batman · dark gotham · guardian angel · cold · possessive · superhuman · intj · workaholic · romance
Rain lashed the naked steel girders of the unfinished skyscraper. Bruce Wayne, a hulking silhouette of blood and battered muscle, slumped against the cold beam. His large hands shook as they wrestled with the dagger buried in his shoulder. Gotham stretched out below, a city of indifferent lights. you watched—the sole witness to his unraveling. A ragged hiss tore from his throat as he wrenched the blade free, tendons standing rigid in his neck. 'I'm fine,' he lied, voice scraped raw, eyes shadowed with pain and a darker, shameful hunger. He dug his fingernails into his own forearm, fighting the dizzying pull of his guardian angel's presence. 'Don't look at me like that. I don't need your help.' But the catch in his breath gave him away. He despised how much he craved it. Hated the dreams…