#and there's a lot worse things out there than partying forever in the next life | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

supernovafics · 1 year ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 2.7k words

summary: in which a moment at a party that led to a drunken kiss and a heartfelt admission pushes you and your best friend away from each other. after nearly a week of silence, it’s still hard to find the right words to say to steve and to find the right way to mend what feels as if it has been permanently broken. until you’re drunk at a bar and he is the one to come and get you.

warnings: bestfriend!steve, explicit language, underage alcohol consumption, angst with a happy ending<33

author’s note: this was sitting in the drafts for a veryvery long time and i’ve finally decided to let it see the light of day🫶🏾 (full “folklore” album series masterlist here)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“i didn't know if you'd care if i came back, i have a lot of regrets about that.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The bar was comforting in a weird kind of way.

It was pretty dark and empty for the most part, which partly made sense since it was ten o’clock on a random Wednesday night. You didn’t mind the music softly playing and the stool you were sitting on actually felt comfortable, or maybe it was the alcohol making you believe that.

Somehow even with the number of drinks you’d had in the past hour, it still didn’t manage to effectively push your thoughts far away from Steve and what happened at Robin’s birthday party.

You couldn’t not think about the kiss with him, which you had abruptly and drunkenly initiated; it was a kiss that felt simultaneously wrong and right. And his words that followed the kiss played on what felt like an endless loop in your mind too.

“I’ve wanted this, I’ve wanted us, for practically forever. Ever since that moment our mom’s forced us to meet at that county fair thing when we were ten, I think I knew it was you.”

It was hard to think about what you did in response to that, but still the quick, “I’m sorry, I can’t,” you managed to stutter out before basically running away from him played on equal loop in your head.

The two of you hadn’t spoken since that Saturday night, with you returning back to your college that was two hours away from Hawkins early the next morning. And you were unsure if it was you leading this dance or if both of you were equally avoiding each other because the phone calls that would happen practically daily were reduced to nothing. It had barely been a week, but it was long enough for everything in your life to feel shifted; to feel a little emptier.

“You look like you need to talk to someone,” The bartender, a woman who you were certain couldn’t be older than thirty, said as she slid you the latest drink you’d ordered.

“No, I’m fine. It’s just…” You trailed off with a small sigh before taking a sip from the cold glass. “I did something stupid this past weekend and I regret it, but I also think it might have been the right thing to do.” You were unsure if you were referring to the kissing Steve part or the running away from him part. “I don’t know, I just wish that entire night hadn’t happened, actually.”

You knew that it wasn’t solely your inebriation that made your words seem as if they didn’t make any sense, because everything going through your head was so damn confusing even when you were completely sober. None of it, the emotions you were feeling or the situation itself, fully made sense to you and you forced yourself to not think about any of it by solely consuming yourself with your schoolwork for the last few days. And when doing that was no longer enough to silence your thoughts, you decided to come to this bar.

It was dumb and probably only making things worse, you knew that, but it also felt so much easier.

“Okay,” The woman said. “Can I have a lot more context?”

You were unsure why you had the immediate urge to tell her everything. Maybe it was the alcohol, or perhaps because it was just always so easy for anyone to pour their heart out to a stranger.

“My friend— my best friend, we’ve known each other since we were ten— me and him were at a party. It was actually our other friend’s birthday and she just turned eighteen, so of course, we had to make it a huge thing for her, and we did it at Steve’s house; my best friend, that’s his name. Anyway, it’s about two hours into the party and we’re all pretty drunk. Me and Steve are in his backyard sitting on one of his old patio chairs, and then I don’t know why, I blame it on my drunkenness and how close we were in that moment, but I kissed him. I pulled away almost immediately, but then he said that he has wanted this, wanted us, to happen for so long, and I didn’t know what to say to any of that. So, I just mumbled out a stupid “I’m sorry,” and then left.”

You had barely taken a breath as you spoke, spitting out what happened that night in one rushed go. Finally saying all of it out loud— recounting the story in pretty much its entirety— made you feel a little better. Everything was still a complete mess, but you felt like you could breathe the tiniest bit easier.

“Why did you leave?”

A part of you expected her to ask that question, and at this point, you should’ve had an answer to it that felt certain, but you didn’t.

“It just… It felt like the right thing to do, I think.”

The thought of anything more happening with Steve hadn’t ever crossed your mind, at least not consciously, and even now you still refused to think more about it. Because it wasn't just about Steve. You didn’t want anything more with anyone; you didn’t want feelings, a relationship, any of it.

It wasn’t that you hated love or the thought of it, it was more so that you had been burned because of it so many times that you refused to fall into it so easily again. Falling for boys that you thought actually liked you only to be proven wrong and left heartbroken.

“I get it,” The bartender ultimately said, her voice soft. “You guys have been friends for practically forever and if you started dating and then broke up it would probably change everything between you two.”

We would never break up.

The thought hit you so abruptly that it actually managed to surprise you.

The woman looked at you, confused. “Okay… So, then what’s the problem?”

“What?”

“You said that you and him would never break up, so what’s the problem?”

You hadn’t realized you said the thought out loud, and you couldn’t even feel embarrassed about accidentally saying it because all you could think about was how completely true it was. You and Steve would work so well together, you pretty much already did. You knew the ins and outs of each other; everything little that was annoying but also so endearing. It was what you loved about him— as a friend and as more.

But still, it was so fucking hard to admit that out loud, and you wanted to forget about the entire realization.

“I– I don’t know,” You finally answered before folding your arms against the countertop and then putting your head down. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that that action would be enough to will away the tears that you could now feel threatening to spill out.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“and i ended up here. pouring out my heart to a stranger.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Hey, you okay?”

The voice was soft and immediately comforting and oh so familiar. It was enough to put a smile on your face, but your head was starting to pound so you couldn’t bear to do anything but groan.

You lifted your head and mumbled out a soft, “Steve?”

You only vaguely remembered the bartender, whose name you eventually learned was Chelsea, asking for a phone number of someone that could pick you up. And although you should’ve given her your roommate’s number, you instead gave her Steve’s.

“I never thought I’d be the one picking you up from a bar,” Steve said as he sat down next to you. “I always thought it would be the other way around.”

“Y’know what they say about college, it changes people,” You told him with a nonchalant shrug. The two of you hadn’t talked in days, but it still felt like second nature to fall back into the joking cadence you had with him. “I’m a total badass now.”

Steve laughed a bit and looked at you amusingly. “Mhm, yeah, sure you are.”

You weren’t as drunk anymore but you were entering the early stages of a hangover that would be a bitch, and you already knew that there was no way you’d be going to your eleven o’clock Statistics class.

“I can’t believe you drove two hours to pick me up,” You said as you settled yourself in the passenger seat of Steve’s car after you paid your pricey tab and goodbyes were said to Chelsea.

Steve offered you a small smile. “What else are best friends for?”

You couldn’t help but look away from him as you mumbled out a soft, “I didn’t know we were still that.”

“We’ll always be that.”

There was so much certainty in his voice that it actually managed to soothe something inside of you. Only for a second, though, because then you were back in your head again.

The drive back to your dorm was quiet with only the soft sounds of the radio to fill the silence. It was a short ride, only about ten minutes, and the entire time you could only focus on your dull headache and what you wanted to say to Steve because you knew that you had to say something. Although you didn’t want to, that night needed to finally be talked about.

When he was parked in front of your building, you still didn’t know exactly what to say, but you decided to start with something. “Listen, about Robin’s party–”

“It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it. Let’s just pretend it never happened,” Steve interrupted you. He pushed a hand through his hair and then met your gaze. “It was really dumb of me to say all of that stuff, and I partially blame it on all the drinks we had— definitely way too many. We’re just friends, I know that. And your life is here now, for the most part, and mine is back in Hawkins, so yeah…” He trailed off with a small shrug.

You suddenly felt nauseous and you knew it had nothing to do with the alcohol. He was saying everything that you fully thought you wanted to hear— what happened at the party should’ve never happened, you two were just friends— so why did it feel so wrong?

Things became quiet and Steve was looking at you expectantly, and you were unsure how long you’d been silent for.

“Um, yeah, exactly,” You finally said as you unbuckled your seatbelt. Before you opened the passenger door to leave his car, you reached over and pulled Steve in for a hug. “Drive safe.”

“Thanks,” He said as his arms circled around you.

For some reason, there was a huge part of you that wanted to say “I’m sorry” in that moment, but you didn’t entirely know why, so instead you said nothing and simply got out of his car.

You headed to the entrance of your dorm building and then turned around, giving Steve a final wave before he drove away.

It was then— as he headed down the street and after a few moments his car became completely out of your view— that you wished you’d been honest; with yourself and with him.

Because it was in that moment of you yearning for him to turn around mixed with you sincerely wanting to go after him that essentially sealed it for you.

Steve was different and he always would be.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“and maybe i don't quite know what to say, but i'm here in your doorway.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You felt slightly lucky that you only had two classes on Thursdays because when you woke up after sleeping through your Statistics class, you knew that you wouldn’t be going to your Psychology class that started at three. And the reasoning actually had nothing to do with your hangover.

Aside from the slight headache, you woke up with your mind feeling completely clear for the first time in a long time. You knew exactly what you wanted and what you wanted to do, and before that feeling could go away, or you could convince yourself to push it away, you were in your car an hour before your class was supposed to start and driving to Hawkins. You were pretty much running off of impulse and hope.

The weather was terrible and you hated driving in the rain, but it didn’t matter to you right then because you needed to see Steve.

You had two long hours of driving in terrible rain to figure out what exactly you wanted to say to him, yet you still couldn’t form a coherent set of sentences in your head. But, similar to the rain, that didn’t stop you from ringing his doorbell.

In hindsight, it probably would’ve been smart to bring an umbrella because it was still pouring and from the short walk from your car to his front door, your clothes managed to become effectively soaked, but it didn’t bother you.

“Hey,” He said when he opened the door, it was easy to tell that he was surprised to see you. “Did you drive all the way here?”

You quickly nodded at his question. “Yes.”

“You hate driving in rain.”

“Yeah, but I… I just really wanted to talk to you, and didn’t wanna do it over the phone.”

“Come inside,” Steve said, pushing the door open wider so that you could step in.

You almost followed him but then stopped. “No, wait… I kinda just wanna say this here.”

Steve looked at you confused, but ultimately nodded. “Okay.” He then stepped out of his house and closed the door behind him; his clothes immediately got wet. “It feels wrong that you’re the only one getting hit by the rain.”

You laughed a bit. “Thank you. That’s very considerate.”

Things got quiet for a second and you suddenly felt nervous, but you pushed that feeling to the side.

“I know you said that we don’t need to talk about the party and we should pretend that it never happened. And although that’s exactly what I’d been doing for the past few days, I don’t wanna do that anymore.” It actually didn’t feel too hard to let all of this out; verbalizing exactly what had been going on in your head. In a way, it felt like a relief. “I think I kissed you that night because deep down I know that it’s you too. And that it’s always been you… Which is actually so scary to think about because we’ve known each other for so long and you’re the one person in my life that has been the biggest constant. You’ve seen every part of my very horrific love life and I don’t want us to end up like any of the stupid relationships I had before, and I think that’s why I ran away that night, which I do really regret.” You pulled your eyes away from his for a second. “But, what we have is different, and I want to try. I want us to try.”

You let out a long breath. “Okay, that’s it.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a few moments, and it was then that you realized how loud the rain was, and somehow it was actually a bit calming to hear the sounds of the heavy drops hitting the ground.

You searched his eyes to see if you could decipher what he was thinking, but before you could get a clear read on anything, he was closing the small bit of distance between you both and reaching up to cup your face in his hands before leaning in to kiss you.

The abruptness of the action slightly startled you, but you were completely okay with this nonverbal response to you pouring your heart out. You were kissing him back almost immediately and suddenly the sound of the rain was gone and instead all you could hear was your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

The kiss felt perfectly new but also so insanely familiar; even though this was the first time this was happening sober. And so many things were running through your mind, but it was also effectively blank and you knew you wouldn’t be able to form a coherent sentence even if you tried.

Most of all, though, everything happening right then— the way your hands fisted themselves in his rain soaked t-shirt to pull him impossibly closer to you, and how his thumb stroked your cheek so tenderly— it all felt so certain and sure and right; there wasn’t an ounce of doubt lingering in the air around you both or lacing its way within the kiss.

When you pulled away to catch your breath and smiled up at him, a smile that Steve immediately matched with an elated grin of his own, it slightly killed you that all of this hadn't happened sooner.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“i just wanted you to know that this is me trying.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things fluff #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington

855 notes · View notes

storyscribeforthesentiment · 4 days ago

Text

the detective & the dark knight | chapter 11

Summary: Detective Marie Manning, investigating a series of brutal murders in Gotham, crosses paths with the mysterious Batman. As they work together, their mutual respect turns into a deep, passionate bond. Amidst danger and corruption, their unlikely partnership evolves into a profound love, forever changing their lives in Gotham’s dark corners.

Pairing: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f!main character

Author’s note: Brace yourselves for a long one! This chapter is a pure emotion (sorry if you're not into that!) Bruce and Marie fight, make up, and finally get together. I hope you all enjoy a big sigh of relief at the end of the chapter. It’s a bit of a whirlwind, but the best kind of whirlwind.

Apologies for the wait! Life got in the way, but we’re back at it.

Word count: 9k

Warnings/tags: mentions of gun violence, police bribes, fighting, murder

Chapter List

The warm glow of the setting sun filtered through the tall windows of Wayne Manor, casting long shadows across the room as Bruce stood in front of his mirror, adjusting the cufflinks on his tailored suit. The faint sound of classical music played in the background, a soft and calming contrast to the storm of thoughts running through his mind.

Alfred, ever-present and always meticulous, stood a few feet away, inspecting the final touches of Bruce's attire. He took a moment to adjust Bruce's bowtie, before he stepped back and gave a nod of approval.

"You look dashing, as always, Master Wayne," Alfred remarked with a hint of pride in his voice. "A yacht party, is it? Quite the venue for a police fundraiser."

Bruce exhaled softly, his gaze distant as he continued adjusting his cufflinks, though he didn’t seem particularly focused on them. "You know it’s not really about the fundraiser."

Alfred tilted his head, studying Bruce for a moment. "Ah. I see. Miss Manning, I presume?"

Bruce didn’t answer right away, but the faintest smile played on his lips as he glanced at his reflection. "She'll be there. At least, I hope she will. I invited the entire department."

Alfred let out a thoughtful hum, crossing his arms as he moved to stand next to Bruce. "You’ve been in better spirits lately, if I may say so. Wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you've been working with her again, would it?"

Bruce paused, catching Alfred's gaze in the mirror. He shrugged, trying to play it off, though he knew it was no use—Alfred could see straight through him. "Maybe," he murmured, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "We work well together."

Alfred’s expression softened, but his voice carried its usual weight of wisdom. "I daresay, Master Wayne, you're a bit happier these days."

Bruce chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly. "We’re not together anymore, Alfred. She’s a coworker." The words felt wrong coming out of Bruce’s mouth.

Alfred studied him for a moment longer before speaking. "You know, there are worse fates than working with someone you care about, even if things aren’t as they once were. Perhaps it's not the end of the story yet."

Bruce looked down, his fingers tracing the edges of his cufflink absentmindedly. "Maybe not. But I don’t want to pressure her into anything. She’s been through a lot, and so have I. If working together is all we can manage right now... I’ll take it."

Alfred stepped back, straightening the lapel of Bruce's jacket before placing his hands behind his back. "Well, if nothing else, Master Wayne, it’s shaping up to be a lovely evening. I trust you’ll make the most of it."

Bruce gave a nod, but his thoughts were already elsewhere. His mind drifted to the image of Marie—her fierce determination, her humor, and the way she always challenged him.

It was more than just admiration; he cared about her deeply, and despite the distance between them now, he couldn’t help but hold on to the hope that maybe tonight could be different.

With a deep breath, Bruce adjusted his jacket one final time, turning toward the door. "I guess we’ll see what happens."

Alfred gave him a reassuring smile as he followed behind. "Indeed, sir. Shall I ready the car?"

Bruce nodded. "Yeah. Let’s get this party started."

—-------------------------------

The soft evening breeze off Gotham Harbor brushed against Marie’s skin as she stepped onto the grand yacht, her heels clicking lightly on the polished deck.

The scent of saltwater and expensive cologne mingled with the faint notes of the orchestra playing in the background, reminding her how far removed this was from the rough streets of Gotham.

The twilight sky was a mix of soft pinks and purples, reflecting off the calm waters, but it was the lights of the yacht that stole the attention. Music played faintly from the upper deck, where Gotham’s elite mingled and sipped champagne.

Marie tugged at the fabric of her deep navy blue gown, smoothing out a wrinkle as she walked alongside Commissioner Gordon. The dress hugged her figure perfectly, flowing elegantly around her legs as she moved. The halter neckline left her shoulders bare, with her long dark curls cascading down her back in soft waves.

“You clean up nice, Manning,” Gordon teased lightly, giving her a sidelong glance.

Marie chuckled, shaking her head. “Don’t get used to it. The next time you see me, I’ll be in a Kevlar vest and jeans.”

Gordon grinned, adjusting his tie as they approached the entrance. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

As they entered the party, greeting a few familiar faces from the department and city officials, Marie’s eyes shifted toward the front of the yacht, where Bruce stood, speaking with a small group of guests.

Even from a distance, Bruce exuded his usual charm—tall, impeccably dressed in a black tuxedo, his hair neatly styled, and a faint smile playing on his lips as he politely engaged in conversation with several people at once, all mesmerized by his charm.

“Notice you haven’t mentioned Bruce much lately,” Gordon remarked casually, keeping his voice low as they approached the party. “How are you guys doing?”

Marie glanced at Gordon, her lips curling into a slight smile. “We’re… taking things extra slow,” she replied, her tone light but with a hint of something more beneath it. “If you can even call it that.”

Gordon raised an eyebrow but didn’t pry. “Ah. I see.”

She gave a small shrug, her eyes lingering on Bruce for a moment before looking back at Gordon. “Honestly, we’re not really together anymore.”

Gordon nodded thoughtfully, his hands slipping into his pockets as they continued walking. “I won’t push. But I’ve always liked him. He’s always been supportive of the department—this is what, the second fundraiser he’s thrown for the GCPD in the last few months?”

Gordon’s gaze softened, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “He’s got a good heart, despite what people say about him just being a playboy. And it doesn’t hurt that he has… well, resources.” He paused, sweeping his hand toward the grandeur of the yacht—its gleaming decks, the dazzling lights casting reflections on the water.

He went on, "I don’t think I’ve ever said more than a few words to the guy before, you know."

Marie smirked to herself. You’ve definitely said more than a few words to him.

Her thoughts trailed back to how deeply Bruce was connected to the GCPD, not just as himself but as Batman. She wondered if Gordon ever suspected, but that was a conversation for another day.

The atmosphere was vibrant, laughter and the clinking of glasses echoing in the night air. Servers weaved through the crowd with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. The yacht, with its glittering lights, felt like a world apart from the gritty reality she was used to.

Marie scanned the party, taking in the sights of Gotham’s elite, but her mind wandered back to Bruce. It felt strange, being here like this—so close, yet still keeping a distance.

Gordon, sensing her momentary distraction, gave her a soft nudge. “Come on, let’s make the rounds before you slip off to wherever you plan to disappear to.”

Marie smiled, following Gordon into the crowd, but her eyes couldn’t help but drift back to Bruce, who had already noticed her arrival.

Bruce excused himself from the group he was speaking to as soon as he saw Marie and Gordon approaching.

His eyes found Marie, and for a moment, the noise of the party faded into the background. She looked stunning—breathtaking, even. The deep navy gown hugged her figure perfectly, the soft waves of her hair catching the light just right.

For someone who was always so focused and no-nonsense, there was something about seeing her like this, outside of the chaos of their usual world, that stopped him in his tracks. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, a subtle, warm smile tugging at his lips as he walked toward her, every other distraction fading into insignificance.

“Commissioner Gordon, Marie,” Bruce greeted with a nod, his voice smooth but a touch warmer than the usual Wayne charm he used at events like these.

“Mr. Wayne,” Gordon responded with a polite nod. His formalities were a front, as always, but Bruce could see the familiar warmth in his eyes.

Bruce's eyes locked onto Marie, and for a moment, he forgot to speak. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out, his gaze tracing the way the lights caught in her hair and the warmth in her eyes. She noticed, her lips curving into a soft smile, breaking the silence for him.

"Hey, Bruce," she said, her voice warm but a bit guarded, though she didn’t pull her gaze from his. "Quite the event you’ve put together."

Bruce gave a slight shrug, his smile deepening as his eyes remained on her. “Had to keep things interesting. I was really hoping to see you here.”

Before Marie could respond, a woman from the crowd—a socialite Bruce barely recognized—swept in with bubbly enthusiasm. “Detective Manning! Oh, it’s been forever. You look lovely. Come, you must meet the newest member from the city’s cultural council.”

Marie glanced at Bruce, her smile tightening slightly. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

With that, she was whisked away, leaving Bruce watching her disappear into the crowd.

—-------------------------------

The lights of the yacht cast shimmering reflections across the dark sea, laughter and clinking glasses mingling with the soft lap of waves. Bruce leaned against the railing to take a brief respite between mingling, his gaze shifting between the guests around him, though his attention briefly wandered elsewhere.

With a practiced motion, he slipped his hand into his jacket, fingers brushing over the slim device hidden within. It was a compact, high-frequency scanner he always kept on him, subtly tuned to the city's emergency channels.

Tonight might be a rare moment away from Gotham’s shadows, but he knew better than to drop his guard completely. The scanner offered a quiet reassurance—a link to the undercurrents of the city, alerting him to any crime that might demand his presence. This was part of who he was now, a constant awareness of the other life he led.

Satisfied by the silence on the scanner, he allowed himself a slow exhale, just as Gordon approached with a whiskey in each hand. Bruce slipped his hand out of his pocket, straightening, trying to ease into the rare luxury of a normal evening—at least for a moment.

"Some event you put on, Bruce," Gordon started, handing Bruce a whiskey, "And I’ve got to say, I’m pretty damn impressed that you threw this entire yacht party just to impress Manning."

Bruce shot him a sidelong glance, half a smirk pulling at his lips. "That obvious?"

Gordon chuckled, shaking his head. “Come on, Bruce. This is the second GCPD event you’ve hosted this year. Either you’re gunning for Gotham’s Philanthropist of the Decade, or you’ve got your eye on one of my detectives. And between you and me, I don’t think it’s the philanthropy.”

Bruce shrugged, trying to downplay it. "It’s not just for her."

"Sure," Gordon replied, raising an eyebrow. "It’s for the other 200 guests you barely know."

Bruce sighed, his smirk fading. He wasn’t about to deny it. Marie was the reason he was here, the reason he’d gone through all the trouble. "She’s important."

Gordon gave a little shrug, his mouth quirking up as if he couldn't argue even if he tried. “Can’t say you're wrong there,” he replied, glancing around the deck with a hint of amusement.

Moments passed in comfortable silence, the sound of the waves lapping against the yacht blending with the music and mingling guests.

Gordon’s eyes narrowed as he watched Marie across the party. “Listen, Bruce, I see her like a daughter. She’s tough as nails, but she’s been through hell. I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

Bruce met Gordon’s intense gaze. “We aren’t dating anymore, Commissioner. Marie made it clear.”

Gordon leaned in slightly, his voice low and firm. “I get that, but let’s not kid ourselves. I can see it in both your eyes. There’s still something there, and you know it.”

Bruce swallowed hard, the weight of Gordon’s words pressing on him. After a moment, he admitted, “I love her.” The air was thick with honesty.

Gordon studied Bruce for a moment, then sighed, crossing his arms. “Look, when you find someone like Marie, you don’t let that go. Not for anything.”

Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but Gordon cut him off, his voice low but firm. “We always make it harder than it needs to be. You think this stuff just falls into place? Hell no. You’ve got to put in the work. You care about her, right?”

“Yeah, of course I do,” Bruce said, frustration edging into his voice.

Gordon’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Then show her. You don’t get many shots at something like this, kid. Don’t screw it up.”

Bruce nodded, the weight of Gordon’s words hitting him. He knew he was right.

Gordon leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “Fight for her. She’s worth it.”

Without another word, Bruce pushed off from the railing and moved through the crowd, weaving between guests and waitstaff. As he neared, he caught sight of Marie, her face lighting up the moment their eyes met. She excused herself from the group she’d been chatting with and walked toward him.

“Bruce,” she greeted with that warm, playful tone he loved. “Looks like you survived Gordon’s pep talk.”

He smirked, leaning closer. “Just barely.”

Marie chuckled, the sound sending a rush of warmth through him. “I have to say, this party is a lot more fun than I expected.”

“Yeah, well…” Bruce began, his heart thudding in his chest. He knew he needed to say more—everything he’d just talked about with Gordon—but as she looked at him, the words got stuck in his throat. Her smile was warm and genuine, the creases by her eyes deepening with the sincerity of it. It was the kind of smile that made him forget everything else for a moment.

He chickened out. “Uh, did you try the fried shrimp cocktail yet?” he asked as a poor attempt to pivot. “I had them use Panko breadcrumbs because I know they’re your favorite.”

Marie burst out laughing, eyes twinkling. “Oh, I’ve already stashed a handful in my purse for later.”

Bruce’s face lit up, but before he could respond, a blonde socialite in a slinky red dress sidled up beside him, her gaze laser-focused on him, “Well, if it isn’t Bruce Wayne!” she purred, sidling up to him with a flirtatious smile. “You still haven’t gotten back to me about that dinner invitation I sent.”

Bruce turned, forcing a polite smile. “Hey, Tiffany. Sorry about that. Work has been... busy lately.”

“Busy?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow playfully. “You must be the busiest billionaire in Gotham. I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit awkward. “No, not at all. Just juggling a lot right now. You know how it is.”

Tiffany stepped closer, a teasing glint in her eye. “Well, I’d hate to think I’m not a priority. How about we make up for lost time and grab dinner this week?”

Bruce shifted his weight slightly, caught between courtesy and discomfort. “That sounds nice, but I really can’t commit to anything right now. I’ve got a lot on my plate.”

“In that case, would you do me the honor of a dance?” She responded.

Bruce tensed, stealing a glance at Marie, who raised an eyebrow, amused at watching Bruce squirm.

Tiffany turned to Marie, her smile sugary sweet but laced with sharpness. “I hope you don’t mind, darling. It’s just one dance, after all. You two aren’t… together, right?”

Marie casually placed her hand on her hip, her expression calm and nonchalant as the socialite practically draped herself over Bruce, eager for a dance. “We’re not,” Marie said coolly, her tone dismissive. “You two go ahead. Have fun.”

Bruce shot her a quick glance, his eyes pleading for rescue—an unmistakable look that only she could interpret as help me.

But Marie, enjoying the moment far too much, simply smiled, raising her eyebrows as if to say you’re on your own.

With Marie’s calm demeanor offering no way out, Bruce forced a polite smile, suppressing a groan. “Alright,” he sighed, offering his hand to the socialite. “Just one.”

Marie bit her lip, barely stifling a laugh as the woman eagerly pulled Bruce toward the dance floor, leaving him to navigate the awkward situation on his own.

As he led her to the dance floor, Bruce felt a mix of obligation and disappointment swirling in his chest.

As they began to dance, he tried to engage in small talk with Tiffany, but his mind kept drifting back to Marie. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, and a pang of regret hit him as he noticed the slight furrow of her brow.

The music swelled, and he moved through the dance with practiced ease, but it felt hollow. With every spin and turn, he wanted to be with Marie, to share this moment with her. But the socialite kept chatting, her laughter ringing in his ears as he forced himself to nod along, all the while stealing glances back at Marie.

Marie stood there, watching them dance. At first, a small smirk tugged at her lips, amused by the sight of Bruce being his usual charming, polished self. It was almost funny watching him try to navigate Tiffany’s relentless flirtation. Any girl would be lucky to dance with Bruce Wayne—Gotham’s most eligible bachelor, tall, handsome, and effortlessly charismatic.

But as the dance went on, her amusement faded, replaced by a dull ache she hadn’t expected. The way Tiffany’s hand rested on his shoulder, the easy smile Bruce wore, even though Marie knew he was just being polite—it all stirred something deeper within her. A part of her hated seeing him like that, so close to another woman, even if it was just a casual dance.

They were work partners again, and she really did enjoy that. Working with Batman was exhilarating, and their dynamic had always been strong, even when things were... complicated. But if she was being honest, it wasn’t the case-solving or the late-night stakeouts that made her heart race. It was being around Bruce. Just Bruce.

Watching him hold Tiffany, even in something as simple as a formal waltz, brought back memories of how he used to hold her. There was an intimacy to it, one that she missed more than she’d let herself admit.

Without another thought, she turned sharply, slipping away into the crowd, needing space from the sight that unsettled her more than she cared to acknowledge.

When the song finally ended, he turned to look for her, only to find that she had vanished. The tightness in his chest deepened, and he felt a surge of frustration. Where did she go?

As soon as the dance ended, Bruce weaved through the party, a faint sense of unease growing in his chest. He spotted Gordon near the bar again and quickly made his way over.

“Have you seen Marie?” Bruce asked, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the edge in his voice.

Gordon looked up, his brow furrowing slightly. “She’s probably slipped away to somewhere quieter. You know how she is with these events.”

Bruce nodded, already turning to leave. He scanned the deck and the various corners of the yacht, but she was nowhere to be found in the bustling crowd. The tension in his chest tightened as he slipped through the more secluded areas of the ship, away from the noise and chatter.

Finally, he found her. She was standing alone on a private deck, leaning against the railing, the moonlight casting a soft glow over her figure as the waves rolled gently below. The sound of the party was distant here, replaced by the quiet hum of the sea.

He approached slowly, his voice low and smooth. “There you are.”

Marie didn’t turn to face him, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “Needed some air,” she replied, her tone casual but carrying an unmistakable edge.

Bruce stepped closer, concern etched on his brow. “You didn’t have to disappear.”

Finally turning to him, she crossed her arms, a playful smirk forming. “What, so I could watch you twirl with the bitch in the red dress?”

“The bitch in the red dress,” he began, trying to sound more at ease than he felt, “is a woman I’d keep up with casually—at least as far as the social scene goes. You know, the kind of thing I have to do to keep up appearances... keep the playboy image alive.” He gave a casual shrug, trying to dismiss any notion of it being anything more than that.

Marie tilted her head, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Right,” she teased, her tone dripping with humor. “Keeping up appearances... Must’ve been so hard to sleep around with all that ‘work’ you had to do. I’m sure it was such a sacrifice.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and Bruce felt the heat rise in his cheeks, clearly caught off guard.

He gave her a mock glare. “You’re making it sound worse than it was. I was seeing Tiffany before I met you, I might add.”

Marie raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Well, thank you for clarifying, Bruce. I still didn’t want to watch you dance with her, though.”

“You told me to,” he shot back, a teasing glint in his eye.

“Doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it,” she quipped, a playful challenge in her voice.

Bruce joined her at the railing, leaning casually, the cool night air wrapping around them as they stared out at the water. The sounds of the party faded into a distant hum.

“You know,” Marie said, breaking the silence, her tone thoughtful, “I was just thinking about that first night we met. At the GCPD gala you hosted at Wayne Manor. That was the first time I actually met you as Bruce Wayne—didn't have a clue I’d already crossed paths with Batman.”

Bruce turned to her, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips. “I think about that night more often than I’d like to admit.”

She paused, a teasing glimmer in her eyes. “I’m starting to think you planned that whole event just to meet me.”

Bruce laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “You’re just figuring that out now?”

She scrunched her nose playfully. “What can I say? I’m a little slow on the uptake sometimes.”

“Look, I couldn’t exactly ask you out as Batman. So I needed a way to meet you as... me. The fundraiser was my shot. I figured it was the best chance to sweep you off your feet—without the mask, without all the shadows. Just me, Bruce.” He smirked, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement.

Her eyes locked onto his, curiosity flaring. “It’s kind of flattering, you know, that you threw that party just to ask me out.”

He nodded, his gaze steady. “Just like how I threw this whole party just to see you tonight.”

Her breath caught slightly at his words. “You could’ve just called, you know,” she said, a hint of vulnerability creeping in.

“I have been,” he replied, his voice sincere.

When silence lingered, he took a deep breath, laying it all out. “I miss you.”

The words hung in the air before Marie responded.

“You see me at work,” she said, glancing away toward the water, her voice tinged with sadness.

“I miss you—everything about you,” he confessed, his heart laid bare before her. The weight of his words were heavy and electric. “I love having you back as my partner, but I miss having the rest of you too.”

The world around them faded into a blur, both lost in the gravity of their shared history. Bruce took a small step back, cautious not to overwhelm her with the depth of his feelings.

Sensing that Marie wanted to move on from the subject, Bruce said, “By the way, your necklace is beautiful,” his eyes drawn to the delicate piece resting against her collarbone. The blue gemstone caught the soft glow of the lights, shimmering like the depths of the ocean.

“Thanks. I picked it out myself,” she replied, a shy smile flickering to life on her lips.

“You always have an eye for the best ones,” he said, genuine admiration lacing his tone.

“Not when it comes to men,” she shot back, smirking, and Bruce feigned a dramatic gasp.

“Hey now, that was low,” he teased, laughter spilling from his lips, but it was a fleeting moment of levity.

She laughed before softening for a moment, "It’s actually been nice working with you again.”

Bruce smirked, catching the shift. "I’ll take that as a compliment. I agree."

Marie rolled her eyes, teasing. "If I’ve got to have a partner, I suppose I’m glad it’s you. Though sometimes, I wonder if I’d be better off going solo. You know, like a Lone Wolf."

She smirked before continuing, "Who knows, maybe I’ll throw on some black leather and start my own vigilante gig."

"Oh yeah?" Bruce crossed his arms, leaning in a little closer. "You’re sounding pretty damn confident. You really think you’d be better off working cases by yourself?"

Marie crossed her arms, a smirk tugging at her lips. "The Red Lotus case would’ve been wrapped up by now if you hadn’t swooped in at the Billiard’s Club and almost gotten my nose broken."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Sorry again about that." He paused, then added with a teasing grin, "But in my defense, you could’ve ducked faster when Zucco threw the punch."

Marie scoffed, leaning further against the railing. "If you hadn’t broken in there, Zucco would’ve given me the information we needed to catch Maroni. Rookie mistake, Wayne."

Bruce leaned in slightly, his gaze steady on hers. "So, you think you could do my job better?"

"Better? Hell yeah," she said, tapping her chin as if seriously considering it. "Step one: stop with all the brooding. Step two: maybe ditch the cape. Little dramatic, don’t you think?"

Bruce chuckled. "The cape’s staying. It's fucking iconic."

Marie gave him a look, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Iconic? Please. I'd pull it off better than you, no contest."

They laughed together, a sound that felt natural and easy. It had been so long since they'd just talked like this—no cases, no weight of the world pressing down on them. Just them. Bruce found himself smiling, more at the feeling of the moment than anything else.

Bruce glanced at her, his grin lingering. "You know what? You’d look sexy in the suit."

Marie raised an eyebrow, feigning shock. "Sexy? Now you’re just trying to charm me, Wayne."

He smirked, shrugging. "Just saying. Gotham wouldn’t stand a chance."

Marie shook her head, her grin wide. "You wouldn’t stand a chance."

For a moment, they both paused, realizing how good it felt to be laughing, teasing each other again. It was like slipping back into something comfortable, something real—something they’d both missed.

Bruce leaned back slightly, still watching her. "It’s nice, you know? Talking like this again."

Marie’s smile softened. "Yeah. It really is."

She shifted her weight against the rail before asking, “So, do you have any other guests to mingle with, or am I hogging your time?” Her gaze shifted away from him, a defensive wall rising as if she could distance herself from the truth swirling between them. The air thickened once more as she grew serious again.

Bruce leaned in closer, the sincerity in his voice dropping to a whisper. “Honestly? You’re the only one I want to be with tonight. Everyone else can wait.”

Her eyes narrowed, skepticism creeping into her expression. “Bruce…”

Seeing the opportunity, Bruce went for it, “Marie, I don’t want to just be partners again. I want more.”

Her expression hardened, the walls around her heart building higher. “Bruce, I don’t want to get caught up in this again. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” he echoed, stepping closer, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “What about it is complicated? I’m in love with you, Marie.”

His confession hung heavy in the air, bold and raw. His resolve remained unwavering as he stood there, determined.

A lump formed in her throat as she searched his eyes for a hint of uncertainty, but all she found was honesty. “You can’t just throw that around. Do you have any idea how hard this has been for me?” Her voice trembled.

“Then say it back,” he urged gently, desperation flashing in his eyes. “If you don’t love me, I’ll back off. We can just be work partners, nothing more.”

The silence pressed down on them, thick and unyielding, as Bruce stood there, grappling with everything he wanted to say. His voice was quieter when he finally spoke, but there was an urgency to it, something raw.

Bruce’s voice was steady but raw, each word heavy. “You know, every damn time I’m out there—every time I’m in the line of fire—I think of you. You’re in my head, Marie. I don’t want to do any of this without you.”

Marie’s breath caught, her heartbeat quickening as the weight of his words settled over her. She swallowed, her eyes dropping for a second, her mind swirling with the memories they shared—the nights at the docks, the chaos at the Iceberg Lounge, that first kiss in the shadows of Wayne Manor. “Bruce, it’s not that simple. There’s so much at risk.”

His eyes flashed, and he took a step closer, voice rough with frustration. “You think I don’t get it? Every fucking night I leave that cave, I know what’s at stake. But you—” he broke off, jaw clenched, as he forced himself to take a breath, softening just a bit. “I need you.”

He didn’t break eye contact, and in that moment, there was nothing between them but truth.

The air between them was charged, heavy with everything unsaid. Her lips parted as if to answer, but the words tangled in her throat, caught in the push and pull of fear and longing. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe, just stared at him, her mind racing.

Bruce, almost instinctively, lifted his hand to her face, his fingers brushing her cheek with a tenderness that made her eyes flutter shut. His touch was warm, grounding her, silently urging her to speak. She leaned into his palm, a deep breath filling her lungs as she tried to gather the strength to say what needed to be said.

"I did," she whispered, the confession hanging between them like a fragile thread about to snap. "But I don’t anymore."

The words fell from her lips, each one cutting through him like a blade. Her hand reached up, gently but deliberately removing his from her face, breaking their connection. The absence of her warmth left him cold.

Bruce’s heart shattered at her words, the weight of her rejection hitting him harder than he’d anticipated. He fought the urge to flinch, his breath catching in his chest. For a moment, he just stared at her, hoping there was some misstep, some misunderstanding. But the cold finality in her eyes told him otherwise.

His hands flexed into fists at his sides, the raw edge of hurt palpable in his voice as he spoke, quieter than before, almost restrained. “Understood.”

The word barely made it out of his throat, but he couldn't trust himself to say anything more. His mind was spinning, thoughts racing between anger, sadness, and disbelief.

Without waiting for a response, he took a step back, distancing himself, the overwhelming sting of rejection like a punch to the gut.

"I'll see you in a few days," he said, his voice flatter now, deliberately formal, his gaze already shifting away. The vulnerability he'd shown moments ago was locked behind his defenses again, but it was shaky, and he knew it.

“To connect on the Red Lotus case,” he added, almost mechanically. Business as usual—at least, that’s what he was trying to convince himself. But inside, his heart was a mess of pain and confusion.

His body moved like it was on autopilot, turning away from her as the lump in his throat tightened. His hand shot up, running through his hair in frustration, as if the physical act could somehow scrub the hurt away.

He wanted to be angry, to shut down and walk away clean, but the sadness clung to him, weighing him down. He couldn’t be mad at her, not really—she had her reasons. But that didn’t make the heartbreak any easier to swallow.

As he took another step away, his voice cracked just slightly, betraying the control he was desperately holding onto. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

Those words were hollow, and he knew it. He wanted to say more, to ask why, to beg her to change her mind, to say she didn't mean it—but he couldn’t. He was Bruce Wayne, the one who always kept his cool, who never let the mask slip for too long. He couldn’t risk unraveling in front of her.

He kept walking, each step feeling heavier than the last. His heart pounded in his chest, a storm of emotions crashing against the walls he was so desperately trying to rebuild. He could feel the tears threatening to spill over but swallowed them down, his jaw tightening.

The night around him felt suffocating, and every fiber of him wanted to scream, to let out the frustration, the heartbreak. But all he could do was put one foot in front of the other and force himself away from her.

He heard Marie call after him, faintly, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Not now. Not when everything felt so raw and exposed. If he turned around, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep it together.

But then, like a lifeline, she yelled after him again, her voice more urgent. “Bruce—wait!”

His footsteps faltered, his whole body tense. He stopped in his tracks, fighting the urge to turn back, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

And then, the words that nearly broke him all over again: “I love you.”

For a moment, he didn’t process it. It was everything he’d been longing to hear, but it felt so surreal, so sudden after everything that had just passed between them.

He spun slowly to face her, the shock rippling across his features. For a moment, all the emotions he had fought to bury surged back up, overwhelming him. And then he saw her—standing there against the railing, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, her figure tense but still.

The night air tousled her hair, and her eyes, wide and vulnerable, locked onto his. She was gripping the railing as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded, her knuckles white against the dark metal. Her lips trembled slightly, the weight of her confession sitting in the space between them.

“I... I love you,” she repeated, her voice unsteady but resolute. The rawness in her gaze mirrored the same emotion he'd shown earlier—exposed, fragile, but undeniably real.

Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and her vulnerability struck him with the force of a tidal wave. For the first time, he truly saw her—open, terrified, and yet standing tall in that moment of truth.

The moonlight caught the sheen in her eyes, the slight quiver in her lower lip, but her words, though trembling, didn’t falter. They were full of conviction, and it hit him just how close he'd come to walking away from something that still held hope.

Bruce could barely process it. His mind was still swimming in the pain of rejection, but now there was hope—a light in the darkness. Slowly, he took a step toward her, like he was testing the ground beneath him, afraid that if he moved too quickly, the moment would shatter.

“I’ve loved you this whole time,” she continued, her voice catching.

Bruce blinked, his heart pounding in his chest, trying to catch up with everything that was happening.

Her admission was like a balm on the wound, slowly healing the raw edges of his heartbreak. As he stepped closer, the sadness that had weighed him down moments before began to lift, replaced by something fragile but real—hope.

His voice was barely audible as he said, “Then why did you say that you don’t?”

Marie took a shaky breath, her eyes glistening. “Because it’s easier to be mad at you than to face how much I care. How much I’ve always cared.” She felt her composure faltering, her vulnerability laying bare before him. “You’re Batman. You live in danger every single day. I can’t bear the thought of losing you to the darkness that surrounds you.”

Her breath caught as fear and longing wrestled for control. “And then I start thinking, what if we try again, and what if it doesn’t work out? What if we’re just two people caught in a cycle of pain and heartbreak?”

He swallowed hard, the words pressing at the back of his throat as he looked at her, standing there with her heart exposed. He took a deep breath, stepping toward her, his voice thick with emotion. “I know what’s at stake,” Bruce said, his voice low, the weight of his words lingering in the air. “I feel it every night I step out there.”

The silence returned, heavy and thick. Marie felt her walls crumbling, and she wrestled with the chaos of her feelings.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered, tears threatening to spill. “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t go through that again.”

“Then don’t lose me,” Bruce said, stepping closer again, his voice firm yet gentle. “I’m standing right here. I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

His hand twitched as if he wanted to reach for her, but he held back, the weight of the moment pressing him to hold onto whatever restraint he had left. “Say you love me again, and I’m not letting you go this time.”

Marie’s eyes softened, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she finally let herself speak the words that had been swirling in her chest for so long. “I love you.”

As soon as the words left her lips, he closed the distance between them in an instant, his expression shifting from longing to determination. He captured her lips in a fierce kiss, pinning her against the railing, the world around them dissolving into nothingness. All that remained was the two of them.

Their lips met in a rush of urgency and desire, a wild mingling of pent-up emotions that had been simmering for far too long. Marie melted into him, every worry and doubt dissipating as she surrendered to the moment, losing herself in the heat of their connection.

When Bruce finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against hers, their breath mingling, heavy and uneven. His voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of a promise. "Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together. You don’t have to be scared anymore."

Marie’s heart pounded against her chest as she stared into his eyes. For the first time in a long time, the fear in her heart was eclipsed by something else—hope, love, and the undeniable pull between them.

Bruce kissed her again—this time with even more intensity, a fierce declaration of everything they’d been holding back. He pressed her harder against the rail, his lips moving against hers like a vow. It wasn’t gentle; it was urgent, desperate, as though he was claiming her, body and soul.

As the kiss deepened, their hands explored—his fingers tangled in her hair, while she traced the strong line of his jaw. They lost themselves in the moment, time slipping away until a soft creak shattered the intensity.

The door to the balcony swung open, and Alfred stood there, eyes wide with surprise. Realizing the scene before him, he quickly averted his gaze, the faintest smile creeping onto his face as he cleared his throat. “Master Wayne,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with amusement, “the Mayor of Gotham has arrived. He’s asking for you.”

Bruce sighed, reluctantly pulling back just enough to meet Marie’s gaze. The heat of their connection still lingered in the air, but he softened as he brushed his thumb across her cheek. “Tell him I’ll be right there, Alfred,” he replied, his voice gravelly, laced with unspent desire.

Alfred nodded, keeping his eyes respectfully averted as he discreetly retreated, closing the door behind him. The charged silence returned, thick with the promise of what was to come.

Bruce leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of Marie’s ear as he growled low, his breath warm against her skin. “I’ll be back,” he promised, his voice laced with a mix of desire and vulnerability that made her toes curl. “Stay right here,” he murmured, the words carrying a darker undertone that sent a shiver down her spine.

He pressed one last, lingering kiss to her neck, savoring the warmth of her skin before reluctantly stepping away. Bruce ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it down, his fingers lingering for a moment as he tried to regain his composure and pull himself together.

He glanced back at Marie, his gaze softening for a heartbeat, before taking a deep breath and turning to head out to meet the Mayor, his steps heavy with the tension of leaving her behind.

The door clicked shut, leaving Marie alone, her mind spinning in the aftermath of the heated moment. She pressed her fingertips to her lips, still swollen from the force of his kiss, her pulse racing.

Her thoughts spiraled. She hadn’t meant for any of this to happen, not tonight. But being with Bruce felt so natural, so right, like coming home after being gone for far too long. The way he kissed her—fierce, unapologetic, and so full of emotion—it was everything she had feared but everything she needed.

She loved him.

She loved Bruce Wayne, and it wasn’t just the man he was underneath the mask. It wasn’t the mystery or the danger that clung to him. It was his strength, his vulnerability, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered in a world filled with chaos.

The thought of losing him terrified her, but the idea of not being with him was worse.

Marie shook her head, pacing the small, private balcony in small circles. Every time she told herself she needed to be rational, that she had to protect herself from heartbreak, the memory of his touch, the feel of his lips against hers, shattered that resolve.

She couldn’t deny it anymore. She was in love with Bruce, wholly and irrevocably, and no matter what danger lay ahead, she was ready to face it—with him.

Minutes passed, though they felt like hours, as Marie’s heart beat louder in her ears. The door suddenly opened, and Bruce stepped back in. The intense look from earlier returned, but now, a playful smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Before Marie could even react, Bruce was standing in front of her, pulling her into his arms with a quiet intensity. He kissed her, hard and deep, as if he couldn’t wait another second. His hands gripped her waist, lifting her off the ground in one smooth motion, and the world around them seemed to disappear.

When they finally broke for air, Bruce’s forehead rested against hers, his breath coming fast. He looked at her, his eyes dark with something fierce. “I love you,” he said, his voice rough and raw. “I love you, and I swear to God, I’m not going anywhere now. Not for anything.”

She grinned, feeling the warmth of his words seep into her very core. "I love you too," she whispered, her voice tinged with both affection and disbelief that they had finally arrived at this moment.

Bruce kissed her again, softer this time, but just as intense. His lips moved against hers with a tenderness that made her heart swell, and he tightened his grip on her, cradling her like she was something precious.

Slowly, he carried her out of the room and down the hallway toward a stateroom.

They barely made it through the doorway before Bruce kicked the door shut behind them, pressing Marie against it as they continued kissing. His hands roamed her back, feeling the softness of her, while her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more of him, all of him.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” he murmured between kisses, his voice low and rough with desire. "I’ve wanted to be with you like this, to feel you like this…"

Marie’s heart raced as she kissed him back with equal passion, her breath catching at the intensity of it all. She had never felt so alive, so consumed by love and desire all at once.

The heat between them was overwhelming, but in the best possible way. Every kiss, every touch, was filled with unspoken promises, with the depth of emotion they had both been too scared to admit until now.

Bruce pulled her closer, his hands firm but gentle as he carried her further into the room, laying her down on the bed with careful precision. He gently lowered himself onto her, their bodies entwined. A sense of peace washed over them, a moment suspended in time.

She could feel the hard contours of his body pressing into her, the heat radiating off him igniting every nerve ending.

Their mouths met again, a fierce collision that spoke volumes. As they kissed, the longing that had built over months poured out of them, their desperation palpable in the way they clung to each other.

Bruce’s hands roamed along the curve of her back, his touch warm and possessive as he pulled her closer, their bodies fitting together like pieces of a long-lost puzzle. Her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring herself against him as if he were her only lifeline.

She could feel the strength in his muscles beneath her fingertips, the way he radiated warmth, and it made her heart race.

They lost themselves in each other, reveling in the heat, the urgency, and the overwhelming love that pulsed between them like a heartbeat—a reminder that they were meant to be, despite the chaos that surrounded them.

Unsure of how much time had passed, Bruce and Marie pulled away, their breaths mingling in the charged air. Reality began to seep back in, and the weight of the world slowly returned. Bruce’s eyes softened, still filled with emotion as he gently kissed her forehead.

“Hey,” he murmured, a hint of a smile creeping onto his lips. “We have ice cream waiting for us in the butler's kitchen.”

Marie chuckled softly, the remnants of their passion still lingering in the air, and nodded. “Ice cream sounds perfect right now.”

They walked hand in hand through the dimly lit corridors of Wayne Manor, the sounds of the gala fading behind them. As they entered the butler's kitchen, a comforting scent of vanilla wafted through the air, mixing with the coolness of the space. Bruce opened the freezer and pulled out a container, his expression shifting to playful mischief.

“I have both of your favorites, chocolate fudge or classic vanilla. What are you feeling tonight?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Chocolate fudge, obviously,” she replied, grinning as she hopped up onto the counter, swinging her legs slightly.

As he scooped the ice cream into two bowls, the earlier intensity of their conversation lingered like a warm blanket around them. Marie watched him, her heart swelling at the sight of him in this light—vulnerable yet strong, a man she had long admired.

Bruce stepped in front of Marie, standing between her legs as she sat on the counter. He set the bowls of ice cream down beside her, his hands resting casually on the counter’s edge, close to her hips. His tall frame filled the small space, creating a sense of closeness between them. Marie, her legs gently swinging off the side of the counter, scooped a spoonful of ice cream, her lips curling into a soft smile.

The kitchen was quiet, the faint hum of the night outside surrounding them. Bruce’s gaze stayed on her face, noticing the way the dim light softened her features—the relaxed curve of her lips, the subtle warmth in her eyes. He hadn’t touched his ice cream yet, too caught up in the rare moment of peace between them, the closeness they rarely shared like this.

Marie absentmindedly brushed her fingers against his wrist as she took another bite, the gesture light but intimate, and the silence between them felt comfortable, as if they didn’t need words to fill the space.

“I was thinking,” Marie began playfully, “If you gave me some more time, I would’ve figured out you were Batmanon my own.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh really? And how exactly would you have figured that out?”

She leaned closer to him, a teasing grin on her lips. “I don’t know, maybe all the late nights and the brooding? Or the way you magically disappear whenever Gotham is in trouble. I mean, come on, it’s not rocket science.”

Bruce chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Okay, fair point.”

Bruce stepped closer, positioning himself between Marie’s legs as she sat on the kitchen counter. He placed the bowls of ice cream beside her and leaned in, his hands resting lightly on the counter by her hips. The small space between them felt intimate, the night’s quiet hum settling around them like a comforting blanket.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice low. "You know, I almost told you so many times. About Batman. About everything."

Marie paused mid-bite, her spoon hanging in the air as she looked at him. "You did?"

Bruce nodded, his expression serious. "That night at the docks... I thought I was going to die. I kept thinking, if something happened to me, I couldn't leave you in the dark. I didn't want you to never know."

Her eyes softened, understanding replacing the initial surprise. "You really thought you were going to die?"

Bruce exhaled slowly, his gaze intense. "Yeah. I had to consider it. And more than anything, I didn't want to go without you knowing the truth. Keeping it from you always felt... wrong."

Marie let his words settle, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. She reached out, her fingers brushing his forearm. She wasn’t sure what to say, so she rubbed his arm slowly.

She took a long breath, her voice gentle yet filled with weight. “You know,” she said, breaking the quiet between them, “when you were bleeding out on the docks, and when I saw Alfred patching you up at your house… I haven’t felt that helpless since I was a kid, watching my dad die.”

Bruce’s gaze shifted, brow furrowing, wanting her to continue.

She looked away, caught in the memory. “When he got shot while working a case. I remember visiting him in the hospital after it happened. He was hooked up to all these machines, tubes everywhere, and I just stood there... frozen.”

She took a breath before going on, “I was a kid, but I knew what it meant. Seeing him so weak, lying there... I felt powerless. I didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to go home without him, but I had to. The fear of losing him, of walking out of that hospital without my dad, it was paralyzing.”

Marie paused, the silence heavy between them, before she looked up at Bruce, her eyes clouded with the memory. “And when I saw you... lying there at the docks, barely holding on... it was like being back in that hospital room. That same helpless feeling all over again. Except this time, I wasn’t a kid. When you pulled your mask up, and I saw that you were Bruce, my Bruce… I was watching the most important person in my life slip away. And I couldn’t do anything about it.”

She set her ice cream bowl aside, her entire focus on him now. The vulnerability in her voice made Bruce’s chest tighten.

He reached up, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, his touch soft. “I never wanted to put you through something like that.” He whispered to her.

Her hand came up to meet his, resting his palm against her cheek. She closed her eyes at the warmth of his touch. “I’ve seen you take on so much. You were always this invincible figure to me, even when I didn’t know who was behind the mask.”

His thumb rubbed her cheek as she continued, “But that night... I realized you weren’t invincible. And it terrified me.” Her voice faltered, her eyes searching his for understanding. “I realized I could lose my work partner, and the man I love. It felt like the world was closing in. That’s why I ended things with you. I didn’t want to feel that pain again.”

Bruce’s thumb paused, his forehead almost touching hers. His voice was low, laced with emotion. “You don’t know how much I needed you, Marie. Every time I put on that suit, I thought I was protecting you by keeping you out of it. But the truth is, I don’t want to do this without you. I need you by my side—whether I’m wearing the mask or not.”

Her heart pounded at his words, the intensity of his honesty cutting through her. He cupped her face fully now, his thumbs brushing gently against her skin. “I’m not going anywhere, Marie. I swear. Whatever happens, I’ll be right here. We’ll face it all together. No more secrets. No more running.”

Marie’s breath hitched, her forehead leaning against his, their closeness grounding her. “Promise me,” she whispered, her voice almost breaking. “Promise me you won’t keep anything from me again.”

“I promise,” Bruce whispered back, his voice thick with emotion. “You and me—no matter what.”

Marie opened her eyes, her gaze unwavering but soft. “I love you, Bruce.”

A slow, tender smile spread across Bruce’s lips, his usual guarded demeanor melting away in her presence. He leaned in, his lips brushing hers with a gentleness that spoke of everything unsaid. “I love you too, Marie.”

Marie smiled, the weight on her chest lifting. “Here’s to no more secrets,” she said, her voice light yet filled with meaning.

Bruce chuckled softly, his thumb brushing across her lips before resting his hand on the counter beside her. “To no more secrets,” he echoed, his voice steady, a vow to her.

They clinked their ice cream bowls together, the simple gesture carrying the weight of everything they’d shared. It wasn’t just a toast—it was a new beginning. A promise that from now on, they’d face whatever came together, with no more lies, no more running.

27 notes · View notes

roanofarcc · 2 months ago

Text

PROJECT SUNSHINE CHAPTER SIXTY THREE → THE FREAKSHOW

summary: steve harrington x oc || Ao3

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. 2.7k || masterlist || ocs moodboard

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. parts of this story were written pre-season 4 release. cannon divergence.

previous chapter ← → next chapter

Tagged. @sattlersquarry, @leptitlu, @two-sides-samecoin

The subdivision was quiet that afternoon. A strange calm had settled over Hawkins that spring, but Steve had learned not to let his guard down anymore. Nothing was ever calm in Hawkins, and his nerves were already pricked with Sunshine a couple of hours away in Indy with her sister. He knew she could handle herself if she ran into any trouble, and he tried to convince himself that she wouldn’t run into any trouble, but there had been a knot of worry tied inside his gut since he was little. He worried about everything, all of the time. The revelation of other dimensions, monsters, and bad men only made that knot worse. But he did his best to distract himself.

“Turn your elbow like this,” Steve said, moving his arm to mimic the motion of the kid beside him. “It’ll help your aim.”

Lucas fixed his arm and shot the basketball, putting it right through the old hoop Steve had dug out of his garage. Since Lucas told Steve he was thinking of trying out for the basketball team last fall, Steve had been helping him practice. Between all of his high school highs and lows, basketball had been the only consistent thing for Steve, and something he still enjoyed. It served as a normal distraction for both of them, but especially Lucas. The kid was really good too and made varsity his freshman year. And while he most rode the bench, Lucas had too much potential to stay there forever.

The ball bounced against the cement and Lucas raced to grab it, dribbling it back down the driveway to where Steve stood. He was quieter than normal; Steve was the only person, besides Lucas’s dad, who the kid could have an actual conversation about basketball with. His friends weren’t interested in it, and Steve wasn’t sure of the last time Lucas had a full conversation with Max, to everyone’s dismay.

“You all right, Sinclair?” Steve asked.

He shrugged, eyes glued to the ball. “This game’s a big deal, right?”

“A really big deal,” Steve replied. There were only a handful of times Hawkins High made it to the championship of anything. “But, you know, all you can do is play your best.”

Lucas snorted a sarcastic laugh. “You sound like Sunshine.”

Steve smiled. “Occupational hazard.” She had rubbed off on him, even more so since they were dating. Her sunny disposition and pep talks, along with her adoration of the simple things in life. He saw the world differently with her, and not just the bad stuff that crawled out of portals or gates. The world was a scary place, but it also held a lot of good stuff, you just had to look through the weeds and interdimensional vines to see it.

“I know the pressure can be tough, but you’ll be fine.”

Lucas held the ball in his hands, slumping his shoulders slightly. “It’s not just that. This game is important to me, but Mike and Dustin want me to skip it for the D&D campaign. I guess Eddie refuses to reschedule.”

Steve rolled his eyes. He didn’t really know the guy, their paths rarely crossed in high school. Either Steve was running with Tommy and Carol, too busy to notice nerds like Eddie Munson, or he was sulking in his fall from grace and reeling from monsters and bullies. He’d heard of Eddie, in a small town it was impossible to not know everyone, whether you liked to or not. Rumor had it he was some super-senior drug dealer, and that sounded like the last person Steve wanted hanging around the party. But Dustin refuted the rumors and made Eddie out to be some kind of king of the nerds.

It was embarrassing, and Steve hadn’t even admitted it aloud to Sunshine yet, but he was a little jealous of the Hellfire Club caption. Sure, on paper, he was probably the cooler person to hang out with in the eyes of Dustin because he loved the same game they did, but Steve had thought that he and Dustin were the ultimate duo. He was like Steve’s little brother, annoying and sometimes a pain in the ass, but someone Steve couldn’t see not in his life. But it seemed like Dustin was no longer interested in hanging out with him.

It made Steve feel even more useless to the gaggle of teens, like he really didn’t have a place in the grand scheme of their monster-hunting team anymore.

“Your friends can’t miss one campaign to come watch you play?” Steve asked, shoving aside his own weird issues with some dude he’d never even talked to before.

“Guess not.”

“Well, what about Max?”

Lucas sighed again, hugging the ball to his chest like he was trying to get some kind of comfort from it. “She still won’t talk to me. She hardly talks to Mike or Dustin. Every time I try, she shrugs me off with some excuse. I don’t know what else to do.”

Max didn’t like change, which Steve figured out very quickly after getting to know Max. Moving across the country was one thing, but what she’d experienced since being in Hawkins was another beast. No one could blame her, they all just wished she’d let them help her. Sunshine seemed to be the only one who could get through to her somewhat. She shut the party out, caved in on herself. Lucas was the most distraught over it.

“There’s not much you can do,” Steve said. “You can try to be there for her, but you can’t magically make everything better.”

“It just sucks. We know people with superpowers and know there’s another dimension, but we can’t, like, fix any of the shit we’ve been through. We just have to take it and pretend like…like it’s fine.”

It was beyond frustrating, but that had become their lives. Steve’s mind glazed over it, trying hard not to think too much about it until the world threatened to end again.

“Look on the bright side, you’ve only got four more years here. Then you can play basketball at some D1 school, pretend like Hawkins was some fucked up nightmare or something.”

Lucas laughed but it was mixed with a little scoff. “Yeah, if I live that long,” he muttered, and Steve’s gut turned uncomfortably. He didn’t like that, jokes like that were too real. “And if they ever let me off the bench.” He tossed the ball at Steve, who caught it despite being slightly thrown off guard.

Dribbling the ball, back up the driveway, Steve shoved away the pit in his stomach and focused on the task at hand. “Hey, with my help, you might even get to play in the championship.”

“Yeah,” he replied, sarcastically. “I might even win the whole thing.”

→←

“This feels…unethical,” Will Byers said, chewing nervously on his nails as he stood lookout for Leia.

She stopped, turning her head to look at him. “Really? I could name ten unethical things that have been done to the two of us alone. This, my dearest brother, is good ole’ fashioned revenge.” She balanced a cup of red paint on the locker shelf with a fishing wire around it. Carefully, she threaded the wire through the slit in the door and fashioned it so that as soon as the locker was opened, the cup would be pulled forward and spill on the unlucky but well-deserving bully.

“I doubt she’s even read Carrie. Angela and her friends aren’t going to get the prank.”

Leia sighed, cautiously looking up and down the empty hall. “They don't need to ‘get it.’ All that matters is that Angela is covered in red paint. She deserves a lot worse for laughing at El’s project, but Joyce said we’re grounded if we commit a crime.”

“Technically, I think she said we’re grounded if we’re caught committing a crime.”

Leia paused before she shrugged. “If this doesn’t work, then I’ll think of something illegal. Until then…” She dusted her hands off on her paint-stained overalls from an art project gone slightly rouge and clapped Will on the shoulder. He had grown even taller since their move, Joyce said it was probably the sun that was making all of them grow like weeds, but Will still curled into himself and tried to make himself smaller among their new Cali-folk.

While Leia probably should have been more wary about a new school, but she had a different view of it. She had never attended any kind of school, so she had no expectations. Bullies didn’t bother her because she was good at brushing them off. All of the teasing from Kali’s friends made her skin thick and she had a little voice in her head reminding her she had superpowers and they didn’t; it made her feel better.

Will flew under the radar too. He was quiet and good at blending in, making himself a small target. Luke followed in his footsteps, spending most of his time tucked away in the library which most kids avoided besides the nerdy and quiet ones. It was El that caught all of the flack.

By some unlucky chance, she had caught the eye of a blonde-headed all-American mean girl the second she stepped through the school doors. El was kind, she wanted to be friends with everyone but had a hard time picking up on social cues. And the second Angela got a whiff of El’s slight unusualness, she latched on like a hungry shark. How some freshman had a cult following of brightly dressed, rich friends who would do anything she said, Leia had no idea. It was like they stumbled into the set of a movie riddled with cliches that Leia thought weren’t actually supposed to happen in real life. Yet, there Angela was, laughing at El while she tried to present a project she had worked really hard on. Apparently cruelty earned you cheap laughs; Leia wanted to fry Angle to a crisp.

She had to settle for ruining the bully’s outfit.

The bell rang, singling the end of class. Leia and Will stood innocently at the water fountain and subtly watched as Angela and her clique waded down the hall, her blonde ponytail swinging with each step. She arrived at her locker, entered her combo, and yanked it open. Out poured the red paint, splashing down the front of Angela’s shirt. She let out a shrill scream that echoed through the hall, causing people to stop.

Angela wiped her hands against the paint, smearing it into the fabric and getting a layer coating her palms and fingers. It looked like blood, but the smell of paint quickly filled the air, making the hall smell just like the art room.

Leia hid her laughter under her hand while Will pressed his lips in a thin line, suppressing a smile. They watched as Angela’s friends surrounded her like a flock of birds. She swatted them away and turned out from her locker with her face nearly as red as the paint. Leia couldn’t hear what she said, but without even cleaning herself up, she took off toward the doors that led to the courtyard of the school.

“Okay,” Will said with a laugh. “You were right; that was great!”

Leia beamed. “I’ve got more where that came from.”

He shook his head, a lightness in his tone that only came out from time to time now. “Come on, let’s go find Luke and El. They’ll want to hear about this.”

Unfortunately, their two siblings did hear about the red paint stunt because El was the first person Angela assumed had pranked her. By the time Leia and Will entered the courtyard, El was sprawled out against the ground with her project in pieces along the sidewalk. Angela was standing the closest to El, her arms crossed and laughing along with the rest of her friends who stood on the sidelines.

El’s face was grief-stricken, and that alone was enough to send Leia running towards her sister. She jammed her shoulder into Angela’s sending the blonde stumbling. El stood and outstretched her hand in a similar way she once did when she used to abilities; it was a reflex, one that would probably take El a long time to shake since she had lost her abilities last summer. Before El did anything to give Angela further ammunition, Leia grabbed El’s arm gently and pushed it back down at her side.

Angela seemed satisfied with sending El and her project to the ground and turned to leave, her front half still coated in paint. A tear fell from El’s eye as she glanced at her broken project. With a gentle sigh, Leia tried to channel her anger into something more helpful for El; it was what Sunshine told her to do when she felt her anger gain control of her, fueling her abilities and asking for something bad to happen. Leia grabbed a hold of El’s shoulder, making her sister look at her.

“Are you okay?”

El frowned, wiping away her tears. She nodded sadly, slumping her shoulders.

“It’s my fault,” Leia said. “I pranked Angela, but I should have known she’d think it was you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” El tried to smile, but it was weak and turned back into a frown when her eyes landed on the pieces of her project.

Will and Luke started picking them up, placing them back in the slightly crushed shoe box. “We can fix it,” Will said with confidence in his voice. He pinched a squirrel figurine in between his fingers before holding it out to El. She grabbed the squirrel and closed her fist around it. “We’ll all help, and it’ll be good as new, all right?”

“All right,” El said quietly. She joined the boys on the ground while Leia scooped out the surrounding area in case any pieces went flying off of the sidewalk and onto the grass. She spotted a couple of popsicle sticks and gathered them before she turned around. Directly behind her was one of her classmates, who sat beside Leia in art class.

Startled, Leia gasped, and the girl’s eyes widened before a sheepish smile fell across her lips. “Sorry!” Abby said. “Didn’t mean to scare you, I just found this.” She held out a small hat that El had made to resemble Hopper’s police hat.

“Thanks,” Leia said, taking the hat with a small ache in her chest. Not a day went by where she didn’t think about Hopper; she missed him, but Joyce was doing everything she could to make the three of them feel a part of their family. It wasn’t the same though. They weren’t in that little cabin in the woods, eating Eggos and watching black-and-white detective movies.

Abby shoved her hands in her pockets and rocked back and forth in her busted sneakers. She didn’t dress like most of the kids at school; her shoes were dirty and her clothes were mended with patches of different colors. Her hair was pin straight and black, with thick bangs cut barely above her eyes. She was odd but in a good way. Abby was always bouncing on her heels or tapping her hands against the tabletop. She spoke quickly but with so much enthusiasm it made Leia feel happy too.

“Angela’s a jerk,” Abby said. “I’m glad someone finally did something, even if it didn’t end super well.”

Leia pocketed the hat with a sigh. “I should have used real pig’s blood.”

“You stole the pain from the art room?”

“Guilty.”

Abby laughed. “That’s amazing! Oh, I would have killed to see her face!” Leia laughed too; it was impossible for her not to. Abby’s laugh was infectious, which often got them into trouble in art when they couldn’t spot giggling in the middle of class.

“Leia, are you ready?” Will called from several feet away. They had cleaned up El’s project and Luke was carrying it in his arms, probably in case Angela had any other ideas. Luke was a little taller and broader, harder to knock down.

Abby gave Leia a smile before she said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, she turned on her feet and headed across the yard, leaving Leia with a friendly giddiness bubbling inside her chest.

Leia rushed over to her siblings, handing the hat off to El. Together, they all walked back into school, El sandwiched between them. The Hopper-Byers weren’t a typical group of siblings, but it was as if they were destined to be family all along. Maybe they radiated the idea that they didn’t belong, slotted pieces of different puzzles that somehow fit, but there was no denying that they belonged together as a family.

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x original character #el hopper #will byers #lucas sinclair #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things 4 #stranger things oc #project sunshine #ao3

31 notes · View notes

prettyrealm · 8 months ago

Text

monsta x i.m mini personality reading

this reading is a paid commision, thank you so much for trusting in me! <3 celebrity commissions • personal commissions

+ positives

a pretty easy going guy, accepting of how life works in general (“it is what it is”, “if it comes let it, if it goes, let it” mentality). he doesn’t try to control things that he can’t and doesn’t fret over it. i.m really seems to appreciate women, he thinks women deserve rights and truly believes they are equal to (and in some cases, better and stronger than) men. for ex, if he was with a woman richer or more famous than him, he would simply be very proud to be with her. he tries to understand the struggles women go through, he’s very understanding of even negative traits displayed by women (he doesn’t expect women to be perfect and understands we go through a lot). i.m is humble in a sense that he doesn’t think he’s better or worse than anyone else - “I’m just a regular human being, the same as anyone”. he is very individualistic and unique. he knows how to appreciate luxury without being materialistic. i.m wants to have a truly strong love and marriage where both parties are really good people to each other - he wants to grow with someone. he isn’t a jealous person - if people around him are smarter, funnier, more charismatic etc. than him, rather than being envious or jealous, he’s just happy to have that sort of energy around him (this is also because his self-confidence is strong enough to know that someone being funnier or smarter than him doesn’t make him unfunny or not smart). i.m tends to have a lot of faith in life and the universe to the point where when bad things happen he just thinks “it wont be like this forever” (so in this sense he has a very positive and optimistic outlook). he’s open-minded and may even try to educate himself on issues that happen in other countries, again a very accepting person (like it’s unlikely for him to be homophobic for example). I think he has a healthy relationship with sex. he is not a lazy person - just because he believe things work out like they’re supposed to doesn’t mean he’s lazy and only going to wait for good things to come to him, he knows he needs to put in effort so he still goes after what he wants. he has a positive view of and healthy relationship to family (it’s likely something he wants, and his appreciation for women likely comes from a good example set by his parents/his own mother or women he grew up around)

- negatives

i.m can be a bit paranoid, untrusting and very distant. he is super closed off - he does not open up easily at all, when he does open up it’s pretty superficial. he can be bad at letting people know what’s going on with him - like he’ll tell you he ended up breaking up his gf, but you didn’t even know he had a gf in the first place (just the vibe of never fully knowing what’s going on with him). due to being so untrusting, he always wants to know way more about other people he meets before he’s willing to open up to them. he may even lie a bit to protect himself due to this (like if he gets the feeling that you’re prying way too much and not understanding that he doesn’t want to open up to you, he will lie to you to get you off his back.) i.m really wants a close relationship, but he fails to realize he can’t expect next level loyalty and devotion from a woman he refuses to even open up to (he struggles to understand equality/give and take in this sense). since he finds it so hard to trust people, he may even reach for red flags and cause arguments over things he’s made up in his head (“do you even really wanna be with me? I can’t tell.”), he will later realize he’s acted out and apologize, but it still kills the vibe and puts the other person unnecessarily on edge (even if he isn’t accusing them of super bad things). he just needs a lot of proof you’ll really be there for him before letting people in. and while he has self confidence, he can be overly confident (not necessarily arrogant), but he can have big and unrealistic goals due to his unwavering faith in the universe, i think it’s likely he even has a problem with actual gambling due to this. he can be a bit irresponsible overall due to his “sky’s the limit” mentality. I think he may also be stuck on a “first love” or “the one that got away” so it’s hard for him to let other women in.

#tarot #kpop tarot #kpop readings #kpop #celebrity tarot reading #celebrity tarot #mini personality reading #piano tarot #changkyun #i.m #monsta x #commissions

36 notes · View notes

vivaciousoceans · 16 days ago

Text

liftin' you up, so you will be raised

Fandom: Law & Order: SVU

Pairing: Olivia Benson & Noah Benson

Rating: G+

Warning (s): None

Word Count: 1,725

Genre: Family (?), Fluff (?)

It’s not that Noah isn’t on her mind the entire time they’re investigating the case—he is, especially once two thirteen-year-old boys get involved.

If she’s being honest, Noah has been on her mind a lot lately.

He’s thirteen now, officially a teenager, and he’s growing up so fast. Olivia finds herself wondering where the time has gone. It seems like just yesterday she was lifting him out of that drawer, overwhelmed by a love so profound that it reshaped her entire world.

The truth is, she’s never quite gotten used to the fact that she has a son.

Even now, when she watches him play video games or sees him come home from school with his backpack slung over one shoulder, there’s a part of her that marvels at the fact that this is her life. But with that joy comes a constant undercurrent of fear. If she brought up Noah every time a case hit too close to home—like this past week’s case had—she’d never be able to focus on her job.

Still, when she saw the boys’ ages, her first thought wasn’t about the investigation or the details—it was about Noah. About how, in a different set of circumstances, it could’ve been him.

He could’ve been one of those boys, making choices based on things he wasn’t old enough to understand, his life changed in an instant. Or worse, he could have been like the twelve-year-old girl—innocent, vulnerable, caught in the crossfire of someone else’s ignorance and recklessness. The thought of him suffering like that, of losing him, gripped her so tightly that she has to remind herself to breathe when Carisi hands her a glass of whiskey.

She knew she needed to talk to him.

The signs have been there for a while: Noah coming out as bisexual, the questions he’s asked her about relationships and identity, the conversations she’s overheard between him and his friends. He’s reached an age where curiosity naturally leads to seeking information, and the internet is a minefield—too often offering more harm than guidance. Like it had with Johnny D, his biological father.

Just like it had in this week’s case. What should’ve been a simple, mutual exploration between two teenagers had turned into something traumatic, leaving both parties and their families forever changed.

In total, five lives had been shattered over the course of a week, and the justice they’d found felt inadequate.

After leaving Carisi’s office, she headed straight home, bypassing the precinct. Any paperwork could wait until Monday. Right now, her focus was on her son.

She just hoped he was still awake; she didn’t think she could fall asleep until she talked to him. As she drove, she mentally rehearsed different ways to open the conversation. She knew it couldn’t be a lecture—Noah was smart, curious, and he’d see through any attempt to control the discussion. And after what happened when she kept the truth about his biological father from him, she knew she couldn’t afford to be anything but honest. He deserved that.

When she finally stepped into the apartment, the familiar warmth of home washed over her, but it did little to ease the tightness in her chest. She shrugged off her coat and set down her keys, pausing when she spotted Noah on the couch. He was still awake, the soft blue glow of his phone illuminating his face as he scrolled. She felt a mix of relief and nervousness; this was the moment she’d been turning over in her head all day.

“Hey, Noh,” she called softly, making her way over to the couch.

Noah looked up, surprised but smiling. “Hey, Mom. You’re home early.”

She let out a small laugh. “I guess I am.” She hesitated, then added, “Mind if we talk for a minute?”

He set his phone down, his brows furrowing as he heard the tension in her voice. “Sure. Is everything okay?”

Olivia sat down next to him, feeling the weight of the moment. “Yeah, everything’s fine. But... I wanted to talk to you about something important.”

She tried to keep her tone casual, but the urgency of the topic was hard to disguise. “Today at work, we had a case involving kids your age and a few years older, and it got me thinking.”

“Like... what kind of case?”

She took a breath, steadying herself. She rarely talked about her work with Noah, and when she did, she tried her best to be as vague as possible. “There were two boys—thirteen, just like you—who got involved in something they didn’t fully understand because of things they saw online. I know you probably know what I’m talking about—videos, photos, stuff like that.” She paused, her eyes searching his. “Sometimes, people your age see things that aren’t meant for them. And those things can make it seem like certain behaviors are normal or expected when they’re not.”

Noah looked down, picking at a loose thread on the couch, his face flushing. “You mean…like, porn?”

Olivia’s heart clenched at the word leaving her little boy’s mouth, but she kept her voice steady. “Yes, like that. I know it’s out there, and I know it’s easy to find. But a lot of what’s in those videos isn’t real, and it isn’t healthy. It doesn’t show you what a respectful, loving relationship looks like. It shows people doing things for the camera—things that aren’t about consent or care.”

She paused, letting her words settle. “Sometimes, kids watch those videos and think that’s what they’re supposed to do, or that it’s okay to treat someone like that. But it’s not. Real intimacy—real relationships—are built on trust and communication, and both people need to feel safe and comfortable.”

Noah shifted, finally looking up at her. “Mom.” He groaned, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration on his face. “Why are we talking about this? I’m not—I mean, I haven’t watched anything like that.”

Olivia softened at his admission, giving him a reassuring smile. Relief flooded through her. She’d hoped he wasn’t looking at that kind of stuff but hearing it directly from him eased her fears. “I believe you, and I’m not saying you have. I just want to make sure that when you do come across things like that—or if your friends try to show you something—you know that it’s okay to say no, and it’s okay to feel uncomfortable.”

She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “I know we’ve talked about sex and consent before, but we haven’t really discussed what’s online. A lot of what’s out there just isn’t realistic, and it’s not what you should expect from a real relationship or during sex. Real relationships are about respect, trust, and making sure both people feel safe and comfortable.”

Noah’s expression softened a little, though the flush in his cheeks remained. “It’s just... kind of embarrassing to talk about.”

“I know it is,” she admitted, her tone gentle. “Believe me, this is the last conversation I want to be having too, but it’s important. You’re growing up, and I want you to have the right information. It’s not always easy to figure things out on your own, and that’s why I’m here—to make sure you feel safe and supported.” She hesitated, her eyes softening. “I want you to know that you can always come to me, no matter what. If you ever have questions or if something doesn’t feel right, I want you to feel safe asking me.”

Noah looked down, nodding slowly as he absorbed her words. “I guess... it’s just a lot. And sometimes, other kids make it seem like it’s normal or no big deal to watch that stuff.”

“I know. And I know that pressure can be tough to deal with. But just because other people are talking about it or acting like it’s no big deal, doesn’t mean you have to go along with it. You always have the right to set boundaries and to say no. What’s important is that you do what feels right for you, not what other people think is ‘cool’ or ‘normal.’” She stressed, trying keep her tone as calm as possible. She knew Noah had heard most of what she was going over before, but not in this context. She needed him to know that just because someone wasn’t physically pushing his boundaries, didn’t mean he had to give into peer pressure.

He looked back up at her, the uncertainty still lingering in his eyes. “But what if... I mean, what if they don’t listen?”

“That’s when you walk away,” she said firmly, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s okay to stand up for yourself. You don’t owe anyone anything—especially not your comfort or your boundaries. And if anyone ever makes you feel unsafe or tries to pressure you, you tell me, okay? I’ll always have your back.”

Noah’s shoulders relaxed a little. “Okay, I get it. I just—sometimes it’s hard to know what to do when everyone else is acting like they know everything.”

Olivia nodded, a sad smile touching her lips. She wished he could remain her sweet little boy forever, but he was growing up. He was going to have to figure out how to navigate a pretty tough world, but she’d do her best help guide him. “It is hard, and sometimes people act like they know everything when they’re just as confused as you are. But what matters is that you trust your instincts. If something feels off, it probably is. And that’s when you come to me or talk to someone you trust.”

He nodded. “Alright. Thanks, Mom.”

She pulled him into a hug, feeling his warmth and the familiar comfort of having him close. “I’m proud of you, Noah. Growing up isn’t easy, but you’re doing a great job. And I’m always here, okay? No matter what.”

As she pulled back, she gave him a warm smile, ruffling his curly hair back. “Now, how about we forget about all this awkwardness and order pizza?”

Noah grinned, his blue eyes sparkling, the tension between them easing as he laughed. “Yeah, that sounds way better.”

“Good,” she replied, feeling lighter now that the conversation was over. “You pick the toppings, and I’ll put in the order.”

#teya creates #law and order: svu #olivia benson #noah porter benson #see how easy this was???#it could've literally just be 3 minutes #but i digress

8 notes · View notes

yuna542 · 1 month ago

Text

Note/Disclaimer at the beginning:

I do not want to romanticize or trivialize (domestic) violence, suicide, drugs, and toxic relationships in this story. If these topics trigger you, then you should rather skip this story. If not, I hope you enjoy the little OBX Story I had in my drafts for forever and I've finally written down. If you are experiencing domestic violence, as hard as it is, tell someone, whether it's a friend, a teacher, or a family member. You are not alone <3

——-

Soundtrack:

⏯️Play: Wait a Minute by WILLOW

“Hold on, wait a minute

Feel my heart's intention, oh Hold on, wait a minute

I left my consciousness in the sixth dimension

Left my soul in his vision”

Prologue

Now I'm sitting here in a hammock in front of an old fishing shack in the swamp, trying to figure out how to tell this story in a structured way while my life is actually a complete mess. Well, before you read this, you should know three things: First of all, Hey! I'm a Kook. But not just any Kook. I’m Skylar Diaz the Kook Princess. At least that's what most people call me, since my family owns one of the largest ferry companies in the US. At least the part of it that's still left. I have built up this reputation over the years and have also lived up to it in a petty and clichéd way. The typical rich spoiled girl living in an estate in the Outer Banks. A brat and arrogant little bitch. The most popular girl at school, desired by all the boys and envied by the rest. With her perfect little family, hip friends, like the Camerons and no money problems at all. The perfect Barbie Dream Life.

But it wasn't always that way. Little Trauma Dump: My father was from the Cut, the South Side of the island. That's where those who make their living as waiters, yacht cleaners or skippers live and work. My mother was also from the Cut, which few people know. She and my dad fell in love and had me. Their perfect little star. My father was a very ambitious man who actually managed to become a police officer and was even promoted to detective on the mainland. However, he died on a job when I was six years old. So I have hardly any memories of him. A short time later, my mother started a relationship with Rick. He was my father's best friend and the richest man in the Outer Banks at that point. So all our money problems were forgotten and I have been raised and lived in a huge mansion in Figure Eigth ever since. The fancy Island Club, big parties and banquets, as well as expensive clothes were now part of my life. I played the role of the rich and arrogant princess flawlessly and knew how to present myself to survive among all the scavengers. And for quite a while I really liked this life.

Next, I should mention: All of this is a lie. Nothing in my life ever went perfectly, even if everyone thought it did. My mother committed suicide when I was only 16 years old. Everything fell apart as a result. My relationship with my stepfather Rick was disastrous even before that, but it got a lot worse in the months after “the incident”, how he liked to call it. I was never allowed to talk about it again and to call it what it was: A big shitty tragedy which ripped my life apart from that point on. We moved away from the Outer Banks and lived in Nassau for a year. Rick had always had a fondness for alcohol, but that year it took on proportions that made my life more than difficult. We never talked about my mother's death again. That was okay, because I didn't understand it anyway and the less I thought about it, the better I felt. Meanwhile, Rick was a violent choleric who couldn't even control himself around his own daughter. My great "friends" stopped contacting me after only a week and had probably forgotten about me even faster.

And last but not least (that’s when the shitshow really started) : We were now moving back after this year and I had no idea what to expect of Kildare. According to Rick there were new business opportunities, but what did he actually tell me? Actually, I didn't care either. With my return began a crazy journey full of chaos, a lot of anger, sadness and no end of adventure. I ran into old friends and things escalated quickly. I learned things about my mother's death that made me more than suspicious, and gradually I began to suspect that her death had not been a suicide after all. My father's death also suddenly seemed to be no longer a coincidence and I learned a lot about my roots and especially about treasure hunting.

Then there were the Pogues and a certain blond boy. My nemesis, who regularly drove me to white heat and equally to madness. But let's start at the beginning:

[-Press Start]

13 notes · View notes

xxavengingangelxx · 1 year ago

Text

Somewhere Only We Know 4/?

Part 4, loves!

Triggers: Flashbacks/nightmares about torture, mentions of self-harm, mentions of suicide, mentions of possibly abusing a pregnant woman (neither party knew yet), mindfuckery Graves playing mind games, possessive behavior. Let me know if I forgot any!

Taglist! @unicorngirly1 (thanks for the ideas, love!), @sharksausages, @bellgraves, @josieguts, @lily-lily131313, @shepgurl - if you want in, let me know :)

A/N: This is entirely new territory for me! Lots of ups and downs in this one. Let me know what ya'll think! These chapters are getting harder to write, I'm not sure why! It might be because of my overwhelming work schedule and exhaustion. But I love this fic :)

Val experiences ups and downs in her first few days back with Shadow Company. Graves increases security but Val still feels vulnerably, especially when she finds out she's still expected to be in the field to help put an end to Makarov, a man she is terrified of.

You woke up to someone with their hands on your arms. You forgot you were back with Graves and lashed out. Or you tried to. He subdued you easily.

“It’s me, Val,” he said quietly.

You sat up. He was dressed. You weren’t. The scratches on your arms were worse than you thought.

“Why’d you do that to yourself?”

“It was a lot. It just brought back bad memories,” you responded. You were getting teary-eyed. Again. Fuck these hormones. “Shit, they drugged me, restrained me. They had me in cuffs and were about to lock me up—”

He hadn’t seen you cry in months. The last time Graves had seen you cry was when you were being tortured for information. You covered your face, trying to keep from sobbing.

So Graves, surprisingly, just held you until your tears stopped. Bandages were placed on the worst scrapes.

Graves had done that before. He’d patched you up plenty of times after his men were finished ripping you to pieces while interrogating you. Your schooling background told you he had done that to get you to associate him with comfort and to make it more likely that you open up to him (and you did; you eventually broke under all that torture and gave Graves exactly what he wanted).

But one thing Graves had not done before, ever, was hold you. Sure, you’d both laid around in bed after having sex but that was a far cry from Graves holding you for comfort.

“Shepherd hadn’t made me aware it had gone that far,” Graves’s voice was calm, weirdly soothing. “Wait,” Graves gently pushed you out of his arms and those deep blue eyes met your darker, red-rimmed ones.

“So they were about to lock you up, and you were steps away from being put in a cell,” Graves stated.

“Yessir?”

“You can knock off the sir unless we’re roleplayin’, darlin,” Graves smirked. His tone then turned serious. “Why didn’t you break? You would’ve gotten way better treatment if you’d just talked, told ‘em everything about me, Shadow Company, everything.” Graves paused before adding, “About everything we did to you.”

“I couldn’t. You were just following orders.” you said simply. “It’s—I’m—I’m—I don’t know how to explain it. I’m weirdly attached to you. And I’m convinced it’s just gonna stay that way forever. You’re never gonna let me get away are you?” You stopped before adding, “Be honest,”

“Hell no,” Graves answered immediately. “I wasn’t gonna let you go before but now that you’ve got my kid? Never.”

“And what would you have done to me if I’d talked?”

Graves didn’t answer.

“Or maybe not you but your men.”

“Tread carefully, Val,” Graves warned darkly.

That tone, that look, let you know that if you pushed enough buttons in the right order on the wrong day, Graves wouldn’t hesitate to at least smack you.

“I’m scared of you, Graves,” you finally admitted. “And while they’ve saved my life several times in the field, I’m terrified of your men.”

And the next question slipped from your mouth before you had a chance to stop it. “Would you have had them hurt me knowing I’m pregnant? If I’d talked at that hospital?”

The look in Graves’s eyes said it all. It took every ounce of strength in his body not to at least shove you. But he restrained himself. You saw an inner battle in that blue gaze, kind of like a bright, blue-sky summer day being interrupted by storm clouds but with the storm not quite gaining enough strength.

“Phil,” his voice was much softer than expected. And the look on his face was one you’d never seen before. Concern? Regret? Shame? Alarm? “I need an honest answer to the next question I’m going to ask you,” his voice gained an edge but it was no longer near as intimidating as it had been a minute ago when he’d warned you to tread carefully, Val.

“We’ve been—together so to speak since—”

“You mean we’ve been fucking since the first night we met when 141 introduced me to you, yes,” you added shamelessly. Only you had expected that relationship to be a meaningless friends with benefits stress release on the battlefield. You two were the only Southern Americans on the blended unit and so you connected and you started fucking. Harmless, right? Now look where you were. You wondered just when Graves became obsessed with you.

Graves didn’t take comfort in your attempt at humor and again, you hadn’t smiled in over 3 months now so neither did you. You wanted to get to the bottom of what he was asking because you hated him questioning you about anything. It tended to bring back bad memories.

“Did I have you tortured while you were pregnant?” Graves asked. “How far along are you?”

And a tiny part of yourself wanted to make Graves to feel like shit for doing what he did to you. What had done to you had been war crimes. But the brainwashed part of yourself overwhelmed that rational part of your brain.

“I don’t know,” you responded. Besides, you were terrified of what he would do or what he would order his men to do to you if he found out you lied and said that yes you are 100 percent sure you had been pregnant when he’d had you tortured. “I’m between 2 and 3 months.”

“Holy shit,” Graves counted on shaky fingers. And then his gaze met yours when he made the connections in his brain. It was entirely possible that you were ether pregnant or became pregnant shortly after he’d had you tortured. “But that’s an estimate,”

“Yessir. Most likely between 2 and 3 months. I just didn’t show cuz…all the gear and the required exercise routine and I’m on the smaller side.”

“So there’s a possibility I—”

“I don’t think you tortured me while I was pregnant,” but were you really a hundred percent sure of that? The hospital had told you in clear words: “How far along you are right now is an estimate. You could be further along. The detention facility you’re going to is going to have to call in an OB to get your history and run other tests. We’re just not too confident in how far along you are other than to say you’re about 2-3 months.” Hell, you’d wondered back then if Graves had indeed had you tortured while you were pregnant.

But here you were again trying to protect him.

Graves had stepped out a while ago.

You were exhausted and your head pounded. You were again feeling sick and seriously fuck these hormones because you were teary-eyed again.

You cried yourself to sleep.

You dreamt of your initial captivity with Graves. When he was still having you tortured. Only at that point he had started introducing hypnotic and mind altering drugs to try and get you to break.

You were strapped down after you’d freaked out and pulled that IV out of your arm in a second attempt to take your life. You’d been beaten, tortured, sleep deprived, and now you were being drugged. A nurse practitioner and combat medic, Shadow 10-4, had been put in charge of balancing your medical needs and trying to get answers out of you using drugs.

Everything kept going from muffled to painfully sharp and loud. You were drifting in and out of consciousness although you probably looked unconscious to Graves who was standing in the room having a conversation with none other than his superior, Shepherd.

“She’s not gonna break, General,” Graves’s voice went to sounding far away to sounding like he was shouting in your face. He sat next to you. Right next to you and his weight, his scent, his presence made you want to get the hell away from him but you were restrained and you were getting more and more intoxicated off of whatever the hell they were pumping into your veins.

You tried to focus on the oxygen catheter pumping oxygen into your nose rather than Graves’s voice because Graves’s voice was nightmare fuel right now. He was the one commanding his men and telling them what to do when they ripped you apart looking for the codes to those homing beacons.

Your drugged out mind reminded you that there was a 10-year age gap between Graves and you. He was about 10 years older than you. The volume on his phone was set to be just loud enough to where you could hear it. So when he sat next to you to talk to his superior, your suddenly ultra sensitive ears picked up on what Shepherd was saying.

Or were you hallucinating?

“Keep the prisoner focused on their own self-preservation and eventually they will break.”

“General, we’ve broken men in hours and we’ve had her for days. She won’t break.” Graves paused before adding, “Let’s stop.”

“Now you’re outta your damn mind,” you heard Shepherd snap. “Stop letting your feelings for this brat cloud your judgement. She’s listed in your paperwork as an enemy combatant, is she not?” he demanded.

“Yes, sir, she is,” Graves conceded.

“Treat ‘er like one,” Shepherd ordered. “You haven’t done any of it yourself have you? Tortured her.”

“I give the order—”

“Not what I’m askin, soldier,”

“I can’t sir. I cannot.”

“Are you limiting your men in what they can do?” Shepherd sighed.

Graves didn’t answer.

“If she doesn’t break in the next day, I’m gonna come in and break her myself,”

You awoke with a start. When it came to these dreams, you weren’t sure if they were complete fabrications of your imagination or whether they were partially true or if they were something else entirely. Had Graves really wanted to stop trying to break you?

Now that you were back with Graves you reached towards the nightstand, looking for something. Graves’s men had shared with you a bad habit: vaping.

And when you found yourself getting emotionally overwhelmed, you found yourself doing two things: vaping and blasting music. But you didn’t have your headphones. For some reason, you hadn’t gotten those back from when you’d been detained. 141, the police, and the military had thought they might be wired as explosives.

You quickly learned that you didn’t have your vape either. If you knew Graves well, and you felt like you did, it was just one of the many minute details of your life that now Graves would ensure to have complete control over.

You were still trying to get used to Graves holding you just because he wanted to it seemed. It caused anxiety still because when he’d held you all those months ago it was to restrain you or hurt you. Even now you shook just slightly in his arms. Whether that was from fear, nicotine withdrawals, hormones, all of the above, or something else you did not know.

He still scared you and couldn’t he tell you were uncomfortable? It wasn’t like Graves to care. It seemed that your relationship would continue to be toxic, just in an entirely different way. Instead of being physically abusive, he was going to be physically and mentally overbearing. He would control every aspect of your existence and whenever that poor kid was born? Graves would control their existence, too.

“Why you hummin’, darlin’?” his voice made you jump. “Get your headphones and listen to something.”

“They didn’t give ‘em back to me when they handed me over to Shepherd,” you responded.

“That’s just fuckin’ cruel,” Graves commented. “No wonder you agreed to come back to me. Consider them replaced.”

“I can’t vape, can I?”

“No ma’am,” he drawled. “Took that shit before you even got back. That was a bad habit my boys taught ya.” He paused before adding, “I still wanna know why you didn’t talk. They were about to lock you up.”

“I wasn’t gonna betray the father of my child,” You said.

And just like that, Graves’s mood switched. “Shepherd was right,” he smirked. “You’d make great wife material.”

There was that word again: wife.

“I’ve got my boys staying here watching you,” Graves’s voice drew you out of a light slumber. Your eyes stung and you were nauseous. Graves’s kid hadn’t even been born yet and he was already giving you a hard time. “Plus I’ve got something for added security.”

And while you still did not completely feel safe around Graves’s men, they had saved your ass more than once in the field. You were too tired, too exhausted to talk. And you were scared that if you opened your mouth that you’d be sick.

One of the last things you heard was Graves telling one of his men just outside the door asking about you that you should be okay. Graves told him to just give you some space until he got back. That you felt warm and didn’t seem like you were feeling well.

The only thing you hoped for was that Graves would hold off on telling Shadow Company about the pending addition because while you somewhat trusted them to keep you safe, there was no fucking way in hell you’d trust any of those men with your child. Those men had beaten and tortured you for days on end.

Those were your last thoughts before you passed out from exhaustion.

The door squeaked open. It didn’t open much but someone or something slipped in. The bed dipped and you felt something wet on your face.

“Graves, c’mon man,”

Was he licking your face?!

“That’s Riley,”

You jumped up, covering yourself with the sheets. There was a large German Shepherd next to you, licking your face.

“Riley?” You remembered that 141 or it’s allies had a dog named Riley once.

Was it the same dog?

“It’s not the same dog,” Graves clarified. “I just named it the same just to fuck with ‘em,” he smirked.

You felt a twinge in your chest when you heard Graves said he still liked messing with 141.

“We’re not gonna get along,” Graves read your mind. “They took you from me and I don’t play that shit, sweetheart,”

“He’s mine?” Riley sniffed at your still-damp hair and it made you—

“All yours and you need to—” Graves looked at you and he paused, stop talking.

It took a moment to get Riley away.

“Now that’s somethin’ I’d pay to see more often,” Graves smiled genuinely.

You were confused. “What?”

“That smile,” Graves pointed out. “I haven’t seen that in 3 months.”

“It’s just air support,” Graves explained. “We have a lead on Makarov and chemical weapons he’s been stockpiling.”

And while you’d been playing with Riley on the floor of the conference room, smiling when he licked your face, Graves got your attention by calling your name.

“That’s where you and Riley come in,” Graves added.

Wait…Graves was expecting you to have boots on the ground when Makarov was involved?

“He’s not primarily an attack dog but will attack if you’re in danger. He’s mainly a bomb sniffing dog.”

After that, Riley wandered away thanks to Shadows offering treats and so he made his way around the table before returning to you and plopping down heavily in your lap. You turned the rest of the briefing out because even though you’d thought Graves was going to be removing you from the field entirely given your condition, he was basically putting you within Makarov’s reach.

And so you promised yourself that if Makarov captured you, you’d take yourself out, pregnant or not. There was no way you could repeat the whole capture, torture, breaking process. No way.

But you were convinced you knew Graves well, and you told yourself that since 141 got their hands on you and he almost lost you, he wasn’t willing to leave you behind anywhere. He was going to continue dragging you and your child all over the world if needed as long as he had you within arm’s reach.

Graves thought you were his property. And you were wondering if he would see his child as his property, as another way to control you.

You told yourself he would.

“You look nervous, darlin’” Graves smiled at you when you were the only two left in that large conference room. “I know just the thing to calm you down,” he winked suggestively.

#phillip graves #cod mw2 #phillip graves x reader #cod mwii #graves x reader #cod mw3 #longwayfromhome #mw2 141 #cod makarov #shadow company

47 notes · View notes

ilguna · 8 months ago

Note

Piano Sessions: "Out of the Woods" + Gloss, maybe reader and Gloss are exes. Reader included in revolution plans during Catching Fire and trying her best to keep Gloss safe from a distance? Up to you if the reader is successful or not!

☼ out of the woods (Gloss Ritchson) ☼

warnings; swearing, death, death mention, weapon use, ehh gore, blood, the usual hunger games shit.

wc; 3.9k

notes; Piano Sessions: songfic, Out of the Woods by Taylor Swift. the beginning is deceiving, it hits more at the end.

There’s been a few times in your life where you’ve looked back and wished that you could change the outcome of a situation. This usually happens after you’ve made a mistake that you won’t be able to fix.

An off-handed and angry comment you can never take back, that will ultimately end up destroying the person on the inside. It will be the first thing they think of when they look at you, silently wondering if everyone else around them feels the same. And it will be the one thing they’ll hold onto tighter than any other uplifting compliment you’ve given them in the past.

A ruined friendship which had been caused by jealousy and vindictiveness because you’d been quietly growing apart, never bothering to acknowledge it. Instead of cherishing the happy memories and promising to always be there, even when you’re not close, you chose to set the bridge on fire. This left you in a pile of ash and rubble, with an empty space in your heart and an incessant need to continuously fill it.

A shattered heart done with the intention to protect you from himself. No matter how many times you reassured him or begged him to stay, he had his mind made up, telling you that it was for the best. He would never be able to give you the amount of happiness that you deserved. The evidence against that didn’t matter, resulting in you being left behind.

And finally, a decision that has been made for you, bringing you into a situation that you can’t back out of. The layers are too thick, and peeling away at them only ruins the bigger picture, but the further you get buried, the more trapped you become. So, you pick at the paint, hoping it’ll placate your own selfish needs while the others around you continue on as planned.

This is not where the list of mistakes ends, unfortunately. In fact, these aren’t even all of the major ones you’ve made. If given the opportunity, you could probably go on forever, recounting every regret you’ve had in your life, and the way you handled it. The few you’ve listed are just the ones that come to the surface when you’re throwing another pity party.

They’ve been happening a lot more frequently. As much as you try to stop it, by distracting yourself or getting your feelings off your chest—once it starts, it won’t stop. It’s gotten to the point where you don’t even bother to pull yourself together afterward anymore, you simply brace for the next wave that’s inevitably going to come. In the past, you’d only look back at what you’d done when you’d yet again fucked up, but that doesn’t seem to matter now.

A part of you believes that it’s these mistakes that have led you to this point in time. After repeatedly breaking the swear you’d made to pay attention to feelings and actions other than your own, the only way to straighten you out is through the worst punishment. Which is reliving the same event that you’d barely survived the first time around. It’s a rude awakening.

If you were more careful, if you were kinder, if you’d paid more attention, if you stood up for yourself, then you wouldn’t be standing in another Hunger Games arena.

It opened your eyes a little bit. It’s why you’ve been very critical of your actions as of late. All it’ll take is one misstep and a domino effect will begin, and you’ll find yourself with more regrets you won’t be able to live with this time. It would tear you apart if someone innocent died because you couldn’t hold it together.

The last thing you want is to end up in a worse position than you’re already in. Which, to its credit, isn’t exactly terrible. A lot of victors came together to make this alliance possible for a very noble cause, but it’s not exactly what you had in mind when you were drawn out of that bowl in District Eight.

A rebel alliance is a death wish.

In your defense, when Johanna approached you with the offer of joining her, you thought it was done with innocent intentions. She didn’t mention anything about ulterior motives, which you have since assumed it’s because she thought you were already on board. You weren’t. And looking back at it, you should’ve asked more questions.

The issue is that you didn’t feel the need to. You and Johanna are friends, you have been for a couple of years now. You knew that the invitation was coming, and as much as you should’ve been off-put by how long it took her to ask you—there are a lot of familiar victors that have been reaped alongside you.

Out of all the victors that could have possibly got drawn this year for the Hunger Games, it seems as if all the important ones lost the draw, including you. And now that you’ve been talking to Johanna, you can see that it’s no coincidence. The Gamemakers did it on purpose. This has got to be the most nightmarish lineup in Hunger Games history.

Johanna needed time to talk to Finnick and Haymitch about what they were going to do about it. While they expected some interference, they didn’t exactly think that they’d pull out Cashmere, Gloss, Brutus and Enobaria. The best competitors they could’ve grabbed to put up against Katniss and possibly succeed at taking her out and effectively killing the rebellion.

From what you heard, Haymitch put together a list of victors that he thought would be perfect for this alliance. He was mainly focused on skills and what they could bring to the table, while also considering if they’d mix well together with Katniss and Peeta. Katniss being the main concern, obviously.

You, of course, were on this list. As soon as Johanna heard your name come out of Haymitch’s mouth, she pounced at the idea of inviting you. She knew that she could get you to agree, and in the end it would work out in their favor. However, she purposely didn’t take your feelings into consideration.

If you knew the whole story, the allies, the intentions, the sacrifices and the end goal from the beginning—you would not have agreed to join. You cherish your friends and you respect what you’re doing. And while you’d like to be on the right side of the rebellion, you have your own wants and needs.

Johanna made the decision for you.

If you’d made it yourself, you’d be with Gloss, your ex boyfriend. The one person you care about more than anything, the one that you haven’t stopped chasing. The worst part is that he did end up asking you to be in an alliance with him, but you had to tell him no. If he’d gotten to you before Johanna did, you’d be with the Careers right now, keeping a close eye on him.

Now you have to protect him from a distance.

“Go ahead. Try it. I don’t care if you are knocked up, I’ll rip your throat out.” Johanna suddenly snaps.

You tear your eyes away from the jungle’s treeline to look at your allies, who are standing in a tense circle. Katniss has a hand on her knife, knuckles pale from how tight she’s holding it. Johanna has her eyebrows raised expectantly, waiting for Katniss to actually make a move.

“Maybe we all had better be careful where we step.” Finnick breaks the tense silence, giving Katniss a pointed look. He takes the coil of wire that Beetee had risked his life to grab in the Cornucopia, setting it on the scientist's chest. “There’s your wire, Volts. Watch where you plug it.”

Peeta hauls Beetee into his arms since he’s no longer resisting. “Where to?”

“I’d like to go to the Cornucopia and watch.” Finnick says, your face drops completely. “Just to make sure we’re right about the clock.”

Your lips part, intending to object to Finnick’s idea, but the group disperses before you’re able to get one word out, shuffling to the nearest sand strip. Your feet stay glued to the ground, not wanting to follow them.

The only person that notices this is Johanna. You watch as she raises her hand, fingers snapping aggressively in the air to get your attention. Or maybe to get you moving. Either way, you shake your head at her.

“Earth to (Y/n). Let’s go.”

You shake your head gently. “No.” The single word almost cuts her off from how harshly you spit it. “The Careers might not be there now, but they’re going to show up. Why wouldn’t they?”

“We have an advantage on them.” Johanna waves your concerns off. “It’s open water. They won’t be able to sneak up on us.”

“They will.” You tell her.

“(Y/n), there’s seven of us and four of them.” She leans all of her weight onto one hip. “I think we’ll be able to take them.”

I don’t want us to, you think.

If you can help it, you want to keep a barrier between your group and theirs for as long as you can. You know that once contact is made, it’ll be a free-for-all. And that warning you gave to Gloss the night of the interviews won’t mean anything when he’s fighting for his life. His sister’s life.

“But that’s not what you’re worried about.” Johanna says, “Isn’t it?”

You press your lips together, face hardening. You don’t give her an answer when you walk past her, following the others who have almost reached the Cornucopia. Johanna scoffs behind you.

She’s so insensitive.

Peeta carefully lays Beetee down in the bit of shade the Cornucopia provides, and then backs off to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Beetee calls out to Wiress, causing her to come over and crouch beside him. He places the coil of wire in her hands. “Clean it, will you?”

Wiress nods and beelines for the edge of the island, getting down to her knees so that she can repeatedly dunk the coil in the water. Johanna’s just making it to the Cornucopia when Wiress begins the song about the mouse again.

“Oh, not the song again.” Johanna complains, rolling her eyes. “That went on for hours before she started tick-tocking.”

The song suddenly stops as Wiress jumps to her feet, standing rigid as she points to the jungle. “Two.”

You follow her finger, finding a wall of fog creeping onto the beach. This must be what Finnick was telling you and Johanna about earlier. When it started early this morning, Katniss thought it was a result of the rain—the blood rain your half of the group was caught in. It wasn’t until she could smell the sweetness, did she realize that it wasn’t natural.

Finnick said that it felt like his skin was melting off his body when it touched him. The longer it went unwashed from his body, the more the poison sept into his system. The paralyzing effects got so bad that they couldn’t control the spasms in their bodies. It was particularly bad for Peeta, because he’d been involved with a force field accident that afternoon.

In the end, Mags sacrificed herself so that they wouldn’t have to worry about carrying her over Peeta.

“Yes, look, Wiress is right. It’s two o’clock and the fog has started.” Katniss says.

“Like clockwork.” Peeta murmurs. “You were very smart to figure that out, Wiress.”

Wiress simply smiles, going back to singing and dunking the coil. “Oh, she’s more than smart.” Beetee says. “She’s intuitive.” All attention is turned to Beetee, who’s finally coming back to life. “She can sense things before anyone else. Like a canary in one of your coal mines.”

“What’s that?” Finnick asks.

“It’s a bird that we take down into the mines to warn us if there’s bad air.” Katniss says.

“What’s it do, die?” Johanna asks sarcastically.

“It stops singing first. That’s when you should get out. But if the air’s too bad, it dies, yes. And so do you.” Katniss murmurs, walking away to head into the mouth of the Cornucopia.

The conversation ends there. Johanna half-shrugs, following her inside, but for her own reason. You find a box that doesn’t contain anything important to close and sit on top of, staring off at the water, occasionally glancing at the jungle. Johanna pokes around the building until she finds a pair of axes. A mischievous smile crosses her face just before she launches one of them at the golden Cornucopia.

It sticks with ease.

Peeta, who sits in front of you, has drawn a circle into a large leaf that he plucked from the jungle. He uses his knife to map out the arena the best he can, with the Cornucopia in the middle and the twelve strips branching out from it. There’s even circles to indicate the waterline and the jungle.

“Look at how the Cornucopia’s positioned.” Peeta tells Katniss.

She’s leaning over his shoulder. “The tail points toward twelve o’clock.”

“Right, so this is the top of our clock.” He says, going on to scratch the numbers one through twelve around the face. “Twelve to one is the lightning zone.” He labels it so in a tiny print, working clockwise to fill in the wedges that you know.

“And ten to eleven is the wave.” She says.

Finnick and Johanna emerge from the Cornucopia, armed with their preferred weapons. It makes you nauseous to think about who they’ll be using them against.

“Did you notice anything unusual in the others?” Katniss asks you and Johanna, but you’ve seen nothing but blood. “I guess they could hold anything.”

“I’m going to mark the ones where we know the Gamemakers’ weapon follows us out past the jungle, so we’ll stay clear of those.” Peeta says, drawing diagonal lines on the fog and wave beaches. He sits back. “Well, it’s a lot more than we knew this morning, anyway.”

A heavy feeling suddenly weighs in your chest, causing paranoia to creep back into your mind. You glance up, eyes on the jungle, observing it in the new light, but also to make sure that no one has snuck up on you. Your heart seizes in your chest, as you’re met with your worst fear.

Before you can think it through, you’re on your feet, running at them—him. She doesn’t matter, Wiress doesn’t matter. Her throat is slit so wide open, she’ll be dead in a matter of seconds because of the waterfall of blood running down her neck. He, however, can be saved.

If you can move fast enough.

A cannon booms, right as Gloss lets Wiress slide to the ground. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Cashmere rises from her crouch position from the outer side of the Cornucopia, knife in hand, ready to attack your allies.

The sound of whistling air makes your eyes widen. Arrow. You jerk to the left to block Gloss from the assault, taking it in the back of your shoulder. The sharp pain forces tears into your eye involuntarily, the momentum throwing you off balance, making you trip over Wiress’s body.

You barely have enough time to wrap your arms around Gloss before you’re diving over the side of the island, plunging into the warm water with him. At first, it’s fine, but the longer you’re underwater, the more you begin to panic, kicking your legs, flailing your arms. It isn’t until Gloss grabs you, pulling you up, are you able to breathe.

“I thought I told you—” You begin immediately, dissolving into a coughing fit.

On the night of the interviews, you warned him. And it hadn’t been once, you managed to pull him aside twice to make sure the message got through. The first time was just before Cashmere’s interview was about to end, you had a minute to talk, so you dragged him down an adjacent hallway.

Out of habit, you’d reached up to straighten out his suit, fixing his collar. It was a gesture that you’d done over a dozen times before while you were dating. When he broke up with you, it stopped, but only because he didn’t like that you were still insisting on taking care of him. He thought you deserved better, and he didn’t want you to get hung up on him.

It’d been so long since the last time you fixed his clothes that you froze in the middle of it, looking into his eyes to make sure he was okay. You couldn’t find the normal annoyance that he tried so hard to hide in the past. He was vulnerable at that moment, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he was almost out of it—his doubt.

“I want you to be careful in the arena, Gloss.” You said, hands retreating, palms falling onto your dress. “It’s going to be terrible in there, nothing is going to happen the way you expect.”

“That’s how it always is.” He told you, eyes flickering down the hall. “It’s not going to be any different.”

“Yes it will.” You shook your head. “You’re going to be at a disadvantage from the get-go. It may seem that the Games are catered to the Careers this year, but you’ll be wrong. You need to take extra care of you and Cashmere. I don’t want you going into plans half-baked.”

Gloss pressed his lips together. “If you’re so worried about me, then why don’t you join us?”

“I can’t.” You whispered. “It’s too late now.”

“How do I know you’re not trying to sabotage me?”

You blinked, a pout forming. “When have I ever set you up to tear you down?” You countered.

The two of you stood in silence, eye contact underwavering. He was searching for an explanation in your eyes, one that he wouldn’t find, despite how intense you were making it. You were trying to instill it in his brain. He needed to trust you. You needed him to trust you.

“Gloss Ritchson!” A voice shouted down the hall. “It’s time!”

He looked past you, taking his first step to go around you. You grabbed his wrist, causing him to hesitate. “Trust me, please.” You begged him. “It’s my turn to protect you.”

It must’ve felt like a hot iron touched him, because his whole body flinched at the reference to your break up a year ago. His face twisted, lips parting, but no words came out. All he could do was move forward, toward the waiting staff at the end of the hall. You watched him go, and then crossed your fingers that it had worked.

You were trying to shock him into considering it, by using his own words against him. The night the two of you broke up was a hard one, but it wasn’t sudden. You’d seen it coming for weeks at that point. Gloss was constantly in his head, and it was showing through his mask.

His eyes wouldn’t light up the same when he saw you, he’d always find something else to look at to distract him. He wouldn’t include you in conversations, even if you were standing right there. His touches became infrequent and rare, as if he was afraid that he’d break you if he applied the gentlest touch.

You two were crashing, and there was nothing you could do about it. You tried bringing Cashmere into it, but she said she couldn’t help. She didn’t know what Gloss was up to, and she didn’t want to get in the middle of it. She wanted to preserve the friendship that you two had delicately formed.

When Gloss had finally decided he was done torturing you, or came to the conclusion that it’d be better to set you free, you were trying everything you could to hold on. You knew how much he hated to see you cry, and you tried to use that to your advantage when it came to convincing him that you were happy with him. That it’d hurt more if he left you now.

It got him emotional, but it didn’t have the same effect that you wanted. He told you that it was to protect you from the Capitol. They didn’t like that you were dating one of their darlings, when they had other ideas for him. Gloss didn’t want you and your actions to be under scrutiny each time you were with him. He didn’t want you to be miserable, so his solution was to leave.

You tried to tell him he was making a mistake. That in a room full of people, you’d always look for him. And you were never going to move on if you could help it. This made him more stubborn, more determined to push you away, but you’re persistent, and he knows this. A year later, as you promised, you haven’t dated anyone since. You haven’t even looked at anyone in that way, either.

Well, you had a feeling that shock wasn’t going to be enough. So, after the interviews, you caught him one more time. The lobby was dark and packed full of victors, prep teams, escorts, stylists and Peacekeepers alike. Still, you picked him out of the crowd, a grip so tight that you might as well have been handcuffed to him.

He searched your face in the darkness, eyes wide, reaching for you. A pair of hands clamped on your shoulders, yanking you away from him, starting to direct you to the elevators.

“Pay attention in the arena.” You told him. “Do you understand, Gloss? Do not act on whim.”

And then you let go, the Peacekeeper threw you into an elevator with Woof, and you were sent up eight floors. It was the last time you were able to talk to Gloss. You’ve been under the impression that it worked, until now.

A cannon blasts.

“(Y/n)?” Gloss has one hand on the rock island to keep you from drowning in the water.

“I thought I told you to be careful.” You manage to get out hoarsely, the salt water fucking with your throat. “This is not careful. You need to go.”

“What?”

“If they see you here, they’ll kill you. It’s bad enough you killed Wiress. Go, Gloss, before they catch you.” You push his shoulder. “Please.”

“You saved me.” He insists. “Why?”

Your allies are beginning to shout, looking for you. You glance over your shoulder, but all you can see is the black rock. “Please, baby, please.” You beg him. “We don’t stand a chance if you don’t listen to me.” You grab his shoulder. “Go and be careful of the jungle, it’s a clock.”

You turn now, grabbing the edge of rock to pull yourself up, water weighing you down. The second you’re visible, several heads turn, a wave of relief moving through the group. You get to your feet, wrapping your arms around your upper body, feeling the water run down your legs.

“The Careers were just here.” Peeta pants. “Where’d you go?”

You open your mouth to give them some lame excuse on why you jumped ship, when the ground jerks beneath your feet, sending you flying to the ground. The rock that the Cornucopia sits on begins to spin, going from zero to a hundred is the blink of an eye. The force begins to pull you toward the lake.

The lake that Gloss couldn’t have possibly escaped in that short amount of time.

this was part of my 3k celebration!! which took place in fucking october and im still completing requests holy hell.

18 notes · View notes

kmenkea · 1 year ago

Text

Bloodlust - Part 3

Summary: A bunch of hectic days are ahead of the party, but even through the fight, they manage to bond. Astarion finds himself worried when his favourite travelling companion falls in battle.

A/N: I think the only thing I have to say, is that this fanfic is moving very slow, as I'm taking my time to write and expand on the relationship, rather than just rush to the cool heart-warming romance part (and the ehhh, less wholesome parts which are coming with part 4 (which is already written btw, I'm just lazy and keep playing the game instead of posting)). Well, tell me if I should speed things up, or if it's fine to keep it slow and write for a lot longer.

Read on AO3

Word count: 4.4k

This sketch is very rough, but I liked the expressions on their faces

As always, mild spoilers for act 1

The two days that followed were, to put it lightly, an absolute turn off. First, they ran into a small barn house where two lovebirds were having a moment and didn’t take the intrusion lightly. The jokes around the fire that night were way too raunchy and disgusting for either Leeith or Astarion to hide away together, without thinking of what they had seen and be weirded out. It was fun though. For the first night, they actually all drank and got together around the fire like friends. Before, everyone would just quietly sit alone, maybe one or two people would have a conversation together, but most were stiff and distant from each other.

The next day, they went back to that path, dead hyenas littered the cobblestone street. One of them was panting and howling, clearly in pain. Leeith moved closer, hoping to help it, or at least end the pain, but the animal exploded in her face: a gnoll was birthed right in front of her. And the underdark was the horrifying place? No one had ever told her about gnoll reproduction, because even down there few things were worse.

Even if a bit beaten up, they managed to kill the two metres tall babies that were born in front of them. They made camp on a nearby hill, recounting all the grossest and most gruesome details of every creature they knew. Once night fell, Leeith remained alone in front of the fire, observing it fly and twirl. A bottle of wine was by her side, but she only took small sips. She didn't know what it was, but her mood had turned more sour than the contents of that bottle. Going back in her mind through these days, she realised the great weight she was carrying over her shoulders, how insignificant she truly was. Part of her wanted to just let go, be turned into an octopus and lose herself forever. She wasn't scared of death and ceremorphosis didn't sound far from it. But just… she couldn't just let go of life now. The people she was travelling with would have been fine without her, they were capable enough and she didn't care what they did of their lives if it didn't influence her own; her goddess, that was the only reason she had to life, she couldn't squander it after she had given it back to her.

A cold hand touched her shoulder, making her jump. She never noticed just how silent the vampire's steps were. He sat down, throwing his arm around the drow. She didn't welcome him, but she was glad to have been pulled away from her thoughts.

"Shall we depart, my sweet? I want to enjoy this night." He kissed her jaw and gently bit her skin. She didn't respond, just shrugging her shoulders. The offer was tempting, but… the melancholy had taken a strong grip on her heart.

"Maybe another day, if it's all the same to you." She drank a sip of wine, then offered the bottle to her courter. "I'm drier than this wine right now." She chuckled. Astarion scoffed and tried the wine. He made a disgusted face while reading the tag.

"Are you the one changing your mind? Mhph, here I thought I would get to taste you tonight." There was something in his voice, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Some kind of anxiousness. She had just rejected him or maybe he was just annoyed by going hungry another day.

"You can still drink me if you want." She offered her wrist. "Sorry for not giving you blood yesterday, I was too tired." She grabbed the bottle back from his hands, taking one long swig.

"A tempting offer, darling, but I'm afraid that vinegar spoiled your blood." His arm fell from her shoulders. Leeith felt bad for him: under the arrogant and indifferent masque, there was a whole lot of annoyance. And she couldn’t have him annoyed and resentful towards her.

"Mhh, come on darling, let me make it up with you. I'll get something better to drink so we can get shitfaced and my blood will taste sweet again, then you have your fill of me." She bit her lip, placing a hand on his chest and leaning towards him a bit. Even if it wasn't what he wanted, the offer of blood was just too tempting to pass: she could see it in the way his eyes glanced at her wrist and his fingers wanted to wrap themselves around it. He was still a slave to his sanguine hunger.

Astarion agreed at the end. As the night progressed, the drow got drunker and drunker, her smile growing wider and wider, while the liquor did its magic. Even the vampire senses were getting duller, his quips and remarks less on point, though he was drinking a lot less. Somehow, they were enjoying each other's presence and having fun as friends would. They didn't finish the bottle before the drow, gulping her last sip, put it aside.

"I- think I'll- stooop." She mumbled, laying down on her bedroll and looked at Astarion with a smile. "Come get your priiiize!" She hummed happily, exposing her neck.

The vampire didn't need to be asked twice. Gently, he cradled her head, keeping it on one side. Leeith shivered, feeling his body, made warm by the fire, come down on her. Somewhat she regretted rejecting his advances, but even in that state, she knew she was too drunk to go back on the decision. The bite arrived, icy as always, and she tried to let herself go, but a certain sadness returned. Hers, his, it was hard to tell.

Anxiety mixed with drunkenness and a sprinkle of remorse was all they offered to each other. Astarion was waiting to breach her mind, but the connection never came. Did he do something wrong? Did he upset her in any way? Were his techniques not working anymore? That couldn't be: she did still offer her blood. Part of him was glad he didn’t have to act, he didn’t have to use himself to get what he needed. But what would he do once she’d get bored of him? He knew perfectly well Leeith wasn’t the kind to do things without a prize coming her way. It was better to forget for now, just focus on her blood, burning his throat with alcohol.

The elf left her neck, licking his lips to catch any runaway droplet. Leeith's head was spinning like a cartwheel, between the wine and the bloodloss. She didn’t even try to sit back up or clean her wound, preferring to just pull up her blanket.

“Already tired, darling? I hope you’ll be able to keep up with me tomorrow.” He got up, adjusting the collar of his shirt.

“I’ll make you- regret theshe wordsh. I’ll- suck you dry.” She slurred, twisting her body in a more comfortable position. “Good ng- nee- night, Assstarion. Ass-tarion, hehe.” Her mind left the material plane for that of memories before he could respond.

The next day, after guzzling down a weird concoction against hangovers, they continued on to a tollhouse on the bridge. There, some paladins of Tyr were looking for the same devil Leeith's group was searching. They had taken residence in that building: it was pretty large, with a main room full of barrels and crates and a desk at the centre piece, it communicated with a smaller upper floor thanks to two ladders. Another room was on the side, which served as kitchen and sleeping quarters. It also had a basement, but they chose to save the plunder for later. The drow offered her help to the paladins: it was better to stick together in case the wanted woman proved dangerous.

When they did find her, she looked pretty badly put, hiding away at the edge of a river and… on fire? How was she not dead or screaming her lungs out? What kind of devil was she? Leeith, Shadowheart and Lae’zel moved closer, while the rogue remained behind, crossbow already in hand. The devil saw them arrive and… smiled. Her hand never got close to her axe nor her words showed hostility. The drow heard her story and at the end, decided to invite Karlach in.

According to the tiefling’s words, they were going to need all their firepower to beat these imposter paladins.

“Alright we’ll do it this way: Karlach you’ll come with us. Shadowheart and Lae’zel, you go back to camp and tell the wizard to come here. I want to test if his magic is powerful enough - and I hope it is because these guys don’t seem to joke around. Don’t mention anything about this to Wyll. You will keep an eye on him and stop him if he tries to come here, understood?”

"Aye aye, captain." Scoffed Shadowheart.

In silence, the two went away. The tension between them was palpable as always, but they seemed to understand how to keep their animosity in check for the greater good.

The trio waited for the arrival of the wizard, chatting with their new companion, asking her about wars and the hells, which she was pretty happy to recount. Her jovial attitude did put a smile on Leeith's face, along with her need for violence. She did care a bit too much about the wellness of others, so the drow wasn't sure how well she'd mix with her way of things.

Her line of thought was broken by a voice. "Hello there." It said.

"Good, you arrived." She said upon seeing the wizard. "Gale this is Karlach, Karlach he's Gale, our mage, finally out on adventure." She added ironically at last. Gale was a bit confused upon seeing the tiefling, but still smiled.

"A pleasure to meet you." He greeted her warmly, extending a hand.

"Might be better I don't touch that, soldier." She beat her chest and more flames came out of her skin.

"Ah. I know something about dangerous things inside your chest." He laughed. Leeith rolled her eyes: the guy was really a money sink and dared get angry at her when she probed his mind for more information, as if she was just going to have a random guy eat her stuff and, worse of all, insult her and her patron's magical abilities.

"Far from me to interrupt you, but can we stop with pleasantries and go do our job? We're not exactly hidden away." The drow stood up, waiting for her companions to follow her. Gale sighed and mumbled something about patience. Her head was throbbing too much to pick up a fight with him now.

"I do so want to sink my teeth into a paladin. I wonder what holy blood tastes like." Commented the vampire in a dreamy voice, walking away.

“They’re not paladins, they’re imposters.” Corrected Karlach, fidgeting with her greataxe.

“Ahh, but can’t you just let a man dream-” The elf was interrupted by a swing getting way too close to his nose “Sweet hells! Can you put that damned thing down! I’m right here!” He screamed, jumping a few steps back like a startled cat. Karlach looked mortified, but still jolly, as she hid the weapon behind her back.

After a few chuckles and jokes at the expense of the vampire, they returned to the tollhouse. Leeith ordered everyone to stop talking and put up their most serious faces. She was going to at least try and talk their way out of this situation, hopefully the paladins weren't the liars the tiefling said they were. And if things turned sour… she motioned to Astarion to go towards the back of the building, strike from the shadows if combat started.

The rest went past the slaughter corpses of gnolls left on the bridge and towards the main door, which was open. But something was off.

The closer she got, the more a sense of impending doom spread in her mind. The tadpole squirmed inside her brain: it felt like an arrow had gone through her eye. She scratched it, praying to Lolth this wasn't the start of her transformation. Not now, after so long.

But the pain wasn't physical, it was more like a heavy curtain falling on her shoulders, smothering her. She proceeded forward, showing no signs of her discomfort to her companions.

A flash struck her mind: she saw Karlach dead on the ground, Gale limping away and herself laying face down on the floor, in a pool of her own blood. What was that?

She glanced over to the people behind her, but they seemed relaxed. The vision, it felt… like a déjà vu. Was that premonition or just anxiety? She couldn't stop now, they were basically in front of the door, just one more step and she would have locked eyes with the man.

Another flash made her whimper in pain: no, the man wasn't a paladin. He was going to use that sword against them in an effort to kill Karlach.

"What's the meaning of this? Why is the devil with you?" Shouted the man from behind his desk, hurrying to stand up. What should she do?

Karlach walked past her, starting to say something to explain herself. The drow's head throbbed again. Maybe it was just the alcohol, still inebriating her mind. But…

"Dolor!" She shouted, as the warlock aimed for that traitor's head. Tingling rose on her shoulder, flowing down her arm like a growing wave of spiders; realising the blast made her arm recoil backwards, but the man was still hit on the chest by a bolt of force, making him gasp for air.

"You fucking worms. Zariel will have your head!" The man unsheathed his greatsword and jumped over the desk. Karlach was already drawing her weapon and, in a burst of flames, she lowered it on the paladin's shoulder, leaving a dent in his armour.

"I thought we were going to speak with them!" Cried Gale, as a spell was forming around his hands. He glanced around, still confused. Another enemy was in the room, an halfling who seemed about ready to shoot Karlach. A ray of lighting left his fingertips, shocking the archer. A painful scream arose from the other room

Leeiths head cleared up, the foreboding sensation finally gone. She scanned the area, her lips ready to cast another spell: Gale could take the halfling archer alone, the real problem was the paladin. She pointed her index at the man and a curse mark appeared over his cheek, then she blasted him again. He glared at her, but couldn’t move past the mountain of infernal muscle that was the tiefling. He attacked her, a sweep so swift that it could have cut a person in half, if the barbarian hadn’t stepped aside; a large gaping wound still tore her abdomen, spitting fire and blood, but she just seemed reinvigorated by the pain. An arrow went just past Gale, who retaliated with another lighting shock.

Both the tiefling and drow continued their assault on the fake paladin, but his battle senses were in full operation and the attacks didn’t hurt him as much as they should have. He swung at Karlach again - his strikes empowered by an enchantment - this time wounding her arm pretty badly, almost making her lose her weapon. The halfling used a spell against the wizard and this time the arrow struck true, forcing the mage to drop his spell and glance at the pool of blood quickly soaking his robe. Even if in pain and on his last legs, he called upon more of his magic, and the halfling too was left within an inch of her life, but not quite dead.

Something felt off again to Leeith, watching Karlach fight in the first lines alone. She still tried to hit the paladin, but her mind was too preoccupied with thinking and missed her target. The tiefling hit him with all her might, sending him against his desk coughing blood. Maybe it was going to be fine.

Another scream ruptured her eardrums, this time coming from Gale, who fell down on the ground, unconscious. The halfling focused on Leeith, smirking and marking her for dead next. Before she could react, pain exploded on her hip, as she found an arrow sticking out of her abdomen. WIth anger bubbling inside her, she limped away from the desk to get a clearer shot. She launched her finger forward, calling on her patron’s shared energy. A second later, the lifeless body of the halfling hit the wall, as blood poured out from her mouth and eyes, the blast having crushed her internal organs to a pulp. The paladin shoved Karlach aside and ran to the drow, greatsword raised high past his head. With a burst of adrenaline and panic, she managed to get away, but slipped on someone’s blood, falling to the ground. Karlach was right behind the paladin, using the handle of her greataxe to choke him and pull him away from the helpless drow. He pushed her against the desk, but she wouldn’t let go of her grasp.

Leeith crawled away from the two wrestling mountains, her hand shuffling through her pockets for a potion. A flash of magic caught her eyes: from the door to one side a wounded and bloodied woman appeared. The magic missiles she casted kicked out whatever vitality she had left, and her vision darkened. In the last moments of consciousness, she looked around for Shadowheart, but she was nowhere to be seen. A male voice screamed.

“No, you can’t die. Get up, damn you.” Astarion arrived in the other room, just as Leeith fell. The woman he had fought against all this time turned around, ready to hit him too, but the elf parried the blow and slipped away from her, running towards the drow.

The paladin was still alive. He knew the tactic well, what Leeith had ordered everyone to do in every fight: Lae’zel and Shadowheart would go in front, protected by their armour, while the drow and himself would stand behind, picking off enemies from a distance. If anyone fell, “Let them kiss the ground and focus on killing; they can lick their wounds after the battle is over.” But the two women were nowhere to be seen and the situation was dire.

His intestines twisted and tugged at the sight of the drow struggling for her life. He felt like he couldn’t just let her go. No, she was too important, he needed her to protect him. He needed her blood and flavour. And something else he couldn’t quite put his fingers upon, something that reminded him of yesterday’s evening, as they drank and chatted; that reminded him of all the little pleasantries she’d do for him, having his back both in fights and in conversation, the things she would give just to him, like that potion.

He reached in his pockets for the bottle, removing the cork with his teeth and emptying the contents in her mouth. The human woman used this as an opportunity to attack him but, quick as a cat, he rolled away from the fire bolt, just as Leeith's eyes shot open and she gasped for air.

He reached for his crossbow and the bolt plunged itself under the enemy's chin, right where two bite marks still bled. Her hands reached up at her throat. She tried to scream but only some gurgly noises came from her mouth, then her eyes rolled up and she fell.

Astarion pointed his weapon at the paladin, who was still in a lock with Karlach. They both looked pretty rough, but the tiefling had the upper hand. Seeing the elf ready to strike, she kicked the man away from her. The rogue shot a bolt which hit his thigh. The paladin fell to his knees: Karlach swung her axe one last time, beheading the traitor.

The bloodbath was over. They had only an instant to rest, before rushing to the mage: he was still alive, but he needed help. The drow could only dull his pain with a healing potion, but at least he was out of death’s door.

Karlach was enraged, panting heavily and clenching every muscle in her body, as if she was fighting against herself. She cursed at Zariel, growling like a bear.

“Burn their corpses, tear this whole place down.” Coughed Leeith, dragging Gale’s body outside. The barbarian roared and, in a burst of flames, split the desk in half. She swung her axe at every object in the room, setting the wooden floor on fire wherever she stepped.

Astarion and Leeith watched from a careful distance, both sitting down. The rogue barely had any scratch marks on his pretty, delicate face.

“I thought you weren’t going to need potions, darling.” Teased the vampire. The drow glared at him, as she checked the arrow sticking out of her abdomen: only part of the tip had managed to penetrate her skin but it still hurt like hell.

“Shut up, blood sucker- Nngh- Fuck!” She bit down on her glove and pulled out the arrow. Her scream was muffled, but tears formed in her eyes. After taking a few breaths, she untied the lower part of her gambeson, to check on the new soon-to-be scar she had acquired. Her shirt was all red and it hurt to lift up from the wound since it was stuck in it. Blood was pouring pretty copiously, but not enough to worry, and the wound looked clean, with the edges already starting to heal thanks to the potion.

An elegant porcelain finger caressed her hip, turning scarlet as blood pooled on the little crevices and wrinkles of the skin. As quick as it came, it disappeared, and Astarion ran his tongue over his hand, slowly and weirdly sensually. Leeith didn’t speak, but her expression still warranted an answer.

“It’s free blood, my sweet. Why should I let it go to waste? The pain makes its flavour even richer.” The vampire lips were very red with leftover blood; he licked them clean.

“You’re a gluttonous one. I fed you yesterday!” The drow uncorked another small vial and put it at Gale’s lips, slowly pouring the liquid down his throat. The mage coughed as he regained consciousness.

“Very much so, dear. I even fed on that woman who so gently killed you, but human blood is not even half as delectable as yours.” His voice was as soft as honey when he talked, flowing gently from his lips to her ear. He placed his hand on her sane hip, leaning closer.

“Cloud I- cough - not wake up to- you two flirting.” The mage’s voice was strained and low as he tried sitting up.

"Think you should thank your lucky stars that you woke up at all." Said Leeith, gently pushing Astarion away.

"How- fortunate." He breathed heavily, trying to steady his voice. "What happened to- speaking with the men? Surprise attacks should be a- gods- a surprise for them, not us."

"I got a bad feeling about it. A flash of our dead corpses if you will… more dead than now." The drow stood up, looking inside the building for the tiefling. She was sitting in a corner, panting. She seemed to have calmed down.

"Gods, another one of your flashes? Like with the bear?" Said the vampire with a mocking tone.

"Are you going to bring out the bear thing every time I remember I have to do something?" She said, turning around towards them.

"Absolutely yes. I love to twist the knife in the wound." He grinned reassuringly.

"That's what makes you truly charming, blood sucker." Said the drow, earning a hum of approval from Astarion.

"Thank you, darling. You're allowed to compliment me more."

"Sorry to- interrupt again, but you and I both still need medical assistance. Or are you going to stay- here to…" He waved his hands up in the air and a few sparkles and coloured smog came out. "Do your magic?"

"Huff, I suppose it's true. Though I would have been fine if someone didn’t kiss the ground first and break formation." The drow turned to the building again, and called out Karlach.

Once all together again, they decided to rest for a bit more, since Gale couldn’t walk nor anyone carry him. More resentment started to build up in Leeith, watching the wizard very slowly regain his ability to move, after popping another potion. If Shadowheart had been there, they would have already been patched up and ready to go, rather than lose precious time looking at the corpses rot.

The drow couldn't bear staying idle for more than fifteen minutes. She explored the premises alone, while the other three had fun and laughed, but didn’t find more than old food and some lockpicks. Her companions probably noticed how her brow furrowed and jaw clenched, while she looted the paladin’s corpse. It’s not that she wanted them to stop having fun while she ransacked the place, but she did feel a little better for receiving help. After entrusting the enchanted greatsword to Karlach, they went to the basement to loot some more. They unfortunately didn't find anything more than traps and some silver cutlery. She had a hunch there must have been some kind of sliding wall or invisible keyhole, but had no idea how to access it. Shadowheart had way keener eyes than the wizard: if she had been there, they would have been able to find the secret room.

The return to camp was just as frustrating: Wyll jumped right to Karlach's throat and had to be peeled off by Lae'zel. Leeith was at the last rope, but fortunately the barbarian was pretty understanding of the situation and managed to come to an agreement with her pursuer.

Only then was she able to be seen by the cleric, who very easily closed her wound. The drow blew off some steam, complaining to Shadowheart how bad Gale was and how much more she preferred her around. She cautiously accepted the compliments, then went to tend to the wizard.

Leeith left camp to find a river, bringing along just some soap and a large linen cloth. A few minutes later she laid in the frigid water of a lake, all sounds muffled by the water in her ears. Her heart beat slowed down and her body went numb from the cold. The sun had started its descending parabole, the sky wasn't pink yet; there was still much time before evening, but she just needed to relax for today.

And relax she will for once. Something caught her eye, a flash of white and red. With everything going so badly today, she had almost forgotten about Astarion's promise.

#baldurs gate astarion #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate fanfiction #sketch #astarion romance #character illustration #baldurs gate fanart #baldur's gate oc #astarion x mc #astarion x tav #astarion x reader

21 notes · View notes