Mistletoe And Mayhem

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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

Source: merletails

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