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deliciousangelfestival · 2 days

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Nothing Has Changed - 5

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader, Ransom Drysdale x F!Reader

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Chp 1, Chp 2 , Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , -

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

You left Bucky dumbfounded after you tried to hit him. You were so angry after hearing that you got fired and lashed out at him.

If he wants to report you, so be it. You don’t care. You have lost everything. You’ve got nothing to lose.

You went to see your dad, who was arranging flowers for the next family.

“Dad, I’m going back to the city today,” you said, your voice tight.

“What’s the result?” Tom asked, remembering today was the day for the investigation results.

You rubbed your nose with your finger and cleared your throat, trying to hold back tears. “They let me go, but I got fired instead. But hey, at least I got my money back.” Your bank account had been unlocked by the judge, and you wanted to go back to the city to get all your stuff and sell your penthouse.

Tom looked concerned. “You want me to go with you?”

You shook your head. “No. I will come back after two days.”

“I’ll drive you to the station,” Tom offered, his voice filled with worry.

You headed back to the car and noticed Bucky wasn’t there anymore. As you drove to the station, the silence between you and your dad was heavy with unspoken words.

When you arrived at the station, you saw Natasha again. She looked at you with a mixture of curiosity and jealousy. “You’re using the train? Why didn’t you use the car that Bucky gave you?” She felt bitter since Bucky never offered her his car, yet you, who had just come back, could use it.

You knew from her tone that she was jealous. You just said, “It’s too slow.”

Natasha scoffed, “Yeah right.” Then she left.

You rolled your eyes; she hadn’t changed at all.

******

You arrived back in the city. Once, you thought this place would be your home. Now, you just wanted to leave it behind.

You didn’t want to set foot in the company again. You told your secretary to throw away all your stuff. Besides, there was nothing important. You had already secured everything in your safe deposit box. That’s why you had to clear your name to get access to your bank account back.

Early the next morning, you went to the bank. All you needed was the pen drive. It held all the leverage you might need. If someone tried to put you in a bad spot, this would be your last resort.

As you entered the bank, you felt a sense of relief mixed with determination. You approached the safe deposit boxes and signed the necessary forms. The pen drive felt heavy in your hand, despite its small size. It contained all the proof of strange transactions and could clear your name or take down those who had wronged you.

After securing the pen drive, you took a moment to breathe. Once a place of dreams and ambition, the city felt like a battlefield you had barely escaped.

After that, you got into the taxi to go back to your condo. As the car stopped at a red light, you saw the tall building—the headquarters owned by the Drysdale family.

You used to come here every morning, even sleeping in your office sometimes. But now, it was all in the past.

It still left a bitter taste in your mouth. After everything you did, they just threw you away. You wondered who would replace you since you knew your skills were unparalleled. No one could match you.

What made you so upset was Ransom. Until now, he hadn’t replied to a single message or email you’d sent him.

To be honest, you saw it coming. The friendship between you two had long since deteriorated. There was a time you liked him, but those feelings vanished after overhearing a conversation at a party where Ransom talked with his friends.

One of his friends had asked, “What’s up with you and her? We’ve noticed you two have been spending a lot of time together.”

Ransom scoffed, sipping his whiskey. “Nothing. I only see her as numbers. She’s the key to making me lead the company.”

“Wow,” his friend had replied, impressed.

You were heartbroken when you heard that. But part of you had expected it, knowing that Ransom was out of your league.

You arrived at your condominium and began packing. You had once thought your life was sad because your place was so empty. But now, you were grateful since it meant you could move out quickly.

You gathered everything into your luggage and boxes.

'Ding.Dong'

Then you heard the doorbell. You wondered who it could be. Besides your assistant, Ransom was the only other person who ever came to your place. Could it be him? But he never replied to any of your texts.

You looked at the camera by the door and saw Ransom on the screen. He looked a mess.

Your heart skipped a beat, a mix of anger and confusion bubbling up. You hesitated for a moment before opening the door. Ransom stood there, disheveled, his eyes hollow and tired.

You were confused. Should you open the door or not? On the other hand, you needed answers too.

Holding back your anger, you opened the door. Ransom was taken aback. He didn’t seem to expect you would actually open the door for him.

You stood behind the door, opened your arms as if welcoming him, and said, “You owe me an explanation.”

Ransom, hesitating for a moment, put his hands into his coat pockets and walked into your condo. He noticed the luggage and boxes scattered around the living room.

“You're leaving,” he observed.

Ransom scratched his head, frustration evident, then put his hand on his waist and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You gave him a stern look. “Why are you upset? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

He turned to face you, his eyes red and tired. “It's for the best.”

You scoffed, incredulous. “That's it? After years together, you just throw me away like that?”

You pointed your finger at him, anger boiling over. “I knew it was you who framed me for insider trading.”

Ransom walked past you, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. He drank slowly, as if buying time to gather his thoughts. Finally, he opened his arms and leaned against the marble counter. “It's more complicated than you think.”

You crossed your arms tightly. “I'm not in the mood to solve a puzzle.”

Ransom sighed. “Three days before the FBI raided your office, my family heard Harlan’s will.”

After Harlan’s funeral, his will wasn’t read immediately. It was his last request to delay the reading.

“What’s that got to do with me?” you demanded.

Ransom’s eyes bore into yours. “Because Harlan chose you!”

You felt like the ground had been pulled out from under you. “Me?” you gasped, speechless. Now, it all made sense—why none of the Drysdales were willing to help you. They were angry, feeling like you had stolen their birthright.

“It was my mom and her siblings who contacted the FBI and got you fired,” Ransom admitted.

“And where were you?” you yelled, hugging yourself tightly. “You’re no different from them! You left me alone.”

Ransom took a step closer, placing his hands on your shoulders gently. “I was captured.”

You raised your head, eyes wide with disbelief. “Really?”

He nodded, his expression sincere. “They let me out after they finally got what they wanted.”

"For you to get fired," Ransom began, his tone sympathetic as he addressed the issue.

“Why? I also didn't know that Harlan chose me. If you had asked me, I would have refused it,” you expressed, your voice tinged with disbelief and frustration as you crossed your arms tightly, your body language mirroring your inner turmoil. Your brow furrowed, and your shoulders tensed as you spoke, emphasizing the weight of your words.

“I know. That's what I told them,” Ransom replied, pulling you into a hug, his embrace offering both comfort and reassurance as he wrapped his arms around you securely. You stiffened momentarily in surprise at his gesture before relaxing into the embrace, your body melting into his as you allowed yourself to be comforted.

“Their plan backfired though,” Ransom continued, a wry smile playing on his lips as he spoke, his eyes reflecting a mix of amusement and exasperation at the situation.

“Huh?” you responded, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, your body tense with anticipation as you awaited his explanation. Your arms remained crossed tightly over your chest, a defensive stance reflecting your skepticism.

“The employees made a petition for you to come back,” Ransom revealed, his tone tinged with amusement at the irony of the situation, his hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke.

You were left speechless, the news catching you off guard. You had always kept to yourself at work, never realizing your impact on your colleagues, your eyes widening in surprise as you processed his words.

Ransom chuckled softly. “You're the reason why we got triple profits and they got bonuses. Why would they want to lose you?” he remarked, admiration evident in his voice, his gaze locked on yours with a mixture of fondness and respect. You offered a small, hesitant smile in response, your body language softening as his words sank in.

For the last few years, the projects that you and your team worked on have consistently generated significant profits, earning you the respect and appreciation of your colleagues, a sense of pride swelling within you as you recall your past achievements.

You nodded slowly, a sense of validation washing over you as you acknowledged the impact of your work.

“And I'm here to tell you that you're not fired,” Ransom declared, his words carrying a sense of relief and sincerity, his eyes searching yours for any sign of acceptance or understanding.

You were supposed to be happy when you heard that, but with your father's condition, you had second thoughts.

You pushed Ransom away, whispering, “I'm sorry.”

Ransom looked puzzled. “What?”

You struggled to explain, “The reason why I said no is because of my dad. He's got cancer.” And you're still hurt by the betrayal from the company you've worked for a long time.

Ransom's eyes widened. “You went back home and met your dad?”

You nodded your head.

Ransom couldn't believe this. He had never heard you mention your dad until now, and it was the first time he saw you being vulnerable.

“Alright. I can't stop you,” Ransom said resignedly. He knew you had to go, but he was going to miss you. It would be difficult to find a talented person like you.

“Wait. Does it mean you've met the people who made your life miserable?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“You should show them the new you,” Ransom suggested. Having attended the same high school, he had witnessed what they did to you.

You looked at Ransom, considering his words. It was strange hearing him advise you like this, given your complicated history. But there was a sincerity in his voice that made you pause.

“Maybe,” you mumbled, still uncertain.

Ransom nodded, his expression softening. “They don't know what they're missing out on. You've grown stronger, more resilient.”

You managed a weak smile, appreciating his attempt to boost your spirits. Despite everything, there was a flicker of gratitude for his unexpected support.

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Only if you feel like it!

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cowgurrrl · 2 days

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Strangers

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader (cowgirl!reader???)

Author’s note: goddammit is this gonna be a thing

Summary: Javi struggles to assimilate back into civilian life in Texas until an old friend returns [1.5k]

Warnings: Texas Javi my beloved, language, addictive tendencies, PTSD symptoms, Javi + Steve 4eva, reader has a brother, southernisms, pining, yeah there’s probably gonna be a part two 🙄

Javi really did try his best to leave Colombia and the ghosts that pricked at his memory every time he turned a familiar corner. He wanted to do better. He felt he had to. Too many people died for him to just throw away his chance at life, but the days were long and hot, and he was so fucking tired. The nicotine patches stopped working, and the bottle suddenly wasn't enough to convince himself he was doing what he was sent to do. That he was doing the right thing. That he was a good person.

He expected the feeling to leave him once he left the imaginary borders of Colombia and returned to the northern valley. He thought working with his dad and getting his feet back under him after years of being pushed and pulled at Reagan's whim would feel better than shaking down teenagers for narco information. Of course, it didn't disappear in the cacti and hazy horizons of Loredo or the arms of his father. It's only been a couple of hours, Peña, he thought. Give it some time. Who knows? Blistering Texas sunsets might be good for burning the blood off his hands.

Except everybody in his small town knew of his exploits in Latin America. They knew his name was plastered to boxes full of evidence against the cartel and then some. They knew Chucho's boy was some kind of fucked up veteran or hero or whatever they wanted to call him. He avoided going into town more than necessary when he first got home because of how often he got stopped. It didn't matter if he was going to the hardware store, HEB, or the mechanic. Somebody ended up talking to him about Escobar or Cali. He couldn't escape his past even thousands of miles away from it. The only good thing about his newfound fame was the free drinks people pushed his way in the shit hole bar just on the outskirts of town.

He tells himself to slow down, what with the early mornings and long days he's working, but it'd be a dick move to turn down free drinks, right? Sometimes, Javi loses hours in the bar, betting money on pool, flirting with women passing through town, and telling war stories of the jungle and sicarios and whatever else comes spilling out of his loose lips. He tells himself he's coping the best way he knows how when he comes down for breakfast looking and feeling like shit, his hair practically wet from lingering cigarette smoke, but he knows better.

His dad deals with Javi's vices the same way they dealt with his mother's death: inefficiently and without making a sound. The most Chucho does is shake his head and sigh when Javi comes stumbling in at some ungodly hour. What more could he do? Javi barely told his dad where he was in the world. How was he supposed to tell him what he'd done? What he saw? What he allowed? No, his dad can never know. It'll kill him. It'll kill Javi to retell.

Sometimes, Javi will call Steve and ask about Connie and the kids, and they'll act like they're old school buddies and not tethered together through tragedy and white powder. Steve will ask him about his sleep, and Javi will give some bullshit answer which makes Steve laugh. "Yeah, me too," he says one time. "Woke the baby up the other night 'cause I was talkin' again. Don't even know what about. Isn't that fun?" Javi doesn't give much away. He never does, but sometimes, it's just nice to know he's not alone in his struggle to get back to normal.

Javi is back in town for a full forty days before he finally stumbles across you. At first, he doesn't remember you or your first name. Your last name, however, rattles around his skull until he finally gets the courage to ask if he knows you as he stands in line at the store. "You look familiar." He says, making you laugh.

"I'd hope so. You were practically livin' in my house in high school." You say, throwing him back to his high school baseball days, spending time either in the field or on the ranch with your older brother. You were a little bit younger than him— the daughter of a weathered cattle rancher— and only caught his attention when you were in the way or being an obnoxious teenager. Man, did you grow up pretty, he thinks. Suddenly, he's hyperaware of his sweaty hair, rumpled shirt, and god-awful farmer's tan.

"Last I heard, you'd moved out of town," Javi says, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing you carefully. The freckles dotting your face from all your time in the sun should be considered lethal, especially when you smile.

"Last I heard, you were engaged." Just as you did then, you don't hold your punches. The jab doesn't hurt, but it does make him laugh, an embarrassed blush crawling up his neck.

"Alright, you got me there," he says. "How's your brother?"

"Good. Married Suzanna a few years ago, and now they've got some babies running around."

"They live around here?"

"Dallas," you say. "Dillon thinks he's too good for us and decided to be a real estate agent out there instead."

"Sounds riveting," Javi says and you laugh. The line gets shorter and shorter as you talk, but he can't focus on anything but you. "And you? What's a pretty girl like you still doing in this shit hole?" Something behind your eyes flickers at the comment and you take a deep breath, suddenly all too aware of how hot it is today.

"Somebody's gotta get Daddy off the horse every once in a while."

"And what? Your mama can't do that for you?"

"She knows better than to keep tryin'. I'm just as stubborn as he is, so one of us'll win or give up before the other."

"Well, my money's on you." He says easily. You stare at each other for a little bit longer than necessary before the clerk calls you by name to get your attention. Your items are scanned, bagged, and paid for all in the span of a few seconds. You have no reason to linger in the checkout aisle, but you do, rocking on your boots' heels just a little.

"Don't be a stranger, Peña." You say, looking him over as if you're seeing him for the first time.

"I don't think this town's big enough for that." He says, and you chuckle.

"No, I don't think so either," you say. "Tell your dad I said hi." With all your Southern hospitality, you turn and leave. Javi watches you go until the clerk calls his name and breaks him out of it. Well, that and the sound of something crashing to the floor makes him reach for a gun he doesn't carry anymore. His shoulders brace for an explosion, and he can't catch his breath. He stares at the box and the broken jars in it as a pissed-off employee storms off to find a broom. He scoffs.

Javi has dealt with some of the most dangerous people in the world, and jams are what spike his adrenaline.

He tries to shrug it off and pay the cashier, but his ears are still ringing, and his heart is still racing when he climbs back into his truck. Fucking jam. He tries to forget about it as he drives home. He wants to forget about it. He wants to think of anything else.

If that happens to be your smile, the way your laugh fills the air, or the inconspicuous way you looked at him when he complimented you, it's just a coincidence.

When he gets home, he's craving a drink or a cigarette or something more physical to get his mind off of what happened. His shoulders slump with the weight of memory and Chucho sees. He always sees. He just doesn't know the right way to fix it.

"Y'know, uh… your friend you used to play baseball with?" He asks, seemingly out of nowhere, as Javi puts away the groceries. He furrows his brows and gives his dad a confused look.

"I had lots of friends I played baseball with."

"He was datin' that girl you went to Homecoming with when you were a freshman?" Of all the things his dad remembers, of course, it's that. Javi resists the urge to roll his eyes and grinds his teeth instead.

"Suzanna?" He asks and Chucho snaps his fingers in a way that tells him that was the right answer. "His name was Dillion. What about him?"

"Well, his dad heard you're back in town and invited us over for a barbecue," he says nonchalantly and Javi scoffs. "I'm not sure how he didn't know, but you know that old fucker's always out doin' something. Somebody probably told him something or the other. Anyway, you can say no. I told him you were still adjustin'."

"I'll go," Javi agrees too fast. "Might be good to… get outta the house. Wouldn't wanna be a stranger." Chucho is surprised but not displeased with Javi's answer, and they leave it as is.

It's just reintegrating into civilian life. It's just socializing. It's just a barbecue. It's not an interrogation or a raid. It's coping.

Apparently, coping could be really fun if he plays his cards right.

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 1 day

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Sea salt and freedom

Words: 1,385 [also on AO3]

Rated: M

Tags: Fantasy AU; Dragon Eddie Munson; King Steve Harrington; Soul bond; Mates; Implied sexual content; Monsterfucker Steve Harrington; They're in love, your honor

Notes: @house-of-the-moving-image said give me Upside Diner or Hic sunt dracones verse for my birthday, and I said why not both? Here's your surprise second ficlet, enjoy! 🐉💕

“Is this really necessary?” Steve asks as his dragon slips his favorite piece of silk over his eyes. He tries to go for annoyed, but can't quite keep the giddy laugh out of his voice. Hasn't been able to ever since they left the castle for their little get-away. “Or is this another weird sex thing of yours?”

Eddie hums in mock-thought, a deep rumbly sound that floats through the fuzzy darkness behind the blindfold and tingles all the way down Steve’s spine, in his soul. His hands tie off the knot at the base of Steve’s neck, then go on to toy with his hair. His breath tickles the shell of Steve’s ear as he speaks.

“What a question, beloved. You know how much I enjoy making you squirm.” As if to prove his point, he nips at the junction of Steve’s neck and shoulder, chuckling at the shiver and sharp intake of breath it gets him. “But also, you'd be able to see it once we're over those mountaintops, and I don't want you to just yet. Wanna look at your face when you do. So be good and wear this for me, yes?”

Steve swallows the moan that's building in his chest, even though it's difficult with Eddie peppering his neck and jaw in bites and kisses.

“Is this even safe? Doesn't sound like the best idea, riding you blindfolded.”

“Oh, but it isn't far now, my pretty. And besides, you've ridden me plenty of times,” Eddie replies, and Steve can practically hear the suggestive brow wiggle. He rolls his eyes behind the blindfold. “You'll just need to rely on your other senses and trust me to keep you safe. You can do that, can't you?”

Steve melts into Eddie’s touch as he is turned and pulled into a kiss, and forgets to reply. He doesn’t need to. They both know that trusting each other comes as naturally as breathing.

It's the weirdest feeling, flying blind, but it works surprisingly well. What he lacks in sight, the rest of his senses seem determined to make up for. Suddenly, he's hyper-aware of his dragon’s body under his, the way those strong muscles move. They announce every swerve and change in course before it actually comes, allowing him to adjust his weight in turn. Where his regular, human senses don't suffice, the soul bond fills in flawlessly, like a safety line tethering him to his mate's body and mind.

The sensation is strange and thrilling and exhilarating. He thought he knew how much in tune they are - Eddie’s body and soul as familiar as his own. But this? It's like the lines between their very beings are blurring into each other. It’s strange and beautiful all at once, and it makes him wonder what else they could do with the blindfold on. His dragon purrs, and the invisible connection thrums with it - the familiar, wordless Mine. Steve smiles, pressing himself closer to his mate's body so that he can kiss the warm scales. Yours. Always.

The roughest part is getting off his dragon’s back, actually. They land with barely a sound and he descends with practiced ease - but the ground is all soft and weird. He wobbles and makes a startled, undignified sound, and the only thing that saves him from landing square on his ass is Sweetheart’s giant head shoving itself into his space to steady him.

"What the fuck?” Steve mutters while the body next to his shifts and his dragon's laughter turns human. “Warn a guy!”

“But where would the fun be in that?” Eddie quips. Steve can feel how he drapes himself around him - arms around his waist, tail circling his legs, wings enveloping the both of them. “Didn't wanna give anything away.”

He trails off, letting the silence linger between them.

Except it isn't silent. Instead, there's a million and one strange sounds. The rush of wind catching on cliffs. The rustle of dry grass. The shrieks of unfamiliar birds in the distance.

Water.

Gurgling, lapping, murmuring all around them, mingling with the other sounds, filling all of his senses. He can feel it in the very air, can feel the spray of it settle on his skin, in his hair. He gulps and licks his lips and they taste like salt.

“Eddie,” he breathes. His voice comes out hoarse and shaky, but he doesn’t find it in himself to feel embarrassed. Knows he doesn't have anything to feel embarrassed about anything when it's just the two of them. “Eddie, let me see.”

He only realizes that his hands have flown up to tear at the blindfold when Eddie’s settle on top of them, gently prying them away.

“Of course, my king. Allow me,” his dragon rumbles, kissing his knuckles. Then, he drops Steve’s hands and reaches for the blindfold.

The knot slips open. The silk falls away.

And for the first time in his life, Steve sees the ocean.

At first, he thinks he must be dreaming, because there's just no way this much water is real. He's heard stories of it, of course, has imagined it a thousand times over. But then again, he had heard plenty of stories about dragons, and none of them ever came close to the real thing.

For a long while, he just stands and stares, not knowing where to look first. The sunlight catching on the water, creating rippling patterns of light? The waves, crowned with white seafoam, lapping at their feet in a weirdly hypnotic dance, leaving dark imprints on the sand in their wake? The way the sea and the sky melt into each other on the horizon, so much like their souls?

He thinks he could look at all of this forever and never get tired of it.

“Well?” Eddie asks. His smile is large and eager, and a little smug. His tail twitches excitedly where it's curling around their ankles. “Do you like it? Because I'm trying to pick up what you're thinking, but all I'm getting is that weird, fuzzy-”

He doesn't get any further, because Steve whirls around, grabbing his face in both hands and crashing their lips together, and his words trail off into a pleasantly surprised oomph. The suddenness of the assault tips their balance, and before Steve knows it, they're going down in a heap on the sandy ground. A particularly large wave sloshes over them, wet and foamy and cold. Steve shrieks and laughs all at once. Eddie hisses - much like Dustin’s cat that one time Joyce accidentally emptied a bucket full of dishwater over its head - and glowers at him in affront, but that only makes matters worse. Steve erupts in a fresh round of cackles that only quieten when Eddie seals their lips together and licks them right out of his mouth.

He doesn't quite know how long they stay like this, but it must be a while, judging by the way his clothes are drenched in salty water and his stomach hurts from laughing and his head is dizzy from all the kissing.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmurs against Eddie’s lips, fingers carding through wet curls to find the base of the horns. His dragon’s pupils blow wide, the gold around them swirling and glowing with desire. The bond thrums with it and Steve feels the familiar heat pool at the base of his own spine. “Do you … Do you think I can go for a swim?”

Eddie huffs a laugh.

“You and the water. I swear you must’ve been a little merman in some other life.” His hands have pushed up Steve’s soaked shirt, fingers drawing patterns on the naked skin. “Of course you can, just don’t expect me to join. I’ll stay on land where it’s nice and dry and enjoy the sight.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Steve grins and surges up for another kiss. It tastes like sea salt and freedom. “You can warm me back up once I’m done. Maybe we could … go for another ride with the blindfold?”

The bond crackles with desire, like a firework of tiny sparks. Eddie hums, low and pleased, and maneuvers Steve into a sitting position so that he can pull the wet shirt over his head.

“Now that, my liege, would be my greatest pleasure.”

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #hic sunt dracones #stmonstermay

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grandline-fics · 1 day

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Hi hi! I wanted for so long request for crocodile but I wasn’t sure at all if you wrote for him! Thankfully you made a fic with him so I have confirmation now ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

What about a fic with crocodile of course with a reader who’s smart but very dumb about love and don’t get all the hints he gave to her. Like he tries to seduce her and she’s too innocent stupid for take the hints? Like he takes her to diner and else and she still saw him as a good friend? Or partner of crime. Either at the end she falls for him or either crocodile falls in friendzone as you want, up to you 🙌

DESCRIPTION: You’re completely oblivious to the obvious

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Crocodile

WORDS: 954

A/N: Thank you so much for this request. I hope you like what I was finally able to come up with for this.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST | PROMPT LIST

———————

Crocodile had no time for stupidity or anything that could be considered a case of his time and you were certainly worthy of his attention and notice. You were an individual who caught his eye the second you walked into the Cross Guild headquarters, introduced to him and Buggy by Mihawk as the newest recruit. He’d heard your name before, having gathered a stellar reputation on the Grand Line as a skilled individual but until now he’d never had the pleasure of putting the face to the name. You’d greeted him and the Clown respectfully enough but from the way you held yourself and stood so relaxed it was clear counted yourself as an equal with them and not a subordinate. Ordinarily that kind of attitude would have left him irked but given your reputation and knowing how valuable having someone of your skillset was he allowed it without any comment.

Over time you secured your place with Cross Guild seamlessly and swiftly bolstered the entire operation’s reputation just as Mihawk knew you would, something he would smugly bring up during petty disagreements between himself and the other group founders. The more time you spent with him, the more Crocodile found himself certain that he needed to pursue romantically. You were shrewd, powerful, could match him easily with your wit and tastes. The only problem was that in his pursuit you had yet to catch his less than subtle hints. As smart as you were, in terms of romance you seemed utterly clueless.

During the conversations you’d shared he’d come to know a lot about you and obviously he used that information to his advantage. The second he knew about something you liked, he was using his resources to acquire it all to gift you. Seeing your eyes light up when presented with the items no matter how big or small, even if it was something that had no immense cost to him was definitely the highlight of his day. You would always thank him and cherish the gift, still unaware of what you’d possibly done to deserve more kindness from the man. On the recent occasion you were presented with another amazing gift you looked up at him with a bright smile. “You really didn’t have to, on my next mission I’m going to get something better than this to make it up to you.”

“Not necessary.” Crocodile had insisted, the calm smirk still on his face as he watched you playfully scowl at him. This wasn’t the first time you’d had this exchange with him and as always he’d follow it up with an offer. “Have dinner with me tonight and we’ll consider the matter settled.”

As always you smiled and accepted his offer, but like always you merely seemed to view it as a meal between friends and nothing more. However that afternoon your eyes were finally opened to the reality of the situation when you were showing Mihawk your newest gift.

“Honestly the two of you are exhausting.” He sighed making you look at him in confusion. “Okay, you’re more confusing than he is. Honestly the man has more patience than I do to let you be this dense.”

“Did Buggy break a bottle of your favourite wine or something?” You asked dryly. “You’re less pleasant today.”

“Have you ever stopped to ask yourself why Crocodile gives you so many gifts, requests you join him to lavish places when he goes on his own missions, asks you to dinner, and talks to you everyday?” Mihawk asked, his intense golden eyes fixed on your face as he listed all Crocodile’s actions around you. Infuriatingly you merely laughed and shrugged your shoulders.

“Because he’s nice.” You explained simply. “You know him, Mihawk, that’s just how he is. You founded this whole enterprise with him. He likes to give gifts and is friendly. What else is there to say?”

“Nice? Friendly?” Mihawk repeated, slowly blinking at how bad this was. “Want to know how many times I’ve spoken to Crocodile this month? Twice. You’re the only one who he treats this way because he likes you deeply.”

You held back the urge to laugh as the revelation threw you off. Part of you wanted to dismiss Mihawk’s claim as ridiculous but now that it was pointed out to you, you thought over everything. Finally you saw it, just as Mihawk had said, Crocodile only treated you this way. Now you began to see why others gave you a strange look when you talked about him so positively and it also explained why the mention of the man brought a look of fear to their eyes. “Oh…”

That evening when Crocodile went to fetch you to take you to the restaurant he’d chosen for your meal he was surprised to see your appearance was different. You always looked amazing but this evening your features and body were even more emphasised. “What’s the occasion?” he asked smoothly as his gaze moved appreciatively over your form.

“Well I thought I’d finally make more of an effort for you.” You explained with a smile, looking at him with a deeper stare that Crocodile hadn’t seen before. “I thought this would be the best way to make it clear to others that we’re dining on a date and not just as friends. You don’t mind do you?”

“Not at all.” Crocodile’s signature smirk grew into a satisfied grin as he slipped his hand around your waist and began to walk with you out of headquarters for all the others to see. From his spot on the balcony Mihawk’s expression grew smug. This was most definitely another thing he was going to take credit for at any given opportunity.

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devilfic · 2 days

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❝right place, right time❞

VIII. whatever keeps you around.

parts: previously plot: bruce has a proposal for you. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, brief discussion of slight suicidal ideation/martyrdom, drug (and the injection of drugs) mentions, you will not guess what trope I managed to include in here. words: 6.9k. a/n: plotting this series makes me feel like charlie day pointing at a wall of red string

“…You won’t like it.”

It's clear what you have to do. You'd realized it when Gordon came to you, so of course Bruce did too. If you were going to make this right, you would have to face this head on. "I know what I have to do," you start, "I need to lure him out."

Bruce's expression shifts. Whatever you've said seems to be the wrong answer, "That... won't be necessary."

"What? What else can I do?"

"What did Gordon tell you about Dimitri?"

Your head throbs as you recall the memory, "Uh... he said he believes I'm next on Dimitri's hit list. He also said Dimitri hadn't anticipated me being at the house."

"Right, because Russo didn't want anyone knowing where he was." Bruce turns to his computer and brings up Russo's file, "After his divorce and the death of his son, he holed up and started erasing himself from the internet. As far as his neighbors know, he was constantly alone. You already know how hard it was to find him on your own, and unless Dimitri knew someone keeping tabs, it doesn't stand to reason that he found him any easier. But you, on the other hand," Bruce opens a search engine and types in your name. You're unsettled when the screen fills with results, most of them news articles from the night you'd been held hostage, "your name and face was everywhere after the gang war."

When the reporters had shoved cameras in your face and begged for you to tell them about Batman's heroic rescue, you hadn't thought twice about it, still fresh from the throes of gore and violence in the ER. Friends, family, coworkers: almost everyone you knew had seen it.

It clicks for you then, "If Dimitri planned on killing us both and I was easiest to find, why didn't he come for me first? I mean... it was me and Alex who ruined his life. If he wanted anyone dead more, wouldn't it be me?"

"I wondered the same thing. With the know-how and the right connections, anyone could find where you live just by name alone. Russo, on the other hand, is almost anonymous. It doesn't make sense why Dimitri would target Russo first."

"Do you think maybe it was a warning? Maybe he wanted to scare me."

"If he wanted to warn you, he wouldn't kill the guy in his house where no one checks up on him. Days would've passed before anyone noticed the flies in the windows."

"I don't get it."

"Do you remember how long it's been since you were taken hostage?"

Your mind lands on a weak estimate, "I don't know, a week and a half?"

"It's been over two weeks. According to the wardens, Dimitri stopped being a problem for them after the first few years. Friends with a rough crowd but he rarely got caught up in anything. Didn't have the heart to. So why, after 17 years, does he break out?"

Your stomach drops, "He saw me."

"And realized that while he was rotting away with nothing to live for, you were a hero," the word sickens you to hear, "on the front lines, saving lives, being saved. Your life went back to normal."

You grip the side of Bruce's desk with the sudden urge to vomit up everything you'd eaten today, which, frankly, wouldn't add up to much more than water and crackers.

You'd said it yourself: you'd gotten to live a life that Natalie, Dimitri, and Alex never would. Of course he wanted you dead. "So then I have to lure him out."

"And put yourself in danger? No."

"I’m already in danger, Bruce. What if he goes after the others? My parents? My coworkers? The other cops at the shootout? We have to end it now."

"This isn't the only way."

"It's the best way."

"Last time he had a knife, you could defend yourself. Barely. What if next time, he has a gun?"

"So what, you just want to do nothing?"

Bruce turns away from you. He gnaws on his lower lip, "No, I want to bide our time. Look into him more. I need to know if he's working with the Vipers again."

You watch him as he begins typing away at his computer, but you can't process what he's looking for through the haze of anger that washes over you. You lean on the desk, craning your neck up at his face to make him look at you, to understand how ridiculous he sounds, "We don't have time for that. His grudge is with me. I should meet him now and end this... either he gets what he wants or- or..."

Or what? Your stubbornness peters out. You don't know what. You see yourself standing face-to-face with Dimitri, his knife raised, ready to bury itself into the cushion of your chest. And nothing.

The you in this vision has no weapon.

"You don't think you're going to survive this." Coming out of your mind, Bruce is now looking at you, brows furrowed. He looks... mortified.

You scramble to cover your tracks, "That's not true. I'd have you there."

"But you don't want me there. You want to go alone. You think you deserve it."

"God, what are you? My therapist?" Your words flit out of your mouth in a rush, tongue nearly slipping up to defend yourself. You push away from the desk when you start feeling overexposed.

Bruce follows you, "You're not 16 anymore, this isn't some gang fight where you throw all your chips in because you can't see a year ahead of you. You've made a life. You've got people to lose, you said so yourself. I know what it's like... the survivor's guilt. You relive that day over and over-"

His words are making you feel sick to your stomach again and you lurch forward, finger in his face, "Don't you fucking preach to me-"

Almost as immediately as you'd raised your finger, Bruce snatches your wrist in his hand, yanking you close enough to be imposing, staring down at you with the same power that the Batman had used. It was so sudden that you quickly fall slack, wrist going limp in his grip.

It had completely sobered you of your tantrum, and for better or for worse, you were forced to listen to him, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and think. You see this ending with you dead because you want to make up for the shit you did. You think that's what Alex wants? For you to bleed out in an alley like she did?" And just like that, the fire roars in you once more, but your other hand can't slap him across the face before he's caught that one too, "No future? What about all the people you've saved? Could still save? Face it now because you may not get another chance: you're alive. Do you want to be or not?"

You want to hurt him, turn his skin red and give it a place among the other bruises that glitter and glare down his torso, and as your hand shakes in his hold, you are forced to understand that you are angry because he is right.

You'd felt this same anger before. When your parents told you Alex was a bad influence on you. When Russo looked you in the eye and told you that you didn't have it in you to pull the trigger. It was maddening. He had clocked your suicide mission before even you had, had seen you in his mind's eye the way you saw yourself: disarmed, a lamb to the slaughter, a sacrifice for the greater good, a speedbump.

You could see Batman tackling him to the ground over your dying body. You couldn't see yourself getting up the next day.

After the frustration leaves Bruce's eyes, he's looking at you with something softer. You feel known, uncomfortably so, as he waits for you to meet him there.

And when you do, you hate how you collapse into him. Even more, you hate that he takes you up into his arms, holding you steadfast, as understanding as you needed him to be with all your fear of admitting it. The solidness of his body reminds you of the night he'd first held you, and that just makes you cry harder.

It feels different from last time. Where there was armor is now warm skin, the likes of which you hadn't felt in a while. If you had told your past self you'd one day be standing in Batman's cave, hugging Bruce Wayne and crying over the permanence of your mistakes, you might have diagnosed yourself with head trauma.

You screw your eyes shut in a vain attempt to put the tears to rest, your freed hands practically clawing at Bruce's warm back for some purchase, some stability. He doesn't seem to mind. He just holds you closer.

After a few minutes, you force yourself to speak, sniffling away the last remaining tears you'd allow yourself to shed, "You said I wouldn't like it. Your plan. What is it?"

"To disappear."

You wrench yourself back. Bruce is dead serious. "What?"

"I've considered it from all angles-"

"What do you mean, 'disappear'?"

"All but one of the prisoners Dimitri broke out with are still missing. How do we know they're not all working together? How do we know that you luring him out won't draw them out too? You were the easiest target before, not anymore."

"Say what you mean, Bruce. What do you want me to do?"

"I want to hide you here," he winces as he says this, as if aware of his words only now that they're out in the open, "with me."

"You're shitting me."

After a while, Bruce's face hardens, "I told you you wouldn't like it."

Liking it or not liking it was nothing. You'd advanced past "like". You were firmly out of your depth here.

You slip out of Bruce's hold and he lets you, standing rather awkwardly as you rub a hand across your mouth. Despite earlier, it now feels uncomfortably dry. You glance at Bruce and then at his screen, the tab with your name and face plastered all over it hovering in the background. "You want me to disappear off the face of the earth while you track him down. Leave my home, leave the people I care about, abandon my job. You want me to hide."

"I don't know how else to protect you. Not until we figure out what we're up against." Bruce watches you spin away, scoffing into the air, "You noticed it when you fought him off, didn't you? Something was really wrong with him."

You see flashes of Dimitri's feral stare, the way he staggered and swung. He was like a rabid animal in a cage. "Of course there was, he was trying to kill me."

"Beyond that," Bruce insists, "he wasn't right. I've seen it before. He was on something."

"Most people are these days. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd... I don't know, gotten his hands on drops or something-"

"It wasn't drops. Gordon told me."

"The detective?"

"He said they found a syringe with traces of venom in it. Dimitri's shooting up. That's why he was so strong."

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, "Venom? Great. Somehow worse than Drops."

"If he's on that drug, he's definitely addicted. It also means you won't stand a chance against him. This is why I'm telling you to stay here," Bruce steps forward, eyes imploring yours. You're dumbstruck by the heavy earnestness there, "stay in the tower. Hide here for a few days. Let me handle this."

"If he's on venom, it means he doesn't think he can handle you on his own," you wring your hands, flitting through images of the Dimitri you remember, "he was always really small. Even at fourteen, he hadn't really sprung up. He was scrawny and small and couldn't defend himself. Suddenly Gordon's saying he's almost twice the size of what I remember. Have you ever fought someone on venom?"

"Once or twice, somewhere between fixes. Why?"

"General has this kind of... sedative that we use when we get patients dealing with the effects. It's not perfect, but it does help calm them down enough to help them. Maybe we can use it to help him."

"The strain is constantly changing," Bruce watches you deflate and clears his throat, "but if I can get that sedative, I can use it as a base to make a new one."

"You need clearance to get your hands on that stuff. I'm going with you."

"What part of disappear do you not understand?"

"One, I never agreed to do that, and two, if Batman gets caught stealing from a hospital, that'll make you public enemy number one. You need my help, so let me help you."

Bruce is looking away, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth even as you zero in on him. You're getting flashbacks of that same Bruce from when you'd first met him here in this tower. All tender-eyed, even as he tries to put on a face for you, "And I need a drink," you rub your temple next, catching a glimpse of Bruce watching you from his peripheral, "You've got those, don't you?"

It turns out Bruce has plenty. There's a whole cellar full of them, the kinds you see in MTV Cribs with the low recessed lighting and mahogany shelves gleaming with polish. It makes sense for him to have it, but less so when he tells you he doesn't actually drink any of it.

"You weren't drinking at the party, either. Even though everyone else thought you were." You brush your hand along the shelves, careful not to knock any bottles loose. "Is that a trick to keep people spilling secrets? Or to keep from spilling your own?"

Bruce hovers near the entrance with his arms folded and back pressed to the wall, carefully watching you peruse his selection, "Maybe I don't like the taste."

"That's good. Men in Gotham die from alcoholism at a higher rate than any other city in the state."

"Really?"

"Really. You don't smoke either." Bruce blinks at you, "Just get shot at. And stabbed."

He says nothing.

Your hand lands on a red aged older than your mother and you stand to the side, looking expectantly at him. You're afraid that if you try to pick it up, you might knock down the whole row.

Slowly, Bruce pushes himself off the wall and glides over to you, grabbing the neck of the bottle in one hand and looking to you for approval. You try not to shrink yourself when you nod.

You follow him out of the cellar, flinching when the lights dim behind you and the door rolls shut all on its own. He guides you to the kitchen where night still hangs over Gotham outside the window, but the time on the stove clock warns of early morning soon.

Bruce pulls out two glasses and fills yours with wine and his with cranberry juice from the fridge. You could almost laugh at the pairing.

Once he slides your glass to you, you take a seat at the island and take a sip, "I need to ask you something. I get now why you refused me at the station, but then you came back. Why did you change your mind? I mean, neither of us knew Russo would be dead when we got there. Were you just going to let me hate you?"

"Yes." His simple response draws a quick, stifled laugh out of you.

"Are you always this... chaotic?"

Bruce leans his elbows on the countertop, hunching in on himself, "I always meant to tell you who I was. I just didn't know when. And I didn't mind if you hated Bruce Wayne, but... you trusted Batman. I didn't want to break that trust. Even if it meant telling you earlier than I planned, I wanted to give you some closure."

You think about the fear that had paralyzed you back then, thinking that Bruce Wayne was some big, bad criminal hiding behind polite society. Then you think about the real man, hiding behind a mask. You fidget uncomfortably, struggling with feeling somewhere between grateful and nauseous. Your eyes catch the stitches on his shoulder and you itch to wipe away the dried blood that had dribbled from the cut, "You said you were looking for Dimitri when you got that. Did you..."

Bruce catches your eye when you fail to finish your question. "No," he answers solemnly, "which is only part of our problem." He stands to his full height, flexing bruised knuckles against the counter, "I ran into one of the guys that broke out with Dimitri tonight. That's who gave me this. Dimitri isn't working alone."

You frown, "Is he trying to shake you? Why leave clues at all?"

"Because these people want me dead. The guy from tonight? I booked him a year ago for trafficking women. Earlier led me to a fringe group of Falcone's."

"You've been looking for Dimitri all day?"

"I haven't stopped since we found Russo. I couldn't."

You rub your arms, feeling the room grow chiller by the second, "So... so he's leaving clues to people who hate you. To keep you occupied." Bruce nods. "So he can get to me?"

"After last night, he knows the Batman is on your side."

"Dimitri wasn't out when you got on the scene. Do you think maybe he's taking venom because these guys warned him about you?"

Bruce smirks, rolling his eyes as he takes a sip from his glass, "As a precaution, sure. And now he has reason to believe I know you. If he's going to go after you, he's going to shoot up each time."

"That stuff is nasty. You're big and scary when you're on it but as soon as the effects wear off-"

"You deflate like a balloon. It's also stupid expensive, so he's either got real generous prison pals or he's being used. It's why I need to know if he's working with the Vipers. They might be supplying him."

How you'd gone from an ordinary surgeon to a detective in the span of mere weeks was beyond you. You're beyond just treading water. You're diving into the abyss.

Your brain struggles to make real what is before you. Bruce, still shirtless, drinking delicately from a glass as he watches the night sky shimmer from the kitchen window. And you, sitting across from him, cracking open one of his family's expensive bottles that, frankly, puts your pantry vinos to shame. Playing vigilantes like schoolchildren. Except the blood on you both is very real.

Your arm throbs at being remembered for once tonight. Bruce notices you touch it, "You need to get some rest."

You know he's right, and you're not arguing for the sake of arguing when you say, "I can't sleep yet." But he can tell there's more on your mind as he waits silently, almost egging you on to lay yourself bare. You swear you're not arguing just for the sake of arguing, "And I don't want to disappear. I want to be alive."

Bruce says nothing. The silence isn't humiliating like you'd think it be, even if the first few seconds leave you feeling just as laid bare as you thought you would. No. It feels acknowledging. Understanding, even.

For the first time, you look at Bruce and feel like you understand him. If he was really Batman, then he would know better than anyone why you would want to put yourself in danger. But beneath that, with the meager knowledge of who Bruce Wayne is, you also think you understand him too.

He'd mentioned the survivor's guilt. While he'd played a much more innocent role in the whole ordeal, you couldn't imagine the weight on one's chest knowing that two people you love didn't get to go on but you did. It's a lot to ask of a child barely coming to understand the mortality of one's own keepers.

The choice to be alive for someone like that is a deliberate choice. Constantly made every morning.

"There is another way," Bruce muses, "but you'll like it even less."

"Don't leave me hanging."

"We could go public."

"What?"

"You said disappearing would mean abandoning your life. And it would. No one could know where you went, who you were with, but there's always the chance someone might slip up. It's the safest option but it's not what you want. So don't hide." Bruce's eye contact is deep and unwavering. Compared to earlier, he seems to trust you're willing to listen this time, "Be mine."

For the nth time tonight, you are rendered nearly speechless. Nearly. "Are you fucking with me?"

Bruce's eyes narrow, "No."

"Did you just... proposition me?"

"I made a proposal."

"You're asking me to date you."

"Publicly. Batman has more enemies than allies, but Bruce Wayne has the people. If you and I are publicly linked, it tells everyone looking for you that the world is watching. It makes you more visible, as well as anyone who comes after you."

"You haven't slept," you reason, "clearly. And you're delirious."

"I haven't slept, no." But he looks fairly sober for someone who hasn't slept in a day. He is a different breed, this Bruce Wayne.

You peer out the kitchen window and see the black sky dipping into a blue horizon, "Then sleep on it and come up with something better."

Bruce rounds the island until he's standing beside you, looking down at your barely touched wine, "There's some spare rooms upstairs. You can take your pick." It dawns on you that you may not be going back home any time soon. "You know your way around."

You suppose you deserve that dig.

Then he's leaving you, glasses abandoned, home for you to explore. You don't realize how thick the air had gotten with him right next to you until he's gone.

You half-expect Alfred to pop up somewhere nearby, but there's nothing. This far up, there is no city to listen for, no neighbors slamming doors. You are in a cold house all alone. You suddenly wish he'd stayed to keep you company, even if the weight of it was beginning to take its toll on you. Left alone, you only had the sunrise.

You watch until the sky has all but chased the night away, and then you head upstairs.

You didn't think you'd get much sleep in a stranger's bed, but you're being roused by a sharp, successive rapping at your door several hours later. It jolts you awake, kick-starting your heart, and you clumsily tumble out of the million thread count sheets to open the door.

Alfred stands there fully dressed for the day, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other still raised to knock. Upon seeing you, he lowers his fist, "Morning," he starts, looking away as soon as he meets your eyes, "breakfast is ready. Come get it before it's cold."

He does not give you a choice in the matter. He's already limping toward the staircase without another word.

After you get your heart to settle down, you follow after him, preening yourself as you pass hallway mirrors and portraits of the Wayne family through the generations. You hadn't come down this hallway when you'd found the terminus elevator, so you stumble to a stop in front of a portrait of a young Bruce grinning ear to ear.

It startles you. His eyes are soft, a gentle humming blue untouched by wrinkle or darkness. He must've been especially young here. Glancing at a nearby portrait of his parents, you find him the spitting image of his father. You look around and realize there are no portraits of Bruce at this age.

Bruce. He might be at breakfast, and the mere thought of having to discuss what occurred last night almost turns you right back around to the guest room, but your stomach rumbling begs you not to. You still walk quietly, peering around corners in case your stomach changed its mind.

You find you're cautious for naught when the only person standing in the kitchen is Alfred, chopping up fresh fruit.

"I hope you don't mind that I moved your things," he gestures with his paring knife to your surgical tools neatly congregated on the counter, "I cleaned them too."

"Oh. You didn't need to do that."

"There was blood, so I'm afraid I did." Alfred places a bit of pressure on "blood", and you quickly take note of his short tone.

Still, all the same, he then gestures to the island and implores you take a seat in front of an empty plate. Without asking, he begins pushing steaming hot food onto your plate, "Tea or coffee?" He asks, barely looking up at you.

"Uh, coffee is fine. Thanks." You watch Alfred pour you a mug and wonder if the awkwardness with him is any more preferable to the awkwardness with Bruce. Alfred is passive-aggressive, Bruce is... aggressive. You remember how the latter had left off your night together and find yourself feeling warmer toward Alfred. "How long have you been up?"

"Since 6, although I woke a few times through the night."

You wince, "Sorry."

"No need to apologize. I did think Bruce had invited you over under different circumstances, so... not as alarming, all things considered." Your grip on your fork slips and it clatters to the marble. Alfred barely reacts.

"He needed stitches." Is all you can get out.

"Yes, I'm well aware."

You glance up at him, "You saw?"

"When he first arrived home, yes. I was the one who helped stop the bleeding."

You stare at the coffee sweating in your cup, recalling something Bruce had mentioned last night, "Bruce said you were the one who used to stitch him up."

"Yes."

"If you were there, why-"

"It's what he pays you for, isn't it?" Alfred almost snaps back at you, slicing a strawberry into quarters with more edge than needed.

You recall something else next. The softness in Alfred's face the day you first came here, arguing with Bruce in the very room next door. You'd wondered what it had all been about.

"I've done alright, haven't I?"

"He said something else too," you start, careful as you choose your next words, "about how much you worry about him." You fiddle with your mug, pretending not to feel the heat of Alfred's eyes on you, "I think the reason he hired me is because he was worried about you."

You just catch the tail-end of Alfred's frown, "Worried about me? Why?"

You probably aren't close enough to either of these two to laugh about this, but you do anyway, "Isn't it kind of obvious?"

"Nonsense. We always discussed... if it would come to it, that if he were to pursue this life further, that he would recruit professionals who might aid him in his work. It was the natural thing to do."

"Maybe, yeah. But would he have really needed me if you weren't already doing everything else for him? You've taken good care of him this long. I mean, the aftercare you gave his bullet wound was exceptional. I accused him of talking to other doctors."

Alfred busies himself with scraping his strawberry halves into a bowl, "It's basic knowledge. You learn that kind of thing in the service."

"Or when you invited me to watch you two spar. You know his body probably better than he does. You're fantastic, Alfred." You couldn't say you weren't also trying to butter him up to better his feelings toward you, but you were speaking truth all the same.

In a very British way, he rebuts your compliments and spoons some fruit into a glass, beginning to layer some yogurt over top them, "Regardless of reason, you are here now, and I'll have you know that every part of your contract covers this. Wayne Enterprises will exhaust every possible legal tool at our leisure if you speak of any—any—of this to anyone. Master Bruce's identity is safely guarded, and regardless of his trust in you, I will not hesitate-"

"Whoa, whoa, hey. I would never tell anyone. Not after all Batman has done for me." You press a hand over your heart for emphasis, "He is just as much my patient as Bruce Wayne is, and he didn't have to pay me to take care of him."

Alfred still stares you down like a guard dog, paring knife still clutched in his fingers. After a moment, he looks away from you and points at your plate, "Eat. It's getting cold."

So you do. It's good so you say as much, counting any point toward his affection as a good thing. If you could get Alfred to trust you, you'd call that a win.

The tension in the air dissipates over time, and after you've licked your plate clean, you and Alfred are sharing coffee together. "Bruce isn't joining us?"

"I've stopped expecting him to be awake this early." You glance at the clock that reads 10:12. "He has adopted a near-fully nocturnal lifestyle."

"The night that he crawled through my window, he was there at the hospital the next morning like nothing happened. He doesn't do that often?"

"Before last year, it was a rare occurrence. While he's dedicated himself to his role more recently, if he can avoid it, he will."

You think back to what knowledge you do have on Bruce's charity work and his friendship with the Mayor. You'd worked shifts just as long, but you couldn't imagine showing up to work mere hours after getting shot in the stomach and having to put on a brave face about it. You almost feel bad for calling him out on it in front of everyone.

But then again, if you hadn't, would you even be sitting here?

You swirl the last vestiges of coffee in your cup, trying to picture a world in which you'd gone and found that empty office to nap in instead of toddling behind Rudy and Em and Alfred and Batman. The Batman.

The novelty of it brings a fresh wave of dizziness over you. You had been exposed to so much information over the course of the last 12 hours that it hadn't fully settled in on you what Bruce was. You didn't think that your brain would process it even if he was standing in cowl and cape right in front of you.

"I suppose you'll be staying with us for the near future, if Bruce has anything to say about it," Alfred stands from his chair beside you and puts your dishes in the sink, "shall I inform your security detail or would you like to?"

You don't know what to say to that. "I'm... I think I should talk this over with Bruce first. It may not need to come to that."

The butler shrugs. "I'll be attending to some house duties for the rest of the morning. Should you stay for lunch, let Dory know, hm?" You give him a weak nod and watch as he makes his way from the sink and heads down another hallway out of sight.

Not too long after Alfred leaves you, you hear the doorbell ring. Bruce hadn't mentioned to you that any guests would be here today, but then again, the two of you had had more important things to discuss last night. You check your reflection in the glass of the kitchen window, wondering if there were any hidden doors in the bookcases that could hide you from whatever Wayne Enterprises exec that was coming to talk business, but you wouldn't trust yourself not to break something in the process.

You hear two pairs of footsteps approaching from the elevator and turn to see who it might be. You first recognize Dory, fluttering between frantic small talk and making sure not to trip in her kitten heels as she guides her guest into the living room. You stiffen as soon as you see him.

Detective Gordon catches your eyes instantly, his own widening. Dory says something about going to fetch Bruce before she quickly ascends the stairs, leaving you and James staring at each other across the distance. In one hand is a notepad and pencil, and the other fixes his tie, almost as if at a loss for words. He greets you, hesitantly leaving where Dory had left him to approach you, "I saw the boys out front but... I didn't expect to see you here."

"Me neither." You reply. "Is everything okay?"

James glances up at the stairs as he passes underneath, "That depends. I followed up on your request."

Shit. Of course a cop would do their job when you least expect it. You slip out of your chair and rush to meet him halfway into the kitchen, "Did... did you find something?"

"I can't say much right now. I'd like to talk to Mr. Wayne, but-" The sound of Dory's heels clacking against the wooden stairs makes James lower his voice, "-you being here complicates things."

Bruce is wearing a shirt this time, thankfully, though you're not expecting him to look as put together this early after what Alfred had said. He towers behind Dory's much smaller frame in a pair of loose black pants and a matching turtleneck, looking in a fashionable state of undress as he pads barefoot into the room. With hair slicked back and stubble freshly shaved, he doesn't look like someone caught unaware. He's fixing the sleeve of his sweater when he extends a hand to Detective Gordon, bright smile and all, "Detective James Gordon, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry for dropping in unannounced. If this is a bad time, I can come back." James gestures to you.

Bruce's look at you is empty, devoid of any detectable emotion or thought. It strikes you as unsettling, the same way a cashier at the end of their shift isn't really looking at you, "Oh, no. I was just on my way to work when I felt unwell. I called my doctor over but it was nothing to worry about. A little stomach bug, is all."

You do look like you'd just come over in a rush. You're still in your lounge clothes from the night before, and your medical supplies are still in the kitchen where Alfred had left them. James seems to notice, but he doesn't look any more relaxed. "That's good to hear. I don't want to keep you too long, but truth is, I have some questions I'd like to ask you if you have the time."

"Is something wrong?" James glances between you and Bruce, something the latter doesn't miss, "is it sensitive?"

"It's about the party you threw here the other night, Mr. Wayne. For Mayor Reál. I hear you invited quite a few Gotham politicians to celebrate the passing of the mayor's new bill, correct?"

"That's correct."

"And I understand you're quite invested in Gotham politics in general, much like your father."

"I am. My mother and father were very interested in the city, and Mayor Reál breathed new life into that for me after the election. I do what I can to support the cause."

"And that cause is...?"

Bruce takes the skeptical tone on the chin, smiling wider, "A safer, fairer Gotham. For everyone."

This Bruce was nothing like the Bruce you had all to yourself. He taps into that persona from the party with ease. Watching him is like watching a performance. "That's good, good. I notice you try to make an effort with charities in the city, donations and the like. You recently donated a new wing to Gotham General."

"I did. Increasing access to medical care for the citizens is important to me. My doctor, a talented surgeon at General, knows this well." You flash a timid smile when both Bruce and James look to you.

"And you also financially support politicians in Gotham."

"Occasionally. Anyone I feel has Gotham's best interests in mind."

"And have you found members of Gotham's political parties to be unusually forward in requesting your support, Mr. Wayne? Perhaps a little too pushy, maybe."

Bruce wears confusion well, "Not necessarily. I'm not easily pressured into doing things I have no interest in."

"Of course. How about any attempts to win over your support? Publicly or otherwise."

"I'm not sure what you're asking, detective. I'd love to help, but I don't think I have the information you're looking for."

James nods, holding his chin high, "My apologies. I should've been clear from the beginning. My question is: have any politicians or members of law enforcement offered you anything in exchange for your financial or public support? I have reason to believe there may be someone with high clearance exchanging confidential information with civilians. Especially ones who can pay. I'm just looking for a lead."

James frames his question well, even though any fat cat familiar with the cops could see the hidden question. Bruce frowns, tilts his head, shaking it slowly, "That's awful. I don't currently know of anyone doing such a thing, to me or anyone else. But I can keep an eye out. I can only imagine how dangerous that might be."

"Exactly. We'd like to nip it in the bud as soon as possible."

"Of course. Do you have a card? Perhaps I can contact you if I hear anything."

James fishes out his card and hands it over, "I don't want to put you in a bad position, only pass along what you know if you feel safe enough to do so."

You notice Bruce is flicking the business card between his fingers as a fidget, though he keeps his attention respectfully on the detective. "Absolutely. Thank you, detective. Dory can show you to the door."

The detective nods and follows Dory out of the room. As soon as the two are out of earshot, Bruce's expression softens as he presses his back into the counter. You wish you could sink into the floor. "To be fair," you begin, "I didn't think he'd find anything."

Bruce side-eyes you, "That was you?"

"I thought my criminal boss was going to blackmail me to keep his secrets."

"Criminal boss." You think he's trying to mock you, but his eyes are surprisingly guilty when he looks at you, "Alfred wasn't kidding. I really didn't handle this well."

"No, not really." You don't mean to kick him while he's down, but you can't lie either. Even now, you were still making meaning out of this whole thing.

By all means, you've gone from knowing nothing about him, to understanding even less, to fearing him, to this. With Batman on the other hand, you'd felt nothing but loyalty and trust in him up until the very last second. Now they were both the same person, and the meager hours of sleep you'd gotten hadn't cleared all that up just yet.

You wonder who you're supposed to see now. Batman or Bruce Wayne? Why was the line separating them blurring the more you thought of them?

"So, did you ever come up with a better idea?"

Bruce does not offer one. You'd dreaded that.

"You already know what I think. No matter how we go about this, there's going to be something. So what do you want to do?" Bruce's eyes follow your ever minute expression, laser-focused on you. "Whatever you choose, I will keep you safe. I promise you."

He feels so staunchly Batman in this moment, even with the soft voice of Bruce, watching over you. Through all your uncertainty, this you believe him on.

And you're exhausted, you find. Your arm is beginning to throb again. You crave the reprieve of a bed but not your own, to your surprise.

"I'm going to trust you, Bruce," your voice wobbles as you say it out loud, "I'm going to trust you like I trust Batman."

Bruce holds eye contact with you for a few moments, "Okay."

"Can I ask... why are you dressed so nice?"

"We're going to get the sedative."

"You're going as Bruce?"

"It's the middle of the day. Yes, I'm going as Bruce. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

You fluster, suddenly reconsidering this entire plan. You'd pictured Batman skulking on the rooftop while you Mission Impossible'd your way into the medicine cabinets for what you needed. Walking in with him—the real him—would draw attention you didn't need, "You're only going to make me look suspicious."

"I'm your patient, and more importantly, I'm a donor."

"You will stick out like a sore thumb."

"That means when people are looking at me, they're not looking at you." You open your mouth to argue but he's already cutting you off, "Do you want me to drop you off at your place or do you want me to send someone to get your things?"

You're aware of what he's really asking.

You heave a sigh, "Drop me off. I can't promise Judith won't hurt someone if she finds a stranger in my house."

a/n: mj stop having the reader move in with bruce when their life is put in imminent danger challenge impossible

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes @wnstice @angxlictexrs @moonlightreader649 @thescarletfang @navs-bhat @yehet-moi-ohorat @bluestuesday @moony-toasts @sketchiethebear @trawberry-fire @hangmanscoming @agent-scorpio @julesjewelss36 @chonkercatto @dcgoddess @hollandorks @anotherr-fine-mess @miriamnox @dumdumsun @phoenixgurl030 @marvelouskatie @swangelss @millercontracting @aivlisdecolores @geeksareunique @xxrougefangxx @theres-a-bea @keepingitlokiii

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman scenarios #batman fic #batman angst #batman fluff #the batman #battinson x reader #battinson #dc #mjwrites #bw; rprt

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oceantornadoo · 1 day

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mad max: the 141 (price x f!reader)

ch 1: the trade

canon-typical violence, sexual violence is referenced (but will not happen), general misogyny. the 141 are the good guys, just a bit rough around the edges

series masterlist (also has more world building info)

set in the mad max world, the 141 are a notorious group of outlaws. they've been stopping shipments between fortresses until an agreement has been reached for a trade.

—

“pack your things, you’re leaving.”

your stepfather burst into your room, eyes gleaming with excitement. “what for?” he started shoving things into a bag, flowery lingerie and your lightest dresses. “sellin’ you off to those outlaws. they’re helping me take down the citadel.” your mouth gaped. “i thought i was going to the citadel. to be a wife.” he shook his head and threw your shoes at you, forcing you up from your chair. the citadel was an oasis, a farm where everyone got their food. your father ruled gastown, a gas pumping area necessary for any mode of transportation. “got a better deal, more bullets and food for me. come on, don’t leave them waiting.”

ten minutes later you were standing in front of the most famous outlaw group in the wasteland, the 141. except… “isn’t there supposed to be four of you?” you interrupted their negotiations, your stepfather getting angrier by the second. “shut up, girl.” he growled.

“soap died. jus’ tha three of us now.” one of them spoke, gaz. he wore a typical outfit of tactical pants and a leather jacket, but his face seemed devoid of any emotion. there were smile lines on his skin, proof of past happiness, but whatever kindness had existed there, the wasteland had destroyed it, like it destroys everything. you nodded to his response.

you were standing near your stepfather’s throne, the “king” of gastown. the outlaws stared back with stoic gazes. “she’s th’ insurance?” the large one, hidden behind a mask of human bone, spoke up. ghost. “my most valued investment. you get her and gas, you help me take down the citadel.” this was all becoming too real. you were leaving your only home to go with three men, alone, no guards to protect you. you’d become their possession.

“father, please.” you bent at your knees, turning on the tears. “please i don’t want to go, ill be yours here, it’s a waste of resources i-“

he responded with a backhand to your face, choosing to use his mechanical arm. “stop crying, you’re wasting water.” you almost fell down the stairs to his throne, caught so off guard by his violence. he was an angry man, but never did anything to hurt your physical beauty. until you weren’t his anymore. gaz dragged you back, robotically helping you stand, more out of practicality than kindness. you were used to gruff ways, but it still bruised a small part of your heart.

“she’s not yours to hit anymore. deal’s set, we’ll be leaving.” finally, their leader had spoken. all muscle under his clothes, lengths of bullets across each shoulder. he was so notorious he didn’t have a name, just the captain. his size spoke to being well fed, to having food, and you hoped you’d be included in that care, no matter what you had to do in return.

suddenly there you were, on the back of gaz’s bike, head turned to watch the only home you knew fade into the sand of the wasteland. their motorcycles cruised along the desert efficiently until gastown was no more behind you. and then, they stopped.

“off.” gaz patted your leg and set you scrambling off his bike in fear. was this the part where they got what they bought you for? you, well nourished and clean like no other woman, the sheltered princess of gastown. was this where they broke you?

the three men were staring at you, eyes trained on your lower half. you looked down in confusion. were you bleeding? all you saw was the end of your white dress, your leather chastity belt peaking out and your feet encased in sandals. nothing out of the ordinary.

“they got you wearing that?” gaz spoke up. he was the first person to actually address your existence, you realized. “my dress?” he rolled his eyes, suddenly a bit playful, so far out of reach of the man you saw back in the throne room. “leather panties.” the captain clarified. your face burned. panties. such a dull word, but when it came out of his mouth, you had to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together. ghost tossed the captain a tool and he approached you with it. you backed away, suddenly afraid. were they going to hurt you?

“calm down, love, s’ me. want to get you out of your torture chamber.” he pointed with his bolt cutters to your chastity belt. “oh.” this was it. this was what you were sold for. you turned your face away, hands covering your eyes. if he was going to take you right here, in front of his men, you didn’t want to witness it. instead, he clicked his tongue, rough hands caressing your hip as he found the metal piece that connected the two pieces of leather and cut it with a loud scraping sound. his hand ghosted over your stomach as he turned you the other way, cutting the belt off on the other side. his thumb brushed your hip bone for a torturous second before he stepped back, handing the boltcutters to ghost.

you felt so light all of a sudden. you only went without your belt when you were bathed, which had been happening less and less as water supplies dwindled. “glad to be free?” ghost piped up, his voice like motorcycle tires over gravel. you gave him a smile despite yourself, not noticing the captain’s face grow cloudy. “yeah.” you nodded vigorously. “i’ve worn that belt since i got my first monthly course.” oops, that must have been too much information. the outlaws stared back at you in confusion. “you get your period?” the captain asked, hand rubbing over his beard. you nodded shyly. it wasn’t common for women of the wasteland to get their period since everyone was so malnourished. yours was like clockwork, courtesy of the extra food your stepfather would give you in order to be a more fertile wife one day. the captain swore under his breath and gaz and ghost made eye contact, something hidden passing between them.

“you can’t ride in a dress.” ghost spoke up again. “oh, it turns into a jumpsuit. if you’ll let me go change…” you trailed off as the men stared back at you. there was no shelter in sight. you had forgotten you were in the desert again, too used to the shelter of your walls. “can’t have you runnin’ off on us, love. go’on.” the captain gestured at you, intrigued. his men both stared respectfully in the distance, keeping you in the corner of their eyes but giving you privacy. the captain, however, was intently focused on you, a spark of fire gleaming in his eyes. you nervously untied the fabric of your dress, hands working fast. you wove the fabric like thread, magically knowing where to tuck and pleat. two minutes later, you had transformed into a jumpsuit. you had tried to do it as quickly as possible, turning this way and that so the captain couldn’t see your bare parts, but he’d definitely gotten an eyeful. “done.” you announced loudly, trying to disperse the tension. gaz hummed thoughtfully at the utilitarian design, and that was that.

“hands on me at all times, yeah?” you were now on the captain’s bike, your wider range of movement making it easier to ride with the larger man. he placed your hands on his waist, but you still struggled to connect them all the way. he wasn’t as big as ghost but he was still thick, like the trees you’d heard of eons past. you could feel his muscles working under a slight layer of fat, proof once again of his plentiful resources. the bikes were moving again, and with your cheek resting against his back, eyes facing strings of bullets, you contemplated letting go. letting your body fly off his machine, to die on impact on the desert floor. the captain moved his left hand on top of yours, as if he could read your thoughts. he gave it a slight squeeze, the most comforting gesture you’d received from a man in years. and for some reason, you decided to stay.

for the reader's outfit, i was thinking of a traditional sari where its one long piece of fabric. reader doesn't have to be indian (obvi) but those were my thoughts and a way to add a bit of my culture in :)

#simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #johnny mactavish #john price x reader #tornadothoughts #captain price x reader #john price #price x reader #captain price #cod 141 #mad max #mad max au

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mxnsterbabe · 1 day

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Male Dragonborn/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 4,586 Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

You save A'rien's life. By dragonborn custom, he's in your debt.

It was late at night, and you were on your way back from a friend's house, the cool air brushing against your skin. The streets were unusually quiet, with only the soft rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl to keep you company. You wrapped your cloak tighter around you, quickening your pace, eager to be home.

A sudden noise caught your attention, a clatter of metal followed by a grunt of pain. You hesitated, glancing towards a narrow alleyway just ahead. Shadows moved, and you could make out the forms of two figures struggling.

The hell was that?

As you neared the alley's entrance, you saw them more clearly. One was a dragonborn, his bronze scales glinting faintly in the moonlight, his form tall and imposing even as he dodged a punch from his opponent.

The other was an orc, his hulking frame dwarfing his opponent. The orc landed a heavy blow, and the dragonborn staggered, dropping to one knee. You watched in horror as the orc pinned him to the ground, a cruel smile spreading across his face.

You knew you had to do… something. Your mind raced, searching for a way to help. Without thinking, you grabbed a loose stone from the ground and hurled it at the orc. It struck his shoulder with a dull thud, not enough to injure but enough to draw his attention. The orc snarled, his grip on the dragonborn loosening as he turned to face you.

"Oi! What do you think you're doing?" the orc growled, his eyes narrowing as he took a step towards you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you stood your ground, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you could muster. "Leave him alone!"

The orc chuckled darkly, but before he could take another step, the dragonborn took advantage of the distraction. With a burst of strength, he twisted beneath the orc, knocking him off balance. The orc stumbled, and the dragonborn surged up, delivering a swift punch to the orc’s jaw. The orc's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Breathing heavily, the dragonborn stood over the fallen orc, his eyes glowing with a mix of adrenaline and relief. He turned to you, his expression softening as he took in your form. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice deep and resonant.

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. "I think I should be the one asking you that."

He nodded, though his movements were slower, more measured. "I’m fine, thanks to you. I owe you my life."

You blinked, taken aback by his words. "It was nothing. I just... couldn’t stand by and do nothing."

He stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. "By dragonborn custom, a life debt is not nothing.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the determination in his eyes stopped you. There was a sincerity there, a deep-seated honour that you couldn't dismiss. "Life debt," you said softly. "I’m not sure it’s that serious."

He took a step forwards, and for the first time you saw a glint of green in his copper eyes. “This idiot had me pinned, if you hadn’t come along… I hate to think what could have happened. I owe you my life.”

Your brows furrowed. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

He inclined his head respectfully. "I must. It is our way."

You sighed, realizing there was no arguing with him. "I suppose there’s no convincing you. What’s your name?"

"A'rien," he replied, his voice steady and calm.

"Well, A'rien," you said, offering him a tentative smile. "I guess we should get out of here before your friend wakes up."

He chuckled, a low, warm sound that eased the lingering tension. "Agreed. Lead the way."

You walked side by side, the night air cool and quiet around you. A'rien walked with a calm assurance, his presence both comforting and intriguing. He glanced at you, his amber eyes glinting in the dim light.

“Allow me to walk you home,” he offered.

You nodded, feeling a mix of gratitude and curiosity. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

As you made your way through the winding streets, you couldn’t help but steal glances at A'rien. His bronze scales shimmered subtly under the moonlight, each one catching the light in a way that made him seem almost otherworldly. The edges of his sharp teeth glinted when he spoke, and it made your heart skip.

“So, why were you fighting an orc in an alley?” you asked, biting your bottom lip.

A'rien’s expression turned slightly guarded. “It’s a long story. Let’s just say I’m not very popular in the orc community.”

You frowned, not satisfied with his vague answer. “Why not? What happened?”

He looked away for a moment, his gaze focused on the path ahead. “It’s complicated,” he said finally, a note of reluctance in his voice. “Orcs and dragonborn have a... history.”

Sensing his discomfort, you hummed. “Orcs have a history with just about everyone,” you replied softly. You turned a corner together, streetlights making his skin glitter. Turning your gaze away, you added, “they do love to pick fights.”

“We should report him to the guards.”

You walked in silence for a few moments, your thoughts racing. Despite his evasiveness, you felt a tug in your chest each time you glanced at A’rien. There was an allure in the way he held himself high, towering horns making him look even taller than he really was.

From the corner of your eye, you watched him as he surveyed the streets, ever vigilant. His features were strong and defined, with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline, a small underbite. Yet, there was a gentleness in his eyes when he looked at you, a softness that made your stomach flip.

Eventually, you spotted a pair of city guards patrolling a nearby street. You approached them, explaining the encounter with the orc.

“He’s probably left by now,” A’rien said, “but keep a look out for him. Big orc, tattoo on his left wrist. His name is Solveig, I don’t know his surname.”

The guard’s brow furrowed, almost like he’d been expecting it. “Yeah, Solveig’s pretty well known around here. Known for starting fights after a few too many drinks. We’ll keep an eye out for thim.”

“Good. Thank you.”

A’rien stepped away, turning back to you with a sharp-toothed smile. “So, I promised to walk you home. Lead the way.”

Despite the unusual circumstances of your meeting, you couldn’t deny the comfort you felt in his presence. He was big and imposing. Solid. Walking through the dark streets together, you couldn’t imagine anybody wanting to mess with you.

“So, which way now?” A'rien asked, glancing at you with a small smile.

“My home is just a few more streets down,” you replied. “If you have somewhere else you need to be...”

He shook his head. “My only duty now is to repay my debt to you. I will ensure you get home safely.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Well since you can’t be convinced, thank you.”

As you continued walking, you found it increasingly difficult to ignore the growing attraction you felt for A'rien. There was something about the way he moved, the quiet strength he exuded, that drew you in. Each glance, each brush of his scales against your arm, sent a flutter through your chest.

“So, what brought you to this part of town tonight?” you asked, partly to distract yourself. Okay, entirely to distract you.

A'rien smiled slightly, his eyes glancing at you before returning to the path ahead. “Oh, nothing you’d be interested in hearing about.”

You nodded, not entirely satisfied with his evasiveness but willing to let it go because, well, it wasn’t any of your business. The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers and the distant hum of nocturnal life. It was peaceful, almost serene, and the presence of A'rien by your side made it all the more comforting.

As you neared your home, the streets became more familiar. A'rien seemed to sense your growing comfort and relaxed slightly, though his vigilance never entirely faded. Finally, you reached your door, pausing under the soft glow of a lantern.

“Thank you for walking me home,” you said, your voice a bit softer than you intended. “I appreciate it more than you know.”

A'rien’s gaze held yours, his amber eyes intense yet gentle. “It was my pleasure. Ensuring your safety is the least I can do.”

For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. The air between you crackled with unspoken words and possibilities. A'rien stepped closer, his towering form casting a protective shadow over you. You held your breath, your heart racing as he leaned down. For a second, you thought he might kiss you, and a rush of anticipation surged through you.

Instead, his hand reached up, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was tender, almost intimate, and it sent shivers down your spine. His proximity, his scent—earthy and slightly metallic—filled your senses.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, his voice a deep, soothing rumble.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “Goodnight, A'rien.”

With a lingering smile, he straightened and stepped back, giving you space. You turned and unlocked your door, feeling his eyes on you as you slipped inside. The door closed softly behind you, and you leaned against it, your heart still pounding.

As you made your way to your bedroom, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The memory of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, stayed with you, replaying in your mind like a cherished scene from a dream. You changed into your nightclothes and slipped into bed, the cool sheets frigid against your skin.

Lying in the quiet darkness, you found your thoughts drifting back to A'rien. His strength, his gorgeous copper eyes, the unexpected gentleness in his expression—all of it captivated you.

You fell asleep thinking of him, and slept through the night without waking.

***

The next morning, as you opened the door to step outside, you were startled to see A'rien standing there. His bronze scales gleamed in the early sunlight, and he looked as composed and alert as ever. You blinked in surprise, trying to make sense of his presence.

“A'rien, what are you doing here?” you asked, unable to hide your astonishment. “How did you know what time I’d be out?”

A'rien’s expression was calm and serious. “I’ve been waiting since dawn.”

You laughed lightly, thinking he must be joking, but the unwavering look in his eyes told you otherwise. “Really?”

He nodded. “It is dragonborn custom. I owe you a life debt. I am honor-bound to protect you.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and you felt a mix of emotions—flattery, curiosity, and a touch of amusement at his earnestness. “I see,” you said, trying to keep your tone light. “Well, I appreciate your dedication.”

He inclined his head respectfully. “May I walk you to wherever you’re going?”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at his offer. “I’d like that. I’m heading to the apothecary.”

As you began walking together, town slowly waking up around you, you stole a glance at A'rien. He moved with a quiet grace, his eyes scanning the surroundings with vigilance. There was something incredibly reassuring about his presence, and you couldn’t help but feel a growing fondness for him.

“So,” you began, breaking the comfortable silence, “what does this life debt entail exactly?”

A'rien glanced at you, his expression thoughtful. “It means that until I have repaid my debt, I am bound to protect you, assist you in any way I can, and ensure your safety.”

You nodded, absorbing the gravity of his commitment. “That sounds like… a lot.”

He smiled slightly, a rare but welcome sight. “It is, but it is also an honour. Your act of saving my life binds us in a way that is deeply respected among my people.”

Yoru cheeks warmed at that.

The streets became busier as you approached the apothecary, and A'rien’s presence seemed to draw curious glances from passersby. It wasn’t common to see dragonborn around here, you couldn’t blame them for staring.

Reaching the apothecary, you turned to face him, feeling a pang of reluctance at the thought of parting ways, even if only for a few hours. “Thank you for walking me here,” you said sincerely.

A'rien nodded. “It was my pleasure. I will wait for you here when you finish your work.”

You smiled, touched by his unwavering commitment. “I’ll see you then.”

He smiled, almost wistfully, eyes bright. “Yes, I will see you this evening.”

***

The days at the apothecary passed in a blur of activity. Despite the bustle, your thoughts often drifted to A'rien. His steadfast presence outside each morning and evening had become a reassuring routine. True to his word, A'rien was waiting when your workday ended, ready to escort you home.

As the days turned into a week, you found yourself looking forward to these walks more and more. Every morning, he was there, a quiet sentinel, and every evening, he walked you home, his presence a comforting constant in your life. His dedication was unwavering, his protectiveness almost endearing.

One evening, after another long day, you couldn’t contain your curiosity any longer. As you strolled through the streets with A'rien by your side, you glanced at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “A'rien, I’ve been meaning to ask… what do you do for work? You’re always available to walk me to and from the apothecary. Are you never busy?”

A'rien’s expression remained composed, but you could see a flicker of something—hesitation, perhaps—in his eyes. “I… have certain duties that I fulfill. Ensuring your safety is my primary concern at the moment.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him fully. “A'rien, you’ve been incredibly kind and dedicated, but I feel like I don’t really know much about you. I’m not asking for your whole life story. Just… a hint.”

He sighed softly, looking away for a moment. When he met your gaze again, his eyes were dark. “It’s not that interesting, really.”

You didn’t have much choice but to accept that at face value because, well, you couldn’t force him to tell you. So you nodded, and fell silent, and didn’t ask any more. You didn’t ask the next day either, instead simply admiring him from the corner of your eyes while he wasn’t watching.

You noticed the small things about him—the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way he listened intently to your every word, the subtle way he ensured you were always safe and comfortable. This wasn’t just obligation.

At least, you hoped not.

One evening, as you walked home, the sun setting in a blaze of colors, you felt a sudden rush of affection for A'rien. You stopped again, this time on a quiet street where the sounds of the city were distant murmurs.

“A'rien,” you said softly, looking up at him. “I want you to know how much I appreciate you. Your dedication, your kindness… it means a lot to me.”

He looked down at you, his expression tender. “It is my honor. Protecting you is not just a duty—it’s something I want to do.”

Without thinking, you reached out and took his hand. His scales were cool under your touch, rough and leathery. It brought a smile to your lips.

When you reached your door, you turned to face him, your heart pounding. “Goodnight, A'rien. I’ll see you in the morning?”

He smiled, a rare and beautiful sight. “Goodnight. I’ll be here.”

As you unlocked the front door, a sudden movement seemed to catch A’rien’s eye. His posture stiffened, and he held up a hand. “Be quiet,” he whispered, his voice tense and alert.

Confusion washed over you, quickly morphing into fear as you followed his gaze. Across the lawn, partially hidden by the shadows of the trees, was a hulking figure. Your heart sank as you recognized the orc from before—Solveig. This time, he was armed with a serrated knife that glinted in the faint light.

A'rien remained calm, but you could feel the tension radiating from him. Meanwhile, panic surged through you, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps as Solveig stepped forward, his eyes locked on you with a predatory gleam.

A'rien moved to stand between you and the advancing orc, his stance protective. “Stay behind me,” he murmured, his voice steady. He glanced back at you, his eyes filled with determination. “It seems I will repay my life debt sooner than anticipated.”

You nodded, too frightened to speak, your eyes wide as Solveig approached, his footsteps heavy and deliberate. The orc’s smile was cruel, his grip on the knife tightening as he prepared to strike.

With a growl, Solveig lunged forward, his knife aimed. A'rien met the attack head-on, his bronze scales catching the dim light as he braced himself for the clash. Your heart pounded in your chest, every muscle in your body tensed.

A'rien met Solveig's lunge with a swift, fluid spin, unsheathing two gleaming daggers in the blink of an eye. The blades clashed against Solveig's serrated knife, the sound of metal on metal ringing through the night. You swore that you saw sparks fly, but surely that was impossible.

Right?

Solveig's brute strength was overwhelming, each blow powerful enough to cause the ground to shake beneath your feet.

A'rien had agility on his side as he slipped around Solveig, scales glinting in the waning light. His expression twisted as he slashed at Solveig, opening up a slash across Solveig’s shoulder. Red blood bloomed.

You watched, heart in your throat, as A'rien dodged Solveig’s next attack, barely managing to duck out of the way as the knife came down.

Fear gripped you, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the fight. Your thoughts raced—should you run inside for help or stay and find some way to assist A'rien? The temptation to seek safety inside was strong, but you couldn’t bring yourself to abandon him.

Solveig roared, swinging his knife in a wide arc. A'rien ducked and rolled, his daggers flashing as he struck back. Each strike was measured, aimed to disable rather than kill, showcasing his skill and control. Solveig was relentless, pressing forward with sheer force, his knife slicing through the air with lethal intent.

You ducked back into the shadows, your mind a whirl of fear and helplessness. You wished desperately for a way to help, your hands trembling as you clutched the fabric of your cloak. The intensity of the fight was overwhelming, every clash and grunt sending a shiver down your spine.

In a sudden, brutal move, Solveig managed to land a crushing blow to A'rien's side, sending him sprawling to the ground. A'rien’s daggers skidded across the lawn, out of reach. Solveig loomed over him, his smile twisted with victory.

Panic surged through you. Without thinking, you darted forward, determined to help A'rien despite the danger. As you moved, A'rien’s voice rang out, strong and commanding. “No!”

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest. A'rien struggled to rise, his eyes fixed on you, desperate. The message was clear—your safety was paramount, and he didn’t want you to risk yourself.

Tears stung your eyes as you took a step back, torn between the urge to help and the fear of making things worse. It felt like your chest was constricting, breath coming in rasping gasps.

Despite A'rien's warning, you couldn't stand by and do nothing. Summoning every ounce of courage, you rushed forward, your mind racing. You watched as if in slow motion as Solveig drew back his knife, looming over A’rien-

You weren’t thinking. Barely even aware of A’rien’s, no, stop! You rushed forwards, arms outstretched, and tackled Solveig. The ricochet of your own body slamming into his made you bounce back, legs flailing; but as you fell, you brought Solveig down with you.

"Shit!" Solveig growled, as the two of you landed in a tangle of limbs.

Your heart pounded, but rolled away from Solveig, wiping diary and hair from your eyes. "Leave him alone!"

With Solveig distracted, A'rien seized the opportunity. With a surge of strength, he lunged forward from the ground, sweeping Solveig's legs out from under him as he tried to stand. The orc stumbled, crashing back down to his knees, and A'rien sprang up, delivering a powerful blow to Solveig's head. The orc's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, unconscious.

Breathing heavily, A'rien glanced at you, a mix of relief and gratitude in his eyes. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice rough from exertion.

You nodded, your pulse still racing. "I’m fine. We need to tie him up before he wakes."

Without wasting a moment, you dashed into the house, searching for anything that could serve as a restraint. Your hands trembled slightly as you grabbed a coil of rope from a storage closet. You hurried back outside, where A'rien was already moving Solveig towards the porch railing.

Together, you worked quickly, your fingers fumbling with the rope as you bound Solveig securely to the railing. A'rien’s movements were efficient and precise, his strength ensuring that the knots were tight and unyielding. You could feel his calm presence beside you, compared to your own erratic movements.

Once Solveig was securely tied, you stepped back, breathing a sigh of relief. The immediate danger had passed, but the weight of what had just happened still hung in the air. You turned to A'rien, your eyes meeting his.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice shaking slightly. “I couldn’t just stand by and watch.”

A'rien’s gaze softened, and he reached out, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “You were brave,” he said, his voice filled with admiration. “Please, next time, listen to me.”

Laughter burst from your throat, high pitched and manic. “I can’t promise that.”

As the adrenaline from the fight began to fade, a sense of relief washed over you. A'rien finished securing the last knot and stood up, glancing at you with a twinkle in his eyes. He broke the silence with a light-hearted chuckle.

"That's two life debts now," he said, his voice teasing. "You’ll never be rid of me at this rate."

You laughed softly, the tension easing from your shoulders. "That’s fine by me," you replied, meeting his gaze with a warm smile. "I don’t want to be rid of you."

A'rien’s expression softened, his warm eyes meeting yours. Without thinking, you stepped closer, your heart beating faster as you felt the magnetic pull between you.

He reached out, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. The gesture was tender, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His eyes flickered to your lips and then back to your eyes, silently asking for permission.

You nodded, your breath hitching as you leaned in. His lips met yours in a gentle, tentative kiss. The world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of warmth. A'rien’s kiss was surprisingly soft, his lips cool against yours. You could taste a hint of metallic sweat, mingled with an almost earthy flavour that was distinctly his.

You responded, deepening the kiss as your arms found their way around his neck. His hands settled on your waist, pulling you closer, the strength in his embrace balanced by an unexpected gentleness. He kissed you like a man starved. Or, perhaps, like a man who had wanted to do this for far too long.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other’s. You could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

A'rien’s eyes were half-closed, a content smile playing on his lips. His fangs peeked through. Cute.

"I never thought I’d find someone like you," he murmured, his voice thick.

The night was quiet again, the tension of the earlier confrontation easing into a calm, peaceful silence. You and A'rien stood there, wrapped in each other’s embrace, simply enjoying the moment. The warmth of his presence, the steady beat of his heart, was a comforting balm to your nerves.

A'rien broke the silence with a gentle kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. “We should alert the guards that we have Solveig before he wakes up,” he said softly.

You nodded, your thoughts reluctantly shifting back to the unconscious orc tied to your porch. “Will he have a concussion?” you asked, glancing over at Solveig’s prone form.

“Definitely,” A'rien replied with a small smile. “Orcs are hardy. He’ll be fine.”

As you started to pull away, A'rien leaned in to kiss you again, a soft, lingering kiss that made your heart flutter. His hands gently released their hold on you, but the warmth of his touch stayed with you.

As you turned towards the door, a thought struck you, and you paused. “A'rien, why are you in town?” you asked, your curiosity getting the better of you. “You never did answer me, and with Solveig here, I can’t help but wonder…”

A'rien’s expression grew slightly more serious, his eyes holding yours for a long moment. He opened his mouth to respond, but the weight of his words seemed to hang in the air.

Eventually, A'rien took a deep breath and met your gaze. "I suppose you deserve to know the truth," he began, his voice tinged with a mixture of resignation and vulnerability. "I was supposed to be trying out for a position as a city guard."

You blinked in surprise, and then a laugh bubbled up, breaking the tension. "Why did you hide that from me?"

A faint smile played on his lips. "I wanted you to think I was skilled and battle-worthy, not just some recruit trying out for a position. I didn't want you to see me as weak."

You stepped closer, your hand finding his. "A'rien, you are skilled and battle-worthy. You've proven that more than once. You should still go for the position."

He shook his head, a self-deprecating chuckle escaping him. "How can I be a good guard if I've had to be saved by you twice now?"

You silenced him with a kiss, your lips capturing his. The odd texture of his skin didn’t bother you; the warmth of his breath, the coolness of his scales, made your chest flutter.

His surprise melted into warmth, and he responded with a deep, breathy sigh.

When you pulled back, your foreheads resting against each other, you whispered, "You are strong and capable, A'rien. Everyone needs help sometimes. That doesn't make you weak.”

A'rien’s eyes softened. "You always know what to say," he murmured, his voice filled with warmth.

Just then, the distant sound of guards approaching grew louder, breaking the intimate bubble around you. A'rien straightened, his hand still holding yours. "I suppose we should let them know about Solveig," he said, his tone practical, even as his eyes glowed.

You rolled your eyes, sliding your hand snugly into his. “I suppose we should.”

#exophilia fiction #exophilia #monster romance #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #tag: mxf #tag: male monster #tag: female reader #tag: sfw #tag: dragonborn

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