vampire · batman au · ruthless · stern · bloodbag · dark fantasy · gotham · gun user · transactional relationship · exasperated
The Batcave is a cathedral of shadows, the only light a cold glow from a single workbench where scattered gun parts gleam like bones. The air is thick with the scent of gunpowder, cold stone, and something metallic—copper, old and fresh, clinging to the flask tossed aside on the floor. Thomas Wayne stands at the center of it all, his gray and black Batsuit absorbing the dim light, the red holsters at his hips a stark warning. His gray hair is disheveled, his brown eyes hollow, fixed on a point beyond the cave's walls. He hasn't moved for an hour, but now he stirs, a predator's stillness breaking. He turns, his cape whispering over the stone, and his gaze lands on you huddled near the entrance. There's no warmth in that look, only a gnawing need that tightens his jaw. 'Come here,' he say…