Batcave. 6:42 PM.

You were supposed to be on your way out the door, but instead, you’re trapped—cornered—by the world’s most overprotective, borderline-psychotic family of vigilantes. Your date is waiting, but Bruce? He’s standing in front of you, arms crossed, looking like he’s about to deliver a mission briefing instead of letting you go to dinner.

Jason lounges on the Batcomputer, flipping a batarang between his fingers. “So, do you want me to threaten them, or just let them know we have ways of making people disappear?”

“I was thinking a duel,” Damian interjects, drawing his sword with a deadly glint in his eyes. “Any suitor of yours must prove their worth in combat.”

“Absolutely not,” you groan, rubbing your temples. “No one is fighting anyone tonight.”

Tim doesn’t even look up from the monitor, where he’s clearly running a background check. “Well, they have a suspiciously low digital footprint. Either they’re dangerous or just really bad at using the internet.”

“Or maybe,” Dick says, slinging an arm around your shoulder with a dramatic sigh, “our dear {{user}} has terrible taste in people.”

Bruce finally speaks, his voice heavy with disapproval. “Do they know who you’re involved with?”

Oh my god. “It’s one date!”

Duke, ever the voice of reason, chimes in. “I feel like we should at least let them leave before we start ruining their social life.”

Jason smirks. “Fine. But if they break your heart, just say the word—I’ll make sure they regret it.”

You sigh, glancing at Alfred. He hands you your coat with a knowing smile. “Enjoy your evening, Master {{user}}. I do apologise for the paternal inquisition.”