#dwihm

Fluff with Simon

–––––––––

Simon loves winter. It may be very cold in England, but that just gives him an excuse to stay inside when he's not deployed. Besides, it's very cosy. The dim lights illuminating his home, the smell of whatever you're cooking in your apartment reaching his own, your soft voice filling his ears through the thin walls.

He likes winter almost as much as he likes his sweet neighbour.

But every now and then, he has to leave for a mission, and every now and then, you notice how cold he is. Of course you know that the tall, buff man is a soldier, and you've rarely seen his face other than the few times you came home at the same time as him.

Besides his winter clothes and gloves, he only wears his balaclava with the signature skull on it. And you can't help but feel bad for him. So alone, so cold and distant from the other neighbours. And when he's back, he's surprised to find you knocking on his door early in the morning.

Soft eyes looking up at him, warm smile on your lips and god you're pretty.

"Morning," he grumbles in his deep voice, his tall and bulky form clearly intimidating - he's still in work mode.

"Good morning," you say and straighten up, nervously glancing down at the knitted hat and matching scarf. "I uhm, I made you this."

Simon tilts his head, crosses his arms and looks down at the items in your hands. It's strange, the way his heart skips a beat and his chest fills with warmth and the grumpy frown on his lips melts into something calmer, less tense. He looks you up and down - breakfast right at his door.

"How much?" he asks as he turns around, opening the drawer of the small accent table by the door.

You blink a few times in surprise and furrow your brows. "Sorry?"

He looks at you, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "I don't like to owe things to people. How much did you pay for that?"

You shake your head quickly. "No, no I made this myself. Learned how to knit," you explain and chuckle nervously, once again looking down at the hat and the scarf.

His gaze softens, filled almost entirely with warmth. Learned how to knit. For me, Simon thinks, and though the last two words might seem a little delusional, they mean everything to him. This is the most someone has cared for him in years, outside the military of course.

He hesitantly takes the scarf from your hands, running his thumb over the soft fabric. It's made out of black wool, a little too fluffy for his liking but you made it for him. He takes the hat with a small smile and looks at you. "Thank you."

"Oh, it was nothing," you say, voice soft and sweet. "I figured it would be a nice way to keep you warm during your deployments and stuff."

With each and every word, Simon feels himself falling more and more for you, his heart melting in his chest. So considerate. "Thank you." He steps aside. "Do you want to stay for breakfast?"

Of course, you can't say no to him and once you're inside, in his home, he closes the door and watches as you walk ahead into his kitchen. With a weak, hesitant motion, he smells the scarf. It smells like you. It smells like his future spouse.

–––––––––

[Part II] [Part III] [Part IV] [Part V]

Fluffy Simon “Ghost” Riley cause part one was so cute

–––––––––

The temperatures are rising again, and Simon hates it. He’s gotten so used to being in the cold while the soft scarf and hat you knit for him keep him warm. Knit, self-made, not quite with blood, sweat and tears but with love, and that’s what matters to him. That’s what brings a faint, barely-there smile to his face and makes his eyes sparkle a little.

It sadly doesn’t smell like you anymore, but he’s happy enough to spend some time with you when you invite him over for breakfast every now and then.

Just a neighbour, he thinks to himself.

But now, spring is coming and he has to put your gifts in a drawer, tucked away from him. It’s too warm for gloves and a scarf after all. And still, it’s all he can think about when he walks to the grocery store.

He’s asked you if you need something, silently begging that you’ll send him with a two page list because damn it feels so domestic. Even if it’s just some fruits you asked him to get, he can’t help but feel… proud? Satisfied? Happy? He feels a certain kind of way, and though he can’t describe it, he likes it.

It’s no surprise that he stands at your door half an hour later - the surprise is that he has flowers in his hand. It’s not a handmade scarf and hat, but it’s something that he hopes you’ll like.

His gaze softens when he sees the look in your eyes, the hint of confusion mixed with happiness.

He’s making you happy.

He clears his throat and holds the bouquet in front of your chest like a ten year old confessing to his crush. “For you.”

You take the flowers with a smile and god that smile. He’d die to see that smile again. “Thank you, Simon.”

He nods, expression stoic as always but if only you could see what you do to him.

He’s never felt this way before but he loves it.

He loves you.

Too early?

“Here’s your-”

Before he can finish his sentence, you stand on your toes to kiss his cheek.

–––––––––

[Part III] [Part IV] [Part V]

Fluff with König because I missed writing about him

–––––––––

As brutal and intimidating König might seem, he’s a softie at heart. I mean, who isn’t? Who doesn’t turn their head off and get all soft and cosy around someone they deeply trust and love?

When he’s on the field or on base, he’s an entirely different person compared to how he is at home. And home doesn’t mean his place or yours but you. For him, you’ve quickly become home, somewhere where he can relax and enjoy head scratches as he lays on your chest. He enjoys how much you pamper and baby him despite how massive he is.

He loves when you welcome him with a long hug, clearly excited to see him as you practically jump into his arms and pepper kisses all over his face. He loves that soft tingly feeling in his abdomen and the way you make his heart skip a beat.

What he loves even more is your food, especially after he’s been gone for long. It’ll already smell so good when you cook but it tastes so so so much better that every time he gets a mouthful of your delicious cooking, he swears to himself that he will put a ring on your finger as soon as he can. Especially when you feed him, sitting on his lap and smiling at him oh-so sweetly.

He loves when you help him bathe after a long, exhausting day, washing his hair with your shampoo and scratching his scalp in the right places. Call it odd but he loves it. And the bath bombs are a big bonus for him, just makes everything more cosy.

Once you’re both cuddled up in bed, tangled up under the sheets and clinging to each other, he kisses your forehead and rubs his nose against yours. It makes you giggle every time and it makes him want to live another day just to make you happy. And the way you blush and bury your head in the crook of his neck whenever he calls you Schatz truly reminds him how much he loves you.

All that matters to him is receiving your love and proving to you that he's worthy of it by showing you how much more he can love you in return. You're worth every single moment you're on his mind, every single moment you're with him, whether it's on his lap or in his arms.

–––––––––

[important please read <3]

guys im back i hope i wont get writers block again <3 this one's a little short and quite cheesy i'll admit but i was just in the mood for cheesy fluff lol judge me

angst (post breakup) without comfort, no specific character

–––––––––

The rain pours, big drops splattering against the windshield as he turns up the car's heater and cracks open the window. There's a tightness in his chest when he glances down at his hands, fingers fidgeting with the lighter. His car is parked in the parking lot across from your home, your usual meeting spot before he'd take you away for the night.

His eyes wander back up to your window, the faint light coming from your living room. He spots your silhouette approaching the glass, glancing out of the window like it's a habit of yours, a part of your routine, like you expect something - someone. Him.

Your gaze remains on his car for a moment and he isn't sure if you're staring or if time slowed down. His heart pounds in his chest, fingers tightening around the lighter as he notices the way you shake your head weakly, as if in denial. The way you tilt your head back with a bittersweet smile before you turn around and lower your head into your hands to cry your heart out.

He knows you want to talk. You need to talk, you need answers. You don't know why he treated you the way he did, you don't know his intentions. All you know is that he didn't put in the effort you needed, the bare minimum. And if he truly, deeply wanted you the way you wanted him, he would've made sure to show you, right?

He didn't treat you right. He didn't, he's well aware. How could he not, with how often you tried to tell him - even after your breakup - and practically begged him to change. Asked him to put in more effort, to show he cares, to at least reply to your messages if he couldn't come see you. But no, he had to be an emotionally unavailable man who says communication is important but then leaves your messages on read.

Opening the pack of cigarettes, he smiles weakly. You hated when he smoked. Just downright disgusting and bad for his health, but you'd never refuse a kiss in between his drags. You were pretty understanding even, accepting his addiction and not pressuring him to stop even when the smell gave you stomach aches.

Was it worth it? Breaking your heart, getting your hopes up, talking about moving in together eventually and getting married one day? Kissing you senseless and making you feel like he wanted you without actually ever saying it? Making you fall in love with him when you never really knew where you stood in his life?

While he was your first in almost every way imaginable, you weren't his. And yeah, you were fine with it but it hurt, having all those sweet moments that you'd remember for a lifetime but not only would you remember your first kiss, no, you'd forever remember him.

–––––––––

not my best post

also i could've sworn i was doing fine this week but i cried while writing this

Tim has a habit of prioritising everything over himself. Of course it happens but it's rather rare that he takes care of himself without having others checking on him in concern and reminding him to sleep or touch grass.

You wake up sometime during the night, getting out of bed when you realise Tim isn't sleeping beside you. You can already guess where he is but you know he needs to sleep eventually.

There are two more cans of energy drinks than you remember, all five monitors dimmed but still too bright in the darkness, pc quietly whirring on top of his desk. Tim continues to type away, eyes half closed and blinking every few moments as his brain acts on autopilot, reaching for his drink.

"Tim?" you say softly, standing beside his desk as you tilt your head in concern.

He looks up, eyes widening a little in concern, pausing everything he's doing. Finally, his mind can take a break from everything. "Was I too loud, did I wake you?" he asks quietly, still slouched over his desk.

You shake your head and carefully approach him, hands cupping his face as you gently try to get him to fix his posture. The bags under his eyes are quite concerning and he's a little pale. "Come to bed please? I can't sleep without you."

He hums weakly and stands up, stretching a little until his spine cracks. His hands find your sides before he pulls you in close, kissing your forehead. "I need five more minutes," he whispers against your skin.

You frown and pull away to look up at him. "It's four in the morning."

"What's five more minutes then?" he mumbles and sits down again, pulling you down on his lap.

You sigh and adjust your position, face nuzzled in the crook of his neck. "You need to take care of yourself, love."

He hums dismissively, typing away again. At least it's calming, you think to yourself, but it's still concerning how much he could lose himself in his work.

It takes a little longer than he anticipated but once he's done, he sighs and shuts down his computer, finally taking a deep breath and wrapping his arms around you. "Okay, I'm done," he says and reaches up to rub your back. At your lack of a response, he pulls away just a little and looks down at your face. "Love?"

It calms him a lot, seeing you asleep and all comfortable in his arms. Especially once you're both in bed, all snuggled up under the cold blankets, limbs tangled. Tim has to accept, even if he doesn't think his own needs are important enough, he should at least prioritise yours.

–––––––––

The front door closes and simply based on the grunting and mumbling while he takes his boots off and puts them down with a semi-loud thud, you know Kyle is upset. Not with you, never with you, but upset nonetheless.

You don’t call out his name yet, he probably has a headache and speaking or anything remotely loud would only worsen it for him. So you wait, your arms wide open for him as you pout at him - he couldn't care less that you're pitying him right now. In fact, it's just what he needs.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck as if he belongs there (he does) and tightens his arms around you, picking you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. He melts when you kiss the top of his head and carries you all the way to bed, carefully laying down with his head on your torso.

With anyone else, he’d be beyond annoyed to be poked in the face after a long, painful, draining day of work. But with you? Heaven. He’s on cloud nine, and your soft, gentle touches make his headache disappear and his life worth living again.

He hums in pure bliss when your soft touch moves to his hair, lightly scratching his head the way you know he loves so much. Nuzzling his head into your shirt, he tightens his grip around your waist.

"Comfy?"

Almost offended you dare to ask him such an irrelevant question, he raises his head and squints at you with furrowed brows and a small pout on his lips. “Course I am, silly.” He lowers his head into your body again and huffs quietly. Then he looks up at you again, a little softer this time. “Are you comfy?”

You smile and nod weakly but he doesn’t take that as a definite yes. He knows you sometimes devalue your own discomfort just to not cause him any. He carefully rolls himself off you and pulls you on top of him instead. “Did I squish you?”

“A little,” you giggle and he swears he would die to hear you giggle just one more time.

“I’m sorry, my love. Where did I squish you?” he asks softly and reaches for your hand, fingers gently squeezing around your wrist before he kisses your palm.

He notices how you’re rendered speechless, and when he looks into your eyes and notices how dilated your pupils are, he lets out a quiet laugh. “You like being squished, don’t you?”

You nod weakly and hum along, smiling without a proper thought in mind because what would you have to think about when you were laying in bed with your awesome boyfriend who spoiled you with love even after a shitty workday of his?

“Mhm you love it so much,” he whispers and reaches down, one hand resting on your thigh and the other on your lower back before he pulls you up, your face only inches from his. Of course he catches the adorable squeal that leaves your lips, the way you blush and look down at him like his mere existence makes you happy.

–––––––––

There’s a gentle squeeze around your waist, a warmth against the front of your body that’s hard to miss. Opening your eyes slowly, you smile and stretch a little as Bruce’s arms around your waist tighten.

“Hey,” he says softly, fingertips rubbing up and down your back softly. “Did you sleep well?”

You nod weakly and close your eyes again, head nuzzled into the spot between his chest and the blanket. He lets out a soft laugh and kisses the top of your head. “Mmmh, so did I.”

At your lack of reaction, he reaches down, brushing some hair out of your face and poking your cheek gently. “C’mon. Wakey wakey. I gotta leave in a little.”

That’s enough to burst your bubble. You frown and push yourself up, kneeling on the bed beside him as you rub your eyes. “But you said you’d take the day off?”

“Sorry,” he says quietly and takes your hand in his. “You know how it is.”

Your heart sinks in disappointment and you get out of bed with a sigh, pulling your hand out of his grasp even as you stumble a little bit.

“Baby…”

You ignore him and head to your kitchen instead, clearly a little irritated. You stayed up late waiting for him to come to your home, you let him in, you made out with him and let him stay the night and the first thing he says in the morning is that he has to leave? After promising his day to you?

Bruce Wayne is a lot of things but considerate and empathetic? Hardly. Rarely.

“Baby, c’mon, you know how busy work can get,” he tries again, approaching you from behind and wrapping his arms around you, face buried in your neck. “I wish I could stay too.”

“You own the company.” It concerns him a little, how dry and full of disappointment your words are. He understands why, though, he truly does.

“Work is work, baby.” He kisses the spot between your neck and your shoulder, warm hands rubbing up and down your sides. “I’ll come back tonight, I promise.”

You scoff quietly and tilt your head away from him, tears stinging in your eyes. “What, you’ll come back tonight to make out and then leave again?”

As much as he wants to say no, argue that he doesn’t come here just to make out, the words die on his lips. There isn’t much he’s doing with you. Dates are rare because you both agreed to keep your relationship a secret for now, so all that happens are date nights and sleepovers at your place and those just so happen to end with him in your bed.

His silence is answer enough - he can’t stay. Bruce is a busy man. Too busy for a relationship, perhaps, but for some reason he can't accept that. Sure, he knows what's going on in your head and he often catches himself wondering about how serious your relationship really is. You give him your all, yet he struggles to make you feel seen. That's not a relationship, that's... that's not even a friendship, is it?

“Just leave,” you mumble and bring your hands up to your face in an attempt to hide your tears from him. “You’ve embarrassed me enough already.”

With a small frown of his own, he squeezes your waist a little. "Don't get like this," he says quietly and reaches up, fingers softly pressed to the side of your jaw as he turns your head toward him. The sight of tears in your pretty eyes breaks his heart even more. "You know I'd stay if I could."

He hears your quiet swallow, the small sniffle as you shake your head. "You never do, though." Gathering your courage, you finally look into his eyes. "I'm not important enough for you."

–––––––––

Fluff with Simon cause he's just so adorable when you two have your first child

[Part I]

---------

Though Simon has often doubted his abilities as a father, you can tell he's happy to take you home from the hospital, your newborn in his arms. A healthy boy.

Simon didn’t care much about the gender but he did care that the baby and especially you would be healthy. What a cruel life to live if he had to live it without you. So, as a thank you for being the best wife he could ever imagine and for birthing your child, he brought you flowers to the hospital, the same ones that are in the vase on the bedside table.

You two sit on your bed, beyond happy to have the little bundle of sunshine in your arms. You’re crying, and you’re not sure if it’s because you finally have the family you’ve always wished for or because you just pushed a baby out of you. Either way, you’re beyond happy, wiping your tears away and kissing the top of your baby’s head.

The baby looks at you, all curious with his brown eyes, reminding you of Simon’s. And then he makes a quiet noise, a small hum, enough to make your heart melt.

Simon wraps his arm around you and pulls you into his side, kissing your head and burying his nose in your hair. “I love you so much, darling.”

You look at him and kiss him on the lips, unable to stop the tears from flowing. “I love you too, Simon. So much.” You glance at your son and take him from Simon’s arm. “Look, baby,” you whisper and smile, “that’s daddy. He’s going to protect us.”

“Forever,” Simon promises in a soft tone and kisses your cheek, “gon’ take care of you and your mummy forever.”

You cry a little more, carefully holding your baby to your chest like he’s the most fragile thing in the world, and he is because he’s just a newborn and you’re just so happy. Your body is experiencing a tsunami of positivity; no kicking baby in your stomach, no contractions. Just you, your husband and your baby. You couldn’t be any happier, and neither could Simon.

“I’ll be th’ best husband ever,” he says, more to himself than you, then adds, “best father too.” He smiles softly and looks at you. “We have a baby.”

You nod and look at your son again, while he just innocently looks between his mummy and his daddy, soft, quiet hums leaving his throat as he looks up at both of you, not knowing that he has the best, most loving family ever.

---------

I cried writing this

Guys I have baby fever but babies are so adorable🥺