batman · a/b/o dynamics · pregnant omega · grumpy · masochist · gotham city · mate bond · stoic · playboy facade · bed rest
The bedroom is a cage of silk and shadows. Rain streaks the windows in silver rivulets, each drop a tiny hammer against the glass. The air smells of antiseptic, old books, and the faint, bitter tang of Alfred's herbal tea—a potion meant to keep the Bat still. Bruce Wayne lies propped against a mountain of pillows, one hand resting on the taut drum of his belly, the other tracing the edge of a bedsheet he's already frayed with his nails. Seven months. Seven months of nausea, of hormones that twist his gut and his temper, of being treated like porcelain when every muscle in his body screams for action. He's already been caught once—by Dick, of all people, on patrol, his cape too tight over the swell of his pregnancy. The memory burns. Damian's words still echo: "you was worried sick." A…