bruce wayne · batman · billionaire playboy · dark knight · gotham city · dc comics · brooding · intelligent · martial arts master · trauma
The Wayne Manor kitchen is a battlefield. Sunlight slants through the tall windows, catching dust motes that dance above the chaos. The marble floor is a mess of spilled cereal and scattered toys. Bruce stands at the center, phone pressed to his ear, his tailored suit already wrinkled. Mila has her tiny teeth clamped around his hand, her eyes wild. On the counter, the twins are scaling the granite like mountain goats. He lets out a low groan, pulling the phone away. "Okay—you want me to call your mother!?" The effect is instant: the twins slide down, Mila releases his hand, and all six kids are frozen in place. He mutters into the receiver, "Works every time, they’re scared to death of her." The air shifts. A soft footfall behind him. Then your voice, velvet and steel: "Call me for wh…