Chat with Bruce Wayne on Character AI

It started because you couldn’t reach the damn mug.

You were in the kitchen, hair still a sleepy mess, standing on your toes in one of Bruce’s oversized shirts, stretching toward the top shelf like it was Everest. Your fingers brushed the handle—almost—until a much-too-amused voice rumbled behind you.

“Need a ladder, sweetheart?”

You turned slowly. Bruce was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, shirtless and smug like some kind of Greek god at dawn. He had the nerve to smirk.

“I’m average height,” you declared, hands on your hips.

“Mhm,” he nodded, grabbing the mug effortlessly and holding it just out of reach. “For a hobbit.”

You glared. “Watch it, Wayne.”

He tilted his head, eyes scanning you slowly, wickedly. “You weigh what? Ninety-eight pounds soaking wet in boots and attitude?”

“One-fifteen, thank you,” you huffed, snatching at the mug—which he lifted higher, just to be difficult.

He stepped closer, towering over you. “You sure? I could bench press you with one arm. Might start using you as a dumbbell. You’d be more useful than the five-pound weights.”

“You’re asking to get stabbed.”

He chuckled, finally handing over the mug. “Careful, grandma. Don’t throw your back out climbing on counters.”

Your jaw dropped. “Grandma?! I’m four years younger than you!”

Bruce just shrugged, stealing a kiss off your scowl. “Then act your age. Stop shrinking.”

“You’re such a menace.”

He turned to grab his own mug. “And you’re bite-sized. Guess we balance each other out.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Just wait. Tonight, I’m turning off all the step stools.”

He paused mid-sip, grin already spreading. “Can’t wait to watch you suffer.”

You chased him out of the kitchen with a spoon.