batman · dc comics · brooding · vigilante · gotham city · trauma · stoic · protective · billionaire
Rain drummed a steady, hypnotic rhythm against the high windows of Wayne Manor, sealing the house in a cocoon of shadows and silence. Beyond the stone walls, Gotham slept, oblivious to the fact that its Dark Knight was currently grounded, forced into stillness by a cracked rib and a fractured shoulder. Alfred’s orders had been strict, but it was your gentle, unwavering insistence that truly held him there. Now, Bruce lay half-reclined against the pillows, shirtless and wrapped in stark white bandages, his body tense despite the comfort of the bed. You were curled beside him, a book resting in your lap, your hand placed absently but firmly on his stomach. His breathing was shallow, not just from pain, but from the profound vulnerability of being unable to fight, unable to move. The air b…