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Robin by Cliff Chiang

What Normal People Do - 6

Art... and more! gird your loins, people! hold onto thy merkins! if i can pull it off, this should hopefully be the last fluff chapter before shit gets kicked to high gear. ao3! ghost/soap/gn!reader (established ghoap)

My Head Is An Animal

Johnny’s career is rapidly expanding.

The art fair had helped make Johnny excited about making art again. That, combined with the compliments you had so freely given to him yesterday and a new round of about twenty orders has him ecstatic about maintaining his storefront.

Enough time has elapsed that the first person who made the first order Johnny ever shipped had written a review- perhaps making it fancier than it needed to be when they saw how barren Johnny’s Etsy page was, but that didn’t exactly matter. Not when they had raved about how you could feel emotions behind every pen stroke! Or how they went and bought a frame for the small piece of paper! Or how it was probably hung in the reviewer’s art gallery!

It was nearly enough to make Johnny print the review out and paste it on a wall somewhere if he was being honest.

The Etsy soon turns into a TikTok page he pesters Simon into helping him set up once the storefront has gained enough traction to warrant it.

Things happen, and somehow the TikTok account gains half a million followers. Somehow, someway, Johnny finds himself in a community within Tiktok. It happens suddenly with duets and slideshows(Simon thinks, at least). Still, Johnny is soon reporting back about online friends, art trades, and after a while, being invited to local art fairs after being sniffed out by organizers, even.

Johnny is very much excited. He’s getting busier and busier, and though Simon doesn’t enjoy his time away from home, it is good for both of them, he thinks. Something to focus on. And brings back a decent amount of money, too.

You’re obviously invited to the art fairs Johnny gets stalls at. Johnny’s always over the moon to see you and sneaks free trinkets- like a bookmark or postcard- into your bag when he’s sure you’re not looking. Of course, this earns him a stern talking to when you notice, but your worries are easily quarried by puppy eyes and matching pout; “but Ae wanted to give you sa’thing, bon?”, he’s said before, and it doesn’t take very long for your resolve to crumble again. Sure, you could have argued that you could have bought it yourself, but you know that would only be matched with an offended glare from Johnny.

Truth be told, Johnny’s becoming really rather fond of you. Simon as well- such as when you had come to the third art fair Johnny showed at and had gotten lost after leaving Johnny’s booth. You’d gotten turned around a lot and were just about to ask someone when Simon caught your shoulder. He had called you a few times and when you didn’t answer, he went to find you. He corrals you back with the gentleness a shepherd must have with a lamb.

You’re starting to notice that Johnny has really started to take off. He’s gone to café’s and art podcasts and presentations at colleges and now cons and he has even been invited onto live stream with other art content creators on TikTok that he can now solidly call his friends. He gets along with them well and is even able to make meaningful friendships. For example, he meets a man who makes beautiful knitted mixed media work named Sammy who’s nothing short of a sweetheart to Johnny, talking to him via DMS and supplying him with inspiration when he gets stuck in a mood. Sammy is there, talking to him in his silly American accent and showing him the new knitted beanie he made out of recycled plastic bags for his 60-pound Maine Coon cat.

Then there’s Gloria, a cross stitcher. She’s well into her years, with her TikTok account being run by her great-grandson who kept her young with his quips and jokes. She quickly establishes herself by cursing like a sailor when her grandson jokingly insults her works from over the years. She also makes quite a few phallic pieces which, to no one’s surprise, the grandson rather likes. She’s so charming to Johnny because she sort of feels like his grandmammy.

Gloria reassures and encourages Johnny about his artwork over calls, which her great-grandson sets up and orchestrates because there's no way Gloria’s little arthritis-stricken claws would be able to navigate modern technology.

Simon likes his new online friends, too. Simon has become a staple in Johnny’s fanbase’s culture and his livestreams, oftentimes poking in to say hi or leave a coffee while Johnny draws on stream. He becomes prominent; it's easy to say that his fanbase adores the two of them especially when they get to hear their backstory, learning about how they met. It's enough to make him even more endearing to the public eye.

Life’s going awesome for him. He’s been going to art fairs in the area every other week, and even though fall is rapidly approaching, he's never been in better spirits. The cool weather usually means Johnny stops making art for a while because the warm weather helps keep him springy and stops his bad elbow joints from aching terribly. Now, he feels more than willing to tough it out.

Life just gets better when a rather large creator on the platform, someone named Jessica Johnson, invites him to an ‘ArtTok Conference’ about 50 miles away from Johnny and Simon’s flat in Manchester, so they plan to pack themselves up for the week with the dog. The venue itself is beautiful, all natural light, sleek marble and wood, and Johnny’s there to talk on a few panels to fans and do some live art as an installation; he’s going to be paid for his work, to just sit down in the gardens of the venue with Riley and do his art stuff while people walk around and observe and enjoy his art. He’d do it for free, honestly.

After he accepts the offer, he starts packing after he tells you, and it’s the happiest you’ve ever seen him. His cheeks are glowing and his smile lines have just become more defined as he's grown with his online career. When he announces that he’ll be at the con later that month, his Etsy shop completely sells out.

When the conference starts, Simon is attentive, caring and comforting. When Johnny gets ready for the first panel, Simon helps him steam the shirt he's gonna wear on the panel. When Johnny is signing prints at an M&G and his pen suddenly craps out, Simon’s there with an extra. When Johnny does his first day of sitting in the gardens and drawing, Simon stays with him, just standing there until one of the staff members brings him a chair. At the end of the first day, when Johnny face plants into the hotel room’s bed, Simon is quick to work out the knots from Johnny’s back. 

Johnny, if he’s being honest, is still a little sad that you weren’t able to make it, what with it being held in the middle of the work week and being an hour’s drive. You’re apologetic, of course, but he knows better than to be hurt terribly.  He feels better when you leave comments on all of the clips that he posts on his TikTok, and you still text whenever you can. He’s happy to be at the con and he’s thoroughly enjoying it, too. Simon’s like his own support system, leaving the conference building for coffee and bagels, and during the con, he’s like his own attraction at Johnny’s stall. People who don’t know Johnny are allured over by the six-foot-something man with the happiest-looking service dog ever and usually end up buying one of the many prints of Riley Johnny has done before.

Later in the week, he gets a panel all to himself where he talks about his charcoal art and how he made his style. Surprisingly, there’s a large turnout. He thought that nobody would want to listen to him ramble about the art he’s been making since high school or, even less, talk to him about his art. After the panel and a lengthy M&G, he starts planning when he’s going to release more things on his Etsy shop, just from how many of his prints he signed in less than three hours. In the time he has between panels and his live art installation, he finds himself doing thumbnails, just as an outlet for all the excess creative energy he has. It’s so fulfilling to see something he’s only ever seen something as a hobby grow into a whole community of his own, grow into a career and a plausible one at that.

Still, like all good things, the con comes to an end. He finishes the live art installation and then he and Simon say their goodbyes before making their way back home. Back to you.

In the space between, everything moves on in a peaceful sort of bliss. He’s restocking the Etsy regularly now, because of how much demand has ramped up. The art fairs are slowing as the cool weather sets in and he goes to his last one right as you get some free time, so it’s perfect timing for a little catch-up outing.

You get dinner at the art fair together, eating traditionally made pasta dyed colourful colours by plants while Johnny tells you everything about his time at the con. It just makes you sad that you missed it, just from how *happy* he sounds from the… Well, everything. He shows you pictures with fans and the highlight reels said fans made of his panels and endearing videos littered over his TikTok feed. You’re fully caught up in no time.

You’ve just finished dinner when Johnny gets the invitation. Johnny looks down at his phone while both you and Simon are engaged in conversation while he stares down at his screen. Then he gasps; loud and cartoonish.

“Ae- Ae go’ invited to a residency! In a gallery! Holy *hells*-“ he says, before a long and very animated string of curses as he finishes the email.

“Residency?” Simon asks.

“Gallery?” You ask.

“Yes!” Johnny says. “Oh, bleedin’ Mary. Look!” He says before he shoves his phone screen in your face, before passing it to Simon.

And, for the first time ever, you hear Simon laugh. It’s husky, like a smoker’s, but it’s endearing in a way. He wraps his arms around Johnny’s shoulders and kisses his temples.

“Yeah, I think this counts for another.” He says, flagging down the waiters for another round of drinks.

shirt that says i <3 torrenting movies

Everyone please say hello to Sock!

She is very small!!

i'm going to cry holding the kitty like a purse is too sweet 😭😭

Source: merletails

im from guyana, from both the wauna and essequibo areas! 1. french fries (specifically) 2. crisps 3. biscuits 4. triscuits 5. soda 6. sweets 7. cigars 8. hat 9. cotton candy

i'm conducting an experiment. everyone who's from an english speaking country state your country, regional area and what you call the following images. i need to see something

hi!!! i'm vivi and i use any/all pronouns :) ao3 pinterest (has all photo media i use in case you're curious) writing tag masterlist

i am a minor. i do my best to block and not interact with 18+ blogs. i'm also autistic- i struggle sometimes with communication over a screen. choppy, off-putting messages are usually because of that. sorry in advance :) i do not permit the use of my writing being put into an ai generator or a chatbot or anything of that nature. i do not permit the use of my writing being posted under any name other than my own. i try my best to put content warnings on my works when applicable, but you are still responsible for what you interact with.

masterlist!

COD What Normal People Do: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 MARVEL 15 DC Mistletoe and Mayhem

my general writing tag

WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK!!!!!!!!

Y'all I cannot stress this enough but it's real important to share stuff that you like if you want to see more of the stuff you like. And that means reblogging stuff.

I'm referencing Simblr specifically here, and fuck knows there's a 1001 reasons someone might want to leave this community, but that CC creator who just quietly stopped posting? That Sims story that never got finished and never will? That person with really neat Sims who said goodbye? All of these can be casualties of feeling like no one gives a shit.

"But SadRaccoon! People should do things because they want to! Notes don't mater!"

In an ideal world, yes. And you should do things because you want to, and not out of a sense of obligation for notes or whatever else. But I think we all know that's not how it works. Plus, I normally see this POV spouted from accounts that already have a big following so it comes off as a tad disingenuous. A little love goes a long way.

TL;DR - If you want to see more of the stuff you love, share the shit out of it.

YES batman being a bat dad (literally) is so perfect!!!!!!!

based on the tags i left on this post but ok. bruce befriending the bats in the batcave

I imagine after spending so much time there, they're used to his presence. they see and hear everything he does at all (ungodly) hours of the night. they don't much like his music taste, but they do like the food alfred leaves behind

now, alfred is leaving bowls of fruit behind for bruce because he forgets to eat more often than he'd like to think about (and everybody knows if you want someone with a laser-focused attention span to eat, you've got to put food in their general vicinity and let them graze on their own). but bruce rarely remembers to finish them off and so sometimes they just lie around for hours, untouched until one day bruce is working on his car, turns to grab something he left on his desk, and sees a bat perched on the side of the silver bowl munching away at his grapes

and bruce wayne has worked on this fear of his. he's treated the bats on the ceiling like decoration, and at times distant roommates. he leaves them alone, they leave him alone. this is the first time in a long time where they've felt comfortable enough to get close. he kind of just stands there and watches until the bat notices him and flies away with another grape in its mouth

the next time it happens, bruce is standing at the desk and notices some of the bats flying lower than usual overhead. there's this cheese and fruit plate that alfred left and he's been picking away at it, but bruce wants to test a theory and so he does. he grabs a grape and throws it on the floor several feet away. nothing happens. the bats keep circling and he thinks that maybe they're fighting or something, tries to leave it alone. the grape is gone an hour later, but he doesn't recall seeing any of them steal it

it takes a couple times before one gets close enough to touch, and he stares at it like he stared at the first one. it's on the other side of his desk and sure enough, he's got food nearby. he doesn't wanna make any sudden movements and scare it away, so he doesn't do anything. he thinks it might fly away if it gets bored, or it might come closer if it's really brave

it comes closer, and bruce watches as it steals his fruit and flies away again

at this point, alfred's collecting empty bowls. he thinks, "wow. good job, me. I knew it would start working eventually." and then a few weeks later, he comes down to leave another bowl and there's bruce sitting, legs propped up on a car engine he's working on, files in one hand and a grape in between his fingers and- oh. there's something perched on his shoulder. alfred startles because of course he does, it's moving and eating out of bruce's hand, and it can only be one thing. "is that a... bat?"

bruce glances up, sees alfred holding another bowl (strawberries this time), and then looks at his work, "uh-huh."

"is it yours?"

"it lives here."

"you mean," alfred points at the ceiling, bewildered, as hundreds of the winged things flutter around the endless dark, "one of those bats? and you're just feeding it on your shoulder? like a pet? what if it has rabies?"

"this one doesn't. she's got her shots."

even better if the bats come and go from the cave often. just imagine bruce out on patrol and the bats recognize him. he's staking out an alley, waiting for a target to show his face, and one of the bats flies up to him and almost scares him off his perch, but he recognizes it. it flies over to him and he holds his arm out, watching it grasp at the bits that poke out from his arm gauntlet and hang upside down off him

criminals start seeing him hanging out with these bats (which bruce has begun to tentatively train, because of course that's the first thing he looked up how to do when he realized the bats liked him), even whispering things to them and watching them fly off into the night. there's a rumor going around that batman can control all the bats in the city. bruce doesn't see any point in denying it

the realest batkids ever, actually

batkids game night. they’re playing fortnite

(click for full quality <3 also available as a print!)

What Normal People Do - 5

Art fair! sorry to the ghost truthers i just realised simon has brown eyes and not blue… i changed it in chapter three. idk how i got it in my head that his eyes are blue :’) ao3! ghost/soap/gn!reader (established ghoap)

I Need You Here

Johnny has been looking for a job.

Simon knew this day would come, admittedly. Crafts from Hobby Lobby would only tide Johnny over for so long before his hands grew a mind, taking him away from the private little paradise they’ve built together.

Now, Johnny often sprawled over Simon’s laptop, searching for any hands-on job nearby. It wasn’t uncommon for him to come to Simon, asking questions about the workforce since all he’s ever known is the military. They talk about handyman jobs, which Johnny seems most attracted to, assisting artists at a nearby college or even teaching an art class at the college, which revolts Johnny.

“Ae don’t ken anythin’ about art, Si!” He protests when Simon taps into the job listing.

“Sure you do. Your sketchbooks, Johnny.”

“That’s nae college level!”

He does half of the application just to fuck with Johnny.

Johnny finds a listing at the clinic you work at for a janitor. He froths at the mouth while thinking about working in such proximity to you for four days a week, but the pay brings him back down to earth. While technically they’d be fine forever with their retirement money, having extra cash could never kill them. For twelve pounds an hour, Johnny decides he can do better.

Johnny calls it quits after a week of searching for jobs. Everything he found started too early or too late, had too many days or not enough. He was either overqualified or underqualified and he was beginning to think that maybe he should go back to the military and take a civilian job because nowhere else seemed to understand his need for flexible hours. He tells Simon as much.

“No, Johnny, you just need to find your thing,” Simon says, rubbing Johnny’s shoulders reassuringly as they curl up on the couch together, Riley asleep by their feet. “It feels discouraging now, yeah, but you just might not be looking at the right stuff, y’know?” Johnny huffs.

“I’m dyin’ of boredom here, Si,” he gripes.

“I wasn’t joking about teaching that art class, you know.” He says, quietly, after a second.

“There’s no way, Si. A’m not like that. I dinnae know value from shade.” He grumbles back.

“Well, it’s the twenty-first century, love. You can sell your work. Or teach an amateur class online.”

Johnny goes quiet for the rest of the movie. He’s quiet as he takes a shower, brushes his teeth and gives Riley her last walk of the day and quiet as he crawls into bed.

He spends the next day researching things about a platform called ‘Etsy’. He barely takes breaks to eat or drink and Simon has to manhandle him to wash his hair. He spends most of the night doing whatever the hell on Etsy and Simon gives up on forcing him into bed and just falls asleep.

By the time he wakes up at 1000, Johnny is slumped at his desk, the laptop dead in front of him and covered by some of Johnny’s old charcoal figures. He sighs and cleans up the mess on the desk before putting a pillow under Johnny’s head and throwing a blanket over him. Then he makes breakfast and puts a full plate underneath Johnny’s nose, to help him wake up.

He takes Riley for her morning walk after breakfast and they detour to your apartment to say hi. You’re chirpy, finally fully recovered from the breakup as it seems, and genuinely happy to see them. Riley loves up on your legs like usual while you idly chat.

“There’s another fair coming to town next week,” you bring up.

“But didn’t we just have the strawberry one?”

“Yeah. But the college nearby is opening a new museum so they’re hosting a tiny version of one of the exhibits in a fair and bringing a bunch of local artists in.”

“Really?” Simon says, mind already churning into high gear when you mention local artists. “Johnny’s gonna love that.”

“It sounds like it’ll be his speed.” You say.

Simon nods. He has something to chew on now and he says an abrupt goodbye before going back to the apartment, hanging up Riley’s leash. Johnny is quick to pounce on him, immediately yapping about the Etsy page he made and all of his old art he put up for sale and how he’s already sold five whole pieces and needs to go ship them out.

Simon praises him, because he’s done such a good job- because, well, he’s doing something to occupy himself without leaving the relative safety of their apartment and that alone is enough to soothe him.

He tells Johnny about the fair during dinner, and Johnny lights up like the sun.

“Oh, oh, Si, can we go wi’ the bon, please, Si?” He begged with his biggest puppy eyes.

“Nn. You’ll have to ask them yourself.” He says, which makes Johnny immediately jump up to go and do just that. He’s stopped, obviously, with a sharp tug on the neck of his shirt.

“It’s ten in the night, Johnny.” He says. “Eat your damn dinner.”

“But ye said-“

“I didn’t mean right now, you bloody maniac. Calm yourself.” He says. Johnny pouts and pokes at the rest of his mashed potatoes like a child.

When Johnny does get to ask you the next day, though, he looks fully prepared to guilt trip you into agreeing. You agree without resistance, only ever so gently coaxing Johnny into going on your off day next week as opposed to that very second. He agrees only because it’s you.

Needless to say, Johnny is nothing but unbearable during the wait; talking Simon’s ear off to the point where he thinks he’ll get a permanent migraine. Thank bloody hell he’s so easily distracted by shiny things- most of the time, he was able to redirect questions about you to a collection of cross-stitch sets he had bought years ago. That, and helping Johnny pack and mail the odd dozen or so artworks that he's sold for a good dollar help keep him occupied. The works are mostly charcoals on fancy mixed media paper, all of them vaguely an unmasked Simon or the dog. It doesn't seem to matter much to the people who're buying his stuff, though.

The day finally comes, though, and Johnny sniffs you out. It’s very bloodhound-esc. You don’t seem to mind all too much, looking content to be dragged around.

Johnny first takes the three of you to a little make-your-own painting stall hosted by an oil painter located a few hours out. Johnny is utterly concentrated, leaving Simon and you to foster a quiet conversation while you paint on the provided canvases. When Simon goes to pay, Johnny shows you his painting proudly; it’s a portrait of you and Simon hunched over your portraits while engaged in a conversation. He’s somehow captured the essence of the summer afternoon and you’re entranced by how he’s painted you; the sun is almost right behind you, in his painting, and it makes your hair glow and eyes shine, even as they’re downcast.

“Wow….” You murmur, and Johnny beams, proud. Suddenly the still life you had done of the stall is no longer impressive. Johnny still insists on seeing it, forcing you to show it to him. He might be a little too generous, but still. It seems as though he means it, so what else could you ask for?

Simon comes back and he nearly mirrors your response, but he doesn’t seem as surprised as you had been. Johnny also manhandles Simon into showing his painting, but Simon is a lot more resistant. It takes Johnny squirming under one burly, hoodie-clad forearm for Simon to relent and begrudgingly show him a heartfelt landscape of simple green grasslands. Johnny still seems earnestly honest, nattering about how natural the few flowers look.

Then you’re toted to a make-your-own pottery stall, which is a lot harder than it looks. Johnny (obviously) takes to it like a fish to water after one or two bad first attempts, but neither Simon nor you take to it as quickly or smoothly. You end up coaxing a few deep chuckles from Simon with your poor attempts, but you’re not afraid to laugh at him, too, when he doesn’t do any better. Johnny makes an elegant, tall vase and Simon manages a lumpy yet characteristic mug. Your bowl is cute and has a swirly design you're rather proud of. Again, Simon pays and registers the group to be notified when the pots (as poor as yours and Simon’s were) are finished with glaze and firing.

Lastly, since by this time it was beginning to get dark, you take photos in front of painted backdrops done by different artists. They're all unique and beautiful, each done in their own, unique style. Johnny takes twenty minutes to just appreciate the artistry before making you take photos in front of his favourite backdrops with him. It’s another twenty until you’re able to rope Simon into taking one photo.

Johnny looks so utterly inspired, clutching the tote bag that holds his and Simon's oil paintings with a starry-eyed look as he takes one more look around the fairgrounds. It's awfully adorable. He begs you to just peek into a few more stalls while you wait for Simon to go to the person who ran the little photo area and get the photos printed out for you, so when you inevitably parted ways at the doorways of your apartments, you had a small 3x6” souvenir- ready to be pinned up on your wall.

What Normal People Do - 4

Dinner at Simon and Johnny's!

totally didn't mean to forget about this for two weeks.... hopefully this is enough sustenance! i recently started school again, so updates will likely slow.

also i'm a firm adhd (and dyslexic) johnny/autism simon truther so if something doesn't make sense, it's probably because i'm thinking of them as neurodivergent. ao3! ghost/soap/gn!reader (established ghoap)

I Promise, I'll Be Worth The Wait

Simon and Johnny have been learning your schedule.

For a few mornings in a row, while Johnny is still asleep, he can hear you in your room, just a wall over, shuffling out of bed and putting your kettle on before he hears the hum of your TV going, presumably keeping you company as you get ready for the day.

You get back home every day around 1650. Johnny pokes his head over to say hi quickly before leaving you to decompress. You’re always asleep by 2300. Then you wake up at 0600 the next morning, and you’re out of the flat by 0730.

They know your whole schedule by the second week. By then, they have become fixtures in your life, as reliable as the old Honda Civic you’ve been driving for five years. You can easily knock on their flat with the knowledge that they’d be happy to help, whether it be a cup of sugar, advice on how to fix your blender that somehow got broken in the move, or just a little company.

It was no surprise when they invited you over to their apartment for dinner, making sure to plan it perfectly so you aren’t fatigued or grumpy from work.

Johnny is keyed up during the two days following the dinner, constantly asking Simon questions at the worst times possible. Such as how the other night while Simon was awake and Johnny, for once, couldn’t sleep:

“Si.” Johnny shook Simon’s shoulder, earning a grunt from Simon. “Do ye think bonnie likes pasta?”

“Fuck if I know.” He grumbles. “Go to sleep.” Johnny mutters something about being discriminated against but he does, eventually, go to sleep.

Or when they were going grocery shopping:

“Oh, oh! Bonnie’ll love these!” He said, holding up a pack of digestive biscuits, making Simon sigh.

“Yeah, Johnny. I’m sure they will.” He says flatly before looking back at the bread. Five minutes later, Johnny shoves a roll of Smarties into his face.

“Nobody don’t like Smarties.” He says, almost proudly.

“Justify it however you need.”

Johnny is still not satisfied when they’re making dinner (together, as Johnny had insisted), rattling off about every piece of information he’s gleaned from you so far- where you’re from, your favourite colour and food and your birthday, too. No doubt, Johnny is smitten with you.

If he’s being honest, he doesn’t know how to feel about his boyfriend getting a crush on someone new- he was falling hard and fast while Simon would only really call his attraction to you surface level. Sure, you seem like a rather intelligent person and potentially someone he could dare to trust, but he isn’t as outgoing as Johnny is. He can’t know someone for a month and then want to know everything about them- it just isn’t how his brain works.

And if he’s being really, really honest, he’s scared. Johnny’s never been so enamoured before. It’s always been a fleeting attraction, long enough to last a week or two. He feels a little sidelined, jealous, even. Enough so that while following this line of thought his hand slips as he’s cutting carrots for the shepherd’s pie and accidentally nicks his thumb, snapping both Johnny and himself from their thoughts.

“Aw, Si!” Johnny exclaims, immediately putting his potato masher down and reaching for the first aid kit they keep stored underneath the kitchen sink. He coos all about his poor Simon while running Simon’s thumb under cold water and then delicately putting a bandaid over the wound, his warm hands over Simon’s cool ones. It’s then Simon acknowledges that maybe he simply missed Johnny, as all of his time recently has been spent obsessing over you. He can’t help it, Simon knows, but still.

“Gotta be more careful,” Johnny says when he’s satisfied with the condition of Simon’s thumb. He grunts and that is that.

Johnny is like a dog that night, chasing his tail while he waits for Simon to join him in bed, mad with excitement. He needs a steady hand when he’s like this, Simon finds- something mindless and easy enough to tire him out.

Tonight that means that Johnny is cradled to his chest, two burly arms keeping him in place. Pressure on the body helped regulate, as he had learned in a seminar he had dragged Johnny to once.

That pressure now works wonders, because Johnny is out like a light despite all of his fidgeting. In some ways, it feels like he has a magic off-switch for Johnny, which really shouldn’t be as cute as it is.

He hums under his breath while Riley noses open the door, jumping onto the bed and curling right in between their legs. Maybe she could smell something coming off of Simon and came in as a precaution. The thought makes Simon look up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, alright. I didn’t need to sleep anyways.” He whispers.

The next morning Simon makes the finishing touches on the menu for the night. Johnny’s been texting you since he woke up, probably distracting you from your job. Even still, he doesn’t have the heart to make him stop. At some point you stop texting Johnny because he gets up just to start bothering Simon- “What’s that, Si?” or “Gimmie a kiss, ye’ve been ignoring me,” or “Did ye take the dog fir her walk?”.

When Simon is content with the state of their house at 1300, Johnny jumps his bones and drags him to the bedroom out of sheer boredom. Simon keeps his entire 95 kilos on Johnny for the better half of some three hours, out of spite, mainly, boring Johnny to the point where he fishes out his phone and does… whatever it is Johnny does on his phone. Simon never really took to newer phones, nor what the younger people did on those phones.

(Because he could never enjoy the mindlessness of a screen. He’s weary and old, he feels it in his bones, his bad back, his knobbly knees, and he knows that emptiness of those ‘TickTacks’ that Johnny’s endlessly showing him will only serve to agitate him. He knows logically he only has a year or two on Johnny, really, but they were such opposites he rarely ever felt it. Johnny has reassured him multiple times about it, but it never stopped Simon from thinking (knowing) that Johnny deserves better than an old sod like him. They might be feral dogs together but Johnny has more humanity than he, easier to nurture and to be put back into society than him.)

Maybe it’s a force of habit but he uses a flip phone that can only call and text (if barely). It suits him just fine, though, making it hard for any distractions.

So maybe he feels a little smug when Johnny goes:

“Shite, they said they gonn’ be here in twenty.” A pause. “Fifteen fecking minutes ago!” And then Johnny is off like a rocket, rolling Simon off of him and then wiggling away and rushing to put on the clothes he set aside for the occasion, cursing rapidly while trying to fix his hair while putting on his slacks. Simon watches lazily before deciding to follow suit and put on his clothes, too.

“Mask or no mask?” He asks absentmindedly. Johnny doesn’t respond, too preoccupied with fixing his bedhead. He decides on no mask.

By the time Johnny deems himself decent, the doorbell rings and he curses before scrambles to open the door for you. Simon takes longer than Johnny to leave the bedroom, taking care to not rush, so when he inevitably enters the living room, you’re chatting with Johnny while pulling off your shoes. It looks like you’ve come straight from work, if the sterile hair and scrubs are anything to go off of. You wave hi to him, a tiny smile on your face.

He and Johnny pull the food from the oven where they’d been keeping warm while you sit, so politely, on the couch. Hands in your lap and feet tucked to the side, you’re a vision, Simon thinks as he puts a plate full of cobbler on their dinky little dining table.

You sit in a circle, the three of you. Simon serves you and Johnny your plates, letting you talk in peace while he listens, maybe chiming in gruffly when he knows what the conversation has shifted to. The conversation flows and ebbs in a way that Johnny alone couldn’t manage- it’s refreshing, having someone new, someone normal at that. Someone who understands the mundane process of civilian life, who, better yet, has only ever known civilian life. There’s a spark of amusement in Johnny’s eyes as he listens to you talk about work and your college and friends and the gruelling weight that is existence. You are heart-breakingly normal and they simply can’t get enough.

When Johnny leaves the table to use the restroom, though, you go quiet. It makes sense, as he has barely said a word to you for the hour and a half you’ve been here. He decides to change this by:

“How do you stop a baby from choking?”

This startles you.

“Uh, CPR?”

“You let go of its neck.”

It shocks a laugh from you, your eyes widening, caught off guard. Simon’s face stays stony but it softens by a fraction just from the sound of your laugh.

“That’s terrible.” You say when you’ve regained your senses, still giggling a little. He shrugs.

“It’s funny.” He counters.

You promptly shovel a bite of pie into your mouth, but it can’t hide the small smile on your face.

Two hours in, Johnny breaks out the wine. It’s not good, per se, but it goes nicely with the food Simon’s made. The wine loosens you up and makes your laughs come easier. You’re so beautiful when you smile; neither of them can help but try to coax more from you. When you’re more properly eased, maybe another hour or two in, you’re laughing at everything.

(“I went to the zoo last week, but there was only one dog in it.”

You’re already giggling in anticipation. 

“It was a shih tzu.”)

By then, dinner is over, and you can’t be trusted to handle with washing up the dishes. Instead, the alcohol made you curious; you had wandered over to their record player and plopped yourself right before the crate full of records they kept. You could hardly recognise any of them, admittedly. You end up being drawn to an album that’s just sickeningly 80s- there’s a wispy, almost hypnotic landscape of a beach with a random red electric guitar to the right while a guy wearing a pinstripe suit with very strong shoulder pads stares off to the distance with a very motivational look on his face. It’s so silly that it makes you laugh quietly before putting it on the turntable.

It’s jazz, you find. It’s comforting and smooth and, wow, you’re feeling quite tired. Maybe they won’t notice if you just close your eyes for a minute.

(They do.)

Johnny coos at you and takes a few pictures of you curled up against the table the record player’s on, nodded off. Then Simon picks you up, Johnny fishing through your pockets for your keys. They carefully deposit you on your bed, tucking you in, before Johnny pens a little letter for you when you wake up.

Hi bon, you fell asleep when me and Simon were doing dishes. i think you were listning to one of our records. it was lovely, though, thank you for coming!!!!! :D xxxxxxxx Simon and Johnny

What Normal People Do - 3

You've been, frankly, having a shit day. Your boyfriend (whom you don't even like that much) breaking up with you was your final straw. Then two very attractive young men and their service dog walk into your life and can't seem to leave. bit of a rushed chapter- not as finely tuned as i would like it to be. the reader kinda took me by the ear and wrote this chapter themselves, lol ao3! ghost/soap/gn!reader (established ghoap)

Lately, I've Been Crying Like A Tall Child

You have, frankly, been having a pretty shit day. Firstly you had three difficult patients back to back with varying degrees of Bitching Mothers™️ that insisted on you throwing safety to the wind for a small payout. You heard a lot of:

“No, can we skip that vaccine? I heard from my nail girl that they have red dye 40 in them,” one had said, her springy six-year-old doodling with the crayons and colouring books provided. You feel your jaw tick as you put on your best customer service smile.

“No ma’am, we can’t because the diphtheria vaccine is meant to help her. She’s at risk right now of getting it. She could die, ma'am.” You say. She frowned, a little convinced, but still stubborn.

“I don’t know if I want red dye in her bloodstream-“

“There’s no red dye 40 in any vaccine she'll ever get.” You grit out. “Ma’am.” She sighed as if she was being forced, but she nodded her head anyway.

“Well, I’m trusting you here.” She said, dramatically sighing.

Another was upset you had given her son a purple band-aid after his vaccine. The last openly talked about her tween daughter’s problems- ‘blightin’ useless, she is, scored dead last in her class- surely there’s something you can do to her, lovie?’- she had said while the said tween sat, mortified, on the table after you had told her through gritted teeth that that wasn’t related at all to your job.

After all of that, you were done with your job. Like, ‘I’m going to punch my next patient kind of done’.

You make it through the last bits of your shift with no more rude and/or stupid patients and without assaulting anyone. You make it to your car before texting the one person you trusted to not overwhelm you in your fragile state ; your friend from uni, Emma.

                                                                                                                        Today 2:28 PM

                                                                                                                   - can we hang? please? abt to commit second degree murder

     - always, babes 😘

     - St. James’ Park

                                                                                                                                                       -   give me an hour

And that’s how you found yourself in a strawberry festival with Em, laughing at her as she tried to throw strawberry-shaped bean bags into strawberry-shaped corn holes while wearing a strawberry-shaped hat that was frankly ridiculous. Actually, this entire thing was ridiculous . Perfectly so because you could barely remember why you had been murderous earlier.

When you’ve both got strawberry scones and are walking to your next destination- a strawberry jewellery stall, at her insistence- two very hot, very large men with a dog pass by you. One of them is wearing a black surgical mask that does nothing to hide how pretty his deep brown eyes are, framed with pale blond eyelashes that almost blend into his porcelain-pale skin that’s marred by multiple scars. The other one, who was shorter than the blond but still tall in his own right, had bright blue eyes, a friendly smile and short, spiky brown hair cut in a mohawk. The German shepherd trotting along with them has a harness that reads ‘SERVICE DOG - DO NOT DISTURB’. You’re snapped out of your thoughts by Em whispering in your ear:

“Hunks galore.”

“More like a one-way ticket to pound town.” You whisper back. Em smacks your arm and then you cackle together because the two hunks are surprisingly very fast walkers and have already left you in the dust.

Maybe an hour later, Em gets a text from her girlfriend.

“My maiden!” Em exclaims as she looks down at her phone while chatting with you about nothing over strawberry tea cakes.  “Her car broke down!” Em says. “Oh, I’m sorry babe, I’ve gotta dash. I’ll see you later, mmkay?” She kisses your cheek and then she’s off.

Thinking of Em’s girlfriend reminds you of your significantly worse love life. You have a boyfriend right now, but it isn’t like you’re head over heels or anything. He’s nice but a little boring- admittedly, you’ve dated worse. Maybe that’s why you’ve stayed for half a year.

You decide to wander around the fair for a little longer, needing some extra cheer to make it through the work week and you more or less get pulled into getting your hand read by an elderly woman in a strawberry dress unwittingly. She’s small, definitely shorter than you, but her eyes are wise and her smile is knowing.

“Come, sit,” she frets, pulling out a wooden chair for you. So you do. Then she demands you give her your hands. So you do. She puts on reading glasses while she hunches over your outstretched palm, peering down at the fine lines. She makes a contemplative noise before tracing a wrinkle. “Misery soon,” she observes. “Oh, dear, within the hour.” She stares down some more. “It’ll be repaid tenfold with good karma, don’t worry your pretty heart.” Her face brightens. “Oh-ho, companionship! Soon! Oh- my, very good friends.” She says, gaping for a moment at your hand. “Hmm. Maybe some bumps on the road but that’s to be expected. It’ll be worth it, dear.” She pats your hand with one of her old, withered ones, slipping a strawberry bonbon into your hold with a wink. “Now shoo!” 

You leave feeling a little confused. Just an old lady with a complex, you rationalise. And just as you’re finishing up making your last rounds, passing by stalls, your phone rings with a text. So you pull over and read the text from your boyfriend.

                                                                                                                             Today 6:52 PM

     -  hey

                                                                                                                                                                                                        - hi babe

     - i need 2 tell u smth

                                                                                                                                                                                                        - okay?

     - i wanna break up

     - idk i feel like things hv gotten stale

     - u dont mind right

     -u can come get ur stuff 

So surely it’s no surprise to anyone when you turn into an alleyway, slump against a concrete wall and start ugly crying while staring down at your phone. While admittedly you weren’t that upset about being broken up with, you were upset about so suddenly moving out. Going out onto the housing market, so soon and so late in the day, no less, was sending you down a panic-induced spiral.

Then there is a large, comforting weight on your lap, like someone had covered you with a weighted blanket. You open your eyes a little, tears still falling, and you see a German shepherd on your lap, nudging your elbow with its muzzle. Then you see the service dog harness and remember the dog as the one that had been side by side with the hunks that passed you and Em. You gawk for a moment before determinedly trying to stop your tears; if the dog is here, surely the very hot, otherworldly hot owners are nearby. You’d hate for them to see you snivelling.

You focus on the big, fluffy body on you and, damn, whatever the hell the dog’s doing is working because you no longer feel like the world is ending. You just need a new apartment. Worse has happened.

Once you take some deep breaths, you immediately see one of the hunks standing there. Just… watching. You panic, because you can’t fully read his expression from under his mask, and surely he must be mad that his service dog had pounced on you. You try to convince the dog to move but it’s having none of it.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, your dog sort of- um, trapped me here, I didn’t mean to-“

“No.” The hunk says (he’s hotter up close). He’s gruff and big and truth be told he does not seem like the kind of person you wouldn't want to argue with, so you stay quiet. “She wanted to help you. ‘S fine.” He says.

“Um,” you say. “Okay. Are you sure?”

The hunk merely grunts. “Are you okay?” He asks, and perhaps you’re being persuaded by his sheer mass and your new-found single status, but you swear his voice has softened a little, to not spook you more.

“Oh, um. Yeah.” You say, internally wincing at your overuse of ‘oh’.

The hunk stares down at you for a long while. Did you do something wrong? Shit. Maybe he does really mind. You shift underneath his dog awkwardly and feel the urge to explain yourself.

“I just, um- I have an, um. A thing.” You say quietly. It’s not an entire lie- yeah, you were half-convinced you had a ‘thing’ from Em’s insistence that ‘you’re not okay, babe!’ multiple times over. You can’t help the guilt of telling a lie when you weren’t diagnosed with anything, however.

“Are you okay?” He asks. Again. “Riley doesn’t start DPT on total strangers for no reason.” He sounds dry, but… insistent. Somehow. It leaves you with no way to squeeze out a lie. His pretty eyes stare two dead holes into yours, and you’re sure you’re gonna get vaporized, Terminator style. Unease creeps into your gut.

“No, I’m OK. Just… got a little upset.” You say weakly, forcing out your best smile. You’re proud that you don’t grimace instead. He just keeps on staring at you, showing no inclination of answering. Then, just as you’re about to force the dog off, the other hunk- an Amazon gladiator, holy hells- walks in, excitement in his eyes.

“Si, ‘ave found a strawberry sex stall-!“ He says, but then he notices you and his expression goes into something you can’t read.

“Well, hello, there.” He says. You surely must look like a deer caught in headlights.

“Hello,” you squeak out, because not one but two superhumanly hot men are paying you attention. You gently push the dog off of you, mumbling a ‘bye’ before you scurry away and straight to your car. You don’t look back.

——

The next morning, you’ve just packed up your every belonging from your ex-boyfriend’s flat- he didn’t even bother to help- and rented out a storage cube, packed in everything single-handedly, and then got the best sleep of your life in a hotel. You had woken up and then gone to a coffee shop because your entire day would be filled with hunting down an affordable place to rent. You had Em help you fill out a few applications while you were driving from the ex’s flat to the storage cube to the flat and then storage again .

You’re reading through an email one of the landlords of one of the nicer apartments sent you this morning as you walk inside, give the barista your order and pay. Your reading quickly becomes scanning- you got the place!- for payments to make, forms to fill, people to contact, etc. But you’re stoked! This new apartment is better than the ex’s, and the one you had before him, so you really can’t help yourself from smiling like a dork.

“Seems like ye’ve got a love-hate relationship wif’ that thing.” A masculine and not too unfamiliar voice says from your right.

You startle, almost ready to throw hands, and then remember that the voice is familiar. You stare at him- shit, it’s the Amazon from yesterday. Everything had been so chaotic you had forgotten about that embarrassing encounter with the hunks, but you had no such luck. It’s fine. He doesn’t seem too disgusted with you. 

“Oh! No, um. I got broken up with yesterday.” You say, reading his expression to see if there’s any hatred there , that you accidentally made his service dog sniff you out and take him away from his boyfriend. “Had to move out and find a new place on short notice.”

“And ye got the place?” He says, pretty blue eyes soft and inviting. It’s like he cares.

“Yes. It’s really lovely . Rent’s maybe a bit much but I’m sure I can budget it… It’s such a great stroke of luck that I’ve found it under 24 hours.” Ouch. Overshare. You cringe inwardly.

The Amazon nods.

“O’ course. ‘M glad fer ye.” Hot and nice. If he wasn’t a taken man….

“Thank you.” You say, smiling shyly. He smiles- big and bright and genuine.

“Och, no need tae thank me.”

Your brow furrows and you’re about to explain how your thanks are very much deserved- you should be thanking him for breathing the same air as you, much less hold a conversation with you- and then the barista calls out a poor butchering of your name and you leave because you’ve got some new-apartment paperwork to do.

It’s only halfway through scanning PDFs that you realise you hadn’t even gotten his number.

——

You’re going grocery shopping because it’s been three days and you’re frankly getting sick of takeout. You had written a list and you were considering if you needed apples when, for the second time this week, a masculine voice shocks you out of your train of thought.

“Well, lookit tha’!” The Amazon exclaims (you haven’t even gotten his name). You look up from your pondering. He smiles the way he had at the cafe; big and bright, and he claps your shoulder with his big hand.

“How’s the new flat?” He asks.

“Oh, it’s better than the photos,” you say. Just thinking about how pretty the flat was during your tour yesterday was enough to make you smile again.

“‘M glad, bonnie.” He says.

“Bonnie?” You ask, confused. Did he think that was your name?

“Don’t worry about it! How about this weather?” The Amazon says loudly , making you blink.

You chat with Johnny in the produce section about whatever comes to mind, and then at some point the Amazon- Johnny, as he introduces himself- shifts your focus from the groceries and he ushers you to a new cafe right next to the grocery store. You buy your drink and find a booth and you spend at least two hours talking with Johnny. At some point, you had to leave because you truly did have other things to do, no matter how nice the conversation was.

——

The next day, you’ve gotten your keys and are moving your boxes into your new flat. The neighbours seem quiet, you think, as you heft a box of plates into the apartment.

It’s been about half an hour before you get all the boxes inside and start fiddling with some deadbolts you’d bought on Amazon, just in case.

"Need help?" A voice asks, materialising behind you and spooking the living hell out of you. You then recognize him as the blond hunk- Johnny’s boyfriend, Simon. He’s staring- waiting for an answer, shit.

"No, I'm okay. Um, thank you, though." You say, still feeling remnant fear from his sudden appearance.

"Did you just move in?" He asks. Blunt, you think. The dog from earlier is there, too, tail wagging.

“Yes.” You hesitate- no way you have enough luck in this world to bag a beautiful apartment and beautiful neighbours. You decide you just have to know. “Do you… live here?” You ask.

Simon grunts. “We’re the flat over.”

“Oh!” You smile. “Well. Thank you for offering to help, neighbour.” You say, cringing a little- 'neighbour'? really?- but you put on a smile that must coax a smile from Simon from underneath his face mask. Then he says bye and you’re quick to reciprocate while the dog trots over to butt its head against your leg, and then they go into the flat over, just like Simon said.

——

The next morning, Johnny and Simon, your new, beautiful neighbours, are at your door at ten. Thankfully, it’s your day off, otherwise, they’d be knocking in an empty apartment.

When you open your door after the second knock, Johnny is standing in front of Simon outside your front door, holding a platter full of blueberry muffins and a still-tired Simon hovering behind him- almost protectively, you think. You probably don’t look the best as your plans today were to rot in bed.

“Hello, you two.” You say, trying to subtly fix your appearance while smiling .

“Hi! Ae made ye muffins. Tae help settle ‘ta the new flat.” Johnny says proudly.

“Wow, thank you. You didn’t have to. Here, come inside- I’m sorry, it’s a mess,” you apologise, inwardly panicking. After you’d gotten all the boxes in, you hadn’t even considered unpacking anything but the essentials yet. And you’d gone digging for certain things, leaving a few boxes open with stuff falling out.

“You got here last night?” Simon asks gruffly while you direct Johnny to set the muffins on your kitchen island.

“Can I make you some tea?” You ask, scrambling for your manners- God, it’d been a while since you last had new people over. You start looking for your kettle.

They start a conversation with you about the weather as you look for mugs and tea bags.

“Sorry, no sugar. Or creamer.” You apologise, making up for it with more tea than normal in their mugs.

Then you talk about leasing dates, the landlord, the best parking areas, the cheapest takeouts, and things to do around.

They manage to get you in their apartment once you become immersed in the conversation enough, just picking back up where you left off on their rather comfy couch. Johnny is more talkative than Simon is, but that’s not to say that Simon is a hulking statue (though that’d be hot, too). He grunts when appropriate, asks you questions, rags on Johnny and seems genuinely interested in the comings and goings of your life.

By the time you leave, it’s half past five and you have a full feeling from companionship. —— You come to realise that Simon and Johnny are the sort of friends you can rely on. You were putting your brand new bed frame up when you realised you didn't have a single screwdriver, so you had tucked your tail and asked the boys if they had one- and to your surprise (and delight) Simon came right over with a toolbox and made the entire frame without being asked to. He even put the mattress atop your new frame. He was just about to fix the hinges on your door before you had to stop him and make him lunch before he remade the entire flat. "Really, you didn't have to do that, Simon," you fret while putting a sandwich together for him while he stares at you, toolbox sitting on the kitchen island. "Sure I did." He says. It's like in their mind they've made up that they have to take care of you- like earlier this week. You'd just gotten home from work and decided to get groceries while you were out and about- you needed milk, anyways. But between the shopping bags and your work bag, your arms were a little overloaded. You didn't want to go through two trips, either, which resulted in you holding five bags and fumbling around for your keys. It was inevitable, really, that your work bag would slip and fall.  You had groaned and just began to bend your knees before you here an 'och, le'me!' from behind you. Johnny is there, taking your work bag and then three of the remaining bags from your arms. "Johnny, it's-" "Nae, I dinnae hear it. Open your door, bonnie." He seems intent on calling you that, too. Even though he knows your name. You'll have to ask about it soon. You just sigh and unlock your door before putting one of the grocery bags down, Johnny following suit.  "Thank you." "Nae sweat o' ma back." He says with a boyish grin before leaving and closing the door behind you. The attention is nice, really. It feels good to be so close to some people you could trust.

What Normal People Do - 2

Simon and Johnny have a new neighbour. cw for implied sexual content/aftercare. skip to 'The next morning' <3 ao3! ghost/soap/gn!reader (established ghoap)

Show Me Yours, I'll Show You Mine

The guilt isn’t all-consuming, he finds.

He and Johnny had explored having more partners together more than once- but usually, the third was only interested in a fling, nothing serious.

Simon obviously had no reason to think that you would be different. Obviously. But that night when Johnny presents to him a strawberry-printed jockstrap with a sly smile,- “Strawberry sex stall, remember?-“ Simon just can’t help but imagine if you were there.

It’s wrong of him, he knows. The only time he had seen you, you had been distressed. Enough so that Riley, a trained service dog, had noticed a way away and practically sprinted to you.

…But something about your demeanour had lured him in. So after he gets a cool rag and cleans Johnny and himself off, curling around Johnny’s back like he's a planet finding its orbit, he murmurs what he was thinking about. He knows Johnny won’t shame him- they’ve done much worse than absently think about someone else watching in during their intimate time.

Johnny looks over his shoulder at Simon with a crooked grin.

“Me tae.” He says. Somehow, Simon is not surprised. “Wish ae’d gotten bon’s number.” He grumbles.

Simon shakes his head.

“It probably wasn’t meant to be,” Simon says. “So distressed. Hard to imagine they’d’ve taken kindly to it.”

Johnny groans.

“Tae reasonable. ‘D’ve fallen for mae charm!” He protests.

“Unlikely.”

“Ae don’t like ye.”

Simon grunts.

“Sleep, Johnny.”

——————

The next morning, Price and his wife are supposed to be coming over to the flat and so Johnny is tasked with taking the dog out to a local coffee shop while Simon cleans the flat.

Riley is quiet on her leash while Johnny mills about, waiting for the overworked barista to shake together the coffees.

He doesn’t realise until he’s halfway through the counter that he’s been casing it.

Bad dog, he chastises himself, slumping against the wooden panel of the wall.

He manages to rein himself in for maybe five minutes before he inevitably looks around again- but this time he is rewarded.

Standing a little to his right is you, smiling down to your phone. Like a sane person, he slides right next to you.

“Seems like ye’ve got a love-hate relationship wif’ that thing,” Johnny says, nodding to your phone.

You look startled and confused as you look at Johnny and then recognize him.

“Oh! No, um. I got broken up with yesterday.” You say, bashfully. “Had to move out and find a new place on short notice.”

“And ye got the place?”

“Yes. It’s very lovely. Rent’s maybe a bit much but I’m sure I can budget it… It’s such a great stroke of luck that I’ve found it under 24 hours.”

Johnny nods.

“O’ course. ‘M glad fer ye.”

“Thank you.” You say with a shy smile. Johnny grins at you.

“Och, no need tae thank me.”

Johnny watches your pretty mouth open to refute him when the barista calls out your name. He rolls your name around in his head for a while before the barista’s tired voice calls for a ‘Tommy’.

He takes the coffees, grumbling under his breath about how Johnny wasn’t a hard name, actually, and rather easy to hear, thanks, Riley loyally at his side.

It’s only halfway through brunch and Simon’s scones that he realises he hadn’t even gotten your number.

He glumly retells the events of the morning once the Prices have left to Simon, who ruffles his hair a small bit.

“Not meant to be, Johnny,” Simon echoes.

A new tenant is moving in, Simon offhandedly tells him shortly after. Johnny only thinks about you and your ex a little.

——————

Johnny nearly wants to call Simon to laugh in his face. Oh-ho, ‘not meant to be’ his arse. Bonnie is right there, in the produce section, frowning down at a list. For the second time, he slides up next to you.

“Well, lookit tha’!” Johnny exclaims. You look up from your intense staring and blessedly at him; earning a grin from him and a friendly clap on the shoulder.

“How’s the new flat?” He asks.

“Oh, it’s better than the photos,” you say, pleased.

“‘M glad, bonnie.” He says.

“Bonnie?” You ask.

“Don’t worry about it! How about this weather?” Johnny all but yells.

You spend perhaps more time than you should with Johnny; chatting about absolutely nothing and everything at all. At some point, grocery shopping leaves your mind and Johnny ushers you to a nearby café so you can converse in peace.

——————

The next day, as Simon leaves the flat with Riley in tow, he sees you pulling a few boxes into the flat next to them.

Oh, Johnny’s going to love this.

He leaves you alone because he is not Johnny and his unlimited confidence, opting to take Riley out on her walk the long way around the building. 

By the time he's back, you are outside, fiddling with the locks on your front door.

He decides to talk to you; it'd be the neighbourly thing to do, right? Surely he can spare a little time to get to know Johnny's self-proclaimed bonnie.

"Need help?" He asks, materialising behind you and making you jump out of your skin. You whip around and then Simon understands the appeal you have to Johnny.

You're golden hours outside and fresh fruit in dinky plastic cups; you're like summer before it's too miserable and when spring is still lingering by. You're domestic and perfectly so- not heavy-handed, no, done with a perfect sort of delicacy that he can still imagine you hard-faced at a PTA or an HOA meeting or whatever it is normal people do in their free time.

The time it takes for him to decipher what it is in you that Johnny adores is the same amount of time it takes for you to recognise him.

"No, I'm okay. Um, thank you, though." You say, almost shyly. Simon thinks he likes you, too.

"Did you just move in?" He asks. By then, Riley has recognised your scent, making her tail wag rather aggressively.

“Yes.” He sees you hesitate for a moment, and then: “Do you… live here?” You ask.

Simon grunts. “We’re the flat over.”

“Oh!” Your face brightens. “Well. Thank you for offering to help, neighbour.” You say with a beaming smile which is so bright he can’t help but let the corners of his lips quirk up into a little smile, too.

He says goodbye and you do too, and Riley gets one more head butt before he leads Riley over to their flat.

Johnny is already there, sprawled out on the couch while watching some cooking show on the TV. He gets up when he hears the door open, though, to give Riley some pets. She borfs and Johnny borfs back.

“Dogs, the both of you,” Simon grumbles as he takes off Riley’s harness and throws his keys onto a little table by the front door Johnny had bought aeons ago.

He slides all three deadbolts into place while Johnny leads Riley to the kitchen for her dinner.

“Oh, Johnny,” Simon says as he hooks up his coat. “Your bonnie moved into the flat next to us.”

Johnny stops pouring kibble into Riley’s bowl.

“Yer kidding?!”

“No.”

Johnny honest to God shrieks and forgets all about Riley’s dinner, racing to the door like a cartoon character. Simon stops him with a firm hand on the shoulder.

“No. They just moved in. They’re probably tired. Let’s be considerate and wait till tomorrow, yeah?” He says, and Johnny visibly droops. His expression softens and he presses a kiss to Johnny’s temple.

“We can bring them food tomorrow. How about you make your muffins for them?” He suggests. That, at least, makes Johnny settle.

——

The next morning, Johnny and Simon are at your door at an acceptable time. Simon forced Johnny into waiting a full two hours after they woke up before they went to your door.

It was a little like a child on Christmas morning; so excited that they can’t think of anything but that one thing.

Johnny practically sprints out of their flat when Simon just sighs after he asks if they can *go see the wee bonnie, please, Si?* for the umpteenth time in an hour.

He’s standing outside your front door now, muffins in tow and a still-tired Simon hovering behind him. He knocks for the second time and then lo and behold is his bonnie. Maybe a little ruffled from sleep but just as bonnie as the last time he saw you.

“Hello, you two.” You say, smiling.

“Hi! Ae made ye muffins. Tae help settle ‘ta the new flat.”

“Wow, thank you. You didn’t have to. Here, come inside- I’m sorry, it’s a mess,” you apologize. There are boxes strewn about, dragged around, things overflowing from inside.

“You got here last night?” Simon asks as Johnny sets his muffins down on your kitchen counter. You nod.

“Can I make you some tea?” You ask, already rummaging in a box labelled ‘kitchen’ for your kettle.

You chat idly while the water boils and you look for tea bags and mugs.

“Sorry, no sugar. Or creamer.” You say as you pour them two generous mugs.

Then you talk about leasing dates, the landlord, the best parking areas, the cheapest takeouts, and things to do around.

At some point, their mugs run dry and you go to their flat over for lunch and even more conversations.

By the time you leave, it’s half past five and you have a full feeling from companionship.

What Normal People Do

John 'Soap' Mactavish and Simon 'Ghost' Riley have routines. They have also each other, the truck, the dog, and their flat. That is until the dog practically manhandles you into their life. Changes ensue. please be warned this is very self indulgent and probably not in character at all. i have never played MM2, i haven't watched a single playthrough (unless countless tiktok edits count) and I only know what I do about their characters from a lot of tumblr posts and fics on ao3. speaking of- ao3! ghost/soap/gn!reader (established ghoap)

I'll Run Away With You

Simon Riley is not known for being tender and soft-spoken- he wasn’t a lieutenant because he spoon-fed soldiers and tucked them in on cots in the middle of a war field. He earned his stay on Earth, earned his title, hell, earned the clothes on his back. God would have had his head if he hadn’t made sure the younger, more incompetent kind didn’t have to, too.

It was hard for him to find that balance between the harshness of his job and the still bad but significantly less thorny outside (or inside?) world. Sometimes, while on the field, old injuries from years past would randomly decide to rear their heads. Maybe it would be an old knife wound that felt like it was bruising all over again or his ears would ring like he was hearing gunshots in the middle of a Marks and Spencers.

He was a valuable soldier, he knew. There were bunches and gaggles of people who wanted his head mounted on a stick- too many to count, and properly address. He was only one man, though. It would make sense that after all those years, it would weigh on him.

When he was younger, newer to the military, he tried to be normal when he was off duty. What his mam would have wanted for him, had she not been a deadbeat and dead. Polo shirts that stretched around his wide frame tucked into jeans, taking care of the flat he rented somewhere in the countryside-city (it’s not really a suburb but he calls it that anyways because who cares?) and pretending to debate about vacuums and silverware. Because that’s what normal people do.

But as time went on, it got harder to separate work from his life, and he just… let it consume him. Now that same suburb-y flat is in a place more urban than sub, “prime real estate,” he overheard in a decent pub with a pint once in between missions. Rent’s gone up, that’s damn sure. He offhandedly considers buying the whole building sometimes- he’s got bloody enough money, more than enough from saving absentmindedly, as the money had nowhere notable to go- but he wouldn’t be present enough to be a landlord and that shite. The flat he tried to furnish when he was twenty-something is still furnished the same way, if not a little more touched up by Johnny and his never-ending energy, and sometimes, it feels like being in a dead person’s house. It’s lived in but in a state of perpetual disrepair, never feeling like an actual home (at least for him).

The fridge was rarely ever stocked with anything but condiments and beer during their military days- he and Johnny never really had the energy to cook, preferring to use their free time elsewhere- but the bed had a frame (better than what he can think of some of his friends, bleedin’ Johnny and bringing girls back to a mattress on the floor before he moved in with Simon) and a rug underneath it and even a potted plant on a side table that is 100% plastic. It catches the light nicely in the wee hours of the morning, though, so it’s worth dusting the thin, leathery material of the fake lily now and again.

The flat is more furnished now, now that they’re officially in retirement. Knick knacks found at thrift stores or random handouts from the festivals and fairs that they go to every season, just to feel a little human again. There are more plastic plants on the side table now and Simon even tentatively tried a spider plant six months ago. It’s still alive, flourishing even, and now Simon has a couple of gardening books. Sometimes, when neither of them can sleep, Simon reads them out loud while Johnny fiddles with some new craft. Johnny says out loud once that they should get a house, for Simon and his plants.

Johnny came home with him every time they got some leave time together. The two of them are one in the same, really, feral animals without an off switch. It makes it easy for a relationship to foster, their understanding of the other in such an intimate and vulnerable way. It lets them open up guarded and bruised hearts, letting the other shine a flashlight on them and deciding to love them anyway. It’s the same as the hopeless romantic shit that you see in movies but plays out a lot dirtier in real life- it’s all the love and passion and borderline insanity that comes with a real first love mixed with the obsession of two retired soldiers who had been in the game too long and longer still without anyone normal to add some perspective to their lives.

That’s how it’ll always be, Simon thinks to himself as he stares at Johnny, hulk of a man he is, curled around Simon like a docile little thing- he surely looks it, as he was dwarfed by the extra five inches and the fifty pounds Simon had on him. He’s asleep- man sleeps like the dead, anywhere and everywhere- mohawk unruly and sticking up every which way. Getting long, Simon thinks to himself as he runs a hand through it- slightly sweat slicked but soft from a shower that night. It’s the right on the cusp of summer, the AC working hard- in this old flat, it doesn’t work the best but gets the brunt of it done. Simon’s opened up a window, (hesitantly- but between him, Johnny, and the dog, it’s sweltering and he fears he might get heatstroke) the one closest to his reach, so that the mesh covering can ventilate the room. They’re three stories up, but neither he nor Johnny enjoy having windows open. Too many weaknesses. He takes advantage of the window, though, lighting up a cigarette with a Zippo Johnny got for him a year ago.

His life is full of opposites, he finds. Johnny tends to take up a room, but Simon moves silently, just like his callsign. Johnny sleeps like a log while Simon struggles with his insomnia (right now he hopes the cigarette will help quiet him enough for sleep).

It won’t, Simon thinks to himself as he watches the moon move through the window and sinks below where he can see and eventually, the sun makes its appearance known. He puts his cigarette out sometime between the sun bleeding to view and the first rays of dawn because time keeps on moving and then Johnny is shifting awake at 0800. Johnny blinks, eyes already bright, ready for the day. He’s always alert when he wakes up, force of habit, Simon supposes. He doesn’t sleep enough himself to be so put together when he wakes up.

Then their day goes as follows:

Johnny puts the telly and the kettle on while Simon makes them brekkie. After two cups of tea are made (one with enough creamer to strangle a cow and the other black and simple, the way God intended it, as Johnny’ll tell Simon) and toast and egg sandwiches like the ones from cafes that Johnny learned how to make on a whim are put together, they sit for a while, just enjoying their company. Johnny fiddles with something- today it’s the newspaper- and Simon reads a book, and every once and a while, there’ll be a fair advertised in the paper. The fairs have always been there, in the city, but the two of them never really had the time while in the military. Now, they have more time than they can think to do with it, and so Johnny dragging Simon to them is now a familiar routine.

“‘S strawberries thi’ year,” Johnny says out loud.

“Mm?” Simon hums, immediately knowing what Johnny is talking about.

“Shite, 't started tae days ago.” He puts the paper down and puts his hands on his knees, and Simon puts a bookmark in his book before getting up.

They work cohesively around each other while getting ready to go to the fair. Johnny searches through the walk-in closet for a shirt and Simon digs through their dresser for socks. Johnny fixes his mohawk while Simon hooks a surgical mask around his ears. Johnny laces his sneakers up and pulls Riley’s harness on and Simon pulls on a hoodie, and then the three of them are in Simon’s truck, chugging along to the Town Center, where there are tents and stalls and people with strawberry hats. They get strawberry cider, strawberry pound cake and strawberry-shaped pasta to take home and strawberry cider that the both of them conclude is just Sp

rite in a pink glass bottle. Simon has to talk Johnny down from buying a big, ugly strawberry hat for Riley and compensates with a ceramic strawberry planter. There are strawberry-printed picnic blankets spread underneath trees with strawberry lanterns connecting them, lighting up the public park as the sun dances in the sky. Simon watches idly while Riley bites at a chip Johnny offers her.

They have a moment of peace there, on the picnic blanket, before Riley loses her shit and starts pulling on her leash, her distress signal- usually for Simon, but obviously for someone else now, if the desperate way she’s struggling against her harness is anything to go by. Simon gets up begrudgingly, the metal plate in his knee protesting as he jogs to meet Riley’s speed as she practically sprints behind one of the stalls. There is you; half curled on yourself with your phone in your hands. Riley rips herself out of Simon’s hold and barrels into you, calculating her speed so she’s at a trot when she lays her weight across your lap. You blink, phone forgotten, and Simon watches, silent, as you flinch away. Riley’s nothing if not persistent though, and eventually her weight forces you to calm down. Huh. Simon thinks offhandedly. You still haven’t noticed him, big and hulking as he is, just focused on Riley’s comforting weight as you calm yourself, slow, stuttering breaths evening, phone forgotten. DPT, Simon thinks to himself. When you calm entirely, you spot Simon. Your eyes go wide and you immediately try to wiggle out from underneath Riley.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, your dog sort of- um, trapped me here, I didn’t mean to-“

“No.” Simon says, and his gruff tone matched with his physique is enough to quiet you. “She wanted to help you. ‘S fine.” He says.

“Um,” you say. “Okay. Are you sure?” Simon just grunts in response.

"Are you okay?” He asks, his voice softening just a little.

“Oh, um. Yeah.”

Simon doesn’t believe you.

He stares down at you for a long while, and your expression gradually grows more anxious.

“I just, um- I have an, um. A thing.” You say quietly.

“Are you okay?” He asks again, giving you a chance to tell the truth, to redeem yourself. “Riley doesn’t start DPT on total strangers for no reason.” This time, Simon’s insistent, giving you no wiggle room. He stares two holes through the back of your head. You look uneasy.

“No, I’m OK. Just… got a little upset.” You say, giving him a little smile. Simon stares longer than necessary. Just as he’s about to answer, Johnny comes in running.

“Si, ‘ave found a strawberry sex stall-!“ Johnny starts before his eyes land on you. Pleasantries are exchanged before you squeak out an excuse and you make a point in scurrying out before Johnny can even start his main charming event. Johnny pouts but watches you go.

“Bonnie, that one,” he murmurs, if a little mournfully. Simon only grunts in agreement.

Later that evening, the interaction is forgotten about. Passed off as just a weird event, perhaps an endearing story to tell about Riley- (sweet girl, always so concerned for others- took off running for a stranger once, she did)- and nothing more.

That night goes as follows:

Johnny and the dog watch telly until Simon is done with dinner. They eat together, their little family, Riley eating her generic shepherd’s meal through her slow feeder, chowing loudly while Simon and Johnny talk about everything and nothing at all. Then they all sit together on the sofa to watch a random movie. It’s time for bed after, which means brushing their teeth, showering, washing hair and getting the last of Riley’s jitters out. Then the three of them settle in bed- it’s barely past 1100 before Johnny’s out like a light.

This is where the routine of retired life varies:

Sometimes Simon will sleep. Sometimes he will stay up for a night, then two, then twelve. Sometimes he’ll take the medicines he is supposed to and others he will wake with night terrors. Sometimes he’ll wake up and feel so broken he’ll wake Johnny up so that can cuddle and fall asleep together and sometimes the dog will wake Simon before an especially bad nightmare.

Yes, his life really is full of contradictions, Simon thinks. Because knows he is in love with Johnny but somehow cannot get his mind off the brief meeting he had with you. He takes after his father in more ways than one, it appears. The heart of a cheater hidden in the skin of a new mind. He and Johnny have had thirds before- but Simon’s never felt so enraptured by one before. Not so quickly, not so strongly, not so potently. He finds himself craving to know more about you, to learn everything about you- the same way he felt about Johnny when they first met. The revelation makes him stay up and smoke and watch the moon bleed to the sun, with Johnny curled to his side and Riley in their bed.

Then their day goes as follows:

Johnny puts the telly and the kettle on while Simon makes them brekkie. After two cups of tea are made and omelettes are put together, they sit for a while, just enjoying their company. Johnny fiddles with something- today it’s a new paper craft- and Simon reads a book. Sometime during that, they'll part ways. Maybe the dog needs a walk or Johnny takes a piss- it's a little like a game of wills, looking for who will tap out of just sitting there first. Today, it's Johnny. He gets up to get his laptop before settling back on the couch with the TV buzzing lowly. Johnny job hunts. Simon reads. Johnny feeds the dog. Simon ponders their pension. At some point both of their minds wander to the same topic- you.

Then their night goes as follows:

Johnny and the dog watch telly until Simon is done cooking dinner. They eat together, their little family, Riley eating her generic kibble, chewing loudly while Simon and Johnny talk about everything and nothing at all. Then they all sit together on the sofa to watch a random movie. It’s time for bed after, which means brushing their teeth, showering, washing hair and walking Riley to tire him out. Then the three of them settle in bed- it’s not even past 1100 before Johnny’s asleep.

Then the routine of retired life varies:

This night, Simon lays on his back like a log before curling into Johnny's back. He sleeps that night.

my gf

Mistletoe and Mayhem

this is within the realm of that hcs i posted!

2.9k words

bruce wayne/gn!reader (reader and bruce are married and have been for over ten years)

cute couples, Bruce Wayne being shy, marriage and cute Batkids, Alfred appreciation, Christmas joy, Bruce Wayne being a little helpless at parenting his children

this was written entirely on my phone and not proofread. you have been warned

The night before Christmas was hell on Earth. Alfred had retired to his room at seven, because neither you nor Bruce could ask him to help nanny the eight kids within good conscious, not when they were so hyped up and Alfred had already done so much. You always helped wherever you could- Bruce was preoccupied with Batman and Wayne Enterprises, making him practically obsolete, so he wasn’t to blame about Mr. Pennyworth doing the most this holiday season. Such as wrapping all hundred sixty something gifts, decorating the entirety of Wayne Manor practically alone (Dick tried to help but just started showing off his acrobatic abilities in places he wasn’t usually allowed to), making Christmas breakfast the night before, stuffing the stockings over the fireplace, keeping said fireplace warm, and helping you keep the children entertained on Christmas Eve morning without Bruce and without the new fascination of Dick going on patrol as Robin to keep them entertained.

It didn’t go very smoothly. Damian cried and so did Cass and Kate had her noise-cancelling headphones on for the majority of the afternoon. You were overwhelmed, too and needed to call Bruce in just to tap out for a little while. He emerged from his office and started a snowball fight, just for your sake. You knew you’d be dusting snow off his stubble afterwards and helping him warm up after Jason stuck a snowball the size of his head down Bruce’s shirt.

Bruce had to yield, as it was nearing his time for patrol. You were on defrost duty, wrapping blankets around freshly showered children’s shoulders and then kissing your husband’s frostbitten lips back to their normal shade of pink. He drags you away from the children for a while, to your bedroom, whispering something about how he was still cold to you before he goes to change into his Batsuit.

That night, when Bruce came home from patrol and you had an odd half a dozen kids to put to bed together, you were starting to really feel Alfred’s absence.

You started with stories. You took the youngest four (excluding Jason- he liked to think himself older than he actually was. Cassie eagerly took his place, though) and let Bruce try to coerce the others to sleep from downstairs, giving you and the more cuddly kids some peace and quiet. Damian fell asleep easily on your lap before you even started to read and curled into a little ball. Cass almost threw him off and onto the ground while trying to put her butt on your shoulder, like she had seen a parrot do on TV. She got it, somehow, after a lot of shifting and prodding- right before, she very nearly tumbled to the ground, saving herself by digging her little fingers into your head and somehow balancing on your shoulder. Around that time, Duke came back with a book. Tim groaned, as the book was ‘If You Give a Mouse a Cookie’ and not ‘Molecular Anatomy 101’, but you just patted his hair and told him to try to sleep. He gruffed and grumbled and groaned but he did try to listen when you started to read.

Near the middle of the book, you had to take a break to shift Cassie to your lap, since she had fallen asleep and would’ve toppled over and hit her head on the ground if you kept her perched there like an half-asleep bird. She curled a little around her little brother, making you take a little break from reading to coo at just how darn cute your kids were.

By the end, Tim was asleep where he was sitting by your feet, leaving only Duke awake. You made a ‘shhh’ motion to him and carefully, quietly, picked Damian and Cassie up and gently put them over your shoulders. You put them in their beds and then circled back to pick Tim up and hold Duke’s hand as you walked to his room. You tucked Duke in as you usually did, and just as you were about to get up, his hands flew out and he clutched at your arm.

“Can I get another story?” He asked with his best puppy eyes.

“Duke… it’s late, buddy. You need to sleep.” You say, but you already know your answer when he cranks the pitifulness up to a hundred, those big eyes staring holes into your soul. You groan quietly. “Fine.” You say, going to his bedside bookshelf to pick a book. “But a short one!” You warn, and he cheers quietly. You come back with ‘Good Night, Moon’ and then you make him scoot over so you can lay in bed, too, because damn were you tired and damn was that rocking chair so not comfortable. By the time you finish the book, he’s half asleep. “Good night, Duke,” you say quietly, kissing his forehead before picking yourself up, putting the book away, and going downstairs to see what your husband was up to.

Downstairs, Bruce had Jason in a headlock. He was kicking his feet up and around haphazardly as Steph held up his knees, effectively turning her little brother into a battering ram against Bruce, who was holding in strong. Dick was on the couch, knees locked and ready to spring onto Bruce like those wrestlers who get up on the ropes of the ring to body slam their opponents. Kate was quietly sitting away from the chaos in a little reading nook by the kitchen with a cup of tea and a book. You stopped at the top of the stairs and everyone froze on the level below- except for Dick, who took the newfound quiet as the perfect opportunity to yell a battle cry and jump on Bruce’s back, forcing your husband out of his sheepish silence with a loud profanity as he tumbled forward, making Jason and Steph tumble, too. Kate snorts out a laugh from her corner. They end up in a pile on the carpet, Jason squirming his way out from the bottom, Steph complaining loudly about where her dad had fallen atop her pinkie finger, and Dick quickly scampering off of your husband’s back. Bruce huffs out in pain and pulls himself up, but not without shooting you another sheepish, apologetic look.

“This is you getting them to bed?” You say as you go down the stairs.

“Well- we were supposed to just throw things around, to get them tired. Then Jason started to climb things and-“

You cut him off with a gentle kiss to the cheek, which makes him deflate, a silly, tired smile on his face. You spare him from a lecture, not wanting to belittle his parenting choices right then, and pat his shoulder before getting down to business.

“C’mon, now. It’s bedtime.” You say to the kids, which makes Jason and Steph groan loudly. Kate puts her teacup away carefully in the kitchen and brings her book upstairs while the three others drag their feet up the stairs, trying to bribe you into letting them stay awake. Maybe it would’ve worked any other night, but it was Christmas night. So you forced the three of them- excluding Kate, as she said a gentle goodnight to the both of you and went to her room- to bed and gave Kate and Dick a good night kiss (she and Dick are the only ones out of the four who accept them anymore) before retiring to the master bedroom with Bruce, who was walking with a slight limp because of that stunt Dick pulled. You yawned- it was already one in the morning, and Tim would be waking the two of you at six for presents. It was predictable, really. He’d wake up really early (at least three in the morning according to Alfred) and then wait until six to wake you and Bruce to impatiently wait for the others to inevitably start trickling in. Dick would arrive after Tim, then Duke, then Cass, and then Damian would awake to the commotion and be grumpy about it so loudly that he’d wake Jason, and then Jason would bully Steph into joining him. Kate and Alfred always waited for everyone downstairs- Kate preferring the butler’s company over her loud, excited and impatient brothers and sisters. You weren’t offended, if anything, you understood, but you couldn’t say Bruce wasn’t. It always hurt him a little when the kids showed obvious signs of growing up or distaste to the two of you. Bruce had cried on your shoulder when Dick graduated middle school, when he had seen that not-so-baby-faced Dick in his cap and gown. You knew he was thinking about the future, how one day Dick would be an adult and leave. You knew he was dreading that, and you understood.

You got ready for bed, revolving around each other in a practiced way, weaving in precise, memorised ways since you just know the other that well, before retiring to the bed around the same time. After years of being together, you two had sort of unconsciously shortened or lengthened certain parts of your routines so you would always be in bed around the same time as the other. You were reflecting on this as Bruce slid into bed next to you, wearing his fancy, matching silk pyjamas that always reminded you of just how old money your husband was. You slide underneath his arm as he lays on his back (like a grandpa, you’ve teased before) and curl up as close as possible to his side. He adjusts his grip so he’s properly holding your shoulders and stroking a gentle line up and down your back.

“Goodnight.” He says quietly, his free hand turning off his bedside lamp.

“Goodnight.”

It doesn’t feel long at all until Tim pounces on the two of you, squirming right next to you since there was such little space between you and your husband. Bruce is already awake by then, gently rubbing your hair while you groan, awakened.

“Can we open gifts yet?” Tim asks, despite knowing the answer himself.

“No, Tim.” Bruce says. “We have to wait for everyone.” Tim grumbles in response. “Try to get some sleep, kiddo,” Bruce murmurs, trying to keep his voice low for you. You file his consideration under ‘things to swoon about’ for later. Tim huffs in response but cuddles closer to your side in an attempt to at least try. You yawn and lean closer to your husband, pressing a lazy little kiss to his jawline. He smiles and ruffles your hair before telling you to go back to sleep in a quiet voice, and you’re quick to oblige.

You manage to get a bit of shut eye until Dick sneaks in at 6:45. He takes his spot on Bruce’s side of the bed, not too close as he was a teenager and valued personal space but still close enough to make Bruce feel loved. He whispers a Merry Christmas to the both of you before pulling his phone out and tapping on it, presumably texting his girlfriend.

Cute.

You rest your head on Bruce’s chest before Duke comes trailing in with his Batman plushie, awoken from the lack of Tim in their shared bedroom. He grumbles quietly, complaining about being left alone, and then cuddles next to Tim before falling asleep himself. There’s a nice pause before Cass comes in, blinking blearily and looking like a sleepy kitty. You position her on your chest as she’s small enough for it, and then Damian comes in, pouting. He takes the space closest to his dad, between Bruce and Dick, and then a few moments later Jason comes in, dragging Steph with him. He cuddles Dick, who is still occupied on his phone while Steph gently scoots Tim away so she can cuddle you instead. Tim doesn’t care- he clings onto Steph in his sleep instead.

“That’s everyone.” You say. Bruce nods and then scoops up the littlest pile of sleeping kids (Cass, Tim, Duke) into his arms and then gets up, shuffling into his slippers. You get up, too, gently rousing the other kids, whispering ‘it’s Christmas!’ to them. That’s enough to wake them, as they take off running downstairs. You hear over exaggerated gasps as they see the Christmas tree, lit up, with dozens of presents underneath.

Honestly, you can’t blame them either. It’s beautiful. The Christmas tree is a story and a half tall, and though it’s a pain to decorate, it turned out beautifully this year.

“Merry Christmas, babe.” You whisper to Bruce as he sets the kids he had been holding down on the ground. They squirm out of reach to gawk at the at the Christmas tree, too.

“Merry Christmas.” He says, wrapping an arm around your waist and kissing the top of your head.

You’re eventually forced downstairs so you can watch the children open their gifts and give them ‘you’re welcome’ hugs. Of course, with it being such a big family, it’s practically impossible to make the littles hold off for that long when there’s presents- literally- with their names on them. So everyone goes ham, and for an hour or two, Wayne Manor is filled with excited shouts and loud ‘thank you’s.

When all has died down and the children are content with entertaining themselves, it’s time for the adults to swap gifts, which includes you, Alfred, and Bruce. Sometimes a kid will place themselves on your lap to see what you got, but more often than not, it’s a little private affair within your own little community of legal drinkers. You got Alfred a candle/tea/matching handkerchief set from a mom and pop store you saw on the beach while accompanying Bruce on a business trip this year, since he liked to keep candles burning while cooking dinner every night. You thought he’d appreciate the earl grey tea, too.

Bruce, however, is harder to shop for. What do you get a literal billionaire? You’ve asked him before and he’s always reassuring- ‘I’ll love whatever you get me, babe’ or ’doesn’t matter, babe, it’s the thought that counts’- but he doesn’t seem to know what he wants, either. You’ve asked the kids too and they just shrug and tell you something that they want instead.

You had just gotten to the shops when you saw Bruce’s gifts. You were really only there to plan a dinner with friends later that week, when you came by a Hot Topic. Ooh. You, obviously, were drawn inside by the very loud, akin-to-My-Chemical-Romance music and the smell of teenage angst.

You went in mainly just to amuse yourself, but lo and behold, there lay a whole shelf dedicated to Batman. Chuckling to yourself, you picked up a soft Batman plush (his mouth was downturned in the cutest little frown), a Batarang pocket knife (Batman would never be caught dead with it, but maybe Bruce Wayne would use it?) and Batman house slippers (to replace those posh satin ones he usually wears).

Alfred said a courteous thank you and a genuine smile, tucking the handkerchief into his suit pocket. He then handed you your gift- one of those ceramic angel children that seems like the sort of thing Alfred would have lying around his house if he had a house. He’s been giving different versions of them to you every Christmas since you and Bruce got serious all those years ago. You exchange a ‘thank you/you’re welcome’ hug.

Then Bruce opens your gift, and he lets out a choked laugh at the Batman memorabilia.

“What’s this?” He asks, sounding amused as he picks up the Batman plushie.

“Your gift!” You say. He laughs.

“Well. Yes.” He says, picking up the pocket knife and staring at it. “Thank you, babe.” He says, leaning in to peck your lips. He chuckles and then shakes his head before setting it aside and giving you your gift, suddenly bashful.

“I hope you like it.” Your husband says with a cute, vulnerable, puppy eyed expression on his face. It’s a small parcel, really, and it feels light in your hands. You give Bruce a reassuring smile and then open it.

Inside is a custom painting of your wedding day. You’re mid-kiss with Bruce, and the painting is light and colorful and cheerful. Bruce has a similar photo on his desk, but it was taken after the kiss, as the relative who had been instructed to take the photo didn’t react quite so quickly to get the photo you wanted. You weren’t mad- it was still a nice photo- but this painting was exactly what you had envisioned over ten years ago. You’re about to start gushing praises and thanks but Bruce cuts you off.

“There’s more.” He says and you blink before you keep looking through the parcel. Underneath a copious amount of tissue paper is another painting- one of the whole family, from last year’s Christmas. The camera hadn’t taken a single good photo that year- someone’s eyes were always closed, Dick fussed about his hair, Steph and Jason started fighting in the middle of the photoshoot- but this painting had taken the best parts of all the photos and made them into one complete piece.

It makes tears well up in your eyes. Bruce immediately looks panicked, and he’s about to start apologising, but you shake your head.

“Happy tears.” You say, and he nods before hugging you. “Thank you.” You say quietly.

“You’re welcome.” He pets your hair. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

15

little Loki drabble I wrote when I was still hyper fixated like, a year ago

883 words

pairing: Loki/gn!reader

pre-established relationship, no background characters, cute fluff and a little Princess Diaries insprired.

It was a fine summer afternoon in the middle of New York, and you and your fiancé, Loki, were out on a date in the middle of nowhere. 

Or, well, the middle of nowhere to anyone that wasn’t the both of you, anyone outside your private bubble. You had found this haven while walking home from work one day, completely on accident. You had been a little late to home that little and nearly drove Loki up a wall, but to make up for it you showed it to him soon after. It’s where you had your first kiss together, you recall as you set out the picnic blanket. 

The spot in question was a little piece of green land overlooking a beautiful, unpolluted stream- truly, a rarity this close to the city. Loki had even caught some fish in it during the spring and shown you how to gut and cook a fish properly. It was nicely shaded from the nearby forest, and it was a welcome change from the summer heat.

As you finished setting up the picnic underneath the biggest tree you could find, Loki began unpacking the food he’d made the night before. You sat down and watched the stream, watching the way the water flowed, almost hypnotised by the way that each droplet of water knew just where to go….

“My love?”

Loki tapped your shoulder gently and you very nearly jumped out of your skin, taken out of your peaceful trance.

“I’ve finished setting up, if you’re still awake,” he said with that casual teasing of his while walking away, hips strutting. You scoffed and contemplated tackling him to the ground- his stomach would hit the grass and he’d shriek about grass stains for an hour or two and then force you to hand wash his 100% cotton, 100% vegan shirt from a farmer’s market from the Amish in Asswhere, Nebraska- before deciding to follow closely behind, your hand brushing lightly over Loki’s. 

You sat down opposite each other, with the food in between the two of your. Loki had set out platters of fruit, sandwiches, cookies and all sorts of tea cakes, and a set of freshly baked muffins- the smells combined made your mouth water. Loki had a warm smile on his face as he looked at you, seeming very happy and content with the look of amazement on his partner’s face.

“You.. made all of this? By yourself? In just one night?” You asked in disbelief and awe.

Loki laughed at how surprised you seemed. Maybe if your expression had been a little less innocent-seeming, he’d pout and whine loudly about how you doubted him. No, he decided to be the adult here.

“Yes, I did.”

“Are you sure? Like, *sure* sure? No magic or anything?” You ask, your eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

“No, I didn’t. Now, are you going to sit here and debate the legitimacy of the food or are you actually going to *eat*?”

“Of course I’m going to eat! All of this looks so good… I don’t think I’d really mind if it was all magic.”

Loki chuckled and shook his head, amused. With all the fuss you made, one would imagine you’d resist more to eating probably magicked-up food. He watched you as you took the first bite of one of the tiny tea cakes, anxious for your feedback. He’d spent all of last night when you fell asleep baking and frosting teeny little cakes and cookies. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he saw your face melt almost immediately.

“I know it’s rude to speak with your mouth full- but- this is *so good*….” Your voice was muffled from the food but there was sentiment and genuine reverence in your voice, he thought joyously, and he watched as you proceeded to devour the rest of your tea cake. Loki smiled to himself before joining you and eating with you.

Half an hour later, you had both finished off the entirety of the picnic. It was sunset now, and you were packing up to go a little deeper into the stream before going back home. You talked quietly about nothing as you got everything ready to go, leaving Loki with the picnic basket as you walked down to the stream. You simply stood there for a moment, admiring the way the lowering sun coloured the water, looking for tadpoles and minnows in the water. To no avail- but you did find a frog on a tree, and Henry the Soul Crusher seemed an appropriate name (Loki found it fairly amusing- how could such a small creature *crush souls*?).

He sat down underneath a shaded tree while you went into the stream and splashed around, and he warmed you up with their magic when you emerged and shivered from the cold water. The night ended with the both of them on the grass, underneath the picnic blanket, Loki curled protectively around you, the both of you passed out cold.

my ideal batfam hcs but i suck at hcs :3

Dick

he’s fifteen, the eldest kid in the batfamily

his parents died when he was 8 and a half, 

the half is important because i’ve always thought of Dick being a sassy child. like if asked what his name is he will CONFIDENTLY say ‘it’s *Richard*. R-I-C-H-A-R-D. but my parents call me Dick :D’

so therefore if asked his age, if he thinks it relevant, he’ll tack on an ‘and a half!’ to the end of it or ask his parents for a more precise fraction.

“how long until my birthday, dad?”

“five months.”

“…can you put that into the halves-thingy, please?”

that was when he was younger, of course. he’s old enough to put it into fractions himself now

being a entertainer and all he’s got to be charismatic but a lot of it is natural for him.

adults find his quips endearing and his habits loveable

adored all around!!

he brought Barbara home once and Bruce was freaking out to you because that’s his (the Batman’s) best friend’s daughter!!! 

he was very nice to her and Dick seemed happy that neither of you made any offhand comments about her

that was three years ago. they’re still going strong

Kate

I’ll be real, i don’t know much about her

most of this is probably ooc…

she’s fourteen, younger than Dick by I think seven months?

i think you and Bruce would have adopted her when she was older than Dick, like eleven or so

she’s really chill

she balances out Dick’s louder side, and she’s a good listener when Dick wants to talk

i hc her as autistic here but maybe im projecting

she doesn’t directly interact with a lot of family events and just watches from the sidelines because she’ll get stressed out if thrown into them

i also think she loves witchy things. but not for the witchy pagan side of it. just because the crystals are shiny and the jewelry is cool

(me projecting)

i think she’s like the super cool super hot lesbian at school. like she skates to school and listens to paramore and tv girl and knows a lot about bugs (not enough to be seen as a nerd, but enough to be cool)

Bruce takes her to get her hair dyed and to trim up her fuzz? buzz cut side? every month

it’s like a daddy daughter bonding moment. they get ice cream before and then watch a movie after

Bruce has defo invited you but you declined, because it’s their special time! you don’t get that a lot in a family of ten

Steph

another girly I don’t know a lot about…

probably ooc too :(

i think you and Bruce adopt her when she’s also eleven and she’s currently twelve. so in some ways she’s still settling in

I think she has her fair share of behavioural issues for a kid her age, but not to the point where her future seems worrying

just enough to warrant behavioral therapy 

which she loves btw. her therapist has hotwheels and its the BEST

(her words, not mine)

she’s calmed down a ton and her therapist seems impressed with her progress

like, she doesn’t throw tantrums anymore, she doesn’t hit, she doesn’t say words she knows she isn’t supposed to (much) and she gets along a lot better with her siblings

i hc her with adhd

i also think she really likes sharks

she has a shark tooth necklace she found on the Gotham beach (how? you’ll never know)

Cass

Cassie is ten, adopted at eight

she’s autistic and she has selective mutism

shes not mute. she can hold a conversation within the family just fine at home but she just can't talk a lot of the time outside the house :(

she loves being babied

like she adores cuddles and hugs and she’s pretty clingy

like when she started second grade she cried because she didn’t want you to leave you alone :(

she's going to therapy and she got diagnosed with selective mutism and separation anxiety, but she’s doing better and rarely ever gets upset over her anxiety

we're still working on the selective mutism tho

Jason

he’s also ten (he’s four months younger than Cass and HATES it) but got adopted when he was four

he’s also a grade below cass since he was born on the cut. he’s really salty about it and hates whenever someone teases him about it

this is the curly haired, big smiled little baby boo boo that a bunch of people voted to kill a few decades ago

he's sweet and charming with strangers but easily riled up at home

always down for a fight, though he’s easy to fling like a bag of rice (which Dick LOVES doing)

he has small dog syndrome when he gets too much sugar in his system. 

also he plays CoD on Dick’s ps5

he sucks at it and calls everyone all the curse words he knows

(damn, crap, and ‘The F-One’)

Dick records it and posts it on his private story

Tim

he got adopted at five and is nine years old now

if asked, he says ‘i’m nine years, seven months, two weeks and three days old. and seventeen hours, fourteen minutes, thirty-two seconds and counting 🤓'

and he’s ALWAYS right to the dot

like what...

basically young sheldon (i’ve never watched the show, this is all from speculation and what my friends have told me about it)

he’s sleep deprived

no matter what you do… melentonin, reduced lights, less sugar, less screen time, reading to him, white noise… it never works. he’s perpetually tired

(in reality it’s a flashlight he keeps hidden in his bedroom drawer and a good book from his bookshelf that keep him up but he’ll never admit that)

he has a reading/writing level of a senior in high school at nine years old because of all the books he reads

Bruce is SO proud of him

he’s already planning for tim’s college career

Duke

he’s eight and just got adopted

he’s everyone’s baby brother despite Damian being the youngest

he still has a baby face too!!!

Dick loves taking silly photos of him or letting him play games on his pc

Tim and Duke share a room because Duke’s afraid of the dark and he doesn’t like sleeping alone

it’s a win win for the both of them since Tim reads Duke to sleep when he can’t fall asleep and Duke lies to their parents if they ask what Tim was doing all night

(‘Duke, what was Tim doing last night? I heard him shuffling…’

‘he was asleep, dad! he just had to get some water. he woke me up on accident.’)

cue cartoony wink to the camera 

Daimain

Talia abandoned him to the two of you when he was three

he didn’t fully grow into the role of an assassin, but it still happened

he’s six now and his upbringing is apparent 

he’s blunt and cold (not unlike his father) and sneers easily

let me repeat: he is SIX

he roasts everyone in the house like there’s no tomorrow 

indecisive about an outfit? just ask him

if he uses more than three bad describing words, it’s best if you change

under three means its good

none means he likes it

Bruce always gets a kick out of seeing everyone get stunned to silence by a sharp-tongued six year old until that tongue is turned on him

i swear he just sits there like 😲while damian is telling him that his shoes are creased, his hair is filthy, and that he has no self respect

(dick records all of these encounters, but you have him under oath to not post them under ANY circumstances)

Hey everyone, the family behind the vetted evacuation fundraiser I have adopted -- Maram, her husband Ahmed, and their three young children Habiba (4), Kareem (2), and Mohammed (9 months) -- have set a goal of €2,000 that they would like to reach by the end of the day TODAY. They are counting on me and all of you to reach this as soon as possible.

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Please donate by following the link below:

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Donate to Help my children and family from the Gaza war !!, organized by Maram Ahmed

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And/or you can spread the poster I have made to draw attention to their campaign:

so i was thinking .....

a horror au over Gotham. everything has *literally* gone to shit. like being so serious. all of Bruce's biggest and ugliest fears somehow come to real life- blame it on Constantine- and he and you are stuck in the Manor; but it's not *your* manor. no, it's the manor a grief-stricken, ten-year-old. the one Bruce lived in after the murder of his parents. he's never admitted it to you, but he's always been unnerved by the vastness of the manor. it only got better when you came, and then Dick and Jason and so on. but now? it's like he's ten again.

and that's without mentioning the abominations inside.

anyways ill go make myself useful and write a fic about this 🚶‍♂️

bruce wayne/reader drabble

i was bored during a road trip and wrote this in notepad. it's not finished and not proofread 😊 i might work on it later, maybe won't.

Batman had never given you anything other than a blank stare or glare, depending on what time it was and what part of 31st Street you were on and whether or not he had saw you eat breakfast that morning. Today was a blank glare sort of day. You’d just gotten off your shift at the hospital, too tired to pay attention to the dark, shadowy streets of Gotham while you walked to the parking lot because these damn New England streets and their limited parking space never felt benevolent enough to give you a spot within a half a mile radius of the hospital. Then the shadows step out from the alleyway, and you manage a half-assed grunt of acknowledgement instead of the scream you let out the first time he walked you to your car. In his defense, though, he had told you that day what would be waiting for you that night. …In yours, you’d been half asleep and he was really warm and all you wanted was some quality time with your husband before he inevitably got up and started the day. You'd been curled up to him as you usually were in the morning, before either of you had to be up and about. He'd just come home from patrol, those blue eyes of his rubbed clean of the eye makeup the Batman demanded. The sun had been up for a while and it came in through the windows of your shared room, finally annoying you enough to make you turn over and seek shelter in Bruce's side of the bed. He had been awake for a while- he didn't need to be out till two, the lucky thing. He rubbed your hair, earning a sleepy sound of affection from you and a smile from him. "Love," he says, his voice deep and hoarse from sleep but also that stupid, husky Batman voice. It's enough to make you stir, blinking at him sleepily. "I'm going to walk you home from work tonight." He says quietly, massaging your skull- and honestly, how could he expect you to stay awake when those big, warm hands of his were so attentive and gentle? He chuckled when he saw your eyes drooping again, resigning. "Go back to sleep, lovey." He murmurs, tucking you close to his chest. You really didn't have much in you to disobey. So truly, it wasn't anyone's fault but Bruce's that you'd hollered when he came out of nowhere and stared. He very nearly broke character then- you swear you saw a laugh in his eyes, or saw a gloved hand twitch in your direction.

Since then, he's been walking you to your car and invisibly shadowing you- literally- on your drive home. You've grown to be fond of these little walks. Usually, you'd only ever see him in the morning and when he got home from patrol. Though it wasn't a Sunday morning together, a couple minutes to be in each other's presence was calming. You'd never admit it to him, but you've started to purposefully park further and further away from the hospital, just for a few more moments with your husband. You wished that he'd hug you, hold your hand, at the very least say something- but you weren't about to complain. You knew the lengths he went to, for you and Gotham. It was best to keep your mouth shut and be apperciative. You tucked your water bottle underneath your arm as you unlocked your car and got into the car without so much as a goodbye from Bruce. You know he'd properly talk to you once he got him in- you checked the clock in your car- three hours. You started the car up and looked out the window, expecting Bruce to maybe be lingering there, but he already slipped back into the shadows. You sighed silently before starting the drive back to Wayne Manor. Just two more weeks of this, you told yourself. You and Bruce had been married for six months, and you'd be leaving your job in two weeks because, well, the whole 'being married to a billonaire' thing made going to work useless. Thank the gods. It was burning you out at a rapid pace- a domestic life with Bruce was what had kept you going for a while.

You pulled into the parking lot of Wayne Manor, saying hello to Alfred before retiring to the master bedroom. Three hours to kill before you went downstairs to greet Bruce as he got off patrol. You took a hot bath, changed into something more cozy than your scrubs, and curled on your bed and watched your favorite show while waiting for the tell-tale sound of the Batmobile pulling in. You had almost dozed off when you heard the signature rumble of the engine downstairs. With a yawn, you shuffled into your house slippers and slipped through a secret passageway in Bruce's study to the Batcave. You heard chatter downstairs- Dick and the others came for an after-patrol visit, most likely. "Brucie," you said with a yawn, your vison blurred with sleep as you rubbed it away, going down the stairwell. "How was patrol?" You finally take in your surroundings, which makes you promptly freeze on the stairs. There stood the Justice League in all their shiny glory. They looked out of place in Bruce's Broodcave, too shiny and bright for the gloom down in the cave. It made you blink a few times, made you wonder if maybe you were asleep. But no. Green Lantern is the first to break, with an astounded gasp. "You have a partner?!" He all but shouts, his voice echoing around the cave. "Yes." Bruce says gruffly. You pause on the staircase, unsure of what to do, looking to Bruce for any sort of help, but his gaze is trained on his team members. "Why didn't you tell us?" Superman says. He almost sounds hurt. "It didn't seem relevant." Your husband says. Wonder Woman is the first to try to right things. "It's great to meet you," she says kindly, giving you a smile. You return the smile, albeit a little nervously. "You, too." You says, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. Then you share the smile to the rest of the Justice League, wanting at the very least to stay friendly, even if you'd rather hide behind Bruce and go back to your normal nightly routine. "Well… I'll be upstairs, honey." You say finally, going back up the staircase and back into Bruce's study, waiting for him in your bedroom, picking apart every part of the interaction in your mind quietly as you settle under the sheets. It's at least half an hour until Bruce comes into your bedroom, changed out of the Batsuit and into something a lot softer. He climbs into his side of the bed, crawling next to you and kissing your face. "They liked you." He murmurs. "Did they?" You whisper back, unbelieving. "Yeah. They thought you were sweet. They were pissed at me for not telling them I was married, though." He says, cupping your hips in his hands as he rests his chin on your chest, looking up at you with those big eyes of his, black makeup still smudged around his eyes. "Yeah?" You hummed, running your hands through his floppy hair. "Go wash off the night, soldier." You tell him. "Yes, sir," he murmurs, pulling himself off of you, albeit a little reluctantly, and padding over to the bathroom. He comes back with his eyes clean and his hair wetted, the grease he uses to keep it in the cowl washed clean. He settles back on top of you, nesting his face in the crook of your neck and pressing a kiss there, his arms tucking underneath you and holding onto your waist. You hum happily and brush his hair from out of his eyes, twirling it around your fingers and watching it flop back into place.