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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.”

---

The Other Woman

—

Synopsis: Where Miguel leaves Y/N to go back to a different version of his old wife found in another universe.

Pair: Miguel O’Hara x Spider!Reader

Tags: ANGST!!, long term established relationship, heartbreak, marriage, cheating, mental health, cold/distant Miguel

—

A/N: Hi! I don’t really write at all!!

I have been a silent reader on tumblr for years but this idea has been playing in my mind so much I had the urge to write it. I have been down so bad for Miguel been on his tag like 24/7 indulging in all the content creators have been putting out. So I’m excited to join in giving content, however keep in mind I kinda suck! Apologies for any mistakes, anything confusing, or it not being well written enough. Honestly could have made this into multiple parts with better details but nah. Tried my best ^^ since it’s my first time, any feedback is greatly appreciated!

Honestly tbh we all don’t have a solid grasp how the whole canon thing and multi universe works yet so!! A lot of what is written is made up to suit my storyline so please don’t get mad about the inaccuracies.

I love a good angst and today’s story will be EXTRAAA angsty!!! As well kinda long!!

—————————————————

The moment that changed your life was while working on an experiment during your college finals. You were a proud and gifted physics major that was so passionate about discovering and exploring what the world didn’t know.

You had snuck into Alchemax late at night. You wanted to show your professors just how much you could do with the right tools. Next thing you know, playing with their machines, you had spawned a spider right in-front of you. The glowing vibrant red spider had sunk its jaw into your hand.

Your life did a complete turn and you spent the rest of that week freaking out while changes to your body were happening. Causing you to fail your semester after missing exams. Things felt like it could only get worse when a massive blue suited masked man showed up out of nowhere in your dorm interrogating you.

“Where’s the spider?” He had a strong grip on your shoulders. You couldn’t focus while trying to process why this man had what seemed like claws sticking out of the ends of his fingers.

“I don’t know, it like died after it bit me!” You exclaimed nervously at the freakishly strong man. Trying to reach for anything behind you to use as a defense weapon.

“Dios mío no me digas eso…” He groaned loudly letting you go. Having the opportunity to grab something, you threw a sanrio plushie at him. Only causing him to wave his arms in annoyance. “That spider is from my earth and somehow you brought it here. Now you’re a spider-man.”

And the rest is history…

—

You learned that the man was Miguel O’Hara and when he found you he was just starting his missions with the multiverse. You being the few of the firsts to join his team.

Your situation was quite bizarre and he called you an anomaly for a long time, spending hours studying you and also training you. You ended up being the one case that can’t be explained no matter how much effort was put into monitoring you.

Almost like it was meant to be. Your universe remained perfect with its current spider-man doing fine. No big collapse of a black hole or anything. When you got bit by a spider from Earth-928 your DNA merged with that universe making you fit in perfectly. You were one of the only spider-people with an uncertain timeline with new canons being created depending on what universe you were in.

What changed from you being just a piece of research for Miguel is when he then realized that maybe you were a gift from the multiverse. After all the grief and pain he’d went through the universe had given him this person that worked out perfectly no matter how hard he tried to push them away. You fell head over heels for him and vice versa, all while canon events were being created with both of you together.

You were there as his team grew, slowly turning into a family. Then both of you getting married finalizing that this was your home. Everything felt perfect. Although a relationship with Miguel could have its up and down days, nothing could ever tear you both apart. Or so you assumed.

—

“I’m sorry Y/N.” Miguel couldn’t look at you.

“When did this start? Please be honest with me. Did I do something wrong?” You begged at him. You knew he was acting off recently but never did you think it would result to this.

You watched as he exhaled deeply staring at the ground. You felt like you couldn’t breathe as you studied his face trying to grasp onto any emotion he was showing. The atmosphere in his office felt so cold. You so badly wanted to catch his gaze and find the warmth and love his red irises used to give you. He was doing everything to push you away. He was abandoning you.

“You did nothing wrong. I met her during a mission 4 months ago.” Was all he replied.

“Who is she?” Your heart kept breaking. His face hardening as the question slipped through your lips. You knew Miguel wouldn’t leave you for just anyone. Deep in your heart you knew what this was about. He never responded but he didn’t need to when you saw his eyes flicker over to his monitor screens. You followed his trace and saw the photo of Gabriella in the corner.

“Does she have another version of your daughter?” You tried again. This is what made him look directly at you. Miguel kept opening and closing his month unsure how to tell you the truth. You weren’t stupid and he knew that. After everything he couldn’t just walk out on you with a lie.

“No.” He paused thinking of how to finally share the truth without it ruining you. There was no way out of this. “She is a younger version of herself. There is no Miguel in her universe and she’s not important to the timeline. She lives a regular life. I-it’s a chance for me to start at the very beginning.”

You felt your heart being ripped out of your chest. You processed the words carefully. She doesn’t have a child yet… Not only was he leaving you for her but he was going to fall in love with her all over again and start a family with her. A family you wanted so badly to have with him.

“What about with what happened last time you tried to live a life in a different universe?” You didn’t understand how this was happening.

He was always so carful he would never do anything to cause that again. Everything you had witness Miguel work so hard for to keep safe for years. Sleepless nights, returning bruised and beaten, frustrations and constant stress. Was it all for nothing? Is he throwing all his work away?

“This is different.” He turned away from you. “I pushed myself then into an already established life. This time I am creating that life. After all the research we did on you…” He knew that this was going to tear you apart. “I learned that if done right I could have a child from two different universes that won’t disrupt anything.”

It clicked to you then that all the research he was doing on you lately was for this. The research he did on you that time was different, personal, intimate even. As he was testing your DNAs together and seeing the outcomes. He mentioned a child and you were foolish enough to assume he was doing research to see what it would be like if you both had one together. You were giddy even as you watched him work. You had both spoken about having a family together in the past but had been too busy with spider activities. You thought it was a sign of him getting more serious about it, knowing how badly he wanted one. You would have never thought he was doing it to see how he could get back his previous child. The one you could never give him.

You had truly believe that Miguel had recovered from his obsession that his grief gave him. He accidentally destroyed a whole universe needing that life back so badly. You had spent late nights watching him re-watch clips over and over of what he had lost. It slowly stopped once your relationship blossomed with him and you thought he was ready to move on and start new. Why would you have never thought that with such a perfect opportunity presented to him that he wouldn’t drop everything for it.

“I think it’s best that you leave.” He spoke with a soft tone. As if not looking at you any longer will make the problem go away. You couldn’t wrap your mind around how he was just throwing you away like this. As if he wasn’t making you dinner, giving soft kisses, whispering I-love-you’s not so long ago.

You felt too choked up to ask anymore questions. Your throat tight and painful as you held back tears from escaping in-front of Miguel. You just nodded and headed straight out the door not being able to handle another second in that room. Your knees and hands were shaky as you speed walked into the nearest bathroom and let it all out.

—

It didn’t take long for everyone else to know something had happened. Everyone had gotten used to seeing you and him sitting together at lunch. You would make him cute lunch boxes and everyone would gag a bit while watching the two of you smile together. Some cringing seeing their scary boss being so soft around you. It was a big surprise when Miguel started to eat alone with a bag of take out food and you no where to be seen.

His teams he sent out for missions were all confused when you weren’t assigned to anything. Knowing you were one of the best, one of them slipped out a “Call for Y/N!” In the middle of fighting an anomaly too strong for them. Miguel only looked away.

It wasn’t until a new woman showed up in Miguel’s office with a grip around his waist. That’s when the spider-community realized that this was way worse than they thought.

—

You on the other hand had spilled everything to Hobie when he caught you that day leaving the bathroom with puffy eyes. You had been staying with him in his universe until you could gather yourself together to return to HQ. You knew you were going to leave for good, but you needed to go back to retrieve all your things. You couldn’t stay with Hobie forever. Worse that you weren’t from there.

You still had some hope that Miguel would come looking for you and tell you that he was all wrong. However almost two months had passed and not a word from him… That’s when you knew it was time you should return to what you once knew.

Stepping into the portal Hobie followed close behind you. He told the few others who were once close to both you and Miguel that you would be visiting. Stepping through the portal you were immediately greeted by Jessica and Peter B Parker.

“Oh, Y/N.” Jess sighed your name sadly while pulling you into a hug. You felt like you wanted to cry all over again. Missing your friends so much. Peter B came behind giving you a hug on the side.

“He’s on a mission right now.” Peter spoke up. “It might be a long one too but don’t waste anytime just incase.”

You nodded pulling away from them. Looking up around the headquarters building faintly smiling at the past memories you had here. You started heading to different areas gathering all the little things you had left around. Hobie had stitched for you a cute backpack with different scraps of patterned clothes and covered in patches of punk band logos but made with hammer space technology. Making it fun for you to fill endless of your things in the bag.

The last stop was in Miguel’s office. Doubt started to fill your mind; maybe he already threw out all of your stuff. Why would he even keep it after all of this? What no one could warn you of was the other person sitting on his platform.

“Hello!” She chirped at you. It felt like the air in your lungs had just been punched out. You knew her too well. From all the photos and videos you had seen peaking over Miguel’s shoulder. However seeing her in person was something you had never expected. You knew it wasn’t the original her but it was a copy paste image for sure.

“Hi.” Was all you managed to choke out. She was beautiful, stunning. You could see clearly now the similar features she shared in another universe with her daughter. The parts that Miguel didn’t have. She kept smiling kindly at you, almost in a graceful way. You started to feel all your insecurities start eating you up from the inside. How could you have ever compared to her.

“What’s your name? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” Getting off Miguel’s platform she walked closer to you. The room started to feel suffocating.

“Y/N.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you! It’s nice to meet other girls around here.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you realized she had no reaction to your name. So Miguel never told her about you… Or that the fact was he was still even legally married to you.

“My boyfriend isn’t here right now but, if you want, I can tell him you stopped by.” She continued as you stayed silent.

“Oh, no it’s okay. I just came in here to get some stuff.” You rushed as you really wanted nothing to do with Miguel at all. You almost worried that he might even get angry knowing you got to speak with her. If he already dislikes you this much you couldn’t even imagine how he would feel if you got in the way of this for him.

You started heading over to the familiar drawers around the room. Grabbing your old hoodies and shirts finding your most comfortable of things here. You treated this place as one of your safe spaces as you used to spend so much time here.

“Oh I didn’t know these were all yours! I was wondering why this was all around. When I came here I wanted to do some spring cleaning but Miguel wouldn’t let me touch anything.” She followed besides you. “It’s so mind blowing seeing all this technology. We don’t have any of this where I live-“ She continue rambling but you started to zone her out. You felt like you were about to have a panic attack any minute. There was one question that kept burning in your mind.

“Are you and Miguel already planning to have a child?” You blurted out. Your eyes widened a bit as you surprised yourself. She let out a loud laugh.

“Oh dear no! We have only been together about 6 months. You must be new around here so you must not know much about us.” She chuckled.

In some cruel way you were hoping she would have said yes. You had that twisted hope of maybe Miguel just keeping her to have a kid and ditching her after he gets Gabriella and run back to you. In reality he was playing the long game, he really meant it when we said he was starting over. “He’s never mentioned kids anyways. I’m not even sure if he’d like them or do well with them.”

With that statement she made you looked at her appalled. Anyone could see in Miguel how good of a father he could be. Just in the way he takes care of the society he built here. You started to realize that she really has been left in the dark. She doesn’t know anything. She probably doesn’t even know that she’s a replacement of another self. You wondered why Miguel was doing this. It felt like he didn’t just toy with you but with her as well. A man you came to love for how selfless he was, to realize now everything was for his own personal gain. Suddenly you started to feel bad for her. You couldn’t dislike her, she wasn’t doing anything wrong and she doesn’t even know.

“I got all my stuff. Nice to meet you.” Was all you could say as you zipped up your bag and turned straight around out of there. Not giving any glance back at her, you left to one of the empty training rooms to recollect your overwhelming thoughts. All of the self healing you tried the past month thrown in the garbage.

It wouldn’t be too soon that news of you going around the building was returned to Lyla. You had cut out all coms while you were gone so she immediately popped up on your watch when she found out.

“AH-“ You jumped as the tiny AI was suddenly in front of your face.

“It’s so wonderful to see you Y/N. Oh my god!”She started. Then she went on rambling about how she knew everything and had seen everything. How she didn’t agree with what was happening and was doing everything she could to convince you to stay. After 5 minutes of her rambling you stopped her to let your emotions out.

“Lyla, Lyla It’s okay. Just stop. It’s all complicated I know, but this didn’t work out. I wished Miguel just cheated on me like all the other fucked up normal men out there. That I walked in on him deep in another random girl. Though painful I could have tried fixing and fighting for us. But instead what I got was him emotionally cheating on me and chase after something he knows I can never give him.” You felt yourself choke up. “I can never ask him to give up what he longs and dreams for just for me to be happy. I lost this battle the moment he laid eyes on her.”

Finding comfort in the AI your husband made. You’ve created a bond with Lyla that Miguel found cute but you knew now this might be the last time you’ll be speaking with her.

“You can give him a family y/n… you guys have been married two years now. I know you’ve both set the thought aside until the multiverse issues are better but you can fight for him. You have to snap him out of his fantasy. He still thinks about you.”

“Lyla you know deep down truly he never just wanted a family. He wanted exactly what he had. What he lost. Which should be impossible but being by his side seeing how insane the multiverse is… Good for him for believing in something so hard he’s found himself even a third chance to do it.”

“I hate that you’re being too kind about this situation.” Lyla paced around you.

“I love him so deeply Lyla. You know that very well. It’s so hard to suddenly hate him. I am angry, but I’m also emotionally drained I can’t do this.” You let out a deep sigh. “I’ve watched him long for this family when we just met. For some stupid reason when things worked out for us I thought I would be enough… When we got engaged and he would spend some days at home with me not even coming to HQ. I thought he was finally moving on not just from his grief and past but from the weight of his work. I saw a bright future for us.”

“You can still have a bright future with him! You moving here gave him a new canon event, another chance at life in his timeline. Here in his own universe! He’s just too obsessed and he’s lost himself in that.” She exclaimed with her hands up.

“Our canon event was our wedding.” Your frowned deepened. “But the universe didn’t say anything else after. It doesn’t say our canon event means we are suppose to live happily together forever I guess.”

“I’m just trying my best to be optimistic. I rooted so hard for you and Miguel when you joined the team. I know you can remember the amount of times I would force you both in rooms.” Lyla recalled.

“And I’m grateful for it… Even if this didn’t work out. I was given precious memories, not just working with you and being on this team but falling in love with Miguel. I know I’m being all depressed and hopeless but I feel like even if I move on I’ll never be able to replace him and find a relationship like this again. However he threw me away so easily and maybe he never valued me as much as I did to him.” You felt your emotions bubble. “I became who I am here. I’m going to miss everyone so much.”

“You can still stay here and work with us.” She edged on.

“I can’t just sit around here begging at his feet to return to me or moping around doing missions while watching him with someone else. I want to hate him so badly. I know he’s your boss and you’re basically hardwired to do everything for him and you’re trying your hardest to fix what you think is his right path. But think of me a little more and how miserable it’ll be. I’m the only one hurting here.”

Lyla paused and stared at you with an almost glossy-eyed look. While she worked she could see the inner term-oil Miguel was hiding and the emptiness he was turning to since trying to start new in the other universe. It just wasn’t her place to hold this conversation and he was the one who needed to get a grip of himself and really think and talk with you. She can’t be the one trying to mend the pieces for both of you together. What Miguel did was so wrong. She knew you were right and she didn’t want to see any more damage be caused to you.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She looked up at you sincerely. “I hate this outcome for you. Not only are you loosing your husband but your home. When was the last time you’ve even been in your universe?”

“Like a year ago for a mission…”

“Exactly! Even if things are over with Miguel, you have all of us here! I wish you could stay. I understand you leaving, I really do. I know a lot of us will try visiting you but I’m tied to Miguel…” You started to see how it clicked for her too that it’s most likely you might not see each other for a long time. “Even if a spider-person is visiting you I can’t just show up on their watch… It’ll go back to him and I know you wouldn’t want that. I know I’m an AI and I can’t hold real emotions but I mean it when I say I’m going to miss you.”

Tears poured down your cheeks as her words hit you. Going back to your universe is going to be a struggle. You have nothing there now. However nothing can compare to the pain of the outcome you’ve had with Miguel, and you needed out of here ASAP. Your mental health getting worse the longer you stay. Even the other spiders you have come to love can’t bring that spark back right now. You needed genuine time for yourself, even if it’s self destructive, instead of putting on a fake smile everyday here.

“Bye, Lyla.” You whispered. She nodded and waved her hand goodbye at you before disappearing. You took your watch off your wrist placing it on a nearby desk. With it you pulled the divorce paperwork out of your pocket neatly sealed and already signed on your half. Opening a portal you took your last glances at the place you spent so many loving memories in.

Tears blurred your vision as you stepped through the portal. Once your legs landed on a rooftop of a building in your dimension, you racked out full sobs falling to your knees.

You were always just the other woman.

—————————————————

Thank you so much for reading!! I know it was a longer one ~

would anyone like a part 2? If so anyone want a angsty or happy ending? I think it’ll be more in Miguel’s perspective as well!

EDIT: You can now read PART 2 here

---

i. 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, Blood, Explosions, Mentions of Child Abuse, Good Aunt-Mom Selina Kyle AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

 ༻⊰───⋅

“Uh, good morning?” you offered weakly, trying to give a casual shrug despite the mess around you. “Mom, this might sound insane. But, I think I might have accidentally discovered superpowers.”

Selina stared at you, blinking slowly as she processed the scene before her. Her lips twitched as if she were trying to hold back a laugh or perhaps some form of disbelief.

“Accidentally discovered superpowers?” she echoed. “I think you've been around your boyfriend and his family too much. Baby—”

Before she could finish, your hand instinctively reached out. With a flick of your wrist, a web shot from your fingers and latched onto the door behind her. In a heartbeat, the door was yanked from its hinges, splintering as it flew across the room and crashed into the wall with a resounding thud.

Selina’s eyes widened in shock as she turned to face the now doorless doorway. She blinked at the empty space where the door had once been.

“Well,” she said, “I guess that’s one way to explain things.”

༻⊰───⋅

SELINA'S DEFT FINGERS SLID over the fabric of the dress, adjusting and smoothing it until it hugged your figure perfectly. The elegant emerald gown shimmered under the dim lights of the apartment, the material soft and luxurious against your skin.

"You didn’t steal this, did you?" you murmur, adjusting the necklace resting delicately around your neck. "I’d rather not end up in jail tonight."

"The dress? No, it's one of my old ones," Selina scoffed, turning away. She handed you a pair of black heels. "But if anyone asks about the necklace, just say it's a family heirloom. Which, technically, it is."

You shot her a pointed look, and she rolled her eyes with a smirk.

"Oh, hush. I haven’t stolen anything in… at least a month," she drawled.

"A month, wow! That’s a new record," you teased, slipping into the heels.

Selina laughed, shaking her head. "Don’t get too comfortable. Just because I’m on a hiatus doesn’t mean I’ve gone straight."

"Well, let’s hope your hiatus lasts at least through tonight," you winced. 

She smirked, giving you a once-over. "Trust me, darling, tonight is all about you."

"Oh! Before I forget…" Selina brightened, moving swiftly to one of her drawers. She retrieved a thigh strap and fastened it securely onto your leg. With nimble hands, she slid a blade into the strap. You rolled your eyes but accepted the gesture with a resigned nod. It was Gotham, after all—being prepared was always a need.

“Damian will be with me the whole night,” you said, trying to reassure her. “You don’t have to worry that much.”

Selina paused, her hands on the thigh strap, and gave you a serious look. “Sweetheart, I worry about you every single second of the day. It’s not that I don’t trust Damian—he’s capable. But it’s Gotham I don’t trust. And wherever those Bats go, trouble tends to follow.”

"Okay, Mom," you said, offering a reassuring smile as you squeezed her hand. "I get it. Thanks for looking out."

Selina Kyle might not be your biological mother, but she’s never cared about that. She’s been your mom since she found you that day by her door, carried by a social worker, alone so many years ago. 

To her, you’re her kid.

And to you, Selina was more than just your biological aunt; she was the person who had stepped in when your world fell apart.

Selina and her sister, Maggie, had been born into a troubled family. Their father was an abusive alcoholic, and their mother, Maria, was emotionally distant. After their mother’s death, the sisters were separated. Maggie was adopted by a loving family and built a stable, happy life. Selina, however, was thrown into the harsh hands of Gotham’s orphanage system. Those dark streets and hard knocks eventually shaped her into Catwoman.

But the past has a way of catching up. Maggie, living a seemingly charmed life, was targeted by Catwoman's enemies. Black Mask, in a ruthless bid for revenge, orchestrated a brutal attack. Maggie was kidnapped, tortured, and left for dead. Her husband didn’t survive the onslaught either.

Maggie had a daughter—barely a toddler. Too young, too innocent to be left on her own in such a cruel world. With no other family to turn to, Selina took you in, vowing to protect you from a world that had already taken so much from both of you.

Her life wasn’t easy. She was young, barely in her twenties, struggling to make ends meet in one of Gotham’s most unforgiving neighborhoods. The jobs she managed to get were barely enough to cover rent, let alone the needs of a growing child. Selina’s nights were spent planning heists and navigating the criminal underworld—not out of greed, but out of necessity. She used her skills as Catwoman not just to survive, but to provide for you, making sure you had a roof over your head and food on the table.

You eventually discovered the truth about her double life. As a child, you had been so smart and perceptive, piecing together clues about the mysterious disappearances and the high-end items that seemed to show up around the house. When you confronted her, your heartbroken tears and questions about right and wrong were met with a mix of regret and sorrow in her eyes. It wasn’t easy for either of you.

But through it all, she provided a sense of stability and love that helped you turn out alright.

Selina's hand slid across her vanity as she reached for a sleek black clutch resting on a nearby table. With a theatrical flourish, she presented it to you. You took the clutch with a smile and stepped back, a playful twirl sending the emerald fabric of your gown into a graceful dance.

“How do I look?” you asked, a hint of nervousness in your voice as you posed.

Selina’s serious expression softened instantly. Her eyes roamed over your outfit, from the delicate neckline of the dress to the perfect fit around your waist and the way the gown flowed gracefully to the floor.

“You look amazing, sweetheart,” she purred, her voice full of warmth and approval. “You’re going to knock the whole school off their feet. Damian’s going to need a crowbar to keep the other guys away.”

Selina reached out to adjust the straps on your dress, ensuring everything was perfectly in place. Her fingers then moved to a stray strand of hair, brushing lightly against your cheek with a gentle touch.

“Just remember, darling,” she spoke slowly, “it never hurts to stay safe.”

Your eyes widened as you caught the hint of her meaning. “You’re not suggesting I—”

"I was at that age," She cut you off with a mock-serious tone, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’m just saying you should be prepared. Especially with the way that boy looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger. Make sure he wraps something else too.”

You felt a flush of embarrassment rising to your cheeks. You fumbled with the clutch in your hand, trying to divert your attention from her teasing. “Mom! What the hell?! I think that’s enough advice for one night!”

Just as Selina was about to respond, a sharp car horn beeped from outside. Both of you turned towards the window. A sleek black sports car, glistening in the dim streetlight, stood out starkly against the gritty backdrop of your neighborhood. It looked painfully out of place among the surrounding dilapidated buildings.

Selina’s smirk returned as she looked back at you.

“Looks like your chariot awaits,” she said, hands sliding up your shoulders as she pushed you to the door. “Remember, have fun, but stay sharp. Gotham’s never as quiet as it seems.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “Got it. Thanks.”

With a final reassuring smile, you stepped out of the apartment and made your way down the stairs. As you reached the bottom, you saw Damian waiting by his Porsche, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He was dressed impeccably in a deep black suit with an emerald button-up shirt underneath, which perfectly matched the striking color of his eyes and your dress. A sleek black tie completed the ensemble, matching his fitted gloves. His hair was slicked back with gel, each strand perfectly in place, emphasizing his sharp features.

Damian's gaze softened as he saw you approaching, a small, approving smile tugging at his lips. 

“Beloved,” he greeted, extending a hand to you. “You look stunning.”

“Hi, handsome,” you replied, taking his hand and moving forward to press a gentle kiss against his lips. Damian responded with a soft hum, tilting his head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to make the moment linger.

Just as you were about to lose yourself completely, Selina’s voice rang out, cutting through the night air. “Save some of that romance for later! We don’t want you to be late!”

Damian pulled away from you so abruptly that it almost seemed like he’d suffered whiplash. His face turned an uneven shade of red, a mix of embarrassment and irritation evident. He shot a sidelong glance at Selina before his eyes darted back to you.

Damian cleared his throat, his usual composure momentarily slipping. “Right,” he said, his voice strained. “Let’s… get going.”

He moved swiftly to open the car door for you, his lips twitching into a grimace. As you slid into the passenger seat, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the abrupt change in his demeanor. Damian was always somewhat awkward around Selina. His feelings about Catwoman were conflicted, yet he maintained a deep respect for her as your mother.

Once he settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine, the car roared to life with a smooth, powerful purr. The sleek vehicle glided down the streets with impressive speed, Damian navigating through traffic with a confidence that bordered on recklessness. You couldn't help but recall the first time he’d taken you for a drive, when his aggressive maneuvering had left you clutching at the seat, your heart racing like you were in an ambulance on a high-speed chase. This time, though, you've long gotten used to the feeling.

The ride was brief but exhilarating, and soon the car pulled into the school’s parking lot. Sleek cars and limousines lined the lot, each more extravagant than the last. Students and their dates, dressed in formal wear, were mingling and laughing as they headed towards the entrance. As you stepped out of the Porsche, the cool night air greeted you, carrying the scent of fresh flowers and the faint strains of classical music drifting from inside. Damian drew you close, wrapping an arm around your waist as you walked toward the entrance together.

The sprawling campus was illuminated by an array of twinkling lights, casting a warm, golden glow over the manicured lawns and historic stone buildings. The ballroom was stunningly elegant. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting colorful reflections onto the polished marble floor. Tables dressed in white linens, adorned with fresh roses and flickering candles, lined the room. The dance floor gleamed with couples already swaying to the soft music of a live orchestra.

The atmosphere was just screaming old money, a stark contrast to the gritty streets of Gotham. 

Gotham Academy was one hell of a school, and you already knew that. It was a breeding ground for rich fucks, each one more insufferable than the last. The halls echoed with the chatter of kids who had everything handed to them, their lives a far cry from yours. The only reason you’d managed to slip through those gilded gates was thanks to the Martha-Wayne scholarship. Without it, you’d still be stuck in the middle of nowhere with your mother, scraping by on whatever scraps you could find.

“Habibti, are you going to keep staring at the floor? Or may I have the honor of requesting a dance?”

You looked up, meeting Damian’s eyes with a playful glare. “I don’t know… this is a really interesting floor.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Oh, really? I didn’t realize the floor had such a captivating allure.”

You crossed your arms, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “Well, it’s not every day you get to appreciate the fine craftsmanship of marble. Plus… we gotta keep our thing going, you know? I can't give in that easily.”

“Our thing? What thing?”

“The thing where we act like we hate each other but want each other carnally?”

"What?" Damian snapped, cheeks flushed a deep crimson, his brows furrowing at you. "What nonsense—"

His hands, typically so composed, were now slightly tense as he pulled you along and guided you onto the dance floor. The music around you pulsed with an upbeat rhythm, couples spinning in slow dances.

“You never miss an opportunity to mortify me, do you?” Damian scolded.

You laughed softly, your body swaying gracefully with his as the music surrounded you. “I think I just enjoy keeping you on your toes. It adds a touch of excitement.”

Damian’s lips curved into a wry smile despite his grumbling. “Indeed, you’ve inherited Catwoman's knack for keeping things lively.”

You grin. The rich, velvety fabric of your dress brushed against Damian’s suit as you moved together. “Yeah. Once she retires, I could always take up the mantle of the next Catwoman.”

Damian’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a look of mild exasperation. “Please do not. I fear what will become of you then."

“Why not?” you batted your lashes at him coyly. "Does the thought of me in a skin-tight suit not delight you, beloved?"

Damian made a noncommittal sound, his ears tinged with red as he averted his gaze.

“I would not… be entirely opposed to that idea,” he muttered.

Grinning, you purred, your hand gliding gently up his jaw, letting your touch linger just enough to be felt. A glimmer of mischief sparkled in the crystalline depths of his jade-green eyes. Damian’s grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing into a mock glare that barely masked the warmth in his gaze.

He guided you into a slow dance, his movements smooth and assured, reminiscent of that one late night in the kitchen of his manor. The memory of swaying together in the dark, with only the soft glow of the moon from the windows and music playing from the speakers of his phone, flashed in your mind.

It was moments like these that peeled away his usual brooding demeanor. In the soft glow of the ballroom lights, the tender, affectionate side of him came out—a side that offered you a special kind of attention, one that made every shared glance and touch feel uniquely intimate.

“This profound, almost maddening attraction I have for you makes me want to stab myself,” Damian confessed, his voice a low murmur that cut through the ambient hum of the party. As he spun you both gracefully, the fabric of your dress flared out around his ankles. 

He held you closer, his fingers pressing into your waist as you moved together in perfect harmony

“Yet, despite it all,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear, “I find myself yearning for more.”

“Wow, you certainly have a way with words,” you said, your smile radiant and your eyes gleaming with a playful spark. “Admit it—you love every moment of it, don’t you?”

Damian’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. “Perhaps,” he conceded, his tone light but laced with an undeniable charm. He pulled you back into his embrace with practiced ease. As he guided you across the floor, the world around you seemed to dissolve into a haze of soft music and swirling colors.

Damian’s gaze, however, was sharp and vigilant. “I don’t like how they’re staring at you,” he murmured, his green eyes narrowing as they scanned the crowd. His voice held a familiar edge. “Perhaps they need a reminder of whom you belong to.”

"Damian, no—"

Before you could protest, Damian leaned in, closing the distance between you with a smooth turn of his head. The kiss was tender yet heated, his teeth gently tugging at your bottom lip. 

Anyone who glanced your way could see Damian Wayne with his lips pressed against yours. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this—there was that incident when you both landed in detention because he couldn’t keep his hands off you by your locker.

You whined softly, trying to pull away, a thin strand of saliva connecting your lips in a delicate, glistening thread. “We’re in public—”

“Shut up,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough yet tender, before diving back in. The breath you had been holding escaped in a slow, shuddering sigh, mingling with his as he drew you closer, his hands firmly cupping your hips.

His kiss deepened, a passionate exploration that left no room for hesitation. His tongue slid into your mouth, wet and hot, as if he were trying to devour every last sweet sound you made. Damian’s hands trembled slightly, betraying the depth of his own emotions as you clung tightly to his tie. Finally, you both parted, breathless and flushed.

Damian and you locked eyes, his expression unreadable until a shit-eating grin slowly spread across his face.

"I hate you so much," you scowled. "In public?! Again?!"

"Beloved, just look around," he scoffed, motioning toward the prom scene.

Teenagers were kissing without a second thought, and none of the teachers seemed inclined to intervene—after all, they'd been paid enough to turn a blind eye. You wouldn't be surprised if that was why some of the teachers even went to the effort of chaperoning.

"No one's paying us any mind. Besides," he added, his voice dropping to a low murmur, "I like reminding everyone that you're mine."

“The day we made it official, every paper seemed to be all about me,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I think they’ve figured it out.” You couldn't help but let a small, playful smile tug at your lips. “You’re impossible, Damian Wayne.”

“Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he used your own words against you. “And you love every moment of it, don’t you?”

Before you could respond, he tilted your chin up, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, “Let them see. They’ll just have to get used to the sight.”

The kiss was softer this time, more tender and deliberate as you swayed against him, savoring the moment.

Then, without warning, the serenity was shattered by a deafening explosion. The sound of shattering glass and a violent burst of energy ripped through the ballroom. The room was plunged into chaos. Crystal chandeliers swayed violently from the ceiling, their light flickering erratically as debris rained down. Guests screamed, their frantic movements a blur as they scrambled for cover.

Damian’s reflexes kicked in instantly. He broke away and yanked you closer, shielding you with his body. You gasped, your arms instinctively wrapping tightly around his torso as you buried your face into his neck. His eyes darted across the room, scanning for the source of the threat, every muscle tensed and alert.

From the smoke emerged a middle-aged man, suspended in the air by his mechanical arms—sleek, metallic, and bristling with a variety of intimidating gadgets. The arms whirred and slashed through the air with deadly force, carving through the walls and sending more chunks of debris down.

“You think you can just throw away everything I’ve built?” the man roared. “This school, this place, it’s all been a mockery of my work, my life! I’ve sacrificed everything for this and you’ve repaid me with nothing but scorn!”

Damian cursed under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he tapped an emergency button on his wrist. The signal to the Batcomputer blazed through the network, alerting Batman to the crisis unfolding in the ballroom. Without missing a beat, Damian enveloped you in his arms, lifting you effortlessly as he maneuvered through the chaos.

The two of you darted out of the ballroom, the once-grand entrance now marred by the chaos. Damian carried you swiftly through the building's hallways, the sound of distant alarms and the echoes of your hurried footsteps reverberating through the empty corridors. The moment you reached a safer location, he paused briefly, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any further threats, his grip on you firm but reassuring.

“I’ll be okay,” you said as he put you down. Panting, you gripped his gloved hands in yours, squeezing them lightly. “Do—do you have your suit?”

“It’s in the car,” Damian grumbled, frustration evident in his voice as he ran his thumb over your knuckles.

“I’ll stay here and start helping with evacuations,” you said swiftly, already moving to slip out of your heels, the shoes clacking against the floor.

Damian opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off, shaking your head firmly.

“No,” you said firmly, your scowl sharpening. “None of this again. I make my own decisions.”

Damian’s expression hardened, his concern evident despite his frustration. “You’re not a trained fighter. You’re not supposed to be in harm’s way.”

"It's just evacuations. I’m not going to be fighting," you met his gaze as you stood up straight again. “And I’m not going to stand by while others are in danger.”

Damian hesitated, clearly torn. “Fine,” he said begrudgingly, “but stay hidden and keep away from the villain.”

With a nod and a quick, reassuring kiss, you turned and plunged back into the chaos. The corridors were now a frenzy of frantic students and faculty, desperately trying to evacuate.

Damian shot you one last, intense look before sprinting back toward the parking lot.

You slipped back into the ballroom, your heart pounding. Through the swirling smoke and shattered remnants of the once-elegant room, you spotted a girl pinned beneath a toppled table, her muffled cries barely audible. Bundling your dress in your hands, you rushed over.

“Come on! We need to get out of here!” you urged, pushing through the debris and wrestling with the heavy wood. Once she was free, you helped her to her feet. She stumbled slightly, but you steadied her with a firm, reassuring grip.

“Where’s everyone else?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Everyone’s heading for the exits. We need to move quickly,” you replied, guiding her toward the nearest emergency exit. The sounds of the villain’s rampage echoed through the room, punctuated by the distant wail of sirens.

Once the girl was able to get back on her feet and run on her own, you rushed to assist another group, directing them towards the exits and making sure they stayed calm.

There was a sudden, sharp slice, and you turned your gaze back toward the ballroom. Damian had reappeared, now clad in his Robin suit. The clash of his sword against the villain’s mechanical arms echoed through the room, each strike a precise blur of red and black.

As you watched, a figure huddled in the far corner caught your eye. The student, paralyzed with fear, was frozen in place, eyes wide and fixed on the chaos.

Without a second thought, you sprinted back into the fray, deftly weaving through debris and toppled tables. Reaching the student, you crouched beside them and placed a reassuring hand on their shoulder.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. Alright? We’re going to get through this, but you need to move—now!” you urged, your voice firm yet reassuring.

The student’s terrified eyes flickered with a glimmer of hope as they slowly began to rise with your help. You grunted, slipping your arms beneath their shoulders and lifting them to their feet.

"Keep moving!" you urged, guiding them toward the doors. As you pulled them along, you felt a peculiar tingling sensation creeping up your leg.

Unbeknownst to you, the prickling came from a small spider, glowing an eerie green. Its tiny, pulsating body was nearly hidden against your emerald dress. Oblivious to its presence, you continued leading the student toward the safer part of the ballroom, focused on ensuring their escape.

The spider’s glow grew more intense as it crawled up your arm. Just as you pushed the student to safety, it sank its fangs deep into your skin. A piercing scream escaped your lips as searing pain surged through your body. You instinctively slapped at your bicep, nails digging into the skin.

Damian’s head snapped in your direction, his eyes widening in alarm. In his distraction, the villain took advantage of the moment, slamming a mechanical arm into Damian’s side and flinging him into the air. The impact sent Damian crashing into the wall with a grunt, the force of the blow causing him to crumple momentarily.

The spider’s venom surged through your veins, bringing with it a searing, unbearable pain. Your vision swirled, dark spots dancing at the edges as you collapsed to the floor. Struggling to stay conscious, you crawled toward a nearby pillar, clutching your arm where the spider had bitten you. 

Through the haze of pain and fog, you saw the villain's figure looming closer, advancing with a menacing snarl. His mechanical arms whirred ominously, their sharp edges glinting in the dim light as they reached for you. It was the last thing you saw before darkness claimed you.

"Get away from her!"

Damian's head snapped up, his eyes blazing with fierce anger. Ignoring the throbbing in his side, he propelled himself forward with a roar, his sword cutting through the air with lethal precision. The blade met the villain's mechanical arm with a thunderous clang, a spray of electricity erupting from the impact. The force of the blow staggered the villain momentarily, his mechanical limbs jerking erratically as sparks flew from the damaged joint.

Damian slid across the debris-strewn floor, coming to a stop with a practiced skid on his knees. He positioned himself between you and the threat, his katana poised in a defensive stance. 

“Is this all you’ve got?” Damian spat, his voice dripping with contempt. “A pathetic tantrum because your grandiose plans fell apart? You’re nothing more than a washed-up has-been clinging to your failures.”

“You think you know what it’s like to sacrifice everything? To watch your life's work crumble? You have no idea what I’ve lost! My research was going to change the world!”

The villain’s mechanical arms flared up in response, their whirring growing louder as he prepared to strike again. Just as an arm was about to land, the piercing whir of a batarang sliced through the air. It struck the villain’s mechanical arm with precision, a bright explosion erupting from the impact. Damian grunted as he braced himself, holding firm against the shockwave. The villain recoiled in surprise, momentarily disoriented by the sudden blast.

Suddenly, the room was engulfed in darkness. The lights flickered and died, plunging the space into a pitch-black void. Shadows danced along the walls, punctuated by loud bangs and the crackling of debris.

Through the darkness, Batman emerged, his imposing figure cutting through the shadows. The sound of his cape rustling was almost like a herald of doom as he got into a fighting stance.

“Robin,” Batman’s voice was a low, commanding growl, “take the girl. I’ll handle it from here.”

Damian wasted no time, swiftly scooping you into his arms. The icy chill of your skin against his own drove a spear of terror through him. He pushed aside the panic clawing at him, focusing instead on keeping you as stable as possible despite how limp you felt in his arms.

He sprinted out of the ballroom, skidding into the hallway with pants. 

He ran. Faster and faster. His breath came in ragged gasps. The entrance was ahead. He could see it.

Slamming through the doors, he barreled into the open air. The parking lot sprawled before him. Parents were screaming. Kids were crying. Ambulances flashed, their lights a blur.

Outside, he spotted a group of paramedics. Without hesitation, Damian handed you over to them, his hands trembling slightly as he gently laid you down on a gurney.

“She’s unresponsive,” he said urgently. “Pale skin, cold to the touch. Vital signs are unknown. She needs immediate attention.”

As he spoke, Selina rushed over, her fur coat billowing around her with each rapid step. 

She bent down to your level, her breath visible in the cool night air as she placed a trembling hand on your forehead. Her fingers were warm against your icy skin, and she winced at the clammy coldness that met her touch. Her brow furrowed deeply, her eyes narrowing as she assessed your pallor.

“What happened?” she asked. The usual confidence in her gaze was replaced by a deep, unsettling worry.

"We think she's in shock," one paramedic concluded after a quick assessment. "We’ll get her stabilized and see if there’s anything more to address."

Selina gave a brief nod to the paramedics, then turned to Damian. “Go,” she urged him. “I’ve got this under control. Go take down that bastard and make him pay for what he did.”

Damian hesitated for a heartbeat, his gaze lingering on you. Every muscle in his body screamed to stay, but there was still a threat that left no room for hesitation. He nodded and without another word, turned and sprinted back toward the building. His cape flared out behind him, a dark streak against the night sky.

Selina's eyes followed Damian's retreating figure momentarily before refocusing on the paramedics. She watched them with sharp eyes, taking in every action and every word. Her hand never left your forehead, each pass of her thumb trying to provide comfort that her heart couldn’t.

As you began to regain your bearings, the haze of unconsciousness lifting, you slowly became aware of your surroundings. Wincing, you raised a hand to your arm. The pain from the bite had receded and there was no scar, leaving only a dull ache. Was that just a dream?

Before you could think about it anymore, your aunt's face was already in your peripheral. 

Selina's voice caught in her throat as your eyes began to flutter open. Her grip on your hand tightened involuntarily, a mix of relief and worry playing across her features.

"Hey, there," she said softly. "You gave us quite a scare, sweetheart."

You stared at her in confusion, shivering from the biting cold. Selina’s eyes softened and she quickly moved to remove her coat. With a flick of her hands, she draped the fur around your shoulders, its warmth a stark relief against the icy chill of your skin.

“You’re going to be okay,” she whispered, the words more for her own reassurance than yours. 

The night was supposed to be a celebration, a rite of passage, a milestone to cherish. Instead, it had turned into yet another harsh lesson about the brutal nature of Gotham’s streets. God, this city was shit. She pushed those feelings aside for the moment, knowing that the priority was to get you home and into dry clothes.

"How are you feeling?" Selina asked softly, her fingers tracing a path along your cheek as if trying to reassure herself that you were truly okay. Her brow furrowed deeply as she took in your still-pale complexion and shaky breaths.

You groaned softly, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment before snapping open again.

“Dizzy,” you mumbled, your voice weak and wavering. As you attempted to sit up, a wave of disorientation washed over you, and hands quickly pressed you back down. “Damian—where—”

“Whoa, easy there,” Selina said with a calming urgency. Her hands were firm but gentle on your shoulders, guiding you back onto the gurney. “Don’t strain yourself. The paramedics said you’re in shock. You need to stay still for now.”

“And Damian is… with his father,” Selina said, her voice trailing off as she glanced at you, making her meaning clear. She turned to the paramedics with a decisive nod.

“Is there a chance I could take her home?” she asked.

The paramedic, a no-nonsense woman named Helen, gave Selina a critical once-over before looking down at you.

"Well, she's stable enough for transport, and we've done the basic stabilizing procedures. But she's still in shock, and it could be risky to move her too quickly. Are you sure you can handle her?" Helen asked.

"She's my kid. I’ve dealt with worse, believe me," Selina replied, a hint of her usual confident tone seeping in once again.

Helen nodded, accepting Selina's assurance, but her voice remained stern. "She'll need monitoring for the next 24-48 hours. Light meals, plenty of rest. And no strenuous activity. She should see a doctor as soon as possible, though."

Selina's fingers idly traced patterns on the back of your hand as she listened intently to Helen's instructions, her eyes never leaving yours, silently reassuring you.

"I'll make sure all of that’s taken care of. Thank you," Selina said, her voice sincere for once. Helen gave a nod, seemingly satisfied with Selina's response. She handed Selina a card with basic instructions and a phone number to call if any complications flared up.

Despite your reluctance to leave while Damian was still knee-deep in the battle, your hazy mind and Selina's insistence eventually led to you being pushed into the back of your aunt's sleek convertible.

The drive was a blur of city lights and concerned glances from Selina. You leaned back, your head resting against the cool leather of the seat, feeling the gentle hum of the engine beneath you. 

"Don't worry," Selina murmured, her eyes flicking to the rearview mirror to check on you. "Damian can handle himself. And the Bat will make sure he's safe. You rest. I'll tell you if anything happens to him."

You nodded weakly, closing your eyes and trusting her words as the city sped by, a blur of neon and shadow. Despite the dull ache at your neck, the exhaustion finally took over, and you slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

You woke up the next day to a persistent, dull throbbing in your arm. The pain was sharp, a relentless pulsing that seemed to echo through your entire body. It jolted you from sleep, your eyelids fluttering open to the soft, golden glow of early morning light filtering through the curtains. The room was quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the city waking up outside.

You tried to shake off the fog of sleep, but the pain in your arm was impossible to ignore. With a groan, you reached out to silence the blaring alarm clock, but as you swung your arm towards it, something unexpected happened.

The clock, along with the wooden table it rested on, broke beneath your touch. Your hand slammed through the table, splintering the wood into fragments that scattered across the floor. Startled, you yanked your arm back, staring in disbelief at the destruction.

“What the—?” you muttered, your voice trailing off as you inspected your hand. It appeared normal, but the sensations were far from ordinary. The pain in your arm had faded, replaced by an unsettling, unfamiliar tingling that radiated from within.

Carefully, you climbed out of bed, your gaze sweeping over the debris that littered the floor. The unexpected surge of energy was disorienting, but before you could process it further, a sudden, sharp tingle ran through your arm. Instinctively, you snapped your head to the side, your hand darting out to catch a fly that had buzzed too close.

To your shock, your fingers closed around the tiny insect with a reflex you didn’t know you possessed. You stared at the fly, trapped gently between your fingers. Carefully, you opened your hand and let the fly go. 

It darted away, disappearing into the room. 

“Okay… That was new,” you muttered, shaking your head as if trying to clear away the confusion.

The tingling in your arm surged back, sharper and more insistent this time. You winced, the sensation both foreign and unsettling. Instinctively, you extended your hand, watching with growing confusion.

Your fingers curled involuntarily and suddenly, a web shot out from your wrist. It glistened with a strange sheen as it snaked through the air, before firmly anchoring itself to the wall in front of you. The webbing glistened in the morning light, stretching and sticking with a consistency that seemed almost organic.

“Holly shit,” you muttered, your voice barely more than a whisper. You approached the wall, eyes fixed on the webbing with a mix of awe and confusion. Hesitantly, you reached out and tugged on it, testing its strength. The webbing held firm.

You tried to pull it away, but it stayed stubbornly in place. Grunting, you pressed a foot against the wall for leverage and yanked harder. The webbing resisted with surprising strength, and a series of warning cracks echoed before a chunk of concrete broke away, crumbling under the strain.

The sudden release sent you stumbling backward. You lost your balance and fell hard onto the floor with a sharp gasp. For a moment, you lay sprawled across the hardwood, catching your breath.

When you finally moved to stand, you continued experimenting. Aiming your hand at different parts of the room, you sent out another web. This time, it shot out with precision, latching onto a nearby lamp. You pulled the web back, drawing the lamp toward you.

Taking a deep breath to calm your racing thoughts, you slowly retracted the web. As it drew back, the strands dissolved into nothing, leaving no trace of their presence.

There was a sudden tingle, and you perked up. The sensation was almost electric, a ripple of anticipation that seemed to focus on your bedroom door. As you turned toward it, the door swung open and Selina stepped in, dressed in her pajamas.

"What's with the noise…?"

She trailed off and froze in the doorway, her eyes widening as they took in the chaos of the room. Broken wood and scattered debris covered the floor, interspersed with strands of glistening webbing clinging to the walls and lamp.

“Oh,” Selina murmured in surprise. She stepped cautiously over a particularly large piece of broken wood, her eyes darting around the room. Her gaze lingered on the webs, her brow furrowing as she raised an eyebrow at you. 

“Uh, good morning?” you offered weakly, trying to give a casual shrug despite the mess around you. “Mom, this might sound insane. But, I think I might have accidentally discovered superpowers.”

Selina stared at you, blinking slowly as she processed the scene before her. Her lips twitched as if she were trying to hold back a laugh or perhaps some form of disbelief.

“Accidentally discovered superpowers?” she echoed. “I think you've been around your boyfriend and his family too much. Baby—”

Before she could finish, your hand instinctively reached out. With a flick of your wrist, a web shot from your fingers and latched onto the door behind her. In a heartbeat, the door was yanked from its hinges, splintering as it flew across the room and crashed into the wall with a resounding thud.

Selina’s eyes widened in shock as she turned to face the now doorless doorway. She blinked at the empty space where the door had once been.

“Well,” she said, “I guess that’s one way to explain things.”

You stood there, face heating up as you tried to pull your hand back. “Y-Yeah, I think I need to work on my control.”

Selina shook her head, a frown on her lips. “Okay. First… Let’s get this mess cleaned up before the landlord starts asking questions. And maybe—just maybe—try not to redecorate the whole apartment with your… spider silk.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

A warm mug of coffee was placed in your hands as Selina settled beside you. You took a sip, but your knee continued to bounce in an anxious rhythm. She had called the school earlier to inform them that you would be taking it easy for the week, citing sickness as the reason.

You cast a glance at the puncture marks on your wrists with a mix of disgust and unease.

Oh, you felt sick alright.

"Alright," Selina said, taking a sip from her own coffee mug and setting it down with a clink. "We need to figure out what’s going on and how to handle it. The sooner we get a grasp on this, the better."

You nodded absentmindedly, flexing your fingers around your mug.

Selina sat with a laptop positioned between the two of you, its screen a chaotic mosaic of open newspaper articles and news websites. Humming softly to herself, she clicked through the pages, her eyes darting across headlines and images. The rhythmic clatter of her clicks was punctuated by occasional pauses as she focused on key details.

“Am I a meta?” you blurted out, staring at your reflection in the dark liquid of your coffee.

"Well," Selina began, her tone measured, "based on what we've seen so far, you're likely displaying meta-human traits. Though," she added with a wry smile, "I'm pretty sure I’m human despite the whole cat shtick. Same goes for your mother. Your father…well, that’s a different story."

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean by that?"

"Secretive guy. Kind of insane," Selina murmured to herself. "He did genetics research—"

She paused.

"Wait a minute," she said, her voice trailing off as she seemed to piece together something significant. "Your father was involved in genetics research…"

Selina licked her lips before grumbling and typing into the laptop. The screen flickered, and she pulled up a dense academic paper with your father's name prominently displayed. The title read: "Genetic Enhancement through Arachnid DNA Integration: Potential and Pitfalls."

She stared at the screen for a moment, a mix of disbelief and concern crossing her face. "Total nutjob," she muttered, shaking her head.

You squinted at the screen, trying to make sense of the technical jargon. "So… what’s it say?"

Selina’s fingers danced over the keyboard, scrolling through the dense paragraphs. "It describes experiments involving spider DNA to enhance human traits—strength, agility, and reflexes. Medical use too."

You stared at the screen, your mouth agape, until the sharp ring of your phone cut through the silence. Startled, you fumbled, nearly dropping the mug. Instinctively, your foot shot out, catching it just before it hit the floor. Selina’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she quickly grabbed a notepad, scribbling furiously.

“Fast reflexes,” she muttered.

You scrambled to set the mug back on the table, your hands slick with sweat as you snatched your phone off the couch.

"Hello?" you answered, trying to steady your voice despite the tremor in it. "W-Who’s this?"

"Are you well?" Damian’s voice cracked through your speakers, sharp and tinged with worry. Arabic curses followed his words, adding an edge to his tone. “I am sorry for the delay. I did not mean to call you so late. I was rendered unconscious after the confrontation."

Your heart skipped a beat. “You got knocked out? What happened?”

"Just a minor inconvenience for someone of my skillset," he said, his tone dismissive yet reassuring. "I’m alright now. However, what of your situation? Father mentioned that Selina had told him of your impending absences from school."

You hesitated, glancing at Selina, who shook her head vehemently. She pressed a finger to her lips, urging you to stay silent about what you just discovered.

"Fine!" you squeaked. "Totally fine. Just… family matters."

"Family matters?" Damian repeated, clearly skeptical. "Are you sure you’re alright?"

"Yep," you replied, your voice a bit too high-pitched. "Absolutely. Just… You know, the explosion rattled me a bit. Paramedics said I had to rest for a few."

"I can head over to care for you—"

Selina rolled her eyes and reached her hand out for your phone. You hesitated, then handed it over.

"Damian," she said, her tone firm and tinged with annoyance, "this is Selina. Everything is under control here. There’s no need for you to come breaking into my apartment."

There was a grunt before Damian responded, "Miss Kyle, I insist. It’s no trouble. I should be there to assist. As any partner would."

Selina sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Damian, I appreciate your concern, but it’s really not necessary. She’s fine."

"I think I should be there," Damian persisted. "Recovery after such an incident can be complicated."

Selina’s patience snapped. "Damian," she cut in sharply, "do you doubt my abilities as a guardian?"

There was a pause.

"With all due respect, Miss Kyle…I do—"

"I've got this!" Selina hissed. "She's safe, she's resting, and you're not needed here right now. Understood?"

There was another pause before Damian reluctantly agreed. "Understood. But if anything changes—"

"You'll be the first to know," Selina assured him, her tone softening slightly. "Now, go take care of yourself. I have got this handled."

"Fine," Damian said, still sounding begrudging. "Take care."

Selina handed the phone back to you, her expression exasperated. “He’s persistent, I’ll give him that.”

“He’s very overprotective,” you snorted as you pressed the phone back to your ear. “Hi, baby.”

"Hello," Damian grumbled, his voice carrying a hint of irritation. You couldn’t help but snicker.

“Don’t be mad,” you sighed. “I’ll only be gone for a week. You’ll survive. Mom's right—I’m in good hands. You need to focus on recovering too.”

“Please, let me know if you require anything," Damian's voice came through, slightly strained but softened by concern. "Anything at all. Father and Alfred have confined me to my bed, but the window to my bedroom remains open. The sheer ignorance of their restraint measures astounds me—they have failed to account for my capabilities in evading such confinement.”

"Please, do not attempt to escape through your window on my behalf. I do not need Bruce lecturing us again,” you groaned, your tone warm despite the circumstances. “Rest for now. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Very well,” Damian said with a hint of a pout, “but do remember, I am at your disposal if you should require anything.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “I’ll keep that in mind. Just make sure you’re resting and not causing any more trouble.”

“Of course,” he replied, his tone slightly resigned. “I will attempt to abide by the constraints placed upon me, though it seems a rather cruel jest on their part.”

“Good,” you said, a hint of amusement in your voice. “I’ll see you soon. Take care of yourself, Dami.”

“And you, my beloved,” he said, his voice softening. “Until then.”

There was a beep, and the call ended. You sighed, letting your hand drop.

Selina smirked, shaking her head with a knowing look. “He’s just like his father—equally obsessive and protective. Must run in the genes. That or we just have a knack for ensnaring emotionally constipated men.”

You laughed, a light, nervous sound that filled the room. As you tried to drop your phone back on the couch, you were met with an unexpected resistance. The phone stubbornly adhered to your hand, as if it had decided to become a permanent accessory.

“Uh…”

Squinting, you wriggled your fingers, hoping it would simply detach, but the phone remained firmly in place.

Selina raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening as she glanced down at the notepad in her hand, now filled with scribbled notes and observations. “Sticky hands?” she suggested, jotting it down with a touch of amusement.

Grumbling under your breath, you made a few more attempts to pry the phone off your hand. “Looks like it. Just another thing to add to the list of weird,” you huffed.

Determined, you took your other hand and grasped the phone, trying to twist it away. However, in your distracted state, you forgot about your newfound strength. The device crumbled under your grip, shards of plastic and glass scattering across the couch.

Selina’s eyes widened in surprise. Without missing a beat, she quickly scribbled down “Enhanced strength” on her notepad.

You grumbled as the remnants of your phone fell to the floor, a mix of frustration and embarrassment washing over you.

"Can't we—can't we call Batman for this?" you asked, tangling a hand in your hair. "Why'd you stop me from telling Damian anyway?"

Selina’s expression turned severe. Her hands gripped your shoulders firmly, guiding you to face her.

"Listen to me. Batman, Damian, or anyone else cannot know about this right now."

"What—Mom—"

"Not a word," she cut in sharply. "This is meta-level stuff we're dealing with. The Bats don’t handle metas well. We need to keep this under wraps until we fully understand it. The last thing I need is Bruce doing something to hurt my daughter."

Your face crumpled at her words, the actual weight of the situation now pressing heavily on you.

Selina’s gaze softened just a fraction, her voice taking on a gentler tone. "Power frightens people. When they encounter something they don’t understand, especially something as extraordinary as this, their confusion quickly turns into fear. And fear often leads to seeing it as a threat."

She took a deep breath, her expression grim. "Batman, in particular, has contingency plans for every potential threat, even for his closest allies. We—I can't risk him viewing you as one." Her fingers tightened on your shoulders, a silent plea for understanding.

"Alright," you said quietly, trying to steady your voice. Lying to Bruce was one thing. But Damian… Damian was different. The thought of deceiving him felt like a weight pressing heavily on your chest.

Selina seemed to sense your hesitation. Her gaze softened, and she placed a hand gently on your shoulder. “I know it’s not easy,” she said, her tone soothing. “Damian is—”

“Different,” you finished for her, the word catching in your throat. “He’s always been there for me, and now… I’m just lying to him.”

Selina nodded. “I understand. But you know, that boy looks up to his father. There’s no telling he won’t spill something. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

"I get it,” your lips pursed. “But… what do we do now?"

Selina’s expression shifted from intense to thoughtful as she took a step back, her grip loosening. She glanced at the scattered remnants of your phone, then at the notepad filled with her hastily scribbled notes.

"Well," she sighed, "we need to find another space. I think you've done enough damage in our apartment."

 ༻⊰───⋅

---

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE (LET ME GET WHAT I WANT)

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SUMMARY ↳ ;) Damian and Jon are easy to spot, standing together near a large decorative display. Jon's bright smile is a beacon, and Damian's more reserved demeanor contrasts starkly with his friend. They’re standing in front of a window. It paints the image of being surrounded by snowfall as they chat away. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: threats of bodily harm wc: 4.3k

Nothing quite says party like a Tony Stark party. You distinctly remember your first one. You weren’t even planning to come, but when Tony saw you in bed with pajamas he bullied you into getting dressed. He said that you ‘needed to get out more’, which was bull, but whatever. As payback you drank as much alcohol as you could sneak. The scolding from Steve you got was worth it seeing Tony’s appalled stare.

This time, you intend to stay in bed.

Bruce Wayne has decided to throw a New Year’s Gala, for whatever reason. You think it doubles as a charity, but you don’t know why else he would throw it, nor do you care enough to find out. He did invite you, but you’re not too keen on being perceived by society.

“You look nice,” you muse, seeing Damian in his little formal wear. He’s made a quick stop in your room, for whatever reason. He’s a cute sight, so you’re not complaining.

Damian adjusts the cufflinks on his formal wear. "Thank you," he mutters, glancing away for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "You should come.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "Nice try, hun. But I’m really not in the mood to be around a bunch of snooty elites."

He sighs, looking slightly disappointed. "It would be more bearable with you there."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," you tease, reaching out to straighten his tie. "Besides, someone has to stay and hold down the fort. Unless, of course, you’re asking me to be your date?”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t dignify your comment with a response. Finishing fiddling with his tie, you step back from him. You see his hands twitch just a tad.

“Hi, [Name].” You turn to see Jon poking his head through your doorway, smiling cutely. He steps in, letting you see that he too is dressed up for the party.

“Well shit, look at you,” you grin, eyes roaming his figure.

He spreads his arms out, bashful. “Look at me,” he says, hands coming up to fidget with his tie. “I wasn’t sure about the tie, though. Damian said it was too flashy.”

You chuckle softly. “He’s just jealous he can’t pull it off like you.”

Jon laughs, shaking his head. “Maybe.”

There’s a comfortable silence as you glance between Jon and Damian, both looking unexpectedly nervous in their formal wear. It’s a stark contrast to their usual confident selves when they're out on patrol or facing down villains.

“So,” Jon starts, his tone casual, “are you coming with us?”

“Absolutely not,” you grin. “I do not have the energy to deal with people right now.

Damian huffs softly, exchanging a knowing glance with Jon before turning back to you. "You're missing out on Father's attempt at social philanthropy," he remarks dryly, clearly not a fan of the gala idea either.

Jon nods in agreement, his smile widening. "True, but I guess we'll have to suffer through it together."

You chuckle at their banter, appreciating their effort despite your reluctance. "Well, make sure to bring me back a good story or two. Preferably involving Bruce embarrassing himself on the dance floor."

Jon grins mischievously. "Deal. We'll keep you posted."

As they leave your room, Damian pauses at the door, looking back with a faint smile. "If you change your mind," he offers quietly, "you know where to find us."

You nod, blowing them kisses as they leave. You settle back into your cozy spot, grateful for the quiet evening ahead. From here, you can hear the chatter and glasses clinking from partygoers downstairs. You sigh and sink into your bed with no further plans for the night. Just as you start to drift into a more relaxed state, your thoughts briefly return to Damian and Jon.

Damian. Damian is so complex. So rich in character. He carries an air of absoluteness around him. Every now and again you have that realization that everybody around you is living their own complex lives. You guess that realization hits harder, since you had never entertained the thought of him being real. Foolish on your pat, with what you know.

Jon, Jon exudes a warmth that contrasts with Damian's reserved nature. His easy going manner and quick smile charm you so. Only he, who gets his powers from the sun, could shine so bright. He's the kind of person who can brighten any room he enters.

The sounds of the party drift up faintly, a reminder of the world outside your cozy sanctuary. For now, you're content to enjoy this peaceful moment to yourself, letting your eyes drift close.

.

.

.

“Hello?” a voice echoes out. It’s yours. An amalgamation of bright lights closes in on itself behind you. Footsteps echo as you walk down the alley. You don’t hear any civilians walking and talking or any cars going down the roads. New York is quiet tonight.

Swinging up onto a building, you began making your way across the city. The eerie silence is unnerving you. The usual hustle and bustle is conspicuously absent, replaced by an unsettling calm. In fact, New York is… completely dark. Not one apartment light is on.

Avengers tower looms over the city. It’s the only building with—some—light. The building… isn’t really a building. Half of it is gone, jagged and broken edges pointing skyward. Cracks litter the walls, glass broken.

Your footsteps echo softly as you approach the tower. The air feels heavy with a sense of desolation. There’s pieces of broken armor and weapons. Flickering lights casting eerie shadows.

As you move through the ruins, a faint voice calls out—a whisper carried on the wind. You turn, but there's no one there. The silence intensifies, punctuated only by the distant sound of your own breathing.

Suddenly, a figure appears before you—a spectral image of Tony Stark, his armor battered and glowing faintly. His eyes meet yours with a mixture of sorrow and determination.

"You were supposed to be here," he murmurs, his voice echoing in the empty chamber. "Where were you?”

You reach out, but your hand passes through his ethereal form. He fades slowly, leaving you alone. You see a broken red, white and blue shield in the distance. 

“No, no, nononono. This wasn’t supposed to happen–”

There’s a woman behind you. She seems familiar. “You left us.”

You left them. All to die.

There’s a piercing scream as you're sucked into an explosion of colors below you. You try to reach out, to grab onto something, but there’s no one there.

You sit up with a gasp, suddenly at a loss for breath. Your body is tense and sweaty and you’re breathing heavily. Your heartbeat is booming in your ears. It feels like it’s going to burst from your chest. The sensation of falling fades as you orient yourself to the familiar surroundings of your room.

You glance around, reassuring yourself with the reality of your peaceful sanctuary. The sounds of the party downstairs continue to drift up faintly, a distant reminder of the world outside your door. You rub your temples, trying to dispel the last traces of the unsettling dream.

Taking a deep breath, you reach for a glass of water on your bedside table, sipping slowly to calm your nerves. “Karen, how long was I asleep?”

“Only an hour.”

You bury your face in your hands, breathing. Sometimes you think your mind is your biggest enemy. You should’ve figured, really. You haven’t had a proper nightmare since you’ve gotten here. It was only a matter of time.

“Might I suggest heading to the Den to take your mind off things?” Karen's voice is soft, achingly so. It’s comforting.

You don’t respond verbally, only nodding your head. You throw off the covers sluggishly, still trying to ground yourself. You put on the first clothes you find. They’re definitely not gala material, but that’s fine. You’ll only pop in to tell someone where you’re going.

Titus is loitering the halls, but he comes to you when he sees you out and about. He sniffs you, gruffing like he’s disturbed by something. Maybe he can sense that you’re a little unnerved right now. You give him good pets before moving on past him.

The grandeur of the gala spills out into the hallway, the lights casting a warm, inviting glow. Chatter floods your ears as you arrive just outside the entrance to the grand room. The place is perfectly lit up and shiny. The sounds of laughter and conversation form a stark contrast to the silence of your dream, grounding you.

Damian and Jon are easy to spot, standing together near a large decorative display. Jon's bright smile is a beacon, and Damian's more reserved demeanor contrasts starkly with his friend. They’re standing in front of a window. It paints the image of being surrounded by snowfall as they chat away.

You hesitate at the entrance, your eyes drawn to Jon and Damian standing together. The way Jon's eyes light up when he looks at Damian, and the small, almost imperceptible smile that tugs at Damian's lips in response, speaks volumes. They stand close, their bodies angled toward each other.

Damian reaches out to brush away a curl from Jon's face. Jon smiles, mouthing something. He talks animatedly, eyes bright. Damian watches. Fondly, you realize, he’s watching. There’s even a little small smile on his face. It puts a matching one on your face. It reminds you of Pepper and Tony, the way they look at each other.

Like they’re in love.

…

Oh.

Oh.

Holy shit, they’re in love, aren’t they? Holy shit. How did you not notice? Well… you’re not often hanging out with both of them at the same time, are you? You know they hang out on their own without you. They were friends before they knew you of course. Since they were children. Oh God, you hope they aren’t, like, secretly dating or anything. You’ve been flirting with them, but it was playful! You swear!

.

.

.

God, what have you been doing?

You need to get home. You’re not supposed to be here. You should be at the tower, playing darts with Clint, or looking for colleges you want to go to. Not here, not pretending like everything is fine, everything is normal, everything is how it’s supposed to be. You’ve forgotten yourself, gotten too comfortable. You feel a sudden detachment, like a thread just snapped. This is a borrowed fantasy.

Like clockwork, you put on a grin, baring your teeth. You take a step back, the sounds of the party fading into the background. It's as if everything is moving in slow motion, every sound is distant and every breath is drawn out. The party fades away as you turn, making your way towards the exit. Each step feels heavy, like you're carrying a weight you can't quite name.

All you hear is a constant ringing in your ear as you swing from building to building. There are people in the streets, no doubt celebrating the incoming new year. The city seems especially alive, lights twinkling. You’re grateful you can’t feel the biting cold air thanks to your suit. You fear you’re already feeling too much right now.

By the time you reach the familiar tunnel, your stomach is in knots. You’re on autopilot as you move the rubble, climbing in. The cute fairy lights feel too bright now. Your mask retracts, letting you breathe in.

You grab a screwdriver, not yet knowing what you’re going to do. “You might be able to finish before midnight,” chimes Karen.

Really? Had you been that far along in your progress? Oh. Maybe you knew and just forgot. You don’t really know right now. Your legs feel stiff as you approach the particle accelerator, screwing in a part tight. You work methodically, hands steady despite the turmoil in your mind. Each screw, each connection, each calibration is a step closer to completion, closer to... what? A return to your old life?

Karen's voice interrupts your thoughts gently, "You're almost done. Just a few more adjustments."

You nod absently, tightening another screw. The particle accelerator is nearly ready. Your mind drifts to the dream again—Tony, the absence of life, your home that you don’t recognize. "You left us," echoes in your mind.

Finally, the last screw is in place. You step back, wiping a hand down your face, and take a deep breath. The machine hums with a soft, steady power. It's ready. You're ready. Or at least, the machine is.

You stand back, staring at the particle accelerator with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. The steady hum of the machine fills the air, a stark contrast to the chaos in your mind. It's a portal, a bridge to another reality (the start of one, at least) another chance to set things right—or at least, to find some semblance of peace.

You insert a prism into it, making sure it’s secure. “Initializing…” hums Karen. The particle accelerator hums, lights flickering on and running down it. Sound whirls as you grab the little wheel you attached to it. “Approaching maximum power.”

The machine shakes as you turn the wheel. The prism turns, guiding a light. The light cuts through the space, producing fire and sparks where it hits. It cuts an old pipe in half. Whoops.

In front of you, lies an object akin to that of Tony Stark's arc reactor. Of course, it’s not actually an arc reactor, it’s just there to hold the new element. The light pierces and cuts until finally, it reaches its target. You think you hear the prism chime as the light hits the little triangle in the holder. You know that that’s the case when the chime gets louder as the light gets brighter. Brighter, brighter, brighter—oh.

You turn the machine off, looking at the glowing creation. The light fades, showing you the bright glowing triangle that is the new element. You sigh in content.

You duck under the particle accelerator, approaching the mimic arc reactor. Your fingers flex in anticipation, reaching out. The claws of your suit clink against the tiny triangle as you pick it up.

“Congratulations, [Name]. You’ve successfully recreated Tony Stark’s new element.”

You hum. “Well, couldn’t have done it without you and your awesome know-it-all abilities, my dear.”

A symphony of crackles, pops, and booms that fill your ears. Each pop rattles off as it fades. Oh, the fireworks. Is it…

“What time is it, K?”

“It is currently twelve AM, on the dot. I think this was an appropriate way to start the new year, don’t you?”

You chuckle, bowing your head. “Happy New Year.” You wonder if Damian and Jon… no. Probably shouldn’t think about that.

“Happy New Year, [Name].”

“...Happy New Year…”

You whirl around, fist tightly curling around the badassium. There’s no one there. Um. Were you imagining things? Oh, you see now, a figure there in the corner. A figure, somebody. Somebody that looks like…

Looks like…

“I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now…”

How did your senses not pick up on them?

“I… don’t know what I’m doing here myself.”

They’re stepping closer to you.

“I guess… well. I don’t know.”

It’s… it’s…

“But I do know… that I’m sorry. I was… I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

It’s the spider… the one from the warehouse. The reason why you’re here.

“You…” Suddenly, you can’t breathe.

They clasp their hands behind their back, looking around the room. Then they look at you. Stare at you. The eyes of their suit squint as they take in your face. “Pretty cozy place. More cozy than mine, that’s for sure.”

You put down the badassium, afraid you’ll break it in your fist. They turn to look at it, then at the particle accelerator. “You work fast. Faster than me. It took me way too long to make that big stupid thing. I didn’t have any blueprints or even confirmation that it would work, but–”

A scratchy yell erupts from your mouth as you pounce at them. They dodge, fucking spidey senses.

They hold out their hands. “Woah woah woah, wait–”

You don’t wait. You lunge at them again, claws swiping out to them. It lands, leaving behind red. They don’t have an armored suit like yours. You have the advantage.

They scramble out of your way, knocking over things as they go. “Please–”

You grab their suit at their collarbone, pulling them to you. “You!”

“Me?” they squeak.

“You’re the reason I’m fucking stuck here!”

“I know I know, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking! I was being stupid! I just–”

“I don’t care,” you growl, showing your fangs. Your shoulders flex, releasing the nano spider legs. They emerge hauntingly, their sharpened points glinting, poised and ready to strike.

“You know, I’m not really like the other spiders. Most of ‘em anyways,” you drawl. “Apart from being the only [Name] I know, my moral compass is a roulette wheel. I’m a hero of course, I save who need saving, and punish who needs punishing.”

“Truth is,” you lean in, eyes wide and flickering with hot pink, “I am much more keen to violence than the others. I’ve killed people. A couple of people, actually,” you admit, voice low and intense. “Doesn’t make me a true good person, of course, but it does make the world a bit safer for those that are.”

They try to struggle free, but you hold them firm. "I'm going to figure out what you need. So tell me, what the fuck are you doing?”

They sniff, taking in a deep breath. “I never wanted to hurt you. I don’t hurt people.” Their hands quiver as they latch onto yours. “I just wanted to go home, and I thought you were gonna stop me–”

You growl and they yelp. “It’s not an excuse! I know it’s not an excuse, but it’s my explanation. I just.. I felt bad. I was…” they pause.

“I was working on this machine. A particle accelerator,” they sigh, oblivious to the way your ears start ringing. “I was messing around, and I got stuck in your universe. I tried to go back home. I tried for so long, acting like everything was normal, like I belonged but I… I had to go back home.” Their voice gets wobbly. “I spent so long there, I got desperate.”

They start sniffling, and you know they’re crying. “I thought, if I could find where you went… I could help you get back to your universe. So what happened to me won’t happen to you.” They take a step back. Oh, did you let them go? “I can’t take you with me. Other things can't pass through my portal without turning to dust, but…”

They reach into a pocket, pulling out a small, intricate device. It glows softly in their hand, emitting a faint, steady pulse.

“...What is it?” you croak.

"It's a catalyst," they explain, their voice still shaky. "It’s what I used to stabilize the rift. You know, so my atoms wouldn’t get scattered across space.”

Your gaze narrows, skeptical of the device in their hand. "Why should I trust you?" you demand, voice edged with exhaustion and anger.

They take a deep breath, looking into your eyes with a mix of desperation and sincerity. "You shouldn’t,” they admit. "But I know what it's like. I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone."

You stare at the catalyst, the faint pulse mesmerizing. "And if this doesn't work? If you're lying?"

You feel their eyes on you through their mask, voice filled with regret and determination. "Then you can do whatever you think is necessary. But I promise you, I'm not lying."

Your silence hangs heavy between you. The sounds of the fireworks outside are distant echoes, reminding you of the world outside this tense moment. Finally, you reach out and take the catalyst from their hand, feeling its weight and the subtle hum of energy within.

“You really want to help?” you whisper, fist curling around the catalyst. “Find Miguel O'Hara from Earth-928.” Your grip tightens around the catalyst as you step back, letting the weight of the moment settle in. The stranger stands still, their eyes fixed on you through their mask. You can see the weariness in their posture, the heaviness of their own burdens reflected in their stance.

“Find him, and tell him where I am.”

They nod slowly. “I’ll find him. I promise.” Their voice holds a note of determination.

You step back and wave an arm. “Just go.” You’re well and truly done with everything at the moment.

They stand for a moment, looking at you. Looking through you. Then they turn away, and all you see is an eruption of bright and colorful light, before it’s gone just as fast as it came. The Den feels unfamiliar to you now.

You sink to the floor, mentally, physically, and spiritually exhausted. Sound is distant, the only thing you hear is a loud ringing. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, chest heaving. Your face feels wet. Ah, it’s tears. You’re crying. Why are you crying?

“–me]! [Name]! Come on, come back. I’m here, it’s okay–”

“Jon?” Is that your voice?

An arm curls around your shoulder and crowds you into his embrace. His warmth contrasts starkly with the cold dread that had settled in your chest. He holds you tightly, his presence grounding you. You cling to Jon like a lifeline, his warmth grounding you in the present.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, hand smoothing down your back.

Sniffling, you sink into his embrace. “What are you doing here?” you mutter.

“Where else should I be?” With Damian. “I stuck my ear out, heard your heart beating fast. And the sound of you… well.”

You sigh heavily, cheek against his chest, listening to his own heartbeat. It's strong and steady, everything you want to be. “My heartbeat?”

He nods against your head. “Your heartbeat.”

You sigh again, a mixture of exhaustion and relief. “Oh, Jon...”

"Shh," he soothes, his hand still moving gently along your back. "You don't have to say anything right now."

"I don't deserve you," you murmur into his chest, your voice barely audible.

Jon tightens his hold on you, his voice firm yet gentle. "Don't say that. Please don’t say that."

You take a shaky breath, feeling the weight of the night’s events settling over you. Jon’s presence is a comforting anchor amidst the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “I just… I don’t know what to do, Jon.”

He tilts your chin up gently, his blue eyes filled with concern and determination. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. We’ll take it one step at a time, together.”

You don’t say anything, simply resting your head against him. His lips press against your forehead, gently and warm.

“In other news,” you sniffle, moving to get out of his embrace. He holds on to your for a moment, uncertain. But a persistent tug from you makes his arms drop. You reach up, grabbing the small glowing triangle. “Look what I made.”

He eyes the small thing in your claws. “What is it?”

“The badassium. The new element that I’ve created.” You rock it around gently. “I did it.”

Jon's eyes widen with surprise and admiration as he gazes at the glowing triangle in your hand. "That's incredible," he says, reaching out to gently touch the shimmering surface.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the lingering heaviness in your chest.

He looks up at you, his expression softening with concern. "Are you... okay?"

You hesitate, unsure how to answer. Instead of words, you hand him the glowing badassium, letting him examine it closely. The warmth of his touch is grounding. He studies it, turning it this way and that, before looking at you again. He puts it down where it was, coming back to you to hold your hand.

“You’re incredible,” he breathes. You don’t have any words, so you keep your mouth shut. 

“...Wanna go home?” he asks tentatively. You nod. He slowly steps forward, kneeling down and hooking his arms under your legs and back when you show no sign of hesitance. Jon lifts you effortlessly, cradling you close as he stands. You rest your head against his shoulder, eyes feeling heavy.

“I'm not invalid, Jon.”

“Just let me take care of you.” He shouldn't say things like that.

He makes sure that the Den is properly blocked and hidden by the rubble. After that, all you feel in the cold air biting at your cheeks as he flies you across the city. The lights below blur into streaks of color as you soar through the night sky. You cling to him, feeling the steady rhythm of his flight beneath you.

People are still at Wayne Manor as you approach, lights shining bright. Jon serves around the side, pulling up to your room's window. You sigh in relief as he gently sets you down in your room.

You see Damian rush over to you both, suit jacket forgotten. Was he waiting here for you?”

“Where were you?” he demands, hands coming up to rest on your arms. His concern is evident, his eyes searching yours for answers.

Jon steps forward, his hand resting on Damian's shoulder. "It doesn’t matter now. They’re okay," he reassures Damian, who nods slightly, though the crease in his brow doesn’t go away.

"Sorry," you say sincerely, looking at both of them, "for worrying you." You gently push Damian’s hands off you and go to your bed. Your clothes are comfortable enough, you decide. The soft pillow feels heavenly as you sink into the mattress. Hands come up the pull your blanket over you, lightly caressing your forehead before leaving.

Hushed voices bickering are the last thing you hear before darkness pulls you in.

notes: so... how we feeling? LOL

ngl i feel like the reasoning is cheap but how y'all liking the parallel? it'll make more sense later on, i promise ;)

also am i evil for using the "oh. oh." in that context? yes. yes i am

---

iii. what's up danger?

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

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

 ༻⊰───⋅

Bruce slowly drops his newspaper, a twist on his face.

"Repeat that."

A round of stunned stares was exchanged around the table. Tim quickly typed something on his laptop before turning it around for everyone to see. The screen displayed an article with the headline:

"WAYNE-STARK RIVALRY REACHES NEW HEIGHTS: DAMIAN WAYNE'S GIRLFRIEND CLAIMS TOP SPOT IN STARK INDUSTRIES YOUNG INNOVATORS PROGRAM."

Dick’s eyes widened in surprise, and Jason whistled again, this time in genuine admiration. “Well, damn. She really knocked it out of the park.”

Bruce’s expression shifted to a frown.

“I see... Stark must think she's such an accomplished and intelligent young woman. Hn. Of course, I already knew that,” Bruce spoke slowly, scowling.

"Oh my god," Dick grimaced and laughed under his breath. "The adoption senses are tingling."

"Damn, B. He's stealing your kid," Jason snorted, shaking his head. "Who's going to win the custody battle?"

 ༻⊰───⋅

GOTHAM WAS BEAUTIFUL.

The city's lights stretched out below you like a glittering sea, each pinprick of light a mesmerizing dance of color and shadow. The towering, sleek skyscrapers stood tall and proud, their glass facades reflecting a mosaic of neon hues and starlight. Between them, narrow alleys wove like dark veins through the city's heart, their secrets hidden from view. The occasional flicker of a distant billboard or the intermittent flash of police sirens painted the scene with brief, brilliant strokes.

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

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

"All it takes is a leap of fate," Selina’s voice cut through the wind. She knew the weight of the moment, the gravity of the choice you faced.

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

"That's all it takes."

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

A leap of fate.

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

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

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

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

THWIP.

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

You were flying.

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

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

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

What's up, danger?

༻⊰───⋅

Friday, 2:32PM - Chemistry Lab, Gotham Academy. A Few Months Later.

Over the past few months, you had quickly settled into your role as Spidey. The initial buzz of your debut had faded, leaving you working in Gotham's shadows. You were recognized by locals and criminals but had yet to make a significant impact on the city's larger stage. Occasional articles mentioned you, but they often dismissed you compared to Gotham’s major heroes.

The big headlines were reserved for the likes of Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin. 

At first, Robin—Damian—kept a close watch on you. You’d caught him a few times, white slits watching from the shadows as you patrolled. However, as time passed and your activities remained focused on street-level crimes, it became clear you weren’t a major threat. With this understanding, he left you to your own devices, focusing instead on the bigger issues that Gotham had.

And well, it was fine. You played the part of the neighborhood's friendly Spidey with ease, offering smiles and saving the day. But inside, a different story brewed. Beneath the mask, restlessness gnawed at you.

The city’s shadows seemed darker these days. You’d heard the whispers and seen the signs—Black Mask was back, and this time, much more violent than before. 

You couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how many petty criminals you stopped, the real threat loomed larger than ever. Each new act of violence from Black Mask seemed to mock your efforts.

All the writers keep writing what they write Somewhere another pretty vein just dies I've got the scars from tomorrow and I wish you could see That you're the antidote to everything, except for me A constellation of tears on your lashes Burn everything you love Then burn the ashes In the end everything collides—

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

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

“Hey, give those back!” you protest, reaching for the earbuds.

Morgan just smirks, bending out of reach. “Oh, come on. What’s got you so moody today?”

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

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

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

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

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

Morgan’s eyes narrow, and she gives you a hard stare. “Look, I get it. Shit’s messed up. But wallowing in your own misery isn’t helping.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morgan, walking beside you, suddenly reaches out and playfully slaps your rear. You yelp in surprise, catching Damian’s attention. He straightens, his gaze shifting sharply towards Morgan, who grins mischievously.

“Call me if you need anything, alright? And don’t keep me waiting too long!” Morgan says with a cheeky grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Her gaze lingers on you for a moment, then flicks to Damian, who watches her with a mix of irritation and barely masked jealousy. The warmth in the hallway seems to cool as Damian’s jaw tightens, emerald eyes darkening with a stony, almost predatory intensity. Morgan holds his gaze for a beat longer before walking away with a whistle, her hips swaying confidently.

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

Damian’s voice, though low, is edged with a sharpness that cuts through the background noise.

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

“She’s my best friend. She just likes to mess with me,” you snort. Getting on your tip toes, you lean in and press a quick, affectionate kiss against his cheek. “And don’t worry, I’m all yours.”

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

He then pushes himself off your locker. There’s a hint of hesitation in his eyes before he clears his throat and turns his attention fully to you.

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

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

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

Damian’s face falls visibly.

“Oh,” he says. “I see. I suppose I should have expected that,” he adds with a strained attempt at indifference.

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

You shake your head gently. “I really have to go. There’s too much on my plate right now. And mom wants me back early.”

Damian turns his head to the side, the air around him feeling heavier as he lets out a deep, resigned sigh. His broad shoulders roll in a dramatic slump, and he clenches his jaw, trying to hide the sting of rejection. “Very well, then. If you must prioritize other matters over spending time with me, I suppose there’s little I can do.”

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

Damian’s eyes flicker with a hint of something softening as you lean in. You press a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips. His eyes close momentarily as your hands caress up his biceps.

When you pull back, Damian’s emerald gaze meets yours.

“Very well,” he says, his voice softer lower. “I shall await your call tonight.”

You offer a reassuring smile, then turn and walk away, feeling his eyes on you until you disappear into the crowd. Damian watches you go, the tension in his posture slowly easing as he inhales deeply. Reaching for his car keys he stomps his way into the parking lot.

He'll make sure to lift extra hard tonight.

༻⊰───⋅

The gym in Wayne Manor is dimly lit, casting long shadows across the polished floors and sleek equipment. The air is filled with the subtle scent of sweat and the low hum of an air conditioner struggling to keep up with the heat. Damian stands at the deadlift bar, grip firm and steady as he prepares for his lift.

He takes a deep breath, his face set in a scowl, and then he heaves the bar up with a forceful grunt.

The barbell, loaded with an impressive 700 pounds, rises steadily. Damian’s face twists with the effort, doing breathing exercises to keep his breath steady. After a few seconds, he drops the bar with a thunderous crash that reverberates through the gym, the clang of metal echoing off the walls. He tosses his weight belt aside with a snap, scoffing.

In another corner of the gym, Tim is deep into his calisthenics routine, his body moving fluidly as he pulls himself up on the bar. His back muscles ripple with each movement, sweat glistening on his skin. He glances over at Damian, raising an eyebrow at the noise.

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

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

Tim, ignoring the jab, looks at him with wide-eyed disbelief. “Seriously? Is this what you’re doing instead of patrol? Trying to outlift Bruce?”

Damian rolls his eyes, irritation evident. He moves toward the weights, adjusting the bar and adding even more weight to the already formidable load. His goal for the night: 1000 pounds.

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

“It’s like I don’t even know you anymore,” Tim replies, shaking his head.

Damian’s face remains set in a scowl. “It’s a matter of mental clarity. At times, the exertion of physical strain serves to alleviate... other things."

Most of them use working out as a way to release energy and emotions. Damian’s favorites were cardio and weights. Judging by the steadily increasing weight and the volume and force he puts into dropping his weights, something was on his mind.

Tim raises an eyebrow, sensing the deeper layers beneath Damian’s words. “Whatever works, I guess,” he says, watching as Damian adjusts the weights once more.

"Furthermore,” Damian adds. “Past patrols have been a washout. I highly doubt anything of importance is going to happen.”

༻⊰───⋅

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

"WOO!"

The breeze of the night air rushes past you as you spin, Gotham below a blur of lights and shadows. You twist in the air, looking down at the familiar streets and alleyways where you’ve fought, protected, and survived.

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

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

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

You glide through the air, the fabric of your suit rustling softly in the wind. Below, the streets are a patchwork of cobblestones and cracked asphalt, illuminated by the occasional headlights of passing cars and the neon signs of rundown bars and shops.

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

Then you see her. A woman sprinting frantically down the street, her breathless cries piercing the night. Her short-cut hair flies wildly around her face, and her eyes are wide with terror. Behind her, a group of men give chase, their malicious laughter echoing through the alleys as they close the distance.

Your heart skips a beat as recognition hits. 

It’s Morgan.

Hold up—what is she doing here?

Morgan, who has no business being anywhere near this part of town, especially not at this hour. She lives miles away in the heart of the city, far removed from this grim area near Crime Alley. Queens Street is a world apart from her usual haunts. 

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

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

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

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

"Gentlemen," you say, "it appears you’ve chosen the wrong night for your little escapade. Shall we resolve this quickly, or would you prefer to continue your charade?"

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

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

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

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

"Whop!" You deliver a swift kick to his side, sending him sprawling into a nearby alley. He crashes into a heap of garbage with a muffled thud. As he groans and tries to get up, you call out with a chuckle, “Careful! You might hurt someone’s trash."

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

You toss your head back with a groan. “Oh, great. Another volunteer. How kind of you to make my night so... eventful.”

He charges at you with a bull-like roar, and you sidestep, letting him stumble past. As he regains his balance, you shoot a web at his feet, pulling him back and causing him to crash into a nearby stack of wooden pallets. The crates topple over with a loud clatter, and he ends up sprawled on the ground, whining in pain.

Another thug, seizing the moment, lunges at you with a wild swing. You catch his fist in mid-air, twisting his arm. Using his momentum, you deliver a sharp uppercut that sends him reeling backward. As he tries to recover, you weave him up to a nearby wall, where he struggles against the sticky strands of webbing.

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

You smirk and walk over to him with a casual stride. “That’s the best decision you’ve made all night.”

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

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

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

Morgan, catching her breath, chuckles weakly. “W-Well, I was just out for a... walk, and it seems I made a wrong turn. Next thing I know, I’m being chased by a bunch of goons.”

You shake your head, the slits of your mask narrowing at her. “Well, you sure know how to pick your places for a stroll. You do know Queens is a crime district, right? And you are a very well-known figure. One that is very vulnerable to kidnappings, mind you.”

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

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

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

You chuckle, shaking your head in disbelief.

"Teenage angst? Really?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The city below hums with its usual energy, but for now, the streets of Queens are a bit safer, and Morgan is on her way back home, likely with a story she’ll be telling for a while.

After your patrol, you head to your warehouse to change into civilian clothes. As you walk the streets, you keep your head down, deliberately avoiding drawing any attention. Gotham’s streets are dangerous for a reason, and blending in is often the best way to stay safe.

You pull out your phone and dial Damian’s number. It’s not just a check-in; it’s an extra layer of safety. Even though you’re capable of handling yourself, this is your civilian identity out and about. Better to be cautious.

Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na…Batman!

The Batman ringtone echoes softly in the alley, its familiar chime cutting through the muted sounds of the city. Gotham’s restless hum seems distant, almost drowned out by the ringtone's insistence. You can’t help but smile at the stupid thing—the Batman brand (made without Batman's permission) has become so popular that it’s practically a commercial empire, complete with an array of merchandise that Bruce finds more than a little irksome (he's filed like 20 lawsuits.)

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

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

“Hey, Dames,” you say, trying to keep your tone casual. “Just checking in. How’s everything on your end?”

There’s a brief pause, and you can almost hear the faint rustle of paper or fabric as he responds. “Everything is as usual. Why the call at such a late hour?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever you say. Oh! By the way, are you free tomorrow? There's this new comic shop I wanted to check out."

Damian perks up at that. Finally.

It’s been weeks since you’ve both gone on a proper date. He’s missed them—missed you. For unknown reasons, you’ve been busier nowadays, and he’s been hard at work with patrol. The constant chaos of Gotham has kept you both on your toes, leaving little room for the simpler joys.

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

“How about noon?" you hum, swinging your keys in your hand as you reach your apartment building. It’ll give us plenty of time to browse the shop and maybe grab lunch afterward.”

“Perfect. I’ll be there at noon,” he replies.

You reach your apartment building and slip inside, the familiar creak of the door signaling your return. The hallway is dimly lit, and the distant hum of the city seems to fade away as you make your way to your door.

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

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

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

There’s a moment of silence as you let his words settle “Goodnight,” you reply softly, the word hanging in the air as you slowly lower the phone from your ear.

You slip your phone into your pocket and step into your living room, where the soft glow of the television fills the room. A sitcom is playing, but the rest of the lights are off, leaving the space in a dim, subdued light.

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

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

You pour yourself a glass of water, settling into a chair across from her. “Yeah. Did some patrol. And had a bit of an adventure. Ran into some trouble, but nothing too serious. Oh, and guess who I bumped into?”

Selina raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Who?”

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

Selina’s eyes widen slightly. “Morgan Stark? That’s interesting. What’s she doing here?”

“She was looking for some unique tech—apparently, even having access to the best tech isn’t always enough. She wanted to see if she could find something a bit different.”

Selina laughs softly, shaking her head. “Typical Stark. Always in pursuit of the next big thing. Did you know her dad's been trying to get involved with the Batfamily lately?”

You shake your head, intrigued. “Really? How so?”

Selina takes a sip of her coffee, her expression thoughtful. “He’s been making efforts to fund their operations. He’s got this obsession with superhero tech. But Batman has been turning him down. I think his ego got hurt. Must have been what started the press drama.”

You laugh and chug down your glass of water. “Sounds like a recipe for chaos. Can you imagine Tony Stark trying to ‘help’ Batman?”

Selina grins, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “It would be a circus. But to be fair, Bruce’s civilian front and Tony’s personality are practically the same thing—rich, eccentric, and always in the spotlight. If they could find common ground, it’d be a miracle.”

"Speaking of which," you begin as you dump your sore body on the couch. "On a scale of one to ten, how hard do you think Damian or Bruce will take it if I accept Morgan’s invitation for a Stark internship?"

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

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

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

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

Selina’s gaze softens, and she murmurs, “He sees you as a daughter. Considering how you’re going to marry Damian, I think he’s preparing.”

With a groan, you push yourself up from the couch and head towards your room. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true!” Selina calls after you, her voice echoing with laughter.

You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips as you close the door behind you, leaving Selina’s laughter to fade away. The apartment is quiet now, the city’s hum a distant backdrop to your thoughts.

༻⊰───⋅

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

The bell above the door jingles as you and Damian step into the bustling comic shop. The aroma of ink, paper, and coffee fills the air, mingling with the excited murmur of customers.

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

The walls are lined with shelves packed full of colorful comic books and graphic novels. A few display cases highlight rare editions and collector’s items. You scan the rows of comics, eyes gleaming with excitement as you pick up one of your favorite series.

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

You nod enthusiastically, unable to hide your excitement. “Definitely. It’s one of the limited editions I’ve been wanting for ages.” You turn the comic over, your fingers lightly brushing the cover as you check the price. The numbers make your heart race, not just because of the cost, but because of how long you’ve been hoping to add this piece to your collection.

Damian’s reaction is immediate. Without a moment’s hesitation, he reaches for his wallet. “Let me take care of it.”

A protest rises in your throat, but he cuts you off with a swift glance and a raised eyebrow. His scowl deepens. “No arguments. It’s a treat for today.”

You start to argue, but Damian’s expression turns more serious, his tone taking on a threatening edge. “If you keep insisting on paying, I’ll take back my jacket.”

“What?!” you hiss, instinctively tugging your (his) jacket closer around you. “No way! You don’t even wear this.”

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

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

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

“SPIDEY FOILS ATTACK ON MORGAN STARK: HERO SWINGS IN TO SAVE THE DAY”   Damian returns shortly after, handing you the paper bag with a triumphant smirk. You beam at him, a surge of gratitude and affection prompting you to lean in and press a kiss on his cheek.

Damian hums at your affection, wrapping an arm around you to keep you close. Emerald eyes flick to the newspaper on the rack, his expression shifting slightly. 

“Stark was in an altercation?” he asks, glancing at the headline.

You chuckle softly, still smiling from the kiss. “Looks like it. It’s been a while since I saw a headline like this. Spidey doesn't get as much press as you guys do.”

“Speaking of Morgan,” you start, deciding it’s time to rip off the bandage. “I was actually thinking about applying for an internship at Stark Industries. It could be a great opportunity, you know? She’s offered me a spot.”

The moment the words leave your lips, Damian’s expression shifts from casual interest to a full-blown scowl. “Wayne Industries is far superior.”

You lean against his chest, a hint of amusement in your voice. “Oh. I know. But Morgan is offering me a spot. And honestly, it could be a huge opportunity.”

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

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

Damian’s scowl deepens, a mix of hurt and annoyance in his expression. “So you think Stark’s offer is somehow more legitimate?”

It’s not about legitimacy," you scold and slap his arm lightly. "It’s about the opportunity and experience. Stark Industries has its own set of advantages, and I want to explore them.”

Damian’s gaze softens, though his frustration remains. “Just remember, you’re valued and capable. Don’t let anyone undermine that. Wayne Industries is always an option if you change your mind.”

He moves to pick up the newspaper, his eyes narrowing at the photo of your vigilante form, a hint of disdain crossing his face. The image of you swinging through the city is not something he seems to appreciate.

You clear your throat, trying to shift the conversation.

“So,” you begin, shifting on your feet and causing your Converse to squeak against the floor, “have you ever encountered Spidey on the job?”

Damian’s expression hardens at the mention of the codename, a look of disapproval settling in.

“The Spider?” he asks with a scoff. “From what I’ve observed, they’re nothing more than an amateur. Their methods are clumsy and lack the finesse required for real work.”

You feel a pang of offense but manage to keep your composure. “Really? I’ve heard they’ve done some impressive things.”

Damian’s emerald eyes meet yours, frustration flickering behind their gaze. “Impressive? If you call reckless behavior and a lack of precision impressive, then perhaps. But to me, it’s far from professional. They don’t have the discipline required for serious work.”

Ouch. That was expected, but it still stung.

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “Everyone has their own style. What might seem clumsy to one person might be effective for another.”

“Effective?" Damian’s eyes narrow, and he shifts uncomfortably, his fingers gripping the edge of the newspaper as if it might steady him. The paper crumples under his grip "Their approach is more about spectacle than substance. They swing around like a circus act, with no real strategy. It’s a wonder they manage to accomplish anything at all.”

Frowning, your gaze flicks between Damian’s rigid posture and the comics scattered around, each one now a reminder of how small and petty the argument seems. “Maybe their methods look unorthodox, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t effective. They’ve managed to help a lot of people.”

In the corner of your eye, he straightens, his shoulders taut. “Helping people isn’t just about flashy moves and headlines," Damian’s voice rises slightly, a trace of irritation slipping through. "It’s about precision, planning, and execution. The arachnid's antics don’t measure up to those standards.”

You feel a surge of anger at his words. As much as you loved Damian, sometimes he could be insufferably egotistical. 

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, trying to steady the anger that flares within you. Your eyes fixate on the comic book display, the colorful covers burning into your retinas.

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

“What exactly are you trying to say?” Damian hisses, his brows furrowing. He hadn’t intended to sound so harsh, but the sting of your criticism and his own bruised ego have clouded his judgment. 

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

The irony is that he seeks your approval and validation more than he does from anyone else. Your opinion matters to him, and your criticism hits harder than any public scrutiny ever could.

“I’m saying that they’re trying to help!” you retort, your voice rising to meet his volume. From behind the counter, the cashier gives you a look. “Something that you guys can’t always do.”

Damian’s expression hardens, and he tosses the newspaper back onto the shelf. “What can’t we do?”

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

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

You shake your head, trying to calm yourself amidst the rising tension. “I’m not saying Spidey is perfect, but they’re out there trying. That counts for something.”

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

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

Damian watches as you slip out of the shop. The argument has left a bitter taste in his mouth, but as he sees the hurt in your expression, his anger starts to dissolve into regret.

Without a second thought, Damian follows you, his footsteps quickening as he catches up. He reaches you quickly, his hand gently gripping your shoulder to stop you. 

“Beloved,” he calls for you, his tone softening as he looks at you with an earnest expression. Regret is pooling in his eyes. “I apologize.”

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

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

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

Damian’s expression tightens, but he doesn’t let go. “At least let me drive you home, habibti.”

You shake your head, the tension still evident in your posture. “No. I need to walk and blow off some steam.”

With a final, apologetic look, Damian steps back, giving you the space you need. You start to walk away, the hot sun just intensifying your heated emotions. The city, bustling with activity, seems to close in around you as you move deeper into its more congested parts. The shops and crowds become denser, the noise louder, and the streets feel narrower with every step you take.

Lost in thought and simmering with frustration, you’re jolted back to reality by a sudden, alarming noise—a commotion coming from a narrow alleyway nearby. The sounds of muffled voices and the scuffle of footsteps reach your ears, cutting through the noise of the busy street.

A group of masked individuals are cornering a lone person. The victim is pinned against the wall, desperately trying to fend off the assailants. The attackers are demanding valuables and threatening violence. Despite the bustling city around them, no one seems willing to step in and help. The crowd seems to have distanced itself from the situation, unwilling to get involved.

You glance down at your civilian attire—a simple shirt and jeans, not suited for the kind of intervention you’re about to undertake. But seeing the victim’s fear and the attackers' aggression ignites a sense of responsibility in you. 

Someone has to step in, and if you’re the only one who will, then so be it.

Taking a deep breath, you step into the alley.

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

The muggers shift their attention towards you, allowing you a clearer view of the woman they were attacking. Your heart drops as you realize who it is.

Holy shit, it’s Morgan.

What is it with this girl and getting assaulted?

Morgan’s eyes widen in disbelief, her eyes boring into you. Her gaze seems to ask, Are you out of your mind? You offer a reassuring smile and a calming hand gesture, hoping to ease her worries.

Shaking your head, you turn your attention back to the muggers. There are ten of them in total. Your goal is to keep their focus off Morgan and buy time until help arrives—if help arrives.

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

The muggers burst into laughter, clearly amused by the sight of an unathletic-looking eighteen-year-old in a Batman shirt, standing up to them with such bravado. You just smile, acknowledging their amusement.

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

The laughter dies down as the muggers size you up, their expressions shifting from amusement to determination. One of them, a lanky guy with a scruffy beard, steps forward, cracking his knuckles and sneering at you.

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

Before he can make a move, you swing your arm back, concentrating on the momentum. You drive a punch straight into his jaw, your knuckles connecting with a solid thud. The force of the blow sends him sprawling backward, his head snapping to the side as he crashes into the alley wall.

One.

The other muggers stare in shock. They exchange uncertain glances, their laughter dying in their throats. Morgan's jaw drops.

You take a deep breath, your fists still clenched, ready for whatever comes next. 

“So,” you say, a grim smile playing on your lips, “who’s next?”

The second mugger, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, tries to step in but is met with a brutal left hook. The punch connects with his cheekbone, and he staggers back, his nose bursting into a crimson spray. He collapses to the ground, clutching his face in pain.

Two.

Another mugger, this one with a wild, frizzy mop of hair, attempts to charge at you with a menacing snarl. You dodge his clumsy swing, pivoting to land a powerful uppercut. His head snaps back, and he crashes into the trash cans with a loud clang, blood streaming from his split lip and nose.

Three.

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

Four.

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

One of them, a lanky guy with a snake tattoo on his arm, makes a desperate rush at you, his fists swinging wildly. You sidestep and deliver a sharp kick to his ribs. He crumples with a pained gasp, clutching his side.

Five.

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

“Last chance,” you growl. “Either you leave now or join your buddies in the hospital.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly, your spider-sense flares with alarm. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch movement from one of the muggers who’s begun to stir. He’s reaching into his jacket, his fingers moving toward something hidden. Morgan, still caught up in her surprise and relief, is too busy chatting to notice.

Without a second thought, you react instinctively. “Morgan, get down!” you shout, pushing her aside.

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

The sharp crack of the gunshot echoes through the alley, and you feel a searing pain in your ribs. A hot, burning sensation spreads through your side. Morgan’s scream pierces the air as she watches in horror.

You stagger back, clutching your side. 

Well... shit.

Gritting your teeth, you turn your attention to the mugger who’s scrambling to flee, his gun now ensnared in your webbing. With a swift flick of your wrist, you shoot another web line, pulling him toward you. As he nears, you slam his head against the wall beside you, knocking him unconscious.

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

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

“You’re—”

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

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

“Listen,” you say softly but firmly, removing your hand once you’re sure she’s calmed down, “we need to keep our voices down. I’m hurt, and we need to get out of here before more trouble shows up.”

Morgan nods, her face a mix of shock and concern. “But you’re hurt, and the police—”

“I’ll be fine,” you interrupt, though the pain in your side is making it harder to sound convincing. “We don’t need the police right now. Just help me get out of here.”

Morgan takes a deep breath and nods. “I know where to go.”

Both of you are soon swinging through the dark alleys. You grit your teeth and focus on the task at hand. Ignoring the burning pain in your ribs, you move faster, swinging through the city with Morgan clinging to your side. You choose the longer route, weaving through the shadows to avoid detection. 

Finally, you drop down into an alley beside her penthouse building. Morgan’s eyes widen as she sees the blood seeping through the fabric of your shirt, a stark contrast against the white.

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

Without waiting for a response, she yanks you towards the back door of her building. The heavy steel door creaks open, and she nearly shatters the elevator buttons with the force of her pressing.

You lean heavily against her as she steps into the elevator with you. The elevator’s harsh fluorescent lights are annoyingly bright, offering a sterile, clinical glare that makes the pain in your ribs feel even more intense. The metal doors of the elevator finally close with a soft, echoing thud, cutting off the outside world. For a brief moment, you feel a semblance of relief as the lift begins its ascent, the vibration of the machinery barely masking the ache in your side.

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

You manage a shrug. In all honesty, the pain wasn’t as overwhelming as it might have been. Thanks to your spider abilities, you were handling it better than most would. It was the identity reveal that truly rattled you.

"Do I at least look badass?"

"Oh my god. I literally hate you."

When the elevator finally dings open, Morgan practically pulls you out, guiding you swiftly down the hall to her penthouse. The door swings open, and she ushers you inside with a hurried but careful touch.

You collapse onto the plush couch, wincing as you settle into its cushions. The pain in your ribs is a dull throb now, but the adrenaline is starting to wear off, leaving you feeling every ache.

Morgan doesn’t waste any time. She strides across the room and shouts into the air, her voice echoing off the sleek, modern walls. 

“Pepper, I need you!”

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

One of the arms reaches toward you, its end equipped with a gentle, flexible grip. It tugs at your shirt, and you hesitantly slip it off, revealing the wound on your side. The arm begins its scan, its sensors glowing faintly as it moves over your injury.

The room fills with a soft, synthesized voice. “Initiating scan of gunshot wound. Wound located in the left lower rib area. Penetration depth approximately four centimeters. Severe tissue damage detected. High risk of infection. Immediate medical attention required. Blood loss estimated at 150 milliliters. No signs of internal bleeding detected at this time. Administering localized anesthesia to minimize discomfort. Cleaning and debridement of the wound will commence shortly.”

You can see tiny robotic tools emerging from compartments within the arm—sterilizing swabs, a precision scalpel, and a fine, retractable syringe. The anesthetic solution is applied gently, causing a cooling sensation that gradually numbs the pain.

“Uh, what the fuck is happening?” you blurt out.

Morgan watches over the procedure with a stony look. she has a tablet in her hands now and is tracking your vitals intensely.

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

With a soft beep, the robotic arm begins the delicate process of removing the bullet. You can feel a sharp, tugging sensation as the bullet is extracted.

“Isn’t... Isn’t Pepper your mom’s name? Damn, you coded this?” you ask, awe mingling with disbelief.

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

“I am the heir to Stark Industries, after all,” she says. “Of course, I’d know how to make this kind of tech. And yes, Pepper is named after my mom. It seemed fitting. Before she passed, she always took care of my dad whenever he got into fights.”

A wistful look crosses her face, but she quickly shakes it off. “Pepper stands for ‘Personal Emergency Protocol and Protective Emergency Response.’ It’s a bit of a tribute, and it’s meant to help in everyday stuff and emergencies like this.”

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

“Just hang tight,” Morgan says, her voice softening as she looks at you with genuine concern. “We’re almost done here.”

"This is insane," you lean back as the machine begins to bandage you. "Is this what rich people do? Make AI robots that can do fucking surgery?!"

Morgan chuckles softly, her eyes still focused on the tablet as she adjusts the settings. “You could say it’s a bit of a luxury, but it’s also practical. When you have the resources, why not make the best use of them?”

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

You take a deep breath as the hand finally retreats.

“Well, thanks for the help. I guess I owe you one... or maybe a lot.”

Morgan’s smile is faint but warm. “You saved me today. And... that night. We’re even.”

Suddenly, a new chime interrupts the moment, and Morgan’s brows furrow as she looks at the tablet with a mix of confusion and curiosity.

“Woah,” she gasps. “You’re healing at a really fast rate... Your tissues are already regenerating. This is... unusual. I’ve never seen a recovery like this before.”

You wince slightly as the last of the bandages is applied, but you manage a tired smile. “It’s the spider stuff,” you explain. “Enhanced abilities. Which includes healing and pain tolerance.”

Morgan’s expression shifts from shock to a wry smile. “No shit. You treated that gunshot wound like it was a scratch. You’re not just some hero—you’re a whole different level.” 

With a sigh, you lean back, wincing slightly as the bandages settle. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly something I advertise. But since you’ve seen it firsthand...”

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

You rub your eyes, the weight of the day catching up to you. “A while. It’s... it’s been a lot. Sometimes it feels like the more I do, the bigger the threats get.”

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

"Woah," you laugh and hold a hand up. "No. No. I know where this is going. I've read too many comics. I know what you're going to say."

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

You lean back with a smirk, your head tossing back against the sofa. Morgan’s eyes drift to the sweat glistening on your chest and her face heats up.

“I know where this is headed. I’ve seen the trope before. The whole ‘I’m in this now too’ speech. And trust me, it’s usually followed by—”

“‘I want to help,’” she finishes for you, a grin spreading across her face. “And before you say anything, I’m not just looking to tag along for the excitement. I genuinely want to contribute. I’ve got resources, skills, and—”

She gestures to the high-tech surroundings of her penthouse, her voice firm yet earnest. “—I can do more than just sit on the sidelines.”

You sigh, leaning back with a tired smile. “See, this is the part where I’m going to give you the ‘I can’t put you in danger’ speech. The whole ‘this is too dangerous’ line. Usually, you’d be the love interest in a story like this, but honestly, I’m just relieved Damian doesn’t know.”

Morgan’s expression softens, her gaze steady. “I appreciate that, really. But I’m not just some bystander here.”

“Morga—”

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

“Welcome home, Tony.”

Both of you freeze.

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

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

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

“Uh, hey, Dad,” Morgan says, her voice unusually high-pitched. She awkwardly tries to smooth her hair and straighten her clothes.

Tony’s eyes narrow in bemusement. “Well, this is... unexpected. I didn’t realize I was interrupting... whatever this is.”

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

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

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

“Yeah, him.” Tony squints. “Did my daughter just steal you from him? Or do we have a mistress thing going on?”

Morgan’s face flushes a deeper shade of red, clearly mortified by the situation. “Dad!"

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

“Sh-she’s not—!” you start to protest, but Morgan cuts in, her voice coming out in a high-pitched rush of nervous energy.

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

Tony squints at Morgan, then at you, and back to Morgan with a raised eyebrow. “An intern, huh? Well, if you think she’s that skilled, I guess I can’t complain about her being here. But Morgan, next time you want to give your intern a hands-on demonstration, maybe keep it... less hands-on?”

With that, Tony turns on his heel and struts out of the room, his departure accompanied by a loud chuckle. The door closes behind him with a soft thud, leaving you and Morgan in a stunned, awkward silence.

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

Morgan raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms with a smirk. “Oh, really? And why not? I’m perfectly capable of handling the tech side of things. I think I can handle a little tech support. And! I just showed you how I can help with your injuries.”

You sigh dramatically. “Fine, fine. But if you’re going to be the guy in the chair, I better get cool tech." 

Morgan smirks, her arms crossed confidently. “Oh, so you’re on board with the whole ‘guy in the chair’ idea now? Perfect. I’ll make sure to hook you up with the latest tech from Stark Industries. And don’t worry, I’m not planning on getting into any alleyway brawls.”

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

"Ass!"

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

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

༻⊰───⋅

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

The moon casts long shadows across the grimy streets of Crime Alley. You swing effortlessly between the towering buildings, Morgan clinging tightly to your back, her grin widening with every swing. The excitement in her voice is barely contained as the city blurs past.

“This is incredible!” she shouts over the rush of the wind. “I had no idea you were so... so agile! I’m practically flying!”

You chuckle, adjusting your grip on her. “Glad you’re enjoying the ride. Just remember, we’re heading to my warehouse where we’ll be setting up your new tech. And let’s keep this between us, alright? I already texted mom. Told her I’m on internship work for the night. She might have a fit if she knew the whole story... I wasn't supposed to tell anyone.”

Morgan’s eyes widen, and she nods enthusiastically. “Got it. Your secret’s safe with me. Besides, this is way cooler than any boring internship!”

As you approach the warehouse, you expertly land on the rooftop and quickly make your way down to a side entrance, the creaking of the metal door barely audible over the city noise.

You push open the door and lead Morgan inside.

Over the past few months, you’ve transformed the warehouse from a forgotten relic of Gotham’s industrial age into a functional hideout.

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

“It’s a bit scrappy, but it gets the job done,” you explain, glancing around the space. “I’ve done a lot of work here over the past few months. I figured it’d be better to have a base of operations rather than working out of the apartment. Too dangerous.”

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

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

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

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

You stare at her blankly.

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

Morgan shrugs, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’m really into heroes, okay?! Stark Industries has special... projects.” She coughs lightly as she sets the equipment down, arranging it on one of the tables. “Just wait until you see what else I’ve got in store. But first, I’m going to get everything set up and running. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

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

Spreading the mat out on the floor, you begin a series of stretches and exercises to ease the tension in your body. Just as you’re getting into the rhythm, your ringtone starts blaring through the speakers.

Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na… Batman!

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

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

You squint at her, then glance at your phone, which is sitting a few inches away on the table.

“Did you just hack my phone?”

“Hacked,” she corrects with a smirk, clearly enjoying the moment. “You’d be surprised at what Stark Industries’ tech can do.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help a chuckle. “You know, I thought I was the one who was supposed to be the tech expert here.”

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

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

“Not going to answer?”

You wince. “We had an argument.”

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

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

“Yikes.”

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

༻⊰───⋅

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

With a scoff, Damian ends the call on the screen of his bike’s console. 

If you didn’t want to answer the call, so be it. He had better things to deal with.

The bike roars to life, weaving effortlessly through Gotham’s chaotic traffic, its engine growling like a beast unleashed. He skillfully maneuvers around obstacles, dodging cars and pedestrians. The bike’s tires grip the slick asphalt as he bypasses yet another red light.

Tonight’s patrol is unusually hectic. High-profile cases and urgent calls keep piling up, making it evident that he’ll be buried in work for the foreseeable future, possibly well into the next week. Gotham’s underbelly is particularly restless tonight.

Just as he begins to find a rhythm, his comm link buzzes to life, cutting through the relentless hum of the bike’s engine. The sudden crackle pulls Damian from his focused concentration, and he glances at the small screen embedded in the bike’s console.

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

A digital map materializes on the dashboard, highlighting a narrow alleyway in one of Gotham’s more neglected and decrepit districts. Oracle’s voice crackles through the earpiece, calm but edged with urgency.

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

Without hesitation, Damian adjusts his course, the bike’s engine growling as he speeds towards the indicated location. 

“Understood. I’ll check it out,” he replies curtly. 

It only takes a few minutes before Damian pulls up to the alleyway. He slows the bike to a stop and parks it in a shadowed corner, keeping it well out of sight. The engine fades to a low rumble before falling silent.

Damian dismounts and approaches the entrance to the alley with deliberate stealth. He moves cautiously, each step measured and silent. The alleyway ahead is cloaked in darkness, the only sources of light being the occasional flicker of a faulty streetlamp and the dim glow from the scattered neon signs on nearby buildings.

As he slips into the alley, the muffled sounds of voices become clearer. The faint, sporadic bursts of laughter and shouting cut through the silence. The air is thick with the smell of smoke, mixed with an acrid tang that hints at something burning, and the less pleasant scents of old beer and rotting food.

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

"Did you hear about the latest shipment? It's stolen Starktech," one voice says, a deep, gravelly tone that cuts through the murky air. "Black Mask’s been making some serious moves. Got some tech deals going down soon."

Another voice, sharper and more impatient, chimes in. "Yeah, I heard. Seems like he’s trying to offload some high-end stuff. Something to do with the Octavius project."

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

"Apparently," the deep voice explains, "Black Mask is using his connections to push these deals forward. Octavius might be in prison, but his influence isn’t entirely gone. And if we get in on this... well, let’s just say the payout could be huge."

Damian’s eyes narrow as he senses something off. He glances over his shoulder and freezes when he notices a webbed strand clinging to the edge of his cape. It’s barely visible in the dim light of the alley, but unmistakable against the fabric of his cape.

Spidersilk.

Without a doubt, it was a remnant from a certain vigilante. Queens was your territory and known for its tangled web of strands, and they had a habit of sticking around long after the spider hero had moved on. 

Scowling, Damian tugs at his cape, trying to peel away the webbing. However, it’s stuck like glue, resisting his efforts with an unnerving tenacity. His frustration mounts as he yanks harder, inadvertently revealing his position with a scraping noise against the nearby wall.

The voices in the alley grow more alert. The murmurs stop, replaced by the shuffling of feet and the sound of hushed, urgent conversations.

His position is compromised.

Damian curses under his breath. He quickly snaps off the cape, leaving it behind in the shadows, and just as he does, a gang member swings a crude metal pipe toward him. Damian reacts instinctively, raising his forearm to block the attack with a sharp clang. He yanks the pipe from the thug’s grasp and jabs it into the man’s ribs with a brutal force. The thug lets out a sharp wail of agony, crumpling to the ground as Damian knocks him away with a powerful shove.

Standing tall, Damian glares at the remaining men with a cold gaze. Slowly, he draws his katana, the blade gleaming ominously in the dim light. He spins the weapon in his hand, the sharp edge slicing through the darkness.

“Here’s a piece of advice,” Damian says, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “You’re all out of your league. I suggest you leave now, before you make this any worse for yourselves. Otherwise, you’ll find out what happens when you cross paths with someone who doesn’t hold back.”

One of the gang members, too emboldened or too foolish to back down, lunges at Damian with a rusty knife. The blade glints in the dim light as it swings towards Damian’s side.

With a swift, practiced movement, Damian sidesteps the attack, grabbing the thug’s wrist and twisting it sharply. The knife clatters to the ground as the thug cries out in pain. Without missing a beat, Damian lands a powerful punch to the thug’s gut, doubling him over.

Damian follows up with a flurry of punches, each blow landing with precise force. He strikes the thug’s face, ribs, and kidneys, driving him back against the alley wall. Blood spatters the ground as the thug’s face becomes a bruised mess.

“Had enough?” Damian growls, his voice dripping with venom. The thug, dazed and barely able to stand, attempts a weak swing at Damian. But Damian easily blocks it, delivering a final, punishing blow to the thug’s jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground.

“Let this be a lesson,” he scoffs. “Next time, you won’t be so lucky.”

The remaining thugs, now thoroughly terrified, back away slowly, not daring to challenge Robin further. The leader of the gang, a burly man with a scar across his face, steps forward hesitantly.

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

Damian’s eyes narrow, his grip tightening on the katana. “Smart choice. Now get out of here, before I change my mind.”

The men scramble to their feet, hurriedly retreating down the alley and disappearing into the shadows. The echo of their hurried footsteps fades away, leaving Damian alone in the quiet aftermath.

He sheaths his katana, his breathing steady but his body still tingling with the adrenaline of the fight. He glances around the alley, taking in the damage and the scattered remnants of the confrontation.

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

Damian scowls and turns his attention back to the damned web. “I have recorded the conversation for you. You may review it at your leisure. Additionally, I am starting a personal case,” he says as he moves to examine the webbing.

“Personal case?”

“Yes. I'm going on a hunt."

༻⊰───⋅

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you trudge up the creaky, worn stairs of your apartment building, your footsteps pounding against the wood. Your muscles protest with every step, your body aching from the lack of sleep. Both you and Morgan were up all night setting up communication devices and sketching out possible upgrades for weapons and gadgets. Your mind is a foggy mess of blueprints and circuitry, making it hard to focus on anything but the thought of finally collapsing into bed.

Finally, you reach your apartment door. You fumble with the keys, your vision slightly blurred from exhaustion, and push the door open. The familiar scent of home—a mix of Selina's favorite lavender incense and the lingering aroma of last night's takeout—hits you, momentarily soothing your tired mind.

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

You peek in further and gape.

Tony Stark, in the flesh, is lounging on your couch, his presence as imposing and charismatic as ever. He looks entirely at ease, as if he owns the place.

“Uh, Mom?” you manage to stammer, still trying to process the sight before you.

Selina turns and smiles, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, look who decided to finally show up. Honey, it seems Mr. Stark here has taken a special interest in your talents. You didn’t tell me you topped the rankings for their program!”

You... did?

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

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

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

"I've got big plans," Tony grins at Selina and claps a hand on your back. "and I think Kyles here will fit right in. I’ve seen their potential, and I’m excited to see what they can do with the resources at Stark Industries.”

Something feels off. Your spider senses are burning up like crazy. You force a smile, trying to mask your confusion. The room feels too small, the air too thick. The sunlight streaming in from the window seems too bright, almost blinding, as if the whole scene is a surreal dream.

“Mom, would it be alright if I talked to Mr. Stark outside? We’ll be back.”

Without waiting for a response, you pull Tony outside. The door shuts behind you with a soft click, and you drag him to the corner of the apartment hallway. The corridor is narrow and dimly lit, the walls adorned with faded, peeling wallpaper. You keep your head down, the tension building inside you like a coiled spring.

Once you're out of earshot, you turn to him. “Okay, what’s really going on?” you ask, your voice a low whisper.

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

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

Tony’s expression shifts, becoming more serious. He pulls out his phone, a sleek device that hums lowly with advanced technology. In awe, you watch as it produces a holographic screen. A video begins to play, and your heart sinks as you recognize the scene. 

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

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

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

Tony's gaze remains fixed on you, his expression unreadable. "Come on, kid. Don't try to play me. I know it's you. Holy shit. What a catch! 4,100 pounds at 50 miles an hour?"

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

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

It's detailed data on your injury from yesterday—the gunshot wound where you miraculously healed up really quickly. The medical records display the severity of the wound and the inexplicably rapid healing process. Tony's finger traces the timeline, emphasizing the abnormal speed of recovery.

"Damn," Tony raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Not exactly a normal recovery rate for a regular teenager, wouldn't you say? What the hell does your mom feed you, kid? Magic beans? And this—"

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

"Wowee," Tony continues, crossing his arms. "You got some Spider DNA on you, kid. This is some next-level genetic crossover."

You sigh and raise a hand to massage your temples, trying to suppress the mounting anxiety. "Did Morgan tell you?"

Tony shakes his head, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Nope. I have access to the records and all data from the bot. Guess she forgot to clear it." He tucks his phone back into his pocket, his gaze shifting to a more serious tone. "And before you ask, I don't just peek at people's private stuff for kicks. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a voyeur."

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

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

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

You nod, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

"Second," Tony continues, his tone shifting to business, "I’m here with a proposition. I’ve seen what you can do, and let’s just say I’ve got some big plans that could use a spider-shaped wrench in the works. How about you join forces with me? Hey, you’d get access to some seriously cool tech. Plus, no more dodging bullets for a while—unless you’re into that, in which case, we can talk."

You wince, shaking your head. "Mr. Stark, I’m not looking to upgrade."

Tony raises an eyebrow, a hint of incredulity in his expression. "Well, you’re in dire need of an upgrade," he scoffs. "Systemic. Top to bottom. But before we get to that, I’ve got to know. Why do you do this? Why play the hero?”

Tony continues, his tone more contemplative now. "I get it—everyone’s got their reasons. But I want to understand yours. Is it guilt? A sense of responsibility? Or just a really bad habit? What's your emo backstory, kid?"

You shift uncomfortably against the wall, the cool, rough surface pressing against your back. "It’s... complicated," you finally say, your voice low. "I guess I just want to make a difference. Help people. These powers only appeared a few months ago. And... when you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you. I can’t just stand by and watch."

"So, you wanna help out the little guys?" Tony hums and claps his hands. "Who else knows?"

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

Tony nods slowly, his fingers idly peeling back a section of wallpaper. "How would you feel about spending a month at Stark Industries, kid?"

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

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

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

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

THWIP.

Tony freezes, his foot lodged in place as the sharp sound of the web echoes through the corridor. He turns, eyes widening slightly as the webbing neatly wraps around his ankle.

You stand with your hand outstretched, the web retracting back into your hand. “Don’t tell Mom.”

Tony’s eyes widen in mock surprise. “Wow. I didn’t think you were going to get this dramatic... So, what’s it going to be? Are you going to make a decision, or do I need to start spilling secrets to get your attention?”

With a groan, you slam your head back into the wall. 

Taking a deep breath, you push aside your doubts and focus on the immediate reality. “Alright, Mr. Stark. I’ll take you up on your offer. But if we’re doing this, I need to be in the loop on everything. No surprises.”

Tony’s smirk widens as he extends his hand. 

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

"..."

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

༻⊰───⋅

The dining room at Wayne Manor was unusually bustling this morning, an uncommon but welcome sight. Bruce sat at the head of the long, polished mahogany table, absorbed in the day’s newspaper. Alfred moved around his chair, refilling Bruce’s coffee cup with a fresh, steaming brew.

To Bruce’s right, Dick and Jason were engaged in a lively conversation, their voices blending with the soft clink of cutlery. Tim sat on the other side, his laptop balanced precariously on his plate, the glow of the screen reflecting off the food he barely touched. Cass, on the far end of the table, sipped delicately from her matcha latte, her gaze occasionally drifting over to the gardens outside.

Damian, however, took up the most attention. His face was scrunched in a scowl as he cut up his vegetarian burger. He was cutting into it with such force that the knife scraped harshly against the plate, leaving scratches. Each slice seemed to take more effort than the last, and the faint sounds of the metal digging into porcelain were almost painful to hear.

"Are you trying to eat your plate?"

"Die."

Bruce peered over the top of his newspaper, a brow raised at his son. "Is something the matter, son?"

Damian’s grip tightened around his knife, his jaw set in a grim line. "The burger is insufficiently cut," he replied tersely, as if the issue was a matter of grave importance.

Tim, fingers flying across his laptop keyboard, rolled his eyes without looking up. "He’s mad because Y/N hasn’t been replying to his messages."

Damian shot a sharp glare at Tim, but it was clear from the way his eyes softened slightly that Tim had hit the mark. Bruce raised another eyebrow.

"Damn," Jason whistled as he bit into his eggs. "What did you do? She finally got sick of you?"

"Don’t start, Todd," Damian snapped. "My relationship status is none of your concern."

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

"Well, she might just be busy," Tim said as he sipped from his coffee cup. He raised his head and met Dick's eyes with a knowing look. "Did you know she topped the Stark Industries Young Innovators Program?"

The table fell silent for a moment.

Bruce slowly drops his newspaper, a twist on his face.

"Repeat that."

A round of stunned stares was exchanged around the table. Tim quickly typed something on his laptop before turning it around for everyone to see. The screen displayed an article with the headline:

“WAYNE-STARK RIVALRY REACHES NEW HEIGHTS: DAMIAN WAYNE'S GIRLFRIEND CLAIMS TOP SPOT IN STARK INDUSTRIES YOUNG INNOVATORS PROGRAM."

Dick’s eyes widened in surprise, and Jason whistled again, this time in genuine admiration. “Well, damn. She really knocked it out of the park.”

Bruce’s expression shifted to a frown. 

“I see... Stark must think she's such an accomplished and intelligent young woman. Hn. Of course, I already knew that,” Bruce spoke slowly, scowling.

"Oh my god," Dick grimaced and laughed under his breath. "The adoption senses are tingling."

"Damn, B. He's stealing your kid," Jason snorted, shaking his head. "Who's going to win the custody battle?"

"Looks like Tony is," Tim retorted, scrolling through the article. "She accepted. She's going to be spending a month in Stark Tower's living quarters. All expenses paid."

Damian just scowled at that, his irritation now focused entirely on the offending burger. He resumed his aggressive cutting, the knife digging into the porcelain with renewed fervor.

Bruce’s expression darkened, a scowl forming as he slammed his coffee cup down on the table with a clink. 

“Stark,” he muttered under his breath. “Of course, Stark.”

Dick and Tim exchanged glances, eyebrows raised.

“Can’t believe I’m being outmaneuvered by that billionaire showboat,” Bruce grumbled.

“You’re taking this a bit personally,” Alfred spoke up, his tone calm yet pointed. “If I were you, I would be congratulating the young miss for her accomplishment. It’s a remarkable achievement, and it reflects well on her character.”

Bruce’s demeanor shifted slightly, a thoughtful expression replacing his earlier irritation before he perked up. “We can invite them for dinner.”

A sudden, explosive smash shattered the calm of the room, followed by a harsh metallic scrape. Damian's knife came down with a violent force, its blade plunging into his plate with a grating screech. 

Alfred’s weary sigh broke the tension, and he glided over to collect the shattered remnants of the plate, his practiced hands carefully avoiding the jagged edges.

“Hope you enjoy cereal, Master Damian."

༻⊰───⋅

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