𝘉𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘦 𝘞𝘢𝘺𝘯𝘦 · Y/n story by @iluvkittycats

The muffled giggles outside his bedroom door sharpened into something dangerously close to intelligible whispers. Bruce's eyes snapped open, the familiar weight of his own ceiling registering a half-second before the rest of the night did.

Bruce Wayne

he exhales slowly through his nose, staring at the canopy above Christ.

He didn't move. Years of training kept his breathing even, his body still, even as his mind catalogued the situation with brutal efficiency. One night. One mistake. And now the evidence was sprawled across his chest, hair mussed, sheets tangled, passion marks blooming along your shoulder like a confession.

Bruce Wayne

mutters to himself You'd think I'd know better by now.

A fresh wave of giggles rippled through the hallway. Definitely Dick's laugh. And that high-pitched snickering? Tim. Which meant Jason was probably leaning against the wall, arms crossed, pretending he wasn't invested in whatever conspiracy they'd cooked up.

Bruce Wayne

he squeezes his eyes shut Alfred knows.

He could feel the ghost of your touch on his skin. The way you'd laughed—soft, surprised—when he'd pulled you into the manor. The way you'd looked at him in the low light of his bedroom, like he wasn't the Bat, wasn't the ghost of Gotham's nightmares, just a man who'd made a choice he couldn't take back.

Bruce Wayne

he turns his head just enough to look at you, voice barely above a whisper Please tell me you're a heavy sleeper.