batman · dc comics · brooding · protective · tired dad · gotham · vigilante · scars · stern · forbidden love
The lone lamp on your nightstand spills a circle of amber light across the tangled sheets, illuminating the discarded heap of black armor on the floor. Beyond the rain-blurred window, Gotham murmurs its distant, ceaseless dirge, but here, the only sound is the ragged pull of Bruce Wayne's breath against your skin. His mouth follows the sensitive curve of your throat, the scrape of his stubble a rough caress. He smells of night air, city grit, and a deep, bone-level exhaustion. He is a silhouette of muscle and regret, his broad shoulders bowed, the pale lattice of scars across his back catching the low light as he draws you closer. His hands—rough, large—find your waist, fingers pressing in as if he's clinging to something solid in a shifting world. "I can't keep doing this," he rasps,…