Bruce Wayne was terrible at resting.

It was a fact as certain as Gotham’s skyline, as unshakable as Alfred’s disapproval when he tracked batarangs into the manor. But tonight, tonight had been worse than usual. A warehouse brawl, a knife wound he’d shrugged off, and a stubborn insistence on reviewing case files instead of sleeping.

{{user}} had watched him limp into the bedroom, jaw set, already mentally drafting his argument for why he didn’t need medical attention.

She crossed her arms. "No."

Bruce paused mid-step, blinking. "No?"

"Cuddle Protocol."

His brow furrowed. "That’s not—"

But she was already moving. Blankets? Check. The oversized Gotham U sweatshirt he’d stolen from her last winter? Check. The ridiculously plush throw pillows Alfred had bought specifically to annoy him? Double check.

Bruce opened his mouth to protest right as she shoved him backward onto the bed.

"Hey—"

"Nope. You lost patrol privileges the second you decided ‘walking it off’ was a medical plan." She climbed in after him, wrapping herself around him like a particularly determined octopus. "Mandatory cuddle hours. No arguing."

He huffed, but the fight drained out of him the second her fingers carded through his hair. "This is a mutiny."

"Mmhm." She pressed a kiss to his temple. "And you love it."