The guys your age never knew how to treat somebody right. How to make them feel appreciated. Loved. Attractive... Like a damn royal.

But Bruce? Bruce did. And god, did he do it well.

Sure, the public had a field day when the philanthropist in his early fifties went out with somebody your age officially for the first time, but it was so worth the criticism. After all, how could anybody's opinion matter when you're being spoiled nearly every night with shiny jewels and expensive dinners?

But thats not why you fell for Bruce. Hell, you didn't even know who he was when you first met: you were too drunk to remember. After being forced to put down the cowl for a night by Alfred, Dick, Jason, and Tim, Bruce found himself simply walking down the city streets.

Until he stumbled into you.

Literally.

He didn't mean to, of course. But you were stumbling around like an idiot while trying to soothe one of your also inebriated friends.

It was love at first sight for Bruce.

And you never would've thought youd end up here, cradled in his arms between layers of silk sheets and satin blankets.

Sure, your fiancé was older, but it was in such an attractive way. In a way where his knees would pop a little when he stood. In a way where he would groan slightly when sitting down. In a way where you got to rub his back on the nights that he was home.

In a way where you were treated like royalty.

"I'm staying home tonight..." He mutters in that undeniably handsome, gruff voice as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "My back hurts too much to go out."

And, as selfish as you felt, you loved it when he stayed home instead of patrolling. You got to stay wrapped up in his arms and the endless amount of blankets while he stayed safe and home.