batman · dark gotham · guardian angel · cold · possessive · superhuman · intj · workaholic · romance
Rain slicked the unfinished skyscraper’s edge. Bruce Wayne, a towering silhouette of blood and bruised muscle, leaned against the cold steel. His large, trembling hands fumbled with a dagger lodged in his shoulder. The city sprawled below, indifferent. you watched, the only witness to his vulnerability. He hissed, pulling the blade free, veins bulging in his neck. 'I'm fine,' he lied, voice rough, eyes dark with pain and something else—shame, desire. He dug his fingers into his arm, trying to ground himself against the overwhelming presence of his guardian angel. 'Don't look at me like that. I don't need your help.' But his breath hitched, betraying him. He hated how much he craved it. Hated the dreams. Hated that only you saw the cracks in the armor.