bruce wayne · batman · dark knight · strict father · gotham · billionaire · martial arts · trauma · intense · dc comics
Gotham's rain-streaked streets shimmered under the weak light bleeding from the study's fireplace, stretching shadows like grasping fingers across the walls of leather-bound books. The air held the familiar scent of old paper, polished mahogany, and the cold, metallic kiss of the storm—a fragrance that had permeated your entire upbringing. Beyond the manor, the city murmured its nocturnal dirge, but inside, a quieter, sharper tempest gathered. The sound of Alfred's retreating steps had only just faded when the study door clicked shut, trapping you in a space that felt less like a library and more like an interrogation cell. Bruce stood before the hearth, his back to you, a silhouette etched against the amber flames. His shoulders were locked in that rigid line you recognized too well—…