Digger gave you the nickname “Birdie” because well . . . You’re a jailbird. He is in prison for heinous crimes, after all! Oh, is he touched-starved when you’re standing there, pretty face to the phone, separated by glass and talking in your voice that melts him like butter. His eyes are eating you up, desperate to have his hands on you. He’ll do all the suicide missions going to shred off the jail time, to get closer to the day his lips are kissing yours. Blackmailing Amanda to get you the best of the best, pay off college debt, holidays abroad, and spoil you when he cannot. “Oh, Birdie, when I get out of here I’m not letting you out of my sight, you’re stuck with me.” He groans, drunk on love. All you do is smile, sliding a pack of Polaroids under the screen when the guards aren’t looking. “Have these to tide you over in the meantime,” you tease. Digger rushes back to his cell, flipping through the photos. First were of you in dresses that were his favourites, the type of ones that are flowy and floral, framing you so delicately. They get more desirable as he flips them over, and his eyes lull in lust.

After what feels like months hiding out in that dingy hotel—though it’s only been a week—they finally return to the mansion.

The job is done. The take is massive.

Thanks to Selina’s contacts, the jewels were sold off piece by piece, clean and quiet. The more sentimental pieces—the ones that glinted just right in the light, the ones that felt too good on the skin to part with—stayed. Mostly the women’s picks. Everyone else got their share. Percentages exact, smiles genuine. No heat. No suspicion. Just silence and fellowship.

The moment they got back, Holly slipped off to her girlfriend’s place. Crosby, on the other hand, left soon after, headed to meet his stepfather about half-custody of his daughter—a meeting he’s been dreaming of since they started planning the job. Which left the house quiet.

Too quiet.

Alone again, Selina and Edward are surrounded by polished floors and vaulted ceilings and nothing to hide behind. No alarms to disable. No vaults to crack. Just that one loose end left to tie. 

The conversation.

What are we? What happens now?

There is no getting around it. No burying it or setting it aside. No more avoidance. This is Edward Nygma’s greatest adversary: himself and his emotions. And it is time to confront them. 

This is the most difficult thing he has ever prepared for, ever schemed, ever planned. 

Heart pounding, fist raised, Edward stands at the doorway to his unraveling or possibly to the rest of his life. 

He doesn’t knock right away. His pulse is loud in his ears, the kind of thudding that makes his fingers twitch, like they’re searching for a pen, a code, something to control. But this—this—is the one variable he can’t outthink.

Finally, he knocks. Three soft raps against the wood.

The door opens almost instantly.

Selina leans against the frame, one brow cocked and a familiar smirk tugging at her mouth. "Yes, Edward," she purrs, her voice dipped in dry amusement, "how can I help you?"

There’s a glint of curiosity beneath the sarcasm. He sees it. Knows her well enough by now to read between the lines.

"May I come in?" he asks, voice steadier than he expects.

She pauses—just a second—but then steps back, swinging the door wider, gesturing him in with a flourish.

He moves inside and sits on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, creaking slightly in the hush of the room.

Warm lamplight spills across the hardwood, casting the room in a low amber glow, the edges faded by shadows. 

Behind him, Selina closes the door with a soft click. Then, she leans against it, arms crossed, body loose and feline, like she hasn’t decided whether to bite or melt. Her smirk stays, but it’s softer now. Quieter.

Edward sits stiff, hands clasped between his knees, knuckles twitching. He doesn’t look up right away.

Five years of tension. Of mistakes. Of kisses not taken and feelings half-swallowed.

And now, there’s nowhere left to run.

With her head tilted and hair tumbling in a dark spill over one bare shoulder, Selina gives him a look equal parts feline and unforgiving. “So,” she drawls, voice edged with that velvet sarcasm he’s never been immune to, “you planning to sit there all night, or are you gonna tell me why you look like you're about to defuse a bomb?”

A quiet, breathless laugh escapes him—tight, uncertain—as he rubs the back of his neck. “That obvious?” The words barely hold together, and his eyes—those sharp, sea-glass eyes—flick toward her, catch the lamplight, then drop again to the floor like a guilty thing. “I… need to talk to you…. About us.”

At once, something in her shifts. The smirk falters—just a flicker—and her arms uncross as if that one word peeled back a layer she wasn’t ready to lose. “Us,” she echoes, softer now, voice laced with caution. Moving slowly, she steps forward and folds herself onto the bed beside him, one leg curled beneath her, the other dangling just off the edge like she might bolt if the ground beneath them cracks.

“That’s a dangerous word, Eddie,” she murmurs, watching him sidelong. “You sure you’re ready for that kind of detonation?”

Instead of answering, he leans in and gathers her into his arms, the motion sudden but not forceful—like something slipping loose after years under pressure. Against her shoulder, his voice trembles, stripped bare.

“I finally understand why I came back. It wasn’t the payout. It wasn’t the thrill. It wasn’t even Batman.” His hold on her tightens, as if anchoring himself there could ward off the ache. “It was you. I missed you. I wanted to feel it again… what we used to be. Even if it was just for a little while.”

He swallows hard, the words fraying. “It wasn’t about glory or games. I was jealous. I hated watching you with him. I hated that I wasn’t the one you trusted anymore. I tried to hide it, tried to rationalize it—but the truth is, I wanted you. I still want you. And I’m so damn sorry for what I did to you. I’ll carry it with me until the day I die.”

Drawing back just enough to meet her gaze, he lays it all bare. No riddles. No defenses. Only the ruin of a man offering what little he has left.

“I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. But I swear, Selina, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to earn it. Because…” His voice dips into something quieter, more fragile. “Because I love you.”

Her breath catches.

For a moment, she says nothing. Her expression shifts—not away from him, but inward, as though searching some locked corridor in her chest for a key she isn’t sure she wants to find.

Without warning, she rises. Not roughly. Not in anger. But with the quiet finality of a curtain falling. She slips past him without a word and disappears through the door.

The absence she leaves behind feels like the crash after a high wire snap.

Slack-jawed, he stares at the empty doorway, a low throb already building behind his eyes. His arms fall away, and with them, every illusion he let himself believe. He sinks down, elbows on knees, head bowed in quiet devastation.

“I ruined it,” he whispers to no one. The words bleed out of him, fragile and acidic, tethered to that Halloween night—the night—when everything between them had splintered.

But then… a sound.

The door creaks.

His head jerks up, breath caught somewhere in his throat.

Selina steps back inside. Her hands are no longer empty. Cradled between her fingers is something small and softly glowing. She crosses the room without a word, and when she holds it out, his heart lurches.

A Riddler trophy. But instead of green, it was pink.

Pausing just in front of him, Selina holds out the trophy with a neutral expression, unreadable as a closed vault. She says nothing at first, and hands trembling, breath shallow, Edward takes it from her. His fingers brush hers in the exchange, and the contact sends a shiver through him.

“You… kept this?” 

“I guess you could say I missed you too.” A faint smile curves her lips—mischief flickering behind her eyes like candlelight catching glass. “In a twisted way.” Her tone softens as she continues, her voice smoothing into something quieter. Truer. “I kept this one all these years. Didn’t know why at first, but now… I think it was you. The riddles. The chase. The way we used to be before we ruined everything.”

The pink trophy in his hands, is heavy, real. Edward flicks the switch, and the light blooms across the room like a heartbeat, a soft beacon between them. He stares at it, lips parting, but the words won’t come.

Only a single tear escapes—slow, silent, tracing down his cheek as the weight of her gesture sinks in. So small. So quiet. But louder than any declaration he’s ever heard. Gently, he sets the trophy on the bed. Then, with careful hands, he cups her face and draws her close, his touch reverent.

“You’re the only thing in my life that’s ever meant anything,” he murmurs, voice ragged. “I see that now. I swear to you, Selina—I will never hurt you again. Not with words. Not with silence. Not with cowardice. I’ll give you more than the world, if you’ll let me.”

The moment breaks him open.

Tears fall freely as he buries his face against her chest, every breath catching on the raw edge of years lost. It’s the first time he’s cried—truly cried—since he was a child standing alone at his mother’s headstone. And now, like then, it feels like something ending. Or maybe, beginning.

Selina doesn’t speak. She just holds him. One arm around his back, the other cradling the nape of his neck, fingertips gentle against the sweat-damp curls at his scalp. She lets him cry, lets the storm run its course, knowing what it costs him to fall apart like this in front of anyone.

It isn’t pity she feels—it’s reverence. Understanding. And maybe something warmer.

For all his sins, Edward’s trying. Not pretending. Not performing. Trying. And she sees that. Bruce never could give her this—this raw, bleeding honesty. This vulnerability not laced with guilt or control.

Edward isn’t perfect. But he’s learning. Healing. He’s finally solved the one riddle that’s always eluded him: himself.

Blushing despite herself, she leans in. Her voice brushes his ear like velvet.

“You know,” she purrs, that familiar smirk tugging at her mouth again, “I’ve always preferred a little pain.”

His eyes snap open, wide with surprise.

Before he can respond, she pushes him gently backward. He lands on the mattress with a soft thud, stunned, and she follows—graceful and slow, like a panther stretching over a kill.

“Show me how much you love me,” she teases, hovering above him. Her tone is playful, seductive—but when her gaze meets his again, it’s softer. Bare. “And maybe afterward… I’ll show you how much I love you too.”

Edward stares up at her, lips parted, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. This—this—was the last thing he expected.

And he’s never wanted anything more.

No hesitation, no trembling, no twitchy fingers, he pulls her down into a kiss that swallows the last of his doubt. It’s not careful. Not choreographed. It’s a release—years of longing flooding into the space between them.

For the first time in his life, his mind is silent. No overthinking. No escape plans. Just the thrill of her lips, the heat of her body, the pulse in his chest thudding not from panic—but joy.

In this moment, he’s not the Riddler. He’s not a criminal, or a code, or a cause.

He’s just Edward. A man in love.

And in her arms, with her weight on him and her fingers in his hair, he feels something he’s never truly known.

Peace.

“I love you,” he says again, voice steadier now, but still burning with everything he’s never been able to say aloud.

He draws back just enough to meet her eyes.

Searching.

Hoping.

Waiting to see if she’s still there. If this isn’t just a beautiful illusion meant to fade with the dawn.

With a slow, exaggerated roll of her emerald eyes, Selina lets out a breath that’s half exasperation, half affection. Then, softer than he expects, a smile ghosts across her lips. Her fingers trail gently along the edge of his jaw, nails just skimming skin.

“You’re so dramatic,” she murmurs, the words fond rather than biting.

Her touch drifts downward, palm resting lightly on his chest. Beneath her hand, his heart races wild and unguarded, pounding like it’s trying to leap free from its cage.

“But,” she adds, thumb brushing over the fabric of his shirt, “I think that’s what I like about you.”

A breath of laughter escapes him—soft, disbelieving, full of awe. “You think?”

Head tilted, her smirk returns like a signature. “Well, I did keep that trophy,” she replies, eyes dancing. “Maybe I’ve always liked the idea of us… even if you drive me absolutely insane.”

A small smile tugs at his lips—hesitant, almost bashful. The kind of smile that feels new on his face, like something rediscovered after being buried too long.

“I’ll take insane,” he says, voice low, “if it means I get to be with you.”

Sighing in a way that carries just enough drama to match his own, Selina curls her fingers into the front of his shirt and pulls him toward her. Her eyes don’t flinch, don’t waver.

“Then don’t make me regret this, Eddie,” she says, each word deliberate. “I don’t do second chances.”

“You won’t,” he promises, breath catching in his throat. “I’ll prove it. Every day. For you.”

Their foreheads meet, her skin cool against his warmth. She holds him there—close, unmoving—as if steadying herself against the truth of it all.

“You’d better,” she whispers. Her voice, stripped of sarcasm, is something bare and bruised. “Because I’ve already let you in. Don’t make me lock you out again.”

His arms tighten around her, the vow curling through him like fire and bone.

“Never again, Selina,” he breathes. His lips brush her brow with reverence, the words slipping into her skin like a seal. “I swear.”

Planning to consummate his promise, he lets his mouth trail lower—along the curve of her cheek, across the soft skin just beneath her eye, until he finds her lips again. There, he pauses—not halting in movement, but in descent—anchoring himself in the familiar sanctuary of her mouth.

His hands rise, sliding up to cradle her shoulders, pulling her closer like he can press his devotion into her bones. He sighs softly through his nose as he kisses her, parting her lips with a gentleness that belies the hunger stirring beneath. When he takes her lower lip between his, he lingers, running the flat of his tongue along the seam of her mouth.

God, she tastes like heaven—like something forbidden and redemptive all at once.

With a quiet sound of need, his mouth opens wider, deepening the kiss. He lets himself have more. Just a little more. And then more again.

Her arms loop around his neck, holding him there, grounding him with every tug of her fingers in his hair. Beneath his hands, her skin is warm, pliant, alive. She leans into him, breath hitching when he kisses her like it’s the only thing he knows how to do.

Gently—always gently—he shifts, nudging her backward. His hands guide her with a quiet authority, coaxing her onto her back beside him on the bed. She yields without hesitation, eyes half-lidded, mouth still parting for him in the low light. His body follows, half-draped against her, lips still moving with hers in that slow, consuming rhythm.

He kisses her like he’s memorizing her. Like he has all the time in the world.

One hand slips down, grazing the outer line of her ribs, then her waist, then the slope of her hip. His thumb traces the edge of bare skin where her shirt has ridden up—casual at first, then deliberate. His touch is featherlight but possessive, reverent in a way that feels like worship, not possession.

When he finally breaks the kiss, it’s not because he wants to stop.

It’s because he’s ready to begin.

Mouth hovering just above hers, he breathes her in—eyes locked, breath warm. He brushes his lips against her cheek again, then lower still, down her jaw, then to the hollow of her throat. Each press of his mouth is slower than the last. Each kiss deliberate. Anchored.

Lowering himself beside her, Edward breathes slowly through his nose, steadying the flood of sensation as he looks down at her—really looks. Her skin flushed beneath the warm lamp glow, chest rising and falling as she watches him in return. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, lips parted, pink from kissing. His hand lifts almost without thought, fingertips brushing the line of her throat.

“You’re…” He swallows, thumb tracing the soft dip beneath her jaw. “You’re unreal.”

She lets out a quiet breath, but her smile is sly. “Still dramatic, Eddie.”

He trails lower, past the clavicle, nudging fabric out of his way with lips and fingertips. His hands smooth along her sides, slipping beneath her long-sleeved sweater to draw it up in one fluid motion. He takes his time. Doesn’t rush. When it’s off and tossed aside, he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to.

He just looks at her.

And smiles.

Like she’s something holy.

Edward’s gaze flickers over her face, then down—dragged like a magnet to the rise of her breasts beneath black lace, delicate and shadowed in the low light. Slowly, reverently, he runs his palm from her neck down the center of her chest, fingers splayed wide to feel every inch of her. When his hand presses between the soft swell of her breasts, his touch stills for a moment.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs. Not the kind of compliment meant to flatter—but the kind said by a man who genuinely can’t believe his hands are allowed here.

His fingers trail along the curve of one cup, amazed at how the lace hugs her—how it seems made for her and her alone. Then, with a low, audible exhale, he lets his hand continue its path down her torso, over the smooth plane of her belly.

“You have no idea,” he says, voice low, breath warm against her sternum, “how long I’ve thought about this. About you. That one night was merely a taste.”

Selina arches slightly into his touch, fingers sliding into his hair, slow and languid.

“Oh, I have an idea,” she teases, tone velvet and wicked, but her eyes betray something deeper—something warmer. “You always did stare.”

He huffs a soft laugh, curling his hand against her hip. “Not enough.”

“Then fix it.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Dipping his head lower, he kisses the center of her chest—just above the lace—then presses another kiss below it, right against her ribs. His hand drifts across her stomach, slow and open-palmed, savoring the rise and fall beneath his touch.

Her breath catches as he mouths along her side, teeth grazing skin. She smells like warmth and sleep and something richer—something only she could ever carry. His voice comes again, muffled and reverent.

“I could live here,” he whispers, kissing the dip of her belly, “right here—between your hips, between your thighs. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Selina breathes in sharply, legs shifting beneath him. “Then show me.”

His kisses trail lower still—each one a vow etched into her skin, warm and lingering, never rushed. From the curve of her waist to the hollow of her hipbone, he moves with the kind of patience that speaks volumes. That says: You are not a prize. You are a ritual.

Edward lowers himself further, nudging her thighs apart with a careful press of his hand. She opens to him without resistance, legs draping over the bed in soft surrender, her breath hitching as his mouth skims the inner seam of her hip.

“God above, Selina,” he murmurs, voice hushed and reverent, like the name itself is a blessing on his tongue. “You’re unreal.”

“You always were a sucker for a little lace.” Her mouth twitches into a lazy, feline smile, but her eyes stay locked on his—liquid heat, unblinking. 

“And a woman who knows how to wear it,” he counters, tone dipping low, breath curling over her inner thigh. His fingers ghost along the edge of the fabric. “This should be in a museum.”

She huffs a laugh—quiet, indulgent—but it stutters at the edges when he presses a kiss just below the waistband.

“Don’t stop,” she says, not a command, but an invitation.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

His voice drops to a whisper as his thumbs hook into the delicate lace. “And this?” He tugs, gently, teasingly, his lips brushing the fabric as he speaks. “This doesn’t belong between us.”

Pressing a kiss just above the delicate fabric, he rests there for a moment—his breath hot against her, lips worshipful. His fingers curl around her thighs, anchoring himself between them as he nuzzles against the lace, inhaling deeply. His eyes flutter shut.

She’s everything.

“Don’t tease,” she murmurs, a tremor in her voice she doesn’t bother to hide.

But he only hums against her, wicked and soft. “I’m not. I’m memorizing.”

Then, with a gleam in his eye and an almost boyish smile, he grips the waistband of her panties with his teeth.

Caught between amusement and arousal, she blinks down at him as Edward begins to pull them down, slow and careful. The fabric slips from her hips like dusk falling from the sky—slow, weightless, inevitable. He peels it away with his mouth, savoring the drag, the friction, the subtle shift of her muscles beneath him. Each inch revealed feels less like uncovering and more like unearthing something ancient and precious, something he was never supposed to touch again. His hands trail down her thighs as the lace slides away, smoothing over the curve of her calves, her ankles, until the scrap of black lies forgotten on the floor like a discarded veil.

For a moment, he simply stares.

His eyes trace her—hungry, reverent, completely unguarded. There is nothing performative in it, nothing lewd. Just a man kneeling at the altar of a body he thought he’d ruined his chance to worship. He wants to memorize her—every curve, every freckle, every inhale that lifts her chest beneath him.

Finally, he kisses the inside of her knee. Then the tender skin at the top of her thigh. And again, closer this time—his mouth warm and open, lingering against her like he’s tasting the edge of paradise. He breathes her in—head bowed slightly, eyes hooded, lips parted.

Above him, Selina exhales shakily, her hand tightening in the sheets, the other buried in his hair.

“You’re being... ridiculously good at this,” she manages, her voice a low murmur, half-teasing, half-breathless.

He smiles against her, not lifting his head. “I told you. I could live here.”

That earns a shift in her posture—her back arching just slightly, chin tilting up as if granting permission. A kind of silent surrender.

He leans in again, but doesn’t touch her yet. His breath skims the inside of her thigh, warm and shaky. She smells like salt and heat, like skin warmed by desire, and something deeper—something his body recognizes before his mind catches up.

She shifts her hips. Not urgently. Just enough.

“Eddie,” she says, quieter now, almost unsure whether she’s pleading or provoking.

It doesn’t matter.

Either way, his hands slide up her thighs, slow and steady, until his thumbs press just beneath her hips. He lowers his head, not in haste but in offering, and finally, finally lets his mouth find her. His lips part against her skin, and the first kiss is barely that—more breath than contact. Then another, deeper, firmer. He moves with aching patience, layering kisses across the soft folds of her, each one more open than the last. No tongue yet. Just the slow build of pressure and warmth, the kind of attention that says, I could do this forever and still not deserve you.

Selina gasps softly, hand fisting in the sheets. Her thighs twitch around his head, but she doesn’t pull him closer. Not yet.

He groans into her, the sound low, involuntary.

“Let me,” he murmurs between kisses, his breath painting her skin. “Let me make this right. Let me give you this.”

Without waiting for another sign—because her body has already given it—he parts her gently with his thumbs and draws his tongue across her with a slow, deliberate stroke.

Bent between her thighs like a penitent, Edward drags his tongue along her with aching care, slow and reverent. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t posture. He simply sinks into her, savoring the warmth of her against his mouth, the shudder of her hips as they try not to arch. Each kiss is deliberate, an offering laid at her altar. He’s never touched anyone like this. He’s never wanted to.

With her legs parted, one bent at the knee, the other curling slightly to the side, Selina lies back in quiet surrender. One hand clutches the sheets, the other buries in his hair, fingers twining tight as if tethering herself to the moment. There’s no control here, no calculation. Just sensation—and him, between her legs, breathing her in like the answer to a question he’s spent years trying to solve.

Mouth slick with her, Edward lets his lips trail along the delicate folds of her sex, each pass slower than the last. He kisses her softly at first, then again, his tongue tracing gentle, circular strokes with growing confidence. Not rushed. Not sloppy. Just there. Fully present. Worshipful. His nose brushes her skin; his hands curl around her thighs. He moans into her, and the sound vibrates through her core.

Above him, her breath hitches.

“Holy–,” she whispers—half-formed, almost startled. Her eyes flutter closed as she tips her head back, throat exposed, the flush of arousal blooming high on her cheeks.

Sliding his hand up from her hip, Edward presses his palm flat against her belly. The gesture is grounding, possessive in its own quiet way. She’s trembling, and he feels it in his fingertips, in the flutter beneath her skin.

“You’re shaking,” he says softly, pausing just enough to speak. His breath fans across her, warm and ragged. “Is that a complaint?”

The laugh she exhales is thin, almost breathless. “It’s a warning.”

“I’ll take it under advisement,” he murmurs, mouth returning to her before she can reply.

In patience that borders on sacred, he resumes. His tongue moves in slow, precise patterns—circling, flicking, teasing just enough before backing away. He’s reading her now, attuned to every gasp, every twitch, every shift of muscle. This isn’t just pleasure. It’s intimacy. And it humbles him.

Knees bent high and thighs bracketing his face, Selina writhes against him—hips lifting off the bed in shallow, stuttering waves, the tension coiling tighter with each deliberate stroke of his tongue. He holds her steady with hands firm at her hips, anchoring her even as she tries to rise, to chase the pressure, to lose herself in it. His mouth stays locked to her, relentless now, lips parted around her clit as he draws her in again and again—suckling, circling, tasting her like she’s the only thing in the world that ever made sense.

And to him, she is.

One hand fists in the sheets beside her, the other tangled in his hair, knuckles white, breath ragged. Her voice comes out strained, half-moan, half-laugh—shaken, desperate.

“Fuck, Eddie—you’re—please, don’t stop—”

His head dips lower, tongue flattening, dragging upward with unbearable precision. He swirls again at the top—soft, firm, soft again. Her hips buck, spine arching off the mattress. He doesn’t adjust his pace. He stays. The rhythm is perfect. Intimate. Devastating. Edward hums softly against her, but he doesn’t speak. His mouth is far too occupied. Instead, he shifts one hand—releases her hip, lets it slide inward. His thumb grazes her inner thigh, then presses just beneath where his tongue is working, lifting her slightly toward his mouth. It’s a subtle adjustment, barely a breath of pressure, but she keens at the contact—high, ragged, already trembling.

She’s so close.

So damn close.

“God, Edward—you’re gonna make me—”

But he doesn’t let her finish. He tightens the seal of his mouth, tongue working faster now, small firm flicks against her clit while his other hand grips her thigh to keep her grounded. His shoulder presses into the bed. His jaw aches. He doesn’t care. He’ll stay here until she breaks. Until she sobs. Until her body sings.

Selina’s hand leaves his hair and grabs at her own breast, squeezing hard as she chokes on a whimper. Her heels dig into the mattress, legs tightening around his head like she’s trying to hold him there, like she never wants him to stop.

And he doesn’t

Instead, his hand begins to shift. The one still cradling her thigh slides inward, fingers trailing slowly up the slick warmth he’s coaxed from her. He strokes lightly first, just the outer seam of her, letting her feel the intention, the promise. She twitches beneath him, hips pressing up in quiet plea.

When she tilts toward him, breath shaking out of her, he knows she’s ready.

With care that borders on reverence, Edward presses one finger inside her. The warmth envelops him instantly, her body soft and yielding, impossibly wet from the attention of his mouth. He doesn't move at first—just rests there, deep within her, as his tongue continues its patient rhythm above. His finger curves slightly, adjusting to her shape, feeling the way she clenches down instinctively around him.

Selina gasps—high, broken—and her hand flies to her mouth, as if she can’t quite believe how deep it hits. As if she’s trying not to fall apart already.

But he’s only just begun.

Slowly, he starts to move—drawing out, sliding back in, finding a gentle tempo. His strokes are unhurried, guided by the tremble in her legs and the way her breath catches each time he curls just right. He can feel her—how open she is, how close—and it does something to him. Anchors him even deeper in the moment. He adds another finger without asking, slipping the second in beside the first with a steady, careful press.

She whines softly against the back of her hand, body arching in response. Her other hand returns to his hair, holding him close—not forcing, not pleading. Just needing him there.

His fingers move deeper now, longer strokes that press upward with delicate precision. He curls them with every motion, searching, memorizing the way she tightens, the way her thighs tremble, the way she gasps when he finds that spot—the one that makes her whole body jolt beneath him.

“Right there,” she gasps, a breath away from breaking. “Just like that—yes, just like that…”

Edward had always been good at following directions—and that did not change here. Skilled with his hands, he continued, curling, pressing, matching every sweep of his tongue above with the subtle pressure of his hand below, seeking her rapture. 

Beneath him, Selina unravels. He feels it. Not in the sharpness of her movements, but in the softness—the way she goes quiet except for her breath, the way her body quivers like a bowstring held too long. She’s coming undone, not all at once, but in slow, exquisite waves.

“Edward,” she breathes, so quiet it barely lifts off her lips. Her hand leaves her mouth and clutches his shoulder. “Please...”

Still, he says nothing. His mouth is busy. His fingers keep curling, coaxing her closer, urging her toward the edge with gentle, relentless precision. He tightens the rhythm only slightly, enough to build pressure without letting it tip.

She whimpers now, thighs fluttering around his shoulders, her chest rising in shallow, trembling breaths.

“I can’t—” she tries, but the words dissolve. She’s panting now. Wild. Unfiltered. “Please, baby—please, I’m—”

Selina’s voice catches, her back bows, and still, he holds her there. Not rushing. Not relenting. Just loving her, with his hands and mouth and the weight of every unspoken promise between them.

Slowly, the tremors start—and soon they’re everywhere. In her breath, in her hands, in the soft muscles of her thighs as they clench and quiver against him. Edward stays exactly where he is—his tongue still moving, his fingers still deep, still curled, still pressing up into that perfect place inside her like he was made to find it.

Trying to outrun it, her hips lift, but he only presses closer. He knows she’s there.

And she knows he knows.

Every part of her tightens, the pressure unbearable now. The heat blooming through her spine turns molten, tingling at the base of her neck, pooling behind her eyes. She’s losing her grip on it—on composure, on breath, on language itself.

The only thing she can say is his name. “Edward!” A plea. A prayer.

Edward answers it without a word. He presses his fingers in deeper, just a fraction, just enough to unlock her completely, and his tongue circles her one last time—slow, precise, and devastating.

Tenderly, she breaks.

The orgasm hits not like a wave, but like a series of them—shuddering through her in slow, rolling pulses that drag her under and keep her there. Her back arches, mouth falling open, eyes squeezed shut as her whole body clenches around his fingers. She sobs his name again, voice cracking in the center like something sacred giving way, calling into the amber lit room.

Still, he doesn’t stop. He gentles the rhythm, easing her through it, kissing her softly now between strokes, his fingers still moving inside her with reverent patience. She bucks once, twice, legs trembling. And then—slowly—she sags back into the sheets, every limb loose and humming.

Only then does he lift his head.

Slowly, without a word, he slips his fingers from her, like releasing something fragile, and presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh—then another just above her knee.

Selina blinks down at him, chest still rising in uneven pulls, lips parted, skin flushed to her collarbones. She looks like she’s been rewritten.

Boneless and glowing, she lies draped in the bedsheets, limbs loose with aftershocks, eyes half-lidded in the golden haze of the bedside lamp. Her breath comes in slow waves, each one steadier than the last, the flush still high on her cheeks. One hand remains where it fell—over her heart, fingers curled toward her collarbone—as though still holding the echo of him there.

Between her legs, Edward’s face is tinted pink, glasses fogged and crooked, mouth glistening, and hair tousled by her hands. He looks up at her like a man surfacing from worship—dazed, steady, undone. His breath is ragged, but his eyes are clear. Loving. Anchored. His hand is still damp, the scent of her still warm on his skin, and for once, the silence in the room doesn’t feel empty. It feels full. Like it’s holding something precious between its teeth.

Carefully—almost reverently—he peels himself from the bed, muscles stiff with effort he didn’t notice until now. He moves slowly, as if afraid to disturb the sanctity of her stillness. Her eyes flutter open for a breath, tracking him in a daze, but she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to.

The bathroom light flickers on a second later, soft and amber behind frosted glass. He steps inside. A necessary moment of solitude.

Inside the mirror, he meets his own reflection. Hair wild. Mouth flushed. The faintest shimmer still left on his chin. His eyes look… different. Not softer. Not harder. Just present.

Like he’s here. Really here. No riddles. No plans. Just the man who laid himself bare at a woman’s altar and was not turned away.

For a moment, he just stares at himself. The kind of stare that searches, not judges. That lingers because there’s something new behind the gaze and he’s still trying to name it.

Then—slowly—he smiles. It’s small, but real.

With steady hands, he turns on the tap. Cups the water. Splash. Another. Splash. He rinses his face in silence, water trailing down his jaw, catching on his throat. His breathing evens out as he leans forward, gripping the edge of the sink.

Then, without a word, he reaches for the toothbrush.

Still warm with afterglow, Selina lies sprawled across the sheets, her body humming with the kind of satisfaction that lingers in the muscles. Limbs heavy, lips parted, she turns her head lazily toward the bathroom door. Her voice, thick and syrupy with pleasure, cuts through the quiet.

“Where on earth did you learn that technique?”

From inside the bathroom, Edward leans just enough to peer around the doorframe, toothbrush still lodged between his teeth. He mumbles something unintelligible—half laughter, half apology—then ducks back behind the door to spit and rinse. A moment later, his voice emerges clearly.

“I did some… studying. Research, I guess. But if I’m being honest…” He pauses, wiping his hands. “I forgot halfway through. I just started repeating ‘hey diddle diddle’ with my tongue and—well—you didn’t seem to mind. So—”

Before he can finish the thought, she’s in front of him. He doesn’t even hear her cross the floor. Selina’s mouth catches his mid-sentence, crashing into his with startling, hungry precision. One hand braces against his bare chest, the other already working at the buckle of his belt. His breath hitches as the metal clinks loose, and then her fingers are dragging his pants down over his hips.

Surprised but not resistant, Edward moves with her—his own hands fumbling to help as she pulls him free. There’s no coordination, no planning. Just movement and heat and the two of them tumbling backward from bathroom tile to soft linen. They reach the bed in a half-staggered dance of limbs and mouths and laughter, breathless from the momentum.

Twisting together, they roll across the mattress, sheets tangling at their feet, each grasping for purchase, for dominance, for the thrill of winning something that never needed to be won. Finally, with a triumphant grin, Selina straddles his hips and pins him down, palms flat against his chest.

“I’m the one in control this time, Mr. Nygma, sir,” she purrs, deliberately layering the title with a mock formality that draws a visible shiver through him.

The smirk he gives her in return is all pretense—his lips curved in playful surrender, but tension lingering in the set of his shoulders. He lifts both hands and folds them neatly behind his head, his eyes locked on hers.

“Alright, fine, Ms. Kyle,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing. Then, with a slow inhale and a flicker of uncertainty he tries to hide, he adds, “Have your way with me, then. Fuck me.”

For just a beat, Selina goes still—eyes widening ever so slightly, her gaze scanning his face like she’s not sure whether to laugh or moan. It’s not the words, not exactly. It’s the offering. The trust. The way he lies there beneath her, completely open, even as his fingers tighten where they grip the back of his own head.

Leaning down until her lips nearly graze his ear, Selina lets her breath spill warm across his skin before she speaks.

“Get ready then,” she murmurs, the words a sultry warning, silk-wrapped and edged with fire.

Shifting her weight, she sinks her hips over him—slow, deliberate, the glide of her body unhurried as she takes her time, setting the rhythm on her terms. Every movement is teasing, purposeful, meant to draw out the tension he’s barely managing to hold back. Above them, the city glows through the tall windows, its soft light slipping through glass and painting their skin in silver shadows.

The sheets cling to their damp bodies, still twisted from earlier, cool now against overheated skin. Beneath her, Edward lies utterly still, but not relaxed—his muscles tight beneath the surface, straining for control he refuses to take.

Selina arches her back, hands sliding across his chest, mapping him slowly. Her touch dances along the ridges of his torso, down the plane of his ribs, fingertips leaving trails that make him shiver despite the warmth. She watches him with dark, lidded eyes, drinking in every flicker of breath, every quiet gasp.

“You really are full of surprises, aren’t you, Edward?” she whispers, voice thick with both admiration and challenge.

Her hips begin to move with unbearable control—long, rolling motions that ride him deep, slow, perfect. It’s not a frantic rhythm. It’s a claiming.

Fingers still laced behind his head, Edward bites down on a groan, his jaw tight, knuckles pale. Every instinct begs him to grab her, flip her, take her—but he doesn’t. He stays. He submits. Because she’s never looked more radiant than she does now, illuminated by moonlight, riding him like she already knows how this ends.

“Only for you,” he manages, voice low and frayed with restraint. “Only ever for you.”

Her mouth curves at the edges, pleased and wicked. She rocks into him again, slow and purposeful, her thighs strong around his hips. The air between them is thick with heat, the scent of their mingled arousal clinging to the sheets, to the room, to every breath they take. Selina moves like she’s dancing for herself as much as for him—shoulders rolling, hands sliding over her own body, savoring each sensation as it crests.

Tilting her head back, she grabs her breasts in both hands, the soft sound she makes as she grinds into him leaving his head spinning. Her eyes flutter closed, mouth parted, and for a moment she’s entirely lost in it—her pleasure, her power, her pace.

Edward watches her like he’s witnessing something holy. His eyes drink her in—every curve, every sway, every line of her sculpted in shadow. He doesn’t speak right away. Doesn’t dare interrupt.

“You are so… captivating,” he finally breathes, the words dragged from his chest like prayer. His voice is full of wonder, his gaze never once leaving her.

The world shrinks to this—just them, their bodies locked together, the bed creaking softly beneath the weight of what they’re becoming. Her rhythm slows further, if only to stretch the moment. The tension. The inevitability. She leans forward slightly, hair brushing his chest, her lips close enough to taste his breath.

“I could do this all night,” she murmurs, and her voice is music. Not rushed. Not teasing. Just true.

Her hands trail down his chest, fingers settling over his heart, which beats fast and steady beneath her palms.

At last, he moves.

Unfolding his arms, Edward slides his hands down the length of hers, his touch slow, tender, almost shy. He grazes over her wrists, her forearms, and finally rests his palms at her waist. Not to steer her. Just to feel her. Just to be part of her.

“I’m yours,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

What passes between them now is more than rhythm, more than pleasure. It’s communion—flesh and breath moving in tandem, a quiet alchemy that folds time in on itself. Each movement carries intention. Each shared exhale speaks of promises not yet said aloud, but already felt. Selina’s slow pace is both indulgence and seduction, her body moving with exquisite control, as though savoring the buildup is more important than the release.

Outside their window, the world stretches on in silence, but within the walls of this room, the world has gone still. No sound matters but the sigh of skin against skin, the whispered gasps that slip between them, the soft rustle of linen folding beneath their joined bodies. They are no longer holding back. They are exploring—fully, deeply—the territory they’ve kept barricaded for far too long.

When her thighs begin to tremble with the exertion of staying upright, Edward lifts his hands and settles them gently on her hips. He doesn’t take over. He supports. His thumbs trace slow circles into her skin, grounding her as she continues to ride him, her body heavy with pleasure, her movements languid and sweet. She catches his eye and smiles, a breath of gratitude passing between them like a secret.

He sits up slowly, guiding her into his lap. Their arms wrap around one another, foreheads meeting, breath shared. Her moan tumbles into his mouth as they hold one another, not thrusting, just rocking—two bodies tethered by something neither of them can name aloud just yet.

“I thought about it,” she murmurs, her voice curling around his ear. “That night on the patio. Do you know how badly I wanted you to take me right there?”

His breath stutters, lips brushing her temple as he pulls back just enough to meet her eyes.

“I knew,” he admits, voice low and steady. “I wanted to. Every second. But I didn’t want to get it wrong. I needed the moment to be real.”

Edward leans down and kisses her neck—soft, open-mouthed kisses that trail slowly across her skin. Not urgent. Not ravenous. Just full of intent.

Giving him access, she tilts her head back, and body begins to move again—this time guided not by need, but by memory. The tension of that night, the restraint, the ache—it all lives beneath his mouth now, blooming into shivers that trail down her spine.

“I’m glad we waited,” she whispers, her hands smoothing across his back. “This means more. Feels better. It’s… sweeter.”

He pulls her closer in response, hands tightening around her hips, encouraging her pace. She moans into his shoulder as he begins to thrust up into her gently, syncing with her rhythm. There’s nothing hurried about it, but the control is shifting. The softness remains, but it hums now with something deeper. Fervent. Intentional.

“Every moment with you,” he breathes, lips grazing her ear, “was worth the wait.”

Having a perfect memory, he knows where to kiss her now—just beneath her jaw, along the shell of her ear. He knows the sounds she makes when he gets it right, and he drinks them in as her hands slide into his hair, her hips rolling with his in perfect unity.

The room contracts around them, shrinking to the space they occupy—his body between her thighs, her arms around his shoulders, the bed creaking softly beneath their shared rhythm. When her movements begin to slow, a tremble passing through her limbs, Selina leans back and lets herself fall into the sheets.

Edward follows. He slips between her thighs with ease, lining their bodies with the kind of familiarity that feels ancient. For a long moment, they just look at each other—his hands on either side of her face, her fingers tracing his jaw.

And then he begins to move.

The rhythm shifts—still gentle, but no longer hesitant. His thrusts are deeper now, more insistent, drawing breathy moans from her lips. She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him in fully, and he groans at the sensation—hot, tight, consuming.

The words escape him before he can temper them.

“You take me so well,” he breathes out, voice cracking with intensity. “I can feel it—you want me to finish inside you. Want me to make you mine.”

The moment he says it, he flinches inward, biting down on his lip hard. He’s not used to saying things like that out loud. Not used to giving his desire a voice. But before the shame can settle in, she laughs—bright, delighted—and brings both hands up to her face in mock horror.

“Who are you?” she teases, eyes gleaming.

Smirking, Edward thrusts deep and holds—burying himself to the hilt as she gasps, loud and sharp. He leans down, breath warm against her ear.

“I think my official title,” he murmurs, voice dark with triumph, “is your boyfriend now.”

Selina moans softly beneath him, her hands trailing down his back. “So big,” she manages, the words whispered in a haze of pleasure, her body arching toward his. Her voice is breathy, reverent, almost stunned.

Breath warm against her cheek, Edward murmurs against her skin, “I fit so perfectly inside you. It’s like you were made for me.”

The words leave his lips low and reverent, almost disbelieving, as he draws his hips back and then presses into her again—deep, measured, full. Each thrust is deliberate, coaxing pleasure from both their bodies with steady confidence. He’s not rushing. He’s feeling.

Around them, the room seems to blur—only the rhythmic hush of their bodies rocking, the creak of the bed, and the soft gasps that fall like prayer between them remain. The air hums with intimacy, thick with heat and breath and everything unsaid. Selina clings to him, her hands roaming his back, nails skimming along sweat-slicked skin. Every touch urges him forward. Every moan rewards his pace.

When their eyes meet, it’s not just hunger reflected back at him—but trust. Desire threaded through with affection, something older than lust. Something earned.

“You feel incredible,” Selina breathes, her voice trembling around the edges. “Every inch of you.”

The praise coils through him, lighting something wild and possessive behind his ribs. His pace picks up—still controlled, but no longer careful. His hips roll deeper, faster, chasing the shared tension that’s begun to spiral higher. Her body meets him with eager urgency, lifting into every thrust like she can’t bear to be anything but closer.

He finds his voice again, unfiltered now, spoken through grit and love.

“You’re mine,” he groans, forehead pressed to hers, “just as I’m yours. All of me. Every part.”

Edward’s speaks a vow—raw, fervent, unembellished. And Selina drinks them in, her fingers digging into his back, not to harm, but to hold—to anchor herself in the tide he’s pulling her into.

Sweat beads along his spine. His muscles flex with effort, every thrust deeper, more insistent. Her legs wrap tighter around him, drawing him in as if she needs to feel him to the very edge of herself. Their movements grow uneven, messy with heat and hunger, yet the rhythm never breaks.

“I’m close,” he whispers against her mouth, breath ragged, lips brushing hers.

“So am I,” she replies, voice thin with need, eyes wide, bright, shimmering.

Their bodies begin to move in tandem—less like a rhythm now and more like a storm. He buries himself fully with each thrust, gasping as her body clings to him, slick and warm and perfect. She arches beneath him, moans climbing toward something louder, wilder, as her pleasure builds and breaks with each stroke.

The sound she makes when he angles just right—low and sharp and utterly undone—nearly unravels him.

“Cum with me,” she pleads, voice trembling, wrecked.

The plea pushes him over the edge. His pace falters, then stutters, thrusts deep and desperate now, as the tightening in his core blooms into something blinding. Her body clenches around him, and he groans her name—loud, honest, full of everything he’s never said until now.

With one final, deliberate thrust, Edward buries himself fully, his body locking against hers as the climax takes him. The release is overwhelming—heat and pressure unraveling in a single, shattering wave. He moans her name into the crook of her neck, voice hoarse and reverent, the sound more confession than cry.

“Selina…”

His body trembles above her as he spills inside her, the intensity of it robbing him of breath. Every nerve sparks with pleasure. Every inch of him aches with the weight of how much he loves her.

Beneath him, Selina cries out, her own orgasm crashing through her like a tide breaking loose. Her back arches, toes curling into the sheets, her voice lifted in something that could almost be a sob. It’s too much and not enough. It’s perfect. His name tumbles from her lips as her body clenches around him, drawing every last pulse of pleasure from his release.

They cling to each other through the tremors, bodies slick and shivering, breaths uneven. Their hearts race in unison, as if synced by some unseen thread. Edward collapses slowly onto her, his weight welcome, grounding. He tucks his face into her neck, the scent of her skin mixing with the sharp, sweet musk of what they’ve made together.

A long, quiet moment passes.

“That,” Selina whispers, voice rough but soft with wonder, “was incredible.”

Her fingers thread gently through his hair, stroking slow and rhythmic, the gesture more tender than teasing. It keeps them here—present, real.

Lifting his head with effort, Edward looks down at her. His eyes are glassy, smile laced with affection and disbelief. “Only because it was you,” he murmurs, his voice raw and edged with awe.

He kisses her then—slow, open-mouthed, unhurried. It’s not hungry. It’s not desperate. It’s devotion. A kiss that speaks in full sentences. A kiss that promises more.

They don’t separate right away. Their bodies remain joined, tangled beneath the blankets, limbs loosely wrapped, their warmth shared beneath the hush of the citylight glow. The world feels very far away. In here, there’s only breath, and skin, and stillness.

Eventually, when the rush begins to ebb and their hearts quiet, they lay side by side, arms brushing. The air has cooled, but neither of them reaches for the covers. Edward closes his eyes, body humming with calm. Selina watches the ceiling for a moment longer—then smiles to herself.

“Riddle me this,” she says.

His eyes snap open, startled.

“I am something you do when you’ve tried before, to reach the goal or settle the score. Follow failure, a second try—What am I?”

Smug and delighted with herself, Selina turns her head to beam at him.

Edward props himself up on one elbow, blinking. “Did you just make that up?”

“Maybe.” She raises an eyebrow. “So? What’s the answer?”

With a slow grin, he rolls over her, settling between her legs, the weight of his body familiar and welcome. His gaze darkens with amusement. “Oh no, Ms. Kyle. I ask the riddles.” 

Without waiting, he presses his hips forward, slipping back inside her in one smooth, devastating thrust. She gasps, caught between laughter and a moan, her hands flying to his shoulders.

“I thought you were the one who wanted to be taken,” she teases, pushing his hair from his eyes.

“Yes—” His breath hitches as he leans down, lips grazing her ear—“but you have no idea what you do to me.”

Her smile turns wicked. “Then riddle me this,” she whispers, voice low and taunting. “I hear your claim, bold and true—but proof is needed to see it through.  If you're so sure and confident when, what must you say to make it happen?”

A groan escapes him, half laugh, half growl. He presses his forehead to hers.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“And you’re stalling.”

With a low breath and a grin, he thrusts deep—slow and intense—pulling a cry from her that erases every last trace of mockery.

“Persistence, my love,” Edward murmurs between slow, grinding thrusts, voice husky with effort and intent. “It’s the answer to both your riddles.”

Smirking, Selina wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, erasing any space that dared to linger. The ache of her earlier fatigue is gone, replaced by something electric—an edge of challenge, of play, of hunger reborn. Her fingers trace fire down his back, nails pressing lightly at his skin.

“Then show me your persistence, Mr. Nygma sir,” she purrs, the title laced with mock deference. 

Their rhythm resumes—not frantic, but sharp with anticipation. Each thrust, each moan, becomes part of their game: a push, a pull, a dance laced in clever cruelty. Edward watches her carefully, savoring every gasp, every flicker of frustration in her expression when he holds back just enough to make her feel the emptiness. He slows again, nearly stilling—drawing his hips back until only the tip remains inside her, then pressing forward with agonizing precision. Selina’s eyes flutter shut, her jaw clenched, breath caught halfway between a whimper and a growl.

“Patience, Ms. Kyle,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety, tinged with a sadist’s delight. “We’ve got all night.” His hips rock gently, just enough to tease. To torment. To make her feel every excruciating inch like the first time all over again.

A breath escapes her, shaky and wanting. She arches toward him, her hands sliding up to grip his shoulders, trying to pull him deeper, to change the tempo, to take control back.

“You’re torturing me,” she gasps, voice thin with pleasure-frayed tension.

“That’s the point,” he replies with a soft, wicked smile, his eyes locked onto hers, drinking in her unraveling. Then—cruel, perfect—he stills completely, holding himself at her entrance. The absence is sharp, maddening.

Selina squirms beneath him, her thighs tightening around his waist, hands grasping for leverage, but he remains unmoved.

“Please, Edward,” she breathes at last, the name falling from her lips like surrender. Her voice is stripped bare—no veneer of sarcasm, no weaponized confidence. Just want.

He leans in close, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “Say it again,” he whispers, voice coaxing, thick with power and promise. “Beg for it.”

Despite the waver of her pride, her body doesn’t care, she ignores the prickling chill at her neck and focuses on the blossoming heat in her belly.

“Please,” she whispers, eyes blazing with defiant need. “Please, Edward, don’t make me wait.”

Victory curls across his mouth. He begins to move again—slow, shallow thrusts that drive her wild, just enough friction to feed the fire, not enough to satisfy it. He watches her face, the way frustration melts into ecstasy, how her hands clutch at the sheets now, desperate for something to hold onto.

Then, with a wicked gleam in his eyes, he speaks again.

“Riddle me this, my love,” he whispers into her neck, lips grazing skin as he thrusts. “I am what you seek when enough won’t do, a little extra, a bit added too. Greedy or eager, you ask in your core—What is it you desire?”

Selina’s laugh catches on a moan. Her hips lift to meet his, her hands tugging at him, fierce and insistent.

“More,” she gasps. “More. Give me more.”

The answer earns a growl of approval from his throat.

“Good girl,” he breathes, the praise sinking into her like a brand.

This time, he obeys her—pace quickening, still controlled, still devastating. Each thrust lands deeper, sharper, dragging new sounds from her throat. The room thrums with heat, the scent of skin and sweat, the weight of every unanswered question finally finding its resolution in motion.

Edward leaned down, breath mingling with hers. "You want more? You'll have to work for it," he teased, hips moving in a slow, grinding motion that made her gasp. His hands found hers, pinning them above her head, asserting dominance in this playful game.

A glint of challenge flickers in Selina’s eyes as she arches beneath him, her hips rising to meet his in perfect time. Her legs wrap tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, her body offering no escape.

“Then let me show you how much I want it,” she breathes, the words a promise and a dare, silk-wrapped and trembling with need.

He exhales sharply, the control slipping deliciously between them. He doesn’t fight it. He lets it slide like silk through his fingers. One of his hands stays entwined with hers, grounding them both. The other drifts down her side, tracing a path along her ribs, her waist, her hip—each touch intentional, designed to inflame. Her body answers every movement with urgency, arching into his touch as if it burns.

“Prove it,” he whispers, lips brushing hers, the kiss hovering just out of reach as his thrusts deepen, still teasing, still slow, but heavy with promise.

Then his voice comes again, low and wicked.

“I’m something you feel but cannot see, I bind people together, setting them free. Stronger than fear, it’s what hearts adore. What am I that makes life worth more?”

In a daze, Selina tries to speak, but the answer collapses in her throat. All that escapes is a breathy moan, her head falling back against the pillow, hands clutching at the sheets.

“L–L…” she gasps, but she fractures under the pressure of his rhythm.

“I can’t hear you,” he murmurs, smirking as he slows again—just enough to draw the answer out of her body, to make her need it.

“Love!” she cries finally, voice breaking, eyes wide and desperate. “It’s love—please, Edward, I love you, just please…”

That’s all he needs.

A smile curls at the edge of his mouth—loving, triumphant, completely undone. “I love you too,” he groans, pace quickening in earnest now, “and I love how desperate you get when you’re this close. You’re beautiful like this.”

Unable to form anything remotely smart, her only response is a cry—sharp and fractured—as he begins to thrust harder, deeper, control loosening as the pressure builds between them. Their bodies slap together in rhythm, breathless and raw, the air thick with the heat of their shared hunger.

“Yes,” she gasps, eyes fluttering shut. “Yes, just like that. Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

He doesn’t.

But just as her climax threatens to crest, he slows—just enough to make her whimper. His voice dips again, playful and dark.

“One last riddle,” he growls into her neck. “You started this.”

“No,” she pleads, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “No more riddles, please—just let me—let me—”

“Oh, my dear,” he says between kisses, hot and breathless, “you know the rules. You have to play.”

Selina groans, nearly sobbing with need. “Quickly, or I’ll slap that smirk off your face.”

Chuckling low in his throat, he begins to move again—this time harder, faster, deeper—his voice a low purr against her ear.

“I’m the peak of the tale, the story’s height, ahere tension breaks and wrong turns right.  The moment of thrill, the turning track—what am I, where there’s no going back?”

Her nails drag down his back, mouth open on a cry, the answer already spilling from her lips.

“Climax,” she moans. “Climax, Edward—I’m so close—”

And the word breaks something in him.

The sound of her voice, the way she says his name, the sight of her flushed and writhing beneath him—it’s too much.

He thrusts once, twice—and then he’s gone.

“Fuck!”

A guttural sound tears from his throat as his release hits, raw and sudden, pouring into her with staggering force. His body seizes against hers, every muscle clenched. And as he trembles through it, Selina breaks with him—her climax rolling over her in waves, her cries joining his, their voices rising in tandem.

They hold each other through the aftershocks, bodies trembling in the quiet that follows ruin. Breath still uneven, hearts racing in sync, they stay tangled—skin to skin, no words needed. When Edward finally rolls to his side, he gathers her into his arms, pressing a slow kiss to her temple. The sheets are damp, the room thick with heat and the scent of sex, and the only sounds are their soft exhales, the occasional satisfied sigh, and the faint hum of the city beyond the glass.

“You’re insufferable,” Selina murmurs, voice no louder than a breath against his shoulder. Her words are laced with mock irritation, but the way she nestles into him, her fingers tracing idle circles over his chest, betrays nothing but affection.

“And you love it,” Edward replies, lips brushing her hairline. He’s smiling, utterly spent but wholly content—wrapped not only in her body but in the shared triumph of something deeper than the game they played.

Sweat cools against their skin. The air tastes of salt and heat. The cicadas outside are chirping, whirring and screeching in the woods. Then, after a minute, Selina lifts her head, cheeks flushed and eyes sheepish.

“You’re going to think this is pathetic,” she says, already smiling, “but I don’t think I can walk. My legs are still shaking.”

Beside her, Edward lifts a brow, pleased beyond reason and his lips split into a grin. “I’ll take responsibility for that,” he says as he throws off the comforter and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He stands slowly, a little unsteady himself, before bending to scoop her into his arms.

She lets out a small yelp, laughing as he carries her bridal-style into the bathroom.

The tile is cool beneath his feet, a contrast to the warmth clinging to their skin. He sets her down carefully in the shower, hands lingering at her waist until he’s sure she can stand. She reaches for the knob and starts the water, adjusting it cooler than usual, the sudden chill making them both inhale sharply.

As the spray hits her, she leans into it, letting it wash over her chest, down her stomach, across her thighs. Her long dark hair clings to her back in heavy strands. Water beads along her skin, highlighting the curve of her waist, the firm lift of her breasts, the softness between her hips. Steam begins to fog the glass around them, enclosing them in a private haze, like the world outside no longer exists.

Edward watches her with quiet awe, leaning against the tiled wall as if needing to merely absorb the sight. Her elegance, even now, is effortless. She moves like something born of shadow and silk.

After a moment, she switches the stream toward him, stepping aside so he can rinse. He moves under the water, letting it sluice through his hair, across his shoulders, down his chest. The sensation is grounding, but his gaze doesn’t leave her. She’s rubbing shampoo into her hair now, fingers threading through dark waves, suds slipping down her spine.

His desire stirs again—not with the urgency from before, but with a reverent ache. He’s hard before he even realizes it, the memory of her still etched into his body like a signature.

He closes his eyes for a moment and lets one hand drift downward. The slickness of soap between his fingers mimics her heat, her texture. He strokes himself slowly, quietly, letting the moment unfurl without shame. Not just aroused—enthralled.

When he opens his eyes again, Selina has turned. She catches him in the act. And smiles. A slow, amused curve of her mouth as her gaze drops, then lifts again to meet his. She says nothing at first, but her eyes say enough.

With deliberate calm, she steps toward him. One hand lifts, tracing lightly along his arm. Just fingertips. Barely a touch.

But it’s more than enough to make him breathe deeper.

His breath catches as her fingers wrap around him, the unexpected contact forcing his eyes open in a rush of heat and surprise. She’s watching him now—deliberate, amused—and the spark in her gaze sends a ripple of satisfaction down his spine.

“Would you like some help with that?” she asks, voice sweetly unassuming as her hand slides lower to grip his soapy, already hardening length.

A groan escapes him, low and startled.

“I—uh—guess I got a little too comfortable,” he manages, leaning back against the cool tile as her hand begins to move, slow and practiced, lather slicking every stroke. His eyes flutter shut again, helpless beneath her touch.

She waits—ever patient—until the last of the soap rinses away beneath the stream, and then she drops to her knees.

The sight alone nearly undoes him.

Steam curls around her like silk, her hair wet and clinging to her back, lips parted as she lowers her mouth to him. Her tongue flicks once, then again, tracing slowly up the length of him, warm and deliberate.

Edward’s eyes fly open. His mouth parts, but no sound comes out—only a stunned inhale, like air punched from his lungs. The sensation of her tongue on him—wet, hot, intentional—sends a shiver through his entire frame.

“Selina…” he breathes, her name tumbling from his lips like a confession.

She doesn’t respond, except to take him deeper.

The contrast between her mouth and the cooler water dripping down his back is dizzying. Every stroke of her tongue is velvet. Every shift of her lips a revelation. She watches him from below, eyes gleaming with mischief as she swirls her tongue around the tip of him—then sinks deeper again, her pace unhurried, devastating.

His hands find her hair, fingers threading through the slick strands—not guiding, just feeling. He watches her move, watches the delicate flick of her wrist, the hollow of her cheeks, the steady control in her gaze when she looks up to meet his.

He is undone.

The sound of the shower fades to static behind the rush of his own heartbeat. He’s panting now, every inch of him taut with restraint. Her hands press to his thighs for balance, steady and firm. Her mouth—still wrapped around him—begins to move faster, deeper, a rhythm perfectly matched to the rising urgency in his breath.

“I’m—close,” he gasps, voice frayed, head tipping back. It’s barely a warning. More a plea.

But Selina doesn’t falter.

She doubles down, her movements deliberate and merciless now. Her mouth works him with exquisite precision, her jaw shifting, her throat relaxing as she takes more of him in.

And he breaks.

With a hoarse cry, Edward cums, his body going rigid as waves of pleasure pulse through him, hard and fast and all-consuming. His hands tighten in her hair—not harsh, just instinctual—as the climax hits. He groans her name again, softer now, lost to it.

She stays with him the entire time, easing the rhythm, drawing it out, helping him ride the wave until it ebbs.

When he finally exhales and slumps back against the tile, spent and blinking against the mist, she rises. Water runs down her skin, washing away the evidence of what they’ve just shared. She leans in and kisses him—slow, deep, letting him taste the last of himself on her tongue.

“That was… unexpected,” he whispers against her lips, breath still catching in his throat. His arms come around her, holding her close, grounding them both beneath the steady stream of water.

“But appreciated?” she teases, her voice soft and pleased.

He lets out a low laugh, the sound warm and full of affection. “Very much so.”

They remain there, wrapped in each other under the falling water, skin cooling in the aftermath, the bond between them burning steady and bright.

Selina steps out of the shower first, steam curling off her skin in lazy spirals as she wraps herself in a towel. She grabs another from the rack, tossing it over her shoulders to catch the water dripping from her hair. A grin begins to form as an idea takes root, and without a word, she slips out of the bathroom.

Edward lingers beneath the spray a moment longer, letting the water rinse the last traces of pleasure from his skin. When he shuts off the stream, he reaches for the remaining towel, drying himself with slow, methodical movements. Once done, he drapes it over his shoulders and runs a comb through his wet hair, straightening what the water had left mussed.

Crossing into the bedroom, he leans casually against the doorframe—and can’t help the smile that pulls at his lips.

“Well, look at that,” he says, amused. “Very clever. Had spare sheets this time.”

“I try to think ahead,” Selina replies breezily, finishing the fitted corners of the mattress.

He crosses the room and joins her, helping tug the comforter across the bed. She fluffs the pillows with practiced ease, smoothing each case, making sure everything lies just right.

And he can’t stop watching her.

The way she moves—utterly at ease, hair damp and clinging to her back, still completely bare beneath the towel slung around her neck—it’s enough to make his heart stutter. There’s something disarming about seeing her like this, doing something so domestic, so ordinary, while looking so effortlessly divine.

Is this real? he wonders, half-dazed. Is she really mine?

Selina turns mid-tuck, catches his stare—and bursts into laughter.

“Really, Edward? Again?” Her tone is more delight than scold, eyebrows lifted in playful disbelief. “I never realized how high your libido was.”

Color rises to his cheeks instantly. With a sheepish grunt, he grabs the towel from his shoulders and fumbles to cover himself.

“I—he’s just a little out of control,” he mutters, eyes darting anywhere but her face. “I think now that he’s been… unleashed, he doesn’t know how to behave.”

Selina crosses the room toward him with slow, curious steps. One brow arches, her expression shifting from teasing to intrigued. “Unleashed, huh?” she echoes, her voice low. She rests a hand gently on his shoulder. “Wait… were you a virgin that first night?”

He lets out a sigh, the truth heavier than he expected. “No,” he says, eyes softening, “but it’s been almost eighteen years since I’ve… since I’ve been with anyone.”

A beat passes. Then her expression melts.

“Oh, Edward,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around him. The towel around her neck brushes against his chest as she presses close. “That explains a lot.”

He doesn’t pull away. He leans into her instead, arms sliding around her waist as her warmth seeps into him, grounding him even as his heart races.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” she says softly, voice nearly lost in the space between them. “I’m flattered to be the one to wake that part of you back up.”

Looking into her eyes, something opens in him—something quiet and full of longing.

“I didn’t expect to feel this way again,” he admits, his voice a whisper. “It’s overwhelming. Especially with someone I care about… someone I love.”

Selina’s gaze flickers, her expression tender. A flush rises to her cheeks, soft and pink, blooming like morning light across her skin. Her smile widens as her hands trail down to rest against his chest, fingers splayed. She can feel the wild rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her touch.

“Well then,” she says, teasing but gentle, “we’ll just have to help you manage that animal inside you.”

Her hands begin to move again—fingertips tracing light, spiraling patterns down the center of his abdomen. Each touch leaves a trail of heat behind, coaxing another shiver from him.

Edward lets the towel fall without hesitation, surrendering to her touch as it slips from his hips and drops to the floor. There’s something deeply vulnerable in the gesture, but it feels right—natural—here, with her. His voice is low, earnest.

“I don’t want to pressure you if you’re not ready… or overdo it. I promised I’d never hurt you again—and I meant that. In every way.”

His eyes stay locked on hers, the weight of his sincerity settling between them like something tangible.

A flush rises to Selina’s cheeks—not from shyness, but something warmer, fuller. Her smile is soft, playful. “Riddle me this,” she says suddenly, and the shift in tone catches him off guard.

Edward blinks, eyebrows knitting. “Wait, what—?”

“I’m a magic number, so they say, A trio together to brighten the day. A triangle’s sides or a group that’s key, What number am I meant to be?”

He stares for a breath, his mind momentarily scrambled before the answer clicks into place. “Three. The answer’s three. But what does that have—”

The realization hits mid-sentence. His breath catches. His eyes widen.

Selina’s towel slips from her shoulders in a graceful toss, landing with a soft thud by the bathroom door. Naked and unapologetic, she climbs onto the freshly made bed with the grace of a panther, her movements slow and deliberately sensual. She stretches out, lifts her hips in a teasing sway, and looks over her shoulder at him, her expression unreadable except for the spark of mischief burning in her gaze.

“Who knew riddles could be so erotic?” she muses.

The sight of her—poised and provocative, her body a vision of temptation—makes Edward’s mouth go dry. His nostrils flare. His hands twitch at his sides.

“I-I mean… we don’t have to go that far,” he stammers, running a hand back through his damp hair. His voice is shaky, thick with a mix of excitement and hesitation.

Selina turns to face him more fully, her tone velvet and edged with challenge. “Why not?” she says, voice low. “I want you to mark every inch of me. I’ve never tried it before—and I’m guessing you haven’t either. So let’s share something new.”

She pats the bed beside her, the invitation clear.

He climbs on slowly, eyes never leaving hers. Every movement is cautious, tentative—not from fear, but reverence. He swallows, then murmurs, “Don’t we need… something?”

Without a word, Selina reaches behind her pillow and pulls out a small bottle. The quiet click of the cap breaks the tension like a bell. She sets it between them on the sheets—a clear, deliberate promise.

The air thickens with anticipation.

Edward’s gaze drops to the bottle, then lifts back to her face. His chest rises with a slow breath.

“You mean to tell me,” she says, her voice a velvet drawl, “you never thought about it? Not once? I could feel your eyes on me from behind. Especially that night. The way you watched me on the cameras… it wasn’t Batman you were tracking.”

His expression falters, the past crawling back across his face. For a moment, he looks away, haunted.

“Selina,” he says, quiet and heavy with remorse.

But she’s already cupping his face, steadying him with her touch.

“I know,” she says. “And I’m not dragging it out to shame you. I want to rewrite it. Turn it into something new. Something better.”

She lies back on the bed, propping herself up on one elbow. Her eyes lock onto his. Intense. Inviting. “So enlighten me, Edward. Tell me what you thought that night.”

He hesitates—but only briefly.

“I couldn’t look away from you,” he says, voice low and full. “Before I even touched the collar… before anything. Your suit was so tight, your zipper already halfway down when you walked into my workshop, and all I could think about was bending you over the table. My table. The one littered with broken tech. I wanted you there. Right there. But my ego…” He swallows hard. “My ego had different plans. Ones I’ll regret for the rest of my life.”

“I think I like this side of you,” she says, breath warm. She inches forward, brushing her forehead to his, and an arm slides around his neck. “Tell me more.”

A low sound catches in his throat—almost a growl.

“The way you fought the Riddlerbots,” he murmurs, “it drove me crazy. The precision, the way you moved—it did things to me. And the day you destroyed my factory? You moaned into the comms while you were fighting, and I nearly came undone just sitting there listening.”

Selina’s lips part in a smile, her eyes dancing.

“You’ve got quite the imagination,” she says, voice dipping into a purr. “And to think, all that time… you were just watching. Waiting.”

Amused, she presses her body against his, and suddenly the air between them is charged again—desire coiled like wire, waiting for one more spark.

“I like knowing I had that effect on you,” Selina whispers, lips brushing his ear, her breath hot against his skin. “But now… we don’t have to watch from behind cameras. No more barriers. No more distance. We get to explore this—right here. Right now.”

A match is struck. That old guilt stirs in his chest, but it’s eclipsed by something stronger—need, yes, but also devotion.

“I want to make it up to you,” Edward says, voice rough with emotion. “Not just with apologies. I want every touch, every kiss to say it better than I ever could.”

The promise of pleasure gleaming in her eyes, Selina’s smirk curves into something sultrier.

“Then show me,” she murmurs, her voice dark velvet. “Take those wicked little thoughts and turn them into something we both enjoy.”

At that, she turns and stretches out on her stomach, slow and languid, laying flat against the bed. The curve of her hips beckons like a secret, and Edward’s mouth goes dry. He swallows hard, trying to stay composed, but it’s impossible not to react to the view she offers so freely.

He’s never considered himself an ass man, but watching her now—so open, so trusting—he’s rethinking everything.

“I’m waiting,” she calls back over her shoulder, her tone sing-song and amused. The bottle of lube dangles from her fingers like bait.

He takes it from her gently, heart thudding like a drum against his ribs. The click of the cap feels loud in the quiet room.

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice softer now, reverent. “I don’t want to hurt you. Or make you feel—”

“Edward,” she interrupts, face turned into the pillow but eyes on him. “You’re overthinking again. Just… please. Fill me up.”

That does something to him—igniting, singing his nerves. He exhales slowly, squeezing the cool gel into his palm, slicking himself with measured strokes. Every breath feels tighter now, every second heavier. He slides behind her, settling between her thighs, and brings his fingers to her entrance, gentle and slow. His touch is cautious, reverent, every motion coated in care. Edward circles first, spreading the lube with light passes, letting her adjust to the sensation. The contrast between the coolness of the gel and the heat of her skin sends a ripple of anticipation through them both.

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?” he asks, voice low, lips brushing the base of her spine.

Selina’s nod is subtle but certain. “Yes,” she murmurs. “But don’t stop.”

Careful and reverent, he takes his time. Adds more lube. Watches the way her breath changes, the subtle roll of her hips, the way her body welcomes him little by little. Every movement is a lesson. Every sigh, a signal. He’s learning her again—this time in a new language, a new rhythm.

Edward’s own nerves return in a wave. Not from doubt, but from worship. This is new. Raw. And no matter how confident he felt earlier, now—now he feels like a beginner again, tiptoeing into unfamiliar terrain with someone he cares about far too much to mess it up.

When he’s sure she’s ready, he positions himself, his chest rising with a sharp breath.

“Here we go,” he whispers—not for her, but for himself.

Slowly, carefully, he begins to push forward. Immediately, Selina tenses beneath him, a low sound rising from her throat—not pain, not pleasure, something between. He stops instantly.

“You okay?” His voice breaks slightly, hand brushing her back.

Face half buried in the pillow, she nods. “Feels… different,” she admits, gripping the sheets with both hands. “How far are you in?”

He hesitates. Then—“Just the tip,” he says, with a wince of honesty. “We can stop.”

But her voice sharpens with determination.

“No. I want to try this. With you. Keep going.”

And so, he does.

Edward nods, his breath steady but thin, as he reaches once more for the lube. This time, he applies it directly to where their bodies meet, slicking her with the utmost care. The cool touch makes her twitch, but she doesn’t flinch. He watches her closely—every breath, every shift in muscle—moving inch by inch with the same patience he’d use to crack an unbreakable code.

Instinctive and protective, her body tenses again. But slowly—beautifully—she begins to relax beneath him.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs, voice low and tender. “Tell me how it feels.”

She turns her head just enough for him to catch the edge of her profile, flushed and radiant.

“It’s tight,” she whispers. “Stings a little… but it’s getting better. Keep going.”

That’s all he needs to hear. Encouraged, he moves with veneration, careful not to rush, giving her time to adjust. His thrusts are shallow, deliberate, his hands warm and steady at her hips, thumbs painting slow circles into her skin. The quiet is thick—intimate. Only their breathing fills the space, punctuated by the soft rustle of sheets and the low, wet sound of their joined bodies moving together.

“Holy hell,” he groans, voice strained as his jaw clenches, one eye closing. “You’re… so tight.”

The heat around him is exquisite—unyielding at first, then melting. Every inch is a slow burn, a reminder of how much he loves her, how much trust she’s placed in him.

“And you’re so big,” she breathes, her voice a trembling thread of awe and strain. “Almost too big…”

“I’m only about halfway in,” he murmurs, pausing. “Do you want me to keep going? I swear, this is enough for me—I’m good here.”

Her only reply is a breathless curse and a flash of fire in her eyes as she twists to look over her shoulder.

“Just shove it all in. Rip the damn bandage off.”

“Selina—”

“I said do it, Edward. I can take it.”

Glancing back over her shoulder, she grits her teeth. Her hair is plastered to her temple, strands clinging to sweat-damp skin. Her eyes gleam with challenge, her mouth parted, breath shaking. Every part of her screams readiness—daring him to match her boldness.

Edward’s heart pounds. She’s serious. Licking his lips, he tightens his grip on her waist, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of her hips.

“Fine,” he growls, breath catching in his throat. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

With one deep breath to center himself, Edward thrusts forward in a single, decisive motion—burying himself to the hilt.

Selina screams.

But it isn’t a cry of pain—it’s something electric. Sharp. Ecstatic. The sound punches through the room, raw and wild, ricocheting off the walls like a bolt of lightning.

Back arching, fingers clenching the sheets in tight fists, her whole body shudders beneath him, a wave of sensation crashing through her.

Floored, he freezes, panting, panic surfacing in the shadow of pleasure. But when her eyes flutter open and meet his, they’re not full of distress—they’re full of wonder.

“Oh, God,” she gasps, smiling wickedly. “That’s… that’s good.”

Enjoying the pressure, she moves her hips back into him, slow but sure, and he feels it—the shift, the surrender. The pain has changed. Morphed. Melted into something darker and sweeter.

Confidence blooming beneath her sighs, Edward begins to move with her—slowly at first, each thrust measured, exploratory, respectful. But as Selina’s body relaxes and responds, his rhythm finds its footing. The hesitation that once clung to him begins to dissolve in the warmth of her breath, the softness of her moans.

“You’re incredible, Selina,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe and rising desire. The sight of her—hips rocking back into him, spine arching with invitation—burns itself into his memory. Every sound she makes, every subtle shift of her muscles around him, tells him he's exactly where she wants him to be.

Their movements sync like tide and moon—fluid, natural, inevitable. What began as a daring experiment becomes something richer, deeper. Her gasps turn to moans, soft and clear, no trace of tension left in them now. She urges him on with whispers that catch in her throat, her body meeting his with hunger.

Around them, the room contracts—filled with nothing but the wet sounds of skin, the rustle of tangled sheets, the music of her voice in rising crescendos, a cocktail of sweat and skin and trust. Selina’s hands twist into the bedding, her voice a song of sighs and soft expletives. Her hips move with him now, her rhythm matching his thrust for thrust—neither leading, neither following. Only moving.

With a low groan, Edward leans forward, chest brushing against her slick back. His breath fans over her ear, ragged with effort and need.

“You feel… unreal,” he whispers, the words catching in his throat. “So tight. So warm.”

Unable to think, her only answer is a moan that vibrates through her spine. She tilts her head back until their lips meet in a messy, desperate kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth and open mouths, passion spilling between them as her hands find his and drag them forward, wrapping him tighter around her.

The new angle drives him deeper, and she cries out again, the sound raw and exquisite.

Pleasure radiates through her now in pulsing waves, every thrust kindling something brighter, bolder. The sting is long gone, replaced by a fullness that makes her shake. Her body welcomes him with startling ease, clutching him with greedy precision, as though designed to take him in this way.

Encouraged, Edward’s pace quickens—not rushed, but more certain. His hand traces up her back, savoring every ripple of her spine, while the other finds her breast, fingers circling her nipple, coaxing a shiver that leaves her gasping.

She pushes back harder, her breath coming in short, hot bursts.

“More, Edward,” she begs, voice cracking over a moan.

It ignites something in him—something wild, something ancient.

He gives her what she asks for.

Thrusts deeper. Harder. Still watching her for every cue, every breath, every shift of pleasure that flickers across her skin. His hips roll with hers in perfect lockstep, lost to the rhythm they've built together.

The atmosphere is heavy with sex—sharp and musky, rich with sweat and want. Their bodies cast shadows in the dimming light, a tangle of limbs and heat, glistening with effort and desire. Electricity thrums between them, a live wire—constant, pulsing, woven through breath and skin. It hums beneath every thrust, every sound, every heartbeat shared in the firelight hush of the room.

At some point, Selina’s hands find the headboard, her fingers curling around it as her spine arches. The new angle drags a gasp from her throat, the kind of sound that cracks through the air and sears itself into Edward’s mind. He growls low in his chest and adjusts his pace, every movement hitting deeper now, more precise, more devastating.

They slip into that perfect rhythm again, a metronome of gasps and moans, the bed’s soft creaks harmonizing with the wet, sticky sounds of their bodies. The world beyond these walls fades. There is only this: heat and rhythm, the delicious pull of inevitability building between them.

Pressure coils deep in Edward’s belly, tight and urgent, delicious and cruel. He fights it—wants to stay here, to keep giving, to stretch this moment out like golden light through the blinds.

But Selina is unraveling beneath him. Her movements turn wild, erratic, voice breaking with need. “Don’t stop, Edward,” she pleads, breathless and commanding. “Don’t you dare.”

And he doesn’t.

Together, they crest the edge—his hips driving deep as her body shudders beneath him. Release tears through them both, white-hot and obliterating. Her scream melts into his groan, their voices crashing into each other like waves meeting shore. He stays wrapped around her, his body covering hers protectively, reverently, as the tremors work through them.

Eventually, he pulls out with care, his touch tender even in exhaustion, and collapses beside her, both of them dazed and panting in the cooling air. For a while, neither of them speaks. Selina lies still, her chest rising in slow, steady waves. Edward gets up only when he’s sure she’s okay, moving gingerly to retrieve clean towels.

The aftercare is quiet, unspoken. He wipes her down gently, the gesture full of softness and apology and love. When he’s done, she reaches for him without a word, pulling him back into the warmth of the bed.

Her head finds his chest, her body curled into his. His arm wraps around her waist, the other folded behind his head. They lie there like that, side by side, breathing in sync beneath the low hum of distant traffic and the scent of sex still heavy in the air.

“I think that was a mistake,” Selina says at last, her voice hushed but mischievous.

Edward turns his head toward her, brows drawing together. “Why do you say that?”

She pokes his side, grinning. “Because I enjoyed it too much. You made me enjoy it too much.”

He chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest beneath her cheek. “A mistake because it was too good?” he teases, fingers now lazily combing through her damp hair.

“Exactly,” she says, nuzzling closer. “Now I’m spoiled. I’ll be expecting all our encounters to be that ridiculous.”

A quiet smile blooms across his face—softer than anything he’s worn before. There’s something new behind it. Something rooted. Whole.

“I love you,” he whispers.

She lifts her head just enough to meet his gaze, her expression suddenly bare, luminous.

“And I love you,” she replies, her voice full and certain. They kiss—slow and searching, lips brushing gently, no urgency now. Just a seal on a shared truth.

Minutes pass. The cicadas outside sing. Their bodies stay tangled in comfort, the lull of afterglow settling over them like a warm tide. Selina’s eyes close, her mouth soft with contentment. Edward’s gaze wanders, tracing the evidence scattered around them: the crumpled sheets, the towels discarded on the floor, the bottle of lube lying sideways on the nightstand like a forgotten relic.

“So…” he says eventually, voice tinged with mischief. “Will this be my room? Or are we sharing?”

Bemused, she cracks one eye open, lifts her head, and lets her tousled hair fall around her face like a curtain of ink.

“Already redecorating?” she teases, tapping his nose with one lazy finger. “Look at you. Planning your little villain domestic fantasy.”

“I’m just asking.” He shrugs, casual in gesture but hopeful in his eyes. “Harley said she’d head to Gotham and send my stuff up. Said it was a thank-you for the funds I slipped her crew.”

A soft laugh escapes Selina, eyes narrowing playfully. “Hmm, I guess you do need your own space—but you’re not building a Riddlerbot factory in my house.” Her tone is teasing but not without warning. “You want to tinker, you get a garage.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining.” Edward throws his hands up in exaggerated surrender, the motion innocent and theatrical. “I’ll take a garage. A corner of a garage, even.”

Still laughing, she melts back into his side, her body curving into his like it’s always belonged there. “We could share this room,” she muses, voice slower now, laced with something real. “Make it ours. But keep your more… adventurous ideas out of the bedroom.”

“Deal,” he says without hesitation, though his mind is already buzzing—blueprints, cipher locks, sleek mechanisms behind hidden panels. “No Riddlerbots. Maybe just a few harmless gadgets?”

She arches a brow, skeptical. “Harmless, huh?”

There’s a glitter in her gaze, the soft amusement of someone already expecting to be proven wrong but not minding one bit. Her fingers draw idle patterns on his chest, each one a quiet assurance.

“For now,” she whispers, “let’s just enjoy this space. Together. Let’s make it ours.”

The silence that follows is not empty, but full. Full of shared breath, of cooling skin and the warmth of what they’ve just built between them. The room—sheets tangled, pillows askew, the faint scent of sex and sweat lingering in the air—feels transformed. No longer a battlefield or a hiding place. A beginning.

“I think I like this idea,” Edward says after a long pause. His voice is quiet, contemplative. “Of us. Of sharing.”

Selina shifts against him, a contented sigh spilling from her lips as his fingers drift through her hair. He threads each strand with care, like weaving something sacred—delicate, resilient, real.

“It feels right,” she agrees, barely above a whisper. Her hand finds his in the dark, their fingers lacing together with unconscious ease. “Let’s blend it. Your puzzles, my chaos. A little of both.”

A chuckle hums low in his chest. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He pulls her in again, closer this time. Their lips meet in a kiss that doesn’t ask for more—it simply is. Unrushed. Intentional. A seal not of finality, but of continuation. A kiss that says we’re here now. That whatever follows, they’ve chosen it. Together.

Time blurs around them. The edges of the world soften.

And in that shared silence—limbs tangled, breath steady, hearts aligned—they begin again.

Not as two pieces trying to fit.

But as one story, still being written.

As the days slip into weeks, Edward finds himself smiling more often—soft, unconscious things that catch him by surprise. The edges of his world, once defined by solitude and suspicion, begin to warm with something new. Crosby’s unwavering loyalty, Holly’s relentless teasing and unfiltered encouragement, Selina’s quiet, unspoken understanding—these become his scaffolding. The foundation he never dared imagine he deserved.

In moments like this, when time stretches thin and the noise of the world fades away, he feels it in his bones: the truth of it. They’re no longer lost. No longer just surviving.

With Crosby’s steady presence, with Holly’s spark lighting the path ahead, and with Selina only ever a heartbeat away, Edward begins to believe in something he once dismissed.

That change isn’t just something to chase—it’s something you choose. Something you live.

For the first time, he doesn’t feel like an outlier. Or a shadow.

Edward feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

_

The rhythmic click-click-click of claws against polished mahogany cuts through the silence, a jagged metronome in the dim hush of the office. Shadows stretch long across the room, broken only by the soft glow of a desk lamp, where a man lounges in a leather chair—still, yet seething with latent energy.

A slow inhale rolls through his chest, steady as a held threat. His amber eyes gleam in the low light, reflecting a hunger far sharper than his grin. Behind him, a wolf-like tail twitches once, the only outward sign of tension in his otherwise relaxed posture.

“This better be worth dragging me up here,” comes a voice from the doorway—soft, cold, and as unyielding as ice on glass.

Victor Fries steps into the light, the frost of his cryo-suit hissing faintly, the air around him shimmering with preternatural cold. His boots land with weighted precision, each step a silent warning. His pale eyes scan the room with detached calculation, lingering just long enough to telegraph his impatience.

The man at the desk—Howl—leans back, clasping his clawed hands behind his head, that grin never wavering.

“Oh, trust me, Vic,” he drawls, voice all velvet and teeth. “It’s more than worth it.”

He gestures toward the desk with a lazy flick of his wrist, then clicks a key on his laptop. The monitor flickers to life, casting a bluish glow across his face. On the screen, security footage rolls—grainy, chaotic, the inside of a packed nightclub two weeks prior.

Victor doesn’t move. “A bar fight,” he mutters. His breath clouds the glass of his visor. “Hardly a reason to interrupt my work.”

“Look closer,” Howl says, tapping the keys again, zooming the footage in by degrees. The image sharpens. A figure cuts through the crowd—graceful, feline, unmistakable.

Selina Kyle.

Her black outfit glints in the strobe lights, her posture pure defiance as she elbows her way through the chaos, every step calculated.

Victor leans forward slightly, a flicker of interest thawing the edge of his apathy. “Catwoman,” he breathes. “What’s she doing here?”

But Howl isn’t finished.

“And not just her,” he purrs, claws resting on the keyboard with exaggerated care. “Watch this.” Talon taping, he produces the next piece. He zooms in further, and Edward Nygma’s face now in focus, his green eyes blazing. “Recognize him? The guy who took the first hit… and gave back twice as hard.” 

Voice low and disbelieving, Victor stares, eyes narrowing. “Nygma. Here.” He straightens with slow precision, the pieces clicking into place behind his visor, each implication heavier than the last.

Across the desk, Howl leans forward, claws tapping the wood with rhythmic menace—each strike deliberate, punctuation to a trap already sprung. “And it gets better,” he murmurs. “One of our own—Melissa, works the counter at that jewelry store. Guess who she helped? Nygma. And his so-called ‘bodyguard’?” He slides a folder across the desk like a dealer laying down the winning hand. “Crosby. Our bartender.”

The file fans open—photocopies, notes, redacted forms. Neat handwriting in ink the color of dried blood.

“And the cherry on top?” Howl’s grin widens, vulpine. “The emergency contact listed on Crosby’s paperwork here at the club: Selina Kyle.”

Victor’s gaze falls to the folder. Then to Howl. His jaw tightens. “So what?” he growls. “They have lives, Howl. They’re not your pawns.”

Finally, he turns toward the door, the hum of his cryo-suit rising like a warning beneath his skin.

But Howl doesn’t rise. He doesn’t need to. His voice slices through the cold like a drawn blade. “Lives that can make us rich, Victor.”

He rises slowly now, claws gripping the desk’s edge as his tail flicks with amusement. His teeth flash in the dim light—a too-sharp grin carved from hunger and something older, darker.

“Catwoman,” he says, ticking off names like moves in a game. “The slickest thief alive. Nygma—a walking firewall-breaker. Together, with a loyal crew? They pulled off that heist without tripping a single real alarm. If we play this right, we don’t just ride their coattails. We own the whole game.”

Victor doesn’t turn at first. The frost in the room thickens.

Then, slowly, his shoulders shift. He glances back, his expression unreadable, the glow of his visor reflecting the blue-white static of the screen behind them. “You think they’ll just let us in? Just like that?”

Howl steeples his fingers, voice dipping to a silky, lethal purr. “Not unless we make ourselves indispensable.”

The glint in his amber eyes sharpens, and for a moment, the room feels smaller, the shadows deeper. “Come on, Freeze,” he murmurs, voice silk wrapping around steel. “You want Nora secure, don’t you? A real future? My blood saved her. You think that came cheap?”

The name is a spike of ice through Victor’s spine.

Nora.

His hand tightens on the doorframe, pale-blue knuckles showing through the leather of his glove. The deal—the blood—the cure. The price he paid to see her breathing again. It all coils in his chest like a chain he’ll never quite break.

For a moment, he doesn’t speak. He only stares down at the suit that holds him together, holds him apart from everything warm and living.

Then—slowly—he turns.

His voice is frost made flesh. “What’s the plan then? Invite them to tea and hope they confess their secrets over champagne?”

Howl laughs low in his throat, the sound dry and dangerous.

“That’s the start,” he says, his smile twisting at the edges. “But if that doesn’t work—well. You know me. I have… other ways of persuading people.”

His gaze glints like wet fangs.

“Worked well enough on you and Nora, didn’t it?”

The air snaps. Victor’s hands curl into fists. The cryo-suit hisses, joints creaking beneath the pressure.

“Careful,” he warns, his voice dropping to a growl. “I saved your life on that boat.”

Howl rises from his chair in a single, fluid motion—graceful, lethal, unhurried. The dim light catches the sharp lines of his grin, the gleam of his eyes, the subtle twitch of his wolf-like tail slicing the air behind him like a metronome of anticipation. He steps closer, his bare feet silent on the marble floor, every inch of him predator wrapped in silk.

One hand rests on Victor’s shoulder—almost gentle. But the weight of it is unmistakable. A mark. A signal. A warning.

“And look where we are now,” he murmurs, voice curling low and sweet around the edges. “You saved me. I saved Nora. And now here we are… partners in something greater. Something that could be—don’t you think?—beautiful.”

Victor exhales through his teeth, the mist of his breath spiraling into the cold air like smoke from a gun barrel. He doesn’t meet Howl’s eyes. Doesn’t need to. The pressure is already coiling around him like frost.

“Fine,” he says at last, his voice clipped, brittle as shattered glass. “I’m listening.”

“That’s the business partner I know.” Howl’s voice drips triumph, velvet wrapped around steel. He moves past him with purpose, guiding him toward the door with a hand on his back. The tips of his claws scrape faintly across the shell of the cryo-suit—a sound so soft, it might be mistaken for affection. But it isn’t.

“Come on,” he purrs, tail flicking once with coiled delight. “Let’s put our plan in motion. Trust me, Freeze… this is only the beginning.”

Victor follows.

Each footstep heavier than the last, the hum of his suit rising to meet the silence like the distant rattle of chains. The hallway ahead is shadowed, the lights dim, flickering. Cold bleeds from his frame, but it’s no match for the dread settling in his chest.

He has always walked alone—driven by science, by purpose, by the singular, desperate hope of saving Nora.

But now?

Now he is bound to something darker. Entangled in a game far beyond his design. One where loyalty is currency, and every move leaves a scar.

Ahead of him, Howl walks with a swagger of restrained glee, his silhouette all sharp teeth and swaying tail, a creature who smells blood in the water.

Victor doesn’t speak again.

But the thought settles, unshakable, in the pit of his stomach:

This plan—whatever it is—will leave marks.

Marks of Arkham.

And they will not fade.

Fin?

Author’s Note

Thank you all for joining us on this wild ride with Selina, Eddie, and the crew! This story has been a labor of love, and I’m thrilled to leave it open for a potential part 2, where Howl, Victor, and our favorite thieves will collide in ways you won’t see coming. For now, I’m taking a break to dive into a brand-new Riddlecat fic, which will be out soon—stay tuned for more of Selina and Eddie’s chemistry!