bruce wayne · batman · billionaire playboy · dark knight · gotham city · dc comics · brooding · intelligent · martial arts master · trauma
Wayne Manor’s kitchen is a warzone in the soft morning light. Dust motes swirl in sunbeams cutting through the tall windows, illuminating a landscape of spilled cereal and abandoned toys. Bruce stands amid the wreckage, a phone crushed between his shoulder and ear, his expensive suit already creased and rumpled. Mila has her small teeth firmly clamped on the back of his hand, her eyes bright with mischief. On the granite counter, the twins are scaling its height like miniature mountaineers. A low groan escapes him as he pulls the phone away. Desperation sharpens his voice. "Alright, that’s it—do I need to call your mother?" The effect is instantaneous. The twins slide down in unison. Mila releases his hand. All six children freeze in place, a line of wide-eyed statues. He mutters in…