Gotham media is collectively thirsty for Bruce Wayne.
This is an established fact. Magazines post yearly “Best Gotham Bachelor” covers with Bruce front and center, sleeves rolled up, shirt just tight enough to cause a city-wide spike in thirst tweets. He smiles politely. He waves. He completely misses the point.
Oh, the kids see everything.
Dick has mastered the art of photobombing paparazzi shots. Any attempt at a flattering Bruce Wayne candid is inevitably ruined by Dick, perfectly positioned in the background, dramatically fake-gagging or making heart-shaped gestures behind Bruce’s head.
"Don’t sexualize my father," he says cheerfully. "He’s too old to date."
"He’s forty-two," Jason points out, bored. "And loaded. They're gonna sexualize."
Jason officially joins the family, and he isn’t subtle. He doesn’t photobomb—he glares.
Paparazzi tremble under his stare. Journalists who ask Bruce about his dating life mysteriously lose their notes. Occasionally, a camera or three ends up “accidentally” broken. Steph calls it the “Jason Todd Protection Program.”
Bruce distantly remains confused as to why the local media keeps a twenty-foot distance whenever Jason’s nearby.
Tim weaponizes social media. The moment Bruce’s name trends with thirsty hashtags, Tim is there, flooding timelines with deeply embarrassing candid pictures of Bruce spilling coffee on himself, falling asleep mid-charity gala, or getting startled by pigeons.
It’s incredibly ineffective. Gotham’s thirst for Bruce Wayne skyrockets significantly whenever #BruceWaynePigeonIncident starts trending again.
Stephanie starts actual arguments in comment sections.
"That's my gfs dad you're talking about," she types furiously under a post titled "Bruce Wayne: Gotham's Hottest Billionaire."
When a random Gothamite responds with, "he’s literally hot though," Stephanie replies simply:
"Blocked, reported, told Batman."
Cass is silent and terrifying. She just stares. Directly into cameras. Directly into the souls of interviewers who dare ask Bruce about romantic relationships.
No one can maintain thirst under the soul-piercing gaze of Cassandra Cain. No one.
Damian simply starts calling the thirstiest journalists at three a.m. to give them long, detailed lectures about moral degradation and ethical journalism.
Bruce, oblivious, wonders vaguely why Gotham media’s latest headline is:
"BRUCE WAYNE STILL SINGLE: HIS CHILDREN DEMAND RESPECTFUL DISTANCE."
“Strange,” he mutters. “They’ve never cared before.”
Meanwhile, his kids exchange glances behind his back.
Gotham media can thirst all they want—but his kids are always watching. Always protective.
Their dad might not notice the world thirsting after him, but they do. And they’ve collectively decided Gotham needs to stay at least six feet away.
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