#it’s the same thing she does when he says she looks good the day she confronted him 5 months earlier 😷 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daddydindjarin · 2 days ago

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Chapter 2: Echoes

Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x F!Reader Rating: 18+ Mature Wordcount: 7295 Summary: You navigate the chaos of PTMC with the usual rhythm—routine, patients, and the steady presence of Robby. Your friendship is solid, built on years of takeout dinners and sticky notes, but lately, the lingering glances and unspoken tension are starting to blur the lines you've worked so hard to keep. Warnings: Pining, Self Worth issues, slight body dysmorphia/self image, general ER Content. A/N: This chapter is long long long, the first time I've written something that's so many words and I feel like I've poured so much into this. I always worry too much about there being too much filler, but I really hope you like it! And forgive me if I get something medical wrong, hours of googling and watching Grey's Anatomy does not replace a medical degree! As always, the dividers are by @firefly-graphics

You’ve walked into PTMC a thousand times, but today your badge feels heavier.

Maybe it’s the weight of four back-to-back shifts. Maybe it’s the caffeine still burning your tongue. Maybe it’s the fact that you haven’t stopped thinking about the way Robby’s shoulder felt under your cheek for three straight days.

You’re not in love with him. You’re not stupid enough to fall in love with your attending. You just haven’t figured out how to make your chest stop doing things when he looks at you like he did that night.

You shake your head as if you can physically remove the image of the way his eyes crinkle when he’s trying not to smile from your brain and focus on your surroundings. The sidewalk is wet. It’s not raining, but it’s the kind of Pittsburgh morning that can’t make up its mind. Cold mist clings to the edges of your hair, the kind that’ll freeze if you wait too long outside. You’ve got a coffee from the bodega on Fifth clutched in one hand and a Ziplock bag of muffins in the other. Homemade blueberry-lemon, your mom’s recipe. You told yourself they were for the nurses when you stayed up until midnight baking them in your fuzzy socks, wiping flour off your nose.

They’re not just for the nurses, and you can’t even lie to yourself about it.

You pass through the main ER doors with the same badge-swipe and tired smile you always wear, and the hospital smell hits you in the chest like it always does- antiseptic, plastic, that vague lingering scent of latex and too much living packed into too little space.

“Scout!”

Dana’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp and familiar. You don’t look up—just lift your hand in acknowledgment as you move toward the nurse’s station where she and Princess are watching you. There’s a stack of tablets charging on the counter, cords coiled like snakes. Dana’s already snapping one off and sliding it across the desk to you.

“You’re on North today. And there’s a runner in Central 5 that needs hands and a little diplomacy.” Her eyes flash with something like glee. “Should be right up your alley.”

You catch the tablet, your thumb already sliding through the patient list.

“Someone bribing us for love today?” Princess asks, clocking the muffins instantly.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you say in mock apathy, but you’re already handing the bag over. She peeks inside, makes a high-pitched squeal, and bolts toward Perlah like she’s uncovered gold. You laugh, turning your attention back to Dana. “Who’s covering trauma?”

“Robby,” she says, voice dry. “He’s still here, pretending he’s got nowhere else to be.”

You snort. “He’s gonna die in that hallway, I swear.”

“And you’ll be right there holding compressions,” Dana replies, raising an eyebrow. “Try to keep him alive, yeah? We’ve got enough ghosts in this place.”

You nod, slinging the tablet under your arm. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good girl,” she calls after you, voice crackling like static. “Get to it, Scout.”

Scout.

You almost forgot how it started, but then again, you didn’t think you’d ever forget.

You remember your intern year the way you remember storms- loud and blurry around the edges, all adrenaline and instinct. Everything felt too fast, too intense. The lights were always too bright, the monitors always too loud. You barely knew where the break room was until October.

And Robby? He was the attending who never seemed to leave. He was there when you clocked in at six and was still there when you clocked out at seven. You couldn’t tell if he just didn’t sleep or if he’d somehow hacked time and no one had noticed.

You remember the first day you worked under him. You were wearing brand-new sneakers that still pinched your toes, your badge clipped too high on your freshly ironed scrubs, and you still hadn’t figured out how to get your badge to work consistently when going through doors in the hospital. He introduced himself with that easy confidence of someone who’d done it a thousand times before. “Michael Robinavitch,” he’d said, extending a hand. “Robby, to anyone who doesn’t want me to ignore them.”

You took his hand a little too quickly. He didn’t seem to mind.

You started to say your first name, stuttering and correcting yourself last second to give him your last name. It still felt strange, introducing yourself like you were someone who belonged there. He just nodded.

“Alright,” he said, repeating your name back to you, and you pretended not to notice the blush creeping up your neck. “Let’s see if you’re as awake as you look.”

You followed him everywhere that first shift, footsteps falling into his without thought. He had a way of walking that didn’t seem rushed, but he was always on the move. You tried to match his stride, tried to keep up with the questions he asked that felt like tests, even if he never said they were. You remember the way he taught- never loud, never demanding. He’d ask you what you saw, and then he’d wait, and when you stumbled through your explanations, he’d nod, like he was turning your words over in his hands and checking them for cracks.

The first trauma you ever handled under him was chaos- a thirty-seven-year-old, car accident, broken femur, femoral artery nicked but not severed. You held pressure for thirteen minutes straight until the surgeons arrived. Your hands cramped halfway through, but you didn’t let go. Couldn’t.

When it was over, you were scrubbing the blood off your wrists at the sink, fingers still aching, water running pink and swirling down the drain. You didn’t hear him come up behind you, not until he spoke.

“You were quick.”

You’d jumped, turning too fast. Robby was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching you scrub with something like amusement in his eyes. You stared at him, a little winded, a little wild-eyed. “That was... that was okay?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You planning to do worse next time?”

You blinked, then shook your head. “No.”

“Good.” He patted your shoulder once lightly. “I don’t do charity cases.”

You had laughed, short and easy, and something in your chest unwound just a little, just enough to breathe.

He smiled back at you, his grin stretching across his face slowly and deliberately. “Reminded me of my dog growing up. She was always the first one out of the door, first to find whatever we lost in the park near our house. We called her Scout.”

You blinked, soap slipping through your fingers. “You’re comparing me to your dog?”

A grin spread across his face, unrepentant and easy. “Maybe. She was the best damn tracker I ever saw.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So, you laughed and turned off the faucet.

It stuck. Perlah heard it next, then Abbott, then Dana. By the end of intern year, it was what they called you on the radio, what you signed your name as on the whiteboard when you clocked in. Scout. Steady hands, fast feet. First in, last out.

And Robby? He still calls you that, softly, like he’s still a little proud.

You can feel yourself smiling at the memory as you slip around the back, heading towards the locker room. You enter unimpeded for once and slide your coffee onto the break room counter to dig for your locker key in your bag. You just unzipped your coat when you see it—stuck to the inside of the locker door, written in Robby’s handwriting, blocky and rushed:

Don’t let the toddlers win. (Or the attendings. Or Princess.)

Underneath, a doodle. It’s a lopsided cat wielding a stethoscope like a sword.

You have to cover your mouth to keep from smiling. You’d recognize his handwriting anywhere. He must’ve been here before you, maybe early, or maybe yesterday. It doesn’t matter. You take the note down gently, fold it once, and slide it into your badge pocket behind your ID. It’s the sixth one this month.

You step back into the hallway just in time to hear him laugh. He’s at the nurse’s desk, talking with Langdon and one of the new residents- what’s her name, Santos? - and it’s the kind of laugh you don’t hear from him often, full-throated and warm. It hits you somewhere under your ribs.

You don’t stop walking. You don’t look at him. But your hands are suddenly too warm in your sleeves, and your throat feels tight around the sip of coffee you try to take.

You’re not in love with him.

You’re just tired. You’re always tired.

And he’s always… there.

You turn into North 5 and let the noise swallow you whole.

A three-year-old comes in screaming with a Lego up his nose. Princess rolls her eyes so hard you swear they click. You pop it out with a few drops of saline and alligator forceps, and he gives you a sticker of Chase from Paw Patrol like you’ve performed a miracle while his mother tries to pay you in leftover Easter candy. You take a chocolate egg with a grin and tell her it's against policy not to, making sure to note for discharge to get her pamphlets about the Parent’s Kiss when (not if, judging by the way the boy’s fingers are jammed in his nose currently) this happens again.

By 9:30, you’ve had two febrile seizures, a teenager with a dislocated shoulder from a lacrosse game, and a baby with bronchiolitis who just won’t stay above 90% O2 on room air. You ride the line between calling PICU and calling his bluff, while Perlah helps you position the pulse ox for the sixth time.

“He just likes you,” she says, watching the monitor stabilize the second you rest a hand on his chest.

“That makes one of us,” you mutter.

At ten-fifteen, a school bus sideswipes a delivery truck at Fifth and Atwood, and the ER swallows four kids and a hyperventilating driver in less than ninety seconds. The automatic doors barely finish sliding shut before Dana is there, clipboard in hand, voice carrying across the bay like she owns it.

She barks your last name and doesn’t wait for you to turn before two transport sheets hit your chest like she’s playing dodgeball. “North 7 and North 8. One of them’s bleeding like he’s getting paid for it. Get ‘em cleaned up, start a line if you have to.”

You grab the sheets before they slide to the floor. Glance down. Name scribbled at the top- Parker, Theo. Age: ten. Next to it, Tran, Megan. Age: nine.

“Are they stable?” you ask, already moving.

“Stable enough to make a mess,” Dana says. “Now go, or I’m sending Langdon in there.”

You snort. “That’s child abuse.”

“Only if he starts talking,” she fires back, grinning. But she’s already moving, chart in hand, muttering about someone in South 3 with chest pain and no damn sense of urgency.

You push through the hallway, weaving past the mess of paramedics still unloading stretchers. North 7 and North 8 aren’t far, doors marked with Dana’s handwriting scrawled across laminated whiteboards: CLEAN UP.

You take a breath. Knock once. Step inside.

The girl, Megan, is sitting cross-legged on the bed in North 7, hands out in front of her. Her eyes are huge and bright, and she’s watching the nurses with the kind of wide-eyed fascination usually reserved for fire trucks and magic tricks.

The boy in North 8 is holding his arm close to his chest, knuckles white where they clutch his sleeve. His face is pale, eyes blinking too fast, like he’s fighting back tears.

You start with Megan, kneeling in front of her, voice soft and hands steady. “Hey,” you begin, introducing yourself gently. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”

The little girl in North 7 blinks up at you, eyes big and wet. “Everywhere.”

You smile. “We can fix that.”

Her hands are scraped up raw and red, like she tried to catch herself, and a tiny bit of grit clings to her palms. You realize then: they must have scrambled out of the bus themselves. Maybe climbed out onto the pavement, bare hands skidding over concrete.

You peel on gloves one-handed, snapping them snug around your wrists. “Alright, Megan,” you say, voice soft and even. “You got a couple of scrapes, but I think we can make you as good as new. That sound okay?”

Her head bobs up and down, eyes still wide. “Is it gonna hurt?”

“Not if I can help it.” You pull the rolling tray closer with the toe of your shoe. “You want to tell me what happened?”

She looks down at her palms, frowning. “The bus hit this big truck. It went s-screech! And I fell out of my seat and hit the floor really hard.”

“Did you bump your head?”

“No… I don’t think so.” She scrunches her nose. “But I got out of the bus real fast. I went out the door on the back, and that’s when I fell and hurt my hands.”

“You got out on your own?” You nod, letting approval slip into your tone. “That was pretty brave.”

Her cheeks flush pink. “I’m brave sometimes.”

“I believe you.” You hold up a little packet of antiseptic wipes. “Okay, I’m gonna clean these scrapes, alright? It might sting, but I’ve got a secret.”

Her eyes narrow. “What kind of secret?”

You lean in like you’re letting her in on a conspiracy. “I’m really good at this. Barely even hurts. I promise.”

She nods, biting her lip, and holds her hands out. You start with gentle, slow swipes across the raw skin, careful not to push too deep. She flinches once, but you steady her wrist, murmuring soft encouragements until she breathes easier.

“See?” you say, flashing her a grin. “Not so bad.”

Her eyes are still damp, but she nods. “You’re right.”

“Yeah, I usually am.” You finish cleaning the cuts, toss the wipes into the bio bin, and unwrap a sterile bandage. “Do you have a brother or sister on the bus with you?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Just me.”

You press the bandage into place and smooth the edges down. “Well, I think you did a pretty great job getting yourself out of there. You know that?”

Megan’s mouth twitches at the corner. “Yeah… I guess.”

You finish with her hands, pack up the kit, and set it on the tray. “Alright, Miss Brave. You’ve officially survived the worst part. I’m gonna send a nurse in to check you over, and then you’ll probably get to go home. Sound good?”

“Yeah.” She nods, firmer this time. “Thank you.”

You grin. “Anytime.”

You step out of North 7 and breathe out, just once. North 8 is next, and from the quiet, you’re guessing that Theo isn’t as much of a talker. You glance through the glass window before you open the door. He’s sitting there, hands clenched tight in his lap, eyes fixed on the floor.

You knock once on the doorframe, softly. It barely makes a sound, but his eyes flick up, quick and skittish.

“Hey there,” you say gently, introducing yourself and stepping in. You leave the door cracked behind you. Can I come in?”

He nods, almost imperceptibly.

You move slowly, no sudden motions to avoid startling him. The tray you wheeled over from North 7 is still stocked, but you’re not reaching for it yet, not until he’s ready. “You’re Theo, right?”

His hands tighten in his lap. “Yeah.”

“Okay, good.” You pull the rolling stool over, flip it around, and sit so your knees are just a little lower than his. It puts you below his eye line, and you see the tension in his shoulders ease by degrees.

He’s pale. A bruise is already flowering on his forearm, deep purple bleeding out to blue. He has a laceration above the bruise, but at first glance makes you think he won’t need stitches. His knuckles are scraped but not bleeding. His eyes flick back down to the floor.

“Looks like you had a bit of a rough morning,” you say, softening your voice. “Want to tell me what happened?”

He hesitates, his fingers tighten, twisting the hem of his jacket sleeve. “The… the bus hit something.”

You nod, patient. “That must have been really scary.”

His head jerks once. A nod. He blinks hard, and you can see the effort he’s putting into holding back tears. “It was really loud. I…I didn’t know what to do.”

“Did you get out by yourself?”

He shakes his head, eyes still locked on the floor. “The driver…he came and got me. He pulled me out.” His voice wavers. “I couldn’t move.”

You nod again, even softer. “That’s okay. You did everything right. You’re safe now.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders release just a fraction.

“Okay, Theo,” you say gently. “I’m gonna take a look at your arm, alright? Just a quick peek. I’ll be careful.”

He nods, eyes still on the floor.

You reach forward slowly, gloved hands light as you lift his wrist. “Just let me know if it hurts too much, alright?”

He nods again. Doesn’t flinch. His skin is cool, his hands still shaking. You press lightly, fingertips tracing the outline of the bruise and the laceration. “Looks like you took a bit of a hit. I’m gonna clean this up, maybe wrap it, and then get you some medicine for the pain. How’s that sound?”

He blinks, like the words don’t quite process. Then he nods.

You work in silence. Gentle wipes across the scrapes, cleaning and wrapping the laceration with practiced ease. You talk to him as you work, keeping your voice low. “You like superheroes, Theo?”

His eyes flick up, just for a second. “Yeah.”

“Got a favorite?”

He shrugs. “Spiderman.”

You smile. “Good choice. He’s a tough one.”

“He always comes back,” Theo murmurs.

Your hands still, just for a second. “Yeah,” you say, voice softer. “He always does.”

You finish wrapping Theo’s arm with slow, even movements, careful not to catch the edge of his jacket. He doesn’t flinch, just watches your hands work, eyes tracking each pull and tuck of the bandage.

“There we go,” you say, smoothing down the last bit. “All patched up. You did great.”

He nods, still not quite looking at you.

“Can I get you anything? Some juice? Crackers?”

He hesitates. “Grape juice?”

You smile. “Grape juice it is. I’ll be right back, okay?”

He nods again, so you step out, quickly grabbing the juice box from the snack cart and tucking it under your arm. When you push back into North 8, Theo’s still there, hands folded in his lap, eyes on the window now.

“Here you go.” You hand it to him and make a show of stabbing the straw into the foil. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

That gets you the tiniest smile. He takes the juice with both hands, careful not to spill. “Thanks.”

“You got it, Spiderman.” You give him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “A nurse is going to come in soon, just to check you over one last time before we get you on your way home. Alright?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

You leave him sipping his juice, staring out the window like maybe he’s watching for the bus to come back. You make it three steps down the hallway before Dana appears—tablet tucked under one arm; transport sheets fanned out in her hand like she’s dealing poker. “You done with North 7 and 8?”

You nod, a bit of gravel in your throat. “Yeah. They’re okay. Bruises. Scrapes. Shaken up, but good.”

“Good,” she says. She doesn’t slow her pace—just flicks a transport sheet in your direction like she’s throwing cards at a hat. You catch it by reflex.

“South 4,” she says, already halfway down the hall. “You’re gonna love it.”

You glance at the transport sheet. Weaver, Jamie. Age: 6.

“South 4?” you call after her. “What am I walking into?”

Dana looks back over her shoulder, eyes glinting. “Six-year-old with a marble up her nose.”

You blink. “Seriously? Another one?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s way up there. You might need a damn grappling hook.”

You snort, tucking the paper into your pocket. “I’ll let you know if I need backup.”

“If you find treasure up there, I get half,” she shoots back, and you laugh, the sound surprising even you.

You don’t see Robby for hours. Not really.

You hear him. His voice in Trauma 1. His name over the intercom. His laugh once, low and tired, echoing down the hall. But he doesn’t circle your bay, doesn’t drift your direction, doesn’t drop another note in your pocket or ask how the muffins turned out.

By the time noon rolls around, your stomach is tying itself in knots. You haven’t eaten. You’ve got a smear of someone else’s blood on your sleeve, and your hands shake a little when you go to re-glove.

That’s when the call comes in.

Pediatric full arrest. Five-year-old. Found unresponsive in the bathtub. Unknown downtime. EMS is coding en route. ETA two minutes.

The announcement cuts through the chatter like a blade, and the room stills. For half a breath, everything goes silent.

Then it erupts.

Princess is the first to move. She’s already grabbing the crash cart, pulling it up to the entrance of Peds Trauma Bay- North 3. Perlah’s at the monitors, flipping switches and plugging leads in like she’s running on instinct. You barely register the screech of the backboard being dragged across the floor. Your gloves are on, your mask is up, and you’re tying your hair back with practiced precision.

Dana strides by, slapping a tablet into your hand, eyes sharp. “Vitals are trash. Down for God-knows-how-long. CPR en route. They’ve shocked him twice.”

Your heart clenches. “How far out?”

“One minute.”

You nod. The adrenaline’s already kicking in, sharpening your focus, blurring out the rest of the room. You scan the vitals that have been transmitted from the field: HR 30, shallow and irregular. BP 60/40. Pupils sluggish. EMS bagging.

You don’t look away from the screen. “Princess, I need an IO ready.”

“Got it.”

“Perlah, I want that line started the second we stabilize.”

“On it.”

“You ready?” she asks, voice low.

You don’t answer. You don’t have to. The doors swing open, and for the first time all day, you see him. Robby is already there, tying his gown, snapping his gloves, firing off instructions with that unflinching steadiness you’ve come to rely on. His eyes meet yours for half a second—no hesitation, no doubt.

You fall in beside him like you’ve been doing it for years. Because you have.

Paramedics push through, a flurry of noise and motion, bagging him with hard, rhythmic squeezes. He’s pale- so pale- skin waxy, hair still wet. Water drips off the gurney wheels and puddles in uneven circles across the floor. Robby’s voice is calm, direct. “We’re at fourteen minutes down. One round of epi in the field. No defib needed. Let’s go.”

You move forward, voice loud and steady. “Let’s get him on the board. Keep compressions going. Princess, on the bag. Perlah, get that line started.”

Gloves snap. Monitors beep. The clock ticks loudly on the wall.

“ROSC?” you ask, voice clipped.

The paramedic shakes his head. “Not yet. Shocked twice, nothing.”

You take a breath. Robby’s eyes flick to yours. “Alright,” you say, voice firmer. “We shock him again on my count. Clear?”

“Clear.”

“One, two, three- clear!”

The jolt shudders through his tiny frame. The monitors whine. For a second, just a heartbeat, you think you see something on the screen, and then it flattens back out.

You swallow hard. “Resume compressions. Princess- bag him.”

“Bagging.”

You press your hand to his chest, feeling the way his ribs compress under your palm. “Let’s get that IO started. Push another epi. Dana, call for PICU backup.”

Dana’s already reaching for the phone. “On it.”

You keep your hands steady, your eyes never leaving his face. Then, suddenly, the monitor beeps once, twice. You almost don’t let yourself believe it. Almost don’t hear it. Then it flickers again.

A pulse.

Thin, thready, but there.

“Okay,” you breathe. “Okay. He’s back. Keep bagging. Perlah, monitor that line.”

The room exhales. You hold your breath until the pulse steadies out, just a little. Just enough.

Princess looks at you, eyes wide. “I think you got him.”

You nod once, barely moving, but your hands are shaking.

The kid’s not out of the woods, not by a mile, but he’s here, and you brought him back. You and Robby and Princess and Perlah and a trauma tech whose name you forget, and none of it matters because the monitor is singing again.

The PICU team sweeps in like cavalry. You hand off the chart, your notes, and the kid’s tiny, soaked shoe that someone found under the stretcher. The hallway is still buzzing when the PICU team wheels him away, but you’re rooted to the spot, watching the stretcher disappear around the corner. There’s a hush after, a moment where the world recalibrates, finds its footing again. You don’t move, just breathing for a moment to recenter yourself.

Robby is still beside you, hands braced on his hips, eyes trained on the floor like he’s watching the water droplets evaporate in real-time. The silence is comfortable, just two people sharing the same breath, the same heartbeat that still hasn’t quite slowed down.

“Nice call on the IO,” he says finally, voice low. “You got it in faster than I’ve ever seen.”

Your lips twitch. “Maybe you’re just slow.”

He barks out a laugh, “Yeah, okay, Scout.”

Your breath catches, just for a second. You haven’t heard that name from him in a while. Instead of calling attention to the way your heart thumps in your chest, you tilt your head, raising an eyebrow. “You questioning my reflexes, Robinavitch?”

“Never.” His voice is soft now, teasing edged with something warmer. “Wouldn’t dare.”

You nod once, like it’s a fact, and the silence falls again, stretching out like it’s daring one of you to break it. He’s still standing there, hands on his hips, looking like he’s waiting for something to happen.

It doesn’t. Not yet.

When he finally steps away, his hand brushes yours, not intentional or planned, but it lingers for a second too long, like he meant to stay. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but before you can find the words, Dana’s voice cuts through the hallway.

“Scout!” she calls, tablet in hand, marching towards you with that no-nonsense stride. “Got one for you. Head lac, 23 years old. You good?”

You shake the feeling off and nod. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Dana studies you for half a second longer, like she’s checking for cracks. “Good. It’s already a zoo in there. Go on.”

You glance back at Robby, but he’s already stepped away, hands back on his hips, talking with Princess about restocking the crash cart. His laugh echoes down the hallway, warm and familiar, and you don’t linger to listen.

Your hands feel strangely empty, like you were supposed to be holding something, or saying something, and the realization hits- what were you going to say? You barely remember opening your mouth, barely remember the breath you pulled in, ready to speak. But what would you have even said? Good job in there? Thanks for the note? You drew that cat really cute? Why do I keep feeling like I can’t breathe when you look at me like that?

You huff out a laugh, short and mostly at yourself. Right. Like you were going to drop that bomb in the middle of a hallway. Dana probably saved you from embarrassing yourself. Honestly, you should thank her for that.

You turn on your heel, toss your gloves into the nearest bio bin, and grab a fresh pair off the cart, the rhythm automatic- peel, snap, flex. You roll your neck, shake the tension from your fingers, and step back into the current.

By the time you hit the step back towards the central hub of the ER, the noise is already swelling. Nurses move with quick, practiced steps. Monitors beeping in tandem. You catch Javadi’s eye where she’s fumbling with a blood pressure cuff and nod her toward the right drawer. She stumbles a thank-you, and you’re already moving past.

The adrenaline hums back to life, threading its way through your muscles, and just like that, you’re back.

Hours later and the hallway is still humming with the steady rhythm of triage. The shuffle of carts, the distant beeping of monitors, and the soft murmur of voices filtering out of rooms, it all washes over you as you tuck your tablet under your arm, already scanning the board for your next patient. You spot North 2- triaged for chest pain, sixty-two, history of hypertension. You tap the screen to pull up the vitals and information, head to the room, swiping your badge at the door.

Inside, Langdon is already there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a look on his face that teeters between amusement and impatience. He catches your eye and smirks. “Look who decided to show up. Thought I’d be seeing the man of the hour alone.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, stepping around him to wash your hands. “I didn’t know you missed me that much, Langdon.”

He chuckles, “More like I was hoping you’d save me from trying to convince Mr. Jackson here that Diet Coke is, in fact, not a cure for high blood pressure.”

You glance over your shoulder at the man propped up on the bed. Ray Jackson is wiry and weathered, cheeks flushed, and his hands are gripping the thin blanket like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. He sees you watching him and grins widely, showing off teeth that are coffee-stained.

“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite doctors,” he crows. “Didn’t think I’d get the A-Team today.”

You snort, grabbing a fresh pair of gloves from the box on the wall. “That’s because we’re the only ones that put up with you, Ray.”

He laughs, a crackling sound that borders on a wheeze. “Come on, Scout, you know I’m indestructible. Living off bacon, and Diet Coke and God’s good graces for sixty-two years, and I’m still here to annoy you.”

Langdon scoffs, stepping up to the monitor. “Yeah, you’re invincible. You were invincible the last heart attack, too, right? And the one before that?”

Ray waves him off flippantly, unconcerned. “What can I say? I’m a bona fide miracle.”

You press your stethoscope to his chest, the familiar thump of his heart filling your ears. His rhythm is steady, but heavy, like a drumbeat that’s just a little too slow. You catch Langdon’s eye and nod, and he’s already tapping through the screen with quick efficiency.

“Can you breathe in for me?” you gently ask. He complies, chest rising with the effort, a slight wheeze threading through his exhale. “Alright, I’m gonna get you some fluids and start you back on the meds we talked about last time, just to get that pressure down. Sound good?”

He waves his hand again like he’s brushing off a fly. “You’re the boss. But I’m tellin’ ya, it’s the bacon that’s keeping me alive. Stopping now would probably kill me faster.”

Langdon steps up beside you, his voice low. “Think it’s just the BP, or are we looking at something bigger this time?”

You glance back at the monitor, watching the numbers blink back at you. “Hard to say. I want a scan, just in case. You clear for a ride upstairs?”

Langdon nods, already tapping on his tablet. “I’ll call it in. Again.”

You turn back to Ray, keeping your voice even. “Alright, Ray, we’re gonna take a trip up to radiology, just to make sure we’re not missing anything. You okay with that?”

He nods, grinning again. “Long as you’re the one driving.”

You snort, pulling off your gloves with a snap. “I’ll let Langdon do the heavy lifting. I’m just here to make you look good.”

Langdon rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. “Don’t worry, Scout. I’ll let you take the credit.”

You grin, tapping your badge on the way out. “Damn right you will.”

Langdon lingers at the door for a second, hand on the frame. His voice softens just a touch. “We’re gonna lose him one of these days, you know?”

You don’t let your smile falter, but his words settle in your chest heavily. “Not today.”

He nods once, eyes flicking back to Ray, still grinning on the bed. “Not today.”

Langdon wheels Ray out of the room, and you watch them go for a second, hands braced on your hips. Ray’s voice echoes back down the hall, something about his diet being better than any of your pills, and Langdon’s easy, practiced laugh in response. It’s the kind of banter that only comes with repetition- too many visits, too many second chances. You shake your head, flexing your fingers to get the tension out, and turn back toward the nurse’s station.

Princess is there, leaning over the counter, tablet in hand. “You still alive?” she asks, eyes flicking up.

“Barely,” you respond, dropping your tablet onto the counter with a soft thud. “Did you see the board? Ray’s still kicking, and keeping us employed.”

Princess nods, barely hiding her smile. “He’s never gonna leave. You should’ve seen him last year- came in for chest pain, and left with a milkshake.”

You huff out an exasperated laugh. “Of course he did.” You take a second to breathe, leaning against the counter and stretching out your back. Your shoulder cracks audibly, and Princess winces.

“That sounded like it hurt.”

“It always sounds like that,” you say, grimacing as you rub your shoulder.

She shakes her head, tapping on the screen of her tablet again. “Well, try not to break yourself. We can’t afford to lose another body in here.”

You grin, already moving away. “No promises.”

You slip back into the flow of the ER easily. A fall in South 3, a fever in North 9, and a sprained wrist in Central 2. It’s a dance you know the steps to well, the kind where you don’t have to think, you just move.

It’s nearly the end of your shift when you pass the break room and see him again. Robby is leaning back against the counter, arms crossed, sipping from one of those ridiculous oversized water bottles that you’re pretty sure he’s had since before you were an intern. The sticker of a whale you stuck to it in your second year of residency is still there, faded and peeling, but he never removed it. He spots you and raises his eyebrows. “You hanging in there?”

“Barely,” you say again, your go-to response for everyone asking the same question in a different way. You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms tight over your chest like you’re keeping something from spilling out. “I heard you lost a fight with Gloria.”

He winces. “If you call listening to her talk about Press Gainey scores for half an hour a fight, then yeah. I got my ass kicked.”

You laugh, grinning up at him. “Should’ve called me. I’d have sent Perlah in as backup.”

Robby’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “Perlah would have made it worse.” You don’t argue, you both know it’s true.

The silence stretches on a little too long, but you don’t move-you can’t. At some point, he ditched his jacket, his scrub top pulled tightly across his broad shoulders, and it’s not like you’re staring. You’re not. You’re just…looking.

It’s different.

He catches your gaze, and you blink, heat creeping up the back of your neck. You drop your eyes, focusing on the floor, the scuff marks from shoes moving too quickly. “Alright,” you finally say, your voice softer than you mean for it to be. “I gotta head back out.”

“Yeah,” he nods, picking his water bottle up and lifting it to you in a mock salute. “Don’t let the man keep you down.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted. “Try not to let Gloria suck your soul dry.”

“We'll see how it goes.”

You’re halfway down the hall before you chance a look back over your shoulder. He’s still leaning against the counter, still watching you. You almost stop walking. Almost turn around. Almost-

But you don’t.

Instead, you keep moving, the moving parts of the ER sliding back around you like a protective armor. It’s better this way. It has to be.

Because it’s easier to be just Scout- reliable, quick, not taking up too much space. It’s easier to be his colleague, his friend. The one he laughs with, shares coffee with, tosses sticky notes back and forth with, watches sports with (that admittedly you don’t care much about, you just enjoy spending time with him). If you stay in the background, if you don’t reach too far, then you don’t risk becoming too much.

Because the truth is, you know you take up space, too much of it sometimes. Your hips always bump the edge of the counter, and you’ve long since learned not to tuck your scrub top into your bottoms. It’s not that you hate it, but you know what it looks like. You know how it must seem.

And Robby- well. Robby has always felt like someone who belonged in the foreground. He’s solid, clean edges, like he was carved out of something stronger, even though you know he has his demons lurking just underneath his skin, too. People notice him when he walks into a room, they clear a space for him.

You don’t.

And maybe that’s why you don’t say anything. Won’t say anything. Because the last thing you want is to be just another person who tries to hold on too tight, who tries to be more than she should be.

You take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders, glancing back one last time to catch him laughing at something McKay just said, and then you turn away. One foot in front of the other. Keep moving.

The shift finally comes crawling to an end with a flurry of charting, tablet taps, and handoffs. You make jokes with John Shen as you transfer your remaining patients over, blush at Ellis Parker’s flirting, and remind Jack Abbott that there are muffins in the break room, some hidden in the healthy snack cabinet just for him. Dana finds you before you leave, pressing a protein bar into your hand like she knows you’ll forget to eat otherwise. “Don’t let me find you passed out on the sidewalk,” she warns, but you can see the fondness in her features.

You grin, sliding it into your bag. “I make no promises.”

Perlah throws you a two-fingered salute from across the hall, her voice cutting through the noise. “Get some sleep, Scout. You look like you died three weeks ago.”

“Love you too,” you call back, waving over your shoulder.

The waiting room is still full as you make your way outside, and the buzz of the ER is finally snuffed out the second you pass the doors. The air hits you, immediately slicing through the warmth you’d built up inside. The city is loud, buses coughing exhaust, footsteps pounding on pavement, and distant music you can’t begin to place.

You tug your coat tighter around yourself and start the familiar trek home. It’s a few blocks away, just enough time to shake off the adrenaline and let your mind unravel. The streets are slick with mist, glimmering under the streetlights, puddles reflecting shards of neon. You step over them carefully, sneakers scraping the wet concrete.

You’ve walked this path hundreds of times- thousands, probably. Past the corner bodega with the flickering sign, the one that sells coffee Robby claims is undrinkable, but you get anyway. Past the bookstore with the barred windows and dusty “half off” sign that hasn’t changed since you moved to this neighborhood four years ago. Past the Chinese restaurant with the hand painted sign, the one that smells like ginger and sesame oil even when it’s closed, where you and Robby pick up chicken and broccoli (for you) and Kung Pao Chicken (for him) on nights when the Pittsburgh Penguins have a game, laughing over the fortune cookies on your couch.

You stop at the light, waiting for the crosswalk to flash, and your breath fogs in front of you. You watch it dissipate for a moment. It’s quiet out here, nothing like the chaos you just stepped out of. Nothing like the sharpness of Robby’s laugh, still echoing somewhere in your ribs.

You think of him leaning against the counter, arms crossed, and his grin half-hidden behind his water bottle. How easy it always is with him. How easy it would be just…say something.

But you know you won’t. Because you know better.

The light flickers green, and you step forward, shoulders hunched against the wind, head down. One foot in front of the other because it’s what you’re good at.

By the time you reach your apartment, your fingers are numb, and your cheeks are red and raw from the wind. You fumble with your keys, cursing under your breath when the lock sticks like it always does, and then you’re inside. The heat slams into you, almost overwhelmingly so, but you don’t move to adjust it. You drop your bag by the door, peel off your coat, and collapse onto the couch without bothering to change.

Junebug stretches lazily from her perch on the windowsill, blinking at you like she’s judging your life choices. You toss her a half-hearted wave. “Don’t start. I fished you out of a dumpster, you don’t get to judge me.”

She meows once, soft but insistent, and you huff out a laugh. “I know, I know. You’re starving.”

You get up, feeling the weight of the day in your bones, and shuffle into the kitchen to fill her dish. She bumps against your ankles, winding herself around you with the kind of affection only bribery can buy. When she’s fed and content, you make your way back to the living room, falling back into the couch cushions with a groan. The silence surrounds you, and you close your eyes just to breathe it in.

Somewhere across the city, Robby is probably still at the hospital, finishing up notes, double-checking scans, leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk the way he does when he thinks no one is watching. You can almost picture it, the way he rubs the back of his neck, the way he taps his pen against his knee when he’s thinking too hard.

You shake your head, dragging a hand over your face. Stop. You won’t think about him right now. Not when you name what it means. Not when you’re not brave enough to find out if it means anything at all. So instead, you pull a blanket over your shoulder and close your eyes. Junebug hops onto the back of the couch, curling into a loaf shape above your head. The city bustles outside your window, traffic and life moving forward, steady and indifferent.

And you drift.

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#the pitt #michael robinavitch #robby robinavitch #dr robby #dr robby x f!reader #dr robby x you #dr robby x reader

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stylesispunk · 3 days ago

Text

Blind faith | part ix

Priest!Joel Miller x dancer!reader

masterlist| previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: six months of distance doesn't count when everything else seems to fade away when your eyes are locked again across the room.

wc:8k.

warnings: age gap (joel is in his late 40s, reader in her last 20s) angst, forbidden love (perhaps not so so much now), mentions of politics, mentions of exile, mentions of an injury, fluff.

a/n: Don't hate me. I know it felt rushed. I literally rewrite the whole thing. Next chapter there will be more things to say. I hope you enhoy it AND please share your thoughts with me. Thank you babies.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

There was intimacy in never speaking again. A brain and a heart that held onto memories, silence and the reminiscence of the sidelines of a face that had imprinted in your soul.

Missing you was the point of all. That was an act of love. A pure one. That was the realest proof that he had to show to you, mostly to himself for now. That meant he had loved you. Past and present, at this very same moment. It meant there was room in his body for you. Still waiting and still holding all the love he couldn't wait to show you, to give you and to share with you.

After all he had found the sacred oasis in your lips.

You were the religion he was devoted to.

You were the one.

You would always be the one.

Coming back home sliced joel's heart in two.

It had taken an entire month to recover from that wound on his knee, to being discharged from the hospital. He was finally able to leave that place, a building that still got traces of you carved on the walls he was passing by while Carmen pushed the wheelchair with him on it, whose silence was sharp enough to bleed. He felt ridiculous, broken, but mostly broken because after getting used to you there wasn’t a coming back from it. You meant a before and after in a life, the kind of power that only some magical people hold. Of course, you were one of them, the one who had made him face his own fears and sins while making him aware of himself of a person deserving of magic.

Now that you were gone, the light that had returned back to his life after twenty years had blown off.

“Where did she leave to?” He asked, making Carmen stop the wheelchair just before the hospital’s front doors, her grip tightening on the handles. She didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, shoulders stiff, as if whatever she was about to say physically hurt to give voice to.

Then, quietly, “She left, father. That’s enough.”

He didn’t have to ask who. The word hit him square in the chest like a hammer.

“Where?” he rasped; his throat dry.

Carmen sighed and Joel’s heart stuttered, his stomach dropping out from under him.

“I don’t know.” Her voice cracked for the first time. “She didn’t say. Just… told Billy not to look for her. Said she needed space. Time. Said she needed to remember who she was before everything happened before him. And before you.”

Joel’s jaw clenched so tight it hurt. That last part gutted him more than he wanted to admit.

He should’ve known it would come to this. Should’ve known there was only so much a person could take before they started running.

Carmen crouched down beside him, her eyes sharp and wet. “I should hate you, Joel. Part of me does. But I know what she saw in you. And maybe one day you’ll pull your head out of your ass and be the man I know she still believe you are. God knows you owe her that much.”

Joel didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because the truth was, the part of him you’d woken, the good, the hopeful, the goddamn human part, was still clawing its way out of the wreckage.

The sun was just starting to dip when they reached the square. The town had gathered like it was some goddamn festival — banners hung from balconies, old folks holding candles, kids waving tiny flags. Joel could hear music in the distance, a band he recognized from the church playing something somber, something meant to sound grateful and mournful at the same time.

Carmen stiffened behind him. Joel’s stomach turned.

He hadn’t asked for this.

The Cardinal was waiting near the fountain, in his pristine robes, a self-satisfied smile plastered on his face like this was his victory too. People from town clapped as Joel was wheeled into view, a slow, building applause that made his skin crawl. The same faces who used to cross the street to avoid you. The same ones who whispered behind their hands when you passed, who called you cursed, dangerous, a troublemaker for daring to breathe close to him.

And now here they were, raising candles to him.

To a man who hadn't saved a goddamn thing. To a man who had almost got you killed.

Joel’s hands curled into fists on the armrests of the chair, his throat burning.

The Cardinal stepped forward, making some sanctimonious speech about sacrifice, about bravery, about divine justice. Joel barely heard it over the rush of blood in his ears.

Until he said your name.

“—and we give thanks for the soul of that young woman who stood in defiance of wickedness, whose trials remind us of the righteous path—”

Joel’s temper snapped clean in two.

“Shut the fuck up!” he barked, the words tearing from him like a wound breaking open. The crowd recoiled as if struck.

Carmen’s hands grabbed at his shoulders, trying to steady him, but Joel pushed himself up on his good leg, pain lighting through him like fire. He didn’t care. He needed to stand.

“Don’t you dare speak her name,” Joel growled, glaring at them, at all of them. “You people don’t get to say good things. You don’t get to light your pretty candles and call her brave like you didn’t spit on her when she walked these streets.”

The silence was suffocating, thick and brittle. He knew you would be laughing at how ridiculous this show was.

Joel pointed a trembling, furious finger at the townspeople. “Where were you when she was being taking away by that man? Where were you when she was being hunted? When you all watched it let it happen ‘cause it was easier than standing up for her?”

Someone started to speak, some mealy-mouthed excuse, but Joel cut them down with a look sharp enough to kill.

“You treated her like she was a curse. Like she didn’t have the right to be here. And now you want to act like she was a saint? You don’t get to rewrite her story now because she had always been braver than all of you together.”

His voice broke on the last word, grief clawing up his throat.

Carmen watching silently behind him, how he was acting like this.

Joel looked at the Cardinal last. That smug, holy bastard in his spotless robes.

“And you,” Joel hissed. “I told you I didn’t want any of this. I want to lay in bed.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Couldn’t.

Joel turned, leaning heavy on the wheelchair, his leg screaming in protest.

The square stayed deathly quiet. People completed stunned at the priest outburst.

So, Carmen pushed the wheelchair in stunned silence for a few steps before she stopped up to him, one hand hovering near his neck like she wasn’t sure if he wanted her there. Joel didn’t say a word, his jaw clenched so tight it ached, eyes fixed ahead as he looked at the same streets that still smelled like you.

The same streets where you used to walk beside him, hands stuffed in your pockets, while the both of you were falling in love with each other without knowing. The cobblestones still remembered the echo of your laugh. He could swear it.

“I can’t—” he croaked, his voice hoarse.

Carmen reached for him then, careful, her face drawn and pale. “Father.”

“Stop calling me father” he blurted out, “I should’ve gotten to her,” he said, the words spilling out, raw and broken. “I should’ve…”

“Joel, she made her choice.” Carmen said softly, though her own throat bobbed with a swallowed sob. “And for now, she needs this time. This space. She lost her family and she needs to grieve them.”

He shook his head, tears stinging his eyes. They stood there in the half-dark, the town’s false mourning echoing far behind them.

“Where is she now?” he asked quietly, not looking up as if Carmen previous answer at the hospital had changed.

Carmen took a breath. “I don’t know.”

It felt like the world tilted under his feet.

“Is she coming back?” Joel whispered.

Carmen nodded, her face crumpling. “Perhaps she will.”

Joel let out a shaky breath that sounded like a sob. Then another. The weight in his chest cracked open wide enough for a flicker of light.

He straightened up, his jaw set. “Okay.”

Six months passed by in a blurry.

Six goddamn months.

The smoke curled between your fingers, the cigarette half-burnt, staining the cold night air like a secret you didn’t want to carry anymore. London’s skyline stretched ahead of you, jagged and glittering, the sounds of late-night traffic humming somewhere below. You exhaled, slow and careful, like you could bleed the ache from your chest with the smoke. It didn’t work. It never did.

You hadn’t never smoked in your life. You never hadn’t had the need to. The smell made you want to vomit but now in these quiet hours when the world slipped into shadows and you were left alone with your thoughts, it felt like the only thing tethering you to your skin. The cigarette, the chipped mug of tea cradled in your other hand. both anchored back to something you hadn’t dared name.

You were teaching now. Little girls with crooked teeth and scraped knees who dreamed of being swans and princesses and stars. You taught them to move, to stretch their arms toward light, to find grace in the mess of themselves. It made you happy. It made you whole, sometimes. But the night came and you found yourself alone in the dark, dark became merciless.

Because no matter how far you ran, no matter how much ocean you put between you and that town, you couldn’t outrun yourself.

You couldn’t outrun Joel.

The worst part wasn’t even that you missed him. It was the way you missed him. On how your body remembered him without permission, the rough scrape of his beard when he laughed too hard, the solid weight of his palm between your shoulder blades, on your face, or the particular way his voice could drop low enough to make your bones ache.

And it was always the nights that did you in. When you left the light on, though you told yourself it was for no reason. When you made a cup of tea you barely drank, because some ridiculous, fragile part of you still associated that warmth with the safety of sitting on his couch, both of you too stubborn to acknowledge you loved each other back then.

The loneliness wasn’t the loud kind. It was soft, a persistent tug under your ribs, tightening your heart. A name in your throat you didn’t want to say out loud because it would make his absence real.

You tapped the ash from your cigarette, watching the ember spark against the wind. Somewhere behind you, your tiny flat remained cluttered with ballet shoes and notebooks filled with old poems. You hadn’t called Carmen. Hadn’t written. Part of you couldn’t stand the idea of being spoken to gently, of being told it was okay when it wasn’t.

In moments like these, reality hit you. The truth behind the pain and tears sliding down your heart. That no matter how many miles you put between yourself and that blood-soaked town, no matter how hard you tried to build a new version of yourself out of the broken pieces — there would never be a home to arrive to again. No more warm hugs from your mother, no more breakfast on Sunday mornings. You had even start to forget the sound of the voice of your brother and the smell of your father’s perfume lingering.

Every time you woke up gasping from dreams where they were still alive, still waiting for you. Every time a memory snuck up uninvited. Every time you let yourself want things you weren’t allowed to have anymore.

That was the thing about surviving through the grief, it was quieter than anyone told you it would be. A long, thin ache that settled in your bones and never left. You could dance, you could teach, you could fill your lungs with thousands of cigarettes, and it would still be there. The missing. The longing. The what if.

And then there was Joel.

Another ache you carried differently. Because he wasn’t dead. He was somewhere out there, still breathing, still moving through a world you weren’t part of anymore. And you hated how you loved him. Hated how you left him. Hated how every damn cup of tea you made tasted like a memory you hadn’t asked for.

You looked down at the cigarette burning to the filter and cursed softly under your breath. You hadn’t meant to pick up the habit. But then, you hadn’t meant to fall in love with a man like Joel Miller either.

Some things just happened to you. Like grief. Like love.

Your fingers brushed the delicate chain around your neck, a tiny, tarnished silver cross, its edges worn down from years of wear. It was his. You’d stolen from him, when his voice in your ear was the only thing that kept you sane, when he forgot who he was supposed to be and let you be something else entirely. You hadn’t planned to take it. It had been lying on his nightstand, glinting in the low light, days after he’d broken his vows and made love to you like a man starved for something clean, something holy.

You’d slipped it into your pocket before he noticed and it had been in your belongings ever since, so it stayed with you, pressing cool and small against your skin like a wound that would never heal right.

You closed your hand around it now, feeling its shape against your palm, sharp and familiar. The kind of ache you knew how to carry. You tilted your head back toward the night sky.

“I miss you; you damn priest.” you whispered. Just for yourself. For the ghost of him that curled around your ribs and made it impossible to sleep without the lights on.

In two more days, you’d be on a flight back to California.

Back to the courtroom. Back to face Gabriel.

The arraignment would be held in four days and you’d have to stand there and look him in the eyes, the man who destroyed everything you loved, and you didn’t know if you had it in you.

You didn’t know if your voice would hold. If your knees wouldn’t buckle. If you wouldn’t scream.

But you had to do it. Because there was no one else left to. Because your brother’s blood was still fresh in your dreams. And you would have to walk into that courtroom with this cross around your neck, and your mother’s courage in your veins, and try to survive it one more time.

Maybe after that, you’d find a way to go home.

The months passing by weren’t less hurtful for Joel. During this time, he had lived like a man buried beneath the weight of his own skin. The wound in his leg had healed enough to let him walk without the crutch, though the ache was permanent now, a dull, throbbing reminder of what it cost to protect something precious.

You.

And for six months, he let himself pretend. Pretend the town mattered. Pretend the walls of the church were still sacred to him. Pretend he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night reaching for a ghost.

There was a woman, too. Single, mid-thirties, arrived with a tiny daughter no taller than Joel’s knee. Her name was Ana, soft-spoken and kind, with eyes too tired for someone her age. Life had gutted her the way it guttled so many here, and Joel, well, he didn’t feel attraction to her. Not even close. But her little daughter, Lucía, she was trouble.

She clung to his leg when he passed by in the market, her sticky fingers finding his calloused ones. She called him father and demanded he braid her hair. And it was stupid, ridiculous, because every time she smiled up at him with those wide brown eyes, he thought about Sarah, the daughter he never got to see growing, whose Joel Miller lived like a man buried beneath the weight of his own skin. The wound in his leg had healed enough to let him walk without the crutch, though the ache was permanent now, a dull, throbbing reminder of what it cost to protect something precious.

There was a woman, too. Single, mid-thirties, arrived with a tiny daughter no taller than Joel’s knee. Her name was Ana, soft-spoken and kind, with eyes too tired for someone her age. Life had gutted her the way it guttled so many here, and Joel didn’t feel attracted to her. Not even close. But her little girl, Lucía, she was trouble.

She clung to his leg when he passed by in the market, her sticky fingers finding his calloused ones. She called him “Father” and demanded he braid her hair. And it was stupid, ridiculous, because every time she smiled up at him with those wide brown eyes, he thought about Sarah, the daughter he never got to see growing, whose tiny laugh he only heard in dreams.

He let Lucía climb into his lap some afternoons, read her passages from children’s books left behind at the church. And for a little while, Joel told himself this was enough. This was penance. This was life. He could end his life doing this.

But you haunted him.

Every night.

In every dream.

In every flicker of candlelight against stained glass.

Your face, your voice, the weight of you in his arms. The scent of your hair on his pillow. The heat of your skin beneath his hands, the rasp of your voice in the dark and in the light.

Like sunshine and moonlight.

It was like your name was carved into the most wounded places of his already cracked heart. The pass of time hasn’t done its worked on healing the shred tapestry. He had picked up the pieces that once feel and he continued a life without even try to reconciliate with its past, with what had happened to him, with the loss.

He had found refuge into religion, he stepped inside of that world blinded by the things he hadn’t found the strength to face, not back then, not even now.

He has just spent life the pain hanging from his limbs while he had recited words to heal others while people believed in him, blindly.

And one night, after the dream came again, you standing in that field outside of town, barefoot, eyes shining in the moonlight as you said Joel, you can’t stay here, he woke up drenched in sweat, his chest tight like something was caving in. The cross you stole, the one he hadn't been able to find, felt like it was burning a hole in his heart.

At dawn, before anyone else had stirred, Joel made his way to the rectory. The Cardinal was already there, sipping his tea like the sanctimonious bastard he always was. The bastard who let people suffer. Who never lifted a goddamn finger.

Joel didn’t knock. Didn’t wait to be invited.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Joel said, his voice rough as gravel. “I’m quitting. The cloth. The church. All of it.”

The Cardinal barely looked up. “You’re angry, Joel. You’ve been grieving.”

“This ain’t grief,” Joel snapped. “This is clarity. I never belonged here. You knew it. I knew it. I stayed ‘cause I thought maybe… maybe God could still see me. But she—” Joel’s throat worked around the words. “She saw me when no one else did. And I failed her. I let you, and this town, and this place, tear her apart.”

The Cardinal sighed, setting his cup down with a clink. “She was dangerous, Joel. You know what she carried.”

“She carried more courage than any person in this town ever did,” Joel growled. “More than you, more than me.”

Silence settled like a blade between them. Joel’s hands trembled.

“I dream about her,” he whispered. “I dream about what I should’ve done. About how I should’ve left with her, should’ve burned this place down behind us. And I can’t… I can’t wear this collar another day knowing I let her walk out there alone.”

The Cardinal’s expression twisted with something Joel couldn’t name, pity? Disgust? Resignation?

“I spent days and weeks asking myself if the feelings I had for her were wrong. That this beating in my heart each time I saw her was a figment of terrible intentions but it felt right, why?”

“Because love is also religion, Joel.”

And with that, Joel turned, stepping out into the rising light of morning. The town was quiet, save for the soft cooing of doves and the distant, far-off clatter of a cart’s wheels. Joel breathed it in like a man tasting air for the first time.

The words hung in the air like incense smoke — heavy, sweet, and suffocating.

Joel’s shoulders stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as he turned halfway back toward the Cardinal. The old man’s face was worn, more lined than it used to be, the weight of his own sins settling into the folds of his skin.

“I spent days,” Joel rasped, his voice breaking around the edges, “weeks, asking myself if the feelings I had for her were wrong. If the beating in my chest every time she walked into a room was some kind of sickness, a figment of terrible intentions.”

His eyes burned, throat tight.“But it felt right,” he whispered. “Why?”

The Cardinal, for once, didn’t look smug. Didn’t look righteous. He just sighed, folding his hands on the table in front of him.

“Because love is also religion, Joel.”

Joel felt it, like a stone to the chest, knocking the breath out of him.

The Cardinal kept going, his voice low and steady. “It’s devotion. It’s sacrifice. It’s believing in something you can’t always see, can’t always explain. It asks for your faith. It demands you kneel to it. And it makes sinners of us all.”

Joel looked down at his hands, his battered, calloused hands that had held you like a prayer.

“I’m not a sinner for loving her” he stated.

“No, you aren’t.”

“You told me she was dangerous,” Joel murmured.

“She was,” the Cardinal admitted. “Dangerous in the way the first fire was dangerous to man. In the way storms are dangerous to ships. She was a force that didn’t belong in cages or chapels. She was meant to be loved fiercely or not at all.”

Joel closed his eyes, the ache blooming in his chest so sharp it nearly toppled him.

“I loved her,” he confessed, raw and bloodied. “And I let her leave.”

The Cardinal’s expression softened. “Then find her.”

Without another word, Joel turned, the weight of the collar around his neck unbearable now. His hands reached up, unclasping it, and he left it on the table like a final, silent offering.

Then he stepped out into the breaking dawn, his heart pounding like a war drum, and he started walking.

Weeks bled into months the way they always did, quiet, without asking permission.

Joel bought a small apartment just outside of town. Nothing fancy. A two-room place with creaky floors and old curtains that smelled like dust and old rain. The kind of place you’d probably roll your eyes at, saying it needed color, or flowers on the damn windowsill.

But it was his.

The first thing he had owned as a normal, ordinary man.

And if the day ever came, if by some twist of fate, you came back from wherever you’d gone. It would be enough. There’d be a light left on. A door that wouldn’t lock itself. A place for you to land.

He filled the place slowly. A record player he found at the flea market. A secondhand bookshelf with two shelves of battered paperbacks you would’ve picked apart for how predictable their plots were. A coffee cup with a chipped handle he couldn’t throw away. And one night, when the ache in his chest wouldn’t let him sleep, he found himself buying a set of tea cups too.

Just in case.

He’d wake up some mornings and swear he could hear your laugh in the kitchen. Could almost catch the ghost of your voice calling him an old fool. But the place would be empty, save for the old cat from next door who’d taken to visiting him in the evenings.

Joel kept working odd jobs. Carpentry. Fixing fences. Keeping to himself.

The town had changed, in small ways. People didn’t look at him like a holy man anymore. They looked at him like a man who’d chosen to bleed for someone they’d once spat at. And it suited him better. He didn’t want their prayers. He didn’t need their forgiveness. He just needed yours.

Some nights he’d sit on the terrace, watching the sky turn dark and wonder where you were. If you were looking the same moon at the same time, if you still took your tea with too much sugar. If you still hummed that same old song under your breath when you thought no one was listening.

If you missed him. If you’d come back.

And every night before turning in, Joel left the porch light on. Because some part of him still believed you’d find your way home. Because he had no god to pray to anymore.

Only you.

The courthouse smelled like old paper and stale air. Joel sat there, the collar of his shirt tight around his neck even without the old priest’s garb. He wasn’t a priest anymore. Hadn’t been for months. But the weight of that past life still clung to his bones like a phantom limb.

Carmen sat beside him, her hand occasionally brushing his in silent comfort, though neither of them said much. Billy was next to them back straight, jaw tight.

Gabriel sat across the room, in that cold, stiff chair reserved for the accused. His hands cuffed, his face pale but still wearing that same arrogant, hollow expression. He looked like a man already halfway to hell, and Joel, for all his rage and grief, didn’t even feel satisfaction at the sight. Only exhaustion.

The trial had been long. Testimonies. Evidence. And Joel had gotten up there, hands trembling but voice steady, and told them what needed telling. He spoke of the things he’d seen. The things he’d failed to stop. The night he’d seen Gabriel take you away, and how he’d waited too long to follow. How he would carry that until his bones turned to dust.

When he stepped down from the stand, he scanned the courtroom. Some small, stupid, stubborn part of him hoping you’d be there, in the back row or leaning against a wall like you used to, arms crossed, daring the world to challenge you.

But you weren’t.

And he felt it then. That flicker of light threatening to go out.

Carmen squeezed his shoulder, and he almost told her it was fine. That he was fine. That maybe it was better this way, you free, gone, breathing new air somewhere far from this cursed town and its rotting memories.

Then the door opened.

It was a small thing. A shift of air, the creak of old hinges.

But his heart stuttered.

And there you were.

Your hair a little shorter, pulled back with a careless tie. A soft coat wrapped around you, face thinner but eyes still sharp, carrying the kind of storm that made men tremble. A tiny silver cross on a chain around your neck, his cross. And for a moment, he forgot how to properly breathe.

You walked toward the stand; your steps steady even if the ghost of the past clung to you like a second skin. You didn’t look at anyone, not yet.

But Joel was already standing.

Carmen grabbed his wrist, whispering a “Joel,” under her breath, but he barely registered it. The world had narrowed down to you, to the line of your shoulders, the way you held yourself like a woman built of grief and defiance, the kind of person saints would have bowed to if they’d had any sense.

The judge’s voice cut through the thick, oppressive air like a blade.

“Miss… would you please state your name for the court?”

Your voice came, soft but steady, like the echo of a storm long passed but not forgotten.

You said your name, the name some people had tried to strip from you, the one they’d dragged through the dirt and the back alleys of town. But here it still was, on your tongue, yours.

The judge nodded, then leaned slightly forward, his expression carefully neutral, like a man who’d heard every horror the world could offer but still needed to pretend it surprised him.

“Can you tell this court about this man?”

The room seemed to tighten around you, the walls pressing in closer, the cheap wooden benches groaning under the weight of held breath.

You turned your head, slowly, to look at Gabriel.

And God, there was so much in that look. Mostly fury and hurt.

A raw, bone-deep ache for the girl you’d been before his shadow had ever darkened your doorstep. He sat there, his face pale and drawn but his eyes still void of anything human. As if he thought you wouldn’t speak. As if he thought after everything, he still had that power over you.

But you didn’t look away. Not until you were finished.

And then, like instinct, like the world shifting into place, your gaze flickered past the benches, to the figure standing halfway in the shadows, two rows behind Gabriel. Carmen and Billy, but then,

Joel.

And in the hurricane of rage and grief, your eyes softened. For a moment, the weight of the courtroom, the stares, the memories clawing at your skin — they fell away.

It was just him.

And the man who had once carried your body through those church doors like you weighed nothing. The man who’d fought God and his own sins for you.

The man who, despite everything, looked at you now like you were still the same light he'd lost and kept chasing.

Your lips parted, a breath hitching in your throat.

And Joel — his jaw clenched, his throat working around a swallowed word, a tear glinting in the corner of his eye he didn’t bother to hide this time.

The judge spoke again, but for a second neither of you moved. The room still existed, the trial still waited, but the world had shrunk to the space between your eyes and his.

And without meaning to, your fingers brushed the tiny silver cross at your neck, his cross.

Then you nodded.

And you spoke. Not to Gabriel. Not for the townsfolk. But for the girl you used to be.

And for the man standing in the second row, who’d never stopped hoping you’d come back.

It was late. The kind of night where the streets held that strange, restless hush, not quite silence, but the quiet of a town too old to sleep easy.

Joel carried a paper bag against his chest, the sharp scent of oranges and a bottle of whiskey bleeding through the paper. Carmen had begged him to get some food in the house, something decent, but he knew he’d probably just let it go bad on the counter again.

He was cutting through the square when he saw you.

You were sitting on the old stone bench near the fountain, the same one you’d sat on as a girl, tossing coins into the water, wishing for things you wouldn’t name out loud. Your back was to him, head tipped toward the night sky, a cigarette burning between your fingers like a tiny, defiant star.

For a moment he thought it was another dream. God knew he’d had enough of those in the past six months. Versions of you in every form, laughing, bleeding, ghosting past him without a word.

But then you shifted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Real. Solid. Breathing.

Joel felt the breath knock out of his lungs. Time didn’t slow; it collapsed entirely, folding in on itself. The ache in his chest, the wound he’d carried every single second of those six months, cracked wide open.

There was the woman of his heart.

The one be belonged to, in body and soul.

You.

"Hey"

“Hey,” you said, soft and almost shy, like it hadn’t been six long, brutal months, like you hadn’t crossed an ocean trying to outrun the ghost of him and the pieces of yourself you left behind.

Joel’s throat worked around a sound he couldn’t name. His hands trembled at his sides. You. Standing right there. That voice he’d heard in his sleep, in his worst nights, in the empty spaces between his ribs.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, taking a step forward, then another, like if he stopped now, he might never get to see you again. “Is it… is it really you?”

You gave him a watery smile, your chin trembling. “Yeah,” you whispered.

And just like that, his world made sense again.

It was his whole goddamn world standing in front of him, across the street in the middle of the rain, hair shorter than he remembered, face thinner, a leather jacket slung over your shoulder but it was his.

And that smile.

That goddamn crooked, stubborn, radiant smile that had sent him to heaven a thousand times and dragged him through hell just the same.

You sat back down by the font; the evening air cool against your skin. The cigarette between your fingers was more for the ritual than the craving, a bad habit you’d picked up again these past months when the nights got too long and the memories too loud.

Joel just stood there for a second, staring at you like he wasn’t sure if you were real or some cruel trick of his mind. The same face. The same eyes. That half-smile you used to give him when you caught him staring.

And then, of all the goddamn things he could have told you, he shook his head a little, let out a breath, and said, “Smokin’s bad.”

You laughed. Actually laughed, the sound catching even you by surprise. It was small and rough around the edges but so real it made Joel’s eyes sting.

“Still giving me lectures?” you teased, glancing up at him.

He shrugged, a crooked, helpless grin tugging at his mouth. “Some things don’t change.”

Joel’s gaze dropped, and that’s when he noticed the worn canvas bag sitting by your feet. Faded patches sewn into the side,

"Where are you staying?" He asked.

"I don't know really. Carmen got a boyfriend and I really don't want to intrude at her house. Besides I don’t really don't trust strangers at all either."

"You can stay with me" he said

"That's bold of you to say" you said.

Joel huffed a soft, almost shy laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… guess six months apart didn’t fix my habit of wanting you near.”

You raised an eyebrow, that familiar little smirk ghosting your lips. “Still bold, father.”

“I mean it,” he said, quieter now, eyes steady on yours. “No pressure, no strings. Just… a place you know you’re safe. And it’s not a stranger’s place. It’s mine.”

For a moment, you didn’t say anything. The cigarette between your fingers burned down to the filter, and you flicked it away, your chest tight in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. The kind of tight that came from hearing the one person you swore you wouldn’t need again offering you a soft landing anyway.

“Okay,” you said softly. “But I get the couch.”

He smiled, crooked and boyish, like the years and the blood and the pain hadn’t touched him for a second. “We’ll argue about that later.”

It felt like the night he met you, sleeping on the bench inside the church. When he was still a priest, when he had no idea how much he would get to love you

Yeah, it felt just like that.

The way the world had gone quiet around them, the way time shrank to a moment that only the two of you existed inside. Joel felt it in his bones, in the marrow of every terrible, aching thing he'd carried since the night he first found you curled up on that cold church bench, eyes swollen from sleep.

Back then, he'd been a man of vows and quiet prayers, and you’d been a storm he hadn’t seen coming. Fragile in ways you hated to admit, strong in ways you didn’t even realize. And he’d fallen. God, how he fell.

Looking at you now, a bit more bruised by life, but still carrying that wild fire in your eyes, it felt like no time had passed at all. That same tether still pulled at him, snapping tight around his heart.

“Same look on your face,” you murmured, catching him staring. “Like you’re about to try and save me again.”

Joel’s throat worked as he tried to swallow the knot there. “Didn’t do too good a job last time.”

You sighed, leaning your head back against the bench. “You loved me. That was more than anybody else ever did.”

And it was the truth. As jagged and complicated and doomed as it had been, it was love. Raw, messy, aching love.

“And who said I don’t love you still?” Joel said quietly, not bothering to dress it up, not this time. The words sat between you like a fragile, half-healed scar.

You turned your head then, eyes meeting his, and it was all there, written plain across his face. That same broken, stubborn, endlessly loyal kind of love you used to drown in.

Your lips parted, a shaky breath leaving you, but before you could speak, Joel’s voice cut in, low and rough like gravel.

The world tilted, or maybe it was just your heart lurching in your chest. Six months of oceans, of silence, of trying to bury pieces of him deep enough that you could breathe again — and here he was, saying it like it hadn’t been a day.

Your throat tightened. “Joel…”

“I don’t care if it’s reckless,” he said, eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t care if you’re leaving tomorrow or if you still hate me for what happened. I’ve spent every damn night wishing it was different, wishing’ I could’ve gotten to you sooner, wishing I’d never let you walk away.”

You swallowed hard, your whole-body trembling under the weight of everything you’d buried.

And just like that, the years, the pain, the distance, none of it mattered. It was always going to be you and Joel.

You tore your gaze away, the weight of it too much, like staring straight into the sun after months of night.

Only him.

Only the ache of a heart you’d tried to cauterize and failed.

Your voice, when it came, was hoarse, frayed at the edges like old lace. You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

“Where’s your place then, Father?”

And the title hung in the air like a goddamn curse, bitter on your tongue.

You weren’t even sure if it was meant to wound him, or if it was just the only armor you had left.

Joel flinched like you’d struck him.

For a second, neither of you breathed.

Then, in a voice low enough that it was meant for you and no one else, Joel said,

“I haven’t been a father to anyone in a long time.”

And you finally lifted your gaze, because you had to.

What you found wasn’t a priest. Wasn’t the man in a collar who’d carried you out of that place.

Wasn’t even the broken man you’d left six months ago.

It was him.

“I bought a place,” he told you, as you grab your things following him.

You followed him as muscle memory, like you’d done it a thousand times before. The world outside was gray and swollen with clouds, the air thick with the kind of storm that felt personal. Neither of you spoke in the car, didn’t need to. It was the kind of silence where words would’ve only made the ache worse.

When he pushed open the door to the apartment, you stepped in behind him, and it felt like stepping into another life you might’ve lived.

It was small, yeah. Walls a soft, worn kind of white. A couch that had seen better days. A battered bookshelf half-full. A record player. No crosses. No saints. No confessions.

Just Joel.

You ran your hand along the edge of the table by the door, the tips of your fingers brushing over a cup of cold coffee, a photograph turned face down.

Your throat was too tight to speak, so you didn’t.

Joel shifted beside you, watching you like a man bracing for impact.

“You don’t like it?” he asked quietly.

Your lips parted, a soundless breath leaving you.

You let your gaze travel the room again, a small plant struggling for life on the windowsill.

And you shook your head, voice rough as gravel. “It looks very you, father.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, and for a second you saw it, that flicker of fear and hope warring in his chest.

You were both terrible at this.

Joel swallowed thickly, his gaze dropping for a moment, like the weight of you standing there, saying father in that voice was something sharp he was trying not to bleed over.

“I—uh…” he cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck like he always did when he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “You want a cup of tea?”

You gave a half-smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes but tried to, and nodded once. “Yeah… yeah, alright.”

And without waiting for him, your feet moved, like they already knew this place, even if you’d never been here before. The narrow hallway, the scuffed floorboards, the old records stacked by the table. You walked through the open glass door leading to the terrace, the cool air brushing against your skin, the city stretched out in bruised shades of blue and gray.

The world felt quieter out here.

You rested your hands on the rusting railing, the way the town lights blinked like distant, dying stars. It was so him, a place caught between wanting to be forgotten and quietly hoping someone would notice.

Joel watched you from the doorway for a beat before disappearing into the tiny kitchen, the sound of a kettle filling the silence. He didn’t ask what you were thinking. Didn’t need to.

And standing there, you hated how easily your heart mapped itself back to him.

How your bones still remembered the shape of his name.

He came back a few minutes later, two chipped mugs in hand. You took one, your fingers brushing his. It was ridiculous how something so small could still feel like a wound reopening.

“I didn’t think you’d come back to this town,” he said quietly.

You looked out at the city. “Neither did I.”

And you both drank to that.

The tea scalded your tongue, but you welcomed the sting. Better than the ache swelling in your chest, the one you hadn’t asked for, hadn’t invited back in. You stared out at the dark wash of the sky, the cold air biting at your skin, and you thought about how much you wanted him close.

How badly you wanted to reach for his hand, for his voice, for the steady ache of his presence against the chaos of your heart.

But you still remembered that night.

The sharp edge of his vows breaking between your fingers. The quiet desperation in your voice, pleading him to help you. And the way everything ended that night.

And it was a cruel thing, how love and pain made a home in the same place inside you.

Joel cleared his throat behind you, and when he spoke, his voice was careful, like he wasn’t sure it would hold.

“I bought this place just outside town…” You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“…because I kept hoping you’d come back,” he continued. “That one day you would wander your way here. Or maybe you’d need a place, and you wouldn’t know where else to go. And you’d find this. Find me.”

You closed your eyes, your grip tightening around the mug.

“I quit,” he said. “My faith. The collar. The lies I kept telling myself about what I could and couldn’t have.” His words cracked like splintered wood, rough and aching. “I couldn’t carry it anymore, darlin’. Not when my heart was somewhere else.”

Your breath hitched.

“Because I chose you. And I—I know I can’t fix what’s broke in you. Wouldn’t ask to. But if you let me… I’ll water the cracked places. I’ll wait for flowers to grow there, no matter how long it takes. I ain’t leavin’. Not this time.”

You turned to him then, and he looked like a man stripped bare.

“Aren’t you a priest anymore?” you asked.

He gave a rough, breathless laugh, one that sounded more like a sigh dragged over old wounds. Joel ran a hand through his hair, his eyes never leaving yours, and in them, you saw every sleepless night, every silent prayer that wasn’t meant for God.

“No,” he said, voice low, steady. “Ain’t been for a while now.”

The words hung between you like the last fragile thread of something you’d both tried to kill and couldn’t.

“I ain’t a priest, and I ain’t a saint,” he added, a crooked, pained half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m just a man who fell in love with you when he wasn’t supposed to. And I’ve been carryin’ that with me like a goddamn cross ever since.”

Your throat felt tight, and you swallowed against it. Some part of you had needed to hear it.

The same part that was terrified it would only hurt more.

“Do you still believe in God, Joel?” you asked, because you didn’t know what else to do with the ache between you.

His gaze softened then, something breaking loose in him, and he shook his head slowly. “I believe in you.”

You didn’t think. Didn’t weigh the years or the bruises left on your heart. Didn’t count the nights spent trying to forget the shape of his voice in your ear.

You set the cup of tea down on the little table by the terrace door, the steam curling up like a ghost between you. And you crossed the space.

Joel didn’t move, didn’t even blink, as if the air itself had turned thick, and he was too afraid to breathe it in.

Your hand came up, fingers brushing his jaw, rough stubble beneath your palm, and you swore you felt him shudder.

You didn’t wait for a sign, didn’t ask permission.

You just kissed him.

It wasn’t soft, wasn’t hesitant. It was every lonely night, every unsent letter, every goddamn “what if” you’d swallowed for months.

It was grief and longing and the unbearable sweetness of something you’d thought you’d never taste again.

And Joel made a sound, something between a sob and a sigh, and kissed you back like he was a drowning man, and you were air.

His hands found your waist, desperate and careful at the same time, like he didn’t know whether to pull you closer or fall to his knees.

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nadvs · 1 day ago

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OMG power play is one of my fav series .. like im sad its over but i was wondering if you can do rafe and reader seeing each other again after being apart for a while yk , maybe he surprises her or she surprises him idk (smut?) but ugh i love them n you ty babes😛

aw thank you ily!! this is so cute and omg the smut potential!! it’s another filthy one, y’all 👀 blurb set in the power play au. 18+!

You were tempted the entire three-hour drive over to give in and call Rafe and just tell him that you’d be at his house tonight.

As you step into the Camerons’ backyard, the summer sky a deep black against the twinkling string lights draped across the foliage, you’re glad you managed to resist.

You can’t wait to see the look on your boyfriend’s face.

You originally had to decline the invitation to his sister’s 18th birthday party, but when your travel plans with your friends unexpectedly fell through, you decided to come and keep it a surprise.

You navigate through the massive crowd to greet Sarah, who you’d texted about your plan. You give her a big hug and a gift, then kindly day hello to all her friends.

When you ask her where Rafe is, she points towards the back of the expansive backyard, assuring you that she kept your secret.

You weave through groups of people, and when your eyes land on your boyfriend, you take a moment to just look at him. He’s standing among his friends, a beer in his hand, pulling you in without even having to try.

You love how when he wears t-shirts, his biceps jut out the sleeves, how the outline of his broad chest is clear beneath the fabric. His usually tousled hair is neatly pushed back, the planes of his face strong, the cut of his jaw sharp.

You still can’t believe all you’ve been through together in the eight months you’ve known him, that he started off as just a guy with a bad attitude that you had to meet at the library once a week.

You never would have expected to fall for him, and to fall so hard, and you’re so glad you did. He may be different than you in so many ways, but you think that’s what makes you two work so well.

Rafe pulls his phone out, glancing at it just to pocket it again, surely wondering why you haven’t texted back in the last hour. He asked you when you were leaving for your trip tonight, and you haven’t responded.

It’s a jarring feeling, seeing him as who he is without you, seeing that he does the same things you do when you’re apart. It’s been a month since you’ve been together in person.

As you approach, he turns away, taking long strides to the bar. You follow, the anticipation making your heart race.

You settle by the bar beside him, his attention turned the other way. You almost forgot how much he towers over you, how big he is.

“Hey, do you have a girlfriend?” you tease, placing a hand on his forearm.

“Yes,” Rafe answers sharply, pulling away before even looking at you. When his eyes land on you, his face quickly changes from frustration to awe.

“Too bad,” you beam up at him.

“What are…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. In seconds, he transforms from the cold grump he was when you met him to the loving man you know he is as he pulls you into a bearhug.

“Ouch,” you giggle when his grip is a little too tight, the rich notes of his cologne dancing over your nose.

“Sorry,” he half-whispers, pulling back to search your face with wide, softened eyes. “I thought you were leaving for your trip tonight.”

“Plans fell through,” you reply. “I wanted to surprise you. And I have to say, I really like how rude you were when you thought I was some girl hitting on you.”

Rafe smirks, the sudden, unexpected dopamine hit of seeing still radiating through him. He can’t believe this is real.

“It’s so good to see you, baby,” he says. “Like this.”

“And not on a screen for once,” you agree with a big smile. “How’s your night going?”

“So much better now,” he replies. He leans down to kiss your temple. You curl into him, your cheek against his chest, cozying into his warm embrace.

All it takes is his hand dragging down your shoulder, over your waist, squeezing your hip, for his body to tighten with desire.

“You wanna go to my room?” he murmurs into your ear.

You chuckle, craning your neck to meet his eyes, your stomach numbing with excitement.

“What about the party?” you flirt.

“It’ll be here when we get back.”

He keeps his heavy arm around your shoulders, his smile refusing to fade, as you sneak away undetected from the other partygoers.

You’ve already been in his bedroom once, but before you can make a joke about needing a tour, he has you against his closed door, kissing you deeply, your face in his big hands.

His kisses quickly get hungrier, faster, his length already firm against you, nudging your stomach.

“Tell me you have something,” Rafe murmurs against your mouth, the room still plunged in darkness.

“I didn’t expect this to happen,” you whisper through a gentle laugh. “Do you not have any left?”

“We finished the box up last time.”

“Wow,” you say. To be fair, you do have to use up quite a lot of condoms on your rare nights together. “It’s okay. I have something else in mind.”

Your hand trails down his firm body, stopping at the bulge beneath his jeans, rubbing, earning a sharp inhale.

He’s gone down on you plenty of times, but you’ve never done it to him. You’re nervous; everything is still so new to you. But you’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.

You start to unbuckle his belt, and once he realizes what’s happening, he’s using all of his self-control to not take over and pull his pants off as quickly as he can.

“You might need to teach me a little,” you whisper.

“That’s fine,” he rasps. “We both know how good you listen.”

The praise makes your heart skip a beat, your hands trembling as you tug down his zipper. You pull his pants down, lowering to your knees as you do it, the swelling under his boxers eye-level to you now.

Rafe gazes down at you, in awe of quickly his night went from missing you, empty, wishing you were here, to his lips buzzing from your kiss, looking down at you in the dimness of his bedroom, watching you palm his cock.

You bite your lip as you pull down his boxers and his hard arousal springs out for you.

You hold him at his base, eyes locked on his as you press a gentle, open-mouthed kiss on the swollen head of his cock.

“Fuck,” he groans. Everything he does with you manages to be hot and filthy, but sweet and tender, too, and it wasn’t until he was with you that he realized what making love really meant.

Your mouth widens with your kisses, tasting his salty precome, covering him in wet warmth.

“You can spit on it,” he rasps, his fingers lacing at the roots of your hair.

You obey, dribbling spit onto his tip, swirling your tongue over him. His knees are already weak, his grip on your hair tighter.

“Just like that,” Rafe whispers. “Get it wet with your hand.”

You stroke him gently, his shaft getting slick with your saliva, gazing up at him.

“Should I put it all in my mouth?” you ask.

He groans, in heaven when you talk like that.

“As much as you can,” he tells you.

You nod, clenching your thighs together from how turned on you are. You sink all the way to the base, gently gagging when he hits the back of your throat, your nose pressed against his skin.

Rafe’s body is on fire from how hot and wet your mouth is around him. You slowly pull back, moving with the curve of his cock, your lips smacking off with a quiet pop, then take him in again.

You start to add more suction, bobbing a little faster, your lips locked around his shaft.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Suck harder. You can do it.”

Your cheeks hollow as you listen to his instructions, softly gagging every time you reach his base, making his head fuzzy with euphoria.

“Stroke it, too,” he says.

Your grip on his base loosens just a bit as you gently twist your hand around him, following your mouth as it goes up and down.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “Go faster.”

Your bobs pick up in speed, his fist in your hair as he guides you to move the way he wants you to, your mouth and hand full of him, eyes squeezing shut from how hot this is.

Rafe gently bucks his hips forward as you suck and lick and moan, his cock getting even harder as he gets close to his orgasm.

“I need to get a towel or something,” he says through a strained whisper. You pull off, gazing up at him, putting your other hand on his bare thigh.

“I can swallow,” you promise.

It sends him over the edge. He puts his hand over yours, guiding his cock back into your mouth, and in only two more pumps, his gut tightens and he comes so hard that he sees stars.

He fills your mouth and you feel his hand go to your other hand, lacing his fingers in yours as he finishes with an intoxicating groan.

You pull off of him last time, sucking hard although your jaw is sore, taking everything he offered.

Rafe doesn’t waste a moment to collect you off the floor, cupping your jaw, breathlessly kissing your lips over and over, his chest heaving.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his words rushing out. “Not just for that. For being here. You made my night so much better, baby. I missed you so much.”

“Me, too,” you whisper. “You’re not mad I didn’t tell you?”

“Mad?” he echoes with a chuckle. “Slap me if I ever get mad at you for anything ever again.”

“I will never take you up on that offer,” you laugh.

Rafe smirks, his head swimming, his heart pounding, staring at you like you put the sun in the sky. Because to him, it feels like you did. You gave him light he always needed, showing him every day what it’s like to give his heart to someone who knows how to take care of it.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n

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shewhowillrise · 3 days ago

Text

I’m retconning my own post. Tim was there with Jason and Dick when Jason talked about dating.

Tim was happy for Jason, he was. But a sudden alpha who is completely perfect for Jason literal days after Jason finally expresses why he’s never been on a date post death. Too much of a coincidence. Bruce and Dick decided to (hopefully) discreetly follow Jason on his date while Tim researched. Cass was with him because she missed a hand hold and broke her ankle.

Only problem was this guy’s record was clean. Well, except the guy’s origins are from the small town that Young Justice has been looking into for illegal government contracts.

“Friends?” Cass asked, popping her gum, not looking up from her crossword book. Gift from Babs to help learn new words.

“Just because I cyber stalk people doesn’t mean I don’t have friends.”

“Danny’s,” Cass deadpans, looking at Tim with a disappointed look that only Bruce could rival.

“Oh, right,” Tim blushes and goes back to Danny’s limited social media. This guys is not an influencer in the making. Through out the guy’s social only a few people were tagged here and there. Two names popped up more than others. (The guy’s sister did two but she wasn’t anywhere on socials. Only thing he could find was a counseling job…for Arkham. He’ll bookmark that for later.)

Danny’s friend Sam had a few more posts. Mostly about witchcraft and protests and other liberal movements. Honestly if this guy is legit, Tim thinks Steph and Sam would make good friends.

The friend that’s connected to them both is…a different story. This guy only had about a thousand followers, not bad, but not YouTube famous. A lot of true crime, ghost documentaries and conspiracies. (Although Tim does appreciate the one titled Flat Earth is a Myth.)

He stops scrolling when he finds one that makes his skin crawl. Cass, noticing his minutiae lapse in breath, looks up.

Why I think Jason Todd was Murdered. The summary under it just says And the culprit is closer to home than you think.

Scrubbing through the video, he quickly finds where the guy, Tucker, or BadSleuthTuck as is his screen name, states who killed him.

“So to summarize, Jason, son of Gotham billionaire, is in the same country as Joker, a known Gotham lunatic. And since Jason’s death, the amount of Joker drills practically doubled the weeks following Jason’s death. All funded by Wayne. This all points to the Joker killing him to get back at Bruce Wayne.”

Tim paused it there. Activating his comm, “guys, I found something…important? interesting? Off putting? I honestly don’t know how to categorize this.”

Dead on Main Omegaverse

Jason is having a brothers day out with Dick. The once a month they let the other in on their inner most thoughts.

“So any thoughts of dating?” Dick asked, setting a beer in front of Jason before sitting with his own.

Jason snorts, “An alpha wouldn’t want me.”

“Come on Little Wing,” Dick insists, “a traditional alpha would like the fact you cook and take care of kids well. A non traditional alpha would love your independence and resourcefulness. What’s not to like about you!”

“No alpha wants an omega that can break them in half.”

900 miles away Danny Fenton sits at Nasty Burger with his friends. He was the only alpha in Amity Park that weighed 180 pounds soaking wet.

“Look, there might be someone outside of this small town that likes small alphas,” Sam tries to point out.

“Yeah,” Tucker backs her up, “statistically you’ll find a better match in a global city like New York or Gotham.”

“I did qualify for a Gotham U scholarship,” Danny says. Tucker grasps Danny’s shoulder and shakes it while Sam slaps the table excitedly.

“See!” She exclaims, “already looking at the bright side! We’ll help you pack, set up a dating profile, and plan rogue attack escape routes.”

“Oh! And catch you up to speed on the bats—”

Danny smiled sadly as his friends talked about to do lists and must haves. He’s grateful for them but he knows that there’s no omega out there that would want an alpha they could push over with their pinkie.

#I have a whole theory made for Tucker on how it all connects #Tucker’s all like ‘but this is all circumstantial we’ll never really know.’#he’s right but for the wrong reasons #danny phantom #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #jason todd #danny fenton #dead on main ship #dead on main #batfam

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ari-ana-bel-la · 5 hours ago

Note

What about Pierre having this bad haircut because it was his little girl doing it. And because he loves her so much, he wore it proudly everywhere.

Papa’s Haircut

The 2025 season kicked off with a buzz—quite literally—when Pierre walked into the Jeddah paddock on media day, baseball cap in hand and a brand new haircut on full display.

Well, if one could call it a “haircut.”

It was uneven. Patches too short on the side, a strangely long tuft at the back, and a slightly lopsided front that looked like someone had tried to shape a heart and then gotten distracted halfway through. And the cherry on top? Pierre was beaming like a proud man on his wedding day.

“Mate,” Lando said the moment he saw him, eyes wide, “what the hell happened to your head?”

Pierre turned toward him with a radiant smile. “My daughter did it.”

Lando blinked. “Your… daughter? Yn?”

Pierre nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yes! She wanted to be my ‘personal coiffeuse,’ and who am I to deny her dreams?”

From behind, Charles nearly choked on his drink. “You let a five-year-old give you a buzz cut?”

“She’s five and a half, actually,” Pierre corrected, “and she took it very seriously. She even asked for a towel and said, ‘Papa, you must sit very still or I’ll make you bald like Uncle Seb.’”

At that, George burst out laughing. “Poor Seb. Man’s retired and still catching strays.”

“Respectfully, you do look like you lost a bet,” Carlos chimed in as he approached, adjusting his sunglasses. “Was this filmed? Please tell me this was filmed.”

“It was,” Pierre said proudly, pulling out his phone. “Kika was on camera duty. Wait—look at this part—this is where Yn says, ‘Oops, I think the wind moved your hair.’” He pressed play.

On screen, little Yn stood on a kitchen stool, holding an electric clipper nearly the size of her arm. Her tiny brows furrowed in concentration as she buzzed a line up the back of Pierre’s head.

“Oops,” she whispered.

Kika, off-camera: “What do you mean, ‘oops’?”

Yn: “Nothing, Maman, it’s just… art is complicated.”

The group around Pierre dissolved into laughter.

“Art is complicated,” Max repeated with a smirk, crossing his arms. “She’s going to be unstoppable.”

“You’re a good sport, man,” Oscar added, shaking his head. “I don’t know if I could show up to a race looking like that.”

“Because you don’t have kids yet,” Pierre said, tapping a finger against Oscar’s chest. “When you do, and your little girl climbs into your lap with her plastic scissors and says, ‘Papa, I wanna make you pretty,’ you’ll let her do anything.”

He paused.

“Well, maybe not anything. But… hair grows back. And look at this face—” he pulled up another picture of Yn, this one with her clutching a handful of Pierre’s fallen hair with glee. “Tell me that smile isn’t worth it.”

Charles leaned over to look. “Okay, yeah, that’s a dangerous level of cute.”

“She looks exactly like you,” George added. “Like… scarily identical. Mini Pierre.”

“I know,” Pierre said softly. “Same eyes. Same smile. Same chaos energy. Kika says she’s me with glitter and pink socks.”

“And what does Kika think of the haircut?” asked Lando.

Pierre snorted. “She was horrified. But she laughed so hard, she couldn’t even be mad. Said it was a small price to pay for family bonding. Then made me promise to wear a hat on the grid walk.”

“Are you going to?” Oscar asked.

“Nope.”

That earned another round of laughter.

“Of course not,” Max said, grinning. “He’s too proud.”

“Damn right I am. I might start a trend,” Pierre declared. “Buzz cuts by children. All the rage in Milan next season.”

Charles fake-sneered. “You can keep that to yourself, mon ami.”

They were still teasing him later in the driver’s meeting. When the team officials handed out strategy folders, Pierre placed his phone on the table like a proud dad at a PTA meeting, showing off photos of Yn and the makeshift salon she’d set up in the kitchen with a towel cape and a Hello Kitty comb.

“I even gave her a tip,” he told the group. “Two scoops of gelato.”

“She undercharged you,” Lando muttered. “This haircut’s gonna haunt you in every interview.”

Pierre shrugged. “Let them ask. I’ll tell them: ‘My daughter made me look like this. What’s your excuse?’”

Max held out a fist. “Fair play, man. You win this round.”

Pierre bumped it. “Always.”

The next morning, he FaceTimed Yn before heading to the track. She answered from Nonna’s kitchen, surrounded by markers, glitter glue, and what looked like a Barbie head with a similarly questionable haircut.

“Bonjour, Papa!” she chirped, waving.

“Bonjour, ma chérie. You’re up early.”

“I made pancakes with Nonna! And then I gave Barbie a makeover like you.”

Pierre smiled. “She looks… fantastic.”

“Do you still have your haircut?”

“Of course,” he said, turning his head so she could see all the uneven angles. “Still just the way you did it.”

Yn squealed. “Yay! Did everyone love it?”

“They did,” he said. “Everyone laughed a lot.”

“Good!” She paused, growing very serious. “Do you think you’ll win the race because of my haircut?”

He laughed. “I think I might.”

“You better,” she said firmly. “Because it’s lucky hair.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And if you win, I want a unicorn.”

“A real one?”

She tapped her chin. “No, just the toy. But with sparkles.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

As the call ended, Pierre slipped the phone into his pocket and looked at himself in the mirror one last time. The haircut was ridiculous, sure. But the love behind it? That was real. That was everything.

He grinned—crooked hairline and all—and headed to the garage with his daughter’s voice still ringing in his ears:

“Lucky hair, Papa!”

And maybe, just maybe, it would be.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you!

-💚🐍

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urinarythreatinfection · 2 days ago

Text

I'm Better

Nami x Male Reader. 5574 words.

Desc: Nami gets tired of your libido and tells you to use a toy, it becomes her enemy.

Cw: Smut, fluff, a bit of angst-ish.

You and Nami are alone in the library. She stands over a map on her desk with you pressed against her back. “Nami…” You whisper in her ear while your hands slide up from her waist to her chest, squeezing gently as you press against her from behind. She starts to pant, letting out a small gasp when you pinch her nipple. It feels good for her, it does, but…

“A-Again…!?” She whines as you kiss her neck. “You have way too high.. hah.. of a libido!” She’s already feeling too sensitive from last night. She should be feeling grateful for having a boyfriend who can last so long, considering how many men cum fast then are out of commission; but this is way too much! Fingering her, eating her out, fucking her in multiple positions while touching her everywhere you could reach; it’s almost every time you two have sex she’s completely drained and out of it by the end. Thankfully you do leave her to work but every time you get the chance it seems like your hands are on her or you’re at least half-hard. One of your hands slides down her waistband to circle her clit with your fingers. “Ah~!” She jolts and once she’s slick you slide a digit inside of her, her hand gripping onto your wrist while the other grips the edge of her desk. It doesn’t take long for her to cum, you know her body well and she’s sensitive. Right when she thinks it’s over, however, you start touching her again once she’s caught her breath “Y-You..!” Nami grits her teeth. “Enough!” She elbows you and you step back, clutching your side.

“Ow…” Stings. “What for?”

“‘What for?’ What do you think!? Are you a dog in constant rut or something!? How are you always touching me!?” The ginger yells with her arms crossed.

“You’ve never had any complaints before though.” You point out and she falters.

“That’s.. well...” It’s true she’s been enjoying it.. Still! She needs to put her foot down or she’s going to end up collapsing one of these days. She’s already almost caused errors in her maps because of all this. “I’m complaining now and that’s what matters.” She huffs.

“Ah.. I guess so.” There’s a bit of silence before you speak again. “Can you at least help me get off?” You’re hard, and it’s uncomfortable.

“No, go use your hand.” One will turn into two anyway, she knows how this goes. You deflate, sad.

“My hand can’t compare to you though..” You mumble sadly and she sighs, annoyed.

“Then go use a toy, I don’t care, but I’ve got to use energy to work and I don’t need you constantly on me draining it away.” Nami quickly kicks you out of the library, leaving you outside the door. “‘My hand can’t compare to you’ he says.” She can’t help the corner of her lips smirking proudly as she goes back to her work. You’re grown, you can handle this yourself.

___________________

‘I’m so pent up!’ You lament, bouncing your leg with your head in your hands. You already had a high libido from the start, but being with Nami and head over heels for her only heightened it. You miss her… You can’t even be near her for too much anymore because you get hard and she kicks you out. You’ve tried using your hand but it just isn’t the same. “I miss fucking her.” You mumble. Usopp, working on another invention at his table next to you, sighs and lifts up his goggles.

“I don’t need to know this, (Y/n).” He’d been working when you suddenly burst inside and sat down, using his workshop as some sort of therapy room. He wouldn’t mind listening to your problems, he’s done it before, but what is he even supposed to say about this? “Nami’s right, you’re like a dog. I’m surprised she’s been able to keep up for this long. Have you ever had other lovers before? How did they deal with this.” You look away nervously. “The libido was a reason for breakups, huh.” You flinch, he hit the nail on the head. You’ve tried other things to quench your thirst, working out, meditating, reading; but it feels like the moment you fall in love your hunger can only be satiated by them.

“Maybe I just need to try harder. I don’t wanna lose her and if that means I have to restrict myself then.. then..” You clench your fists. “I-I’ll neuter myself!” Usopp smacks the back of your head.

“You’re not an actual dog!”

“But what else do I do? Should I ask Chopper for medication that’ll lower it?” That’s the only other solution you can think of. The sniper hums while you rub the back of your head, thinking about how stupid you are until something pops into his mind.

“She said you can use a toy, right? Why don’t you get one?” Your expression brightens at his proposal.

“Oh! You can make one for m-”

“I’m not making that.” He doesn’t even entertain it, shutting it down quickly. “Go ask Franky, he’s perverted enough to make something like that. He’s probably already made one before.”

“You’ve never made one?” You tilt your head and he looks back to his work desk.

“...Go ask him.” He didn’t answer the question.

__________________

As soon as you walk into Franky’s workshop he speaks, not even turning to look at you. “You came here for a toy, right?”

“Was it that obvious?” You’re a little self-conscious now.

“You’ve gotten kicked out by Nami enough times to notice. Here.” He tosses something at you and you catch it. Fleshlight, it looks like it can move too. He must’ve started making it once he noticed your predicament. You examine it, there are 4 modes, slow, medium, high, and SUPER. There's also a star design.

‘Can he make something normal?’ You wonder to yourself, but hey, at least he made it for you. You could’ve bought one on an island, but there aren’t many with specified adult shops; much less ones that would have toys as advanced as this. But the way it looks..

“Is the design too much?” He asks, reading your facial expression. He looks disappointed, you’re starting to feel guilty. Franky is the one who took the time to make this for you and now you’re judging it.

“No.. it’s.. well its—I mean,” You stutter. “I’m gonna be fucking this thing.” You point out awkwardly and he grins.

“Thought it would make you more pumped. SUPER pumped!” He poses SUPER-ly. Maybe you should just leave. You can’t even call Franky a pervert since it’s a compliment to him.

____________________

It actually isn’t bad. Really awkward at first considering the design and that your friend made it, but leaving that aside it’s not bad. It’s good, even; though it’s not your girlfriend. Thanks to that, you’ve been able to hang out with Nami again, and she hasn’t kicked you out. Sure you still have the instinct to touch her, but that's less of a lust thing and more she’s just nice to touch. Still, it’s nice being around her again, you missed being able to talk to her without getting kicked out because you’re hard. She seems to enjoy it too, so everything is sunshine and rainbows; at least for a while.

“Then Usopp told us he had the ability to speak fluently once he was 3 months old, and Chopper believed him immediately. Turns out Chopper could speak around the same time, probably due to the growth rate of him being a reindeer before he finally ate his devil fruit.” You explain your day to Nami, who has started to space out while you two sit in the aquarium bar. “Once Usopp learned that, you could see the panic on his face since now his lie wasn’t as impressive anymo..r..e” Your speaking slows to a stop once you realize the ginger is clearly lost in thought despite looking at you. “Nami?” You call out but she doesn’t respond. “Namiiii.” You call her name again and she finally jolts.

“Y-Yeah?”

“You were spaced out, was my rambling that boring?” You half-joke.

“No, um.” She glances at your crotch for a second then back up at you. “No, you’re fine. Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” You hesitate to ask her what the problem is. She tends to be fickle, multiple times she ends up getting sad if you don’t ask but not answering if you do; even getting annoyed with you sometimes if you do. She feels that she must not matter to you if you don’t continue to pry but then randomly angry if you do. You’ve gotten used to it, it’s part of her charm and the package you accepted, but in moments like this where it could be important it makes you hesitate. You’ve started learning her different signals and what to say but right now she isn’t giving any you know of, just spaced out. “What’s wrong?” You decide to ask.

“Uhm.” She looks hesitant too. “Did you ask Chopper for meds to lower your libido?”

“That’s what this is about!?” You’re shocked, raising your voice by accident. It makes her expression turn sad and you quickly backtrack before she thinks you're mad at her for asking. “I'm not mad, not mad, just shocked you asked.” You sigh in relief when her expression turns back to normal.

“I just asked since.. well..” Conflicted. Nami wants to point out that you haven't latched onto her for a week or got hard, even if you two talk for hours and are close to each other; but if she points it out it might seem like she’s complaining despite asking for this in the first place.

“Is it because I haven’t been hard?” You make the choice for her. Takes a weight off her chest not having to make the decision. The navigator nods. “I haven’t been taking meds, don’t worry about that.”

‘He hasn’t? Then why hasn’t he been getting hard? Was I too mean to him? Ugh I should’ve been nicer, I’m not used to this.’ She’s starting to regret constantly kicking you out, she just didn’t know what else to do. You’re her first boyfriend, it’s not like she had the leisure to date around before while working for Arlong. ‘Maybe I should’ve tried asking Robin…’ Though technically Robin wouldn’t have much experience dating either being constantly on the run.

“I’ve actually started using a toy.” That shatters her out of her thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, you said you didn’t mind me using one as long as it stopped me from coming onto you.” You remind her and she pauses, then starts to sweat nervously.

‘I did say that, didn't I?’ Nami thinks to herself. She had said that in the heat of the moment then forgot. “So you’ve been using one?”

“Franky made me a fleshlight-”

‘Of course it was him.’

“-and I’ve been using it.” Shoot. Pervert cyborg. Wait, this helps her. Why is she upset?

“So it’s been helping?” She asks and you nod.

“Yeah, it feels better than I thought. It’s great, I get off and now I get to hang with you without getting hard. Despite the design it’s well made.”

“Ohhh that’s greattt..” She forces herself to say despite how clenched her fists are from you complimenting it.

“Thanks, it can move so when I’m fucking it it moves back to me, though I can take that off. If I lay down it’s even like it’s riding me.” Her fingers dig into her palms. “So you don’t need to worry now since I don’t need you to get off anymore. We can just talk like normal.” Despite you continuing to speak she isn’t listening to you anymore. You saying you don’t need her to get off anymore being the only thing in her mind.

‘He doesn’t need me anymore to get off.’ Shit, she’s upset. Even if she’s the one that told you to use a toy she can feel herself getting upset, but she can’t tell you because she’s the one that’s been kicking you out for getting hard. You’re praising that damn toy like it’s better than her, too. Alas, her worry isn’t letting her communicate this to you, so you continue to talk thinking that she wants to know since she isn’t stopping you.

“I’ve been enjoying our time and not having to get my hands on you, since you don’t like it, so the toy’s helping a lot. I should thank Franky again-” You’re interrupted by Nami standing up quickly.

“Sorry! Actually I just remembered I had to go do something! Let’s talk later okay?” She manages to keep her voice and facial expression normal so you don’t suspect anything.

“Oh, okay?” You’re still a bit confused but if she has to do something she has to do something.

NAMI’S POV

Nami speedwalks out of the aquarium bar and to the library to work on something, anything. “Stupid boyfriend, stupid cyborg, stupid toy.” In her hurry she hits her nail bed on the metal handle of the library door. “OW!” Nothing going her way ended up making her happier. She goes inside and rushes to her mapping desk. There isn’t a rush to do any of this, she planned to do it so she can be with you, but the plan has changed. Her hands tie her hair up into a ponytail then get to work, using pure instinct to roughly draw the map. It’s only helping a bit, and she realizes when she’s done she’d somehow managed to draw the map in reverse. Her notes, she accidentally used them from bottom to top. At the realization she slowly sinks to her knees. It was just a rough draft of the map so it shouldn’t matter but right now it matters a lot, tears forming in her eyes. ‘I asked for this, I did, and it’s working out the way I hoped.’ She sniffles. ‘So why am I so upset?’ Nami puts her face in her hands, she’s horrible. She didn’t even hate you touching her, she just wanted you to do it less often; but instead of saying that and working on it with you she ended up pushing all of it away. Now you’re using a toy instead of her and apparently it’s the best thing ever. Nami stands up and rips the ruined rough draft to shreds, tossing it in the nearest trash can haphazardly. How does she tell you this? Just suddenly say “Hey I know I yelled at you to use a toy and kicked you out everytime you even just got hard but I hate that you’re using a toy now so throw it away because I changed my mind.” That sounds so entitled, and she feels bad for being so fickle all the time. Now you aren’t touching her at all. She sniffles again, a single tear in her eye. “I’m horny…”

YOUR POV

“Thanks for the help!” Franky says to you as you leave. To repay him you’ve been helping in the workshop and around the ship with repairs, it’s labor but it's nice to do. You even got some gear on to make sure you’re safe, welding mask, goggles, steel toe boots. You aren’t actually doing the building of course, but it saves Franky a lot of time and effort having you hand him tools and such. Now it’s the end of the day, so the both of you are heading to sleep. You decide to go out for some fresh air first, whether or not you like it you aren’t like Franky so getting some fresh air will help you. While you’re outside you spot Robin on night watch. She notices you and walks over.

“Hey Robin! Just getting some air.” You explain and she hums.

“I’ve noticed you around helping Franky the entire day, it’s good for you to be out here a bit.” Robin says before continuing. “However, there is something I should say.” You tilt your head. “I don’t want to pry into your personal life, I believe in learning things for yourself, but Nami has been getting more and more upset lately. I’m still her friend and understand that she struggles to ask for help for emotional matters, so I wanted to inform you before she got any worse as it seems she’s not any closer to telling you despite my suggestions.” You freeze. She’s upset? What happened? You thought that you had solved things already! Plus if she’s not telling even Robin it must be bad…

“Thanks Robin, I’ll talk with her.”

“You’re welcome.” Robin knows Nami will be upset with her for telling you, but it’s for her own good. She wouldn’t have intervened if there was some sign of communicating, no matter how small, but there was nothing even with Robin’s light suggestions. Nami was only going to keep it in until something bad happened. She only hopes it’s not too late.

_________________

You knock on the door of the girl’s room, hearing Nami groan. “Come in.” When you open the door and step inside she’s lying lazily on her bed with ⅓ of her lower body hanging off. Her eyes open slowly and trail to you, widening as she realizes it's you and not Robin. She sits upright immediately. “W—What’re you doing here?” Her voice is slightly shaky from being caught off guard.

“I can’t come and see my lovely, beautiful girlfriend?” You ask and she stares at you in suspicion. “I really did come to see you!”

“You’re not gonna ask me for anything?” She frowns, still suspicious.

“I am gonna ask you something but not money.” You get closer to her and try to sit down but she stops you.

“No way, you’re dirty from being with Franky the whole day. I’m not letting you ruin the sheets.” You sulk a little bit. You were looking forward to sitting down after being busy the whole day, but alas she has a point.. even if she secretly just doesn’t want to be close to you right now. “Why were you even helping him?” You try to answer but she interrupts you. “I already put it together, it was thanks for making that stupid toy wasn’t it.”

‘Stupid?’ You’re caught off guard but respond. “Yeah it was, it was mostly handing him tools or materials though.” She sighs, mumbling something you can’t hear. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I said I knew it!” Nami stands up angrily. “Of course you would thank him! You’d probably bow down on your hands and knees thanking him for making you a new girlfriend!” You’re stunned, what is she talking about? She walks over and stomps on your boot hard with her bare foot, then angrily lies back down on her bed covering herself with the blanket. Despite how hard she stomped.. well.. you’re wearing steel toed boots, and she’s barefoot. You lean over and try to pull the blanket off but she makes sure it stays on.

“Nami I know that hurts, let me check your foot before it swells.” Stomping on basically hard metal with no protection probably hurt like hell, but she’s stubborn. You sigh. “Don’t make me wake up Chopper for this.” At your words she looks at you with shock and betrayal, then scowls and looks away. She doesn’t take the blanket fully off but slowly sticks her foot out. “I know that’s not the right one.” There’s a pause and then she switches to the other, a part of the bottom is red. You gently grab it and she flinches from pain. Nami isn’t dumb, she knew you were wearing boots, yet she did it anyway knowing it would hurt her more than it hurt you. Physically, at least, since your heart is stinging seeing your girlfriend this upset. You press your thumb on the spot. It’s already starting to swell.

“If you call him for this I’m taking away your allowance.” Her voice is quiet but you still catch it.

“I won’t, but you have to see him in the morning.” You put her foot down and she pulls it back under the cover. You’d like to do something like massage it for the swelling, but you feel like you would get kicked out immediately. It feels like you’re already pushing it. “Why are you so mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

…

“Okay I’m mad, but it’s nothing.” Her first answer was so unbelievable she ended up confessing.

“It’s clearly not nothing, just tell me what’s up. You already hurt yourself.” You love Nami and want to respect boundaries but this is too much, she’s going to end up holding the stress in until she explodes. She doesn’t answer. “Nami I’m worried about you.” Still no answer. “..If you won’t talk I’ll assume it’s my fault and jump into the ocean for my sins.” She flinches, turning towards you with a cold frown.

“You’re gonna talk like that then just do it.” You turn and walk towards the door and she backtracks. “N-No, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” She sits up slowly, looking guilty. “It’s..” She complains a lot over little things but when it’s actually something serious like this it’s like she assumes she can just handle it. That it’ll go away on its own if she bears it. ‘I wish I could talk to him like normal.’ Her eyes trail from yours and you get close to her.

“Why’d you call the toy my new girlfriend?” The redhead grimaces, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“I’m... jealous.” Her cheeks are tinted a little.

“Of the toy? But you told me-”

“I know! I know it’s unreasonable that’s why I didn’t want to say it. I complained and told you to get one in the first place but now I’m jealous of the stupid thing. I’m being stupid.” You would sit down to hug her but you’re still dirty.

“I’m gonna take a quick bath. I need to get clean and it should help you sort your thoughts. Just know the toy is a toy and my girlfriend is my girlfriend.” You’d love to comfort her but your muscles ache, you can't sit on the bed, and you can’t even hug her. Plus, it’s not enjoyable having all this machine oil and sweat on you. Nami nods, but you can tell she’s hesitant. You lean down and kiss her forehead. “I won’t be long.” As you leave the room you don’t notice Nami clenching her jaw.

______________

You feel a lot better now, in fresh clothes and no longer uncomfortable. You’re ready to talk to her again, even if you’re tired; but your eyes widen as you open the door and see her holding a familiar toy. “H-How? What? How’d you get that?”

“So this is my stupid replacement.” She grumbles, squeezing it. “I nabbed it from the boy’s quarters, obviously. They sleep like logs.”

‘Right, she’s experienced in that stuff.. it didn’t matter if I had it hidden or not.’ “I said already it's not a replacement for you.”

“I know. It’s not me.”

“Nami I-” Before you can try to comfort her more she grabs your hand and tugs you onto the bed on your back, straddling your hips.

“But it’s a replacement for my body, and you won’t need it anymore.” She tosses the fleshlight to the side. She’s looking down at you, pouting lightly. She thought you bathing would give her the chance to calm down, but it just gave her time to think about how you’ve been fucking a toy and if even if it’s not her maybe it’s better than her body. A toy that doesn’t get tired or that you don’t have to be gentle with.. she’s starting to develop a bit of a complex about it.

“Nami..?” You say, hesitant. Is this her making a move or maybe she’s just angry? The fact that you’re hesitating instead of immediately drooling and latching onto her is making her insecurity worse.

“There’s lots of stuff a fleshlight can’t do, you know.” She doesn’t want that. Being better than the toy just because of her girlfriend status isn’t enough, she needs to be superior at making you feel better. She’s better.

“Woah!” She leans forward, pressing her chest on your face.

“A toy doesn’t have these.” She says, sliding a hand to the back of your head and pulling you closer. Squishy, she smells good. You can already feel yourself getting hard. You groan into her breasts when she grinds down on you. “Already getting hard, of course you are.” Her other hand goes to your waistband and pulls your dick out, stroking it. It’s so sudden, and your head is going dizzy from the boobs in your face. You don’t even realize you’re air-deprived until she pulls them away.

“Holy shit.” She sinks down to her knees and grabs your cock, letting spit drool down before sinking her breasts down onto your length. Your dick presses against the band of her bikini top, making her hum and press closer till it's completely enveloped in soft flesh. She smirks up at you, letting her finger slowly circle your tip.

“How’s this?” She says smoothly like your heart isn’t beating out of your chest.

“Hot as hell.” You mumble to her and she presses her lips together tightly, seemingly holding in something she wants to say. Before you can ask she presses her lips to the sensitive tip of your dick, licking around while rocking the shaft between her boobs. Her tongue teases the frenulum before taking the entire bulb into her soft mouth. Your head rolls back.

“Eyes on me.” She demands, snapping the band of her bikini against your shaft. You flinch and look back as she starts to bounce her boobs. Warm, soft, you see your dick go in and out of her cleavage with each movement, slick noises from the saliva permeating your ears. She feels you throb, and she starts to pant lightly. “You’re hopeless.”

“How am I supposed to last long like this?” She stops for a moment to push her chest together tighter, focusing the movements on the upper half of your dick so the tip is always engulfed in her cleavage; massaging it as you shiver and gasp, finally spurting cum into her cleavage. Once she feels it stop twitching she lifts her breasts off of you. You fall onto your back, you’re tired. You’ve been doing labor the whole day and now this, it’s a lot. Her hand goes back to untie her top and she goes back into your lap, leaning over and letting it fall onto your chest to give you a full view of your cum in the valley. You hear a pleased chuckle come from your girlfriend watching your eyes unable to leave.

“Tired already? I’m gonna give you something else while you’re resting up.” Nami unzips her pants, pulling them down and off while crawling up until her thighs on the sides of your head. Her panties are above your face, a small wet spot over her hole. She leans back and slides them off before hovering above you. “A toy can’t sit on your face either.” Then she sinks her weight down onto you, suffocating you against her pussy. Her hips rock a bit, moans escaping her before she fully grinds down. “O-Open, ah!” You open your mouth for her to grind her bud down onto your tongue. You flick your tongue around her clit before grabbing onto her thighs and forcing her forward so you can dip your tongue inside of her. Her slick coats your taste buds as she rides it, using your nose against her clit as stimulation while rocking. Her thighs are soft as you squeeze them, her moans muffled over the sound of blood rushing to your head. “Just like that, hah~!” She leans forward to grip onto the sheets, moving back down to hump her clit against your tongue until she spasms and whines out. You continue to lick until she lifts off of you, letting you breathe properly.

‘Why is she so heated all of a sudden, what happened while I was in the bath?’ Your head is blank but you feel yourself slowly dragged up. When you focus your eyes it’s Nami trying to drag you to lay properly.

“Hurry, so I can ride your dick next…” Her cheeks are flushed as she tells you, erotic and cute, who are you to not obey? Plus, having her sit on your face like that had given you plenty of time and arousal to get you hard again. You move up, placing your head down on the pillow after taking your clothes off as she straddles your hips. Your cum is still on her breasts, a bit of it drips off onto your stomach. Even if you aren’t sure what happened, having your girlfriend this hot and bothered isn’t gonna make you complain. Your tip hits her entrance, the muscles there contracting around the glands before she sinks down. With a moan she sinks down onto your hips, squeezing around you before she rocks. “A toy can’t d-do this.” She continues to rock her hips until she lifts herself up then drops down quickly, her back arches slightly, she’s pent up. Cumming once wasn’t enough when going from constant stimulation to nothing for almost 3 weeks. She lifts up again then drops, starting with a medium pace while you lay there panting. Finally you grab onto her hips and thrust up into her. “Ah!”

“I can’t not move when you’re like this.” You say as you help her bounce on your dick, sounds of pleasure and sex filling the room as you meet her hips with your own movements. She’s close, she is even if it’s quicker than normal. A few more thrusts and she whines, gripping onto your arms that keep moving her as her pussy periodically clenches around you like it’s trying to milk your cock. Even after she finishes you keep going.

“W-Wait I-”

“I’m sorry, just a little longer.” You sit up and wrap your arms around her waist, quickly pistoning your dick in and out to reach your peak while she squirms and whines. Finally you hold her close, chests pressing together as you let out into your girlfriend’s tight pussy. You both pant for a bit before you pull back and kiss her deeply. She quickly reciprocates with her arms loosely wrapped around your neck. When you pull away you rest your head on her shoulder. You feel a pat on your shoulder to get your attention. She pushes you down onto your back.

“Already done?”

“I, well I’ve been busy the whole day I’m kinda..” You’re interrupted by her squeezing her breasts with her hands.

“Are you sure?” She grinds down and your dick twitches. “Because I’m not done yet~”

____________

Nami sits there on your lap, panting as she catches her breath while you heave. “How’s… that?” She says after a big breath, but when she looks down you’re dizzy and fucked out. “D-Did I go too far?’ Worried, she softly pokes your cheek. You groan before passing out. Your body was already worn out from helping Franky the entire day, multiple rounds took whatever energy was left. She looks down at you, then at herself. Though she would like to sleep, she doesn’t want to sleep like this. Nami stands up, cum dripping from inside her, and wipes you off with a small towel. You shiver in your sleep when she gently wipes off your length, then she goes to the bath. It’s relaxing, and she’s finally satiated after being cut off from you for so long. When she goes back to the room you’re still asleep in her bed. Well, it’s not like she can carry you back to your bed, and she isn’t cruel enough to force you awake. So she’ll just have to sleep with you, and is forced to cuddle into your side just to fend off the cold. Your girlfriend snuggles close to you, smiling when you instinctively turn to hold her. She wins.

~Bonus~

“Namiii~” You coo to her while kissing her cheeks.

“I’m busy right now.” She sighs and you pout.

“Aww..”

“Just go use the to-” Nami stops herself.

“You’re still not gonna let me use it?” You rest your chin on her shoulder. “You already proved you’re the best.” True..

“..Alright. But!” She turns and points a finger at you. “Only use it when you can’t hold it and I say I’m not in the mood or I’m too busy.” She doesn’t want a repeat of you only using the fleshlight and going cold turkey on her.

“Alright.” That’s not hard to do.

“And when you use it you have to think of me.” Her hands go to her hips. You tilt your head.

“...? Of course. What else would I be thinking of? You’re my girlfriend.” You’re confused. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to get off properly.” When you say that her mouth goes into an O shape. “Nami? Baby?”

‘I didn’t think of that..’ She’s gone silent as you call her multiple times.

I finally finished this *wheeze*. It's pretty long, and i do have shorter stuff in my wips, but I wanted to hurtty up and finish this since the idea was funny to me (I got it after waking up one day). It ended up longer than I thought it would be though, and I still feel like it was shortened. Anyway, I know Nami isn't very popular in the fanfic scene, and I've only seen a few small smut headcanons; so i don't actually know if this has much of a demand. Anyway, I wanted to write it so I did. So enjoy it now/hj

#one piece #fanfiction #one piece x reader #nami #cat burglar nami #nami x reader #nami x male reader #male reader #top male reader #nami x top male reader #nami smut #smut #cat burglar nami x reader #nami x you

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xjulixred45x · 1 day ago

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Oh my gosh imagine how the boys would be falling in love with pregnant yuu (obviously in this situation yuu would be around their age)! Maybe just the 3rd years and maybe 2nd years too.. I’m sure they’d all be good dads in their own way!

Oh, sure! I really like platonic content for these series, but I'm not at all against the idea of romance! Especially for this kind of Yuu.

Since we're talking about a Yuu who's the same age as the TWST boys, it's likely that her baby was the result of a casual relationship (which he didn't follow through with), but she still went ahead with the pregnancy. NOW, I won't be able to write about ALL the second and third years in this post (because I want to leave my bed at some point), but I'm going to include the ones who, in my opinion, would be the most likely to be good adoptive fathers for Sheila/husbands for Yuu.

Rook Hunt

OBVIOUSLY WAS GOING TO BE ON THE LIST; he only sees beauty in different forms, and he believes Yuu has a unique kind of beauty, not only for being herself, but for forming a new kind of beauty! Definitely a great emotional support if Yuu is feeling ugly or unattractive during the pregnancy. Don't worry, Rook appears out of nowhere and starts reciting everything he finds beautiful about her (which mean, absolutely everything).

Rook has a large family, with both older and younger siblings; he knows how to handle children. Yuu probably doesn't even notice him getting out of bed during the night when Sheila is crying and he goes to calm her down, whether it's changing her, feeding her, or simply singing her a lullaby. He happily does it! (The only downside to this is that he sometimes stares at the baby for a long time after she falls asleep, but hey, it's Rook.)

Vil Scoenheit

He grew up with a single father who not only managed to have a stable career and raise him lovingly, but also supported him in his own career. He has great respect for single parents in general. So it's not unusual to see him helping Yuu when her pregnancy is more prominent and/or when Sheila is already born. He's surprisingly patient with the baby, or little potato, as he calls her. He loves taking her and Yuu shopping for clothes (baby clothes don't fit very quickly, after all, but it's an excuse to spoil them both). He's the kind of father who says Sheila "should have self-esteem for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

They divide Sheila's care equally, though Vil insists on babysitting the newborn so Yuu can rest and recover (or when Yuu is having particularly difficult days due to health-related issues). On days like this, it's not uncommon to find Vil with Sheila on his lap, wearing an outfit that's a miniature replica of Vil's, looking everyone in the soul with her little eyes (sometimes she tries to imitate Vil's poses, much to everyone's amusement).

Trey Clover

WAS OBVIOUSLY GOING TO BE ON THE LIST. X2 isn't just an older brother, but he's the only one who keeps Heartslabyul from going completely crazy. Plus, HE HAS GREAT DAD VIBES. Trey probably feels close to Yuu and, like some 6th sense, decides to help her with things, give her healthier desserts for the baby, offer to cook together when she starts having weird cravings—all of this, AND THEY'RE NOT EVEN DATING YET! It drives first-years crazy to see so much longing and chemistry, but they're both denser than rocks.

Trey definitely carries Sheila in a makeshift baby carrier and has perfected the art of multitasking. While he's cooking, he can cradle Sheila, and if she's hungry, he'll give her her bottle (or give her a taste of whatever he's cooking, but shhh). He also makes a lot of dad jokes, the kind of dad who does the "you know what's better than (insert thing)? BAM! (shows you Sheila in the carrier)" thing. He and Yuu strike the perfect balance. Just don't let him feed Sheila at night, or you'll wake up with a super chubby baby.

Silver Vanrouge

Similar to his father, Silver feels almost obligated by duty to make sure his pregnant partner is properly cared for, especially when he sees Crowley neglecting her. Silver feels more alert around Yuu, especially when she needs help. He's like her knight in shining armor. He carries her when her feet hurt, he carries heavy things for her, and Silver keeps any harm from coming to Yuu and her baby in general.

Sheila seems to sleep better when she's with Silver, and so does he. Luckily, Sheila crying is one of the few sounds that can get Silver on his feet almost immediately. Ironically, he becomes more active because of this (even if it's at night). Silver has no problem changing the baby or feeding her at night; after all, he sleeps most of the day. He prefers Yuu to sleep peacefully. He'll make sure they're safe.

Ruggie Bucchi

It sounds weird, but hear me out. Ruggie canonically brings food for the children in his hometown; he's experienced; he's all about community. He probably avoids Yuu at first because of what happened in Book 2, until it becomes clear she needs assistance with her pregnancy and they start to bond. Ruggie is the type of person who tries to distract Yuu from the more unpleasant parts of pregnancy with laughter, whether it's telling her stories about Leona he doesn't want anyone to know or about his town; it works 9/10 times.

Ruggie is also very good at teaching Yuu various tricks, whether it's how to help Sheila learn more efficiently, how to eat the things she's given without complaining, how to make baby clothes last longer (they're cute, okay?), how to save money, etc. Knowing Ruggie, he'll probably use Sheila so Leona doesn't make him do all his work for a couple of days. Do you know what that menas Sheila? Father-daughter time!

Jamil Viper

OBVIOUSLY HE WAS GOING TO BE ON THE LIST SUPREME. He's dealt with Kalim his entire life, takes care of all of Scarabia, knows how to cook and detect poison, etc. He's the kind of boyfriend who, when he finds out Yuu's pregnant, becomes even more meticulous and quite delicate. It's not that he thinks Yuu can't handle herself, but now he can't help but treat her like she's made of glass. Basically, his mother-hen mode intensifies by 200 percent. The kind of boyfriend who scolds Yuu if he eats too little.

It's a bit tense with the baby at first, but he's relieved to a certain extent. Since he and Yuu aren't married and Sheila isn't his, she won't be a servant to the Al-Asims. However, he insists that the baby sleep with them as much as possible, between them. He tries to be strict but loving, to be the "bad cop" and Yuu the good cop, though it's hard not to give in under Sheila's blank stare and her chubby little hands (he can't; he eventually gives in; she looks too much like Yuu, after all).

Kalim Al-Asim

Best boy, he's so pure and innocent. He loves EVERYONE; there's no room for hatred in his heart. He doesn't see Yuu as any different because she's pregnant until Jamil explains that she can't have such intense parties for the sake of the pregnancy. He then understands the situation better and tones down the intensity of his parties a few notches. But yes, he wants to have a "mini" party every trimester (originally one per month, but they agreed it was better per trimester). He's so excited about the idea of the baby, he doesn't even care that it's not his; to him, it is his and Yuu's, and he's going to spoil them so much when he finally meets her!

If Kalim's family gets involved, they'll most likely send servants to help with baby matters, but Kalim insists on helping! He wants to learn how to be a good father to Sheila; of course, he needs some guidance from Yuu and Jamil, but he has every intention of improving. At the end of the day, after much play, practice, trial, and error, Kalim and Sheila can be found asleep in Scarabia's living room, very happy with the end result.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

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batsandbirdbrains · 2 days ago

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The one where Dick has zero concept of how the average person lives

I want a fic where Dick just has absolutely no concept how the average person lives. He went from being raised in a circus to being raised in a manor by a billionaire. His concept of what is expensive and what is totally normal is completely skewed. That whole meme where someone thinks a banana costs $10? He really does think a single banana is $10. He thinks fresh fruit in general is ridiculously expensive; it's a luxury. He just thinks Alfred keeps so much of it in the manor because Bruce is rich. He'll eat a single strawberry and think, "Wow, this is the life."

At the same time, he thinks having expensive suits/clothes is totally normal. His family's circus costumes were some of the most expensive items they owned because it was essential to their act. Similarly, he thinks Bruce spends a fortune on all his suits and clothes for galas and events because it's part of being CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Their Batman and Robin costumes are expensive because it's part of their job. Clothes are super important. Doesn't everyone spend $45 on a plain T-shirt? His Gotham Academy uniform alone is stupid expensive, and that's just for school, every student wears the same thing.

He doesn't think his top of line fancy as hell cell phone is expensive because Bruce gets them through WE. They're basically free. Dick gets a new prototype phone like twice a year. Never mind that Bruce owns WE, that's irrelevant. It's an essential item in this day and age. It can't be that expensive.

So when the young justice team is hanging out at Mount Justice and Wally complains about his phone being old and not working right or not holding a charge the same anymore, Robin barely looks up from his phone and shrugs, saying in a nonchalant tone, "Dude just get a new one then."

"Oh yeah, let me just go get a brand new phone," Wally mocks, scoffing. The sarcasm goes completely over his head.

"B gets me a new phone all time. Just ask your dad, dude."

Everyone stares at him. Even Conner, who somehow knows more about things like this than Dick does. Cadmus psychic education was good for something, apparently.

When Dick looks up, he's confused about why everyone is staring at him.

"What, dude?" he asks, not understanding why Wally is making so many faces at him.

"You are so stupid sometimes," is all Wally says.

"What?" Dick asks again. Then he sits up, a frown on his face. "What's that supposed to mean!"

"It means you have no idea how a normal person lives," Wally jokes.

"That's not true!"

"It's totally true."

"Rob, dude," Wally says slowly, gently, as if Robin is a dumb little child. "Yesterday, you called M'gann outrageous for using raspberries in one of her dessert recipes."

"She used the whole container of them!" Robin defends himself, his voice getting a bit higher. "For a tart she didn't know she'd even like!"

"Robin," Wally says slowly, folding his hands, "how much do you think a box of raspberries costs?"

Robin shakes his head, looking offended.

"I dunno, but it's expensive!"

"But getting multiple new phones a year isn't?" Wally scoffs.

"They're essential!"

"A brand new phone is not essential!"

"It can't cost that much!" Robin argues. "You're so full of shit, Wally, you're just being mean to me!"

"You're literally wearing a designer jacket right now," Wally points out, tugging at Robin's jacket. Robin pulls away from him with an even more dramatic frown.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Robin whines.

"It means you're a snob," Artemis snorts.

"I am not!"

"You have a brand new WayneTech phone that only came out on the market like a month ago," Artemis tells him, "and you're wearing a jacket that's more expensive than one of my textbooks for school."

"It's a book, how expensive can it be?" Robin scrunches his nose up, not understanding the argument she's making. They go to the same school anyway (not that Artemis knows that). It's a textbook. It can't be that expensive. He remembers buying plenty of books with his parents, and his mom always encouraged him to get several at a time. The fact that they were pre-owned and came from a bin had nothing to do with it, obviously. Books are practically free. Artemis is just being annoying.

Artemis just lets out a laugh, shaking her head at him.

"Robbie, dude, my best friend," Wally laughs, sitting down on the couch next to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Who buys your clothes?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Robin whines. When Wally pokes at him and insists he just answer the question, Robin pouts. "Agent A buys them."

"Who goes grocery shopping?"

"Agent A."

"Who pays your school fees?"

"B."

"Who pays for your phone?"

"B."

"Do you actually know how much anything costs?"

Dick blinks behind the dark sunglasses he's wearing, tilting his head at Wally. He looks around and sees how the whole team is staring at him, amusement clear on all their faces, and he frowns at all of them.

"I'm thirteen!" he whines. "I'm not supposed to pay for my own shit! You're all so mean to me!"

He pushes Wally off of him and stomps out of the room, ignoring the way they start laughing and how he hears Artemis mention something about him being spoiled. He's not spoiled. There's no way.

He ends up going back to the batcave, and he finds Bruce sitting at the batcomputer, trying to figure out the link between a recent case and an old one they'd solved months ago. Dick drags his feet the entire way over to him, groaning and whining as he drapes across Bruce's lap dramatically. Bruce just chuckles, patting Dick's back, but letting him have his dramatic moment without interruption. When Dick turns to look at Bruce with a pout on his face, Bruce just raises an eyebrow at him.

"Am I spoiled?"

Bruce chuckles again, a little smile on his face. He pinches one of Dick's cheeks and laughs when Dick whines and swats his hand away.

"Maybe a little bit," Bruce admits. "But it's fine."

"Wally says I have no idea how normal people live."

"That might be true," Bruce says with a shrug, going back to patting Dick's back. "You went from one extreme to the other. But I don't think it's anything to be concerned about."

"The team was being mean to me for it!"

"Meh," Bruce hums, not looking bothered, "fuck 'em then."

Dick snorts, and Bruce looks down to smile at him, then they both look around to make sure Alfred wasn't around to hear Bruce swear. Alfred should still be upstairs preparing dinner. They're in the clear.

"Wally's phone is old and sucks," Dick mutters to Bruce.

"I'll give one to Barry to give him," Bruce says easily.

They're both quiet for a moment, Dick still draped over Bruce's lap, Bruce still looking through old case files. Finally, Dick looks up at Bruce and asks, "B, how much does a banana cost?"

"I dunno," Bruce shrugs. "Ten bucks?"

Dick nods his head. Good, good. They're in agreement. It must be right.

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #young justice #batman #robin

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billloveshushu · 3 days ago

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 02━ 𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

✦∘˚━ ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕟𝕚𝕔 𝔹𝕒𝕥𝕗𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕪 𝕩 𝔹𝕒𝕓𝕪𝕆ℂ.

Previous Chapte✦Next Chapter

∘˚✧˙𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽✦•˚∘

✦( "" ) Thoughts (━) Dialogue✦∘•

English is not my original language, the translation was fone by Google Translate, so sorry for spelling mistakes.

Warning🚨: There will Be another OC in the story.

"I finally have a name!!"

Suyana Martha Wayne.

When she saw Bruce signing his name completing his civil registration with his mother's name, Suyana was very surprised and felt a strange feeling, she felt happy realizing that Bruce, now officially her adoptive father, liked her to the point of putting her deceased mother's name as his surname.

But she realized, it was really happening, she was now the adopted daughter of Bruce Wayne, from Batman the Dark Knight, now she was feeling such a big existential crisis, and she wasn't even a year old!

Also, when she heard Alfred or Bruce say the name Suyana, she felt a good feeling, it was as if it already belonged to her, it was nostalgic. Could this have also been her name in her past life? That would explain this feeling.

Anyway, Suyana gave up on remembering her past life. That night traumatized her in a way she would never forget. The space filled with blood and those overwhelming emotions were like a threatening warning from her own subconscious showing that if she remembered, there would be no turning back. It seems that her past life was not happy at all. Of course, curiosity arose, but she put all that aside.

“As the saying goes, Happy is he who does not know what he is, and unhappy is he who knows what he is … why do I know that? Well, it doesn’t matter.”

Sometimes she forgot that she was just a baby, many times she would find herself playing with her teddy bears or even biting her own foot and would wonder "What the hell am I doing?!"

It was possible to see that he was very tired, even when Alfred appeared to wake him up, he got up without complaining and just adjusted his neck, Suyana knew that Bruce used meditation to control fatigue, muscle pain and even a broken rib just to keep up appearances, but seeing it in person is scary and impressive at the same time.

Bruce asked Alfred to prepare the milk while he got the baby ready. He wanted to spend as much time as possible with Suyana today because last night, at the exact moment Batman arrived at the cave, the Justice League called him to say they had a mission and that they needed him. It was unknown how long this mission would last. Bruce read in an article that young babies, if they don't see their father figure much, end up forgetting about them.

He doesn't want that to happen so he will do everything he can to make this mission go faster, for now he will enjoy this moment with his daughter. Bruce came down the stairs with Suyane in his arms already dressed in a fuzzy jumpsuit, Alfred handed her the bottle and Bruce fed the baby, he watched her cheeks sway as she drank from the bottle like a squirrel.

He couldn't help but kiss her forehead, this was such a normal morning, it wasn't boring, it was more like a calming agent, she was like a calming agent after a chaotic day, no, a chaotic night, his muscles relaxed, leaning his back on the counter and he just looked at her, enjoying the silence of the morning.

Until Alfred enters the kitchen━ Sir, little miss's room is ready.

"What!? Seriously?"

Suyana swung her little feet excitedly, she saw Bruce ask a few more things about the room but decided to ignore it, taking so long to just renovate a baby's room was probably because of this security system, to save her mental health she decided not to know any more about it and just ignore it.

"Ridiculous paranoia, seriously"

Bruce had already noticed that Suyana had already finished her milk and placed the bottle on the counter right after he helped her burp.━They finished faster than I expected, sir. ━Alfred said.

Bruce wiped Suzana's mouth━ But of course, they are competent Alfred, I guarantee that in addition to being safe, the room is beautiful.

"I wonder how it turned out" Suyana wondered, she didn't know what the room looked like even though it was close to Bruce's room, Alfred always stayed away because of the dust, after the dust was gone it was time to decorate the room, Bruce wasn't a man of style and used what was necessary, so he didn't even know where to start.

Normally it was Alfred who did this, but he is already an elderly gentleman, so he can only take care of Suyana because she is quiet and well-behaved, which is worrying, but Dr. Leslie said that it was normal for some babies to behave like this, especially like Suyana.

So Bruce hired an interior designer, a woman who was quite nice, and when she arrived she just told him that she was going to transform the room to be worthy of a princess.

And she actually did it.

Suyana looked at the newly renovated room with wide eyes, the walls were a pastel pink color with flower designs, the floor was padded with a large rug and the furniture around was hand-customized with a beige color and an antique style, and the crib now sat near the window with a large veil made of satin around it.

It really looked like a little princess lived there, Bruce smiled with satisfaction, it was perfect for his little princess.

The princess in question was still perplexed but could not deny that the room was beautiful ━ Isn't it wonderful?━ said the girl smiling at Bruce who immediately activated his Wayne Playboy personality ━ Wonderful, just like you ━ then he kissed her hand leaving the girl blushing while she let out a few laughs, she tried to start more conversation with Bruce Wayne but he interrupted her.

— I would like to enjoy this moment with my daughter, so thank you very much for your service ━ Bruce said, shaking her hand and asked Alfred to take her to the front door.

━ Oh, of course, but if you want, you can call me later ━ She said as she was almost pushed by Alfred to the exit of the room.

Suyana looked at Bruce in amazement. He seemed like a completely different person, outgoing, lively and even seductive. But the moment the girl walked out the door, Bruce returned to normal, the normal that Suyana at least knew. “He could win an Oscar with that.”

Bruce turned his attention to Suyana calmly as if he hadn't changed personality a minute ago ━So Susu, did you like your new room?━ And he kissed her cheek making her let out a sweet baby laugh.

Suyana sometimes felt embarrassed by Bruce's display of affection, it's not every day that she is kissed by Batman himself, and that affectionate nickname 'Susu' came about after a fateful day when Suyana tried to say her name, it was the same day that Bruce signed his name on the documents, but she could only say ━ Su..su. Ha..su ah Susu!.

Bruce found this demonstration so cute that he started calling her Susu, even Alfred called her that sometimes, it's a cute nickname but she felt a little embarrassed remembering it, Suyana remembers that Batman was portrayed as a very cold person and that he didn't show much affection, in fact the bat family in general weren't used to showing affection, Suyana never really understood these dynamics, but seeing him show this affection for her even if sometimes silently still leaves her shocked.

Soon Alfred returned ━ Mr. Bruce, the league called again asking for your presence━ Bruce sighed and nodded indicating that he understood, he handed Suyana to Alfred and stroked her small forehead looking lovingly at her but became serious again and said ━ If I take too long Alfred, show her my photo once a day and make sure she won't forget me.

Alfred raised his eyebrow.━Mr. Bruce, I think you are worried too much.

— Preparation is never enough, you should know that by now Alfred ━ then he looked at Suyana — I'll be back soon.

Then he turned and left the room while Alfred and Suyana looked at him, it didn't even seem like he was going to leave for a Justice League mission, leaving the room normally as if he was going to work, well in some way it was work, Susu could only hope that he would be okay.

"Batman is acting strange" was what Nightwing thought as he looked at Gotham City from atop a building, still dark and melancholic exactly as he remembered, he came here personally to ask Bruce what was going on.

He tried first with Barbara, but even though he insisted, she didn't say anything, the other members also didn't care much when Dick talked about it, he didn't blame them, saying that Batman was acting strange was just another ordinary day, but Nightwing lived long enough with Batman to know a lot about his obsession with Gotham, if he could he would spend the whole night protecting the city, risking himself in every way almost like suicide.

But suddenly he changed, Batman started to be more careful and even avoided getting hurt, and that's not the most shocking part, he started to finish his patrols earlier, his methods of dealing with thieves started to be more brusque, and with villains he started to be more violent, as if he was angry with them for making him late.

At first Nightwing was even happy with this change, a lot of the time he worried about Bruce and his health, and he was irritated by the way Bruce didn't care about it, so he was relieved.

But that was until the Riddler's attack on Gotham.

This made Nightwing finally come here, it wasn't disclosed in the media but Batman literally beat the Riddler, in a way that hit all the fatal points and that would take a while for him to fully recover, so it was obvious, Batman wanted the Riddler to stay out of the plan so as not to get in his way.

Nightwing quickly thought of some plausible reason for Batman to act that way. Could it be that he wanted to focus on a more important mission? That he couldn't be distracted for even a second? A mission that required all of his attention. Would it be the Court of Owls? Or the Joker? It wouldn't be possible, since he's in Arkham Asylum. Would it be to save the world again with the Justice League?

Nightwing didn't know but he wouldn't stay out of it.

He prepared to jump but his body stopped, Nightwing looked down and realized how tall the building was, his vision began to distort and his breathing began to become labored, he only managed to calm down after moving away from the edge of the building.

Nightwing looked down at his trembling feathers, cursed loudly, and pushed his hair back with a sigh. It looked like he was going to have to use the stairs. After several steps down, someone opened the back door of the building, already dressed in his civilian clothes and adjusting his coat. Now without his mask, it was Dick Grayson.

Dick first thought about paying a visit to the mansion instead of going straight to the cave, it had been a while since he had been there, very busy with his duties with the Titans, protecting Bludhaven and he still had his job as a police officer who took a few days off to go to Gotham, and he still has his girlfriend... Dick came out of his thoughts then started his motorcycle and headed towards the mansion.

Driving at high speed, Dick saw the Leon lights of the city center slowly disappearing and giving way to the darkness where he was going. From afar he saw the mansion's gate already opening with automatic technology. Alfred certainly already knew he was coming.

He saw the old butler already standing in front of the mansion's door, Dick got off the motorcycle and went to greet Alfred with a handshake and one of his classic bear hugs ━ Alfred! It's been a while! Is everything okay?

━ Master Dick, I am surprised by your visit━ said Alfred, pulling out of the hug and looking at Dick with a raised eyebrow, blocking the main entrance to the mansion ━ I dare ask, what is your objective, Master Dick.

He sighs with a tired smile.━ Nothing escapes you, does it, Alfred? Well, I came after Bruce.”

Alfred immediately understood what he was saying, knowing that the first Robin must have already noticed Batman's strange changes, so Alfred left the entrance asking Dick to follow him into the mansion.

Right at the entrance, Dick noticed something different, the rooms in the mansion were more reinforced and protected than normal, seeing some sockets using protection, and corners of cabinets or tables with rubberized edges, before he went any deeper, Alfred spoke.

━ I'm sorry to tell you, Master Dick, but Mr. Bruce is not in the mansion at the moment.━ Dick looked at him confused and then asked ━ Where is he then?

━ With the Justice League, they called him for a mission, I can't say when he'll be back.━ Dick regretted Bruce's absence, looked around the room and noticed toys and stuffed animals scattered across the carpet, then a pop sounded in his head.

He pointed to a rattle toy with a trembling hand. ━ Alfred, what is that? ━ The butler sighed when he realized he could no longer distract Dick. ━ I thought the ideal moment would be with Mr. Bruce present, but it seems that is no longer possible.

━ Please Master Dick, come with me and I will explain everything ━ Alfred walked down the hall with Dick following behind him, while he tried not to believe his hypothesis, it was not possible that Bruce had adopted another child, right? He knows that Bruce has a serious problem in leaving his "nest" empty.

But it hasn't even been a month since Damián fought with Bruce and left home and he's already adopted someone else?! Dick thought he had already taken care of this but apparently not. Not that he didn't like being the older brother, but for everyone the family was already complete, everyone was already used to each other and suddenly adding a new member!?

He rubbed his eyebrow and whispered uneasily━ I just hope it's not that much of a problem━ Alfred, who could hear, just sighed, knowing that it would be complicated to deal with Dick like that.

Alfred stopped at a door and opened it, signaling for Dick to enter first. He looked at the room in shock, seeing that there was no child but a crib wrapped in a thin fabric. He pushed the fabric aside with his hand and stared in a daze at the little baby who was sleeping peacefully.

He turned sharply to Alfred ━ A baby!?

Alfred quickly told him to speak more quietly,━Master Dick! I understand your fear, but there's no point in shouting and waking the child.

Dick sighed even more with his hands on his face━ I know, I'm sorry... ━ and looked at the baby again, she was a cute baby, with plump, rosy cheeks and reddish hair, he realized now that her appearance is quite peculiar.

But now he couldn't focus on her cuteness, all he could think about was the reaction of the other family members. Would it be a problem if she was a new child, but a baby!? ━ How many people know about her? ━ Dick asked Alfred━ Only four people, Mr. Bruce, Barbara, me and you.

Dick took a deep breath and looked around the room━ We were hoping to announce it at family dinner but something unexpected happened━ Alfred said looking at Dick.

━ OK ok, I'm sorry for showing up by surprise... ━ He put his hands on his face and sighed, Dick calmer looked carefully at the room, it was beautiful and cute, with the flower details and pastel colors, it was even out of place from the rest of the mansion that had a colder and more rustic appearance, looking like a castle from ancient times.

They were silent for a minute until Dick spoke━ Damián won't be happy about this... And Jason? I don't even want to think about his reaction━ Dick could only think about that now, he didn't want to admit it but he came here thinking about finding an adventure or a mission to distract himself from his own problems but now he found even more problems.

His sudden fear of heights gets in the way of his daily patrols and missions, and many times the bandits take advantage of this to escape, and this happened more than once, Dick has never felt so incompetent in his life.

He still had his girlfriend Shawn Tsang, a beautiful, cool and intelligent girl and Dick is an idiot who doesn't know how to value her, because of his busy schedule he can't give her the attention she deserves and she gets very uncomfortable with it, sometimes she even thinks that Dick was cheating on her. Now "running away" like this, it really seems like he cheated on her.

Alfred, seeing Dick sink even deeper into his thoughts, decided to intervene by placing his hand on his shoulder, attracting his attention━ Master Dick, calm down, I know it seems like an irresponsible decision but it's not.

━Master Bruce thought a lot about it, so much so that only after a month he decided to adopt her━ Alfred said calming the situation, Dick turned and nodded that he understood, even with his problems he shouldn't blame an innocent baby for this━ You're right Alfred, I'm sorry for... acting like this.

The butler smiled satisfied with the answer, he suggested leaving the room so as not to wake the baby and talk better, before leaving Dick decided to look again at his new "little sister" but was surprised ━ Hmm, Alfred... I think she's already awake ━ He said pointing to the crib where the baby was staring at him, as if he had found a treasure, Her little eyes shone as she looked at him, it kind of scared him, it seemed like she knew who he was, but she kind of really knew.

"Oh my god! Oh my god!! Is that Dick Grayson!!?? Nightwing!!??"

The little baby was waving her arms towards Dick, who didn't know what to do with her excitement, and he is considered the most lively and sociable of the family. Alfred came to the rescue, taking the little one in his arms.━It seems she's already woken up...━ He said, caressing her little forehead. Even though he wasn't smiling, you could see the affection in his eyes.

Dick just looked surprised, because it was one of the few times he saw Alfred being affectionate and delicate with someone, and also with the butler in front of her, the baby tried to look at him again. Seeing how the baby was distressed trying to look at the stranger, Alfred turned to introduce them formally.

━Master Dick, I present to you little Miss Suyana━ He showed the baby, pulling away the cloth and making the light illuminate her little face, looking now with the light reflecting her red hair looking like fire and her light brown eyes, Dick thought━ She's so cute...━ Right, he was weak with children.

Alfred offered to hold Suzanne but because of his nervousness Dick was afraid of dropping her so he refused, he just got closer to her face and watched as the baby looked at him without even blinking, which was a little strange. But who could blame her? One of DC's most beloved characters was in front of her, Suzanne had to act like a strange fan, maybe that's one of the reasons why Bruce was so distant in the beginning, every time he passed by Suzanne would stare at him, like she's doing now.

"Wow! He's so handsome, Bruce is also that handsome! Is Dick really adopted? It seems like beauty is genetic!"

━Is she that quiet?━ Dick asked, worried about her silence. Alfred nodded. ━It seems that Susu is like that with new people.

━Susu? Is that her nickname? How cute! ━ Alfred apologized, embarrassed by his carelessness, Dick smiled impressed, usually Alfred ensured his education to the extreme, always calling them master, sir, boss and miss, for him to hesitate and call them by their nickname he must be quite used to her.

━And I thought I was the only one who created nicknames in this family━Dick tried to lift his face but Suyana stopped him by placing her little hand on his nose, wanting to look even more at his face, his eyes widened but then he laughed and held the little hand and was impressed by how soft it was, so he decided━I'll stay here for a few days, to get to know Susu better and also help with the patrols while B is away, who stayed to take care of Gotham?

━ Miss Kate, but any help is welcome ━ Alfred said, noticing that Dick was relieved to know he had some to do here. The butler sighed seeing the resemblance between father and son.

If she spent a week with Dick at the mansion, he is exactly as Suyana imagined, a ball of joy, always smiling and making lame jokes, helping Alfred whenever he could and taking part in the patrols at night, and with her he played the role of older brother.

But to Suyana, it seemed so superficial.

Maybe it wasn't with others, but with her it was. Every time they were in the same room, you could see that he felt uncomfortable around her, and he hid it with laughter and jokes and soon found a reason to leave.

━ Sorry Alfred, I have to go━ Dick said, adjusting his coat━ But already sir? You won't be staying for lunch?━ Dick made a sad face━ Sorry, it's urgent.

Alfred sighed but agreed that he understood ━ But wasn't it saying goodbye to the little one too? ━ Dick looked apprehensively at Suyana who was lying on the couch looking at him.

━ Sorry, it's urgent━ He looked away and closed the door, Suyana lowered her head a little sadly, now he was avoiding her, at least in the beginning Dick talked to her, maybe it was also her fault. Dick tried to join in with common baby games, but Suyana simply didn't react and just looked at him, it was even comical to see Dick making a thousand faces and trying to make the baby laugh, in the end he was a little embarrassed and didn't know how to interact with Suyana.

Suyana scolded herself for not acting like a normal baby at that moment, but it can't be just that, Dick must be dealing with a lot of things and she is a problem he doesn't want to deal with right now.

In some way this could be a preview of what the other members of the family will be like, the baby was reassured thinking that Bruce and Alfred's affection was enough, but a part of her was still saddened thinking about the possibility that Dick and the others wouldn't like her.

"In the life they lead, perhaps I am a misfortune"

For the first time Susu wanted Bruce to be there.

At the North Pole at that exact moment, in a cave camouflaged by the blizzard, a hand covered in a black glove pressed a remote control signaling that he was at the vigil point, Batman sighed tiredly and felt the cold even with his suit having heating technology.

He looked at the mountain with some indignation. The Justice League had been investigating Lex Luthor because he had been acting suspicious lately, until we found out that he had made an alliance with one of Wonder Woman's villains, so it was obvious what they planned to do, combine magic with LexCorp's technology.

That's why Batman is now investigating a "mountain", which is actually a secret laboratory, and the current job is to find out what they are planning, silently and without attracting attention, it would be very easy for Batman if it weren't for... ━ That's it, mate!

By Green Arrow, Batman sighed tiredly and turned to greet his companion on this mission━ Have you done your part?

━ Straight to the point, isn't it? But yes, I managed to shoot the target, now we just need to wait for the signal━ Oliver sat on the cold floor tiredly while Batman checked his batcave communicator once again and saw that there were no messages because of the bad signal, he hit the wall angrily.

It had been a week since Batman had been on this mission trying to find out what Luthor was planning and putting up with Green Arrow's irritating presence. During these days, he was always worrying or thinking about Suyana, which was new to him. This feeling of worry never occurred with his other children, as he calmed down thinking that they could manage on their own.

But Suyana is different.

At first her concern was calmed by Alfred's daily updates, reporting how she was, but when she arrived at the North Pole, to be more exact near this "mountain", the signal suddenly dropped, there are few things that make the signal of your technologies drop, something was happening and it is strong enough to block all local communications

Batman looked at the last message sent by Alfred which had a picture of Suyana sleeping with a stuffed animal and this gave him a small, unnoticed smile. Deep in the cave, Green Arrow looked curiously at Batman's actions. Somehow he felt a similarity in these behaviors, because he had also gone through this phase with his son.

━ What are you looking at there?━ Batman quickly hid the communicator and returned to his cold countenance━ Nothing of interest to you━ Green Arrow raised his arms in surrender━ Hey, calm down! I was just curious.

Batman raised his eyebrow in question━ What do you want to know?━ Oliver rolled his eyes at his old friend's distrust━ I just noticed that you've been acting strange on this whole mission, more rushed and irritated.

━ Are you saying I'm getting in the way of the mission? Green Arrow.

━ What!? No B! I'm just expressing my concern... as an old friend ━ After he said that, Bruce realized that Oliver wanted to talk as old friends rather than coworkers, he sighed knowing that he would probably regret it in the future ━ It's okay, I'm just in my head somewhere else.

━I know, look how you're not easy to open up to, let's do it like this, I'll tell you my concern at the moment and then you tell me yours, huh? ━ He smiled sideways, as if he had been very intelligent ━So it would be more of an exchange of information than a conversation, don't you think? ━ Before Batman could refuse this idiocy, Green Arrow spoke.

━ I'm worried about my wife taking care of our son alone. ━ Batman stopped immediately and looked at Oliver in surprise, who was smiling, knowing what he was thinking. Bruce knew that Oliver and Dinah had been married for a long time, he even attended the wedding, but he didn't know they had a son. ━ How did you two have a son? If I don't even find out... That year Black Canary spent recovering.

Years ago, Black Canary was seriously injured in a Justice League battle, so she spent a year away recovering with Oliver, who refused to leave her side. It was probably around this time that Dinah got pregnant. ━Yes, it was that year that she found out she was pregnant. At that time, the Justice League wasn't as united as it is today, so we planned to pretend she was injured, and that helped the pregnancy go unnoticed.

Green Arrow took a small photo that Batman couldn't see━ After that, everything changed... that child became our lives Batman━ He caressed the photo with a smile, then Batman asked━ Why did you tell me now? If you hid this until today, then you want this child to grow up away from the life of heroes, away from danger.

━ Because I noticed that you're like that too ━ Green Arrow pointed his finger at him mockingly ━ Anxious, irritated, worried and even checking your communicator all the time or just... simply upset that you're not there ━ Batman remained silent until he simply sat down next to him with a frown on his face.

The two remained silent until the bat spoke ━ She's still just a baby, small and fragile, how can I not worry?━ Oliver laughed again but without mockery━ You won't, you'll always be worried.

Oliver turned his head and asked ━ So you adopted another child?━ Bruce nodded ━ But I met her not in a good way.━ He still remembers, the intense fire and the blood on the floor, but he mainly regrets how he acted around Suyana in the beginning━ And are you going to tell how it was?━ Oliver asked but Batman remained silent ━ OK ok, I understand.

━ You know, I want my boy to grow up as a normal child, happy and without any worries, look how happy he was to get a dog ━ Green Arrow finally showed the photo he was carrying, revealing a boy of approximately four years old, smiling with the Siberian husky puppy in his arms, he had blond hair and green eyes just like Oliver's ━ Isn't he very cute? ━ Oliver asked proudly.

He doesn't know if it was out of pride or mere competition, Bruce secretly showed Suyana's photo in the statement and simply said: ━ She's cuter ━ Oliver was so shocked by Batman's childish demonstration that he started laughing a lot ━ Hahahahaha! Ha... but I disagree, mine is cuter, although yours is too.

Batman growled in anger and threw a Batarang at Green Arrow who dodged it, soon preparing himself with the fighting stance and catching one of his arrows ━ Wow!, are you seriously going to fight me just because you don't admit that your daughter is cuter?!━ Batman responded by catching another Batarang with a more irritated face than usual━ If you want to see this situation that way, then yes.

Green Arrow became even more irritated by Batman's shameless attitude and launched an arrow in his direction which he managed to dodge━ The loser will admit that the winner's son is cuter, closed? ━ Batman didn't respond but he moved forward and at the same time Oliver did too.

Just as the two idiots were about to fight over their disagreement over their children's cuteness, suddenly the ground shook and a blinding light appeared behind the two, the mountain had exploded ━ What!!??━ the two looked in shock at the mountain that was previously covered in snow, was now full of flames, the League's communicator started working again and Wonder Woman's urgent voice came out ━ Batman! Green arrow! An accident occurred and the machine exploded! Luthor is missing and the other is dead.

━ How did this happen!?━ Green Arrow shouted, and Wonder Woman replied ━ We don't know!! The explosion happened out of nowhere!

Batman analyzed the mountain and said ━ Hun, Wonder Woman, focus on saving as many people as possible from the facility. I'll summon Superman immediately to help, in the meantime, let's capture Luthor. ━ Batman hung up the call with Diana's statement, then with just a nod the two immediately started running towards the smoke.

Continued...

OH PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!!!😫 I know it took me a long time to release the new chapter, and I apologize for that, most of the time was spent on this ending, if you didn't notice the new OC is Green Arrow's son with Black Canary. I don't know if they have children in the current comics but I haven't found any so far so if they do... apologies, but I did this because I wanted to highlight Bruce and Olive's friendship and them sharing something in common as old friends, I don't see that much lately in the comics. And I'll try to do the next chapter faster, I even bought a notebook just to write in at school!! The next one will be Suyana conquering her brother! I swear.（；´д｀）ゞ

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