"Please, Miss Ophelia.. The doctors said twice a day."

Ophelia had never felt pain like this in her life, as privileged as it sounded, and was. 

Her entire body ached, even breathing meant her muscles contracted so painfully, she'd rather resign to death. Though she had not impacted against the floor of the library when the chair fell, that did not meant she hadn't been scraped and cut and bruised when she was saved from her death, skidding against the floor in the arms of a strange man. 

The worst of it was a large jagged slice across the top of her thigh.

When her savior had so ungraciously caught her just before she hit the ground, the old wooden chair came with them, snapping as it hit the floor and digging into her skin as the two of them rolled across the hard floor. After only a few moments, the dress she had worked so hard on was ruined, torn, stained with her own blood. 

She almost wished he had just let her die instead of letting her see such a sight. 

As a result of the incident, she was given stitches and instructed to change the bandages wrapped around her thigh twice a day for the next two weeks to ensure they didn't rip open or get infected. The only issue though, was that this meant she had to hold herself on the edge of her bed, or a chair, straining the little muscles she did have in her arms, and wait for Catherine to painstakingly unwrap the bandages, clean the area with iodine, then rewrap with a fresh bandage. 

She was sure by the end of these two weeks, she was going to have triceps of steels. 

Her face was twisted in pain, heart beating loudly in her ears as she tried to ignore the stinging and aching as Catherine smoothed over each layer of the bandage as she wrapped. As lightly as she was grazing the area, covered by bandages, it felt almost as though she was running hot fire over her skin. 

A harsh breath left her as she slowly lowered her leg back down, letting her arms collapse beneath her as she laid back against her bed. 

The expensively coffered ceiling gazed back down at her, adorned with only a single chandelier, much too grand for her to stare at for too long. Maybe she had a concussion too, everything seemed to give her a headache nowadays. 

Catherine quietly tucked away the small kit she had acquired from Ophelia's parents, something they saw as just another monetary loss in light of their stolen goods. 

Would they treasure their only daughter properly if she was carved from stone, she wondered? Perhaps only if she dripped diamonds and sang like the angels, or if she forged paintings like she was the original artist in the first place. 

Breaking the silence, a knock came at the door. Without a moment to spare, the door opened and her mother stepped inside casually, a smile on her face. 

Ophelia only closed her eyes, listening to the familiar sound of her mother's Dior heels click against the floor as she approached. Maybe if she pretended she wasn't there, she would go away. Wishful thinking, again. 

"Ophelia, there is a guest waiting for you in the drawing room. Make yourself presentable."

There was no kindness in her voice, no concern, it was simply a command, something Ophelia would have to do, whether she wanted to or not. 

However, she had found herself recently enlightened. It could've been the rage that ensnared her when she saw how her parents were using her tragedy for their own benefit, magazines and reporters spewing a facade of sympathy as she writhed in pain each night simply trying to take a bath. It could've been the near-death experience, inspiring her to pursue happiness no matter the cost. It could've been the hatred and disgust she had felt for them when she realized they were going to use the death of her brother to host criminals from around the world in their home, a home they did not deserve. 

Whatever had driven Ophelia past the edge, there was no safe party in this war. She was fighting alone. 

"Tell them to leave then, I don't feel well."

Her mother, who had already turned and began towards the door, heels clicking once again, stopped suddenly, a tense silence as she slowly turned back towards the bed her daughter resided on. 

"What are you talking about? The doctor's said it was just some stitches. I didn't raise you to be so rude." 

Any false courtesy her mother displayed drifted away in an instant, her voice cold and demeaning, as if all she was was a doll for her play, and she was the puppeteer. 

"Just some stitches that make it so I can barely walk. Tell them to come back later. I'm not going."

Another silence filled the room. 

Ophelia's heart was pounding loudly in her chest, adrenaline coursing through her veins at the mere instance of disobeying her mother, although more publicly than she had done before. She felt no fear lying when she spent money on their credit cards, or sold off things they didn't even notice were gone, or snuck back in late at night after sneaking out to buy items for her.. collection. 

No verbal response came, only the sound of her mother's fading footsteps and the slamming of her bedroom door as she finally left. 

A trembling sigh left her chest as she relaxed once more, eyelids heavy and body tired. She had only been up for a few hours now, had only eaten her breakfast and walked to the garden on her crutches to get out of the stuffy atmosphere of her house. It was getting exhausting getting so exhausted. 

Interrupting the few moments of peace as she began to drift off, legs still bent over the side of her bed, her bedroom door opened once more. 

Sighing frustratedly, she propped herself up on her elbows, turning her head towards the door, only to find the words catching in her throat. She clenched her jaw, silencing herself as her mother stepped into the room once more. 

"I apologize for my sudden appearance Miss Kartell, I just wanted to show my concern after the incident that occurred a few nights ago."

She recognized him all too well. She was sure he still wore that cologne his father used to wear, still wore his family branding cufflinks to all fancier occasions. She was certain he still used people, just as he had used her not too long ago. 

"Ophelia, don't be rude. Greet Mr. Wayne."

It was not only despicable, but also audacious of him to ever show up in the first place. Sure, she liked to maintain her own reputation around others, but she was in the comfort of her own home, and she was all too familiar with his ulterior motives. The smooth and suave ways of the notorious playboy billionaire would charm her no longer. 

Smugly beside his was her mother. In her defense, her mother had no idea about the history between the two of them, not that she would care anyways. She was certain that Bruce Wayne's appearance was going to put her back in her place. 

Well, Ophelia had no respect left for Bruce Wayne, and limited patience with her newfound fury. 

"I told you I didn't want to see anyone, that doesn't change because of a suit and some cheap flowers. Please leave."

The look on her mother's face was something she wanted to keep in her memories for the rest of her life. Lips parted in surprised, her eyes wide and horrified, hand to her chest like she'd just had a heart attack. 

Ophelia also knew Bruce would see through any act she put on anyways, what was the point? To appease her mother?

Despite her attitude, Bruce only smiled, practiced and political, handing the bouquet to Catherine. He turned slightly to the side, giving her mother the same smile that charmed every other woman in Gotham, bringing his hand to his abdomen. 

"I realize now how rude of me it was to show up here today. Miss Kartell is right, she needs rest. I'll stop by again another day." 

Static tuned out the rest of the conversation between her mother and Bruce, him placating her and her insisting she hadn't known her daughter was in such a state, and how on earth could she refuse the request of Bruce Wayne? 

Finally they left, a last sparing glance thrown over his shoulder as he pulled the door shut behind him. 

"What a rude young man," Catherine muttered, setting the bouquet of flowers on her vanity. 

Ophelia grinned, laughing quietly as she turned to gaze at the flora. She knew quite well that these were not the cheap flowers she had claimed they were. A masterfully crafted arrangement with her most favorite flowers in her most favorite colors, tied in carefully folded paper and a silk ribbon knotted in a bow. It was just like the ones he used to buy for her whenever he cancelled plans. 

It left a bad taste in her mouth. 

This time, she let herself sink into the soft mattress beneath her, a comforting darkness befalling her as she closed her eyes, half-heartedly pulling what comforter she could reach over her body. 

Catherine smiled lightly as she carefully pulled the blanket over the rest of her body, stepping carefully across the floor as she made her way towards the door. She quietly flicked off the light switch, leaving Ophelia to rest comfortably. 

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

Glass rained to the floor, shattering and staining the wall a deep red from the wine after she hurtled the glass towards the nearest wall. 

"Are you out of your mind? What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Ophelia felt her body pulsating with hot fury, the words of her father echoing in her head, paying no mind to the way he slammed his fist against the table and stood up, his own voice echoing within the large dining room.

"I've had enough of this! You will do as I say because I am your father, and if you don't like it, then leave!"

"Do you even hear yourself? What is this, the eighteenth century? I should try and court Bruce Wayne, notorious player who's been with every woman within a twenty mile radius?"

The words felt vile coming from her mouth, the very thought of potentially pursing a relationship of any kind with Bruce Wayne once more making her stomach twist violently. She had endured plenty of that man. 

What was her father trying to do, sell her off? Unless Bruce explicitly displayed interest in her to her parents..

Of course. 

Her fists shook with rage, teeth grinding painfully as stood from her chair, pushing through the pain in her thigh as she turned her back against her shouting father and scowling mother. 

Seriously, was this supposed to be some sort of drama? Was this her real life? Sure her family had their dysfunctional dynamic, neglectful parents and a troubled older brother, but up until now they had mostly minded their own business.

Another glass smashed against the wall, this time beside her, staining the wall with an expensive aged scotch her father had been slowly drinking down.

She paid no mind to his rage, must too used to his violent behavior and certainly too encapsulated in her own rage to bother. The door swung open with a strength she didn't know she was capable of, slamming loudly behind her as she strode through the extravagant halls of what she thought was once her own home. 

The burning in her legs did not stop, intensifying as she continued, her pace faltering the further she went. Rounding a corner, she clenched her eyes shut, trying her hardest to force away the tears that continuously flowed down her cheeks. 

How could they do this to her?

Aside from the typical rebellious behavior, without any illicit or illegal behavior might she add, she had been the perfect daughter. She followed their directions, went to the university they insisted she go to, wore the clothes they told her to wear, put on the face they so desired to show the rest of the world. 

Only to end up, what, sold off? Traded in exchange for something? Married off?

It was bad enough that she was fully aware of what they meant when they brought up Bruce Wayne, but it was disgusting that they couldn't even say their true intentions out loud. 

They had arranged for the two of them to attend the upcoming Wayne Gala together. 

A new partnership, they called it. The tabloids would be salivating for the glimpse of the two of them together, daughter of one of the most renowned couple in Gotham and none other than the late mayors son, who inherited his false generosity along with his arrogance. 

It would've been a public statement, although not explicitly stated, that the two of them were supposed to be in some sort of relationship. The thought made her feel sick. 

The scenery was changing around her in a blur, half-conscious as she made her ways through the winding halls of her home to her room, throwing the door open and rushing inside. 

Catherine had been tending to her laundry, folding and hanging various garments when she burst into the room, gasping as though she was being held at gunpoint. She could only splutter out half sentences and questions to Ophelia, quickly dropping what was in her hands. 

She looked like a mess, honestly. 

It was bad enough that she couldn't wear any pants that weren't very loose so they didn't press against her wound, but her mascara was trailing down her face, cheeks puffy and lips wobbling as she grabbed the biggest bag she could find. She was sure she looked as awful as she felt. 

Panicked hands tried to reach out to her, Catherine's pleas falling on deaf ears as she began to shove the once neatly displayed piles of clothes into her bag, paying no mind to what she did or did not grab, they wouldn't matter soon anyways. Once she had decided she had plenty of clothes, still in her emotionally induced trance, she turned her attention to the glass case. 

"Miss Ophelia, you can't! Please, sit down!"

Shaking hands reached out, gently grasping her arms and shoulders, trying to pull her away from her set path as she continued to step towards the jewelry case, all but shoving Catherine off of her. 

If it was possible for her to shatter the obscene case, she would've gladly done so.

The collection mocked her, glittering with her lack of personal achievements, stuck in the same place she had been last year, stuck with the same leeches who took advantage of her, stuck withholding her passion as it slowly died inside of her. 

She wasted no time opening the case, grabbing various necklaces, bracelets, rings, carelessly shoving them into the bag alongside the clothes she had done they very same with. She did not miss the absence of her emerald set. It would've taken a few days for the stones to be replaced and for the metalwork to be repaired, had her parents cared to get them fixed in the first place. 

Only once did she hesitate. 

Quietly glimmering at the opposite end of the case was a lone ring. With a delicate band and no additional gems, the dreamy opal set in the middle was the main focus. 

Pain washed over her once more, a quiet sob leaving her mouth as she reached for it slowly, gently picking it up though her hands continued to tremble. Quietly she tucked the ring into the pocket of the sweatpants she was wearing, swallowing thickly as she finally paused to let out a breath. 

"Ophelia, please, you leg.." Catherine's shaking voice cut through the room. 

She had only just noticed the growing stain atop the thigh of her sweatpants, the wet and loose feeling of the bandages around her leg, rubbing uncomfortably against her stitches. 

Maybe it was because the past few days had accumulated so violently that she didn't have a minute to take notice, or maybe it was because she was tired of being a trophy for everyone else in her life, but instead of letting Catherine coax her back to the bed to change the bandages she slung the bag in her hands over her shoulder. 

"Catherine, I'm leaving."

The familiar warm hazel eyes she had known for so long wavered at her words, glossing with unshed tears. She said nothing for a minute, hands clenched into fists at her sides, mouth gaping open and shut as she tried to say something, maybe try to convince Ophelia to stay. 

Instead of trying to reason with her, convince her to stay, to let her treat her leg and change her pants, tell her that her parents were only doing it because they loved her, she closed her mouth and nodded. The uncertainty was apparent in her trembling body as she stepped forward and gently tugged the bag from Ophelia's shoulder and turned back towards the bed where the remaining clothes laid. 

"I'm coming with you."

No amount of protesting seemed to change her mind, and this time, she was the one ignoring Ophelia as she continued to pack the bag with other essentials, a hairbrush, soaps and perfumes, trinkets she knew Ophelia had treasured over the years. 

"I don't know if I can keep paying you Catherine, you have to stay here. I'm sure my parents will be furious with you if they find out you helped me leave in the first place."

"You are the closest thing I have had to a friend in this hell Ophelia."

Her eyes burned as she turned around to face Ophelia, determination settling in her bones. 

"I have endured the worst from your parents, long before I ever served alongside you. You have always been kind, smart. Wherever you are going, I am going with you."

The words brought on another wave of emotion, tingling in her chest as she stepped forward and embraced Catherine. She understood exactly what she was saying, after all, Catherine had always been the only one on her side despite everything. 

Wiping her cheeks once more, she took a deep breath and nodded. 

"You'll have to trust me, we're not going to an easy place."

Ophelia began towards the door, peeking out into the lonely corridors as she carefully stepped outside of her room with Catherine close behind. She treaded as quietly as she could, and she was grateful that her parents had never placed any sort of security detail in the halls. 

"Where are we going?" Catherine whispered, hurrying behind Ophelia as the began heading towards the entrance to the garden, the only direct exit from the building aside from the main doors, the most neglected.

Her parents had no interest in spending time in the splendor of the very maze they had dropped millions of dollars maintaining with landscaping and trimming. 

As her hand grasped the handle of the door, slowly beginning to tarnish over the years from her very own hands, no attention ever spared to it by the housekeepers or her parents, she took a deep breath and steeled herself for the inevitable. 

"To Wayne Manor."

Dick Grayson

📱 [12:09 AM]

Dick is the overly affectionate drunk.

You get a stream of texts ranging from “u up???” to voice notes of him singing whatever song is playing in the background.

Sometimes it’s selfies with strangers because “they said they liked my shirt.”

Tonight, you’d get: "AND I WAS LIKE BABY. BABYYYYY. i miss u. do u know how much i love you??? like THIS much 👐 but my arms can’t stretch far enough." "hold on i’m gonna steal a balloon for you" "oops guy said no balloons. i got you fries instead" 🍟❤️

He’ll FaceTime you at least three times, no warning, just to say: “Look at my face. This is your face’s soulmate.”

Jason Todd

📱 [1:32 AM]

Jason claims he’s a responsible drinker, but he’s the type to send you cryptic messages like you’re in the middle of a spy op together.

Expect blurry photos of whatever’s in front of him — sometimes you, sometimes a pool table, sometimes just… asphalt.

Tonight’s texts: "Babe. Baaaabe. Hypothetically, if I stole a motorcycle… you’d bail me out, right? Hypothetically." "Also I love you. Don’t tell anyone."

Then:

(photo of the backseat of a squad car) "I’m fine. They said I get one call. I used it to call you. That’s romantic, right?" "Also don’t tell Bruce."

Tim Drake

📱 [2:18 AM]

Tim isn’t much of a party guy, so if he’s drunk, it’s because someone tricked him into it.

The caffeine in his system mixed with alcohol? Unpredictable.

You’ll get texts that jump from deep confessions to random Wikipedia facts.

Tonight’s looks like this: "Did you know octopuses have three hearts??" "Anyway you have mine. All of them if I had more than one. Which I don’t. But if I did you’d have them." "Wait I think bats have 1 heart too… hold on I’m googling"

He ends with: "I love you so much. Don’t let me buy another domain name while I’m like this."

Damian Wayne

📱 [12:54 AM]

Damian doesn’t usually drink — but say someone gave him one to many at an event.

He becomes blunt and unfiltered, but also oddly clingy.

His grammar remains impeccable, but the topics… not so much.

Tonight’s string of texts: "I informed Todd you are far superior to his partner. He disagreed. I nearly punched him." "You have the most symmetrical face I’ve ever seen. It’s distracting. Stop it." "Do not speak to Grayson until I return home. He’s being annoying."

"5 minutes until sunrise." The modulated voice spoke, breaking concentration. Batman releasing a criminal from his iron grip and letting him drop in a bloodied heap, the robotic voice in his head drumming and repeating the words until his heart rate had slowed and his blood calmed.

His gloves had begun chafing the ridges of his fingers, finally breaking them in with his excessive force on the man unconscious beneath him.

He had witnessed the man attempt to break into the apartment beside them, home to a young girl and her parents.

A rapist. Child rapist. Pedophile. His eyes narrowed again to the man and he felt his blood begin to drum again.

He let go of his baited breath and pulled the handcuffs from his belt. Hooking them onto the mans wrist as he set him upright to the alley wall. Batman looked over and saw the battered camera had skidded near the street and he reached to grab it.

Bringing it closer to his face, he observed the digital camera as the lens had cracked in the center. The paint chipped on the edges, but when he held the on button down it turned on easily with the pictures readily available. He shut it back off.

The evidence was enough for Gordon to know why the man was in his state. He set the camera in the mans lap when the roar of sirens echoed down the empty street.

Batman stood, grabbing his grappling gun and shooting it off to the nearest building. As he did, he looked up to see a young girl in the window. Her sleepy, bleary eyes widening when she made eye contact with him and he simply pressed a gloved finger to his lip, and released the gun as he shot up in the remaining night sky.

By the time he reached the garage with the batmobile hidden inside, the sun had just barely begun to peek over the morning clouds. He walked over to the batmobile, sliding into the drivers seat. He releasing a deep sigh once he was settled, knowing by the time he returned home it would be morning.

Y/N might even be awake when he returned.

He pulled the gloves off, letting the bare skin cool against the steering wheel as the chafed, redness of his hands were relieved from the confines of the thick leather. Just the barest hint of humanity brought back to him and Bruce felt the entirety of the night replay in his head like he was in a theater.

The batmobile roared to life beneath his palms, and he tore out of the garage.

East end, he was near Robinson Park where an underground tunnel to the batcave was. His hands rolling the steering wheel to turn on Burbaker street and straight to the tunnel. The growing daylight chasing the batmobile as he drove through the underground road and headlights blaring on the cavern walls.

The light had faded soon after, he was much too quick for the daylight to catch him. Now, he was left in the dark until the tunnel opened up to the batcave.

Preparing the full stop, he pressed the break and drove right into the mobiles natural spot. The inorganic lights turning on within his presence and he turned the batmobile off before getting out.

The sharp breath he made brought in the metallic and murky scent, the scent of home. His steps echoing as he walked to the computer as the screen lit up with the face of the man he had just left in the alley.

"Gerrick Tiller. 43, divorced with restraining order. Registered class 2 sex offender." He read. Knowing Gordon, Tiller would be class 3 by breakfast with possession of child pornography and charged with trespassing.

Gordon didn't fuck around with sex offenders, and whatever Batman could do to them Gordon did ten fold. Legally of course.

The computer went black, he stepping towards the suits as saw his reflection in the glass and pulled the cowl off.

Sweat. It just dripped down his neck as the rush of cold, murky air hit his face and he closed his eyes to feel it all.

This was the most human he felt, taking each piece off and letting the shell fall off as if he was shedding the skin of the Batman to be Bruce again.

Just Bruce. Not the billionaire Bruce Wayne. Just. Bruce.

When the suit was off, he reapplied it to the mannequin and was left in his briefs. His eyes scanning at the bruises on his side as he clenched his stomach to feel how sore he might be.

Not bad this time around, he was getting better at fending off multiple offenders at once. His eyes turning to the purple mark on his chest that he lightly prodded before smiling.

Not a bruise, a remnant of his evening before on parole. Maybe Y/N wasn't up yet, it was a Saturday. The office would be closed today.

Bruce's bare feet patted on the metal flooring as he stepped into the enclosed bathroom he had implemented. The sight of the toilet alone made his lower stomach ache and he was reminded it had been 5 hours since his last relief.

He made quick work, toilet and shower. Not exactly enjoying the shower since the plumbing wasn't at the best in the cave. The water was ice cold, yet also grounded him better than hot water could.

His mind jumped from one point to the next, the shower needed to be figured out and he'd look into the manual he bought.

There wasn't exactly a good plumber who could keep a secret about the cave, he'd begun learning for himself. Y/N helped, reading through the more confusing parts of the book to make sense of what the author was trying to teach.

But then again, she was better at tinkering and figuring her way around it. He relied on the book. Until she figured out how to reattach the water line for the toilet and he just about returned the book after he tried 4 times without result.

Now all that was left was the cold water, and he was still planning out the new modulator. Then the batarangs needed updating since Penguin began hoarding the ones he left behind to sell the tech inside of them.

Combustable batarangs, his trial one had combusted in his previous belt and without the fireproof fabric in his suit he would've lit his ass up. Lost the belt though, but that was easier to replace.

Suddenly, Bruce groaned and pressed his head to the shower wall. So much to do, so little time. He hadn't even processed half of his day and he was back to the little things he needed to accomplish.

"Bruce?"

"Shit-" he jumped. Bruce turning fast when he saw Y/N at the door to the bathroom.

Her eyes on the glass shower door as he let his heart rate calm down. "Sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you." She said, voice somewhat groggy.

"... did I wake you?" He asked, turning the water off as she leaned against the wall and shook her head.

"No... I woke up and realized you hadn't come home yet." She said, her tone softening and suddenly all the worry and the nagging in his head silenced.

Bruce opened the shower door and grabbed his towel to wrap around his waist, all while his eyes met hers and he visibly relaxed.

She could see it, the weary tiredness in his eyes. The sudden quiet in his voice, and she gently stepped closer to wrap her arms around his waist. His skin firm and colder than ice, her warmth spreading within him as she kept her eyes on his.

"Come to bed... I've missed you." She said gently, Bruce holding her softly as he closed his eyes and slid a hand against her cheek. His nose burying into her hair and inhaling the familiar warm scent of her.

"Me too..." he whispered, Y/N sighing and they stood for a simple moment like that.

Until her pajama shirt started soaking from his wet form and she shivered.

"Cold water still..." she sighed, chuckling lightly as he broke a small smile.

"I'll meet you upstairs." He said, Y/N hesitantly parting from him with a slight nod.

"Don't distract yourself." She said, heading out of the room and he smiled while grabbing the extra clothes he had in a small metal drawer.

"Not today..." he said quietly, drying off before changing. The warmth of her had lingered and his mind was on one thing. Her. That's it.

Once he had finished, he moved out to get on the elevator as it closed and raised up to the second floor library. He pressing against one of the backs of the book shelves as it parted and brought him into the room. Closing it, he walking out to the hallway and straight towards their bedroom.

The sitting room had a tray on the table. Crumbs in a plate as Alfred must had served Y/N breakfast. She had left a blueberry scone on the hot plate and he took it to bite into and let the warm bread and melted blueberry envelop his palate.

In seconds, he was left with the remaining crumbs and wiped his hand with a napkin. He heard the door open as he saw Alfred stand in the door way with another tray.

Their eyes met and Alfred raised an eyebrow. "I have more scones, master Bruce." He said, Bruce stepping out of his way as Alfred set the second tray down.

"I can see that. Thank you." He said, seeing the poached eggs on avocado toast with a side of bacon, and another hot plate of three blueberry scones. Alfred grabbed the empty one and looked at Bruce again.

"After food, you are to sleep. You're growing paler by the minute." Alfred mumbled, Bruce hiding his smile from his nagging.

"Of course Alfred. I appreciate the concern." He retorted, grabbing the tray before heading into the bedroom and saw Y/N in bed scrolling on the ipad.

"Is that the news?" He asked, she hardly looking up.

"Unfortunately. But nothing about you thankfully." She looked up as he placed the tray on the bed. "Either of you." She corrected, Bruce sliding onto his side as the cold sheets suddenly brought an ache through his whole body that he groaned.

Y/N setting the iPad down and sat up a bit.

"... I'm sure Alfred has already demanded you to sleep. Which I'm his echo." She said, pulling the tray closer as he slowly sat up.

"Batman can handle 5 gang members with weapons, but I'm powerless against the both of you." He said with a sigh, Y/N chuckling softly.

"There's some battles we can't always win." She handed the plate over as he took it gently and pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

"It humbles me to lose once in a while. Especially when it comes to you." He spoke softly, turning to the eggs as she smiled with a slight blush on her cheeks. She turned to the side table and grabbed her coffee, sipping it as she returned to the iPad.

The silence that eased between them was a comfort. The small stereo on the side table quietly playing classic harp and violin that she loved, and everything else a soft silence. The more food he ate, the further he brought himself into comfort until it was all gone.

He pushed the tray to the end of the bed, noticing her attention was still on the device and he gently grasped her waist as she was brought to reality. Bruce suddenly pulling her further into the bed with him and his head settled on her chest as he could hear the sweet, steady beat of her heart.

Y/N gently slid her fingers through his thick hair and smiled softly. "My sweet Bruce..." she said gently, kissing against his head and letting him curl closer to her.

The alluring scent of her, the intoxicating warmth, her soft hands in his hair as she talked to him with her soothing tone. He felt everything in him quiet as his breathing evened out and he was fast asleep in mere minutes.

Chapter 1.

Sophia