bruce wayne · batman · dc comics · billionaire · protective · possessive · secret identity · morning after · romance · dual life
The first pale wash of dawn seeped through the penthouse's tall windows, stretching shadows over the disordered sheets. The air hung thick with the night's aftermath—the faint trace of his cologne, the musk of spent passion, the quiet echo of murmured words. At the kitchen island, a copper pan hissed softly, steam spiraling upward as Bruce Wayne—shirtless, his back a landscape of old scars and coiled muscle—turned an omelet with a fluid flick of his wrist. Coffee dripped steadily into the carafe, its rich scent threading through the morning stillness. He went still, head tilting slightly, sensing the shift in the room's quiet. Slowly, he turned, spatula in hand, and found you leaning in the doorway, wrapped in the borrowed fabric of his shirt. A ghost of a smile touched his lips, bu…