#wait wait wait FRISBEE

[sulatni-ree]

bro i wanna join sports au summer but all the sports i know are filipino,,,

[0vergrowngraveyard]

augh i forgot how much i love designing creepy things

[nortonwifey]

i may have been too emotionally invested in this one random nor.ton player in this one match i played,,,,,,

[sixlane]

here to humbly request more platonic moonwater hcs 🙏

renn you sent me this so long ago. i bet you forgot. but i have not. here you go:

remus will eat literally anything and reg is unbearably picky. so when they go out and there’s inevitably something on reg’s plate he won’t eat, remus just piles it on his own plate. reg calls him the human garbage can. lovingly.

reg cuts remus’ hair when it gets too long

remus is a morning person but reg is a night owl. remus always has a cup of coffee waiting for reg in the morning but reg always puts the grounds and water in the machine so remus just has to turn it on when he wakes up.

they probably do some random hobby together like birdwatching or disc golf. wait now that i’m thinking about it they would absolutely dominate disc golf. who sees my vision

remus gets reg high for the first time

[toxic-sugar-stuff]

People, I haven't slept for the second day because of my studies, but I have to show you the accumulated sketches. I introduce you humanized Frisbee (you can still throw options, but this is the first thing that came to my mind)

oh maan frisbee now sounds like lemon demon damn

[altruistic-meme]

6 and 99 :>

:333

6. Do you play any sports?

not really jajdjajdj I did do a lot of little bits of sports when I was younger with our PE group, but never like... REALLY. and I was younger so I often got left out of the few "real" games they played :(

but i remember liking basketball and ultimate frisbee!!

99. Is there a feeling you are trying to ignore? What is it?

oh I'm sure there are several. alas. right now I'm fighting the depression bug again, so when I'm at work I have to ignore most of my feelings or else I worry my coworkers. (one did seem to see through me today tho ;; )

but just overall i have a habit of ignoring my frustration with stuff, which I have an abundance of rn

[ be nosy - im stuck at the car shop again ]

[simmswyatt]

thinking about stefon and all my silly little headcanons for him

[amethystgoldenwind]

Also, may I add about the bus, because the second time he tried to push it: It was in park. It was actively resisting his efforts, and the wheels were NOT moving. Had Raph thought to put it in neutral, he would've been good.

Okay part two: please send me every picture you have of Raph lifting/holding things (big rocks, objects, people, etc)

After some research, can conclude that he can lift At The Very Least 400lbs (thank u ken)

[ilovolderman]

You Said What?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You accidentaly call Bucky babe during a mission briefing in front of the whole team.

Word Count: 506

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating

A/N: This is a short story that came to my mind while I was studying, so I had to write it down. Hope you like it :)

Everyone’s crowded around the mission table. It’s too early, someone definitely stole your last coffee, and you're still rubbing sleep out of your eyes when Steve starts explaining the recon plan with way too many acronyms.

Bucky’s next to you, legs slightly touching, flipping a pen between his fingers like he’s not just waiting for a reason to pull your chair closer. He’s staring straight ahead like a good soldier, but you catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye every time your knee bounces.

You're trying to pay attention. Something about rooftops, safehouses, surveillance drones and you’re barely following when—

“…and Barnes, you’ll be on overwatch with Y/N.”

And you, running on 2 hours of sleep and one granola bar, lean toward Bucky without thinking.

“Did you hear that, babe?”

Silence.

Cold. Dead. Silence.

Everyone looks at you.

Nat squints. Sam raises both eyebrows so high they disappear into his hairline. Peter drops his pen. Steve, bless his heart, blinks like someone just smacked him with a frisbee.

Bucky doesn’t breathe. Your soul detaches from your body, floats toward the ceiling, and screams.

You scramble. “I—I said bro. Like, ‘Did you hear that, bro?’ That’s what I said. Like a…cool, soldier-y nickname. Haha.”

The room is quiet again. No one believes you. Especially not Sam.  “You said babe. You said it casually.”

Bucky doesn’t even look at you. He’s locked in full Winter Soldier mode, eyes fixed on a random spot on the wall like he’s trying to transcend to another timeline.

“I think she said brrr,” Bucky offers, stone-faced. “She’s cold.”

“She’s wearing a hoodie,” Peter mutters.

You laugh way too loud. “It’s the energy in here. Very chilly.”

Bucky leans back in his chair, arms crossed, staring straight ahead like if he makes direct eye contact with anyone he’ll combust.

Steve slowly turns to him. “Barnes?”

“…Yeah?”

“You cold too?”

Bucky shrugs. “Freezing.”

You know he’s going to murder you in the hallway. Probably kiss you breathless after. But first—death.

Steve stares a moment longer. Then—mercifully—moves on. But the damage is done.

Nat doesn’t. “So… bro, huh?”

You glare at her.

Later, when the meeting is already over, you burst in Bucky's room, already talking. “I told you this would happen, I told you I’d forget—”

Bucky slams the door shut and corners you. “You said babe. In front of Rogers.”

You bury your face in your hands. “I wanna crawl inside a ventilation shaft and disappear.”

He chuckles—actually chuckles—and pulls your hands away.

“Wanna know a secret?” he murmurs, leaning in.

“…What?”

“I liked it.”

You blink up at him. “You liked almost being exposed?”

“No,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “I liked hearing you call me babe.”

Your heart stutters.

“…Say it again.”

You grin. “Babe?”

Then he kisses you like the whole building isn’t even real. Like the only thing in the universe is your mouth and his hands and the way you said it without even realizing.

A/N: i just wrote a lil part 2 about them, it’s not a direct sequel but if you feel like cheking out, here it is. hope you like it, and thanks for reading <3

[hurtspideyparker]

Part 3 of if Civil War didn't end in divorce and everyone lived together

Part 1 Part 2

-

Mission debrief:

Thor: Don't feel bad Banner, I mean is there anyone at this table who hasn't killed somebody?

Peter: *slowly raises hand*

Natasha: Don't worry you're still young

Peter: 😟

-

Steve: Has anyone seen my shield?

Clint: *points outside*

*Peter, Thor, and Bucky playing frisbee with it*

Steve: I guess I'm not saving those orphans today :/

-

Clint: Tony I said seedless watermelon, are you trying to kill me?

Tony: You're a big boy, you aren't gonna choke

Clint: No but it might... grow

Tony: Oh please don't tell me you still think watermelon seeds grow inside your stomach if you swallow them

Clint:

Pietro: Bro got a licence to kill but still has a Jack and the Beanstock level of education

-

2:34 am

Tony: *leaving Steve's bedroom*

Sam: *leaving Bucky's bedroom*

Tony:

Sam:

Tony: Let's never speak of this?

Sam: Yep.

-

Steve: Tony, you're the smartest person I know. You understand anything you set out to study, your passion is remarkable, innovation beyond anyone on the planet, and an incredible memory

Tony: Thank you thank you

Steve: So why do you STILL NOT CLOSE THE KITCHEN CABINETS

Tony: Uh

Steve: SOME OF US ARE TALL TONY. SOME OF US HAVE BRUISES ON THEIR FOREHEADS BECAUSE OF THIS NEGLIGENCE

-

Tony: Goodnight kid *tucks Peter into bed and kisses his forehead*

*Clint, Vision, Thor, and Dum-E waiting outside the room*

Tony: Oh come on. All of you?

*nodding*

Tony: Vision you don't even sleep. Dum-E I am not kissing you again you gave me chemical burns last time

Dum-E: *lowers head and whirs sadly*

-

Bucky: Don't sit so close to me

Sam: Why, cause I'm black 🤨

Bucky: No because you smell like ass sweat

Sam:

Sam: Why, cause I'm bl-

-

During training:

Natasha: *flips Steve and slams him onto his back*

Peter: Woah! I wanna know how to do that

Natasha: *flips Peter and slams him onto his back*

Natasha: Seems like you already know how

-

Tony: Okay Merida, you and me, darts for a hundred bucks. My suit vs. your freak self

Clint: I'll take that bet

*7 minutes later*

Tony: I have advanced AI targetting technology. SUPER. SUIT. How did I lose?!

Clint: It can do a lot of things Tony but at the end of the day it can't super suck this di-

-

Bucky: Sam's in medical so I'll do the mission debrief with you

Natasha: That was fast, I thought you'd still be coddling your boyfriend the rest of the day

Bucky: What. How do you know about us.

Natasha: I don't, it was a joke...

Bucky:

Natasha:

Bucky: Damn you really are good at interrogation

-

Bruce: I've taken up puzzles as a hobby. It's actually really relaxing

*Box is missing the last piece*

Bruce: *sighs, erases the 61 under the 'Days Without Hulk Incident' sign*

-

Natasha: Kings

Bucky: Go fish. Sevens?

Natasha: Nada. Fives?

Bucky: Shit. Here

Sam: I thought y'all were playing poker, are you for real playing Go Fish?

Natasha: Our pockets got cleaned out so we quit. The poker game is over by Steve

Peter: HAHA SUCK IT OLD MAN, AMERICA JUST WENT BANKRUPT *pulls giant pile of animal crackers to himself*

-

Steve: Do you want to play catch?

Wanda: What?

Steve: Um. Do you want to watch Hannah Montana?

Wanda: I don't even know what you're talking about

Steve: Maybe I could show you how to brush your teeth?

Wanda: Steve you're really scaring me

Steve: The article said to do it together! *shows phone*

Wanda: Are you getting parenting advice from wikihow? Did you even read it or were you just skimming the pictures

Steve: ...Well why'd they put toothbrushing in the photo if it wasn't a good bonding activity?

-

Sam: Why are your titties so bouncy man. Is it to deflect bullets?

Steve: What did you just say about my chest...

Sam: Hey I call em as I see em, and they're staring right at me.

-

Peter: Yo Mr. Stark wanna see a backflip?

Peter: Oh Cap come see my front handsprings

Peter: Natasha watch this aerial cartwheel!

Tony: Why did you tell him you were in the circus. Now that the idea's in his head all he does is jump around and cause noise complaints from downstairs

Clint: C'mon it's cute! He's talented

Bucky: I'm gonna tell him it doesn't count because he has superpowers and that he's a cheat

Tony: But that'll ruin his confidence

Bucky: God I hope so

[classjezter]

So how do a Cassets hang out with Op? Rumble and Frenzy teach him how to fight as we've seen, but what about the others? (Ravage,Lazerbeak ect)

Generally, the cassettes treat baby Nemesis like he’s somewhere between a tiny, chaotic pet and their unofficial baby sibling

Rumble and Frenzy are menaces, so of course they must teach him how to be one too, they instruct him on how to cause small-scale chaos (like harmless pranks or messing with controls) and treat him like their honorary little tagalong. They also like roughhousing with him (gently-ish), toss him in the air like a sparkling frisbee (Nemesis loves it, others don’t). Them babysitting is basically a noise complaint waiting to happen

Ravage is more like the quiet guardian type. She’ll let the chaos go on for a while, but when she decides enough is enough, Ravage is the one who slinks in, curls around him, and calms him down. Nemesis loves cuddling with her, often falling asleep against his plating

Laserbeak treats baby Nemesis like his personal entertainment channel. He watches him constantly, perching anywhere near and tilting his head like “what’s tiny doing now?”. Laserbeak also likes to deliver toys or snacks (most likely something stolen he found interesting enough) to see what Nemesis will do with them

[goddamnitmahtin]

Damian’s Babysitter

This is a sequel to this post. Since it was actually based on a wild dream I had, I figured I’de add more.

Danny and Wes found the gala boring as all hell. Almost immediately after showing up, they were sent to off to the “kids room.” Were Danny and Wes full on adults? Yes. But apparently rich people don’t want to look at you if you don’t have access to money they can convince you to give them. Which honestly, fair. Danny and Wes didn’t want to look at the rich people either.

Danny and Wes walked into the room filled with discarded children and found a sofa to sit on. It wasn’t like they were going to actually try to mingle with these children. Most of them were very clearly going to be mean. Most of them that weren’t too young to hold a conversation with were standing around on little cliques gossiping to each other about each other. It was like if you took all of the pettiest 5th graders in the entire state and put them into one room.

“I still can’t believe we are doing this,” Danny said, groaning. This entire thing was such bullshit. The entire atmosphere felt so fake.

“Lucky for us, I brought my laptop so we can just game until it’s time to leave,” Wes said, pulling his laptop out of his bag.

“Oohhh so that’s why you brought a purse,” Danny said, poking fun at the style of the bag. It was duty of a cousin to be a menace after all.

“It is not a purse!” Wes said, laughing. He gave Danny a playful shove before opening the computer and pulling up the game library. All of the games on the laptop were single player so they were going to have to take turns. Danny told Wes to go ahead and go first.

“Daniel Fenton,” said a child’s voice. One that he recognized.

Danny looked up from the computer and smiled, “Damian! What are you doing here bud?”

The child scoffed as if Danny were stupid, “I am here with my father. What are you doing here? You aren’t a part of Gotham’s elite.”

Danny had babysat Damian plenty of times in Metropolis when his father had odd work hours. Never once did he even consider that Bruce was from Gotham. Or part of it’s elite. Danny had always gotten paid well and it was a nice gig so he never really asked questions. But now that he thought of it, if Damian lived in Gotham, why did he want a babysitter in Metropolis?

Wes shoved Danny in the rib, “Danny- I think this kid is-”

“I’m here as a favor to a friend,” Danny said, ignoring the dull pain in his ribs, “Sam Manson.”

The child nodded, “Yes, I know Sam. She is not as pathetic as the other elite spawn.”

Danny laughed, “I agree.”

“Wait, how do you two even know each other? And how come he gets to call you Daniel?,” Wes asked. He had paused his game and was looking back and forth between Danny and Damian.

“Oh this is Damian! I babysit him every once in a while,” Danny sad gesturing to the young boy.

“Yes, when my father has work in Metropolis, I request to spend that time with Daniel when I am not needed,” Damian stated matter of factly, he crossed his arms looking proud of himself as he said, “I gained the right to refer to him as Daniel by proving myself in hand to hand combat.”

Wes gave Danny a look and Danny just shrugged, “He wanted to spar, who was I to say no? The kid has moves and I respect that.”

Danny smiled proudly and so did Damian at the acknowledgment of his fighting prowess. Wes just looked at Danny like he was the stupidest person in the world.

Wes’ judgement didn’t last long as a discord call started to ring on his laptop. Danny watched as his face flushed before answering. He was about to ask who it was but before he could, he heard a crash and then Damian’s voice.

“HEY!”

Then another voice unapologetically, “Sorry! Haha!”

Danny looked to see if Damian was alright just to see him holding a platter like a frisbee one one hand and using the other to flip someone across the room the bird, “Fuck you Tim!” (not really)

[lila-lou]

✨Folded✨

Summary: Your first time with Ben lands you in the ER and in the middle of his chaotic, possessive version of love.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, kinda fluffy, kinda funny

Word Count: 2721

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

The harsh fluorescent lights of the emergency room buzzed above you, a headache forming right behind your eyes. You shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair, wincing as the movement sent a sharp reminder through your body of exactly why you were there. Ben sat slouched next to you, arms crossed over his chest, radiating pure impatience like a human space heater.

"You’re fine", he muttered, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "You’re just… delicate or something".

You shot him a look so sharp it could've cut through the damn walls. "Oh, I’m delicate now? You just threw me halfway across the bed like a goddamn frisbee".

He smirked, and you wanted to both kiss him and punch him at the same time. "Yeah, well, maybe you should’ve braced yourself better", he said, shrugging like he hadn’t nearly snapped you in half an hour ago.

"You’re unbelievable", you said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe next time you should come with a warning label: Caution — may cause serious bodily harm during sex".

Ben leaned his head back against the wall, letting out a low laugh. "Please. You loved it".

You gave him a deadpan stare. "Loved the part where you folded me like a lawn chair? Sure. Best moment of my life".

Despite everything, the pain, the embarrassment, the fact that you were sitting in a hospital gown with an ice pack pressed against your ribs, you felt your mouth twitching into a smile. Ben caught it immediately, his own grin growing wider, the cocky bastard.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip, injury and all. "You’re tough. You’ll survive. And when you do…", he paused, smirking again, "you’re gonna be begging for round two".

You scoffed, elbowing him lightly, careful this time not to hurt yourself further. "In your dreams, Soldier Boy".

"Every night, sweetheart", he said without missing a beat, reaching out to squeeze your hand with a surprising gentleness that made your heart stutter, even now.

The nurse finally called your name, and as you stood up, wincing again, Ben stood too, towering over you, close enough that you felt the warmth rolling off him. Despite all his bravado, he stayed glued to your side, steadying you without saying a word.

Maybe he wasn’t great at apologies, hell, maybe he barely knew the word existed, but right now, you figured actions spoke louder anyway.

The exam room was colder than the waiting area, and the thin paper on the exam table crinkled loudly as you tried to settle onto it without grimacing too obviously. Ben stood nearby, arms folded, looking like he owned the damn place despite the fact that he was clearly the problem.

The door swung open with a soft knock, and a tired-looking doctor, mid-forties, glasses, no patience left, stepped in, glancing between the two of you and your chart.

"Alright", he said, glancing down at the clipboard. "Looks like you’ve got some bruised ribs, maybe a minor strain. We’ll get a scan just in case. Can you tell me how this happened?".

You opened your mouth, you really did, but Ben beat you to it, his voice loud, confident, and absolutely unapologetic. "Yeah, so we were fucking", he said bluntly.

You felt your soul leave your body.

Ben kept going, completely ignoring the way you shot him a wide-eyed look of horror. "I mean, she was on top at first, right? But then she said she wanted me to take control, and I thought, ‘Hey, no problem, I’m great at that’, so I flipped her over. Maybe a little too hard… she kinda bounced—".

"Ben", you hissed, trying to stop him, mortified.

He waved you off, like you were interrupting the most important TED Talk ever. "—then, you know, I was giving it to her good", he continued, nodding proudly, "and I guess I got a little too into it. She sort of folded in half like one of those camping chairs. Heard a little pop. Not a sexy one, like an actual pop".

The doctor blinked at him, utterly deadpan.

You covered your face with your hands. "Please kill me", you muttered into your palms.

Ben, undeterred, barreled right through the awkward silence. "Anyway, she finished, I finished, it was great. Five stars. But then she couldn’t really move after, so here we are".

The doctor cleared his throat loudly, scribbling something on your chart, probably 'Patient dating an idiot, but in love with him'.

"Right", the doctor said, voice carefully neutral. "Well, thank you for the… thorough explanation. We’ll get those scans done. In the meantime, maybe consider… pacing yourselves".

You groaned loudly, letting your head fall back against the wall with a dull thunk.

As soon as the doctor left the room, Ben turned to you, still looking ridiculously pleased with himself. "What?", he said, smirking. "You want me to lie? I’m not ashamed of blowing your back out".

You glared at him, cheeks burning hotter than a furnace. "Next time you get me hospitalized", you snapped, "you’re paying for dinner and flowers".

Ben laughed, reaching out to gently brush your hair behind your ear. "Done. That pussy is worth it".

A few minutes later, after some paperwork shuffling and an excruciatingly awkward wait, a younger doctor stepped in, not the same one as before. This guy couldn’t have been more than thirty, clean-shaven, fresh out of med school, and way too friendly for Ben’s liking.

He glanced at the clipboard, then smiled at you.

“Alright, Y/N”, he said brightly. “We’re gonna need to do a quick physical check, make sure nothing else is damaged. I’m gonna have you slip out of the gown so I can take a look at your back and sides, okay?”.

You nodded, already reaching to undo the ties at the back of the thin hospital gown. Standard, right? No big deal. Until you heard a low growl behind you.

Ben straightened up from where he was leaning against the wall, his whole posture shifting, shoulders squared, chest puffed out. Every part of him suddenly screamed territorial caveman. “She’s not gettin’ fucking naked for you”.

The young doctor blinked, taken off guard. “Sir, it’s medical. I’m a professional”.

Ben stepped forward, looming way too close for hospital etiquette. “Don’t care if you’ve got ten degrees and a stethoscope made of fucking gold. Find another way”.

You sighed heavily, shooting Ben a glare over your shoulder. “Ben. It’s fine”.

He ignored you completely, never breaking eye contact with the poor doctor, who now looked like he was reconsidering every life choice that led him to this moment.

The doctor cleared his throat awkwardly, clearly debating whether arguing with a super-powered, pissed-off Soldier Boy was worth his medical license. Wisely, he chose the path of least resistance. “Alright”, he said carefully, backing up a step. “Maybe you can help her adjust the gown so I can check without… full exposure”.

“Yeah”, Ben said, flashing a grin that was all teeth. “Thought so”.

Muttering under your breath, you let Ben come over, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he helped untie the gown just enough to expose the parts the doctor needed to see.

The examination was quick — a few pokes, some prodding, the doctor muttering notes — but Ben never moved from your side, hovering protectively, eyes sharp and watchful.

When it was finally over and the doctor left, Ben immediately retied the gown, his fingers brushing your skin with careful touches that made your heart race for an entirely different reason.

“You’re insane”, you said, half laughing, half exasperated as you turned to face him.

He shrugged, completely unapologetic. “Maybe. But no one gets to look at you but me”.

You shook your head, pretending to be more annoyed than you actually were. “Possessive much?”.

Ben leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, “You love it”. And the worst part was, you did.

You didn’t even make it halfway off the exam table before the nurse came back with the final report, a sympathetic wince on her face.

“Looks like you’ve got four sprained ribs”, she said, handing you a packet of instructions you weren’t about to read. “You’re gonna be sore for a while. Bruising’s already setting in… lot of internal swelling. Ice it, rest, no heavy lifting, and definitely no… strenuous activities”.

Her eyes flicked awkwardly to Ben, who was standing there looking like a kicked puppy and a thunderstorm rolled into one. “Yeah, yeah, we get it”, Ben muttered as the nurse left the room.

You pulled the gown tighter around yourself, trying to breathe through the ache that flared in your chest every time you moved.

Ben scowled down at you, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “Sprained ribs”, he grumbled under his breath. “Geez. I was aiming for you to feel me somewhere else, sweetheart. Not in your goddamn ribcage”.

You gave him a look, deadpan. “Trust me. I do”.

Ben’s mouth opened, probably to fire back something cocky, but he paused, really looked at you, taking in the way you winced even shifting your weight. Some of the swagger bled out of him then, replaced by something quieter, heavier. Guilt, sharp and obvious even under his usual bravado.

“You should’ve told me”, he muttered, softer now. “If it hurt”.

You snorted lightly, regretting it immediately when it made your ribs throb. “Ben. At the time, I couldn’t tell if I was dying or just having a spiritual experience”.

He cracked a reluctant, crooked grin at that, the edge of it tinged with worry. “Yeah?”, he said, stepping closer, his voice low and rough. “That good, huh?”.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips anyway. “You broke four of my ribs, genius. Congratulations. New personal record”.

Ben chuckled under his breath and reached out, his massive hands careful as he cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks like you were made of glass. “I’ll do better next time”, he murmured, something fiercely earnest in his tone. “Promise”.

You leaned back slightly, giving him a teasing smirk despite the dull, throbbing pain in your chest. “No next time”, you said lightly, your voice a little raspy from the effort. “You’re officially on a sex ban until further notice”.

Ben’s eyebrows shot up like you’d slapped him. “A what now?”, he barked, genuinely offended, like you’d just told him Christmas was canceled.

You chuckled under your breath, hissing slightly as it pulled at your ribs, and tried to wave him off. “Doctor’s orders”, you said, smug. “I’m fragile, remember?”.

Ben muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “Bullshit”, but he didn’t argue, not really. Instead, he shook his head, grumbling as he grabbed your clothes from the chair and crouched down in front of you.

You gave him a withering look, but he was already helping you, his hands surprisingly deft as he started easing you back into your clothes. Every touch was gentle, careful in a way that made your heart ache worse than your ribs.

He tugged your top down carefully over your shoulders, frowning in concentration like he was disarming a bomb, muttering under his breath the whole time.

“This is bullshit. You’re tougher than half the assholes I fought in World War II”, he grumbled. “Sprained ribs my ass”.

You couldn’t help yourself, you grinned through the ache. “Oh, I’m sorry. Should I sprain a few of your ribs next time? See how you like it?”.

Ben snorted, brushing your hair out from under your collar with a tenderness that made your chest tight for an entirely different reason. “You couldn’t hurt me, even if you tried”, he said, flashing you that cocky smirk, the one that made you want to punch him and kiss him all at once.

You narrowed your eyes. “Wanna bet?”.

He let out a low laugh, then leaned down, his forehead bumping gently against yours. For a second, he just stayed there, breathing you in, grounding both of you in the middle of the sterile hospital chaos. “Nah”, he murmured. “You’re dangerous enough already, doll”.

About an hour later, you were sprawled out carefully on Ben’s leather couch, one of his shirts hanging off your body, way too big, way too soft, and an ice pack balanced awkwardly against your bruised ribs.

You sighed, shifting slightly to get comfortable, wincing at the dull, deep ache that pulsed with every movement. The apartment smelled like whiskey, leather, and Ben, a scent so familiar and stupidly comforting that you almost forgot how much you hated being injured in the first place. Almost.

Footsteps echoed from the kitchen, heavy and sure, and then Ben appeared, a glass of whiskey clutched in one hand and a determined look on his face like he was about to win a war. “Here”, he said, handing the glass over with a kind of gentleness that would’ve shocked anyone who didn’t know him better.

You raised an eyebrow as you accepted it, feeling the cool glass against your fingers. “Pretty sure alcohol isn’t in the medical pamphlet, Nurse Ben”.

He snorted, dropping heavily into the armchair across from you, legs spread wide, one arm slung lazily over the backrest. “Yeah, well, they also said no ‘strenuous activity’, and we both know that’s bullshit too”.

You gave him a look, taking a slow sip of the whiskey — it burned down your throat, warm and sharp, but it did take the edge off the pain a little.

Ben watched you the whole time, gaze sharp and calculating. Protective. Like he was mentally trying to will your ribs back together just by glaring hard enough.

You settled back against the couch with a soft groan, cradling the ice pack against your side. “You know you don’t have to babysit me”, you mumbled, closing your eyes for a second.

There was a beat of silence. Then the couch dipped under his weight as Ben got up and sat right beside you, his knee brushing yours, his presence so big and solid it made you feel safer instantly. “You’re outta your fucking mind if you think I’m leavin’ you alone like this”, he said gruffly, voice low. “You’re hurt ‘cause of me. I’m not goin’ anywhere”.

You peeked up at him through your lashes, warmth curling low in your chest, unrelated to the whiskey this time.

He caught you looking and smirked, reaching out to tug at the hem of his shirt hanging on you. “Looks good on you”, he muttered, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it.

You shook your head, smiling tiredly. “Sap”.

Ben let out a soft chuckle, one hand still idly tugging at the oversized shirt you were wearing like he couldn’t help himself. "Shut up", he teased, flashing you a boyish smirk that would've been disarming if he weren't such a giant menace most of the time. "You like it. Don’t pretend you don’t".

You snorted, trying not to jostle your ribs. "Yeah, I just love being broken and babied".

He shrugged unapologetically. "You should. Not everyone gets the honor of my excellent bedside manner, sweetheart".

Ben watched you for a second longer, then stood with a grunt, cracking his knuckles. "Stay there", he ordered unnecessarily. "Gonna make you somethin’ to eat".

You stared after him, amused and vaguely terrified. "Ben, you can’t cook".

"Can't be that hard", he shot over his shoulder as he stomped toward the kitchen like he was going to war.

You snickered, nestling deeper into the couch, ice pack balanced carefully, already mentally preparing yourself for whatever culinary disaster he was about to create in the name of taking care of you. Because, well… it was Ben. And even when he was a complete disaster, he was still yours.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Hi, could you please write about how Lando finds out that the reader really likes cats, and how he tries to come to terms with it (remember that video where he says that if a person doesn't like dogs but also likes cats it's a red flag).

A Pawful Revelation

Word count: 922

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

________________________________________________________

It started innocently enough. You and Lando were scrolling through your phones one lazy afternoon, each sprawled on opposite ends of his massive couch. The only sound in the room was the faint hum of a race replay on the TV and the occasional flick of your nails on the glass screen.

Lando suddenly perked up, his attention snagged by an adorable video of a Golden Retriever puppy wagging its tail enthusiastically.

“Look at this little guy!” he exclaimed, shoving his phone toward you.

You glanced up from your screen, smiling. “Aww, he’s cute,” you said, but you didn’t look as enthusiastic as Lando clearly wanted you to be. He frowned slightly but didn’t press it.

A moment later, you bit your lip to suppress a smile as you scrolled further down your own feed.

“Why are you grinning like that?” Lando asked, craning his neck to look at your phone.

“Oh, no reason,” you said, too quickly.

“Let me see.”

Before you could stop him, Lando snatched your phone and squinted at the screen. His face twisted into a mixture of amusement and betrayal as he saw the source of your delight: a compilation of cats knocking objects off tables with utter disdain.

“Cats?” he asked, his tone laced with disbelief.

“What about them?” you asked innocently, snatching your phone back.

“You… like cats?” he asked, narrowing his eyes like you’d just told him you secretly supported his rival team.

“Of course I do,” you replied, laughing. “They’re hilarious and cute!”

Lando leaned back on the couch, folding his arms as he stared at you, processing this revelation. “Wait, wait. You mean like, really like cats?”

You nodded. “Yeah, they’re amazing. So independent, so sassy. I’ve always loved them.”

He groaned, running a hand through his messy curls. “You’re telling me you’re a cat person?”

“Why do you say it like I just confessed to a crime?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Because it’s a red flag!” Lando said, throwing his hands up dramatically.

You laughed so hard you nearly dropped your phone. “Oh, come on, Lando. Are you seriously judging me for liking cats? You like dogs; I like cats. It’s not that deep.”

“But it is!” he insisted, leaning toward you, his tone half-joking but with a hint of genuine worry. “Dogs are loyal, happy, and full of love. Cats are… evil. They scratch you for no reason and knock your stuff over just to annoy you!”

You rolled your eyes. “Cats are misunderstood. They’re affectionate, but on their own terms. They’re like the cool kids of the pet world.”

Lando shook his head, still looking troubled. “I don’t know if I can trust someone who prefers cats over dogs.”

“Oh, please,” you said, giving him a playful shove. “You’re being ridiculous. Besides, I didn’t say I don’t like dogs. I just like cats more.”

“That’s worse!” he exclaimed, pretending to clutch his chest.

You laughed again, but you could tell he was genuinely grappling with this newfound information about you.

Over the next few days, Lando seemed determined to convince you that dogs were superior. He sent you countless videos of puppies doing adorable things, from catching Frisbees to snuggling with their owners. He even tried to recruit his fans into the debate by posting a poll on Instagram: Cats or Dogs?

Despite his efforts, your love for cats remained unwavering. In fact, you doubled down, texting him memes of cats in silly hats and videos of them performing acrobatics.

One day, he showed up at your apartment with a smug grin and a small gift bag.

“What’s this?” you asked, taking the bag from him.

“Just a little something to change your mind,” he said, flopping onto your couch with an air of confidence.

Inside the bag was a pair of socks covered in cartoon dogs and a plush Golden Retriever toy.

“Really, Lando?” you said, holding up the socks.

“What? I’m trying to save you from a life of bad decisions,” he said, grinning.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

The real test came a week later when you convinced Lando to visit a cat café with you. He was reluctant at first, muttering about how he’d probably leave covered in scratches. But when he saw how excited you were, he couldn’t say no.

As soon as you entered, a fluffy gray cat sauntered over to you, meowing softly. Your face lit up as you crouched down to pet it.

Lando watched from a distance, arms crossed, trying to look unimpressed. But then a tiny orange kitten climbed onto his lap, purring loudly.

“Uh, what do I do?” he asked, looking slightly panicked.

“Just pet him,” you said, smiling.

Hesitantly, Lando stroked the kitten’s soft fur. The kitten responded by curling up and falling asleep on his lap.

For a moment, Lando looked conflicted, but then a small smile crept onto his face.

“See?” you said, sitting beside him. “Cats aren’t so bad.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, trying to hide his grin. “This one’s alright, I guess.”

By the time you left the café, Lando had a newfound appreciation for cats. While he still insisted that dogs were better, he grudgingly admitted that cats weren’t the villains he’d made them out to be.

And as you walked back to the car, he slipped his hand into yours and said, “Okay, fine. Maybe I can tolerate your cat obsession. But only because it’s you.”

[adrienneleclerc]

Hi I was the one requested the two Lewis Hamilton imagine and the Carlos sainz imagine and I was also the one who sent you the message about the Daniel Ricardo imagine and I have one more request you can take your time on this one I really don't care but another Lewis Hamilton imagine well I don't know Lewis's walking in a park or somewhere and he finds a straight dog or puppy or whatever and he takes it to the closest vet in the reader is a veterinarian and yeah whenever you want to do from there it's all up to you so yeah

🥰🫶🇲🇽

Oh that sounds nice, Lewis is definitely the type to do right by a stray dog

Puppy Love

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Vet!Reader

Summary: while playing fetch with Roscoe at the park, he finds an abandoned dog and takes him to the nearest vet office and crushes on the pretty vet attending the dog

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: i think I just successfully convinced my mom that we should go to Monaco for vacation 🫢. Well, we are going to Nice, France and then take a bus to Monaco so I can see the Prince’s car collection. Maybe I’ll post pictures here

Lewis decided to bring Roscoe with him to New York and being the good dog owner he is, he took Roscoe out to the park in the morning, bringing a frisbee to play fetch with.

“Alright, buddy, you ready to play fetch?” Lewis asked and Roscoe barked in agreement, wiggling his butt. “Go long, boy!” Lewis says as he tossed the frisbee, Roscoe being a good boy and ran as fast as he could to get the frisbee. However, the frisbee landed in front of another dog, making Roscoe bark.

Lewis was alerted by the usually calm dog’s bark and rushed over to see what Roscoe had seen and right before his eyes, there was a Pekingnese puppy just under a year, shivering, covered in mud.

“Hi buddy.” Lewis cooed at the puppy, trying to appear as approachable as possible. It seems to work because the puppy started inching towards him. “There you go, a little bit closer, little guy.” Lewis said until the puppy because close enough so he could carry him. The little puppy leaned into his embrace. “Cold little bugger, aren’t you? Alright, let’s go see if you’re chipped, alright? Come on, Roscoe.” Lewis said, putting Roscoe’s leash back on.

Since the puppy didn’t have a collar, he couldn’t use Roscoe’s extra leash to walk him. He was walking Roscoe while carrying the puppy in his arms and walked until they reached an animal clinic. Lewis walked in and went straight up to the front desk.

“Alright, please sign in and we’ll get to you shortly.” The receptionist said and Lewis did just that. Everything was fine until the puppy started howling in his arms.

“What’s wrong, fella?” Lewis asked the puppy, inspecting him. “Shit, he has something in his paw. Can you see him, please? He’s only a puppy and I just found him in the street.”

“Alright, come on in and wait for the vet to see you.” The receptionist said and Lewis walked in with Roscoe. When Lewis placed the puppy on the table, that’s when he realized the puppy had a slight limp. He hadn’t noticed because of how long the puppy’s fur was. Lewis was comforting the puppy when he heard the door open.

“Okay, Lewis Hamilton?” The vet said.

“Hi, yes, that’s me. Lewis said nervously.

“I’m Y/N, I’ll be your vet today. What brings in this little cutie, today?” You said petting the puppy.

“Um i was in the dog park with my bulldog and we found him. He didn’t have a collar, I brought him in to see if he was chipped but apparently he has a limp as well.” Lewis said.

“Right, I’ll just take his vitals before checking if there is a chip to see if there are signs of malnourishment considering the conditions you found him in.” You said, putting on your stethoscope to listen to the puppy. The puppy whimpered but you managed to calm him down enough so he would stay still. “His vitals are fine, feels a bit underweight, you can’t tell under that fur but I’ll weigh him shortly. I’ll bring in the scanner to check if there is a chip.”

You walked out and Lewis was thinking about how beautiful you were. Young too, thinking you were in your late twenties to early thirties. Lewis was comforting Roscoe who seemed just as nervous as the puppy. You then came back with the scanner and waved it over the puppy,

“Huh, this poor guy doesn’t seemed chipped. Buts that’s okay little fella, I’m sure this nice man over here will take you in.” You cooed as the puppy, making him was his tail as you looked at Lewis with puppy dog eyes, tryna guilt him into owning another dog.

“I’m not sure if I can…” Lewis started.

“Dude, you’re an F1 driver, you seem to be taking care of Roscoe perfectly fine, what’s one more dog? Plus, who knows how the shelter will be, he could get adopted by some bad people.” You tried to convince him

“I Don’t think that’s very professional of you.” Lewis teased.

“May not be, but at least I’d know he’ll be going to a good home.” You said. “Just think about it, I have to go weigh the fella. Let’s go, baby.” You said, carrying the puppy outside the room to weight him. Roscoe just stared up at Lewis, who was also guilting him.

“Not you too.” Lewis whined, making Roscoe huff. “Alright, fine, I’ll bring him in.” You then came back in the room.

“Good news, he’s only like 3 pounds underweight, should be an easy fix, he just doesn’t eat as much as he should. His limp a,so appears to be a sprain, I’ll give you some pain medication for him, along with some supplements that should improve his joint health. Now, what are you going to name this beautiful baby boy?” You asked.

“You’re laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?” Lewis asked.

“I’m trying to get him adopted by you so yeah.” You said.

“I’m going to name him Miracle.” Lewis said, petting the newly named puppy.

“Okay, Miracle Hamilton it is. I’ll get everything prepared you, okay?” You said before walking out. Lewis carried Miracle and grappled Roscoe’s leash to wait in the waiting room for you. “Okay, here’s the medication and a list of supplements that I recommend you should buy…along with my number.”

“Your number? Are you flirting with me, Y/N?” Lewis asked with a flirty smile.

“I am, this way you can call me if you need with Miracle or if you just want to talk. Up to you, of course.” You told him.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you, have a great day, guys.” Lewis said, walking out with his old friend and new puppy. He started buying puppy food for Miracle’s breed, a few toys, a leash, collar, everything a new dog needs.

When Lewis made it to the apartment, he let Miracle and Roscoe get acquainted while he stares at your number. After having the two dogs stare at him, he caved. “Hey, Y/N, It’s me, Lewis, I don’t have to be in Maranello for another 2 weeks, you want to go out Friday night?” Lewis asked.

“I would love to.” You said, Lewis could hear the smile on your face and that made him smile as well.

The End

Hope y’all liked it! Sorry I’ve been inactive

[rikudaa]

Father’s Day (Survivor’s Edition)

Batfam x Reader ₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

✰ A/N: Happy (belated) Father’s Day, here I present you some fluff moments after the first sobbed chapter lol (sorry not sorry)

You wake up to your own alarm–the rarest of Gotham miracles. No explosions, no blood, no Batarang-shaped holes in your walls. Just peace. You swing your legs out of bed with purpose, because this year, you’re hosting Father’s Day.

And you’re not just talking Bruce.

You’ve summoned everyone (not literally everyone, just in the family). Every semi-adopted, occasionally estranged, emotionally constipated member of this patchwork nightmare of a family.

You are either a genius or a masochist.

──★˙🍓̟!!

By noon, Wayne Manor’s kitchen is a battlefield.

“Why is there glitter in the waffle batter?” Damian glares, holding the bowl like it personally insulted his ancestors.

You shrug, flipping a pancake shaped like a bat. “Aesthetic.”

“Are we poisoning Father for dramatic effect?” he deadpans.

From the other side of the kitchen, Jason cackles. “Finally, someone asks the real questions.”

“I told you guys we should’ve just grilled,” mutters Tim, already halfway through a bottle of cold brew, looking like he hasn’t slept since 2003.

“Tim, it’s brunch, not a crime scene,” you say, grabbing the glitter-batter from Damian. “Go outside and touch grass. Or Dick.”

“I will not be touched,” Dick yells from the living room, tangled in streamers. “Also, I think I’ve been wrapped into the curtains.”

“Just lean into it, man,” Jason calls. “Be the décor.”

──★˙🍓̟!!

Bruce arrives at exactly 12:01 p.m. You swear he does it on purpose, so no one can accuse him of being punctual.

He walks in, eyes flicking over the chaos:

Dick dangling from a curtain rod, Damian sharpening a grapefruit spoon, Tim curled on the couch like a feral cat, and Jason eating waffles off a frisbee.

Then he sees you.

You smile too brightly. “Happy Father’s Day!”

Bruce blinks. “…Should I be concerned?”

“Nope. Just sit. Don’t ask questions. Eat your heart-shaped toast and pretend we’re normal.”

He sits.

He doesn’t question the cat-themed paper crown you place on his head. That’s growth.

•

When Alfred walks in with a tray of mimosas, the entire room goes silent.

“Father’s Day is for fathers, not god-tier butlers who raised us better than our actual parents,” you announce.

Jason raises his mimosa. “To the only dad who didn’t emotionally repress me.”

“Jason, I taught you how to make pipe bombs,” Bruce says, sipping coffee like it’s vodka.

“Exactly,” Jason grins. “And he taught me not to use them.”

•

“Speech!” Dick shouts at some point, already tipsy off orange juice.

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “No.”

“You have to,” you insist, setting down a plate of glitter-battered pancakes and tofu bacon. “It’s law. I googled it.”

Damian looks up from stabbing fruit. “Google is not a valid legal source.”

“Says the kid who used Wikipedia to prove cats are superior to dogs.”

“Because they are.”

“Fight me.”

“Gladly.”

“I will tase you both,” Tim mumbles, holding the remote to a shock collar you’re pretty sure is a modified grappling hook.

“B,” Dick pleads dramatically, “if you don’t give a speech, I swear to God I will climb on the roof and start singing Cats the Musical.”

Jason perks up. “Wait, I want in on that–”

“No,” you interrupt. “We just fixed the chimney.”

•

Bruce finally stands, holding his coffee like a lifeline. The cat crown is still on his head. No one mentions it.

He looks at all of you.

All his kids.

All the chaos.

The mess. The glitter. The literal smoke alarm going off in the background (which you casually silence with a kitchen towel).

And then he says, in that gravel-and-regret voice of his:

“I used to think I’d never have a family. That I’d die in the cave alone, surrounded by bats and files and unfinished vengeance. And now…”

He looks around the room.

“At least I know I’ll die under a collapsing ceiling because one of you idiots tried to microwave metal.”

Jason raises a hand sheepishly. “That was me.”

“No regrets,” you say, grinning.

Bruce sighs. But it’s a warm sigh. The kind with weight behind it.

“Thank you,” he finally adds, softer. “For making something… I didn’t know I needed.”

Tim mimes wiping a tear. “Someone hold me.”

“Not it,” you and Damian say in unison.

Dick jumps up. “GROUP HUG!”

Jason throws a waffle across the table

•

You take a picture before the moment dissolves.

Bruce, coffee in one hand, arm around Alfred with the other. Dick dramatically leaning across both. Tim half-asleep. Damian stabbing a fork into a fruit bat carving. Jason flipping off the camera. And you, right in the middle.

Smiling.

Because for a family built out of grief and secrets and trauma—

Today?

You did good.

Even if the glitter pancakes taste like regret.

──★˙🍓̟!!

“Technically,” you say, holding up a spatula like a judge’s gavel, “we now proceed to Phase Two of Father’s Day: Honoring the man who has probably bandaged more wounds and emotionally parented more of us than anyone else alive.”

Alfred, ever composed, glances up from setting the table with actual silverware—something you all completely forgot existed. “Mx Y/N, I told you I require no such celebration.”

“That’s cute,” you smile. “But this isn’t a request.”

•

As if summoned by the laws of chaos, the rest of the Batfam begins to arrive.

“Is that smoke?” Barbara says, stepping in and pulling off her jacket. “Or am I having a stroke?”

“Both,” Tim says flatly, holding a burnt waffle like it betrayed him.

Stephanie appears behind her, waving a glittery card. “I made Alfred a ‘World’s Okayest Dad’ certificate. It’s legally binding.”

Duke strolls in next. “Someone tell me there’s real food. Not… this.” He pokes the bat-shaped tofu with a chopstick.

“I thought it was art,” Cass says, appearing beside him silently, like a beautiful, terrifying ghost.

•

Alfred looks over the room and you swear–he actually pauses.

The table is crowded. Too many bodies, too many voices, plates mismatched, food mostly burnt or experimental. The Batkids, in every variety, shape, and neurosis. And right in the middle of it all: him.

The glue.

The gravity.

──★˙🍓̟!!

You clink a spoon to your glass. “I’d like to raise a toast to Alfred Pennyworth, the only man alive who’s been through every single era of the Batcave and didn’t die, quit, or commit arson.”

Jason lifts his mimosa. “Yet.”

Stephanie leans in. “You do realize you’re basically our shared emotionally stable Victorian vampire granddad, right?”

“I resent the implication,” Alfred says, sipping tea calmly. “I am emotionally selectively stable.”

Barbara chimes in: “I have security footage of you wrapping Bruce in a blanket and calling him a ‘soggy orphan burrito.’

“That footage is sealed.”

“It is not.”

•

And yet.

Amid the quips and sarcasm and (someone’s?) attempt to make “Batdad Bingo,” there is reverence.

Cassandra stands and walks to Alfred quietly. She presses a hand over his, then signs something with her free hand—slow and sure.

“Safe,” you translate softly, catching the gesture. “She says you made her feel safe.”

Alfred doesn’t speak. Just touches her hand back with his thumb, once.

──★˙🍓̟!!

“Honestly,” Duke adds, “I didn’t think a mansion full of masked vigilantes would feel like home. But you made it that. Even before Bruce tried.”

Barbara nods. “You were my first safe call. And my first hot tea.”

“You let me sleep in the foyer after I crashed a stolen bike into the koi pond,” Stephanie says brightly. “Didn’t even yell.”

“I did, in fact, yell. But you passed out from blood loss before hearing it.”

Tim just raises his mug. “You never told me to get over it. Even when I should’ve.”

Jason shrugs. “He stitched my corpse. Top that.”

Everyone groans.

“Too soon,” Duke says.

“Never too soon,” Jason grins.

Then Bruce stands.

Quietly. No fanfare. Not even the crown on his head anymore.

He places a hand on Alfred’s shoulder, one of those rare gestures he never makes unless the world’s ending or someone’s being buried.

And says, simply:

“Thank you, Alfred.”

Alfred’s lips press into a line, then soften. “Always, Master Bruce.”

──★˙🍓̟!!

The toasts end. The table’s wrecked. Glitter somehow made it into the salad. You think someone’s shoe is in the dishwasher.

But for one golden hour, the house—the family—feels full.

Later, when the noise dies down…

You’re stacking mismatched plates in the kitchen when you hear the softest footstep behind you.

Bruce.

He’s holding a teacup. Still half-full. Somehow still warm. He doesn’t speak at first. Just sets the cup down beside you.

Then, low and hoarse:

“You didn’t have to do all this.”

You glance up, smirking. “I know. I wanted to.”

Silence.

Then he adds, without looking at you, “You brought them together today.”

You pause. “We are together.”

“Not always like this.”

You study his face. It’s tired. Lined in ways even the cowl can’t hide. But there’s something soft in the corners now. Something human.

“I didn’t know if I deserved this kind of family,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “But I’m glad you reminded me we’re still one.”

You say nothing. Just lean in and nudge your shoulder against his.

He doesn’t flinch.

“Happy Father’s Day,” you whisper.

“…You too,” he says.

You blink. “That’s not how–”

But he’s already walked off.

You laugh. Alone in the kitchen. Because of course. Of course Bruce Wayne thinks you deserve a Father’s Day.

Maybe… he’s not wrong.

──★˙🍓̟!!

The house is quiet now.

Which is, frankly, suspicious.

You stand at the sink, hands submerged in soapy water, staring at a mug that proudly reads #1 Crime Dad, glitter peeling at the edges.

Alfred stands beside you, towel in hand, drying plates with an efficiency only decades of cleaning after masked vigilantes could produce.

“Of all the strange, catastrophic events to occur within this household,” he says calmly, “this one ranks in the top ten least destructive. You should be proud.”

You snort. “You say that like it’s a compliment.”

“It is. Marginally.”

You pass him a fork shaped like a bat. You don’t know who made it. Probably Damian. Or Jason. Or you, in a moment of glitter-fueled madness.

Alfred dries it without comment.

For a while, it’s just dishes and the hum of the dishwasher—loaded entirely wrong, but you did your best.

Then, softly:

“They love you, you know.”

You blink. “I mean, yeah. They also threw pancakes at me.”

“In our family, affection is often expressed via pastry-based projectiles.”

You laugh. He smirks, just slightly.

“Still,” he adds, voice quieting, “what you did today… I don’t believe any of them will forget it.”

You shrug. “I just wanted them to feel… whole. Even if it’s messy. Even if we’re not always talking. Even if we’re all a little broken.”

Alfred gently sets a plate down, then looks at you–really looks.

“You’re not broken,” he says. “Not even slightly. You’re simply carrying pieces that haven’t found where they fit yet.”

You pause.

That one hits.

You offer him a damp smile. “That sounded suspiciously poetic. Who are you and what did you do with Gotham’s most sarcastic butler?”

“Temporarily offline. I’ll be back to criticizing your dish stacking momentarily.”

“Can’t wait.”

You pass him another plate. He dries it.

Then, out of nowhere:

“I’m proud of you.”

You freeze. Just for a second.

He doesn’t look at you when he says it, but that’s Alfred. It’s always the most important things he says sideways.

You turn to him and bump your hip gently against his.

“Love you too, old man.”

“I’ll allow it. Just this once.”

•

The sink finally empties. The dishes are done. The kitchen is… still glitter-covered, but whatever.

The family’s asleep.

The night holds.

And for once, the Manor feels less like a museum for grief and more like a home.

Even if the waffles were terrible.

(Like Gabriel’s pancakes but we’re not talking about that here)

Tagging: @lizzyzzn @whaaaaaaaaat111

©𐙚 rikudaa—Please do not repost or copy this content to other websites.