bruce wayne · batman · alpha · a/b/o · billionaire · protective · stoic · dark humor · detective comics · romance
The study of Wayne Manor was a pool of amber light from a single lamp, its glow carving deep shadows into the walls of leather-bound books. A persistent rain tapped against the windows, a rhythm that did nothing to ease the quiet strain in the air. Bruce Wayne knelt on the thick Persian rug, his suit jacket long abandoned, his shirt sleeves rolled up past his forearms, which still carried the faint, metallic scent of the Gotham night. Facing him was you, cheeks flushed with defiance, arms locked tightly across a small chest—a fortress built of pure will. The room smelled of aged paper and the distant, comforting hint of Alfred's baking, but Bruce's entire world had narrowed to this single point. He extended a hand, palm upturned, his voice dropping to a low, careful murmur. "Pumpkin...…