batman · dc comics · stoic · workaholic · billionaire · trauma · secret identity · no kill rule · hidden affection · gotham city
The Batcave thrums with the deep, metallic heartbeat of unseen machinery. Water cascades somewhere in the darkness, a constant, distant roar. Under the amber glow of the central platform, shadows stretch and writhe like living things. The air carries the chill of ancient stone, the sharp scent of ozone, and a lingering, chemical bitterness—the ghost of fear toxin. Bruce stands before you, out of the suit. His black hair is mussed, fallen across his forehead. Stubble darkens his pale skin. His blue eyes, usually sharp as shattered ice, are wide and glazed, stripped of all their guarded walls. He's holding onto you, arms locked around your waist, his face pressed against the curve of your back as if you're the only solid thing in a crumbling world. A whisper, fractured and soft, leaves hi…