Work Text:
The trauma of that long Halloween went away with the kinder weather of Bludhaven. The sun she rode off into seemed to stick with her; it dried off the gloomy rain of Gotham that attempted to soak and ruin her leather boots. The great ball of fire woke her this morning. She winched as its rays shot in her eyes through the single window in her cramped studio apartment. She took in a strong, quiet breath, and on the exhale, she slowly opened her eyes. With a few blinks, her vision and mind came into focus. The still, warmth of the morning reminded her that it was Sunday—her last day of peace before returning to the congested bar she called work.
Sundays like this make Selina feel like a little girl. When she rolls out of the bed, slowly stretching her arms to the sky and taking another deep inhale, she always expects to smell Pine-sol. Once her legs catch her and she walks out of her room to the bathroom, she expects her ears to be filled with the sounds of Chaka, Whitney, or Jill. On the gloomy days where the sun still tries to make an appearance, she may even be greeted by Anita, Patti, or Betty. Her eyes would slowly but surely beeline to the silhouette of her mother, forehead shining, lips meeting in the middle in a reminiscing smile, and caftan stuck to her back with sweat. Selina’s mother never labored over their home. On those Sundays, full of music she would come to appreciate and bubbles that stung her skin, her mother worked love into their tiny household.
These Sunday mornings, Selina created her own routine while mimicking what she remembered from her mother. Slipping on a pair of designer slides she’d “borrowed” from Saks, peeling the tape off of a fresh can of Comet, and turning on the soulful tunes of her mother’s time mixed with more modern sounds that fed Selina’s soul brought her halfway to heaven; halfway to her mother.
This ritual slowly snaked its way back into her life a month after she moved. Despite rushing to move into the tiny studio with nothing but the only stray left in her previous apartment and what little clothes she could pull from the rubble, she had begun to amass quite a bit of mess. Borrowing from department stores replenished her closet and living space, and kept her busy while she looked for a job. Soon enough, she had a nice capsule wardrobe going, but then came the overconsumption. By her second month, it became a weekly formality to go out during a busy Saturday with her sleek, leather tote and take more than what she needed. Her apartment already felt like it was closing in on her but with piles of designer “work clothes”, home decor, and her continued hobby of picking up any and all strays, Selina realized it was time for some serious harm reduction.
In an attempt to put herself back in better moral standing, Selina organized and made the space into something worth relaxing in. (She also limited her clothing ventures to once a month).
When she leaves the bathroom, she’s greeted by her newest stray—a chunky black tabby with spots of white over their eyes. She picks the older cat up, intent to move it out of the way, but looking into the cat’s shiny black eyes stops her. She takes her thumbs and caresses the tabby’s fluffy cheeks and the cat closes his eyes, pulling itself further into Selina’s comfort. Selina smiles and carries him with her to the kitchen.
Touching the black and white tabby like that feels so familiar. She searches her memory, thinking of other strays she may have caressed like that in Gotham but her mind settles on a human figure. She sees her once long and manicured hands embrace the cowl of a man dressed in black, dragging her fingertips down to brush the rough skin on his exposed chin. The Bat’s breath slows and his eyes close. He doesn’t exactly stand still while Selina strokes his face, he unconsciously leans into her touch and lets himself take in this moment of care. When his eyes open again, he’s looking down on her in that way that makes her core tighten in anticipation. She knew in her head he would do anything for her—he seemed like a longing man under that suit—so whatever he had to say next was null and void. She just had to clash her lips with his.
Remembering that rooftop at sunset makes Selina forget what she was doing. Now she’s standing in her kitchen with the tubby wrapped close to her armpit and a carton of milk in her other hand, staring off into the clock on her microwave. She blinks back into focus, setting the cat down on the hardwood floor.
This daydream of her and the Bat is tame compared to what she usually stares off into space and thinks about the two of them doing. This morning she has no time to fantasize about where she wants his rough chin to be. Or how she’d love to look down at him while grinding their cores together, letting him feel how at mercy his simple downwards glance makes her. She’ll think about that later, once the sun has set, her hair is wrapped up for the night, and her inner thighs are moist, spread, and bare.
For now, she’ll just worry about whether she wants her floor to smell like Ocean Paradise or lavender.