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Nov 5, 2021

Penance.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five: Chapter One, Part Five: Chapter Two, Part Five: Chapter Three, Part Six: Chapter One, Part Six: Chapter Two

Summary: "You’ve learned, since starting your “arrangement” with Lin, to keep tabs on the press’s crime beat.

You’re on your lunch break, standing in line at a little Water Tribe cafe. The scents of smoked meat and squid ink noodles waft throughout the quaint building, and your stomach rumbles in eager anticipation. Soon, you promise it, we’ll eat soon… or as soon as this line gets moving, at least.

You sigh when your stomach growls again, then pick up a newspaper from a nearby kiosk to distract yourself with while you wait. You unfold it and, out of habit, start leafing through the pages to flip to the crime beat--

Except you don’t have to. The latest and greatest has the front page this time, above the fold.

“GANG TERRITORY SKIRMISH LEAVES THREE DEAD, MORE INJURED.”

AKA Republic City's crime beat gets rough, and so does Lin.

Pairing(s): Lin Beifong x Reader.

Rating: E for explicit, rough sex, mentions of crime, and mentions of injury and hospitalization.

Word count: 12k. Yep. Twelve thousand words. Enjoy!

A big thank you once again to @chromecutie for beta-ing this monster of a fic!

You’ve learned, since starting your “arrangement” with Lin, to keep tabs on the press’s crime beat.

One, it soothes the nagging worry over the Chief’s well-being at the base of your skull; during the uneventful stretches of time, you can be assured that Lin’s well --or, at least, not in any immediate danger. And even when things take a turn more gruesome, you can still rest easy because you know she’s alive if she’s able to give quotes for press conferences and information hungry journalists.

Two --and most importantly--is that the habit helps you track Lin’s moods. Granted, there’s still plenty of stress involved in her job during the “light” days and weeks (and you do wind up on the receiving end of some of the most marvelous spankings after City Council meeting days), but you can at least rest assured that you won’t have to take time off work when the headlines only boast robbery statistics or an accident caused by a drunk driver.

It’s your fault, admittedly. You hadn’t factored in the walking distance to the spot, meaning that you stepped through the doors at the height of lunch rush --and even then, you’re lucky, considering that the line behind you stretches outside the glass and metal portals now.

Except you don’t have to. The latest and greatest has the front page this time, above the fold.

Oh fuck.

“GANG TERRITORY SKIRMISH LEAVES THREE DEAD, MORE INJURED.”

Your heart sinks into your shoes as the article details out what happened --that, in the process of apprehending the gangsters responsible for the warehouse explosion, Republic City Police Officers got caught between a territory scuffle between a couple of the city’s notorious gangs. Three officers were killed in the line of duty, four more were seriously injured enough to warrant hospitalization, along with some civilian casualties.

The article moves onto incarceration details for the aforementioned gangsters and speculation on the effectiveness of policing against the city’s rampant gang-related issues, but your mind stays stuck on the fatalities and wounded. Your throat constricts, and you blink hard to force away your tears. Poor Lin.

It’s not like you have to work with her to know how protective she is of her officers, how deeply she takes responsibility for their well-being and safety on the job. For all that she demands excellence from them, she gives it in return, working herself to the bone to ensure proper payment, protection, and resources --and even working investigations with her detectives, whereas some in her position would take the opportunity to remove themselves from such menial grunt work.

The patron behind you taps your shoulder. “Excuse me --the line’s moved.”

You look up and realize that there’s quite the gap between you and the person in front of you. “Oh, shit.” You flash an apologetic smile over your shoulder, then quickly shuffle forward before scanning the article once more. Well, I guess that’s this weekend’s plans settled.

***

It gets worse.

Because doesn’t it always, with things like this? There’s always something --some dark secret or rancid truth--waiting around the next corner, waiting to spring out at the next unsuspecting passerby and drag them down into the abyss.

You get called up to the front desk by the receptionist during a break between your appointments --which isn’t unusual--but she immediately steps away from her station and takes you down the nearest hall and around the corner so that you’re both out of view and earshot of the waiting room and anyone in there.

Which means that you’re going to discuss a client’s needs, ones that just came up suddenly, likely due to injury or some other incident.

Fuck.

“We got a call from Yue General,” she murmurs, voice deliberately hushed. “One of your clients --a young man named Mako?”

Your blood runs cold. Tui and La, no.

“He works on the police force and was injured in some sort of gang skirmish? Anyway, the healers at the hospital want you to come by and assess him, since you’ve been working on his old lightning strike injury, and help draw up a proper treatment plan.”

You nod, and set aside your worry for both Mako and Lin (it’s not hard to tell how fond she is of the detective, so she’s bound to be upset) to fall back on over a decade of professional training. “Have they sent over his chart?”

She withdraws a folder tucked under her arm and hands it over. “Messenger just came by.”

You nod, check the nearest clock (twenty minutes until your next client arrives), then thank the receptionist before heading back to your office to review Mako’s chart. You scan through the logistical information --legal name, date of birth, date of admittance, and so on--just to ensure they got everything right and to check when he was admitted to hospital care, then start reading through the injury descriptions and current care plan. Bruising and abrasions to chest, back, and upper right hip, fracture of fifth and sixth right anterior ribs, dislocation of right shoulder which was set by on duty head healer, approximately three by one centimeter laceration on right temple, linear, surrounded by bruising, suspected concussion… Tui and La, kid. “They better have you on some good pain meds, Mako,” you mutter under your breath as you take stock of the damage. “You’ve certainly earned it.”

A knock on your office door makes you look up, and you quickly close the folder and set it aside before calling your next client in. You smile, professional, and tuck your ruminating worries about Mako aside for the time being. “Mr. Huo. How’s that left hip treating you?”

***

You don’t even bother heading back to your apartment after you wrap up at the clinic for the day. You grab your bag, stuff Mako’s chart inside along with your healer’s identification card, then catch the first tram you can towards Yue General.

Ah, the benefits of being a healer, you think to yourself, a touch bitter, as you’re whisked past the front desk and reception area as soon as you show your badge and explain why you’re here. No wait times. You grimace as you step onto the nearest elevator and press the button for the sixth floor, then shuffle backwards as the doors rattle shut before the car starts rumbling upwards. If only it didn’t always mean that someone got hurt.

You stop by the nurses’ station on the floor for non-critical in-patient treatment, showing your badge once more before asking to see the head healer on site in charge of Mako’s treatment. The nurse at the station points down the hall, directing you towards the office area used by the healers on staff to make calls, file charts, and rest for a few minutes during grueling shifts. You stride down the tiled hall, passing various in-patient treatment rooms before making a left into the office. Yue, hear my prayers, and please let the on site healer be a good one-- “Oh. Master Kya.”

The silver-haired waterbender looks up and lets out a relieved sigh when she sees you. “Oh, thank the Spirits. I was hoping it’d be you.”

The feeling’s mutual. You nod, then smile as the two of you exchange a brief, traditional Water-tribe style forearm grasp. “Not to be impolite, but--”

Kya waves one hand. “Let’s get down to it. Did you get a copy of Mako’s chart? Bolin signed the permissions waiver a couple days ago, but it had to be processed through legal first.”

“The messenger came by this afternoon.” You withdraw the file from your shoulder bag and open it. “What pain relief do you have him on?”

“Intravenous morphine drip,” Kya answers, leaning over so she can read off the chart with you. “And we’re considering a script for oxycodone once he’s discharged.”

You grimace, but nod. “Not necessarily inappropriate, considering the extent of the physical trauma…”

Kya sighs, nodding along with you. “But it’s addictive, I know. I would’ve kept him on natural sedatives and pain relieving herbs, but he was in so much pain he couldn’t sleep or untense.”

“No, you did the right thing,” you agree. “He’s not going to heal if his body doesn’t relax. Does the hospital have connections to any local addict support groups?”

“A few,” Kya answers. She turns so she can lean against a nearby desk and crosses her arms over her chest. “Do you think we ought to set him up in one?”

You quirk your mouth to the side, considering. “Considering what I’ve seen in my clients that’ve needed stronger painkillers, it’d be wise. The withdrawal process can be pretty nasty.”

Kya nods, then pulls her copy of Mako’s chart and makes a quick note. “Do you have time to do a physical evaluation while you’re here?”

“That’s why I came by.”

She nods, shoulders and face relaxing slightly. “Good.” She makes a few additional notes on Mako’s chart --names of a few local addiction support groups, you recognize some of them from referrals you’ve made to your own clients--then flips the file folder shut. “I’ll show you to his room.”

***

Bolin’s there when you and Kya walk in. He’s sitting next to Mako’s bed, head bowed slightly and hands clasped in front of him. He looks up when he hears the two of you approach, and manages a small, tight smile. “Hey.”

You nod in return. “Hey.” Your chest aches when his shadow of a smile disappears a few seconds later, and again when you notice the dark circles under his eyes. Tui and La. He’s like a shell of himself.

Mako looks worse (unsurprisingly). He’s currently sleeping, laid out on his back. He’s pale --more so than usual, anyway--and bruises and minute, scabbed over abrasions decorate his arms and what you can see of his chest. There’s a fresh gauze bandage taped to his forehead, a sling supporting his injured arm, and an IV tube taped down on his good hand.

Your throat catches on a sudden rush of sympathetic pain. Oh, kid. You look back over to Bolin and offer him a reassuring smile. “You doing okay?”

He shrugs, grimacing slightly. “I’ll be alright.” He turns his attention back to his older brother, green gaze scanning every minute scrape and bruise on Mako’s face. “As long as he’s okay, I’ll be fine.”

At this rate, I’m gonna fucking cry. You blink back hot, salty tears, then carefully step around the bed and put one hand on Bolin’s shoulder. “Hey.” You wait until he meets your eyes, then smile as reassuringly as you can. “He’s gonna be fine. We’ll” --you nod to Kya, who’s checking over the latest updates to Mako’s chart-- “make sure of it.”

Bolin sniffs, then offers you a small, watery smile. “Thanks. I know you will.” His gaze flits back to his brother for a moment --and his expression sobers--and when he looks back up at you, his eyes are almost steely with determination. “Is there anything I should know? About taking care of him? I’ll be staying with him while he recovers.”

You exchange a glance with Kya --you don’t want to overwhelm or panic Bolin or inadvertently make Kya’s job more difficult--before answering. “Well… that depends on how his recovery here goes and other variables with out-patient treatment. But--” you shrug “--based on what I know about his injuries thus far, I’d say his prognosis is good, provided he sticks to physical therapy treatment.”

“Oh, he will,” Bolin says with a half-hearted chuckle. “He’ll do it just so he can go back to work faster.”

You have to bite back a smirk (time and place, after all). Sounds familiar.

“What about the drugs?” Bolin’s brows knit together as he frowns. “I’ve heard that they’re…” His voice trails off, and he swallows hard. “I heard they can be pretty nasty.”

“They can be,” you confirm with a sigh and a nod of your head. “But there’s measures that can be put in place to make sure that he comes off them as safely as possible. Doing physical therapy, attending regular healing sessions, keeping a good sleep and eating routine so his body can cope with the withdrawals…”

“We’ll be referring him to a support group,” Kya adds. “There’s a few that specialize in helping injury patients get off intensive pain medication.”

“Good.” Bolin gazes over at his brother, shoulders set in a tight, determined line. “I’ll make sure he goes.” Then, lower, he mutters, “Even if I have to drag his stubborn ass there.”

“Heard that.”

You look over at the bed and smile as Mako slowly pries his eyes open. “Hey, there.”

“Hey.” His voice is raspy, almost a croak. He shifts in bed, wincing, and looks over at his baby brother. “What time is it?”

“Almost six,” Kya answers, checking her wrist watch when Bolin blanks out. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” Mako mutters before slowly turning his gaze back to you. “What--” he clears his throat “--what are you doing here?”

“I’m here to do an evaluation,” you explain. “Both for your shoulder and the scarred tissue in your arm and back. Test mobility, sensation, check for any unexpected damage, stuff like that. Once I’m done, I’ll work with Master Kya” --you gesture to the older woman-- “to develop a treatment plan for you.”

“Just regular healer stuff,” Kya adds with a smile. She goes through a few preliminary questions --assessing pain levels, any new areas or types of pain, and so on--and makes a few notes on his chart for the next shift of nurses and healers, then looks over at you. “Ready?”

You nod. “I’m ready.” You look at Mako. “Are you ready?”

He considers for a few seconds, then nods (albeit it a touch sluggishly). “Yeah. Let’s get it over with.”

***

Mako’s prognosis, at least, is good. The healers at Yue General have already done excellent work on his shoulder, ribs, and head. There’ll be reparative work to do with the scar tissue in his arm once he’s released, some necessary healing for his shoulder to make sure the joint and ligaments recover from the dislocation, along with physical therapy and other massage work to make sure that any lingering trauma from the injuries doesn’t manifest into new problems, but he’s likely to make a full recovery.

The knowledge eases the tension in your shoulders. He’ll be okay, you assure yourself on the walk back to your apartment. All things considered, he’s not in too bad of shape.

Still, you can’t totally relax. Not just yet.

Because while Mako’s doing better than you initially feared, you can only imagine what kind of state Lin’s in.

You’ve dealt with her before when shit goes sideways at her job. Any time her fellow officers are injured --or, worse, killed--in the line of duty, she’s downright surly with you. Add on that Mako is one of the injured officers --he’s clearly got a special place in her heart, well armored though it may be--and you’re seriously fearing for the well-being of your legs and ability to walk the next time you have a run in with Lin.

Granted, that’s not necessarily a complaint. Having Lin thoroughly wreck your body is one of the highlights of your months (tragic or otherwise stressful circumstances excluded, of course). However, since you’re part of Mako’s recovery team, you have to be strategic with when and how you let Lin take her frustration out on you.

Can’t really do healing work if I can’t stand straight. Once you’re at home in your apartment, you check your calendar against Mako’s first scheduled healing session with you, then decide to bite the bullet and call Lin. A quick glance at the clock tells you that she should be out of work by now --hopefully--so you decide to try her personal number.

She answers on the third ring. “What?”

An involuntary shudder runs down your spine at the sound of her harsh, irritated growl. “Good morning to you, too, sunshine.”

There’s a sigh, and when she speaks again, she at least sounds less irate. “What do you want?”

“Just calling to check on you,” you admit, deciding that honesty’s the best policy for now. “Saw the news headlines. Checked in on Mako.”

“You checked in on Mako?” The confused frown is audible in Lin’s voice. “His name wasn’t listed in any of the articles.”

“I’m his healer, Lin,” you explain. “I got called in to do an evaluation and build a treatment plan for him.” When she grunts in response but says nothing otherwise, you continue. “Thought I’d call and see if you’re planning on wrecking my back anytime soon.”

Lin tsks. “Do you just read the headlines to see if I’ll be fucking you into the mattress on a given week?”

Your upper lip curls in aggravation at her curt, downright icy tone. “If you don’t want to, it’s not like I’m going to fucking force you, Lin,” you fire back, matching the steeliness of her voice. “I’m asking because I’m part of Mako’s care team, which means I need to make my appointments with him. That means that if you’re going to destroy my ability to walk, there at least needs to be a certain amount of planning so I have enough time to recover.”

She sighs again, and then at least as the decency to sound somewhat contrite. “Fair enough. When works best for you?”

You glance over at the calendar hanging on your kitchen wall. “This Friday. It’ll give me the weekend to recover. After that, it gets dicey, so take it or leave it.”

There’s a pause as Lin considers, and then she growls out, “I’ll take it. You better fucking behave.”

(Tui and La, if that doesn’t just make you go fucking weak in the knees.)

“I will,” you promise. You roll your eyes when she hangs up without warning, then set your phone back on the hook before sighing. Oh, Lin. What am I going to do with you?

***

You spend what remains of the week mulling over what to wear on Friday.

Normally, if you’re spending an evening with Lin, you wear some type of lingerie; it’s apparent she loves seeing you in it, loves taking it off you even more, and you enjoy being able to tease her just by wearing some lace and silk.

(Not to mention that the way she reacts to seeing you in something delicate and skimpy makes you feel downright beautiful. Sexy, even.)

Except if your brief chat with Lin is anything to go by, she’s not looking to be teased or deal with your bratting this time around --which, admittedly, tracks. The last time something grave happened (which, to your recollection, was the arrest of that serial child molester), you barely got a word in edgewise before Lin had you tied down on her bed and set about edging you until you nearly cried.

Which. Y’know. Was great.

By Wednesday, you settle on not wearing lingerie; you don’t want Lin to think that you’re trying to taunt her (or that you don’t take her anguish over her officers getting hurt and killed seriously), and you also don’t want her possibly ruining your nicer sets. Considering the lack of fabric used, the shit’s just plain expensive.

(And, again, you feel pretty when you wear lingerie. You don’t want to risk parting with something you’ve grown so attached to.)

You decide on a nice enough, matching bra and panty set --it’s basic, downright plain, but it’s presentable and you won’t be out too much if Lin rips it off you. You also opt for a simple, lightweight, sky blue tie dress that has long sleeves and a skirt that goes down to your ankles so you can cover any bruises that get left in the process; healing only goes so far, after all. You toss a lightweight scarf into the mix --not warm enough to make you sweat in the early summer heat, but not sheer enough that you won’t be able to hide marks on your neck--and call your ensemble good.

By Friday, you have a proper game plan. You head back to your apartment and shower after work, then change into your selected undergarments and dress before packing a bag with some essentials. Change of underwear, willow bark tablets, water skin…

It’s not that you think that Lin will intentionally hurt you badly enough that you’ll need to do an impromptu healing session on yourself; even in her worst moods, she’s still considerate to your comfort and limits. But there’s no doubt that she gets rougher as the crime beat gets graver; when the serial pedophile was arrested, for instance, it took nearly two weeks for the bruises on your neck, chest, and hips to fade. Now, add in that her protege is injured and that she’s likely blaming herself for it…

Better safe than sorry. You pack a few makeup essentials --for the bruises and lovebites your dress may not hide--and a brush in your purse as well, then zip it shut and sigh. Alright. Time to go.

You slip on a pair of loafers (no point in wearing heels if you can’t walk properly in them, which you doubt you’ll be able to do by the end of tonight), then stride out of your apartment and towards the nearest streetcar stop.

***

Lin’s waiting for you in the hall by the time you show up. She’s leaning against the nearest wall, but stands and straightens when she sees you approach.

You can’t help but admire the way the white tank top she typically wears under her armor accentuates the curves of her waist and chest. Or how long her legs look in the dark sweats she’s wearing. Or the way the muscles in her arms twitch as her hands clench into fists before releasing again.

You manage to stop ogling her body long enough to meet her gaze --and promptly gasp.

Her eyes are dark. Stormy. Barely constrained rage smolders just behind them, mixing in with raw hunger and arousal. It matches the tight set of her jaw. How her scarred cheek twitches slightly from her pent up stress. The way her tongue wets her lips as she looks you over.

You just might die tonight. Perhaps smothered between the apex of her thighs, or your heart may give out while she pounds you into her bed.

Well, there are certainly worse ways to go, you reflect with entirely too much cheer and not enough caution or common sense.

She ushers you into her apartment without a word.

You jump slightly when the door slams shut behind the both of you. A thrill rushes down your spine at the finality of the metal shnick of the lock and deadbolt sliding into place. Your cunt pulses, both on reflex and in anticipation.

Lin stalks over to you, until she’s so close that you can feel the warmth of her own body against your back. “I suggest,” she murmurs, somewhere between a growl and a purr, “that you take off anything you don’t want ruined.”

It’s all you can do to keep standing.

You turn your head to smirk at her over your shoulder, then amble into her apartment while working at the waist sash on your dress.

She follows, keeping a careful, almost aloof distance as she watches you undress.

You set your bag next to the couch, then toe off your loafers before you finish with the waist sash. You slip your hand past the outer layer of the dress to work on the inner ties, then let the garment slip from your shoulders and toss it over the arm of the couch. You take your scarf off next, then debate taking off your underwear as well, then decide against it --if only to see if she’ll actually tear it off you. You turn, meeting Lin’s unabashed leer with a coy smile. “Better?”

She raises one eyebrow, arms crossed over her chest, but doesn’t comment. “Half expected you to pull a stunt like that time you showed up in your coat and underwear.”

“Mm, one of my finer moments,” you reflect. You grin when she smirks, then shake your head. “It’s too hot to wear a coat. Besides,” you continue as you saunter over to her, “lingerie’s expensive. If you want to rip it off me without warning…” you let your voice trail off as you slowly roll onto the balls of your feet and ghost your lips over her jaw, “...then I’d suggest giving me --guh!”

Lin growls as she pins you against the closest wall and captures your lips in a savage, messy kiss.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head before squeezing shut. You groan, body arching against hers. Your hands rove over her body, clutching at her hips before skimming up her arms to grope her muscular shoulders--

Without warning or hesitation, Lin grabs both your hands by the wrists and pins them against the wall above your head.

You gasp. Your cunt throbs in time with your exhilarated heartbeat. Yep, definitely going to die tonight.

“I’ve dealt,” she gravels out, lips brushing against your ear, “with far too much bullshit this week to have to put up with your sass tonight.”

You shudder, then whimper when she shoves her leg between your thighs. On instinct, you start grinding down against her. “Lin--”

“You’re going to behave for me,” she continues. She nips at your earlobe, then trails down your neck with a series of teasing bites before coming back up and growling, “Or I won’t let you cum. Got it?”

(Frankly, it’s a miracle you don’t come right then from her voice alone.)

You still have half a mind to be brat, but you like the idea of getting off more, so all you say is a shaky, whimpering, “Yes, ma’am.”

Lin chuckles, and her grip on your wrists tightens. “Good girl.”

You’re pretty sure the deafening noise in your ears is funeral bells, though it might just be your heartbeat--

Without warning, Lin yanks her leg out from between yours. She smirks when you let out a whine of dismay, then steps back and releases your hands. “Bed. Now.”

You lick your lips, then try to walk in the direction of her bedroom --except between your desperate panting and your overwhelming arousal, you’re light-headed and disoriented. Your legs quake, and you gasp when you canter sideways unexpectedly.

Lin catches you before you have a chance to slip further. She wraps her arms around your waist, then apparently thinks better of having you walk for yourself because she scoops you into her arms and starts striding towards her bedroom.

You moan and wrap your legs around her waist before seeking out her lips for a needy, breathless kiss.

She lets you for a moment, but tosses you (albeit gently) onto her bed as soon as she’s close enough to do so.

You let out a yelp as you bounce against the mattress. You scramble into a sitting position while Lin turns the lights on, watching her every move to try and discern what’s coming next.

Her entire body’s taut with tension. Each and every movement --from the precise way she turns on the bedside lamp, using only as much force necessary to tug the pull chain, to the measured way she strips out of her sweats--is calculated. Deliberate. Borderline predetermined.

Your mouth waters at the way her legs spread when she sits down next to you; you waste no time in clambering into her lap, straddling her as you slot your mouth against hers in an eager, hungry kiss. You groan when Lin’s tongue sweeps into your mouth, clutching at her shoulders for balance--

There’s a metallic jangling sound, accompanied by the soft scuffing noise of the bedside table drawer sliding open.

You gasp when one of the cuffs on the handcuffs closes around your wrist, then let out a squeak when Lin grabs your wrist and guides your other hand behind your back. “What--” You shiver, arousal coiling tight in your gut, as the other cuff latches around your wrist, latching your hands securely behind your back. “What--”

“I don’t remember giving you permission to touch,” she murmurs, smirk audible in her voice. She dips her head, nipping at your neck. “Did I, brat?”

You whimper, and tip your head back in a hopeful invitation --except you lean too far and knock yourself off balance. You try to catch yourself, but your hands, of course, are cuffed behind your back. You suck in a startled breath as your knees start sliding off the smooth fabric of Lin’s bedspread--

Lin threads one arm between your hands and your back, barring it against your back and preventing you from falling any further. She shifts back on the bed, then tugs you into her lap so that you have more space to balance on. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

Something soft and warm settles in your chest. You look her in the eyes --her beautiful, vibrant green eyes--and smile. “I know you won’t.”

Something flickers across her face --something raw, vulnerable, borderline anguished--but before you can decipher it, she cups the back of your neck with her other hand and drags you in for a deep, open mouthed kiss.

You groan into her mouth and do your best to deepen the kiss further --which is surprisingly difficult with the cuffs on. You’re used to being able to brace your hands against her shoulders, or grip onto her thick, curly gray hair, but now you have to use your core to keep yourself balanced. You’re all too conscious of the fact that leaning too far forward will knock both of you over, but that the opposite will send you tumbling off the bed again. You have to be careful. Controlled. Deliberate.

(Which is boring.)

Lin chuckles when you let out a frustrated groan, then breaks the kiss and slides her hand around your neck to cup your throat. “One more thing, brat.”

“Seriously?” you complain, even as you unabashedly lean into her grip.

She digs her nails into your skin, then smirks when you whimper and grind down against her. “No coming until I tell you to.”

Your eyes open as you process what she’s said through the haze of your arousal. Once it sinks in, you groan and bury your face against her shoulder. “Fuck me.”

Her hand slides up your neck, gripping your jaw so she can lift your head until you're looking her in the eye. “That’s not an answer, baby girl.”

So dead. Dead and buried. Just light the fucking candle already. You gulp, cunt throbbing in time with your pulse. “Yes, ma’am.”

She smirks --a surefire sign that was the answer she was looking for--then kisses you again.

You’re not entirely sure where all this is going. Everything seems to run hot and cold --the demand for obedience, not being able to keep her hands off you, then cuffing you so you can’t touch her and taking control over when you’ll get off tonight, only to kiss you like this (deep, wanting, consuming) again…

Your head’s already swimming from lust and need; Lin’s unpredictability certainly isn’t helping.

But, no matter. You’re certainly happy to go along for the ride --and you’re not about to complain about kissing Lin, of all things.

She breaks away from your lips, then slides her hand into your hair so she can tip your head back for better access to your neck. Lips, teeth, and tongue traverse your skin, pausing for the occasional chuckle whenever you let out a particularly needy whine. She trails lower, over your collarbones and chest, then traces the edge of your bra with her index finger. “I thought I told you to take off anything you didn’t want ruined.”

You let out a breathless, heady laugh. “Honestly, I’m more curious to see if you can actually rip it off me.” You tilt your head forward when she loosens her grip on your hair and waggle your eyebrows at her. “Catch my drift?”

She smirks, but doesn’t move to ruin your bra --yet. “You sure?”

You grin. “Go for it.” Then, just to egg her on, “If you can.”

She shoots you a look (one that you’ll catalogue for the spank bank later, thank you very much), then carefully grips the edges of each bra cup. She adjusts her hold, making sure she doesn’t have your skin by accident, then slowly starts wrenching the material apart.

For a moment, there’s nothing.

Then, a few stitches pop.

A groaning noise follows --and then your bra rips halfway down the front.

You gasp, then let out a delighted laugh. “Oh shit!”

Lin grins, crooked but no less pleased, then finishes tearing your bra apart before pushing the straps down your shoulders so she has access to your breasts. She wastes no time in lowering her mouth to them, sucking on the soft, sensitive skin of your cleavage before teasing one peaked nipple with her tongue.

You moan in the back of your throat and resume rocking your hips against her lap. Pleasure thrums through your veins in soft, intermittent bursts; your underwear is already soaked through with your own arousal, and the feeling of the slick fabric rubbing against your cunt makes you whine. “Lin--” You cut yourself off with a squeal as the world tips sideways.

You’re face down on the bed, bent over Lin’s lap. Your shoulders twinge a bit from having your hands cuffed behind your back, but you hardly mind the pain.

This position means only one thing, after all.

You can feel your cunt throb with anticipation as Lin tugs your panties down your thighs. “Lin…”

“I seem to recall,” she murmurs, voice husky, “a certain time when I had you begging me to spank you.”

You groan when her meaning sinks in, then shudder when she smooths her palm over the back of your thigh. “You want me to beg you to spank me?” you ask, incredulous.

She growls, and then she digs her fingers into your thigh until you're gasping. “I want,” she gravels out, “you to do what I tell you to.”

(If you weren’t wet already, that would’ve done it.)

You gulp, then decide that swallowing your pride is worth it, just this once. “Please,” you eke out, voice trembling, “please spank me, Lin.”

She hums, then loosens her grip on your thigh and drags her fingertips over the sensitive skin. “Why should I?”

Your brain misfires. You blink one, twice. “Huh?”

“Why should I spank you?” she clarifies, voice deliberately slow and even. She leans over, until her lips are a hair's breadth away from your ear, and adds, “Especially since you seem to like it so much. Why should I do that for you?”

“Y-you don’t want to?” you sputter, frowning in confusion. Spirits, you’re not in the headspace to puzzle this out. All you can focus on is the ache between your legs, and the fact that you can feel the warmth of Lin’s breath against the side of your face, and how the timbre of her voice makes your gut clench with excitement--

“Not what I said.” She leans even closer, close enough that her lips brush against your ear when she speaks again. “You like it when I spank you. Why should I give something like that to you?”

(So fucking dead.)

“Please,” you beg, voice rough with need. “Please, Lin,” you repeat when she doesn’t move. “I-I want you to spank me. I need you to spank me. I need you to make me feel good --please.”

There’s a pause as tension ripples through Lin (her thighs flex beneath your hips), and then her hand disappears from the back of your thigh only to crack down against the swell of your ass seconds later.

You scream. Pain sears through your skin, sinking down into the muscle and soft tissue below. The impact site throbs in time with your clit. You moan, squirming in Lin’s lap as arousal curls tight in your gut.

She takes her hand out of your hair and uses it to shove you down, thus pinning you in place, before delivering another smack to your other asscheek.

You gasp again. Your thighs squeeze together --until, of course, Lin shoves them apart. You whimper and bury your face into the bedspread, only to lift it again when Lin says something you can’t quite make out over the blood rushing in your hair. “W-what?”

“I said,” she growls (it’s rough and deep and fierce and it has you trembling in her grasp with anticipation and exhilaration), “count.”

You whimper --then groan when she spanks you again. “Three.”

Another strike.

“F-four.”

Another, followed by Lin curling her fingers into the inflamed skin.

“Five!”

Another, merciless and stinging and exquisite.

“Shit --six!”

She keeps going, alternating between each asscheek, until you reach twenty. Then, without warning, she slides her fingers between your dripping folds and shoves two inside your slick pussy.

“Fuck!” You shriek as she slowly, roughly flexes her fingers in and out, in and out, in and out. You pant, body quaking like a leaf in a hurricane. “Lin--”

“You’re so fucking desperate,” she snarls as she continues fingering you. She speeds up the pace of her fingers, then leans over your back to hiss in your ear. “So fucking needy.”

“I --I am,” you agree between gasps. You groan as a particularly strong, sweet wave of pleasure rolls through your body, then press your forehead against her bed. “I need you,” you add between moans. “Tui and La, Lin, I need you so fucking bad, I --fuck.” You moan, louder, as the pleasure building in your abdomen starts to crest. Your back tenses, and you gasp into the bedspread. “Lin --Lin--”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

You sputter when she doesn’t stop pistoning her fingers into you. “B-but --you--”

“You heard me.”

You keen as she continues fucking you with her fingers. You try to squirm away --but that damn hand on the small of your back keeps you right where Lin wants you. You sob through clenched teeth into the bedspread, then do your best to focus on anything other than the ecstasy singing through your veins so as to keep your impending climax at bay.

(Easier said than done.)

Eventually --mercifully--though, Lin does stop. She slows her pace, then carefully slides her fingers out of your quivering cunt.

You, on the other hand, are a gasping mess. You’ve managed to avoid orgasming by the skin of your teeth, but your whole body feels like a live wire. Overcharged. Shaking. Like you’re about to give off sparks.

Before you have time to think, though, Lin presses the fingers she used to fuck you against your lips.

You groan, then eagerly accept them into your mouth and close your lips around her digits before sucking.

“Desperate little brat,” she muses as she watches you clean her fingers. She withdraws them from your mouth with a wet ‘pop,’ then wipes them dry on your back. “You’ll do anything to get what you want, won’t you, baby girl. No hesitation. No shame.”

You huff, then turn your head until you can catch a glimpse of her. “Thought that’s why you liked me.”

She growls low in the back of her throat, then uses her metalbending to undo your cuffs. “Go to the head of the bed.”

You push yourself into a sitting position, then roll your shoulders and neck to loosen them back up. You shuck out of your ruined bra, toss it to the floor, then wriggle the rest of your way out of your underwear before crawling to the top of Lin’s bed. You lean against the headboard, settling in to watch her.

She’s standing now, stripping out of her tank top. The muscles in her back ripple as she tosses it next to your underwear and destroyed bra, and again when she peels out of her sports bra. She glances over her shoulder when you whistle appreciatively, then smirks. “Very funny. Get on your hands and knees, brat.”

“Admit it,” you say as you comply. “You just like looking at my ass.”

The jangle of the cuffs pierces the air once more as they zip across the distance between the two of you. One end closes around your wrist, while the other loops through the support poles on the headboard before encircling your other wrist. (It says something about Lin’s finesse that she can do that without pinching your skin.)

“Plead the fifth,” she fires back as she shucks out of her pants and briefs.

“Not entirely sure what’s incriminating about liking ass,” you retort, “but have it your way.” You grin when she laughs --actually laughs, and there’s a softness to the sound that makes your heart thrum faster--then look over just as she finishes attaching a dildo to the harness strapped against her hips. You suck in a breath through your nose and lick your lips. Tui and La, help me…

(Do the gods even hear the prayers of dead people?)

She lubes up the toy cock, then clambers onto the bed and gets behind you on her knees. “You want me to fuck you, brat?”

You can’t help but quip. “And here I thought you were going to recite a dissertation on the city’s crime stats.”

She pulls back and makes to get off the bed. “If you don’t want--”

“No!” you exclaim, eyes going wide with panic. You whip your head to one side, shooting her a desperate look over your shoulder. “Lin --please! I want --I need you to fuck me.”

Her expression stays neutral, aloof, but the glint in her eyes and slight, sudden intake of breath betrays her interest. “Why should I?”

Fuck your pride. It’s not worth this maddening ache between your legs, not worth the possibility that she won’t make you come at all.

“Please,” you whine. “Please, please, please--” You whimper when the bed rocks as she gets situated behind you, but doesn’t move otherwise to touch you, fuck you, anything. “I need to feel you inside me, Lin, please--”

She groans, then puts her hands on your hips, gripping them tight.

You keep going, since it’s the only thing you can think of to make sure she doesn’t stop. “I need you inside me,” you babble, breathless. “I need you to make me feel good. No one fucks me like you do, Lin, please--”

She moans your name, then aligns her hips with yours and slowly presses in.

You whimper as the toy cock stretches you open. You’re so wound up, so over-sensitized, that even just the feeling of the dildo against your walls has you reeling. You collapse down onto your forearms, trembling. “Lin…”

She rolls her hips a few times, making sure that you’re not uncomfortable, then draws her hips back before growling and snapping them back against yours.

You shriek. Your head falls against your forearms as she sets a brutal, overwhelming pace. You grit your teeth, whimpering as your body quickly ramps towards climax. You squeeze your eyes shut and curl your fingers into the bedspread until your knuckles feel like they’re going to pop.

You’re going to die. Maybe you’re already dead. All you’re certain of is Lin’s hands on your hips, of the dildo pistoning in and out of you, and the fact that you want to come so fucking badly.

You whine, then gasp as you hang onto your self-control by the barest of threads. “Lin --please. Please let me come.”

Her response is swift. Unremorseful. “No.”

You groan --the noise is punctuated by a few creative curses for good measure--clench the bedspread tighter. You’re panting, sweating while you take Lin’s thrusts and the onslaught of pleasure as best you can.

Time loses all meaning. Maybe you’re there, on your arms and knees, for a few seconds, or a few minutes, or a few hours. (You wouldn’t put it past Lin; her stamina is legendary.)

You’re on the edge, teetering on the barest ledge separating you from orgasming. You’re so turned on it nearly hurts. You grunt, then borderline sob as Lin keeps fucking you. “Please let me come.”

“No.” Then, she leans over your back --without losing her rhythm--and bites on your shoulder before growling, “Give me your fucking neck.”

You moan, then strain and lift your head from your arms.

She cups one hand around your neck, holding tight (but not tight enough to choke or otherwise harm you). She drags her teeth over the shell of your ear, then chuckles when you squeak. “Why should I let you come, brat?”

“Please.”

“You know I’ll need more than that.”

You moan --and then your body shudders as your climax threatens to give way, with or without your say so. “Lin please --I wanna be good.” You let out another sob, trembling from head to toe from the sheer exertion of trying to control your own body. “I ca--I can’t, Lin --please--I want to be good for you--”

It’s like a shift in the atmospheric pressure front; it rolls through the room, sweeping the tension out with it until you feel like you can breathe again.

“You are my good girl,” Lin assures you, voice warm and slightly breathless from the effort of fucking you. “My good, beautiful girl.” Her hand slides down from your neck, down your chest and stomach, until it reaches your hips. Her fingers glide over your clit just as she utters the key to your salvation, “Come for me, babygirl.”

And you do. You shriek, relief and pleasure coursing through your body as you finally --finally--let yourself climax. Your arms give out, and you faceplant inelegantly against the bed. You shudder violently, then keen and try to pull away when you teeter into overstimulation. “Lin--”

She slows, then stops her thrusts as you shake beneath her. She gently kisses your temple, then your shoulder before pulling out and clambering off the bed.

You flop down, spent. Your legs twitch as the aftershocks of your orgasm wash over you.

Vaguely, distantly, you’re aware that Lin’s still in the room with you. You can hear her groaning softly as she takes off the strap on harness and gets dressed again --and then she carefully tucks the free part of the bedspread around you and undoes the cuffs before her footsteps retreat from the bedroom.

You sigh and nestle into the comfort and warmth of the blanket.

There’s rustling and the sound of running water somewhere close by --most likely Lin cleaning the toy and the harness. Then, more muted footsteps.

You lose track of her for a bit until you hear her stride next to the bed and the tell-tale, routine clink of her setting a glass of water for you on the nightstand.

You drift for a bit. (Orgasm denial wears a girl out, who knew?) Between the afterglow of your orgasm, how comfortable Lin’s bed is, and the warmth of the comforter, you’re in all the right conditions for a proper nap.

You do, eventually, force yourself to get up, though. You sit, groan slightly as your back protests, then reach for the glass of water --only to jump when you realize that Lin’s standing in the doorway, watching you. “Oh. Hi.”

“It’s been a while,” she explains. She drops your gaze, cheeks flushing slightly. “Wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

You snort (even though it’s a sweet gesture that makes you feel oddly, pleasantly cared for). “No, Lin, you didn’t manage to fuck me to death this time around.”

At that, she smirks and looks at you once more. “Guess that means I have to keep dealing with your mouth.”

“That’s the deal,” you sigh as you stretch. You groan when something in your back pops --in a good way--then reach for the glass of water. “Hey, beats having to dispose of my body.”

It’s her turn to snort. “Spirits, you’re terrible.”

“Your brand of terrible, apparently.” You down the glass of water, then set the glass back on the nightstand before flashing her a coy smile. “Wanna come over here?” When she raises an eyebrow, you add, “I seriously doubt my legs are going to work right now, Lin.”

To your surprise, she hesitates. Crosses her arms over her chest, then looks down at the floorboards with a slight grimace. “I’m good. Thanks.”

...What? Your eyes widen. In all your “interludes” together, you’ve never witnessed her turning you down like this. What in the self-blamey, self-punishing-- “Lin, come here.”

She sighs, but doesn’t argue --another surprise. Her walk over to the bed is slow, defeated. She sits on the edge of the mattress, elbows braced against her knees, and keeps her gaze trained on the floor.

Oh, Lin. You scoot over until you're next to her, then place your knuckle under her chin. “Hey.” You wait until she looks you in the eye, then tell her, “You deserve to feel good.”

Her lips twitch into a frown, and she drops your gaze.

“You do,” you insist. You drag your fingers down her neck and over her clavicle, enjoying the minute shudders you coax out of her. “I won’t force you if you don’t want to,” you murmur as you kiss her bare shoulder, “but I’d like to make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

She sighs your name, soft and tremulous.

“You deserve to feel good, Lin.” You trail tiny, chaste kisses up her shoulder, to the juncture where her neck and shoulder merge. You pause to swirl your tongue over the spot, and bite back a grin when a groan slips past her lips. “You work so hard.” When she tenses, you quickly change the angle of your approach. “Don’t you think I see it?”

The question makes her go still.

“Don’t you think I see how hard you work, Lin?” you repeat yourself before brushing your lips against the base of her neck. “Don’t you think I see how much you care about your city? About its safety?” You relax a little when she lets out the tiniest, shuddering gasp --she’s not going to push you away, as long as you keep playing your cards right. You’re halfway in her lap by now, dragging your lips up the column of her neck. “I can see it in how the public acts around your officers; they’re never afraid of them.” Another kiss, on the underside of her jaw, and she moans this time. “You’ve done such a good job of making sure they’re trustworthy. Of making sure they do their jobs well.” You continue up her jaw to her ear and trace the shell of her ear with your tongue --which gets a full body shudder out of her, and you’ll have to remember that for later--then murmur, “You work so, so hard Lin. You deserve to feel good. Always.”

She’s panting, trembling under your ministrations.

“Let me make you feel good,” you whisper before kissing the spot beneath her ear. “I want to make you feel so, so good Lin.”

She moans your name, back arching. “Please.”

You take it as the permission it is, then push her back against the bed before straddling her and locking your lips with hers in a slow, deep kiss.

Lin groans as you slide your tongue into her mouth. She grips your waist --but not to control you this time. She lets you move as you wish, doesn’t try to stop you or direct you elsewhere. It’s almost like she just wants to touch you. To feel you in her grasp.

You strip her out of her tank top --she’s not wearing her bra underneath it this time, bless--and quickly shift your attention to her chest. You kiss the swells of her breasts, then slide your tongue over her sensitive skin until she’s squirming beneath you. Then, you close your lips around one stiffened nipple, and use your hand to tease her other breast.

Lin gasps, staccato and high-pitched. Her back arches, pressing her chest closer to your face.

(You’re not complaining.)

You switch sides after a bit, not one to leave things unbalanced. You take note of the way Lin’s shifting beneath you, of the soft, needy noises slipping past her lips, then --in the spirit of experimentation--press one of your thighs between hers and against her groin.

She groans, then starts grinding against you.

It’s a short-lived experiment --both because she’s strong enough to nearly knock you off balance, and also because you don’t have the heart to tease her. Not with how dejected she’s seemed.

You clamber off her so she can swing her legs up on the bed, then crawl down her body, kissing her torso, sides, and abs as you go. You tug her briefs down her hips, then slide them down her legs and toss them aside.

You at least have enough semblance of self control to place a few hasty kisses on the inside of her thighs, but that’s all you can manage before burying your face against her core and sliding your tongue between her folds.

Spirits, and you thought you were wet earlier.

She’s drenched. Downright dripping, warm and musky and pleasant on your tongue.

You groan at the taste of her--

But it’s drowned out by the near shout that Lin lets loose.

Definitely right to push her, you think as her fingers tangle in your hair. You groan again as pleasure zips down your spine from the pleasant pain, then press your tongue more insistently against her.

You loop your arms around her legs, placing your hands on her hips so you can keep her close while you eat her out. You twist your tongue around her folds, teasing her clit briefly before dipping back down to explore other parts of her cunt. “You deserve this,” you murmur, making sure you’re loud enough for Lin to hear you. “You don’t have to earn it.”

She groans, hips rutting against your face with shameless abandon.

You’re used to Lin talking while you go down on her. Praising you, pleasantly degrading you, swearing up a storm. It’s odd not hearing her filthy stream of consciousness, but you won’t deny that hearing her moan so freely --so loudly--is a huge fucking turn on.

You fuck her with your tongue, stopping every now and then to say something else --how she shouldn’t punish herself for what she can’t control. How she should be proud of herself for what she’s accomplished.

You’re not really thinking about anything you’re saying at this point. It’s less of a conscious monologue and more of an unleashing of emotion.

(Which doesn’t make it any less true.)

You move back up to her clit, teasing the bundle of nerves with your tongue in such a way that Lin almost screams. “You deserve to feel good,” you tell her before swirling your tongue against her once more. “You always deserve to feel good--”

Lin lets out a high-pitched, strained noise through gritted teeth --then, in a breathless, ragged voice, screams, “Stop pulling away!” before yanking on your hair hard enough that momentarily worry over whether you’ll have a bald spot later.

(Either way: message received.)

You moan, then close your lips around her clit and suck.

She climaxes with a shout, back arching off the bed. Her thighs clamp around your head, tightening into you can barely breathe, and perhaps your initial assumption that you’d die while being smothered by her legs wasn’t too far off.

(Glory, glory, what a hell of a way to die…)

You continue sucking on her clit until her orgasm peters out, then gasp when her thighs finally release and stop trying to crush your skull. “That was,” you pant, catching your breath, “the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever bore witness to.”

Lin merely grunts in response and covers her eyes with one arm.

You consider getting up to get her some water --a reciprocation of the aftercare she usually does for you--but a quick test of your legs proves that they won’t be useful anytime soon.

So, you settle for lying down next to her, drawing the blanket up over you both, and waiting for her to come down from her high.

She recovers quickly, from what you’ve observed. You’re not sure if it’s just that legendary earthbender stamina, or if it’s because she doesn’t like resting for too long, doesn’t like being disconnected from her surroundings.

Something tells you it’s a mix of both.

You gently trace your fingers over her hip --hesitant at first, you don’t want to interrupt her rest. But once it’s apparent that you’re not distracting her --or, worse, annoying her--you touch her skin more firmly. More confidently. You trail your fingertips over her skin, creating nonsensical, amorphous patterns that remind you of the waves breaking against the shoreline.

The further up you travel, on the lower part of her stomach now, you realize your touch leaves goosebumps in its wake. She’s so sensitive.

Eventually --about the time you’ve made it to her rib cage--Lin speaks. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Always,” you quip. You look up when she huffs softly, but your glibness wanes when her expression of amusement flickers away. “Lin?” When she grunts, you go on. “What happened?”

(There’s no clarification required to know what you’re talking about.)

She sighs, but doesn’t move her arm away from her eyes. “I cannot comment about an ongoing police investigation--”

“For the love of --spare me the fucking bullshit, Lin!” you snap. You lurch into a sitting position, then yank her arm away from her face (you catch her by surprise, which is the only reason you manage to move her arm at all, and the glare you get in response is glorious). “I’m not a reporter asking for a quote! I’m asking about you.” Your heart twinges at the sudden, pained softness that overtakes her irritated expression, and you loosen your grip on her arm. “What happened, Lin? What happened to you?”

She stares up at you, eyes wide. Vulnerable. Her lower lip trembles slightly, before her jaw clenches and she looks away, up at the ceiling. “Bad intel. Informant turned out to be unreliable.” Her right cheek twitches, making her scars jump. “We walked right into a fire fight between the Triads and the Creeping Crystals.”

Your heart plummets. “Tui and La…”

“Bolin quit.”

You freeze, body compensating as your brain tries to process the unexpected news. “What?”

Lin grimaces, hands curling into tight fists. “Said he didn’t think he could work a job where he’s always worried about his brother’s safety.”

You let out a slow, shaky breath. “Poor kid.” You swallow hard, heart wrenching again when you realize that there are tears in the corners of Lin’s eyes, then ask, “Has he found something new?”

She shrugs, jaw still tight enough to shatter. “Apparently, he and President Moon knew each other from Kuvira’s army. She picked him up as a personal assistant.”

“Oh. Good for him.” You frown, concerned, when Lin’s tight, anguished expression doesn’t lessen --then realize there’s another way you can help. “Mako’s going to be okay, you know.”

Her gaze snaps to you, sharpened by worry. “What?”

“His prognosis is good, Lin,” you assure her. “He’ll need some physical therapy and remedial treatment, but he’ll be fine.”

She looks away again, lips turning down in a sour frown. “Not always the prognosis that gets you.” Her right cheek twitches again. “The painkillers can be a real kick in the ass.”

You sigh, then place your hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to connect him with a support group that helps injured people get off painkillers.” You rub gentle circles against her skin with your thumb. “He’s going to be okay, Lin. I promise.”

She rolls her jaw, and stubbornly avoids your gaze. “He still shouldn’t have been in the position to get hurt to begin with.”

Stubborn. Self-blamey. Bullshit.

“You did your best, Lin.”

Her grimace deepens. “You sound certain for someone who wasn’t there.”

“I am,” you argue, tone firm, “because I know you. You did your best.” Then, softer, “It’s what you do, Lin.”

And then, before you can think about what you’re doing, you lean down and hug her.

You’ve never hugged Lin before. Soft affection just… isn’t what the two of you do. You banter, exchange the occasional chaste kiss, but it’s not like you’re girlfriends. You don’t hold hands, you don’t call each other by pet names (unless you count “brat” and “baby girl,” but that’s a far cry from “sweetheart” and “darling”), and you definitely don’t cuddle or hug.

But tonight’s different. And if there’s anything you can do to help Lin feel better --to get her out of her head, to make her stop dragging herself over the coals of her own self-loathing--then you’re going to fucking do it.

Lin stiffens beneath you, shocked. Then, slowly, almost like she’s touching a frightened animal, she draws her arms around your shoulders.

You lay your head against the crook of her neck and hook your hands under her shoulders. Absently, you skin the dip of her collarbones. “You did your best,” you assure her in a tender whisper. “You always do.”

You stay like that for a bit, with you curled up against her chest and her arms around you. You press delicate, closed-mouthed kisses against her skin, and she trails her fingers over your bare shoulders.

Eventually, though, you can tell Lin’s at her limit. She’s been steadily tensing in your arms for a bit, practically molecule by molecule, atom by atom.

You were expecting it; you know she’s not the most “touchy-feely” person out there.

So, you decide to both break the silence and give her an option to shove you off her. “Y’know,” you say, waiting for Lin to grunt in response before continuing. You wriggle one hand out from under her, then drag it down her chest and squeeze her tit teasingly. “You really do have the most gorgeous tits.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Lin lets out a scoff and --predictably--shoves you off her. “You’re incorrigible.”

You laugh, unhurt by being pushed away or “shamed” (admittedly, it’s tame coming from Lin). “Hey, I’m just telling the truth,” you press on, waggling your eyebrows when she rolls her eyes. “You’re gorgeous.” You lean over and kiss the curve of her shoulder, then grin cheekily at her when she arches an eyebrow at you. “Besides, if I’m really that ‘incorrigible,’ then maybe you should just spank it out of me.”

That finally gets a crooked, wanton grin out of Lin. She rolls over, pinning you against the bed. “Don’t fucking tempt me, brat.”

“No promises,” you fire back before she captures your mouth in a passionate kiss.

***

“Fuck,” you groan when you catch a glimpse of the clock on Lin’s nightstand. “It got late.”

You’ve finally managed to wobble your way to the bathroom after three more rounds of breathtaking sex (and, even without the strap, it still seems that Lin’s perfectly capable of wrecking your back). You’d relieved yourself, cleaned up, followed all the proper post-sex hygiene, thank you very much--

And now you’re faced with the prospect of walking back home at nearly three in the morning.

“Yeah,” Lin agrees as she rubs the inner corners of her eyes with her index finger and thumb, “it did.”

You snort softly. “What do they say about women having sex together? Ten times the orgasms at the cost of not sleeping?”

She smirks, then yawns. “Something like that.”

Sympathy twinges in your chest. She’s clearly tired from the stress of her job, and you’ve only worn her out more tonight (though, admittedly, neither of you are complaining). Just don’t make her drive you. Let her rest. You stretch, then turn and head towards where you’d left your dress on her couch. “I’ll get out of your hair. Walk back’s gonna be a bitch.”

Lin scoffs. “You’re walking back to your place?”

“Well, the trams are probably done running for the night,” you fire back over your shoulder. When you catch her concerned grimace, you add, “I’ll be fine. It’s not that far.” You point at her when she opens her mouth to argue. “And don’t give me the safety lecture. I think I’d rather chance walking than put your tired ass behind the wheel.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just --stay here, then.” At your shocked expression, she looks away and shrugs. “If you want.”

It’s a tempting offer. Your legs really aren’t up to any walking just yet, and the idea of being able to sleep now sounds wonderful. “Yeah,” you acquiesce, nodding. “Alright. I can crash on your couch.”

She sighs. “I wasn’t going to put you on my couch.”

You freeze. Then, carefully, just so you’re certain you’re understanding her, you say, “I don’t want to put you on your couch, either.”

“I’m not sleeping on the damn couch.” She meets your gaze for a moment, then looks away, shrugging once more. “If you’re comfortable with that.”

You find yourself shrugging back after a moment’s consideration. “Sure.” You amble back towards her bedroom. “You’ve seen me naked. Pretty sure there’s nothing else that’d be too shocking, at this point.” Then, you stop in your tracks, just to tease her. “Unless you snore.”

“I don’t snore,” Lin gravels out, but there’s a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

“How would you know? You’re asleep. You could snore like a champion heavyweight boxer and have no idea, Lin.”

“Just get in the fucking bed, you little shit.”

You chuckle, then walk around to the other side of the bed and drop down onto it with a groan. “You have excellent taste in mattresses, by the way.”

“Gee, thanks,” Lin deadpans as she stands. She walks over to her wardrobe, pulls something out of one of the drawers, then tosses it to you. “Here.”

Your attempt to catch it misses, so it smacks you in the face. You flip Lin off when she laughs, then lift whatever the fabric-thing is off your face so you can inspect it.

It’s a shirt --one of Lin’s shirts (obviously). Worn, dark, with a faded police academy logo appliqued to the front.

“Thanks.” You pull the shirt on, then catch the spare pillow Lin tosses to you. You stick your tongue out at her --which gets a scoff and a poorly disguised smirk--then tug your hair out from under the shirt’s collar. “Ready to sleep?”

She sighs, then nods, expression exhausted. “Yeah.”

“Me, too.” You settle against her bed, then draw the blanket up over your waist.

Lin sits on the edge of her side, groaning under her breath. Then, she grabs the pull chain on the lamp and tugs.

It clicks, and the room plunges into darkness.

Or, well, as dark as it can get. Even through the curtains Lin has hanging over her windows, light from the streetlamps and the few passing Satomobiles still seep in around the edges. It’s not enough, though, to be able to see anything in her bedroom. To see her.

The bed shifts as Lin lies down and gets settled. She huffs softly, adjusting until she’s comfortable, and then everything goes still. Quiet.

You can still feel the warmth of her body next to yours, though --or maybe it’s just you. Maybe you’re just the warm one. If you are, it certainly has nothing to do with the fact that you’re so close to her, that you could reach out and touch her so easily--

You roll onto your stomach and shove your hands under your pillow to remove the temptation. Then, you force yourself to close your eyes and focus on falling asleep.

Still, you can’t help but murmur, “Good night, Lin.” It just feels rude not to.

A few moments later, she whispers back, “Rest well.”

***

You wake up alone.

It’s definitely morning --maybe closer to midday, or just past, judging by the bright light leaking past the edges of the curtains and the rumbles and honks of the Satomobiles outside.

You’re also not in your apartment.

It takes a second for everything to come back --being fucked to bits, begging to cum, making Lin scream as you sucked on her clit, and… everything that followed after.

You groan as you sit up. You stretch, wincing as your body protests, then look around for Lin.

She’s not in the bed next to you --or in her bedroom, for that matter. It doesn’t sound like she’s in her apartment, either, and there aren’t any lights on inside that would indicate where she is.

Your gaze zeroes in on a note left on the nightstand. You shuffle across the bed, then pick up the piece of paper once you’re in reaching distance.

Got called into work. Rest if you need to.

The first part shakes something loose --a hazy, distant memory of the shrill ring of the phone and Lin’s responding groan…

And a warm body against your back. The pleasant, comforting weight of an arm around your waist.

Heat erupts across your body. You set the note back on the nightstand, then drop your head into your hands and rub your face. Stop it, you tell the giddy hope coursing through your veins. It was probably a dream. Knock it off.

Predictably, your body doesn’t listen --which is what it seems to do whenever Lin’s involved, annoyingly enough.

You sigh, then try to stand, only to catch yourself against Lin’s headboard when your back and hips and legs and everything protests. Yeah, definitely need a healing session. Ow.

There’s a tub in Lin’s bathroom --a nice, deep cast iron one that’s been glazed with white enamel paint. It’d certainly suffice for a full body healing session, or even a hot, relaxing soak.

Guilt tugs at your stomach. I can’t just… lounge around in her apartment like I own the place, you think as roll your lower lip between your teeth. Don’t be rude. Just get your shit and go.

Except…

Well, Lin did tell you to rest if you needed to in her note --and you definitely need to.

You also suspect --believe, even--that she wouldn’t like the idea of you hobbling back to your apartment for the sake of principle. She likes causing you pain, likes being rough with you, but she’s never expressed any delight in making you suffer.

Don’t be stupid, you tell yourself. You don’t even know when she’ll be back. You could be ready to walk long before she’s done at the precinct.

And that, ultimately, is what settles it.

You’ve preached self-care to Lin enough times that you’re not about to be caught flat-footed in practicing it.

You finish standing, then head to the bathroom.

chromecutie

Aww!!! You didn't need to give me a shout-out 🥺 keep writing 🖤