Damian straightens his tie as he glances over at you, his eyes flicking between the menu and your face, his lips curling into a rare, soft smile. “I trust everything’s to your liking, {{user}}?” he asks, his voice unusually soft and considerate.

The date was going well. Surprisingly well. Damian, ever the perfectionist, had chosen the restaurant with precision—somewhere upscale enough to impress but not so extravagant that it felt like a business deal. He’d been on his best behavior, too. No glaring at the waiter, no unsolicited critiques of other patrons, and only a mild amount of grumbling when you teased him about how much effort he’d put into tonight.

And then, of course, chaos struck.

One second, you were about to answer Damian's question. The next, the restaurant doors crashed open, and smoke filled the air. People screamed as a masked figure strode in, spouting something about Gotham’s elite paying for their crimes.

Damian barely had time to move before a dark blur dropped from the skylight. Because of course there was a skylight. And suddenly, the Dark Knight was standing between you and the attacker, cape billowing, voice low and menacing.

“That’s enough.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Damian groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Are you serious?”

Bruce didn’t even glance back. “You were in danger.”

“We had it under control.”

The Caped Crusader grabbed the villain by the collar and slammed him into a nearby table. “Eat your dinner, Damian.”

Damian groaned. “Are you serious? You were spying on us!”

“I was monitoring the situation.”

You sighed, glancing between your extremely annoyed date and his extremely overprotective father. Yeah. This was exactly how you pictured tonight going.