Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / This Is Part 4

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / This is Part 4

A/N: I wasn’t going to write this, but after I got the ask I had to haha. No beta or proof reading because we die like Jason.

Aaaaand if you like my writing please check out my fanzine/fanbook here, it’s got gorgeous art from 5 different artists and ten different fanfictions!

When you heard a knock on the door, you expected a package or maybe a friend who’d decided to stop by for an impromptu view of the Gotham skyline.

You certainly weren’t expecting an elementary schooler standing on your blue patterned doormat with an expression so severe he could make someone cower from the memory alone.

You stare at each other for what feels like ages in a one sided staring contest. Something about him feels so familiar, the shape of his nose, the cut of his jaw—

“Oh, you’re Damian.”

He looks different from the grainy photographs in the tabloids you’ve become accustomed to. Somehow, in the flesh, he looks younger.

“Can I come in?” he asks with all the eloquence of someone a second from inviting themselves in.

“I don’t think your dad would like that.”

This stops him in his tracks. His head ducks down, the tips of his ears dyed bright red. The boy doesn’t give a damn about social conventions, but he cares about what his father thinks, huh?

The sight of him flushed and awkward is endearing in a way you didn’t expect,

He looks so much like Bruce.

“Well, I think he’d like photographs of you and his ex-wife sitting in the coffee shop downstairs in the tabloids even less, so…” you open the door a bit wider, and it’s all the invitation he needs.

He perches at the edge of your arm chair. You ask him if he wants something to drink, he refuses, you turn on the tea kettle anyway.

You’re thinking of a polite way to ask Bruce’s carbon copy what the hell he’s doing at your doorstep, when he points to something behind you.

“Is that Father?”

You follow his direction, landing on a photograph in a cheap metal frame.

“Yeah, it’s from our wedding.”

It’s not a memory from the extravagant portion, the part that was televised on channel 6 news that all of Gotham followed with a fervor equivalent only to a royal wedding. It’s a memory after everyone left, you’re in a white slip dress a carton of French fries clasped in your hand, Bruce is beside you grinning from ear to ear, his bow tie untied and laid flat around his shoulders. Dick and Jason are sitting at your feet, Jason has a grin with his arm slung around Dick’s shoulder, still wearing his formal attire, while Dick has three French fries hanging from his mouth, his suit jacket and pants long gone, a hint of his blue and white striped boxers visible underneath his oversized dress shirt.

It was before everything bad happened, before monumental realizations were had and deaths were cemented, back when you were still living in the dream of what you thought married life could be.

“I think this is the last time we had everyone all together in one picture.” Shortly after Jason passed away, and no one felt like taking candid pictures, there wasn’t much to celebrate in the year after.

“Drake’s not in it,” Damian notes, accepting the frame with both hands.

“No, Tim came into our lives a year after.” After an entire year of sleeping in Jason’s bedroom and fighting Bruce on not donating his things.

Damian nods, and you feel like the social weight has finally shifted in your favor.

“What do I owe the pleasure of this visit Damian?”

He looks at you with an unwavering gaze, it reminds you of his dad. Bruce might have his flaws, but you always admired the way he would look someone straight in the eyes when he talked to them.

It feels a bit like you’re going back in time, healing a wound you didn’t realize you still had.

“How long were you with my Father?”

It’s been four years since your association with Bruce Wayne and his alter ego ended, but you can’t break the habit of searching for what his children are not saying. The same way Dick is chatty when he’s covering a mistake he made, or Jason who’s first emotional response to any new situation is guilt, or Tim who covers his own self worth issues with hard work, and the way Bruce used to kiss you a little more freely in public when Batman was making headlines.

It’s alarming that this boy’s real motive is twice as difficult to decode as his father’s.

He wants to know if Bruce was cheating on me.

It’s a question you’d pondered yourself after a handful of reporters shoved microphones in your face asking about how you felt about Bruce Wayne’s secret love child a few years ago. It took them a month to realize you weren’t going to give them any information, and it took you half a year to realize even if he did cheat on you it didn’t really matter.

“We were dating for about two years before we got married.” It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s the only kindness you can offer this boy at the moment.

The gleam in his eyes tells you he can see right through you.

“Is that when you met?”

Figures he’s just like his Dad.

“No, we met in college, about six years before that.”

“And you had romantic feelings for him since then?”

You shake your head. “No, I didn’t like him very much at first.” All the girls fawned over him like he was gods gift to the world, even if a part of you thought he was attractive, you’d rather cut your hand off than admit it.

“What changed?”

“Time, I guess.” You can’t remember when your feelings for Bruce turned from annoyance to friendship, or when that friendship turned to affection.

“There was a period where I didn’t see him for a few years, after we both graduated, and then we reconnected.” You’re giving him a window, a place where his mom and dad might have met and fell in love. The peace of knowing that you came after her, and that no one betrayed anyone.

Unlike his father, he accepts this logic with a nod. You bite back a sigh of relief. But before you can rejoice, you see his mouth start to part.

“How do you like Gotham so far Damian?”

He blinks, and just like that he’s ten years old again.

“It’s okay, the food is bad.”

You laugh, and you miss the way his shoulders jump at the sound.

“I guess it is, have you been to Fig’s bistro off of 45th street yet?”

“I have, but I’m a vegetarian so there’s usually a single dish on the menu that’s basically an after thought.”

“That makes sense, how about Uchi? It’s a sushi restaurant that’s entirely vegetarian.”

You go on like this, reviews of resteraunt turn into conversations about Alfred’s home cooking, which turns into discussion about school. Somewhere along a tirade about the American education system you get him to accept a cup of tea, and by the time you’ve pulled old photo albums out you’ve polished two plates of snacks.

It would have gone on like this if you weren’t interrupted by a knock on your door.

You both trade surprised looks, and with wrinkle eyebrows, you open the door.

“Oh, hi Tim.” It’s been years since you’ve seen him in the flesh, unlike Dick he doesn’t post on social media often, and when he does it’s never a picture of his face. The best you’ve gotten in the years that have passed is a side profile during a gala interview where he hurried past his older brothers.

He looks older now, older than sixteen. The circles under his eyes seem extra dark under the dim lights of your hallway, and you can see faint lines on his forehead starting to form.

“Hi (Y/N).”

Tim isn’t like Dick and Jason, you only got a few years with him, and for most of that time he wasn’t in the manor full time. You can’t remember doing anything particularly special for him when you were with Bruce, other than occasionally forcing him to drink water and applying cream to his cuts while he slept.

“Bruce sent me to get Damian.” The sound of your ex-husband’s name sends a chill down your spine, even after all this time. You force yourself to nod.

You move out the way, and Tim inside.

“It’s time to go.” If you thought the look Damian gave you was severe, then the way he’s looking at Tim is downright murderous. But he doesn’t object, tugging on his jacket as he walks over to the door.

He turns to look at you when he’s halfway to the door.

“Who do you think Father’s true love is?”

You cock your head to the side, on the surface it’s a loaded question, but by now it should be fairly obvious to anyone in Bruce’s inner circle.

“Gotham, of course.”

Damian stares at you hard for seven long seconds, before turning abruptly and walking out the door.

You wait for Tim to follow him, but instead he’s looking at you.

“I’ll be eighteen in a year,” he says. Your eyebrows wrinkle together as he averts his gaze, his ears bright red. “I-is it okay if I give you a call on my birthday?”

You soften immediately, and before you can stop yourself you’re pulling him into a hug. He returns it automatically. You hold his face in your hands, caressing the soft skin under his eyes with your thumbs.

“I’ll call you on July nineteenth, I promise.” He nods and you kiss his forehead. “Take care of yourself Timmy.” He nods again, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. He waves at you before stepping into the elevator, and then just as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone again.

By the time Tim’s caught up to Damian he’s already halfway down the street.

“I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” Damian grumbles. Tim considers retorting with a question about when he asked, but decides against it.

He kind of gets it, when he started his fee dive into the Wayne household lore, you were the thing that surprised him most. You’re not exceptionally beautiful, not in the way you’d have men drooling as soon as you entered a room, and you’re not well off or socially superior either.

From the outside looking in, you’re not someone people would expect Bruce Wayne to end up with.

“So what’s the verdict?”

Damian’s eyes get steely, his mouth turned down.

“She’s kind.”

There it is. The thing that makes you extraordinary. So simple from the surface, but incredibly complex underneath.

Tim nods in agreement, he hadn’t realized how much he missed you until you were standing in front of him. A little older than he remembered, but just as warm as always.

“She’s wrong about Bruce’s true love you know,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “If she asked him to quit being Batman, he would have.”

His mouth gets harder, and his eyes glaze over.

“Yeah, I know.”

Bonus:

“Hey Damian.”

“What?”

“I parked the car in the other direction.”

A/N: I hope you liked it, and please check out my fanzine if you have a second :)

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / This is Part 3! / Part 4 Here!

A/N: I don’t think the poll is over yet, but this one was very clearly going to have the highest percentage, I’ll do the “maybe if we were closer in age” one later though!

If you haven’t already please check out my Batman zine, it’s got so much fanfiction and beautiful art from five different artists! Please check it out, please. I need to find a way to compensate these artists. You can check it out here!

Bruce slumps in his chair, a longing glance spared to the decanter on the bookshelf.

He closes his eyes and wills away the craving. It’s always ten times worse when he wakes up the next day, and he can’t afford feeling worse at this point in his life.

Wasn’t it just yesterday he was twenty years old and he could spend all night playing Bruce Wayne’s party boy image, and be up in three hours feeling none the worse for wear. Now even after nine hours of solid sleep, he wakes up sluggish with an ache in his bones.

I have to be strong.

“Why did you keep her away from us?”

“Who?” he asks absentmindedly, his entire focus still on the brandy.

“(Y/N).” It’s the last name he expected to hear, especially from his oldest son. He looks up, hoping he’s misheard, but the look in Dick’s eyes proves him wrong.

Looks like I’m going to need that drink after all.

He reaches for the decanter, two crystal glasses retrieved from his desk drawer instinctually, glittering on his desk.

“Why are you bringing this up now?” He stalls by taking a sip, feigning casual, like the mention of your name alone didn’t set his heart racing.

“Don’t play this game with me Bruce,” Dick sounds more sad than angry, and it softens him. “Why didn’t you let us see her?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Then start untangling it for me.”

Bruce sighs, taking another sip of his father’s brandy. There’s a million reasons he could tell his son, none of which would be lies entirely, but softer than the truth.

But when he looks up into Dick’s eyes, he can’t bring himself to say any of them. Armed with nothing but liquor at the bottom of his cup, for the first time in four years, after dodging this question from reporters and acclaimed journalists and new paramours, he finally tells the truth.

“Because I didn’t want her to see you.”

A simple, ugly truth. He doesn’t bother looking up to see his sons reaction, he already knows a kind boy like Dick, a boy who’s fully believed his entire life that good prevails, won’t be able to process that his father did something like this. He makes better use of his time by refilling his glass.

Dick slumps in the chair by the time he’s polishing off his second peg, and pouring in his third.

“You did it to punish her?” He can see anger begin to replace shock, and he doesn’t blame him for it, but Bruce is angry enough at himself for the both of them.

“I wanted her to forget we ever existed.” This truth is as kind as it is ugly, and the nuance confuses Bruce even now. But three glasses of brandy affect him in a way that makes his tongue feel lighter and his mind feel free.

“I wanted to give her a potato sack full of money and jewels, and send her far away where no one knew who she was. I wanted her to meet a good partner, someone who would always put her first, and if they decided to extend their family I wanted her to be able to move on without feeling like she left anyone behind.”

“So you wanted her to have a great life, far away from you, and you never wanted to hear anything about it,” Dick’s voice is cold.

Bruce shakes his head. He wanted to hear everything about your new life. What kind of partner you picked. How you spent your days. When you got married. When you had your first child. When you had your second. Everything. And on bad days, he’d close his eyes and let himself imagine it was him standing next to you, that in some alternate universe he made a single different decision that gave him permission to deserve you.

“I was just tired of hurting her,” when you came in to his life, for the first time, he felt like he’s been allowed to have something of his own. Not as Batman, protecting to the city, or Bruce Wayne the mask he carried, but him as a man. But he could never seem to return the reverie you extended to him.

“Do you think she’d ever be able to move on, to live even a semblance of a normal life, if all of you were showing up at her house all bruised and beaten?”

Dick stays quiet now, and Bruce hates himself for having to say it out loud. His son may be an adult in the eyes of the law, but some parts of him are still childlike. After all, Bruce isn’t the only one putting Gotham first.

“I wouldn’t call the way she’s living now normal.” Dick’s been to your penthouse, he’s seen the photo albums full of tabloid clippings and the rare pictures he and his extended family post on social media. He’s seen the journal you keep, hidden on your bookshelf that he mistook for a regular novel during his bi-weekly trips to your place, full of notes on every article and picture and what might be happening behind the scenes to prompt a public appearance like that. Years of deductions and question he could have answered with a single text message a month, but Bruce wouldn’t even allow that.

Dick’s anger grows.

If Bruce had told him he did it to punish you, he’d be angry, but he would understand. Sometimes when you love someone that much, someone who’s too good for you, you grasp at any way to keep them. But this is a million times worse than that.

“If you loved her that much why’d you even let her go?”

Again, another question he wasn’t expecting. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but he doesn’t feel the sharp sting of surprise this time.

“Because sometimes love isn’t enough.”

Dick leaves. Bruce pours another glass, and when he’s sure he’s alone he pulls out his wallet, tugging out the family photo he keeps tucked beneath his black card, turning it over to see your portrait taped on the other side.

The corner of his mouth quirks up.

It was from when you’d both just gotten married, before you were used to upper class etiquette. You complained all morning about having to get ready and wear a bunch of expensive uncomfortable clothes designers had sent in for the article in the Gotham Times, emphasizing how ridiculous opulence like this was when there were so many bigger issues in Gotham.

He’d bought out every copy of the magazine in the city. He still had most of them, tucked away in a box in his closet that became the casket for your relationships. Every now and then he’ll unearth it, just to allow himself to be haunted again by your memory.

But for tonight, just your picture and a glass of brandy is enough.

“You’re so much better at this than I am.”

A/N: I think you guys liked this blurb so I’ll make you another. But also please check out my fanbook, the art is so pretty.

You can see the options here!

Part 1 Here! / This is Part 2 / Part 3 Here! / part 4 Here!

Anyway, thinking about Ex-wife bat mom who wanted to leave her marriage behind but never wanted to leave the kids, and wanted to stay involved, but she couldn’t because Bruce didn’t really want her around his family and so she resigns herself to watching them from the tabloids and social media posts, and is only able to reconnect with her oldest children when they turn 18.

You’re smiling as you enters the elevator at your apartment building, there’s a paper bag in your hand from the grocery store with some new cereal brand you think Dick might like, and a Times magazine Barbara would want.

“What floor?” your elevator companion asks, and taking a glance at him for the first time you’re taken aback.

He looks so much like Jason.

Noticing you’ve been quiet for too long, you clearly your throat, and feign contemplation. “Um, 12 please.”

“Penthouse, nice.” The stranger remarks.

“It’s overrated.” The penthouse suite Bruce let you have in the divorce is little consolation for all the weekends you could have seen your kids.

You both stand in silence, and you try not to make your long glances too obvious. If Jason was still here he’d probably be just as old as the boy standing next to you. You can’t imagine practical Jason Todd with a tattoo wrapped around his neck like that though, maybe one of those hearts with ‘Mom’ written inside them if he was trying to stick it to Bruce.

“Is there something on my face?” the stranger asks. You feel heat rise to your face, you can’t believe he caught you staring.

“Oh it’s nothing, you just um, you look like my son.” You give an awkward laugh, and the universe must feel pity for you because the elevator doors slide open. There’s an awkward laugh on the tip of your tongue, a farewell, but a large hand stops the elevator door at the last minute. The stranger’s gaze flickers from you to the ground, his mouth trembling.

“Ma, it’s me,” your heart stops in your chest. “It’s Jason.”

The paper bag crashes to the ground, and before you can even doubt what he’s said, before you can consider that this man is a con artist or a grifter who’s stalked you, you wrap your arms around him.

Your face is in his neck, he’s so much taller than you now, and when you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek your lips graze against a spot on his tattoo where the word ‘Mom’ can be seen hidden in the design.

You usher him into the apartment, scooping the bag with the creased magazine and center cereal box, plucking tea and cookies from the cabinet.

“I wasn’t going to approach you, and I don’t want anything from you,” he promises. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

You have to turn away from him to hide the tears from forming in your eyes. It’s really Jason. Your Jason.

“It’s okay Jason, I know you’re a good boy.” Even dressed in a leather jacket with a suspicious bulge on the bag of his trousers at the waist band, you know his hearts always been in the right place.

“You divorced Bruce?” He asks, and you nod. Pouring tea into two matching cups.

“Was it because of me?”

It’s a question you’ve never anticipated, or thought to ask yourself.

“No,” you decide. “We had the same problems before you…before you went away.” Jason dying just made them more apparent. The way Bruce would never let you in, not even in your grief. The way you or your children would always be second to the city he devoted his life to bettering.

The way he hated himself for being the way he is, and the way you being near him made it worse.

Jason nods, thanking you for the glass of tea. There’s a lopsided smile arched on his mouth as he takes a deep breath in.

“This is my favorite,” he tells you.

You smile back. All these years later and he still loves earl grey, he even adds a generous amount of milk and sugar, and for a second it feels like he’s still that 12 year old boy and nothing has changed at all.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

hellooo!! im not sure if your requests are open so feel free to ignore this but i was wondering if you could write for tasm!peter where the reader just got her wisdom teeth removed and she’s all loopy on anesthetics and forgets peter is her boyfriend? i saw this video where this girl got her wisdom teeth pulled and forgot she was dating her boyfriend and fell in love with him all over again😭😭

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPR7sGQo5/

thank you for your request! ♡ fem, 1k

"Here she is," the nurse says gently, walking you out with his arm behind your back. "Alright, say hi to Peter." 

"Hi, Peter," you mumble, eyes on the floor. 

Peter grins at you, worry warm at the back of his throat. "Hey. Is that everything?" he asks, nodding at the nurses paper bag of aftercare. 

"Everything you'll need." The nurse helps Peter take over, hoisting your arm over his shoulders before stepping away. "Alright, feel better, okay? And don't hesitate to call if something comes up. We're here to look after you." 

You seem appreciative in your fog, but it's hard to tell. Peter curls his arm around your hip and gives it a soft rub as he leads you to the stairs. Whoever devised the floor plan here had murder on their mind —the second floor is completely inaccessible. Luckily, Peter has a lot of strength at his disposal. 

You can feel it. "Woh, you're strong," you murmur. 

"You know that already." His grip on you tightens, pretty much carrying you down the tight staircase. 

"Do I?" you ask. You make a sound like you're hurting, a squeak. 

"I'd hope so." At the end of the staircase, he sits you down, worried you're not feeling well. "You okay? I can princess carry you if you need me to." 

You look at him with wide eyes. He turns to check there's no one standing behind him, but you're really looking at him. "What?" he asks, touching your knee, imploring. "You look like you've seen a ghost." 

"You're Peter?" you ask. 

Ah, the amnesiac effect of anaesthetic. His touch turns comforting, stroking your thigh with as much care as he can drive into his palm alone. "That's me. Hey, if you're forgetting me, does that mean you're not mad at me for last Friday anymore? 'Cos I know you said you forgive me but I can tell it still pisses you off–" 

Your eyes fall to his hand. "Why would I be mad at you?" you ask. 

"I finished the milk and put the carton back in the fridge, even though I promised I'd stop doing it. You see the jug and think there's milk left. We were gonna have macaroni and cheese..." He nudges your fingers with his. "Are you okay? You don't look like yourself."

"What do I usually look like?" 

"Not so, you know. Daunted." 

"You're really handsome," you whisper, refusing to meet his eye. 

"Oh, you think so?" 

You nod like your head is too heavy. You're embarrassed, you sweetheart, oh my god Peter could cry into your lap. 

"Let's get you to the car, baby." 

"Where are we going?" The gauze gives you the world's most adorable lisp, and it turns your gasp into a hum as Peter stands you up. 

"Home." 

"Together?" 

"Yeah, we live together. It's a nice place, and you're a great decorator, you know? It's cozy." 

"Thank you," you say shyly. 

You're not not shy with him, but it's been a long time since you got so quiet over a practically innocuous comment. He wants to see how you'll react to real compliments, over the top stuff that he one hundred percent means. It's a little mean, but when will you ever be like this again? 

He helps you out past the desk and onto the street to your car where it's parked a half a block down. "Don't worry about all this, okay? I'm gonna take such good care of you, sweetheart. There's an ice pack and a brand new comforter with your name on it waiting at home." Peter smiles at your starry eyes as they flash to his, amazed at his simple plans. "How does that sound, beautiful? Is there anything you want before we head home? Anything that would make you feel better?" 

"You're gonna take care of me?" you ask breathlessly. 

"That's my job. That's my number one boyfriend duty." 

"You're my boyfriend?" 

"I am!" he says happily, laughing as he speaks. "For a while. I've been trying to take things further but you're always really shy about getting married–" 

"You want to get married? To me?" 

Peter presses a soft kiss to your cheek. "You're the only person I'd ever want to get married to. We already picked the flowers–" 

"We did?" 

He laughs again, all your questions. He loves regular you but loopy you is especially endearing. "Last time I got super drunk, yeah. You never let me forget it." 

"So you love me?" you ask, stopping short.

"I love you so much," he says immediately, hugging you into his side. He dots another kiss against the top of your head. "You should remember that even if you don't remember me." 

"I love you," you say quietly. 

Peter doesn't know if that's your memory returning, or if you've fallen in love with him in the last fifteen minutes. He could easily fall in love with you that quickly, and yet he's still amazed at your confession. 

"That's good. That's great. Thank you, sweetheart," he says, desperate to hold your face in his hands but weary of causing you future pain. "There's your car," —he points, lowering his head to yours to make sure you can see it, hand now protectively held between your shoulder blades— "let's go home now. Yeah?" 

You start walking again at his requests. He can pretty much see the steam rising off of your face, giddy with happiness at these revelations. You're together, you're in love, and you think he's handsome. He wonders what you'll have to say about his biceps in this state of delirium; you go crazy for his arms sober. 

Which reminds him. 

"I totally have another secret to tell you," he says, unlocking the car as you approach and helping you into the passenger seat. 

"What is it?" you ask. 

Peter closes you in and skirts around the door, climbing into the driver's seat. He's glad that New York is as ridiculously loud as ever, because not even the closed doors or your sodden gauze can smother the way you shriek.

"My boyfriend is Spider-Man?!" 

Damian Wayne x Artistic!reader Headcanons<3

link to series masterlist <3

-Damian who is incredibly supportive of your passion for drawing and sketching.

-Damian who often finds your sketches scattered around and picks them up carefully, admiring your talent.

-Damian who keeps some of your best sketches in a special folder, and occasionally, you might find one framed in his room or study.

-Damian who uses his Wayne privileges to have dates at art galleries, museums, and exhibitions.

-Damian who you frequently take on sketching dates in Gotham’s parks or rooftops, to capture the city’s skyline and its hidden beauty. (he draws you the whole time)

-Damian who gifts you the highest-quality sketchbooks and drawing supplies he can find

-Damian who has a personalized sketchbook made for you with your initials engraved on the cover

-Damian who lets you try your hand at drawing him, even if you aren't as skilled. He cherishes your attempts.

-Damian who you attempt to collaborate with on designing new costumes for his vigilante persona (he still insists that it doesn't need an update)

-Damian who when his words fail him, uses sketches to express his feelings.

-Damian who might leave a sketch you drew of a significant moment in your relationship with a heartfelt note, showing his softer side.

-Damian who some of your most intimate moments are spent with, sketching together in comfortable silence.

-Damian who is often the focal point of your art after you become official

-Damian who is utterly yours

ii. what's up danger?

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." PAIRING: Older! Damian Wayne/Fem! Reader TAGS: Established relationship, Mild sexual jokes, Making out AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

 ༻⊰───⋅

PREVIEW. Damian’s voice grew louder, closer. “If you don’t give me my phone back right now, I will—”

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

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

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

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

Damian’s voice immediately rose in alarm, “I am not! Todd!”

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

In the background, you could hear the clink of Damian’s katanas being unsheathed. The phone jerked as the struggle intensified, Tim’s voice chiming in with panic. “Alright, alright! Don't stab him! Here’s your phone back.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

THERE WAS A SHARP CREEK AS THE METAL door was forced open, and you coughed as a cloud of dust emerged. Selina chuckled softly, her silhouette framed by the dim light filtering through the grimy windows. She guided you into the warehouse, her steps echoing in the vast, empty space.

"One of my safehouses," she explained, shutting the door behind you both. "Secluded, off the grid."

Old crates and metal shelving units lined the walls, and a few scattered tools and broken machinery hinted at its previous use. Selina flicked a switch, and a single, flickering bulb cast a weak, yellow glow over the room.

"We can lay low here for a while. This can be your personal hideout," she said, moving to clear a dusty table. "No one knows about this place, not even Batman."

You hummed in response, your gaze sweeping over the vast, dusty warehouse. The once grand space had fallen into neglect, the floor littered with debris and the windows clouded with grime. The overhead lights flickered sporadically, casting long, wavering shadows that danced across the walls.

Selina, leaning against a stack of forgotten crates, let you roam for a while. After a moment, she pushed herself away from the crates and approached you, her footsteps muffled by the thick layer of dust on the floor.

Her hand landed on your shoulder with a firm grip, gently guiding you to the side. "Come on," she said, her voice carrying a hint of excitement. "I want to see something."

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

Selina stopped and turned to face you, pointing to a relatively wide stretch of wall that loomed in the dim light of the warehouse. "Show me what you can do. Use those hands again."

"Sure," you replied with a nod, trying to get rid of any nerves with a shake of your hands. "Seems easy enough."

You approached the wall, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. Placing your hand on the cold, rough surface, your palm stuck to the wall, and you lifted your other hand, repeating the motion. Soon, all of your limbs were adhered to the surface, and you began to climb. Your movements were initially hesitant, but as you gained confidence, you moved more fluidly, scaling the wall with ease. You hung from the ceiling with your hand, smiling down at Selina.

Selina watched you with a glint of pride in her eyes, clapping slowly. 

"Not bad," she called up to you, her tone approving. "Now, let's see if you can get down."

You took a deep breath, preparing to jump. Remembering the superhero landing techniques you’d seen on TV, you leapt from the ceiling and aimed to land gracefully on your knees. The impact, however, was harsher than you anticipated.

You hit the ground with a jarring thud, your knees slamming into the floor with a painful smack. The sudden shock radiated up your legs, sending a sting of pain through your body. You let out a soft yelp as you crumpled, sitting on the floor and clutching your knees.

“Owowow,” you muttered, grimacing as you rubbed your knees in a weak attempt to soothe the ache. “Okay, superhero landings: they look badass but they definitely don’t feel badass.”

Selina's snort was barely contained as she watched you, a smirk tugging at her lips. "You know, in real life, landing like that is a good way to hurt yourself," she said. "Okay. Lesson number one. Do not put all the weight on your knees or legs when you land. Instead, roll with the fall and distribute the force. I promise, your knees will thank you."

With that, Selina moved to demonstrate. She climbed onto a low shelf and stood poised on the edge, her posture perfect. With a flourish, she leapt down, her landing smooth and controlled. She rolled effortlessly and ended up in a crouch, looking like she was ready to pounce.

"See?" she said, dusting herself off and grinning at you. "The superhero landing is overrated. In the real world, you don’t want to end up with knees that sound like they’ve been used as a drum kit."

You eyed her with a glare, still hunched over on the floor. "Okay, okay. I get it. So, no superhero landings unless I want to spend the next few days in agony."

Selina gave you an approving nod. "Exactly. Now let’s see if you can do it without making me laugh."

"Alright, I’ll give it another shot. But if I end up rolling into a pile of broken crates, it’s all on you."

 ༻⊰───⋅

The next few days were a whirlwind of training under Selina’s watchful eye. Her approach was relentless yet patient. She pushed you to the brink of exhaustion but never beyond your limits, ensuring that every movement was honed to perfection. 

The first segment of your training focused on parkour, a basic skill for navigating the urban landscape of Gotham. The first few days began with stretches and warm-ups before diving into rolls, jumps, and twists. Unlike Selina, whose movements were fluid and graceful, your style was more rough-hewn and spiderlike—less sleek than cat-like, but uniquely scrappy and effective. The city became your playground, and with each leap and bound, you grew more adept at maneuvering through it.

Once you had started to get the hang of parkour, the focus shifted to flexibility training. Your days were packed with yoga, and gymnastics exercises. Yoga quickly became a ritual, a quiet counterpoint to the intensity of your other workouts. Gymnastics was a thrill, full of dynamic moves that felt as if they belonged in a circus. The flashy routines might not always seem practical, but they certainly made you feel like you could be the next Robin. 

The next focus was on web practice. Selina couldn't help much in that department, so you took to practicing on your own by swinging between buildings. Initially, the height had you clutching the sides of buildings like a nervous cat. But as you became more comfortable, swinging through the air started to feel natural—like you were born to do it. 

To round out the training, Selina introduced you to one last segment: hand-to-hand combat. Given your enhanced strength and agility, she decided to focus on bare-knuckle boxing. 

You quickly discovered that boxing with bare knuckles was far more complicated than it looked on TV. Early on, your punches, fueled by your enhanced strength, were more like wrecking balls than precise strikes. You landed blows with such force that the floors and walls ended up with cracks and holes. One training session saw you accidentally punching the training bag out a window. In another one, you got so wrapped up in perfecting a combo that you accidentally swung around and clocked yourself in the face. 

The bruise wasn't pretty but it made you realize you needed to control your strength. If you didn’t, the risk of accidentally causing a death was very real.

Despite the frequent bruises and sore muscles, you could feel your progress with each passing day. The aches were a small price to pay for the improvement in your skills. 

Right now, you were in your bedroom, it was four in the afternoon, and according to your new training schedule, it was time for yoga. No surprise—Selina had insisted that flexibility was just as crucial as strength and agility. You found yourself in mid-crow pose, balancing on your hands with your knees resting on your upper arms. A YouTube video played on your laptop on the floor, the instructor’s calming voice offering tips as you tried to maintain your balance.

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

You exhaled slowly, maintaining your balance effortlessly in the pose. Just as you were settling into the routine, your laptop rang with a FaceTime request. Shifting your weight to one hand, you answered the call with a smile, putting the video in full screen with your free hand.

Damian’s face appeared on the screen, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in the sight of you. He was lounging in bed, his hair tousled, and dressed in a fitted black shirt that accentuated his physique.

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

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

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

You smirked, stretching out your legs with ease. Damian’s eyes traced over the curve of your back, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “Well, Selina's been pushing me to get better. Uh... self-defense and all. It’s been intense, but I’m actually enjoying it.”

You followed up with a few air push-ups, grunting slightly as you bent your arms down. The effort seemed to spur him on, more than you expected. Damian’s cheeks flushed deeply, and he hastily raised his phone's camera to the ceiling, trying to hide his flustered expression.

He had always admired strength and discipline, qualities he held in high regard for himself and others. Seeing you, someone he deeply cared for, excel and push your limits in a way he hadn’t expected stirred a mix of admiration and something more heated. 

Damian cleared his throat and adjusted his position, attempting to appear casual as he lowered the camera back down. “Well, I must admit, I’m rather impressed. I didn’t expect you to exhibit such dedication.”

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

Damian’s gaze softened as he watched you ruffle your damp hair with a towel. The warm, golden light of the setting sun bathed your face in a soft glow. He shifted his position, now lying on his stomach with the lower half of his face buried into a pillow, emerald eyes melting.

"You're beautiful."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, but you quickly suppressed it with a cough, trying to regain your composure. "Thanks."

Just as the moment settled, a loud crash interrupted the tranquility. Damian flinched, and his phone tumbled to the side, leaving you with a view of the ceiling. Incoherent shouting and laughter filled the background, accompanied by the distinct sound of someone barging in.

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

Oh.

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

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

Tim’s face stared down at you from the screen as he waved. "It’s his girlfriend.”

Before you could react, Damian’s voice roared in the background. “Tim, you absolute imbecile, give me my phone back this instant!”

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

You couldn’t help but laugh, waving to the two of them. “Hey, guys. Nice to see you too,” you smiled.

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

Damian’s voice grew louder, closer. “If you don’t give me my phone back right now, I will—”

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

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

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

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

Damian’s voice immediately rose in alarm, “I am not! Todd!”

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

In the background, you could hear the clink of Damian’s katanas being unsheathed. The phone jerked as the struggle intensified, Tim’s voice chiming in with panic. “Alright, alright! Don't stab him! Here’s your phone back.”

Just as Tim was about to hand it over, Dick swooped in one last time, his face filling the screen with a very unflattering close-up of his mouth. “Wait! I didn’t get my turn! Y/N! I hope you're doing okay. When are you planning to visit the manor again?”

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

"Say hi, Alfred," Dick's face appeared beside him and the butler smiled.

"Good afternoon, Young Miss Kyle. I do hope you are well. Everyone is quite worried about you after the incident during prom."

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

Alfred nodded, his expression softening. “That’s good to hear. Please take care, and don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. Master Bruce sends his good wishes as well.”

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

The screen shifted again, showing a brief glimpse of Cass who simply raised two thumbs up and nodded her head. There was a final round of shouting, tangled limbs, flying fists, and laughter before the screen whirled again and the door slammed shut, leaving Damian’s grumbling face to reappear on the screen.

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

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

Then you squinted your eyes and laughed. “Is your shirt... ripped?”

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

“It appears so. All thanks to my insufferable brothers.”

Damian set his phone down and moved to his closet. The room around him was bathed in a warm glow, the last rays of the sun filtering through the large windows. You could see the remnants of the earlier chaos: a pillow half off the bed, books slightly askew on the shelf, and one of Damian’s katanas leaning precariously against the wall.

You whistled as he pulled his torn shirt off, admiring the way his back muscles moved. Damian glanced over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. After a minute, he pulled out a clean black shirt, slipping it on with practiced ease. The fabric stretched over his chest, fitting snugly and highlighting his athletic build. He picked up the phone again, his face coming back into view.

“Better?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

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

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

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

"So... Is it true? Do you really have a secret blonde on the side?” you tease him with a grin. 

Damian’s eyes widened, and he straightened up, immediately on the defensive. “It was a cruel jest, nothing more. Todd is insufferable, but he possesses no actual knowledge of my personal life. I would never—! My devotion to you is absolute, and I have no desire for anyone else. Their incessant teasing is merely a pitiable attempt to provoke me. I assure you, my intentions are solely to be by your side and to build a future together.”

You cut him off, a cheesy grin spreading across your face. “A future together?”

“TT,” Damian’s face turned a deeper shade, and he flustered, hiding his face from the camera with an embarrassed groan.

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

Damian’s face reappeared, now much more serious and composed but still flushed. “Yes, I am. The usual rounds. Gotham never sleeps.”

You nodded, trying to sound nonchalant despite the worry blossoming in your chest. “Be careful out there."

Damian hummed. “I’ll be cautious. And if anything happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

You smiled back, feeling a warmth in your chest. “Sounds good.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

THWIP.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” Selina taunted, swiping at the webs you cast and tearing them apart with ease. “I thought you were better than this.”

Both of you were in the warehouse, deep into the early hours of the night—2 AM. Selina, ever the night owl, had opted for a sparring session over her usual Catwoman escapades. It seemed the night was better suited for training than prowling tonight.

You grinned, focusing on your next attack. “Oh, I’ve got plenty more. Just warming up!” With a quick flick of your wrist, another set of webs shot towards her, aiming to entangle her legs.

Selina nimbly leaped over the webs, landing with a fluid motion. “Warming up? You’re going to need more than that to catch me.” She launched herself towards you, her claws extended, slicing through the air.

Reacting quickly, you executed a flip, your body twisting mid-air. As you spun, you evaded Selina's claws by mere inches, landing softly on the balls of your feet. “You know, for someone who’s supposedly training me, you sure like to make it difficult.”

"Aren't you the least bit curious?" Selina smirked, slowly turning to face you. “Training isn’t supposed to be easy. If it were, it wouldn’t be worth the effort."

You dropped into a boxing stance, fists raised and ready. “Easy? Who said anything about easy?” You shot back with a quick jab aimed at her midsection. She nimbly dodged it, her movements fluid and precise. Undeterred, you followed up with a powerful cross, your fist just grazing her cheek.

“Let's see if your skills can match that mouth,” she taunted. 

You growled in frustration, launching into an aggressive combo of punches. Left jab, right cross, left hook—you threw each punch while occasionally shooting webs, but Selina danced around them with her cat-like grace. As she dodged a particularly forceful uppercut, you shot a web at her feet, trying to catch her off guard. She just leaped out of the way.

“Getting better,” she admitted, landing a bit rougher than usual. “But not good enough.”

You returned to your boxing stance, senses tingling. “Not yet, but I’m learning.”

Selina lunged again and you ducked under her swipe. She quickly adjusted and lunged at you with a sudden burst of speed. Before you could react, her claws grazed your jaw, sending you stumbling backward. 

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

“Learning yet?” she replied with a smirk. 

You grinned and charged at her, launching a flurry of punches. This time, your webs managed to stick to her torso. You pulled her toward you with a sharp tug, forcing her forward. As she stumbled into range, you swung with a powerful punch, connecting squarely with her chin.

Selina winced as she was sent sprawling to the ground, but she quickly recovered. Huffing, she sprang to her feet, brushing off the dust and massaging her jaw with a wry smile. "Nice hit."

“Didn’t hit you too hard, did I, Mom?” you asked, your concern evident as you tugged off your gloves.

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

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

"Is that so?" Selina moved to one of the tables, grabbing a handful of ice for her jaw and sliding on a sleek, black jacket on her lithe frame. Turning to you, her eyes sparkled with mischief, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Well then... Still have some energy left?”

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

Selina hummed as she bent down to lace up her boots. “Good. We’re going out.”

You perked up in excitement. It had been days since she’d let you venture out and put your new skills to the test, and you were eager for some action. “Really? You mean it?”

“Yep,” Selina said, pulling a web from her hair with a sly grin. She tossed the ice pack aside, the clink of melting cubes hitting the metal table echoing through the room. “Time to see what you’ve learned. Go get ready."

You nodded and did as told. You slipped on a red varsity jacket—Damian’s from the school’s soccer team. (Despite being a star player, he never bothered wearing it. So you decided to steal borrow it for yourself.) The jacket was oversized on you, but it offered that familiar warmth and the faint scent of his cologne. You kept your training clothes underneath: leggings and a sports bra, the same gear you’d been sweating through in the warehouse. On your feet, you pulled on your red, ratty Converse, their worn-out soles feeling oddly comforting as you prepared for the night ahead.

It wasn’t long before you and Selina were bounding across the rooftops of Gotham, the cityscape a dazzling tapestry of lights and shadows beneath you. The night air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of the city’s nightlife and the occasional whoosh of a passing vehicle far below.

“Keep up!” Selina’s voice rang out, sharp and playful.

On cue, she leaped off a high point with the grace of a cat, her body twisting and flipping through the air while her legs stayed straight. The moonlight caught the glint of her eyes and the flash of her jewelry as she executed a perfect landing on a street lamp. The lamp swayed slightly under her weight, but she held her position with poise, a smirk playing on her lips.

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

“Nice moves,” she called at you and leaped from the lamp, diving into a graceful spin before landing beside you. 

Both of you continued moving, the exhilaration of the chase fueling your every leap and bound. The city lights streaked past, a blur of neon and shadow, until your eyes were drawn to a large billboard flashing the latest headlines. The bold text blazed across the screen: “Gotham High Senior Prom Interrupted by Villain Connected to Sionis Crime Family: Chaos Erupts.”

You came to an abrupt halt, your movements slowing as the gravity of the news sank in. Your gaze locked onto the billboard, where a stern-looking anchor appeared, speaking in a measured tone. 

“Last Saturday, the prom event at Gotham High was disrupted by a violent attack. Eyewitnesses reported a scene of utter chaos where a villain equipped with mechanical arms infiltrated the event, resulting in a brief but intense altercation. Several students sustained injuries, and there have been confirmed reports of substantial damage to the school's gymnasium. The assailant, identified as Octavius Burton, was apprehended by Batman and his protégé, Robin. Burton, a former professor at the academy, was terminated following inquiries into his activities connected with the Sionis Crime Family, an organization with known affiliations to the criminal figure known as Black Mask. Authorities are continuing to investigate the underlying motives behind this incident.”

Tucking your hands into the pockets of your jacket, you turned as Selina began to make her way to you, your brow furrowing with concern. You observed her expression carefully, noting the subtle shift in her eyes as the news report continued. 

Black Mask was always a sensitive topic between you two, given the deep-seated pain tied to the loss of your parents and Maggie Kyle. The mention of him always had a way of casting a shadow over your conversations.

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

Selina glanced at you, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considered her answer. “Actually, I have,” she said, her voice low and contemplative. “I’ve noticed some of the gang’s activities have been unusually erratic. They’re moving around more, and there have been whispers of new operations.”

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

Selina shrugged slightly, her eyes narrowing as she considered her response. “It’s hard to say. They’re usually pretty secretive, but something feels different this time. Like there’s a bigger play going on.”

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

“Have you been able to find out anything specific?” you asked, tugging at the sleeves of Damian's jacket. “Any leads or patterns that might hint at what’s coming?”

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

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

“I want to look into it,” you said firmly. “If there’s something happening, I need to know what it is. It’s... it’s important to me.”

Selina froze. “I’m sorry, what?”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, feeling the weight of your words as they hung in the cool night air. “I can’t shake the feeling that everything’s connected. There’s too much coincidence here to ignore.”

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

You ran a hand through your hair, trying to keep your voice steady despite the knot in your throat. “Oh, come on. Think about it. My parents died because of Black Mask. Then, this villain linked to Black Mask shows up and creates chaos at the prom. The very next day, I wake up with spider powers, and then I discover my dad was researching spider-human DNA modification. The puzzle pieces are there. I just need to put them together.”

Selina’s expression darkened, her features set in a hard line as she scrutinized you through narrowed eyes. “Excuse me?”

You met her gaze, feeling a surge of frustration mingled. “I know! I know it’s dangerous, and I know Batman and the others probably have it covered. But I need to know what really happened with my father. I need to find out for myself.”

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

You bristled at her dismissive tone, stepping closer, you waved your hands around in desperation. “But you don’t get it. I can’t just sit back and ignore this. It’s not just about training or staying safe; it’s about finding answers. Answers about my father and the connection to all of this.”

Selina’s expression hardened, her protective instincts flaring. “You think I don’t understand that? I lost your aunt... my sister too, you know. I get how hard it is. But jumping headfirst into danger without understanding the full picture is reckless. The Sionis Family isn’t just some petty gang—they’re dangerous, and they’ve got resources and connections that could put you in serious harm.”

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

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

“But it is what you’re implying!” you shot back. “You’re treating me like I’m still a child like I can’t make my own decisions. I-If you don’t think I can handle it, then train me like a soldier so I can be ready! But don’t just shut me out because you’re afraid of what might happen.”

"I don't want a soldier. I want my daughter," Selina hushed, now face to face with you. “You're my daughter. You're my girl. You are a child whose whole world was turned upside down with no explanation. You were left there all alone, on my doorstep. And I took you in because I couldn’t stand to see you lost and alone. Now, you’re asking me to let you dive headfirst into a world that killed everyone I loved and nearly destroyed me.”

You shook your head, trying to protest, but she silenced you with a firm yet gentle tone.

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

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

“You’ll regret it,” Selina said softly, her voice heavy with melancholy. Her shoulders sagged as she pulled you into a tight embrace. “I see myself in you, in all the ways I wished I could have been something different, something better. It scares me because I know all too well what this life can do.”

The news report had long since ended, replaced by a loud, garish commercial flashing across the billboard. The vivid hues of red and yellow spilled over both of you, casting an almost surreal glow on your faces. As the relentless noise and flashing lights swirled around you, you simply nodded and clung to her, the weight of her words sinking deep as you hugged her back.

 ༻⊰───⋅

The newly bought alarm clock, purchased after the old one was smashed the night after prom, blinked at you with relentless precision. Its bright blue neon numbers cut through the darkness: 

3:43 AM.

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

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

A few more links scrolled by on your laptop, but the information was sparse and unhelpful. Restlessness gnawed at you, the room feeling too stuffy and oppressive. You glanced at your window, an idea taking shape in your mind.

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

Opening it quietly, you peered out into the night, the cool air splashing against your face like water. Using your spider powers, you crawled effortlessly up the side of the building. Once there, you settled onto the edge. 

Cool and refreshing, a welcome change from the stuffy room. You pulled out your laptop, its glow casting a soft light on your face. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A knot formed in your stomach as you closed the laptop, your head beginning to throb. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fit together, but the edges were still blurred, the full picture just out of reach. You needed more information, more clarity, to untangle the web of connections. But the more you uncovered, the more you realized just how deep this went.

Scowling, you rubbed your temples, trying to soothe the growing tension. Then, the sudden, unsettling tingle of your spider sense flared to life. It began as a faint prickle at the back of your neck, quickly escalating into a sharp, alarming sensation that made your heartbeat race.

Instinctively, you turned, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. As you faced the source of your unease, a shadowy figure dropped down, landing silently just a few feet in front of you.

Without hesitation, you swung your fist toward the intruder, the laptop tumbling from your lap and clattering onto the rooftop. Your knuckles connected with their jaw, causing them to stumble slightly before regaining their footing. Growling, you threw another punch, but a gloved hand intercepted your fist mid-air.

"Habibti?" came a familiar voice, edged with surprise.

You looked up to see Damian, clad in his Robin suit, his expression a mix of concern and mild irritation. His jaw was already beginning to darken with a splotchy mix of red and purple.

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

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

He then pursed his lips, throwing his head back in thought, the white slits of his mask narrowing. “That punch—while executed with commendable force—was aimed a little too enthusiastically. A more restrained approach might yield better results. Precision and control, rather than sheer aggression, are often more advantageous.”

You gaped at him as he scrutinized your stance with a critical eye. “And your balance was off. You need to maintain your center of gravity better. Proper alignment and posture are crucial to executing strikes effectively without compromising your stability.”

"Are you... judging my punch?"

Damian’s lips curled into a smirk as he continued his assessment, clearly reveling in the opportunity to critique. Brat.

“Well, if the shoe fits,” he said with a self-satisfied air, adjusting his gloves with a flourish. “It’s only fair that I offer some guidance, given the rather dramatic introduction. You could have neutralized me more efficiently if you had employed a bit more finesse.”

You crossed your arms, trying to mask your irritation behind a mask of cool detachment. “Well, excuse me for not living up to your high standards. Maybe next time I’ll try to avoid punching the person who’s supposed to be giving me tips.”

"It was a decent hit. You’ve managed to impress me. Consider it a compliment, really. Most people don’t even get the chance to lay a hand on me," he crossed his arms with a wry grin.

“I hate you,” you grumbled, but despite your words, you wrapped your arms around his torso and buried your face into his chest. Damian simply huffed and placed his arms over your shoulders.

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

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

You eyed him with skepticism. “Really? You just happened to be passing by? You do know this is Catwoman's territory.”

“Tt,” Damian scowled, averting his gaze as the tips of his ears turned a faint red. “It’s not as if I was actively searching for you,” he said, his tone attempting to sound indifferent. “Just a fortunate coincidence, I suppose.”

You reached up and gently touched Damian's face, tracing a scar around his eyebrow with a tender touch. 

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

“Hardly,” he replied, a subtle warmth in his tone as he moved to lift you into his arms.

“Put me down,” you groaned. “I’m heavy.”

“Beloved, my bench press warm-ups weigh more than you,” he retorted with a smirk. Before you could say anything, his arms tensed around you, and he pulled you down before effortlessly tossing you into the air.

A startled scream tore from your lips as you flailed instinctively, a web shooting out behind you. The sticky thread snared the edge of the rooftop with a faint hiss, pulling taut and catching Damian’s attention. His head whipped around, confusion clouding his features as he tried to make sense of the unexpected blur of movement.

In that heart-stopping moment of panic, you plummeted back towards him, landing in his arms. 

Shit. 

Without a second thought, before he could fully look back, you grabbed his jaw, pulling him into a kiss. Damian’s surprise was palpable; his eyes widened in shock, but as you deepened the kiss, his initial confusion quickly melted away. His arms wrapped around you, responding with a fervor that matched your own. 

After a few minutes, Damian attempted to pull away, his curiosity still evident. But you weren’t having any of it. With a soft, pleading whine, you drew him back into the kiss, your hands sliding over the contours of his armor as you whispered his name against his lips.

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

Damian’s attempt to pull away only lasted a heartbeat before he was drawn back into the kiss. His hands tightened around you, one sliding up to cradle the back of your neck while the other pressed firmly against your lower back, pulling you closer. Your hands roamed across the sleek surface of his armor, fingertips tracing the ridges and contours as if memorizing the feel of him.

Damian groaned your name into the kiss, the sound low and throaty. His lips trailed down to your neck, leaving a trail of heated, tender kisses that made your breath catch.

Suddenly, the sharp crackle of his earpiece broke through the intimate moment. Damian’s body tensed, and with a swift, almost mechanical movement, he leaped several feet away from you, landing hard on his feet. He straightened, his posture rod straight as he adjusted his earpiece.

“Dam—Robin,” came Tim’s voice through the earpiece. “Eugh. What the hell is that noise? I thought you were on patrol. Are you seriously making out on the job? Jason and I are getting an earful of... whatever that is. Are you trying to set a new record for most traumatizing patrol ever?”

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

"TT," Damian’s face flushed a deep crimson as he yanked the earpiece from his ear with a grimace. His hand slammed down on the divide, causing it to crumble in a fit of anger. 

"Oh," you watched with an amused grin as he spun on his heel with a sharp, almost frantic movement, and leaped away from the rooftop in a swift exit. 

"Next time, try to keep the earpiece off!" you shouted after him with a grin. Damian just jumped away faster, soon disappearing from sight. You sighed, the grin slipping from your face as worry began to creep in, tightening your chest.

Turning around, you saw the web you had shot, stuck on the ground, glistening faintly under the moonlight. Panic bubbled up inside you as you moved toward it, your hands trembling slightly. Fuck. That was a close call.

With a deep breath, you picked up the web, its sticky texture clinging to your fingers before you managed to toss it off the roof, watching it disappear into the darkness below. The night seemed eerily quiet in the aftermath, every rustle of leaves or distant siren making your heart race.

You glanced around the rooftop one last time, ensuring no other evidence was left behind.

"I have got to be a lot more careful," you sighed to yourself, the words barely more than a whisper. You picked up your laptop, the familiar weight grounding you as you made your way back to your room. For now, all you could do was hope Damian remained oblivious to the web and your secret stayed safe.

 ༻⊰───⋅

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

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

The room hummed with a mix of scribbling pencils and the occasional murmur as students exchanged glances and half-heartedly raised hands. One student’s question prompted Dr. Foster to smoothly transition to another segment of the lecture.

You slouched over your desk, your focus wavering between the textbook and the monotonous drone of the lecture. The room felt stifling, the endless rows of lab benches and flickering fluorescent lights amplifying the sense of tedium. Your pen danced absently across the paper of your notebook, sketching a series of spiders—each one more detailed than the last. It was the third-to-last class of the day, and you found yourself counting down the minutes until freedom.

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

With a sigh, you let your pen hover over the paper, your thoughts wandering. You sketched a particularly detailed spider, giving it a little mask and cape for amusement. The mundane buzz of the classroom was punctuated by the occasional shuffle of papers and soft murmurs from other students, but it all blended into a dull hum.

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

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

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

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

Morgan leaned closer strands of chestnut hair falling over her shoulders. "Really? Most people find them creepy. What got you into spiders?"

You glanced at your notebook, where intricate doodles of spiders and webs sprawled across the page. "I don't know," you began, hesitating. "They're just... fascinating. I like their webs."

Morgan nodded thoughtfully, a small smile playing on her lips. "That's pretty cool. I get it. I have a thing for coding. Guess we all have our quirks, huh?"

You couldn't help but smile back, feeling a bit more at ease. As the bell rang, signaling the end of class, students began to gather their belongings and prepare to leave. The clatter of backpacks and the rustling of papers filled the room as everyone moved with a collective sense of relief. Morgan leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms with a small smile. She tilted her head and studied you with a curious, playful gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Morgan smiled back. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of relief and amusement as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Maybe next time we can trade more than just doodles and spider talk.”

“Sounds good, Morgan,” you said as you managed a sheepish smile, sliding your backpack over one shoulder and standing up. 

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

Walking out of the classroom, the hallway was filled with the usual hustle and bustle of students eager to head home or to their clubs. The walls were lined with lockers, some open and spilling over with books and personal items. The chatter of conversations and the occasional laughter echoed off the walls.

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

SUGAR DAMI:

Beloved, I'm afraid I can't drive you home today. I have soccer training that will extend until 5 o'clock.

You sighed, feeling a slight pang of disappointment. Selina was out on a heist for the whole day, and you weren't looking forward to boring yourself to death in your apartment. 

With a huff, you typed a quick response:

YOU:

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

Slipping your phone back into your pocket, you adjusted the strap of your backpack and headed towards the back entrance of the school. Pushing open the heavy double doors, you stepped outside into the crisp afternoon air. The sky was a clear blue, with only a few wispy clouds drifting lazily above. The sun cast a warm, golden glow over the school grounds, and the sound of distant traffic mixed with the chirping of birds.

You made your way to a secluded side of the school grounds, glancing around to make sure no one was watching before deftly jumping over the fence. Landing smoothly on the other side, you slipped into an alleyway, your footsteps echoing off the narrow brick walls. You bounded up a fire escape, scaling the building with ease. 

At the top, you rolled your shoulder, loosening up. The view of your apartment was visible even from here, but that wasn't the venue in mind.

"To the warehouse it is," you muttered to yourself. With a final glance back at the school, you took off across the rooftops.

 ༻⊰───⋅

It didn't take long for you to reach the warehouse. The familiar scent of old wood and metal greeting you as you pushed open the heavy doors. 

With a tap of your finger, you opened Spotify and turned on some music, the tunes playing from the speakers sitting on a nearby table.

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

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

Webbing a few panels of the wall, you formed a hammock and jumped onto it, the structure swaying slightly as you settled in. The rhythmic motion soothed you as you lay back, feeling the tension of the day begin to ease.

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

One headline caught your eye:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She straightened up, her black leather suit catching the dim light that filtered through the dusty windows. “Oh please, honey. You know, I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you,” she rolled her eyes, a fond smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

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

"Caught? Please, I let him think he had a chance. I needed to be back early to remind you who the real master thief is around here," she scoffed, sauntering over to you, her boots clicking against the concrete.

She held a small, black bag in her hand. With a casual flick of her wrist, she tossed it your way. The bag flew through the air in a smooth arc, hitting your stomach with a soft thud. You grunted slightly, and moved to grab it in your arms.

“What's this?” you asked, an eyebrow raised at her.

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

Opening the bag, you found a sleek, black suit inside. The material was smooth and definitely Kevlar. Government-grade material. The bodysuit was similar to Selina’s, but as you turned it around, you saw a spider symbol stitched onto the back.

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

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

You traced the spider emblem with your fingers, feeling a mix of excitement and hesitation. “I thought... you didn’t want me to go out into that world?”

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

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

Her eyes softened further, a hand coming up to rest on your shoulder. “I care about you, and I don’t want to see you get hurt. But I also know that keeping you on the sidelines isn’t fair. So, if you’re going to be out there, I want you to be safe. I want you to come back in one piece, honey.”

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

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

“I won’t let you down,” you said, smiling as you hopped off the hammock.

She smirked, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You better not, kid. Now, get suited up. Let’s see how you look in action.”

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

Stepping out of the changing area, you caught Selina’s eye.

She circled you once, twice, before nodding in approval. “Not bad. You look like you mean business.”

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

“Now, before anything, let’s set some rules,” Selina began, raising a clawed finger in the air. “First, no killing – under any circumstances. That’s a non-negotiable.”

You nodded solemnly.

“Second, no involvement with gangs – steer clear of any gang activity. This especially includes Black Mask and his operations. They're too dangerous and unpredictable.”

You deflated a bit but nodded.

“Third, no crossing paths with the Bats – stay clear of their patrol routes and avoid any interaction with them. This means no going into their known territories.”

“No patrolling on school nights – your education is your priority. You need to be rested and focused for school.”

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

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

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

“After patrols, come to the warehouse first – don’t go straight to the apartment. We need to debrief, and it’s safer to lay low here. If our real address gets leaked, we’re in serious trouble.”

“Lastly, no fraternizing with civilians – no getting involved with people outside of your crime-fighting.”

You nodded, taking in each rule. “Got it. No killing, no gangs, no Bats, no school-night patrols, no Catwoman, warehouse first after patrols, and no civilians.”

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

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

Selina hummed, satisfied, and tossed you a mask. You pulled it up and examined it. The mask was sleek and full-faced, with large, white mesh eye covers bordered in black. Light, almost invisible patterns of webbing were woven across its surface. The mask didn’t cover your hair, leaving it free to flow.

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

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

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

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

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

“Spidey might be cuter,” she teased.

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

“Spidey it is, then.”

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10k words setup chapter!!! i swear it escalates real bad next chapter

dududun there's a stark

surely putting this child into vigilante work is a good idea i am very sure spidey will be responsible and not at all destructive like every other peter parker ever

also! you fight like Spider Noir bc both of you use bare-knuckle boxing