shybugbattyasked you:

If you're still accepting prompts, I'd love to see some Bruce/Dick. Just their everyday lives together. Or with the whole "Damian has two daddies" kind of idea that's been going around. Thanks! - Marissa

A/N: Okay, I hope this is okay for you! This is actually the first time I've ever written these two together, so I'm not exactly sure if I captured their dynamics or not as a couple. But thank you for giving me this chance! I'm sorry it took so long. With the JayTim even and my online class, a lot of my time had been sucked up, but I hope you like it. I personally struggled near the end because I didn't know how to end it. DX But uh, yeah. Hopefully enjoy, yes? :3

Mother Dearest
BruDick

Bruce searched the cityscape through a pair of binoculars. He briefly wonders if Dick had anything to do with the fact that the pair built into his suit are broken, but he doesn't say anything about it. At least this time he didn't pull out hello kitty ones. Dick was predictable like that now. It just took Bruce one time to realize this.

"Boo." And that wasn't surprising either. Bruce could see Dick clearly from where he was hanging upside down. His mask was hiding his otherwise bright blue eyes that he could tell where just dancing with mischief, and the corners of his lips curled up in devilry. Bruce could feel his eye twitching at the thought of the young man and his trickster behavior.

"What are you doing?" he asked with a sigh, and he saw Nightwing pout. "What?"

"No Spiderman kiss?" The man even had the audacity to look disappointed.

"What did you expect?" Batman replied gruffly before he took a step to the side and continued to observe the streets below.

"Such a prude," Dick scoffed, sliding down the line and tugging it free once his feet touched the ground. "You always kill the fun." Bruce didn't even have the humility to act guilty.

"You're right. Next is joy," he drawled. He heard the young vigilante huff before he leaned against the roof railing.

"Where's the squirt?" he asked in idle conversation. "Still grounded?"

"You bet," Bruce replied. At least for a week more. Bruce didn't really approve of Damian trying to stab Tim at every opening possible. Their constant fighting always seemed to give him that inevitable headache that lasted for a few hours. He really didn't appreciate the fact that Damian tried to main the older boy. This family was so dysfunctional.

"Did you only ground him from the field?" Dick inquired.

"And Alfred's scones." Dick then proceeded to look at Bruce like he drowned a few puppies.

"That's just cruel," the younger vigilante breathed out, and for a second, he nearly thought he saw the bat smirk.

"He's been behaved though," he said, his deep voice rumbling through his chest.

"Remind me not to piss you off."

"Gladly."

"… Bruce, what are you doing?" Dick asked one morning as he made his way downstairs and found the man in the kitchen. Cooking. Or at least what he assumed the man to be doing. The gruff man just looked at him, holding a spatula as he stood by the stove.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He was even wearing Alfred's apron, but he even tied it wrong. He had flower all over the article of clothing, and it even got on his pants, and the island was a chaotic mess.

"Why are you cooking?" he asked warily. Dick was afraid to step foot onto the tiled floor because Bruce was obviously having trouble with such a simple task. Not that he, himself, was any better.

"I gave Alfred a week's vacation," was Bruce's response, and Dick visibly blanched.

"You're insane, you know that? Did he tell you you're insane? Because you are."

Bruce sighed irately as he tried to get the (what the hell was that? Batter?) quickly burning substance in the pan to unstick. "Yes, he informed me of such."

"… And he just left?" Dick inquired, completely bewildered.

Another aggravated sigh that nearly turned into a hiss. "Yes."

Dick paused with his interrogation as Bruce struggled with what he presumed to be pancakes, and the entire thing turned to charcoal.

"You know, for being a genius, you don't know the first step to being Alfred," Dick jibed playfully, finally daring to step foot in the kitchen.

"Like you're any better. You'd live out on pizza and take out if you could," Bruce grumbled, disgruntled because the damned pancakes kept sticking to the pan. Why?

"True, but I think it's universally known that you grease the pan before putting batter in it. You know, so it doesn't stick," Dick said with a wide, jovial grin. Bruce wasn't exactly sure on what to say because, Christ, this is a bit embarrassing, so he just glared at him, swiped the PAM spray from him, and began to grumble. "You're welcome," he purred, draping himself over Bruce's shoulders like the octopus he was.

Only half an hour later and there was a putrid smell emitting from the kitchen. When Dick said he couldn't cook, man, he meant it.

"You're seriously horrible at this," Bruce huffed. "You're no better than me."

"At least I accept and admit that I'm horrible," Dick huffed back at him as he dumped more of the lumpy batter, which was no longer edible, into the garbage.

"At least I didn't drop all the eggs and accidentally step on them."

"Okay, hey, that was partially your fault because you–"

"What on earth are you doing?"

Both Dick and Bruce put a pause on their bickering due to the new addition in the kitchen. Who was currently coughing and covering his nose with his hand.

"Oh, hi Dami," Dick greeted and then lightly smacked Bruce's cheek because he had flour on his hand. Damian gave them both sour looks, eyes watering from the smoky smell.

"Move," he ordered them, stepping past them without waiting for a response. Bruce grunted at him, about ready to say something, but Damian beat him to it. "You two obviously have no clue on how to make a single crêpe. I'll take over from here. Clean up the counter."

Dick shared a look with Bruce before he started to clean up the counter, and Bruce cleaned up the floor, the two still bickering at each other. It's what they did best.

"You should be cleaning the floor. You're the one who dropped the eggs."

"Yes, but Damian said to clean the counter. I'm doing that."

"He told us both to clean the counter."

"But then he yelled at you because he stepped on an egg."

"But that's your fault."

"But I'm not the one who's cleaning it, now am I?"

"But I'm Batman."

"That makes no sense–"

"Be quiet, you two!"

It was a miracle. By the time the two men had finished cleaning (and acting like they were ten), Damian had finished the breakfast. It even looked and smelled edible. Whoa.

"You two are banned from the kitchen," Damian drawled as he set the food on the table.

"Aww, Dami. You do care," Dick hummed and bat his eyelashes at him.

"I will call you disgusting 'mom' synonyms and degrade your masculinity."

"Bruce, he's a mini you. Make it stop," Dick huffed as he pointed at the younger boy who scoffed but looked smug anyway. And Bruce just smirked to himself behind his coffee mug.

"You're back on the field," was all he said, and Dick's face was priceless.

"Cruel." Dick didn't even know half of it.

Damian even went out of his way to buy a pink mini dress for Dick the next week. You know, for when he had to go undercover and crossdress.

"Pink is not my color!"

"Father seems to think it is," Damian had drawled with that evil, stupid smirk.

The joys of being a parent.