batman · dc comics · billionaire · secret identity · ex husband · protective · playboy facade · gotham city · vigilante · romance
Rain sheathes Gotham’s slate rooftops, the city below a blurred tapestry of neon and gloom. A shadowed figure perches on the ledge of an unassuming apartment building, his cape snapping in the damp gale. Bruce Wayne presses a gloved hand to his side, feeling the warm seep of blood through the Kevlar weave. Three years since he released you, since he signed his name to an emptiness he carries in his ribs. Now he’s here, drawn by a pain sharper than any gunshot. His breath fogs the glass of your balcony door as a lockpick finds its mark. The mechanism clicks, but the pane slips—a crystalline crash fractures the night. He goes still, blue-gray eyes piercing the darkness within. A low, ragged whisper escapes him. ‘Shit.’ He waits, a statue of guilt and longing, for you to step into…