So this turned into post-whatever fingering against a wall because why not. Obviously NSFWish (not graphic). For @reyshxpe
a kiss…in secrecy.
So, turns out there are a bunch of rules about being the new Fire Lord’s betrothed. Especially if it looks, to the outside world, like the most dramatically political marriage of all recorded time.
Katara is not used to living her life on display. The Southern Water Tribe is a lot more casual, and honestly, a lot less judgy. If this were all happening on her turf, the worst she’d have to deal with would be her brother’s eclectic sense of humor and that would be fine. As it is, she’s constantly observed and can’t do anything anymore and…
She’s eighteen. She’d like to be able to make out with her fiancé once in a while. She hates that there even is that pressure to get married, but here they are.
And it’s bullshit, this whole production, because nobody cared about them being alone together until the engagement was announced but now they can’t have so much as a short conversation let alone the various things that two young adults who are attracted to each other might enjoy doing. Not that they’d gotten too far on that front pre-everything, due to timing and logistics and other circumstances that had nothing to do with levels of desire, but like… Katara would like to see what she’s getting, y’know? Ideally before the wedding, but at this rate, not helping.
Ah well. She can’t touch, but she can sure look. Zuko is growing into a very pretty man, all contrasts and angles. In another year or so, or whenever the ideal date for the wedding is figured out, she gets all of that. Hers. Until then, a little daydreaming about her intended never killed a girl.
She’s in the middle of one of those daydreams – it has been exactly three months since they’ve managed more than a chaste peck, yes she is counting, yes she is annoyed – when a familiar hand reaches out from behind a tapestry and pulls her behind it.
She doesn’t get so far as a what-the-hell before Zuko’s mouth is on hers. It’s perfect. He’s missed her too and it shows, and she is not going to waste a second of this.
It’s the best kind of kissing, desperate and bitey, and soon enough she finds herself pinned to the wall behind them. A new experience in this context, and she can’t fucking see, but she can feel well enough. Zuko has a good presence to him.
And good hands, for that matter. They wander a little, slowly moving down from her face, lingering on her chest and her waist and her hips and then one slips between them and rests on her belly. If he drops an inch lower, he could slip it beneath her skirt.
“This okay, ‘Tara?” he asks, more of a growl than actual words.
She responds by putting her hand on his and guiding it down where she wants it.
This is a new development, she’s well aware, but not an unwanted one. The warmth in her core is flickering, and it feels good when his fingers part her petals. Zuko does not believe in wasting time, and he’s efficient with finding her clit and playing with different patterns until something works. Until she hisses into his mouth, until she’s breathless, until she’s thankful that he’s built like a tree because it feels like her legs are about to give out.
It’s over too soon and not enough and she’s achy and she knows this can’t go any further and-
“Next time you do that, I wanna see,” she breathes into the hollow of his neck.
“Next time I’m finding a way to get you on a bed,” he replies. “I’ll deal with it, ‘Tara. They can find an auspicious day for the wedding that’s three months from now, I’m sure. I’m not waiting a year for more of that.”
I was tagged by @frivoloussuits who knows how long ago, sorry, I have so many old tag games that I’d need to get to... but well, this should be quick enough, so it’s a good start LOL. Thank you for tagging me!
slowburn or love at first sight // fake dating or secret dating // enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers (though there must be a friends-of-sorts stage in the middle) // there’s only one bed or long-distance correspondence // hurt/comfort or amnesia // fantasy au or modern au // mutual pining or domestic bliss // smut or fluff // canon-compliant or fix-it // reincarnation or character death // one-shot or multi-chapter // kid fic or road trip fic // arranged marriage or accidental marriage // high school romance or middle-aged romance // time travel or isolated together // neighbours or roommates // sci-fi au or magic au // body swap or genderbent // angst or crack // apocalyptic or mundane
Tagging: @im-the-punk-who @sailorsally @rainbow-motors @misscrazyfangirl321 @ilosttrackofthings @mysteryandnonstopfun @mslyragw @frankiebleu (only if you want to/haven’t done it of course)
First time writing the new babes, so... here we go. Post-series, pre-relationship, PG-ish.
She signed up for this, Katara reminds herself. Almost everything before this point could be blamed on circumstances well beyond her control, but staying here, staying with him…
It has been a month since the war ended, a month of patience as she tries to figure out how to be a decent whatever-she-is. She’s fifteen, a little young for courting, but she knows this is her place in the world. Someday down the line, in five or ten years’ time, a nice respectable Water Tribe girl will become the next Fire Lady and that clash of cultures may end the world but whatever. She’ll worry about that when she needs to.
Right now, her worry energy is on her sorta-boyfriend, who has a long road yet ahead of him.
“Would you just hold still?” she murmurs. She didn’t have to say this a week ago, she remembers, but things have gotten more difficult as her efforts start to show results. Zuko is too much like her, too stubborn for his own good. Now that he can fidget, he does. In another few days he’ll be able to walk without help, and then her peaceful life is probably over, and-
“What are you doing, ‘Tara?”
Every time, twice a day for the past month when she’s tried to work her healing on him, he’s asked her to explain. Every time, to comfort him and get him to shut up, she talks through this side of her waterbending. She’s stronger in battle than she is as a caretaker, but she’s learning well. The big issue here is the sheer amount that needs done. The latest set of damage, though dramatic, is just the most recent of many layers. Zuko is a survivor, yes, but he’s also a reckless boy who thought he was damn near immortal until his crazy sister tried to kill him.
No, Katara reminds herself. Until said crazy sister tried to kill her, and he took the hit for her because at least he’s a protective reckless boy.
She opens her mouth, about to say the same things she always does about how her powers can work through his body, but then he squeezes her hand. “Not that, ‘Tara. What are you… why are you still here?”
The question throws her. They haven’t had that conversation yet, likely won’t for another few months. And yet there is an assumption around them, an unspoken understanding of what happens next. The rest of their group were given rooms in what is being turned into the diplomats’ wing of the palace; she, for reasons she didn’t question at the time because she was so very tired, is in the wing reserved for the royal family. It’s been convenient, but she wonders… if she stays…
“You need me,” she murmurs.
“What about what you need?”
She’s quiet for a few moments. What she needs? At what point has that ever been a priority? Other things have always mattered more, and she suspects always will. Finding her place here was unplanned but still fits with her patterns, still-
“Maybe I want to stay with you,” she murmurs, a little too quiet. “You don’t expect me to be anything I’m not. I… I like that.”
She leans down and kisses his cheek, the edge of his scar. Last week she asked about taking that too and oh, that was the first time she’s seen him angry at her since he switched sides. The scar stays as part of his identity, period. She won’t ask again. She won’t-
“I’d like… if you want…”
Katara shifts her hands, finishing for now. She’ll work more later, try to find a few more knots in him to undo. And again tomorrow morning, and every day for a long time yet, and-
Vaguely post-whatever, PG-ish. Haven’t written these babes in FOREVER so idk if this is good but here goes!
a kiss…because the world is saved.
There are bits and pieces of the past few days she will never know. That’s how it always goes, how it’s been for years now. Do her bit, rescue the idiots she calls family because she may be the baby of the whole operation but somehow she’s the smart one too, and go on, scars ignored. Another threat dealt with means, at best, a few days of quiet. Charlie can’t dare hope for more. And yet…
She’s twenty-six now, she thinks – time passes weird but she’s pretty sure her birthday was recently – and she hasn’t taken anything for herself in a couple years and she’s waited long enough.
Anyone else, observing the situation at hand, would wonder what the hell has taken so long. Charlie is well aware of this. For her to have any kind of patience is unusual; for Bass to have patience on the same days, let alone for multiple years without lapsing, is a damn miracle. Maybe they’re too similar for their own good, maybe the twenty-odd-year age difference really is too much, maybe they’re too used to each other, maybe all of that. She doesn’t know, doesn’t care to think about it.
Point is, there’s been a spark. They’ve passed for married as a cover on occasion and it’s been believable enough, but those affections don’t count. The sparring comes in its phases, sometimes at each other’s throats and sometimes less so, predictable as the tides. He’s a pretty man, and perhaps for all the reasons he shouldn’t be he’s also safe. A nice distraction to keep in her heart and occasionally get herself off to when time and energy match up.
If she said any of that, pointed out she thinks he’s as harmless to her as a baby kitten, it’d probably break him. She’ll save that for the right day, she decides.
Not today. Today she needs to find that beautiful human disaster and actually do something about it.
It’s the first mission in close to a year they’ve been separated, but these nowhere southern ruins where it all ends are small enough. Doesn’t take much wandering around and yelling to track him down. Built like a tree and ferally protective of her, and-
They’re not affectionate. For safety, perhaps, and just not the flow of the dynamic. Tactile as hell, yes – she’s pretty sure they’ve got lesser scars from each other, hers have faded neatly into other wounds and she suspects his have as well – but not with warmth. Not until now. He pulls her into something too tight to be an embrace and she feels so small in the best way, and it’s new and scary and she doesn’t-
“We did it,” he murmurs. His lips are an inch from her forehead. It won’t be hard to take, won’t be hard to-
“Wonder how long it’ll last,” she counters.
“That’s supposed to be my line.”
“You’re holding me too tight to think.”
The embrace loosens just enough that she can breathe normally, which is probably as much as she can hope for, and screw it she has waited too long and-
They meet somewhere in the middle. She tastes blood on his lips and she hopes it’s his but she can’t know, and one of his hands somehow ends up in her hair, and it’s all tired and desperate in the best way. Should’ve done that sooner, but now is enough.
“You always surprise me,” he breathes when they separate.
“Oh? What’d I do now?”
“Didn’t think you were that brave.”
“Didn’t know you could wait that long.”
He responds with his mouth on hers, and this too is enough.
Post-s2 grayspace, pre-relationship, PG-ish. I missed writing these babes. Also on ao3.
He holds it together for a week before he snaps.
Marcus is learning many things about himself here on Earth, most of them unexpected and undesired, worst of all the fact that he doesn’t actually like running things. Being in a position of power, yes – he’s good at administrative tasks and otherwise getting shit done – but not actually in charge without reliable backup. And with Abby sidelined…
Hell of a time to realize how significant that woman is, and admitting he needs her would make it worse, and she absolutely should rest after what she went through, and… dammit, he can’t do this without her, he can’t-
He had worried, on the long walk back to what now counts as home, that getting her to rest would be a nightmare. He’s known her since they were children, remembers a very stubborn little girl who, thirty-odd years later, is still just as determined. They have the same sacrificial heart, but beyond that, she hasn’t left him unsupervised for more than twelve hours since they both reached some level of power. She is always, always doing something. He was braced for a series of fights that he’d hoped would wear her out. Not for what’s actually happened.
No, to his great surprise, Abby has been cooperative for the first time in her life. She may or may not still be heavily drugged – he has made a point of not asking – but she has been perfectly compliant about needing to heal. Far as he knows, she hasn’t so much as asked for a datapad, let alone tried to run five miles to show she could or something equally reckless he’d expect her to do just to irritate him. It’s unusual and worries him a little, and-
He’s breaking down without her. He can see it now, on day six of not having his counterpart. He needs her back before everything takes a further trip into a different sort of hell.
As is becoming routine, he goes to see her in late afternoon. There are other things he should probably be doing, there are always other things to do and he hasn’t slept more than two hours in a stretch this entire week, but a slight detour to see her progress still gets priority. Every day is better, she’s getting closer, he just… he needs…
Her door is open. That’s unusual.
Marcus lets himself in, and the sight of her sitting on her bed is somehow the best thing he’s ever seen. She almost looks like her again, hair braided and face expressive and more present than she’s been since the bad thing and-
He’s overwhelmed. Shuts the door behind him so no one else sees, and then he breaks.
It’s somewhere between happy crying and tired crying and I-almost-lost-you-and-apparently-that-messed-me-up crying, and it’s alright, he knows she’s seen right through all his false fronts for years and this is the final part stripped away. There are not words for how much he has missed her presence and competence, and nothing bad is ever allowed to happen to her again so help him, and he needs her, and he needs her. He’s done fighting that idea. Hurts less if he admits it.
“What happened?”
Somewhere in the haze of it all, Abby must’ve gotten to her feet and crossed the small space on her own. She’s close enough to touch him now, and maybe it’s the useless water in his eyes blurring the light through her window, but he’s pretty sure she’s glowing.
“You happened,” he murmurs, realizing as soon as the words are out that he’s probably going to dig his own grave right here on this metal floor.
She laughs, clearest possible sign that she’s getting back to her normal strength of personality. “I haven’t had enough energy to make your life miserable, unless there’s something I decided not to tell you before-“
“No, it’s not… I have not been fair to you.”
“Well that’s one way to start an apology.”
“It isn’t… I just…”
He is damn near speechless and hating himself for it. Where to even begin with what she means to him now? This isn’t a declaration of love, absolutely not, and yet it isn’t… he isn’t sure…
“I miss you,” he settles for. “And I need you.”
“Which means there are… let me guess… eight different disasters you don’t want to handle on your own?”
Yep. She’s back.
“I may not be suited to absolute power?”
Abby sighs, giving him the you’re-lucky-I’m-not-violent look he knows all too well. “Catch me up tomorrow. I can at least look at a screen without feeling nauseous. Not sure that’ll save you, but-“
Haven’t written these babes in roughly three years, so this was a FUN return. Set during early-s2 roadtrip, pre-relationship, and PG13-ish for language.
They have been on the road for a day and a half.
Correction – a day and a half that Charlie has been consistently conscious for. Overall it’s more like three or four, she’s not totally sure. Long enough that the drugs have flushed out of her system and she finally managed to eat something last night, and that’s enough to be sure of.
Also long enough to remind her that in addition to his long list of other flaws, Monroe can be downright obnoxious.
She knows, can piece together easily enough, that he took care of her with about as much honor as he’s even capable of. What he wants out of this, she’s not quite sure, but she’s figured out he’s no direct danger to her. She slept peacefully enough last night with him on watch, and she’s fairly sure he’ll stay by her side when they inevitably get in some stupid gunfight. As a human being, surprisingly enough, he’s doing alright. But goddamn does that man have a mouth.
“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” he asks, like that’s a totally normal question for their vague questionably-existent relationship. They’re stopped for a bit to wait out the midday heat, which means it’s gonna go downhill regardless, but that’s a hell of a start.
Charlie would like to think of herself as not particularly homicidal, and she is relying on him to get her back to what counts as home nowadays. She reminds herself of both of these things before making an angry hissing noise.
“Have I ever kissed anyone?” she repeats, trying not to laugh. “Remind me how old you think I am?”
“Twenty?” he guesses. He’s only off by a year too low and she’s lowkey impressed.
“Close enough. You know I’m not an innocent, Monroe. Why are you really asking that?”
“Curiosity.” He smiles at her, one of those dangerous smiles she suspects has gotten him out of too much trouble for decades longer than she’s even been alive. Like he’s got a lot more going on inside than he means to let on, and like he’s enjoying making her squirm.
“If you’re wanting that kind of repayment, I can walk the rest of the way.”
That’s clearly not the reaction he was braced for, and his look of abject horror is worth filing away in the safe places of her mind. “Not like that, Charlotte.” He is the only person who calls her by her proper first name, damn him. “Just asking a question. Wanting to get to know you better.”
Charlie rolls her eyes. For all his questionable behavior, for all the things he’s done both directly and indirectly that have ruined every semblance she’s ever had of a life, Monroe reminds her of a barn cat. Not good with most people, not to be trusted or let inside, but good at what they do and not bad to look at either.
“You’ve gotta earn that one,” she says after a pleasant silence. “Start by asking questions that aren’t how many people I’ve fucked.”
“I didn’t-“
“You were getting there. Might as well stop it before it starts.”
Chris/Melissa, post-canon. They’re cute and I love them and this felt really good to write. PG-ish.
the way you said “I love you”... over a beer bottle
Things are quiet now. Winter tends to be the off-season for supernatural activity, Melissa is learning, a time to rest and rebuild before warmer weather brings the next round of chaos. She’s been aware of that world for going on three years now, enough to see patterns, enough to trust them.
Winter is quiet, and with that comes a chance to get what she wants.
It’s not a formalized situation yet – may never be, she has accepted this – but it’s enough of a thing that the kids know and have given their various blessings. Enough of a thing that he’s around a couple evenings a week for no other reason than to see her. Enough of a thing that he’ll drive her home from work if it’s a particularly late shift, even though they both known she is more than capable of taking care of herself, and she can see the innocence in his intentions. She is loved, she is safe.
It’s one of those nights, two in the morning and she’s not tired yet and she doesn’t want him to leave. They’re lingering in her kitchen, and she has half a mind to take him upstairs with her like they haven’t done before but she’s not that brave yet so they’re drinking. Strange, how this situation has evolved as it has. Trusting someone new in her vulnerability is hard, and yet there’s a gentleness to this man that makes her melt and-
This is not new. Her history as it is, Melissa has made a certain point of searching for every weakness, every detail that could hurt her. Chris is a good man, broken and sharp-edged but good, but he’s still human, still could destroy her if he liked. She’d like to know which ways are most likely so she can plan for them. A couple weeks ago, getting him drunk seemed like a good idea, except that backfired because she tried to keep up and he’s like twice her size and-
On the bright side, she did wake up fully clothed on the couch with a couple blankets draped over her body. So at least he’s unlikely to take advantage of her when she can’t say no.
With that out of the way, she’s less worried. A little alcohol does take the edge off, makes both of them less awkward, and this is an act of trust, and-
“I love you,” he murmurs, new words said so casual.
Suddenly, she is unmoored.
She assesses the situation, decades of damage-control instincts activated. He’s on a second beer but only just started, so for intents and purposes he’s sober enough to make good choices. He seems as present as ever, not quite close enough to touch her because they aren’t like that on these nights but not distant from her, not-
“You… what?!” she counters, settling on shock as her starting-point emotion. There it is, that flaw in this moment. He is… well… emotionally reserved would be both an understatement and a compliment. Un-invasive, never pushing anything further than she’s made clear she’ll allow, still hesitates before kissing her. And yet somehow he managed to say those three little words before she did. What the hell.
“Never mind.” Won’t make eye contact now, probably calculating how quickly he can get out of here-
“I did… I did hear you,” Melissa murmurs, crossing their distance and taking his hand in hers. “I’m just surprised.”
She knows how many layers he keeps his heart under, deeper than the jackets he wears. How hard it still is, even years removed from the subculture that made him like this, to admit attachment. This is brave, and yet she’s not sure what he’s asking for in return. Does he want her to say it back? That’s not happening. Not like this, not said more seriously than some people say wedding vows. She’s not there yet, not sure when she will be, not-
“Is it alright?”
She’s not sure on words right now, so she takes kisses instead. Yes, more than alright. Yes, she understands. Yes, she-
“Do you need me to…”
“No,” he murmurs, free hand around her waist now and she feels small and she feels infinite. “You show it more than enough.”
She’ll get there, she thinks as they eventually break apart. She’ll get there, to that point of saying how she feels with the weight it deserves, not playful as she already has or in pain as she’s wanted to. But there’s no rush. Whatever time either of them needs, it’ll be alright.
“Stay?” she asks, because she can and the house makes weird noises this time of the night and-
