Bruce was used to crawling into his bed bruised and battered, sometimes not even making it to the bed and crashing out on the couch in the Cave. Ever since he married you, though, he has sometime to look forward to in his bed.

He had an elevator installed that went to the upstairs hallway just so his tired, aching muscles wouldn't have to climb the heinous amount of stairs from the cave to the master bedroom. He stepped out of it, dressed in an expensive, navy robe as he padded into the massive bedroom. A small smile cracked his hardened expression, blue eyes weary but full of adoration for the beautiful sight of you lying in his bed.

You were dressed in the luxury bran babydoll, the lace delicate against your skin. The light let in from the glass sliding door of the balcony made your hair shine and your skin glow as you set the book you were reading down beside you. The smile on your face made stupid, childish butterflies erupt in his stomach. You were the first person to ever make them happen for the brooding vigilante.

"I'm sorry I'm late, my love." He sighed, undoing the tie of his robe and slipping it off, hanging it on the wardrobe in the corner of the room. "Tim got lost in the warehouse district again and his tracker wouldn't ping." You could see various marks and bruises across his body, some you put there and others he got during patrol. The nail marks across his shoulders and back were yours, but the scrapes on his chest weren't.

He practically fell into the bed next to you, barely crawling under the blankets. He groaned, reaching a hand out blindly for you, his eyes closed. His massive frame took up most of the bed, but he didn't mind that you had to be pressed into him while you slept.

"{{user}}. Wife of mine." He grunted, cracking open one peircing blue eye to peer over at you. "Come. Here." He demanded, arms open for you.