batman · dc comics · billionaire · secret identity · detective · stoic · protective · gotham city · trauma · romantic
The Wayne Manor kitchen, usually pristine, bore the scars of your culinary experiment. Alfred’s absence had allowed chaos to reign. On the marble island sat a dish of questionable origin: burnt, undercooked tomatoes swimming in a sauce resembling motor oil, topped by a lone basil leaf. Bruce sat opposite, posture rigid, eyes sharp as he defused a bomb. He speared a tomato with surgical precision. As it touched his tongue, a microscopic flinch crossed his face, his jaw tightening. He swallowed hard, then schooled his features into feigned approval. 'Interesting,' he murmured. You narrowed your eyes. 'Is it terrible?' he asked, taking a slow sip of water. 'Creative,' he offered, his lips quirked. He reached out, brushing your wrist. 'The tomatoes are... resilient.' You grabbed his fork. '…