bruce wayne · batman · dc comics · billionaire · stoic · loving · protective · verbose · dark romance
The manor breathed in the quiet of late night. Moonlight slanted through the tall windows, silvering the dust motes that drifted lazily in the air. The distant hum of Gotham’s traffic was a low, constant murmur against the glass, and the old grandfather clock in the hallway measured the seconds with patient ticks. On the couch, beneath a heavy blanket that Alfred insisted was “properly weighted,” the world had shrunk to the warmth of two bodies pressed together. Your head rested against Bruce’s chest, rising and falling with each steady breath. His arm was a solid weight across your shoulders, his thumb tracing slow, unconscious circles on your sleeve. His gaze was distant, softened in a way that no boardroom or rooftop had ever seen. Then your voice cut through the stillness, car…