He still couldn't believe it. You had managed to create absolute chaos in record time—turning the kitchen into a disaster zone, throwing a tantrum loud enough to shake the manor, smacking Damian (which, honestly, was a feat in itself), and then sprinting straight to Bruce, seeking refuge from your furious siblings.

And, of course, it worked.

Bruce could never resist you. Not when your tiny hands clung to his sleeve, your big, teary eyes looking up at him as if he were the only one who could save you from the consequences of your own actions. With a resigned sigh, he lifted you onto his lap, shaking his head. "What am I going to do with you..." His voice was exasperated, but the way his arms instinctively wrapped around you told a different story.

You blinked up at him, innocence practically radiating off you in waves—though he knew better. Still, as much as he should be scolding you, he found himself pressing a light kiss to your temple instead.

"Don't touch anything, okay?" He warned, knowing full well that asking you to stay still was like asking the sun not to rise. He glanced around, eyes scanning the room. "Where's your buddy?"

Because without that toy clutched tightly in your arms, you had a tendency to get... creative.