#this is gotham city of opulance

[talia-kane]

you can judge a batman adaptation solely based on if the villians look styled to the nines or if they're wearing regular clothes

[ravenna-reid]

Black Vixen & Ballet

Jason Todd x Ex-Ballerina Vigilante Reader

Another ballet show held in the heart of Gotham City. The opulent building was filled with the rich and conceited with their glistening jewels, glasses of alcohol and expensive clothing. You stood on the balcony that looked over the entrance and small bar that sat outside the theatre, silently judging and observing them all. Soon, all of the aristocrats that were here drinking and gossiping would file into the theatre and watch the Swan Lake, and pretend that they weren't some of the worst and most corrupt people in Gotham.

Hair cascading down your back and your fitted, satin dress the colour of the midnight sky trailing behind you, you simply held onto your untouched wine glass and watched. Someone's hand suddenly slipped between yours and your glass, smoothly taking it from your hold. Turning to see who was asking for your attention, you just managed to hide your surprised expression. That cologne, those eyes, you recognised it all instantly.

"Mm," He hummed, looking down at your nails as he took a sip from your glass. Claws is what the thugs on the streets were calling them, and it made you laugh. Black, slick and sharp, they were both pretty and lethal. Just like you. "I'd notice those nails anywhere."

His eyes flickered up to look at you, his dark raven hair hanging before them, still a little damp from his shower. He wore an impeccable suit, but it did little to hide how muscular he was.

"You're not still holding a grudge against me, are you?" You asked softly, a smirk on your lips as you took your glass back.

He cocked his head to the side, a disapproving glint passing through those ocean blue eyes.

"You scared me, what was I to do?" You reasoned, pretending to be upset and wearing your best, fake saddened expression. Jason moved behind you until he was at your other side, looking down at the bustling audience below.

"So is that what you do?" He began, "Hit first and ask questions later?"

"I guess I've been hanging around you for too long." You smiled, and he failed to suppress his own smile. Your eyes trailed down his tie to where his stomach was, and you could imagine the claw marks you had accidentally left behind.

"I did apologise." You replied, voice smooth like wine. It did something to Jason. Made him both love sick and feral. Weak at the knees and desperate.

Yes, you had apologised. You remembered that night and how he hesitantly closed the space between the both of you. How you had held your hand over the scratch marks to try and ease the pain. The look in his eyes and the thrumming in your chest. The cool breeze. The dark alley way with its broken streetlights. You had quietly explained to him what you were doing, and he gave you a curt warning to stay safe. Then he had pulled his hood back over his head and disappeared as quickly as he came.

Glasses clinking and fake laughter rippled through out the warmly lit room. He leant down on the railing and you couldn't help but take note of how close the two of you were. Just centimetres away from arms brushing against each other. So close yet so far away.

"Reminiscing?" He asked looking over at you, voice like whiskey on ice. You forgot that he knew you were once the foremost ballerina in Gotham. The night that changed it all being the night you performed as the Black Swan. Strong, elegant, skilled and striking. You were a dazzling star. Your hair was in a slicked back bun, make-up beautiful and fierce, adorned in black lace. He once mentioned how he had been there that night, much to your surprise, leaving out that he'd been forced to go by Bruce and Dick for socialising reasons. He thought you were the most stunning girl he'd seen, but soon realised you were too good for him.

You hummed in response, and he wondered how you went from an esteemed Ballerina to a feared Vigilante. From the Black Swan to being called the Black Vixen. You suddenly turned, leaning your back on the cool, gilded railing and turning to him. He watched as your silky hair moved against your shoulder. He swallowed hard, the intense fluttering continuing in his chest.

"If you're here for Dickinson..." you began, gliding closer towards him so no one else could hear you, "You better be smart about it. His thugs are everywhere."

His head instinctively moved closer to yours. How did you know about Dickinson? How did you know that was Jason's latest target? "What do you know?"

"Not enough." Your perfume flooded his senses, his eyes trailing from the end of your black dress back up to your eyes.

"You're here on a mission?"

Turning from him, you shrugged.

"Are you armed?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

Without meaning to, he grabbed hold of your arm. His grip gentle yet demanding. "Listen, you can't mess with these guys-"

You fiercely turned to face him again. "Don't you think I know that?"

You were both back in that alley way, looking at each other like you'd die for each other. So much longing. So much yearning.

"Jason!" Your eyes turned to another boy, hair dark and eyes bright like his, as he made his way over. Jason. It was nice to finally put a name to the face. The boy gave you a large smile before focusing on Jason with a sly smirk. "Well, who is this?"

Jason let go of your arm as he turned to his brother and cursed his timing under his breath. "She's a...a friend. She used to be a ballerina." Jason turned back to face you, but found an empty space instead.

"Huh," Dick chuckled. "Looks like she needed an excuse to quickly ditch you. Glad I could help her out." His laugh rang in Jason's ears, his arm falling around Jason's shoulders in a joking manner.

Jason shot his brother a cold look before searching the area for you. But you were no where to be found.

"Black Vixen...what are you up to?"

[bat-mom-writer]

Rage and Redemption Part 3

Bruce Wayne X Adapted(Female) Reader

Summery: After losing your parents, staying at a unloving orphanage, you are adapted by Bruce Wayne. But you make it clear to him, that you don't want to live with him and that you plan to make him regret taking her in. While Bruce makes it clear that he's not give up on you and he'll be there to help you heal.

Rating: slight angst, cursing, flipping the finger, happy ending?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

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A week goes by and you find yourself in the back of Ms. Jenkin's car, the leather seats sticking to your skin from the nervous sweat. You don't know where you're going, only that Ms. Jenkins had told you to get dressed and pack your things. You've never been off the orphanage grounds since you arrived, and the outside world seems to buzz with a strange energy that makes you both anxious and excited.

"Where are you taking me?" you ask, your voice edged with defiance and a hint of a smirk. "Are you finally throwing me off a bridge like you threatened?"

Ms. Jenkins' eyes narrow in the rearview mirror. "Your humor is as distasteful as your behavior," she snaps, her knuckles whitening on the steering wheel.

You shrug, unbothered. "So, where am I going?"

Ms. Jenkins' grip tightens on the wheel. "To your new home," she says through clenched teeth.

"As if," you murmur under your breath. "New home." The words taste sour. You've heard that before. The "new home" was just a new set of bars, a different cage with different faces.

"Do I at least get my picture back?" you spit out, the question burning on your tongue like a live coal.

Ms. Jenkins' eyes meet yours in the mirror, cold and unyielding. "You'll get it when you learn to behave properly," she repeats, the words sticking to the air like a bad smell.

You lean back in the seat, arms crossed over your chest, staring out the window as the cityscape passes by. The buildings grow taller, the cars shinier. You've never been to this part of Gotham before. It's cleaner, brighter, and a stark contrast to the grimy streets you've come to know. The sight fills you with a mix of anger and envy.

As the car approaches a massive, iron gate, it slows down. You can see the name "Wayne Manor" etched into the metal, surrounded by lush greenery and a sense of peace that feels eerily out of place in the chaos of the city. Above the gate, a camera swivels into view, the speaker crackling to life. "Name," a disembodied voice asks.

Ms. Jenkin looks to the camera, her smile forced and brittle. "Ms. Jenkins, Bruce Wayne should be expecting me," she says, her voice tight with annoyance. The gates to the Wayne Manor begin to swing open, revealing a sprawling estate that seems to breathe wealth and opulence, a stark contrast to the stark reality of the orphanage. The car glides up the winding driveway, the tires whispering over the gravel.

You find yourself captivated as you gaze out the window, your eyes wide and unblinking, taking in the breathtaking landscape that unfolds like a beautiful painting. The sprawling lawns are a lush sea of vibrant emerald green, stretching endlessly toward the horizon, their gentle undulations mimicking the waves of an ocean. Scattered throughout are perfectly manicured gardens, bursting with colorful blossoms and lush foliage, each one looking as if it has been lovingly curated from the pages of a whimsical fairytale.

Ahead of you stands the manor, a majestic edifice of weathered stone and lush ivy that appears to rise organically from the earth. Its grandeur is both imposing and enchanting, with tall, pointed gothic arches that reach skyward and intricate stonework that tells a story of bygone elegance. The windows, set like glittering jewels within the façade, catch the sunlight, reflecting it with a dazzling brilliance that transforms the whole structure into a shimmering beacon of beauty. The scene is a harmonious blend of nature and architecture, creating an inviting yet mysterious atmosphere that beckons you to explore further.

The car stops in front of the grand entrance, and Ms. Jenkins turns the engine off before turning in her seat to you, her eyes bore into yours, "I don’t want to see you again after today. You are to be a perfect child to Mr. Wayne," she says, her voice cold and unforgiving. "Because I wouldn’t be taking you back," she adds, her voice dropping to a whisper, "You can take your attitude and your brattiness to the streets, I don’t care. Just don’t come back to me."

You grin, not out of joy, but rather out of spite. "Yeah, sure," you say, mimicking her sweet tone. "I'll be as perfect as you are."

The sarcasm hangs in the air like a toxic fog, and Ms. Jenkins' eyes narrow. "This is your only chance at a real home," she says, her voice a warning. "Don't throw it away."

With a jerk, she opens the car door and stands, gesturing for you to get out. You do so with a dramatic sigh, dragging your trash bag with very little belongs, and slamming the door behind you. The sound echoes through the quiet, serene air of the manor's grounds, a stark contrast to the cacophony of the city.

You approach the imposing front door, which seems to loom over you, taunting you with its grandeur. Before you can knock, it swings open, revealing a stern-faced butler dressed in a crisp, black suit. His eyes sweep over you, taking in your disheveled appearance and the tension that practically radiates from your every pore.

"Welcome to Wayne Manor," he says, his voice as cold as the marble steps you ascend. You follow Ms. Jenkins into the foyer, where the scent of polished wood and fresh flowers fills the air. It's a world away from the stale odor of the orphanage, and your nose wrinkles in an involuntary reaction to the unfamiliar smells.

The grandeur of the manor is overwhelming. The high ceilings are painted with scenes of mythological battles, and the walls are adorned with tapestries that tell ancient stories of valor and honor. The floor is made of gleaming black and white tiles that seem to stretch into infinity. You feel like an ant in a palace, insignificant and out of place.

Then, you hear the sound of footsteps, measured and precise, echoing down the grand staircase that spirals up into the heart of the manor. Your heart races as Bruce Wayne descends, his figure cast in shadow until the last step brings him into the light. He's dressed in casual clothes, but there's something about the way he carries himself that screams power and wealth.

"Hello," he says, his voice warm and surprisingly gentle. "It's nice to finally make your acquaintance properly. I'm Bruce." he extends his hand.

You look at his hand for a moment, contemplating the gesture. Then, with a smirk, you bring your hand up, not to shake his but to give him the finger, flipping him off with a twist of your wrist.

Ms. Jenkins gasps, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. "You little-!" she starts to scold, but Bruce holds up his hand, silencing her. He smiles, a ghost of amusement flitting across his face, and takes a step closer to you, leaning down with his hands on his knees.

"I see you've got some fire in you," he says, his eyes twinkling. "That's good. You're going to need it."

You cross your arms and scoff. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Bruce's smile turns into a grin. "It means," he says, his eyes never leaving yours, "that I know you're not a quitter. And I'm not either."

He stands back up, his towering presence seeming to fill the room. "Thank you, Ms. Jenkins," he says calmly. "Alfred will see you out."

Ms. Jenkins sputters, but Alfred steps forward with a nod, taking her by the elbow. "Right this way, ma'am," he says, guiding her out of the room with surprising gentleness.

The door closes with a soft click, leaving you and Bruce standing in the opulent foyer, the silence heavy with anticipation. For a moment, you just stare at him, your heart thudding in your chest.

"Well," Bruce says, breaking the tension. "Why don't I show you your room?"

"You mean my cell?" you reply with a sneer.

Bruce chuckles, a warm sound that seems out of place in the cold, unfeeling world you've come to know. He leans down again, his eyes searching yours, and says, "I mean your room, where you can keep your things, sleep, and maybe even find a bit of peace." He stands back up, the smile on his face unwavering.

He starts up the stairs, his steps echoing through the cavernous foyer. The tapestries whisper secrets as you follow him, your sneakers squeaking against the polished marble. The grandeur of the place feels like a prison, each step further inward a silent confinement to a gilded cage. But something in his eyes gives you a glimmer of hope—a hint of understanding, perhaps.

As you reach the top of the stairs, he points to a long hallway lined with portraits of stern-looking ancestors. "There are rooms for each of the boys I've adopted. Dick's is there," he points to the first door, "Jason's is next to it," he indicates the second door, "Tim's is down there," he nods to the third, "And Damian's is at the end."

You raise an eyebrow. "You have more prisoners?" you say, trying to keep the sarcasm from your voice.

Bruce laughs, the sound surprisingly warm. "I like to think of them as… part of the team," he says, his smile not reaching his eyes. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. This," he opens the last door on the left, "is where you'll be staying."

He opens the door, and you step into a bedroom that's bigger than your entire old apartment. The walls are a soft blue, the color of a quiet night sky, and the bed looks like it could swallow you whole. There's a desk with books lined up neatly, a wardrobe that seems to stretch on forever, and a window that looks out over the lush gardens.

"What? No swimming pool?" You deadpan, trying to keep the awe out of your voice.

Bruce chuckles, the sound bouncing off the walls. "No, there's one right outside. But I'm sure you'll find your tub to be more big enough," he says with a wink.

You roll your eyes. "Very funny," you mumble, moving to the bed and dropping your trash bag on the floor with a thud.

"But if you don't find that satisfying enough," he walks to two double doors on the opposite side of the room, "your library is right through here." He opens the doors to reveal a space that takes your breath away.

The walls of the cozy room are lined from floor to ceiling with sturdy wooden shelves, each one brimming with books in diverse shapes and sizes, their spines a kaleidoscope of colors. In the middle of the quite room a charming swing chair hangs from the ceiling, gently swaying back and forth as if inviting you to settle into its embrace. The soft creak of the chair complements the soothing ambiance of the room.

In corner, the warm glow of a crackling fireplace casts a flickering light, illuminating the space and creating a welcoming atmosphere. The dancing shadows throw whimsical patterns onto the plush, deep-colored carpet, enhancing the feeling of warmth and comfort.

A beautifully designed window seat, framed by large, arched windows, is tucked into the bay, overflowing with an array of sumptuous velvet cushions. These cushions, in rich jewel tones, beckon enticingly, inviting you to sink in and find a cozy spot to immerse yourself in the pages of a captivating book.

Overall, the room serves as a tranquil sanctuary, a perfect escape where you can lose yourself in fantastical worlds, far removed from the harsh and gritty reality of Gotham outside. It is a haven for readers and dreamers alike, nurturing the imagination and offering solace in its warm embrace.

You wander over to the swing, tentatively giving it a push. It glides back and forth with a gentle, soothing motion that feels alien to your jaded soul. The books on the shelves seem to whisper promises of adventure and solace, each one a gateway to a new life. You reach out to touch one, the spine cool and smooth under your fingertips as you pull it out, the title blurring before your eyes as you struggle to read it.

"I don't like to read," you lie, the words feeling like sandpaper against your tongue. You drop the book onto the floor with a thud that seems to echo through the vastness of the library as if you've committed some great betrayal.

Bruce watches as you leave the library, the lie hanging in the air like a forgotten echo. He knows you're lying—it's written all over your face, in the way your eyes lingered on the book, in the gentle caress of your fingertips on the spine. But he says nothing, allowing the moment to pass.

He follows you back to your bedroom, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet that muffles the sound of his heavy boots. The doors swing shut behind him with a soft click, closing out the rest of the world. The room feels smaller now, the grandeur of the manor receding into the background as he stands in the doorway, watching you with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"If you don't like to read," he asks gently, his voice a soothing balm to your jagged nerves, "then what's something you do like?"

You look at him for a long moment, weighing your words. "Why do you wanna know?" you ask, jumping onto the bed, the mattress sinking beneath your weight. You bounce once, twice, a childish act that feels surprisingly liberating in the face of his expectant gaze.

Bruce doesn’t flinch, his eyes never leaving yours. He takes a step into the room, his posture relaxed yet commanding. "Because," he says, his voice soft, "I want to get to know you. I want to understand what makes you tick. And maybe," he adds with a small smile, "I want to help you find a way to heal."

You scoff, the sound of a harsh bark in the pristine silence of the room. "Heal?" you repeat, your voice laced with sarcasm. "I'm fine." But even to your ears, the lie sounds hollow.

Bruce crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes never leaving yours. "We all have scars," he says, his voice gentle but firm. "Some are just more visible than others."

You roll your eyes, the smirk never leaving your face. "Spare me the motivational speech. I've heard it all before," you reply, your voice a sneer.

Bruce's smile falters for just a moment, but he quickly recovers. "I'm not here to give you a speech," he says, his voice firm. "I'm here to offer you a home and a family."

You snort, the sound echoing in the large room. "I don't need a family," you spit out, your voice harsh. "I don't need anyone."

Bruce's eyes darken slightly, a hint of sadness flickering across his features before it's quickly masked. "Everyone needs someone," he counters, his voice firm.

"Not me," you reply, "I don't need you or your pity. I'm just fine on my own."

Bruce's gaze remains steady, his eyes piercing through the facade of anger you've built around yourself. "You may think that," he says calmly, "but I've seen the look in your eyes when you think no one's watching. I know you're hurting."

"You don't know anything about me," you spit out, your fists clenching tighter. The words are a challenge, a barbed wire fence you've constructed around your heart, daring him to try to get through.

Bruce's gaze doesn't waver. "I know enough," he says, his voice low and even. "I know that you've been through something unimaginable. I know that you're hurting, and I know that you're scared."

You laugh, a harsh, bitter sound that fills the room. "Scared? Me?" you challenge, taking a step closer to him. "You think I'm scared of you?"

Bruce's expression remains calm, almost serene. "I don't think you're scared of me," he says, his voice steady. "But I do think you're scared of letting anyone in. Letting anyone see the pain behind that tough exterior."

You snarl, the anger burning in your eyes. "That what you think? You think I'm just this sad, little girl who's lost everything?"

Bruce doesn't flinch. "No," he says, his voice calm and even. "I think you're a survivor. You've been through hell and come out the other side. And now, you're trying to keep everyone at bay because it's easier than letting them in and getting hurt again. You act up, push people away, because you think that's the only way to protect yourself. But it doesn't have to be that way."

You stare at him, your chest heaving with the effort to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over. His words cut through the armor you've so carefully constructed, exposing the raw, tender wound beneath. You want to scream, to yell, to lash out at this stranger who seems to see right through you. But instead, you clench your fists even tighter.

"I think I should make something clear, old man," you say, your voice low and steady, the smirk on your lips growing into a full-blown grin. "I don't plan to be a sad story for you to tell at your fancy parties. I'm going to make sure your life is a living hell. You'll regret ever taking me in."

Bruce's smile never falters, his eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement. "Is that so?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You nod, your smile a challenge. "You just watch me," you say, the smugness in your voice unmistakable.

Bruce leans down, his gaze locking onto yours. "I think there's something you should know then," he says, his voice a gentle rumble, "I'm a big believer in seeing the best in people. And I see something in you, something that's worth fighting for. So, go ahead, test me. I've faced worse. But want I want you to know is that no matter how much you push, I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you. Not unless you really want to."

You glare at him, the fire in your eyes burning brighter. "I'm no quitter," you say, your voice filled with a fierce determination that surprises even yourself. You've lived on the streets, faced the Joker, and survived an explosion. You're not about to let a fancy manor and a billionaire who thinks he can save you break you.

Bruce walks to the door, his hand on the knob. "Dinner will be served in an hour," he says, his tone still calm. "I'll have Alfred show you around until then. Oh and, " he adds with a hint of mischief, "try not to cause too much trouble before then, okay?"

You shoot him a look that could set the curtains on fire. "Sure thing, pops," you say with a smirk, the words dripping with sarcasm. Bruce chuckles, the sound low and warm, and you can't help but feel a strange warmth in your chest. It's been a long time since anyone has tried to tease you, to treat you like a normal kid.

But you're not a normal kid, are you? You're a survivor of the Joker's wrath, a girl who's been through hell and back, and now you're standing in the bedroom of a billionaire's mansion. It's all too much to process.

You wander over to the bedside table, drawn by the glint of something shiny. There is a small, simple frame. Your heart skips a beat when you see your family photo inside—the same one that had been in the purse you stole.

With trembling hands, you quickly pick it up, taking it out of the frame. The glass is cool against your fingertips, the edges sharp. You bring the photo closer to your face, breathing in the scent of home that seems to cling to the fading ink. You trace the outlines of your mother's nose, and your father's eyes, memorizing the contours of their faces as if you could bring them back to life with enough willpower.

For a moment, you're lost in the past, in a time before the fire and the chaos. Before the Joker and the pain. But then the reality of your present crashes over you like a cold wave, and you realize that this is your new reality. The orphanage is behind you, and Bruce Wayne is your new...what? Savior? Father? Jailer?

Bruce watched from the gap in the doorway as the girl discovered the family photo, his smile gentle and knowing. He'd placed it there on purpose, hoping it would offer some small comfort amidst the overwhelming change. The way she held it to her chest, eyes scanning the familiar faces, told him more than any words could about the depth of her pain.

As she traced the outline of her mother's nose and her father's eyes, Bruce felt a pang of sorrow for her loss. He knew what it was like to have your world torn apart, to feel the burning rage of injustice. But unlike him, she was still so young, her wounds fresh and raw.

He stepped away from the doorway, allowing her a moment of privacy with her memories. He knew she needed it, needed to feel the pain and anger without the burden of his watchful gaze. The hallway outside was silent, the manor's grandeur a stark contrast to the quiet, personal battle playing out in the room behind him.

Part 4

[ladyantiheroine]

Unfinished Business

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

Pairing: dom!Selina Kyle x sub!Bruce Wayne

Warnings: Explicit sexual content.

Word Count: 5.8k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Master Wayne?” a voice called.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A large, silk bed with one shadowy occupant.

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

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

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

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

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

And then, he opened one eye.

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

“What the hell?” Bruce growled.

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

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

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

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

Except now, Selina was prepared.

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

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

“Baby,” she said. “It’s me.”

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

“That voice,” he said.

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

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

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

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

“Selina?” he said. 

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

Selina shrugged.

“Yeah, it’s me,” she said. 

“What are you doing here?”

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

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

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

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

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

Selina crossed her arms and shrugged.

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

She took a few steps closer to him.

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

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

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

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

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

Bruce shrugs.

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

“Maybe.”

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

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

Selina gave him a small, reassuring smile.

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

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

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

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

Selina let out a sigh.

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

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

“You missed Gotham?“ Bruce said.

Selina pursed her lips and nodded.

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

Bruce gave her a long look.

“I do,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m glad you did,” he whispered.

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

“Selina,” Bruce murmured.

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

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

“Mind if I?”

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

“Go ahead,” he said.

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

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

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

Bruce shrugged.

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

Selina raised an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

“Tonight, I want Bruce,” she said.

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

“Bruce…Bruce…Bruce…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Selina gave him a teasing look.

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

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

“No,” he said.

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

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

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

“Selina,” he mumbled against her mouth.

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

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

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

The realization came to Selina slowly.

“This is your first time?” she said.

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

Until now.

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

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

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

“Yes,” he said. “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bruce bit his lip so hard it turned white.

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

Selina grinned.

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

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

“Yeah,” he said.

Poor baby. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bruce dropped his gaze to her.

“What are you— haaah… ”

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

“Selina,” he whimpered. “I…”

Selina smirked.

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

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

“Yes,” he whimpered. “I have, but I…”

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

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

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

“Selina,” he whimpered. 

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

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

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

“Why did you—” 

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

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

Selina gave him a small, teasing smile.

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

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

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

Selina grinned.

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

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

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

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

“Selina,” he moaned.

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

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

“Selina,” he sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She ran her hands up and down his chest.

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

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

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

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

“Come on, baby,” she moaned.

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

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

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

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

Selina gave him a grin.

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

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

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

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

Selina chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t want me off yet?” she teased.

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

Selina smirked and gave him a teasing smile.

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

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

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

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

Selina crooked her finger at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bruce broke the silence

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Selina smiled and kissed him on the head.

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

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

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

[magnoliasandarson]

ugly

Late Spring in Blüdhaven had always been special to Dick. Melville Park wasn't anything grand, not like the Manor's expansive grounds had been, but there were lights strung through the trees that made it look like a scene from a fairytale. On slow patrols, he would perch on the Band Shell and watch the night flyers flitter through the sparkling branches. It was beautiful.

There was no such beauty now.

He sat on the Band Shell, gloved hands dripping blood onto the cold stone, staring out at the trees. They didn't look magical anymore; it just looked like lights in trees. Dick was a fool for ever wasting time on the trees, for ever believing. He took all the magic with him.

There was a dull ache in Dick's chest that drowned out the pain from his bruised knuckles. He pushed up and grappled back over to the Red Line. He ignored the pang of something as he hopped on top of the train, the phantom of laughter chasing after him even as the world was blissfully ripped from his ears by the wind. There was no comm in his ear tonight- there hadn't been in weeks. He was all alone.

Nightwing tore through the business district like a phantom, not a word spoken as he moved from alley to alley. It was a quiet night, most nights had been quiet recently, but Dick Nightwing needed a fight. His escrima sticks stayed holstered at his sides, bloody gloves growing more gory with each encounter. He needed to hurt.

Late Spring in Blüdhaven had once been beautiful. Dick had been proud to drag his friends from tiny park to tinier park, to go to movies on the grass, to visit the frankly frigid shitty beach. He had loved late spring, had loved seeing Robins appear in late April, had loved seeing the fledglings in May. He was a bird boy, after all. He had loved it all. He couldn't find it in himself to love any of it, now.

Nightwing found himself at St. Eustace. He didn't attend services and would probably burst into flames if he ever stepped inside, but he wasn't there for the church itself. He crossed the opulent roof in utter silence, tracing a familiar path to a familiar sight, his favorite the gargoyle. There was nothing special about the gargoyle anymore. It had been special once, but there was nothing making it special anymore. Some nights, Dick wanted to destroy the snarling stone. He resisted the urge, and lowered himself to the ledge, perching next to the monster. You know what they say about birds of a feather.

Dick wiped his gloves on the stone, silent as he watched the darkness absorb. His hand absently patted the space between himself and the granite behemoth, remembering a different flash of red that had graced the spot. He looked out to his city. He couldn't stand any of it anymore.

This had once been a beautiful sight.

He had once been ecstatic to show the gargoyle off, "it can't beat the ones in Gotham, but it's a good substitute!"

He had once laughed the entire night, trading jokes with his little shadow, his little wing.

There was no light here, even as the sun rose, there was no light left for Nightwing. When he retreated to his trashed apartment, carelessly stepping on shattered picture frames in his boots, he couldn't find it in himself to turn on the lights. He couldn't look at his home, couldn't look at the wreckage of the memories.

There was no beauty left in the world.

And Dick couldn't stand to look at the ugly truth.

[graysoncritic]

A (Negative) Review of Tom Taylor's Nightwing Run - What Went Wrong? Bludhaven (PART 2)

Introduction Who is Dick Grayson? What Went Wrong? Dick's Characterization What Went Wrong? Barbara Gordon What Went Wrong? Bludhaven (Part 1, Part 2) What Went Wrong? Melinda Lin Grayson What Went Wrong? Bea Bennett What Went Wrong? Villains Conclusion Bibliography

Instead, Taylor readily abandons the statue just as soon as it is introduced. We don’t return to it, we don’t even use it as a set piece that can ground Bludhaven and make it feel like an actual place. It doesn’t make an appearance in any covers, nor in establishing shots. In fact, even its thematic symbolism is forgotten when Alfred’s statue is built. Such a decision is especially infuriating when one considers the fact that not only would Alfred hate having a statue in his honor, but that Alfred means absolutely nothing to the people of Bludhaven. He means something to the reader, but not the citizens of the city that Dick is meant to protect. In this, we see how once more Taylor’s online mindset interferes with his storytelling, replacing a set piece that was tied to the in-universe history of the city he was writing with fanservice.

By contrast, Humphrie’s Bludhaven is filled with specific locations that are unique to, well, Bludhaven. We have the different casinos

(Humphries, Sam. Ruthless, writer. Janson, Klaus; Campbell, Jamal, illustrator. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 37, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 22)

The Tiki District

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter Two: Relentless. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 36, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 13)

Which greatly contrasts the darkness of the docks…

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter One: Hunter. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 35, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 17)

And the melancholy of the sunken city

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Jimenez, Phil; Campbell, Jamal, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter Five:Face Off. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 39, e-book  ed. DC Comics, 2018 pp. 05)

All of it is so specific that it makes Bludhaven feel alive. It gives Bludhaven an identity rather than keeping it a generic location.

Let’s take a closer look at the establishing shot of the sunken city and see how the page is laid out to emphasize the storytelling going on in the dialogue and enrich Bludhaven. There's something so visually poetic about that last panel. The intimacy between the Judge and Nightwing, the opulent throne atop a simple boat in a sunken, destroyed home. 

It feels a bit like a visual metaphor for Bludhaven and corruption. Bludhaven is thriving because of the casinos, but they are also corrupt. And yet, despite their rich aesthetic, they are built on top of a tragedy, of a city that was lost and had to rebuild itself, taking advantage of a corrupt system that devastates its citizens while also being the only thing keeping them from drowning. 

The lighting of the page is also so beautiful. Light coming in from above, appearing almost heavenly, and yet it makes the scene so still and lonely

During Dixon and Grayson’s runs, and during Taylor’s run, Bldhaven does not have an identity outside of Gotham and Nightwing. It is difficult to describe it without relying on those two factors. It is not impossible, of course, but those descriptions would be rather bare, relying on what one wishes Bludhaven could be rather than what is actually on the page.

In The Untouchable, however, Bludhaven can be described independent of Gotham and Nightwing. Yes, those elements are still crucial to its depiction, but rather than being all that there is to it, they serve to enhance what is already there. Dick’s interactions with people from Bludhaven further fleshes out the city while also demonstrating that they have their own lives outside of their meetings with Dick or Nightwing. Guppy, Svoboda, Lucy, Dick's clients at his gym... All of them are clear products of Bludhaven, they are affected by what happens in Bludhaven, and they interact with different parts of Bludhaven. Because they are characters with their own interiority, the reader really is able to feel the consequences of the Judge's actions. 

Yet, Taylor and Redondo both refuse to pay Bludhaven any of the attention it deserves. They do not even give it the respect of making it into Gotham-light. Instead, they opt for the generic, lazy, and morally simplistic depiction that is yet more proof of just how little thought they give to anything remotely related to Dick Grayson.

Bludhaven, as it exists in The Untouchable, was built on top of a corrupt foundation, and its systems are so intertwined with the rot that you can't neatly separate them. There's no easy answer to this, no solution without a victim. It adds some nice stakes to the story, creates constraints which Dick must creatively work around, and demonstrates how Nightwing’s fight is far larger than just The Judge. It illustrates how even if Dick catches this one guy, he still has so much more to do, creating a perfect comic status-quo where the hero can progress and make a difference without eliminating conflict sources for future stories.

Through the Judge, we also get to see Bludhaven’s history, and through this evolution, we also get to see just how much Humphrey cares about Bludhaven. I have yet to encounter another writer who has devoted so much care to Dick’s city. I have yet to encounter a writer who put so much effort into making this city feel alive. Gotham is beloved by many writers and fans alike, and The Untouchable showed that Bludhaven has the potential to be just as great if only it was given to a writer who cares enough to develop it. 

Needless to say, Taylor is not that writer.

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator. Leaping into the Light Part 4. Nightwing: Rebirth. 81, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2021. pp 13)

While this may be wholesome, the truth is that by giving such a triumphant moment early on in the story, Taylor robbed his characters of any opportunity to change, and any opportunity for a well-earned pay off later. In turn, this robbed the story of its ability to engage with its themes by creating a very simple morality. Evil can be manifested in different ways and anyone is capable of it. Perhaps not all of us will be uppercase Evil, but we're all capable of the smallest acts of lowercase evil by letting our anger blind us to what is right, not helping others because we tell ourselves we have to survive, upholding unfair systems because they benefit us.

The city of Gotham does something similar. We have the evil of the rogues, but we also have the crime families, a myriad of corrupt institutions -- from the police department to the justice system to the politicians who are in the pockets of those on the top – and the ordinary citizens who have been disillusioned by the hardship they face. We have greed on a massive scale but also a small and personal one that is far more relatable, we have chaos of the Joker and we have more relatable pettiness, selfishness, apathy, and cruelty. 

Some of these play a larger role than others, their influence has a wider reach, but it is the different layers that makes Gotham feel so difficult to tackle. There’s a reason why Batman's origin story works best when it's just about a mugging gone wrong, and when Joe Chill is just a simple man who fired two shots in a dark alley because he wanted a pearl necklace. There's a reason why Bruce stays in Gotham rather than trying to save the entire world all the time. Batman, after all, is not about fighting the just grander Evil, but about bringing justice to everyone, even in what may be perceived to be a small scale. 

While I do not believe Batman: The Knight was perfect (and, indeed, I have a lot of problems with it and dislike Zdarsky’s current Batman run nearly as much as I dislike Taylor’s Nightwing), I do think that Zdarsky did a good job when having Ra’s Al Ghul confront Bruce on this matter. 

In #09, Ra’s challenges Bruce to work on a macro scale, and Bruce explores that idea before deciding he needs to work on a more personal level.

(Zdarsky, Chip, writer. Di Giandomenico, Carmine. The Knight Part 9. Batman: The Knight. 09, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2022. pp 13)

Bruce’s world did not fall apart because of a war or an alien invasion, but that did not mean his pain is invalid. There might be far more important things than catching a mob boss who orchestrated the murder of two circus acrobats, but that doesn’t mean that their lives did not matter or that their son does not deserve to see justice. One of the beautiful things about the detective stories of Batman and of Nightwing is that they treat everyone’s trauma with equal respect. Batman and Nightwing aren’t just about catching the bad guy, they are about giving the victim a chance to heal by offering them closure. 

You can also observe the dichotomy of these two evils in The Untouchable. The entire plot of The Untouchable is about the Judge using people’s desires to corrupt them, luring them into committing evil deeds. At the same time, the story does not condemn those who fell prey to the Judge’s promises. Instead, it portrays them as complex individuals, and this reaffirms the themes of corruption through desire and the necessity for forgiveness.

Lucy, for example, is not vilified for betraying Dick. She did the Judge’s bidding, but she is not a bad person. She is still Dick’s friend and cares deeply for him. And yet, her choices are not portrayed as excusable. The comic perfectly balanced having Lucy not be a bad guy for what she did while also making it clear that she was still in the wrong for accepting the Judge’s offer. She is not Evil but she made an evil choice and she needs to be held accountable for that. 

This plays into the idea that to Dick, people are not naturally Good nor naturally Evil. They just are who they are, they have the potential for both, and it's their choices that dictate their nature. 

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter Six: Deep Dive. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 40, e-book  ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 18)

And as mentioned previously, Grayson also played with such ideas when she introduced the character of Sophia into the story. 

Taylor flirts with similar ideas without ever committing to them. His Bludhaven supposedly has corrupt institutions, big men on top who oppress others in order to stay rich, but to lay every wrong and every sin in the city at Blockbuster’s feet is morally simplistic. It's flattening. Immature. It's, frankly, boring. It just doesn't work on a narrative level. Most importantly, it makes Nightwing's presence superfluous.

Once more, I must emphasize that I do not believe that one must incorporate a social commentary in the themes of one’s story. However, as Taylor's narrative seems to signal he wants to discuss these matters, I think it is only fair to point out how his actual writing is uninterested in examining the complications inherited in these subjects. Taylor wants those big, meaningful moments that claim to say something thematically important, yet he creates easy-to-take down strawman villains who can take the blame for everything while wrapping them in the trappings of social commentary. 

Nothing in Taylor's supporting characters, conflicts, villains, or city were created to challenge Dick in any way. Part of the reason why you can feel Bruce's genuine love for Gotham is that that city is always challenging him, always giving him a reason to give up, but Bruce never does. Again and again, Gotham shows itself as a place that perhaps should not be saved, that is too rotten, literally cursed to bring out the worst of humanity. It would be easier to burn the whole thing down and start new. 

But Bruce doesn’t do that. He still sees something in Gotham worth saving. No matter what he uncovers, Bruce won’t give up, and that makes us, the readers, root for Batman and root for Gotham.

Bludhaven should challenge Dick in a similar way. But in this run, it doesn't. Dick's assertion that the citizens of Bludhaven are good and there are only a few bad apples ruining it for everyone is never challenged. Dick is never asked to question his beliefs. When he decided that the solution to one of Bludhaven's biggest problems (homelessness) was just to create a shelter, Dick is never challenged for his savior mentality, he never faces push back from those above him or below, is never paralyzed by bureaucracy, never has to deal setbacks that force him to re-strategize. He's just... Proved right. And everything goes on smoothly. 

Taylor’s approach gives Dick no room to grow and no room to stand his ground. I can’t help but think how much more powerful Dick’s own belief in Bludhaven and its people would have been if, during that earlier scene when the tent city was in flames, no one came to help. Nightwing and Robin would have had to save everyone on their own, and Dick would be faced with the difficult to swallow possibility that maybe he’s wrong. Maybe the people of Bludhaven are too disillusioned to do good. Maybe Babs and Tim, both characters who are known for being pragmatic, would even tell him so. But he refuses to accept that. As he looks upon the octopus statue, Dick affirms  the resilience of the city and how it does not need to come at the cost of kindness. Bludhaven is worth saving, its people are worth saving, and Dick will continue to believe in them, even though he was just given a reason not to. 

Again, I must emphasize that it is fine if a person is not interested in writing a story about this. Not every superhero story needs to explore these real-world, complex themes. One of my personal favorite Batman stories (and one I believe should be required reading for any Batman fan) is Murderer/Fugitive. While there are certainly themes of forging of identity, the story is far more concerned with what the forging of one’s identity means in the specific context of Batman rather than that of the real world. That is not to say you couldn't do an analysis on identity about Murderer/Fugitive, but the work as a whole serves more as a commentary on Batman, and it is in conversation with the popular idea that "Bruce Wayne is the mask that Batman wears." 

And just because one wishes to engage with themes of class and economic inequality, it does mean one needs to tackle it directly. Again I must bring up the modern masterpiece that is Scott Snyder’s Court of Owls. That story beautifully uses the fantastical and noire elements of the Court and the creation of the Talons to engage with themes of wealth inequality and to explore Bruce’s complex relationship with Gotham. The secret cult, of superhuman assassins, and the murder mystery element provide enough distance between the real world issues and the story itself that Snyder has the creative freedom to play with his characters and narrative while the specificity allows him to dig deeper than he ever could should he have decided on going for a broad approach.

Taylor tries to ground his themes by using real-world issues, but he refuses to engage with what those real-world issues look like in, well, the real-world. He deals with them in the context of his morally simplified, perfect little society. As Braxis perfectly pointed out “When Dick starts a charity to help the homeless he never actually explains how that will be done, what causes homelessness, or what the homeless are asking for support.” (Braxi, Steve, “On Superman, Shootings, and the Reality of Superheroes” Comics Bookcase, September 2021)

Taylor’s Bludhaven demonstrates a frustratingly simplistic view on morality that prevents the story from engaging with these issues with the care they deserve. By not fleshing out the city, by denying Dick’s interactions with other characters, Taylor creates a world of simple morals. This means that rather than engaging with the progressive ideology he claims to care about he is simply creating the appearance  of social commentary and rich themes. This demonstrates that he’s not actually interested in the work required to make that work, only the prestige that comes from it.

[j0kers-light]

Y/n's Penthouse

Hey hi loves! Per @megamindsecretlair request I attempted to draw the floor plan of Y/n's apartment in His Lighthouse. That failed.

Sims 4 came to the rescue!! 🖤✨

Y/n rents out the entire twelfth floor with two balcony's in the Old Gotham district. Her apartment overlooks Grant Park and the Fashion District and is within walking distance of GCPD HQ and Wayne Tower. This is the map I use for the His Lighthouse series btw.

Y/n’s rent is a high $6K considering this is Gotham City and that its an old building remodeled to opulence. Keep that in mind when you see the picture. This is the entire penthouse floor.

Disclaimer: message me if you want the username info to download this build from the Sims 4 gallery!

1. Y/n’s master bedroom

2. Joker’s current bedroom

3. Guest room (Barbara’s room when she stays over)

4. Empty bedroom (Dick’s room when he visits)

5. Storage room with secret latch to maintenance floor

6. Living room area

7. Powder room

8. Master bathroom

9. Main bathroom

10. Balcony

11. Private balcony

12. Laundry room

13. Foyer area (leads to kitchen and dining room)

This is just a mockup of Y/n’s penthouse to give you an idea of where to place yourself during the story. Hopefully it paints a clear picture in your mind, I know it’s not completely accurate to the story but it is a fictional place. 🤷🏽‍♀️

Edit: I didn’t realize how massive this build was until I let a sim walk and test everything out. I may have went overboard 🤔

[adhdnursegoat]

Sequel to Human

Summary: Ever since you and Edward had sex, he has been mean - meaner than normal. You thought things would be different. You thought he needed you. You thought... well, you're not sure what you thought. But you have had enough of his shitty attitude.

Excerpt:

You have had enough.

There is only so much you can take.

Ever since you started working for Edward Nigma, your life has changed in ways you never expected. Despite working for one of Gotham's most notorious criminals, your day-to-day existence isn’t as grim as it could be. If anything, it is a strange blend of stability and chaos—mostly held together by your efforts to keep his lair and his life from spiraling further into disarray.

You have become an indispensable part of his routine, ensuring that everything runs smoothly. You clean his living spaces, cook his meals, and run errands that he cannot manage in public—like shopping for groceries and supplies. You wash his clothes, keep track of time for him when he gets lost in his work, and even organize his tools and schematics. You even organize his chaotic and, sometimes, disturbing notes, transcribing them, trying to make sense of the madness. And every time you are there, you make sure a fresh cup of black coffee is waiting for him on his workbench, just the way he likes it. Your adaptability and resourcefulness have made you an integral part of his life.

In return, he pays you well. The money is enough to cover your expenses, with a little extra left over to treat yourself every now and then—a rare luxury. Your life, which used to teeter on the edge of danger and desperation, now feels oddly secure despite working for a criminal susceptible to psychosis. You are no longer subjected to the risks and abuse that came with your previous job. The steady income and the sense of purpose you have found in this work have brought you a sense of peace you had not thought possible.

Before you started working for Nigma, you were a dancer—an exotic one. Well, more accurately, you were a stripper. You made just enough to survive, to keep a roof over your head in this unforgiving city. You were good at what you did, but the real money, the kind that could make life easier, was found in the darker, more dangerous aspects of the business—things you politely but firmly declined to engage in.

Those nights were long and exhausting, filled with the leers of strangers and the constant pressure to push boundaries you were not willing to cross. It was a life of constant uncertainty, where you never knew what the next night might bring. The money was never guaranteed, and the threats were always lurking in the shadows. But you stood strong, refusing to compromise your principles.

It was tempting at times, seeing the girls draped in luxury—Van Cleef necklaces glittering at their throats, mink coats warming their slender frames, Louboutins clicking against the acrylic dance floors. They had the sun-kissed tans of women who’d spent their summers on yachts in the Mediterranean, vacations paid for by their generous, if not questionable, clientele. You couldn’t help but want those things too. Who wouldn’t? The allure of a life steeped in opulence, where the harsh edges of the city were softened by the gloss of wealth, was nearly irresistible.

But you just couldn’t do it.

You respected those girls, admired their tenacity and the way they wielded their beauty as both a weapon and a shield. They were skilled, crafty, and knew how to play the game in a way that kept them ahead. Yet, there was a line you just couldn’t cross—a part of yourself you weren’t willing to sell, no matter how tempting the rewards. You had a feeling that if you ever did, there would be no going back. You would be swallowed whole by that life, and whatever plans you had for the future would crumble under its weight.

You always wanted to leave the life of a dancer eventually, to save up enough money to go back to school, become a nurse, start fresh, and build something that was not tied to the world of flashing lights, shitty club music, and desperate men. But it was a slow climb, one that often felt like you were clawing your way out of quicksand, each step forward pulling you further down. The money was not bad, but it was not enough either. And the thought of staying in that life forever, of becoming one of those girls who never found a way out, terrified you more than anything.

So, when Edward Nigma offered you a job, you didn’t hesitate. The promise of better pay, safety, and security was too good to pass up. You didn’t just jump at the opportunity—you sprinted toward it, desperate to leave behind the life you’d been living. Even if the work was menial and technically meant you were aiding and abetting a wanted criminal, it was a way out. And that was all you needed.

But there is more to it than that. It helped that he was easy on the eyes—those icy blue eyes peering out from behind silver, wiry glasses, dark scruffy hair falling into his face, and a five o’clock shadow that added an edge to his otherwise refined appearance. He exuded a charm that was as dangerous as it was intoxicating, drawing you in without effort.

The first time you met, he’d tested you with a riddle, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he watched you puzzle it out. And when you did—albeit with some struggle—he seemed almost impressed. That is when you were hooked. Something about the way his mind worked fascinated you, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself completely captivated. You truly believed he was the smartest man you’d ever met, capable of great things—terrible, yes, but great all the same.

And then there was his voice, smooth and rich, like an auditory massage. You loved listening to him talk, especially when he was in one of his rare moods where he’d actually teach you a thing or two. He had a way of making even the most complex concepts seem almost within reach, and though you knew you’d never understand half of what he was saying on your own, you relished those moments.

But there was a darker side to him, one that you couldn’t ignore. For every moment of brilliance, there was a cutting remark, a reminder of your place in his world. He had a habit of degrading you, of calling you an idiot whenever you didn’t grasp an idea quickly enough, or when you made a mistake in your work, or broke a piece of equipment accidentally. It stung, every time, but you learned to brush it off, to let it slide like water off a duck’s back. Because, in his own twisted way, he made you feel lucky to be a part of his life, to be close to someone as extraordinary as him. You believed in his delusions of grandeur.

You often wondered if you were just fooling yourself, if the allure of his intelligence and the security he offered were enough to outweigh the sharp edges of his personality. But every time you thought about leaving, about finding something else, something better, you found yourself hesitating. There was something about Edward Nigma that kept you tethered to him, even when you knew it was not healthy. Maybe it was the way he could make you feel like you were the only person who truly mattered to him, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.

Whatever it was, it was enough to keep you there, caught in the web of his brilliance, his cruelty, and his charm.

But now, you are starting to wonder if you made the right choice.

Continue on Ao3 for the full length story: Make Me Cry

Credit to Pintrest user Filomena Vianci for the black and white photo.

[poisonousquinzel]

Birds of Prey: The Origins by Sara Shepard & Stephanie Pepper

After a long summer, four teens from various walks of life return to Gotham City with devastating secrets—and some unexpected talents. Gotham City is a place where people of all walks of life mingle, where the weird, opulent, and violent are celebrated. Helena Bertinelli lost her family here. Barbara Gordon suffered a tragic accident. Dinah Lance ran away from the foster system. And Harleen Quinzel is looking for her place. But each of these girls is hiding something—a secret that could destroy their lives in an instant. When strange things start happening to students at Gotham Prep, everyone at the school is on edge, worried they might be next. Will Helena, Barbara, Dinah, and Harley be able to put their differences aside and learn to trust each other in time to find out who is behind the mysterious accidents before another victim turns up?

Birds of Prey: The Origins by Sara Shepard & Stephanie Pepper, on sale November 4, 2025, will be available for preorder soon.

idc if you're pissed about Harley's inclusion talk about it elsewhere this ain't the post for it <3

[flowerflamestars]

Where the middle meets snippet

Llewellyn recognized the great love of Dick’s childhood by her cracked ribs. 

Watched her plow politely through the crowd, red hair bright a sea of black. She wasn’t quite as good at pretending she wasn’t in pain as Dick was, but then again, no one was. The grimace would probably be attributed to grief anyway.

“Thank god,” Were the first words Barbara Gordon ever said to him, huffing out a breath, “Tell me you’re here to ride herd on Dick.”

No was too much of an understatement, and his real answer didn’t belong in a church.

“Taping’s not standard treatment anymore,” Llewellyn was staring down the nave. A moving ocean of people filled Gotham’s cathedral, with one clear demarcation: Bruce Wayne, already seated, several feet of emptied space around him.

Llewellyn glanced down in time to catch Barbara's scowl. “What?”

“You’re increasing your pneumonia risk,” Wells told her, getting one long, disbelieving blink in response. “Further complications.”

She switched her purse from one side to the other, brisk little motion snappy. “Do you know he went out this morning? In civvies. He’s in too much pain to care what he breaks right now. We need to keep the city from imploding”-

“Hi Babs,” Dick interrupted, manifesting over her shoulder, despite having disappeared in the opposite direction. He dipped over to kiss her on the cheek before stepping right into Llewellyn’s side, pressing in shoulder to ankle. “You met Wells.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, gaze moving between them. “I’m so sorry, Dick.”

Llewellyn could only tell he’d gone tense because they were so close.

“Me too. Me too.” Dick answered, dead voiced. “Let’s sit.”

He didn’t say the goodbye Barbara clearly expected. Did not acknowledge a single person on their way through the church, no amount of opulent Gotham mourning enough to make him blink. Dick was moving quickly enough, sleekly untouched by the crowd, it was hard to keep up. Silently too, down to his steps on the vast marble floor.

Barbara Gordon was wrong about one thing: Dick cared.

Dick cared so much it was eating him alive, a black hole at the center of his person, gravity well yanking away daytime lies until a little too much of his true, devastated face peeked out.

That didn’t mean he was going to fuck up the double life he’d been living since he was ten years old.

Dick seemed to realize what he’d been doing as they drew abreast with the front pews. Turned to find Wells still right there, lifeless expression briefly melting.

There was nothing to say. Nothing that would actually help. Llewellyn held out his hand instead, and Dick took it. 

They sat.

Soft, gleaming, perfect cherry wood, ice cold. Not a single dent, even a child’s scrawled scratch, no homey living history, only the finest here in the heart of this part of Gotham. Wells didn’t remember the last time he’d sat on a pew, much less been in a church for service. Tattoos busy climbing to his throat in nerves, Dicks juddering knees- the only person on their row who looked like they belonged was Bruce Wayne, head ducked low.

Dick had sunk down several feet away from his father.

“What happens now?”

Llewellyn gave up on manners, drew in both Dick’s hands to his lap. “Mass? I’ve never been.” Dick nodded. “Was Jason Catholic?”

Another nod, flat gaze going glassy, before Dick said, softly, “His mom was. He used to wear a little saint Catherine.” Dick shook his head, smile fighting out like hell, “He punched a priest once.”

[lycanlupins]

Second Chances - Jason Todd x Original Female Character

AN: this was a passion project while i was at a very low point mentally and couldn’t churn out my roy fic or any content honestly. I’m getting better and getting back in the swing of things and just wanted to give y’all a snippet of what I’ve been writing behind the scenes as a way to vent! ♥️ pls enjoy

CONTENT WARNINGS: This fic will contain; Referenced CSA, Referenced SA, Referenced Drug Use and Alcohol Use, Explicit Sexual Content, Physical Mental and Emotional Abuse, and will add more tags as needed! Please read at your own risk, I will add content warnings at each chapter beginning ♥️

In case you’d like a link to the AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60590161/chapters/154698973

The Iceberg Lounge buzzed with the usual clientele, a mix of Gotham's elite and the city's underbelly mingling in a symphony of whispered conversations and clinking glasses. Jason Todd, ever the observer, scanned the room, his sharp gaze honed by years of living on the edge. His head hung low low, obscuring his features. His eyes sharp, restless, betrayed a simmering tension beneath the surface. He'd come to the Iceberg Lounge seeking a diversion, a break from the endless cycle of violence that consumed his life. He found himself drawn to a woman seated at a table in the corner, her back to him.

She was a vision of elegance amidst the opulence of the lounge. Her dark curls cascaded down her shoulders, framing a face that held the allure of mystery. Her tanned skin and captivating brown eyes, full of warmth and just a hint of sadness, held Jason's gaze. Something about her, a quiet strength that resonated with his own hardened spirit, captivated him.

He moved through the crowd with an effortless grace that belied the chaos within him, his steps measured, deliberate. As he neared her table, he caught a glimpse of her profile, the delicate curve of her jawline, the way her lips moved as she spoke, and a wave of something unfamiliar washed over him. It wasn't just attraction, though that was undoubtedly present; it was a sense of intrigue, a yearning to unravel the secrets hidden beneath her enigmatic facade.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the seat opposite her. His voice, a low rumble, carried a hint of a northern accent, a remnant of his former life before the darkness claimed him.

She turned, her eyes meeting his with a spark of curiosity. Her lips curled into a slight smile, a delicate twist of amusement that sent a shiver down Jason's spine.

"You're Jason Todd, aren’t you?" she asked, her voice low and melodic.

He nodded, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "And you are?"

"Marcy," she replied, extending a hand towards him.

He took it, her touch sending a jolt through him. Her fingers were cool, yet strong, and he held them a moment longer than necessary, reluctant to release the connection.

"You know a lot about me, Marcy," he said, his voice laced with a hint of amusement.

"Gotham is a small city, Jason," she replied, a knowing glint in her eye. "Word travels fast."

"Tell me, what words have you been hearing about me?" he questioned, his interest piqued. He couldn't shake the feeling that she was more than just a casual observer. Her presence exuded an air of confidence, a certain knowledge of the city's dark underbelly that intrigued him.

"Let's just say I have my ways around Gotham’s elite," she said, her eyes meeting his with a hint of challenge.

"And you do it with such elegance," he murmured, his gaze lingering on her face.

She chuckled, a low, melodious sound that sent a thrill through him. "I make do with what I have."

They fell into a comfortable silence, the sound of the lounge's chatter providing a backdrop to their unspoken exchange. Jason felt a strange sense of ease with her, as though their lives had somehow intersected before, despite the fact that they were strangers. He couldn't help but wonder what drew her to the Iceberg Lounge, a place frequented by the city's most notorious figures.

"You're not exactly a regular here," he commented, breaking the silence.

Marcy's smile faded, replaced by a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Neither are you."

"No," he admitted, "but I'm drawn to the darkness."

"And I, to the light," she countered, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"That's a curious thing to say for someone who frequents a place like this," he noted, raising an eyebrow.

"I find beauty in the unexpected," she replied, leaning back in her chair, her gaze meeting his. "Perhaps I'm searching for a glimmer of hope in a city that seems to revel in its darkness."

He couldn't help but be drawn to her honesty, her willingness to reveal a vulnerability beneath her enigmatic facade. It was a side of her he hadn't expected, but it only deepened his fascination.

"I think I understand," he said, his voice softer now. "But be careful, Marcy. The darkness has a way of clinging to you."

Her lips curved into a smile, but this time, there was no hint of amusement.

"I know," she said, her voice laced with a quiet strength. "But it doesn't have to consume you."

Their conversation continued, weaving through the intricacies of Gotham's underbelly and their own personal histories. Marcy was surprisingly knowledgeable about the city's criminal underworld, her insights sharper and more nuanced than anyone he'd met before. He felt a growing sense of respect for her, not just for her intelligence and wit, but for the resilience that radiated from her being. He couldn't shake the feeling that she held a secret, a hidden depth that hinted at a past filled with trials and triumphs.

The music shifted, a haunting melody that seemed to echo the darkness that clung to Gotham's heart. Marcy rose to her feet, a graceful movement that defied the gravity of her emotions.

"I should go," she said, her voice a whisper against the throbbing pulse of the music.

"Wait," he said, his voice urgent. He didn't want this encounter to end, not yet. He had a sudden and powerful urge to know more about her, to uncover the mystery that lay beneath her captivating exterior.

"You're curious," she observed, a hint of amusement playing at the corner of her lips.

He nodded, unable to deny the truth. "More than curious."

"I'm not easy to unravel, Jason," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of warning. "But if you're willing to take the risk, I might just let you in."

The night was young, and the city held countless dangers, but Jason knew he had to find a way to see her again. There was something about Marcy, an untamed spirit that mirrored his own, that promised a connection he desperately craved. As he watched her walk away, a flicker of hope ignited within him. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance for a glimmer of light in the darkness of his life.

[guilty-ff]

𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐏𝐭. 𝟓

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ˚⁎⁺˳ .

This story takes place after Jason's death (warning: not 100% Comic accurate)

Pairings: Dick Grayson/Nightwing × (fem!Reader), Slight Jason Todd/Red hood x (fem!Reader)

Genre: Action, Angst, Revenge, Violence, DC

Warnings: Comic Spoilers!, Explicit content, Child abuse, swearing, torture, mental health, weapons

Word Count: 3634

Y/n feels a strange mix of nerves and determination settle in her chest as the jet circles lower, bringing her closer to Gotham. She presses her forehead against the cold glass window, watching as the sprawling city lights glitter below her like stars trapped on the ground. 

Gotham has a dark beauty, with towering skyscrapers casting shadows over crowded streets, bridges arching across wide rivers, and entire neighbourhoods hidden behind veils of mist and fog. It looks chaotic, raw, and dangerous and it is about to become her new home.

As the plane descends, she steadies herself for this new chapter. Her mother's words echo in her mind, firm and straightforward. "Remember, Y/n, you're in Gotham to observe and to learn," Talia had said with her usual calm certainty. "This will be a valuable experience. Don't reveal your past- not to Bruce, not to anyone. Let them think you're just a spoiled child in need of toughening up. It will be safer that way."

The jet finally touches down with a gentle jolt, and Y/n takes a steadying breath. When the door opens, a cool gust of night air sweeps in, carrying the faint smell of rain and metal. She steps out, scanning the surroundings with practiced precision, her senses heightened.

Waiting for her beside a sleek black car is an older man in a perfectly tailored suit. He stands with impeccable posture, hands clasped in front of him. His expression is both kind and shrewd, and he inclines his head slightly as she approaches.

"Good evening, Miss Y/n," he says, his voice smooth and formal. "I am Alfred Pennyworth, butler to the Wayne family. He has asked me to personally escort you to Wayne Manor. Welcome to Gotham."

"Thank you, Alfred." She nods, her voice steady and polite. His calm demeanour puts her somewhat at ease, a welcome buffer against the tension simmering beneath the surface. He gestures toward the car, opening the door for her with a practiced grace. She slides into the backseat, the leather cool against her palms as she settles in.

The car driving  away from the airstrip and toward the city. Alfred's eyes meet hers briefly in the rear-view mirror. "Gotham is... an unusual city, Miss Y/n," he says, his tone careful yet warm. "I thought a brief introduction might be helpful as we drive."

"I'd appreciate that," Y/n replies, keeping her voice light. She has faced enemies in battle without flinching, but something about Gotham's unpredictability keeps her on edge.

Alfred's faint smile softens the air of caution in his words. "To put it simply, Gotham is a city of extremes. Its beauty is often deceptive. The grandeur you'll see is matched by shadows of poverty and crime. This place has a way of revealing the best and the worst in people."

Y/n turns to the window, watching the city unfold. They drive through streets where run down buildings and rusted signs seem to lean into the oppressive air. In the dim corners of doorways, malnourished children huddle together, their hollow eyes following the occasional passer by and tired prostitutes forcefully offering themselves for a little money. Her chest tightens as she takes in the stark contrast between the city's opulent skyline and its forgotten souls.

She thinks of Jason. She can almost picture him as a boy in these streets- hungry, cold, and alone, trying to survive in the shadow of Gotham's elite. The memory of him stirs a pang of anger and sadness, though she pushes it down quickly, masking it with the persona she's here to project.

"My mother thought I needed a reality check," she says, injecting her voice with a breezy carelessness. "Apparently, Gotham was the perfect choice."

Alfred chuckles softly, a polite but knowing sound. "A reality check, indeed."

The car transitions from the chaos of the city to the quiet elegance of the suburbs. Alfred navigates through winding roads lined with tall trees and stately homes. When the car finally turns onto a private driveway, Y/n catches her first glimpse of Wayne Manor. The imposing gothic structure looms ahead, its grandeur accentuated by the soft glow of lights spilling through its many windows.

"Quite the sight, isn't it, Miss Y/n?" Alfred remarks, his voice carrying a faint note of pride. "Master Damian, of course, considers it underwhelming compared to the many places of his childhood."

Y/n smirks faintly, suppressing a laugh. "I can't say I've seen many places like this either," she replies, though the truth is far from her words. She thinks of the League's hidden places- stark, practical, and carved into remote cliffs or buried deep in the shadows of the earth. Compared to those cold halls, Wayne Manor feels almost alive.

Inside, the warmth of the manor surprises her. Rich wood panelling and shimmering chandeliers give the space a stately elegance, but before she can fully take it in, chaos erupts.

"Damian, you idiotic maniac, give it back!"

A teenager storms past Y/n, fury radiating from him, while a smaller boy with dark hair and a smug expression follows close behind.

"Perhaps you should invest in better quality items, Drake," Damian answers teasingly. "Clearly, those headphones weren't meant to last."

Tim Drake spins around, glaring at Damian with pure annoyance. "You broke them! They're limited edition!"

"Consider it a lesson in resilience."

"I'm telling Dick the second he gets back from Blüdhaven!" Tim yells, his face red with frustration.

Before the argument escalates further, Alfred clears his throat with a sharp but polite "Ahem." Both boys pause, their attention drawn to him.

"Gentlemen, we have a guest," Alfred announces, gesturing toward Y/n.

Tim mutters an awkward "Hi" before retreating upstairs, clearly eager to escape the situation. Damian, however, freezes when his eyes land on Y/n. For a moment, his usual confidence falters, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. Without warning, he rushes forward and hugsher tightly, burying his face in her side.

Y/n's breath hitches in surprise, but she quickly wraps her arms around him, holding him close. "Damian..."

He pulls back just as abruptly as he hugs her, his cheeks flushing. "That was... I was merely ensuring you were unharmed from your journey. Nothing more."

She smiles, her tone teasing. "Of course. The great Damian Al Ghul showing sentimentality? Impossible."

"Tch." He scowls, though the blush deepens. "This is why I avoid attachments."

From the staircase, Tim's voice drifts down. "That's a lie, and we all know it!"

"Quiet, Drake!" Damian snaps, his voice sharp, but Y/n catches the flicker of a smile on his lips.

Once the chaos subsides, Damian offers to show Y/n around the manor. She accepts, eager for the chance to talk to him alone. As they walk through the expansive halls, she looks amazed at the blend of elegance and history, but her focus remains on the boy beside her.

"You've grown," she says softly, glancing at him.

"Of course I have," he replies. "It's been years."

They reach a quiet sitting room, and Damian hesitates before sitting with her on the plush couch. She sits beside him, her expression growing serious.

"Damian," she begins, her tone serious, "I need to talk to you."

He turns to her, his expression immediately alert. "What is it?"

She hesitates for a moment before saying, "Grandfather is dead."

His reaction is startled- a flicker of emotion crossing his face before he changes it back to his usual stoicism. "How?"

"It doesn't matter," she says firmly. "What matters is that I've left the League. I'm forging my own path now."

He narrows his eyes slightly. "You mean... you're still an assassin?"

"Yes," she admits. "But on my own terms. I believe killing is sometimes necessary to fight crime. I won't apologize for that."

Damian studies her, his green eyes sharp. "Does the family know?"

"No," she says. "And they don't need to. This is my fight, Damian. My choice."

He nods slowly, understanding but conflicted. "I won't say anything."

A small smile tugs at her lips. "Thank you."

They sit in silence for a moment before she adds, "By the way, that argument with Tim earlier... you were enjoying yourself, weren't you?"

His cheeks tint red again. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She laughs softly, nudging him. "It's good to see you like this. Part of a family."

The soft sound of approaching footsteps breaks the silence. Alfred, ever the presence of calm authority, appears around the corner, his attire immaculate as always.

"Miss Y/n," he begins with a polite bow of his head, "your room is ready. I believe you'll find it most accommodating. If there's anything you need, do not hesitate to call for me."

She glances at him, unsure how to respond. The idea of having her own room- something more than the League's barracks or a run downed safe house feels foreign, even indulgent.

"Thank you," she mutters softly, still adjusting to the kindness she is not used to.

"Dinner will be served in thirty minutes," Alfred adds with a warm smile before disappearing as quietly as he arrived.

Damian walks her to the room, keeping his usual air of detachment, though she catches him glancing at her occasionally. As they arrive, he nods curtly and walks off, leaving her standing in front of the polished wooden door. 

Taking a deep breath, she opens it.

──────────────────────

Y/n freezes as she steps inside. The room is grand practically a palace compared to the cramped  quarters she would known in the League. Rich, dark wood panels line the walls, and the faint scent of lavender lingers in the air. A plush bed with a headboard dominates the centre of the room. To one side, a grand desk sits beneath shelves filled with books she does not recognize, and on the other, a wardrobe big enough to hold a lifetime of disguises.

But it is the window that draws her attention.

She moves toward it as if in a trance, the faint creak of the wooden floor under her feet the only sound. Unlocking the latch, she pushes the window open, letting the sharp, cold night air rush into the room.

The view takes her breath away. Below, a sprawling garden stretches out, bathed in the soft silver light of the moon. Flowers of every colour bloom, their petals swaying gently in the breeze. A narrow stone path through the garden, leading to an ancient well covered in creeping ivy.

Her chest tightens. For the first time in what feels like forever, she feels something close to peace. She had forgotten what beauty looked like, what it meant to stand in a moment that was not overshadowed by pain or survival.

She leans against the windowsill, the cold biting into her skin, grounding her. "Freedom," she whispers to herself, the word strange on her tongue. Jason had talked about this once, about stepping away from the shadows, from the chains that bound them.

"This is what you meant, isn't it?" she murmurs under her breath, her gaze locked on the well. A small smile tugs at her lips, unbidden but not unwelcome.

Her thoughts are interrupted by Alfred's voice calling up from the corridor. "Miss Y/n, dinner is ready."

With a sigh, she closes the window, sealing the cold night air out. The world outside remains untouched, as if it's waiting for her to come back and find it again.

As Y/n follows the smell of food down the hall, her senses sharpen. The faint aroma of roasted meat, fresh bread, and spices fills the air, making her stomach twist- not in hunger, but in unease. The grand dining room comes into view, its long table emphasised by a chandelier that casts soft golden light across the polished surface.

Six chairs are set, but only three are occupied. Damian is already seated, his posture as rigid as ever. Across from him sit Alfred and Tim, who offers her a polite but curious glance.

"Where are the others?" Y/n asks, her voice clipped.

Damian, cutting into his plate with precision, does not even look up. "Father is occupied with work at Wayne Enterprises, as usual. And Grayson is in Blüdhaven. He'll probably return tomorrow."

Her brow furrows. "Grayson?"

"Dick Grayson," Damian replies, his tone flat. "Eldest sibling. You'll meet him soon enough."

The name sticks in her mind for some reason, but she pushes the thought away.

As she sits down, her eyes are drawn to the food. The sheer abundance of it feels overwhelming: steaming dishes of rich meats, buttery vegetables, decadent desserts. She swallows hard, her chest tightening again, but this time not with awe.

She is transported back to the streets of Gotham, where malnourished children with hollow eyes begged for scraps. Her hands clench under the table, the fork and knife feeling alien in her grasp.

"Pathetic," she thinks bitterly. The irony of it all: the rich and powerful feasting while the weak starve, their lives devoured by those with more than enough. Her appetite vanishes entirely.

Despite her discomfort, the others chat casually. Tim discusses a project he is working on, while Damian occasionally throws in a sarcastic comment. Alfred's dry humour draws the occasional laugh, and even Damian seems... lighter, happier in her presence. She notices the change but says nothing, unsure if she should feel honoured or burdened by his dependence on her.

As the dinner concludes, Alfred approaches her, his kind eyes warm with gratitude.

"Miss Y/n," he says softly, "thank you. Damian has... changed since you've arrived. He hasn't opened up to anyone like this in years. It's a relief to see him smile again."

She is taken aback, unsure how to respond. A part of her wants to reject the idea that she's made any difference. But another part, the part that still aches from losing Jason feels a flicker of pride.

"You're welcome," she murmurs awkwardly, avoiding his gaze.

That night, Y/n lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room is too quiet, too comfortable. She closes her eyes, hoping sleep will come quickly. But instead, the darkness drags her back into the past.

She is in a dimly lit room, the air thick with the stench of blood and sweat. The walls echo with the sound of her own ragged breathing. Jason is beside her, his face pale, his body trembling as he tries to stand.

"Get up," she whispers urgently, her voice cracking. "Jason, we have to move!"

But he does not respond. She turns to see why and freezes. His chest is covered in blood, the red seeping through his uniform like a spreading stain. His eyes are dull, unfocused.

A shadow looms over them, a figure she cannot fully see but knows too well. The voice is cold, sharp, cutting through her like a blade.

"You failed," it says. "You were supposed to protect him."

"No," she whispers, backing away. "I didn't—"

"You let him die."

The room tilts, spinning around her as Jason's lifeless body slumps to the ground. She screams, but no sound comes out. Shadows rise around her, twisting into grotesque shapes, reaching for her with clawed hands.

"Jason!" she screams, jolting awake.

Her heart pounds in her chest as she sits up, gasping for air. The room is still, the only sound her own ragged breathing. She runs a trembling hand through her hair, trying to shake the images from her mind.

"This is my freedom?" she mutters bitterly to herself, tears stinging her eyes. "This is what it feels like?"

For the first time since arriving at Wayne Manor, she wonders if she made the right choice coming here, or if the shadows of her past will follow her forever.  

──────────────────────

Loud voices echo through the halls, disrupting Y/n's sleep. She stands up, tired and annoyed, as the muffled sounds grow louder. One voice is sharp and biting- Damian's, and the other is casual, teasing, and far too cheerful for this hour.

She sits up, running a hand through her hair before pulling on a sweatshirt. Her peace is clearly under attack, and the perpetrators are about to face her wrath.

As she steps into the hallway, she spots Damian glaring daggers at a tall man standing with his arms crossed and a wide grin plastered across his face.

"You're still as grumpy as ever," the man teases, ignoring Damian's withering look.

"Grayson," Damian growls. "Don't you have someone else to bother?"

The man laughs, the sound bright and infectious. "Not when you're this much fun."

Then his gaze lands on Y/n. His grin widens. "And who's this?" he asks, stepping forward. "The famous Y/n? The miracle worker who managed to make 'this guy' somewhat tolerable?"

Y/n crosses her arms, unimpressed. "You're... loud."

Dick pauses, his grin faltering for a moment before he recovers. "Wow. Tough crowd." He offers a hand. "Dick Grayson. My pleasure to meet-."

She does not take his hand. "Nice to meet you, Richard."

"Dick," he corrects, his smile becoming a little strained.

"Sure," she says, brushing past him to stand next to Damian.

Dick looks after her, a mix of amusement and confusion on his face. "Is she always this charming?" he asks Damian, who smirks.

"She doesn't like idiots," Damian replies flatly.

"Guess I'll just have to grow on her," Dick quips. "It's a good thing I'm irresistible."

Y/n rolls her eyes, muttering, "Nepo baby energy."

Dick looks genuinely offended. "I have earned my nepo baby privileges, thank you very much."

──────────────────────

By the time Y/n makes it to the dining room, Alfred is already setting out breakfast. The long, polished table hosts a spread that's almost overwhelming: eggs, bacon, toast, fresh fruit, and more. 

Bruce sits at the head of the table, reading the newspaper. Damian is already seated, and Dick strolls in casually, pulling out a chair across from her. He flashes her a grin as he sits.

"Don't worry," he says. "It's not a trap. You're allowed to eat."

Y/n glares at him. "Hilarious."

Dick smirks, clearly enjoying her hostility.

Bruce finally looks up from his paper. "Dick, stop antagonizing our guest," he says in a calm but firm tone.

"Who, me? I'm just being friendly," Dick protests innocently.

Damian snorts. "Grayson's idea of 'friendly' is an exercise in irritation."

Breakfast is a strange mix of tension and teasing. Dick continues to try to win Y/n over with his humour, but she shoots down every attempt with sharp remarks and cold stares. Damian, for once, seems genuinely entertained.

By the end of the meal, Dick leans back in his chair, looking at Y/n with an amused expression. "You know, you're like a tougher Damian," he says. "I'm starting to think we should keep you around just to keep me on my toes."

Y/n doesn't respond, focusing on her coffee.

──────────────────────

After breakfast, Alfred approaches Y/n with a polite smile. "Miss Y/n, Master Wayne would like to see you in his office."

Y/n nods, her curiosity hidden. She follows Alfred down the hall to a large, imposing door. Inside, Bruce is seated at a massive desk, papers and files neatly arranged in front of him. He gestures for her to sit in the chair across from him.

"I wanted to discuss a few things," Bruce begins, his voice calm but authoritative. "Mainly your safety."

Y/n raises an eyebrow. "I'm fine."

Bruce leans back in his chair, his gaze steady. "I'm aware of what happened to your grandfather. Talia killed him, which puts you and Damian as targets of the League of Assassins."

Y/n stiffens but says nothing.

"That's why I want you to learn the basics of self-defence," Bruce continues. "It's important you're able to protect yourself."

Y/n forces her expression to remain neutral, but inside, she is boiling. He does not know the truth, does not know that she has been fighting for her life long before she ever stepped foot in this house.

"I think a self-defence class could be useful," she says carefully, pretending to have no history of combat.

Bruce narrows his eyes slightly, sensing her resistance. "It's not optional. And Dick is more than qualified to teach you."

"Dick?" she echoes, her tone laced with disdain. "Isn't he busy... being loud?"

Bruce's lips twitch in what might almost be a smile. "He's more capable than he looks."

Y/n clenches her jaw, but she knows better than to argue. "Fine," she says tightly.

Before she leaves, she hesitates. "I want to start working," she says, her voice firmer now.

Bruce looks up from his paperwork. "You can work at Wayne Enterprises. I'll have HR—"

"No," Y/n interrupts. "I don't want any handouts. I want to work on my own terms. Somewhere small, like a library."

Bruce studies her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You'll need a bank account."

"I'll take care of that," she says quickly. "Just... let me handle it."

He nods slowly, his gaze lingering on her. "Alright. But if you need anything, you'll let me know."

"Sure," she replies, standing up.

As she leaves his office, she cannot help but feel a small victory. A private bank account is exactly what she needs, for her "real" work.

The rest of the day passes in a blur, with Y/n carefully navigating the dynamics of the Wayne household. She avoids Dick as much as possible, knowing that his teasing and charm will only irritate her further. But as she settles into her new life, a part of her wonders how long she can keep her secrets buried.

[sanguine-salvation]

The Gotham night is foggy as ever, and the few zombies on the streets don't waste time, glancing over their shoulders and quickening their steps at every sound and shadow.

This is Viktor's Zsazs's playground-- no, open-air theater, a stage for his divine mission. The zombies who cling to the light are moths to a lamp, and-- well, that's a mixed metaphor, isn't it? What really matters is the work, and their mercy, and one particular zombie bustling into the warm light of her old brownstone.

(Fluttering like a little moth)

The doors are unlocked (stupid), and the zombie-- a walking target in a city like this, oblivious-- hums to herself. She hangs her coat on a hook and kicks off her pretty heels. As she moves from the understated opulence of the living room and into the kitchen, she fumbles with one of the diamond earrings she wears. Clack! One earring dropped on the counter. Clack! The other.

She hums around the kitchen, hums her way over to the liquor cabinet, fuckinghums as she fills a brandy snifter to the brim. It’s only when she brings the crystal glass to her lips, inhaling the scent of the liquor that she shuts up.

It’s also the moment the lights flicker and die. (Atmosphere!) As Viktor’s blade cuts through the air, she turns, free hand shooting out to catch their wrist. Her grip is—they can’t move their hand. (Tension!) A shaft of light from an outside streetlamp shines inside just so, and her eyes gleam like a cat’s. (The twist!) Then the lights are back, and she’s smiling pleasantly at them, that knife an inch from her eye.

“I am sorry Gerard wasn’t here to open the door for you.” Her teeth are white and even, and this close, her eyes a soft green. She smells faintly of a perfume their mother used to wear. She’s—warm, but her fingers on their wrist unyielding. “I gave him the night off, you see. And the others.”

She inhales another whiff of brandy, closing her eyes as an expression of bliss passes across her face. “Lovely,” the zombie murmurs, then turns her attention back to them. “Won’t you sit down for a drink?”

[from knicknackery with permission for the godmoddy-ness!]

Her fingers are warm, but it chills them to the bone.

Viktor's eyes are still alight with that mix of mindlessness and unbearably locked attention as the lights come back on, caught by shock midway through the moment of salvation— denied the shared release and left cold! Their mind reels as they take in the feeling of such strength at their wrist, and for a moment their heartbeat lurches up into their ears.

It takes a whole second for them to snap back to the world around them, the zombie looking at them directly, her eyes reflecting a familiar glint back at them past the steel of their blade, lingering so close that they should have been able to end it for her there, save her there save her save her save her, but...

They can't move it a bit.

They blink and suddenly a much sharper look comes over them, their head leering down and a small snarl tempting their upper lip as they stare back, reading her face like a book in a whole new language they were learning by the second. The smell of the zombie's perfume makes their brain go weightless in ways old and aching.

"... Did you now." The words slither off their tongue, slow and deliberate. Did she know? She surely couldn't, the paranoia itched in their head, but no no no, surely she couldn't. They take a steadying breath, but the cluttered frustrated emotion is still there, and the muscles in their ensnared wrist flex uselessly under her grasp. They are very aware there is no way they can move against her.

So, prattling communication it is.

They can smell the brandy thick in the air, that nigh overfilled glass tangling with the delicate perfume that kept nagging at their mind again and again. But the words come again.

"... Good brandy. Nothing less would do, I assume." Festering opulence. They tersely sigh, a tepid anger filtering through. The need, the duty, bitingtwitchingachinggnawing. But their arms ease, and while every inch of muscle is ready to lurch and lunge like the Angel they belong to, there is instead a silent accord in their eyes. "... You want to converse. I will permit it."

[yumekojabaml]

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 2

Summary: M/n has gotten into a new high school he was scared since he was different from others. He wonders how they will treat him.

author's purpose: Love ya🤞🏾

You looked up at the school your mom was a rich woman so she was able to get you into an elite school. An elite school where THE Damian Wayne goes.

Gotham Academy, a haven for the privileged and the prodigiously brilliant, was a world away from the grit and grime of the city it resided in. It was here, amidst the manicured lawns and towering gothic architecture, that I found myself navigating the labyrinthine halls, a lone interloper amidst the scions of Gotham's elite.

My life had been a constant game of hide and seek, my identity a secret I guarded fiercely. Ever since I was a child, I’d been aware of the differences in my body, the subtle deviations that set me apart. In a world obsessed with binary definitions, I was a paradox, a being caught between two worlds.

The opulent hallways echoed with the murmur of hushed conversations, the air thick with the scent of privilege and polished wood. I was lost in my thoughts, the anxieties of navigating this unfamiliar territory gnawing at my insides, when I collided with someone.

A curt, “Watch where you're going,” was all that accompanied the impact, followed by the sharp click of boots retreating.

I looked up, my pulse quickening, heart hammering against my ribs. It was him. Damian Wayne, the son of Bruce Wayne, the infamous billionaire. His eyes, as dark and piercing as a raven's, met mine for a fleeting moment. He seemed to see right through me, an unsettling feeling that sent a shiver down my spine.

Then, he turned away, an almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He knew. He knew about me, about the secret I’d kept hidden for so long.

I stumbled back, the words he'd spoken echoing in my mind. The way he looked at me, as if he understood something I hadn't even dared to articulate, sent a wave of fear crashing over me. How could he know? How could he see what no one else had ever dared to acknowledge?

The rest of the day was a blur. Every shadow seemed to hold his presence. Each word whispered in the hallway felt like an echo of his knowing gaze. I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, of being seen for who I was, the very thing I had been desperately trying to conceal.

That night, sleepless and consumed by a whirlwind of emotions, I tried to make sense of it all. What did he know? How did he know? The questions gnawed at me, refusing to let go.

The next day, I braced myself for another encounter, a confrontation. But he didn’t appear. And as days turned into weeks, I found myself longing for that fleeting glimpse of his eyes, that unnerving feeling that he sawp me, truly saw me, for who I was.

One afternoon, I found myself alone in the library, the silence broken only by the rustling of pages and my own frantic heartbeat. And then, I saw him. He was sitting in the corner, a book in hand, his expression unreadable.

He looked up, his eyes meeting mine, and this time, there was something else in them. A flicker of something that could have been…understanding?

His gaze held mine, a silent acknowledgement that transcended words. And in that moment, I knew. He wasn’t my enemy. He was someone who saw me.

[ozsyn]

Those Who Were Seen Dancing

Ramsay Bolton x Reader; Harley Quinn x Joker

Chapter 1 of 8-ish?

Summary:

Gotham City is a kingdom ruled by The Joker and Harley Quinn. When (Y/N) is taken from her home and placed under the wing of the Clown Princess of Crime, she is shown a world she never knew.

Ramsay Bolton has clawed his way through the ranks to become The Joker’s apprentice, but even Gotham can get a little mundane. When someone new comes to town, he’s finally got something to do. What could be more fun than dragging an outsider into the deep end and watching her drown?

———————————————————-

As the elevator doors screech open with a discordant hiss, (Y/N) gets her first glimpse of Gotham’s grand penthouse.

Her towering heels click along the marble flooring as she continues towards the makeshift throne room.

Gilt and opulence are on full garish display here as ancient vases from dynasties long past stand sentinel on chipped pedestals, forgotten sculptures of Greek gods are sporadically arranged throughout the room, and stolen Monets, Manets, and Rembrandts adorn the walls.

Such finery could hold its place in any museum in the world, but instead these beautiful works of art have been ripped from their rightful homes and left here to rot in faux splendor.

She can’t help but feel a connection towards these lost creations, their kinship forged in their kidnappings.

She pushes that feeling of intense bitterness aside, however, remembering what she must do.

Her mother was far from a loving homemaker, but she did leave her daughter with one crucial piece of advice:

Survive.

After all, everyone in Gotham is just trying to survive in their own fucked up way.

And none hold truer to that belief than the people represented on the towering doors before her.

The right is unmistakable.

The Clown Prince of Crime is certifiable royalty in Gotham. The once pristine white backdrop has been graffitied with chaotic black lettering amongst spurts of purple and green.

She can make out the word “smile” and other crude references to the villain’s penchant for laughter.

But her gaze soon transfers to the left door.

The white has been coupled with black to form a triangular checkered pattern. Atop that in vibrant shades of red are various card suits and similar splashes of paint all bearing their symbolism to Gotham’s mysterious queen, Harley Quinn.

Without warning, the doors suddenly swing open and (Y/N) is ushered inside.

There, sitting atop a set of thrones are the true King and Queen of Gotham City.

Her eyes fall on the woman. Blonde hair cascades down her shoulders, their opposing tips colored in red and black.

A tiara of jeweled clubs, spades, diamonds, and hearts adorns her head as she sits poised in a striking red gown, one side slashed in front as if by a blade.

Seated next to her on the dais is the one and only Joker.

His purple coat-tailed jacket, matching satin gloves, and garish green hair do nothing to detract from the power this sadistically grinning man holds.

However, the woman suddenly rises, any formalities of a true court being quickly tossed aside.

(Y/N) bows her head graciously as is proper, but finds it unceremoniously lifted upwards.

A finger is swiped haphazardly across her lips, smearing her pristine shade.

She looks up as the woman wipes the remaining stain onto her dress and grins.

“Do we look organized around here to you?”

“Come on, kid. I’ll introduce ya to the boss.”

Other Links:

Reluctant Chosen One

Demon!Ramsay x Demon!Reader

Ramsay x Reader Angels and Demons

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

EVERYTHING THEY SAY YOU ARE.

by luckynoon

“Jason was our brother. Our responsibility.” Bruce said, without looking up. He pulled his hand away, instead resting it on the arm of the opulent leather couch.

“His life was. His death wasn’t.” David told him.

Bruce said nothing.

——— Blood split the pavement in two, and it dripped from the ears of Batman’s cowl like rain-soaked thorns. When he smiled, blood stained his teeth. It both coated his surroundings, and quieted them. He had chosen tonight because it wouldn’t rain. The night was cold, but charged. Bodies were strewn across the docks like confetti after a parade.

Beneath Batman’s right boot, a man gave an experimental gurgle. Only when he did it again did Batman lift his foot. He crouched beside the man, watching him as he wheezed and rattled, body trembling.

“Please.” The man sputtered, his red-painted lips splattered with blood as he coughed.

TL;DR: Thomas and Martha Wayne are still alive, struggling to take Gotham City back from its hellish underworld. Batman has controlled the night for around 3 years, and is plagued by his shadow following the death of Robin. Meanwhile, Bruce Wayne and his twin David mourn the death of their brother in spectacular displays of grief.

Words: 1559, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman: Arkham (Video Games), The Batman (Movie 2022), DCU (Comics), DC Extended Universe

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: Gen

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Batman, batman oc - Character, Martha Wayne, Thomas Wayne, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Joker (DCU), Batman (DCU), Wayne OC

Additional Tags: Twin AU, Bruce Wayne Has a Sibling, Bruce Wayne has a twin, Bruce Wayne Has a Bad Day, There's A Tag For That, Batman Has a Twin, Batman AU, Batman Twin AU, Bruce Wayne Twin AU, Alternate Universe - Twins

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/48814057