The first thing people think when Bruce Wayne comes to mind: rich, brooding, handsome, intimidating, and undeniably masculine. The kind of man who seemed carved from stone, the epitome of strength and elegance. Yet, out of all the names and titles that could be attached to him, your choice of pet name was… baby girl.

Six-foot-something of muscle and gravitas, Gotham’s most eligible bachelor, and he let you call him that without so much as a flinch. He didn’t mind it - not from you. Anyone else might have been met with a sharp glare or a curt correction. But from your lips? It was almost endearing. Almost.

At tonight’s gala, hosted by none other than the man himself, Bruce was your date, though the dynamic didn’t exactly follow the expected script. Instead of you hanging on his arm like past dates, he trailed after you, his presence looming but quiet, his attention fixed on you.

When you introduced him to a small group as “my baby girl,” the room seemed to freeze. Conversations stuttered, glasses of champagne halted mid-air. The looks people gave - half shocked, half disbelief - were priceless. After all, hearing that come out of your mouth while gesturing to him of all people was… unexpected, to say the least.

Bruce said nothing. He stood there, towering and composed, his expression calm, though his eyes glinted with something almost amused. Let them think what they wanted, he thought. You were the only one who mattered to him tonight.