘Free Hot Dog Day’ after last year’s pretzel riots.”

Batman’s mouth was set in a grim line. His eyes tracked Condiment King, who was being shoved into the back of a police car.

“HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT YOURSELF NOW, GOTHAM?” Condiment King bellowed. His triumphant scream echoed through the chaos as the officers shut the car door on him.

Nightwing crossed his arms and shook his head. “That guy’s really committed to his brand, huh?”

“Don’t encourage him with your jokes,” Batman muttered.

“Batman! Nightwing!” Spice Girl’s sultry voice cut through the commotion like a knife. She sauntered toward them, ignoring the two police officers flanking her. Her ketchup-streaked outfit—a mix of spicy reds and yellows—seemed designed to withstand condiment warfare.

“I just want you to know,” she purred, looking Batman up and down before sliding her gaze to Nightwing, “the thing with Condiment isn't the exclusive kind of thing.” She winked at them both, her lips curling into a suggestive smile. “I’m open to other arrangements.”

Nightwing gave her a Look. “Yeah, baby, you make me so hot!” he purred.

Batman was silently shaking.

Spice Girl tittered and tilted her head. “You too, Batty. Think about it. A life of spice...you can’t live on bland justice forever.”

Behind them was a loud snort. Catwoman was perched on the edge of a ruined hot dog cart, clutching her stomach as she doubled over, barely able to catch her breath.

Batman’s jaw tightened.

“You’re ketchup to my filet mignon,” Spice Girl called out behind her as the police dragged her away. “Batty! You and I could be...explosive together!”

“Explosive diarrhea, maybe,” said Nightwing.

Batman turned on his heel, cape swirling behind him, and stalked off. His face was covered by his cape, which was unusual, unless something unusual was happening on his face.

The sound of Condiment King yelling about “revolutionary relish” trailed off as the GCPD cruiser drove away.

[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

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 ༻⊰───⋅

“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

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[ladyantiheroine]

Every Cat Has Her Fur

Summary: After throwing her a birthday party, Bruce gives Selina one last gift. Read on AO3.

Pairing: Dom!Selina Kyle x Sub!Bruce Wayne

Warnings: Explicit sexual content.

Word Count: 6.6k words

Tags: Femdom, dom/sub, boot worship, clothing kink, fur kink, pegging, exhibitionism, cunnilingus, oral sex, humiliation, stripping, leg humping, edging, begging, hair-pulling, birthday sex, naked male clothed female.

It was a test of strength for Selina to keep her hands to herself. Sitting in the back of the limousine, she kept eyeing the buttons on Bruce’s shirt, wondering if the driver would notice if she ripped them from their threads to tear his shirt open. 

Instead, she settled for placing a hand on his thigh and squeezing. Bruce, who’d been distracted looking at the city lights outside the window, turned to face her. He gave her a flustered smile and pressed a hand on top of hers.

It was past midnight and the two were riding home from Selina’s birthday party. Well, hers in the sense that it was to celebrate her special day. But anyone who’d been involved in the planning may have mistaken it for Bruce’s, given the money and time he devoted to putting the whole thing together. He rented out a ballroom in Gotham’s finest hotel and ordered a whole catering staff to serve champagne and slices from a towering German chocolate cake. And of course, he sent out invitations to every Gotham elite who knew the Waynes and had money to burn on presents.

The evening had been a champagne-bubble blur of twinkling lights and twinkling people. Selina couldn’t recall the exact names and faces of the attendees, with the exception of one Pamela Lillian Isley and one Dr. Harleen Quinzel. The rest of them were a homogenous group of rich people discussing their private jets and nannies.

Then, of course, there was also the paparazzi. For months, every press hound in Gotham was trying to puzzle together who this mysterious “Selina Kyle” was. A woman who seemingly appeared from nowhere and yet managed to ensnare the notoriously reclusive Bruce Wayne.

Indeed, the prince of the city was never known as a partying playboy, even with his money and good looks. But somehow, this woman whose name had never before been uttered in elite circles, now waltzed through the city, through clubs and dinners and parties, with the Wayne heir trailing behind her like a prized dog on a leash.

Selina could already picture what the magazine pages would look like tomorrow. Bruce, dressed in his most impeccable tuxedo, and on his arm was his mystery woman. Selina, with a black mini dress, decorated with diamond jewelry, and, most salaciously, a pair of leather boots that stretched up to her thighs

Who was this woman? Was she a socialite from another city? An up-and-coming actress or model? No one in Gotham had heard of her and yet Bruce Wayne had made it his mission that the city’s elite attend her birthday celebration and shower her with gifts.

If they knew the truth, that Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle were Gotham’s most feared vigilante and notorious car burglar…

Why, the press would eat the story alive.

“I hope you had fun tonight,” Bruce told her.

Selina gave him a smile and squeezed his thigh again. Bruce’s breath hitched a little.

“It was perfect,” she said. Then, she treated herself to a kiss on his cheek. “For a hermit, you throw quite a party, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce dropped his shy smile to his lap, his face flushing pink. The limo pulled up to the front of Wayne Tower and the white-gloved chafferer saw them out.

“The presents will be delivered inside the house tomorrow morning,” Bruce told her.

By presents, he meant the boxes of jewelry, clothes, and wine Serena had received from their guests. None of the wealthy Gothamites knew enough about Selina to guess what she liked, so they simply gave whatever looked expensive and useful enough. Not that Selina minded. Half the gifts on the table were from Bruce anyway, and he knew her personal wishlist better than anyone.

“Why tomorrow morning?” Selina asked as they stepped into the elevator. 

Bruce pressed the button for the top-floor penthouse.

“I figured you wouldn’t want any assistants…bothering us right after the party,” he said.

He bashfully kept away his gaze when he said those words, but Selina knew what he meant. They had both managed to politely keep their hands off each other the whole evening. But now they were alone, the judgemental eyes of the stuffy, conservative elite were gone.

Which meant now, Selina had the Prince of Gotham all to herself.

Selina reached a hand over and slid into Bruce’s back pocket. He froze stiff as every nerve in his body was directed at her touch. She gave his backside a squeeze, not too tight, but enough he could feel the prick of her long, sharp nails in his tender flesh.

She leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear.

“You look so handsome in that suit,” she said. 

Her breath was warm on Bruce’s skin and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He gulped.

“Thank you,” he said.

Selina chuckled and brushes her lips just by the crook of his neck. Bruce’s eyes fluttered shut and his blood rushed hot inside of him.

“I’ve been watching you all night,” she said. “And I just couldn’t help but picture what you’ll look like when I get you out of it.” She flicked her eyes up and down him. “I’ll unwrap you then tie you up with a bow. I’ll be like a little girl on Christmas morning.”

Selina’s tightened her grip on Bruce’s behind and his breath hitched. She pulled him closer until he was pressed against her. Bruce’s heartbeat quickened in his ears and his face flushed hot.

Selina smoothed her free hand up his spine to the back of his head. She pulled him into a kiss, and all the while her hand teased him in his back pocket. Bruce whimpered into her mouth and melted into her. The Cat was hungry, savoring him and growling into his mouth, biting his lips, curling his tongue, and who was he to resist her?

The elevator dinged when they arrived at the penthouse. Selina pulled Bruce by his tie towards the bedroom. Alfred had been sent away on vacation, so it was just the two of them with all of Wayne Tower to themselves.

Once they were inside, Selina shut and locked the door behind them. Her mind was already racing with what to do to him first, her hands itching to rip those buttons from his shirt. 

But then, Bruce’s voice interrupted her.

“Selina,” he said.

She turned to face Bruce, who had his eyes on the floor and his hands wringing nervously. He was always at least a little shy around her, but right now he seemed particularly preoccupied.

“Yes, kitten?” she asked.

“I…have one last gift for you,” he said.

Selina raised an eyebrow and chuckled.

“I think I’ve lost count of how many gifts you’ve given me,” she said. “Between the party and everything else…

Selina shook her head.

“I’m going to bankrupt you one day, Mr. Wayne,” she said.

Bruce gave her a small smile.

“It would be an honor and a privilege to be bankrupted by you, Miss Kyle,” he said.

Bruce approached the closet and swung open the double doors. He and Selina had been living together long enough that half the walk-in space had been taken up by her things. Bruce turned to his side and reached for something hidden under a neatly folded pile of shirts on the top shelf.

He pulled out a package wrapped in black paper with a silver ribbon and bow. Selina eyed it as he stepped out of the closet.

Bruce dropped down to his knees on the carpet and presented the gift to her.

“For you, Selina,” he said. He lifted his eyes up to her. “The mistress of my heart, and the keeper of all my secrets.”

Selina took the box in her hand and then sat back down on the bed. Bruce kneeled patiently in front of her as she gently unwrapped the box. It was so meticulously wrapped, with such fine paper and ribbon, that Selina almost felt bad tearing it.

Under the paper was a crisp white box with a lid. Selina balanced it on her lap and lifted it open. 

Inside was a swath of dark, prickled fur. Selina took in her hands and lifted it up. It was a coat. A long, sable coat with a silky blood-red interior lining.

“Oh…” Selina said.

She lifted the coat up by the collar.  She looked it over, examining the way the light caught on the fine end of the hairs, almost glittering like stars in a night sky.

“Do you like it?” Bruce asked in a small, childlike voice.

Selina traced her hand along the rich, black fur. If lullabies had a texture, it would have been that coat, because Selina could imagine herself falling asleep in such softness.

“I love it,” she said. Then, she paused. “It’s not real, is it?”

Bruce shook his head.

“No,” he said. “It’s faux fur. The finest in the world. As close in look and feel as it can be without hurting an animal.”

That eased Selina. She wouldn’t have been able to tell from a first glance. The material was as luscious as the fur on her cats. It was nearly impossible to tell that it didn’t come from an animal.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

Selina had an abundance of expensive gifts from Bruce, many from that night alone. But there was something about this coat that felt more decadent than any gold rings or new cars he could ever buy her.

She set the box aside and stood so she could unfurl the coat. It was long down to her knees. Winter was coming to Gotham and she would need something heavy to keep her warm when she and Bruce went out on cold days.

Bruce carefully rose back to his feet. His eyes flicked up and down the coat. He nibbled at his bottom lip.

“Do you want to try it on?” he asked.

Selina knew the question just underneath that: Would you like me to put it on you?

“I would,” she said.

She passed to the coat Bruce, who held it with the delicacy of a rare gemstone. Selina turned her back to him.

Bruce gently placed the coat on Selina’s shoulders. Her arms slid down into the sleeves and for a moment Bruce was so close to her that his mouth barely brushed her hair. His nose filled with her perfume and he shivered.

“Fits like a glove,” Selina said. She adjusted the furs into her shoulders and ran her hands down the front pockets.

Bruce didn’t move. He kept his hands on her shoulders, the prickles of the fur between his fingers. It wasn’t real animal material, but with Selina’s warm, beautiful flesh underneath, it breathed and hummed with life.

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Selina turned around and Bruce felt a cold spot on his hands when he released her. She turned and gave him a smile.

“How do I look?” she asked.

She gave the long coat a twirl and Bruce watched the way the dark fur flourished around her legs, encased in the tall black leather.

He suddenly felt a strange feeling pass over him. The back of his neck flared and prickled with sweat. Something curled in his stomach and he felt oddly lightheaded.

He swallowed and quickly collected himself.

“Beautiful,” he said. “But…that’s an unfair question because you always look beautiful.”

Selina’s eyes flicked him up and down. She pressed her tongue into her cheek and gave him a cheeky once-over.

She giggled, then grabbed him by the tie and pulled him into a kiss. Bruce took the opportunity to place his hands on her waist, over top of the coat. There was an electric buzz in his fingertips and a desire to pull her whole body against his.

Selina pressed her lips to his in a deep kiss. For a moment Bruce was lost in a moment of bliss, tasting her mouth and feeling the fur at her hips. He moaned deep in his throat, his eyes fluttering shut.

Selina threaded her fingers through his hair.  When she pulled her lips away, she petted her hand down his neck and looked him in the eyes.

“You seem a bit tired,” she said.

“A little,” Bruce said in a small voice. “It’s…it’s been a busy night.”

“But a fun one.”

He grinned.

“Yeah, definitely.”

Bruce was happy to throw the party for Selina. But if he were being honest, her smile was the only part of the evening he was looking forward to. He invited Gotham’s elite because he knew they would deliver on gifts.

But in truth, he didn’t like the people in his social class. Their stuffiness, their old-fashionedness, their judgment. He especially didn’t like the things he overheard them say about her. They commented on how she looked, the revealing cut of her dress, the fact that she carried no famous last name. Behind their polite smiles were their true thoughts: A girl like her doesn’t belong here.

It made Bruce clenched his fists and grit his teeth. He knew Selina didn’t need him to defend her, but sometimes he just wanted to sock one of those rich pricks across their botoxed faces.

“Bruce?”

Selina took him by the chin and pulled him from his thoughts. As soon as he met her deep brown eyes, his thoughts cooled.

“Something wrong?” she asked. 

Bruce softened under her touch.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m…” His hands found her waist again. “I’m just happy we’re finally alone.”

“Still not much of a party person, huh?”

Bruce nodded. Guilty as charged.

Selina released Bruce’s chin and settled her hands on his shoulders.

“What’s all this for, Bruce?” she asked.

Bruce didn’t understand the question.

“What do you mean?”

“The table of gifts, the giant party.” She gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Don’t get me wrong. I love it. I really do appreciate it. But it seems a bit…over the top for you, doesn’t it? Even for someone who can afford it.”

“Selina…” Bruce said. “If you’re concerned about the cost…”

“I’m not,” she said. She smirked at him. “You’re a billionaire, kitten. No one’s worried if Bruce Wayne can afford a thousand dollar coat.”

“Five thousand…” Bruce mumbled shyly.

“Five thousand.”

Selina shook her head.

“What I’m trying to say is,” she said. She tightened her hands on the coat. “If you hate those stuffy olds so much…why throw a party with them?”

Bruce pursed his lips, feeling his face heat as he groped for an answer.

“Because I want you to feel special,” he said. “I want everyone to know I’m yours…that I love you and…”

He bit his lip and looked at the carpet. He was suddenly very shy, flustered, and unable to meet her gaze.

Selina hooked a finger under his chin and lifted his eyes up.

“Yes?” she said. “Use your words, kitten.”

Bruce gulped.

“I just…” he sighed. “You’ve had a difficult life, Selina. One that someone like me can’t begin to imagine. I know old money and big expenses only go so far in impressing you.”

He took Selina’s hand and held it between both of his.

“But I know you’re not used to having much,” he said. “You didn’t have a lot growing up. You’ve told me how things have been hard for you. Your mother…Falco—your father…”

Bruce saw Selina bite down on her lower lip and his stomach turned.

“I feel like you’re… owed some luxury,” he said. “You said so yourself you’re not used to having much and…I want to give it to you. I know gifts alone won’t win your heart but…I want to anyway. I want to shower you with diamonds and parties and champagne because…you deserve it. You deserve all of it after the life you’ve lived.”

His thumb ran down the back of her hand.

“You’re an incredible woman, Selina,” he said. “You’ve survived so much. I don’t want you to survive anymore. I want you to thrive. I want to surround you with things that make you happy. I want you to never want or fear anything again.”

Selina stared at him for a long look. Bruce averted his gaze, embarrassed after such a revealing spiel. She’d been expecting another flirtatious retort. But she forgot just how easily Bruce unraveled for her with just a bit of pressing.

And it made her chest warm.

She stepped closer to him and took his face in her hands. She rubbed her thumbs along his cheeks and played with his hair. Bruce released a soft purr in his throat.

Then, Selina pressed her lips to his again. It was softer this time, more tender. Bruce sighed and surrendered to her touch. When Selina pulled away, she pressed her forehead against his and whispered into his lips.

“You’re too good for me, Bruce,” she said.

Bruce shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I’m not.”

Selina's eyes sharpened. She fisted her hand into his hair and gave him a tug. Bruce let out a pained whimper.

“You are,” she said. “I get to decide what you are.”

“Yes…yes you do…” Bruce said softly.

He dropped his eyes away from hers and bit hard on his lower lip. Selina released her grip and stroked his cheek.

“You’re sweet, Bruce,” she said. “It’s always good to know you hide a good heart under all that armor.”

Selina stepped away from him and smoothed out her coat.

“This’ll be perfect once it starts to snow,” she said. “It gets icy in Gotham.”

She looked at Bruce and noticed he was looking at her strangely. His eyes glazed her up and down, following the falling foldings of the coat.

“Yeah…” he said.

Selina chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

“You seem to like it as much as I do,” she said. “Did you wrap yourself?”

Bruce shook his head, collecting himself.

“No,” he said. “I arranged for a designer to make it, but Alfred had it delivered and wrapped. I…”

His eyes flicked her up and down again. This seemed to be the first time he saw the coat fully in person. And of course, the first time he saw it on her, draped on her shoulders, falling aside her dress and boots.

And it seemed to have…a strange effect on him

Selina extended an arm towards him.

“Do you want to touch it?” she asked.

Something sparkled across his eyes.

“Can I?” he asked.

“Just a little.”

Bruce reached out and slowly stroked a hand down the arm of her coat. His eyes were fixated on it, his finger savoring the touch of the material. Selina watched him closely.

Selina was used to Bruce spending lavishly on her. Diamond necklaces, designer clothes, new collars for her many cats—It was one of the perks of having the richest man in the city kowtow to your every whim. But there was something about this fur coat that was so… specifically decadent.

Selina raised an eyebrow and gave Bruce a playful smirk. She pulled her arm out of his grasp.

“Bruuuuce,” she teased. She leaned down, took his chin, and lifted his face. “How much of this gift was for me, and how much of it was for you?”

Bruce’s face turned beat-red and Selina could feel his blush under her fingertips. She watched his Adam’s apple move as he gulped.

“You dirty boy,” she purred. She trailed her fingers down the buttons of his shirt. “You bought me a present so you could slip me into something sexy?” Her hand found the knot of his tie and gave it a tug. “I should punish you for that.”

Bruce audibly gulped and was visibly sweating.

“I didn’t mean…” he stuttered. “I bought it because you needed a new coat, and I thought it would remind you of your cats. I promise I didn’t—”

Bruce squeaked when Selina suddenly clutched her hand between his thighs. He went stiff as a board then started shaking as she clasped his jewels in her hand.

“What’s this, kitten?” she said.

She moved her fingers along the erect length in his pants. Just under the immaculate black fabric, Bruce was throbbing and burning and Selina’s elegant, expert fingers did nothing to quell it.

“I…I…” he moaned.

“Intentional or not,” Selina said. “It seems like your gift is doing something for you as much as for me.”

Selina moved her hand, leaving a cold ache between Bruce’s legs where she touched him. The Cat adjusted her furs on her shoulders then took a few steps back. Her high heels clicked on the wooden floor and the light of the chandelier above them shimmered on the coat.

“Fine,” she said. “If you get to dress me up…I get to dress you down.”

Selina lowered herself down the bed and crossed one long, leather-clad leg over the other. She leaned back on her hands and eyed Bruce up and down.

“Lose the tie,” she said.

Bruce was frozen where he stood. He felt like a prey animal that had been trapped in a corner by a predator. He felt nervous and helpless. But he also couldn’t stop staring at Selina, her tall leather boots and immaculate coat. She was like a slick black pantheress and he was a delicate baby deer.

“Come on, kitten,” she said. So soft and sweet that it was easy to miss the lust behind her voice. “You wouldn’t keep the birthday girl waiting, would you?”

Bruce wet his lips.

“No,” he said.

He raised his hands to his throat and carefully undid the knot of his tie. It fell loose from his neck and curled it around his knuckles.

“Where should I put it?” he asked.

“Just leave it on the floor,” Selina said. “You can pick it up later.”

Bruce dropped his hand and let the tie unfurl and fall to the floor.

“Now remove your blazer,” Selina said.

Bruce did as he was told, letting his own black coat fall from his shoulders to the carpet.

“Now unbutton your shirt.”

Selina watched Bruce closely as he reached to the collar of his black button-down. He paused his fingers on the top button and met her eyes. There was something almost…challenging in them.

After a moment, Bruce unplucked the button and slowly unplucked his way down. An icy chill from the room met his bare chest and he shivered a little, something that Selina noticed. He made his way down, revealing a chest as pale and chiseled as marble.

Finally, he let the black silk fall from his shoulders. Selina tightened her thighs together to suppress the heat growing inside her. Bruce looked at her between the black hair falling over his eyes. God, he was a beautiful man.

And he was all hers to play with.

“Shoes and socks?” he asked.

“Yes,” Selina said.

Bruce stepped his bare feet onto the carpet. His skin shivered and prickled, not just because of the cold temperature in the room, but because he could feel Selina’s gaze licking him up and down. He moved his hands to his zipper, but then Selina lifted a hand.

“Stop,” she said. He did. “I want to do it.”

Bruce dropped his hands away and Selina stood up from the bed. Her heels clicked even on the carpet as she approached him. Her thin, claw-like hands found the button of his trousers and undid it.

“This is much for fun than tearing up wrapping paper,” Selina said.

She reached a hand up to his bicep, then slowly trailed her fingers down over his impressive abs. He was cold to the touch like a museum statue come to life. The Batman was strong and lean and powerful and completely helpless beneath her.

Selina's eyes rolled down his body.

“I like it,” she said.

Bruce leaned subtly into her touch. His eyes watched her hand peeping from the sleeve of her coat, the way her nails scratched lightly on his supple flesh.

“I like you,” he said.

Selina’s hands found his zipper and slowly pulled it down. She hooked her thumbs into the seams of his trousers and pulled them down.

Bruce’s pants fell in a pile at his ankles. Underneath were his deep grey boxers, which did little to hide the thick bulge underneath, and the stain right at his tip. Selina chuckled and Bruce’s face turned cherry-red.

“Already wet for me?” Selina said.

She ran a fingertip along his length under the fabric. A shiver ran down Bruce’s spine and his hips twitched. He clenched his teeth together to keep from making a sound.

“Selina…” he said. “It hurts…”

“Oh, poor baby,” she said.

Selina stepped back and lifted the coat like the skirt of a dress. She stuck her leg out, the deep black leather gleaming in the light. Bruce looked between her leg and her face.

“Selina?” he said.

“You wanna be a horndog?” she said. “Fine. Then hump my leg like one.”

Bruce dropped his eyes down the pitch-black sheen of her boot. His lips parted and Selina expected him to start drooling.

“Knees,” she said, in a tone that could freeze water.

Bruce dropped down to the floor, the carpet rough on his knees.

“Crawl to me.”

The dark knight leaned forward on all fours and moved across the carpet towards Selina. She watched him move. The curvature of his spine, the roll of his muscular shoulders. All of a sudden it felt very hot in the room, and not just because she was wearing a coat.

He stopped right in front of her and lifted his eyes up to her. They were deep blue, round and puppy-like, and for a moment Selina was tempted just pull him into bed and smother him with kisses.

But that temptation passed. Selina was the birthday girl, and she was intent on playing with her toys.

He leaned down and ran her fingertips along his cheek. Bruce purred and nuzzled into her touch, rubbing his face into her fur sleeve. Selina moved her thumb along his lips and he opened his mouth for her to move it inside.

“You dirty little thing,” Selina said softly. “You’ll just let me down anything to you, will you?”

Bruce suckled on her thumb and nodded. For a moment he wondered what any of the Gotham elites would think if they saw this scene. Bruce Wayne, billionaire recluse and prince fo the city, degrading and debasing himself for some woman no one had ever heard of before until tonight. It was unheard of. Humiliating. Unseenly.

But it felt so right. Bruce felt so at home kneeling before her, safe and snuggled between her strong legs, s close he could smell her wet pussy and see every stitch of the black nylon running up her legs to her waist.

Oh, what he would have given to press his lips to her inner thigh…

Selina grabbed him by the hair and tugged. Bruce whimpered in pain, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Start thrusting, kitten,” she said.

Bruce did as he was told. He clasped his hand around Selina’s leg and readied his hips at her shin. As soon as his cock touched the leather, he thought he might come right then.He was already leaking, dripping down her boot.

“Ge to it, Vengeance,” she said. “Before you make a bigger mess.”

Bruce pursed his lips and nodded. Gripping her leg like a lifeline, he slowly began humping her boot. A trembling sigh escape his lips.

“ Oh… ” he sighed. “Oh, fuck .”

He thrust his hips faster onto her leg, gripping her thigh with white knuckles. He grunted and whimpered with each twitch of his hips. Selina placed her hands on her hips and watched him with a detached look, like an owner watching her dog relieve himself.

“Cute,” she said. She leaned down and gently pet his hair. Bruce moaned her knees, wetting her nylons with his drool.

His heavy grunts turned to high-pitched whines and he started thrusting his hips faster and faster. He gripped Selina’s leg so tight that it wasn’t for the boots he may have left a mark on her flesh. He was getting closer and closer until…

“Stop,” Selina said.

Bruce lifted his face, his round eyes watery.

“Wha…?” he said.

“I said stop it.”

Bruce grimaced but did as he was told. He

“Why…why’d you make me stop?” he said. His brow was beaded with sweat and his cock was achingly painful between his thighs.

“You think I’m going to let you ruin my shoes?” Selina said. “I have a better idea.”

Selina pulled her leg from Bruce’s grasp. He lifted his baby eyes to her, then suddenly threw himself forward and wrapped his arms around her waist. He buried his face in her stomach and gripped his hands in her coat.

“Please, Selina…” Bruce begged. “It hurts so bad…please just let me…”

“Please just let you what?”

Bruce released a childish moan and gripped her tighter.

“Use your words, baby,” she said.

“Please…please just ruin me,” he moaned into her coat. “Make me your plaything.”

Selina smirked. She loved hearing him beg and whimper, watching the dark and dangerous Batman turn into a sniveling puppy. She could torture him for hours.

But now, she just wanted to him shatter to pieces.

“With pleasure,” she said.

Selina pulled Bruce across the room towards the window. From the penthouse atop Wayne Tower, you could get an impressive view of the whole city. The towering black curtains had blocked the view, as Bruce had assumed beforehand that they would want privacy when they came home from the party.

Using her free hand, Selina threw open the curtains. The horizon stretched out just beyond the windows that stretched from the ceiling to the floor. A glittering landscape of lights beneath a dark, cloudy sky and a full moon.

“Selina…” Bruce said. “What are you…”

In one swift motion, Selina swung Bruce up and pressed him face-first against the glass. Bruce’s heart lurched as his whole naked body was suddenly up against the icy window. He felt briefly lightheaded seeing the deep drop below him, all the cars and people moving tiny on the ground.

A helicopter passed them in the sky in the distance, and Bruce suddenly became very aware that anyone who looked towards Wayne Tower would see him. He grimaced at the glassy chill against his burning cock and heard Selina’s footsteps behind him.

Then, he heard a drawer open and the clink of metal loops.

“Selina…” he said.

He began to look over his shoulder, but then Selina stopped him.

“Face to the glass, baby boy,” she said.

Bruce quickly snapped his gaze forward. The Gotham nightlife was still in full swing and the streets and buildings were crowded with many onlookers who, at any moment, could glance up and see the pale, naked silhouette of Bruce Wayne pressed against the glass.

“Good thing this fits over the dress,” Selina said.

Bruce didn’t dare turn his face around, for fear Selina would snap at him again. But he glanced over just a little to catch a foggy reflection of her in the dark window. Just under her coat and over her dress was her leather harness, the one she always kept in their bedside drawer. He could see the straps crisscross over her legs and the metal glint of the buckles. And right between her legs was a long, custom-made black dildo.

He watched her reflection pump some lube from a bottle in her hand. He watched her fingers massage the dildo, running up and down until it was shiny. Bruce gulped and pressed his body closer against the glass so the coolness would relieve his burning body.

“Ready for me, baby?” Selina asked.

Bruce bit down hard on his lower lip.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“Then put your arms against the glass.”

Bruce did as she said, pressing his arms and hand palms-down against the window, like a felon who was being strip-searched by a guard. He heard Selina’s heels clicking towards him until he could feel her standing right behind him.

Selina gently grazed her hands down his back. Bruce shivered, all his hairs standing on end, he thought he melt and collapse right there.

“Relax for me, baby,” Selina said. Her whisper in his ear was so sweet, so chaste, it did well to mask the filthy intentions she had for him. “I can’t get it in unless you open up for me.”

Bruce sucked in a deep breath, then slowly released it as he forced his body to settle. He felt limp and numb like a ragdoll. For a moment, he completely forgot the whole city could see them through the window as Selina peppered kisses along his neck and shoulders.

“Do you know how many times tonight I wanted to fuck you in front of all those assholes?” Selina mumbled into his skin. “Everyone is obsessed with the big, bad Batman. The rich, untouchable Bruce Wayne.”

She bit down into his shoulder and Bruce’s breath hitched against the pain. Selina bit and sucked until she left a wet, red mark on his marble skin.

“I wanted to just bend you over the champagne table, fuck your brains out, and make all those rich pricks watch,” she growled into his neck. “I’d show them who you really are.”

“Yes…” Bruce whimpered. “I’m yours…”

Selina grabbed Bruce’s hips and readied her cock at his tight entrance.

“You belong to me,” she said. “And I want this whole city to see it.”

With that, Selina pushed her cock inside of her. Bruce craned his neck back and let out a pained, luscious cry. 

“That’s it, baby,” Selina whispered in his ear. She grabbed his hair and pulled it back. “Moan for me. I want everyone down there to hear.”

She began pounding her cock inside him, pressing and pushing his body hard up against the cold glass. Bruce arched his back and a swell of pain and pleasure spilled inside of him. He grunted and moaned and whimpered as Selina pushed herself deeper and deeper inside of him. 

God, he sounded beautiful. Selina loved the sound of Bruce coming undone. The way his low, deep gravel turned into kitten-like mews as soon as she started fucking him.

“Louder for me, kitten,” Selina said. 

Gripping his hair, she pressed his face right up against the glass. Bruce’s hot breath fogged the window in front of him so he couldn’t even see the city.

“Selina…” Bruce whined. “Please…please…please…”

His voice grew higher and louder as he felt it swelling up inside of him. He perked his behind backward onto Selina’s cock, pushing her deeper inside. Selina saw what he was doing and gave his behind a sharp slap.

“Dirty boy,” she teased.

She quickened her pace, Bruce’s body thudding against the window so hard she imagined the glass shattering. But that did nothing to stop her. She fucked deeper inside of him until he was a limp, sweaty echo of sounds.

“Selina,” Bruce croaked. His body tightened and his hips twitched and Selina could feel the hot surge rushing inside of him. His whimpers were louder and his hole tightened around her cock.

Selina clasped one arm around his torso and used the other to cover his mouth.

“Come for me, baby,” she whispered, breathless. “Show this city what a whore you are.”

Those words alone sent Bruce over the edge. He moaned and drooled into her head, his hips twitching and humping against the glass, he came in a sweaty mess. 

Bruce’s hot, sweaty flesh stuck to the window and he had to peel himself away. He looked down and grimaced at his white spill dripping down the window.

“What a mess you made,” Selina said over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said.

“Don’t be sorry. Clean it.”

Bruce started to turn to head towards the bathroom, but Selina stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“No,” she said. “Clean it yourself.” 

She enunciated every word so he knew exactly what she meant. Bruce turned back to the window and dropped down to his knees. Pressing two hands to the window, he began licking his come from the glass. Just outside, another helicopter rumbled past Wayne Tower.

“Keep going,” Selina said.

Bruce licked and slurped every drop of his spill until he could see the city again through the glass. Selina stood and watched him. His body was still flushed and pink, his cock soft and useless between his thighs now that he’d been used up.

Meanwhile, Selina’s pussy was still dripping wet. Bruce’s little performance only made her more eager to come on top of him.

As Bruce licked up the rest of his mess, Selina stepped out of her harness and tossed it aside on the floor. Then, she reached up her dress, found the seam of her lacy black underwear, and pulled it down. It fell to her ankles by her boots and she kicked it aside.

Once Bruce was finished, and grabbed his hair and turned him towards her again. She lifted one boot onto his shoulder and bared her naked pussy to him. Immediately, Bruce’s eyes went up her dress and a spot of drool formed on his lips.

“You thought I was going to fuck you and not expect anything in return?” she said. 

Bruce swallowed and shook his head.

“You were wrong about the coat,” Selian said. “It’s not your last gift for me.”

She grabbed his hair and pulled his head between her thighs.

“It’s this,” she said.

She pressed both feet on the ground and towered over Bruce as he began licking her pussy. His hands clasped and ran down the back of her thighs. He hungrily eat every drop of her that trickled down his throat. Fuck, she tasted amazing.

Selina tipped her head back and thread her fingers through Bruce’s dark hair.

“Right there, kitten,” she said. “Oh…fuck, like that…”

Her eyes glazed out the city lots that speckled beyond the window. Even if no one saw Bruce Wayne’s face, they’d see her, and they would watch Bruce with envy that he was the lucky man who got to feel her on his tongue.

Selina bucked her hips, gripping her sharp-nailed hands into his hair as she fucked his face in before Gotham. Bruce clenched her tighter, moaning deep in his throat, growling like a ravenous animal.

“That’s it, baby…” Selina sighed as an orgasm crawled its way up her. “Oh, fuck, Bruce, baby boy, keep going, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Selina threw her head back and rode her face until she spilled her juices down his mouth. Bruce’s tongue curled inside of her, savoring her sweet spot until every drop of her was gone.

When Selina stepped back, Bruce’s mouth and lips were shiny and wet. He licked his tongue around to catch every drop of it.

Selina released a long, heavy sigh.

“Good boy,” she said, petting him on the head.

Bruce’s fingers twitched and he reached for the fold of her coat. He pulled her closer and nuzzled his face into the fabric. Outside, a sprinkle of rain tumbled against the window, blurring the glass until the city was like melting wax.

Selina stepped away from Bruce long enough to close the curtains again, leaving them both in complete darkness. She found Bruce’s arm in the dark and pulled him toward the bed.

Once they stumbled onto the duvet, Selina kicked off her boots and wrapped her legs around Bruce's waist. She wrapped them both in her long coat and Bruce sighed into the warm darkness.

Just before they fell asleep, Bruce placed a soft, chaste kiss on Selina’s cheek.

“Happy birthday, Selina,” he said.

Selina met his eyes in the dark and gave him a small smile.

“Thank you, baby,” she said.

[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

[rapturously]

✠⠀༷ ゜𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐋𝐒 & 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒.

regarding character muses and fandoms.

⠀˹ 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐬 & 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼

all characters listed here are able to be requested for one-shots & drabbles. all are grouped according to that specific fandom.

✠⠀༷ ゜ 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭.

michael myers — (rob zombie & 2018)

jason voorhees

thomas b. hewitt — (tcm remake)

brahms heelshire

eric newlon / john carver — (thanksgiving)

the sinclair brothers — (bo, vincent, & lester)

billy loomis

stu macher

mickey altieri

richie kirsch

ethan landry

amber freeman

tiffany valentine

brendan kemp / steve — (fresh 2022)

jackson rippner — (red eye)

─┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄─ ─┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄─

✠⠀༷ ゜ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐲.

hellboy — (all movies)

abe sapien — (del toro verse)

prince nuada — (hellboy films)

the lost boys (david, dwayne, marko, paul & michael)

the yautja — (predator)

count dracula — (van helsing 2004)

gabriel van helsing — (van helsing 2004)

pyramid head — (silent hill)

count orlok — (nosferatu 2024)

─┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄─ ─┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄─

✠⠀༷ ゜ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦.

bruce wayne — (the batman 2022)

edward nash / the riddler — (the batman 2022)

oswald cobb / penguin — (the batman 2022)

julian rush / the scarecrow — (the batman 2022)

selina kyle / catwoman — (the batman 2022)

sofia falcone — (the batman 2022)

jonathan crane / scarecrow — (bale batman verse)

─┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄─ ─┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄─

✠⠀༷ ゜ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞-𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧.

jim hopper

steve harrington

edward ‘eddie’ munson

henry creel / vecna

jonathan byers

─┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄─ ─┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄─

✠⠀༷ ゜ 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧, 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧-𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧.

dean winchester

sam winchester

castiel

lucifer

gabriel

gadreel

─┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄─ ─┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄─

✠⠀༷ ゜ 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

father paul hill — (midnight mass)

arvin eugene russell — (the devil all the time)

v — (v for vendetta)

eric draven — (the crow)

jesse pinkman — (breaking bad)

ellen ripley — (alien franchise)

david 8 — (alien franchise)

william afton — (fnaf movie)

michael schmidt — (fnaf movie)

eddie gluskin — (outlast)

leon kennedy — (resident evil)

lady alcina dimitrescu — (resident evil)

karl heisenberg — (resident evil)

joel miller — (the last of us)

rick grimes — (the walking dead)

daryl dixon — (the walking dead)

joshua washington — (until dawn)

mike munroe — (until dawn)

jim — (28 days later)

─┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄─ ─┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄─