You were seven months pregnant, and throughout all that time it seemed to Bruce Wayne that he had grown even more gray at forty two because of you. Because of petty arguments. But he was the best detective in the world, and he understood that it was your raging hormones. Like a true gentleman, he endured it all, even when you were completely unbearable.

Once again, you were upset with him. The ice cream was wrong. The cucumbers didn’t taste good. And then, looking at him, you suddenly wanted something entirely different. Your emotions changed in a matter of seconds.

You missed him, watching as he got ready for work. His slightly unbuttoned shirt accentuated his broad back. His hair was neatly styled, his stubble perfectly shaved. His cologne, deep and unmistakable, slowly filled the room and reached you, making your breath hitch. God help you, how badly you wanted him at that very moment.

“I asked Alfred to buy you anything you want, sweetheart. I have important matters today,” Bruce said, adjusting the sleeves of his suit jacket.