#i have been mulling over this for an eternity sorry it needed to be extracted from my brain

[comfortless]

Deep Water

nix! König x fem! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. no.. intentional harm done to reader but there are sporadic mentions of murder (drowning), König is kind of a creep here do you guys forgive me (say yes), implied sex; dubcon everything. König is wearing a fishing net rather than the usual hood because. it made sense to me sorry.

notes: yet again, i have found that i can not manage to write anything except for silly fantasy nonsense… bear with me this will pass (it will not). if you’re uncertain of what a nix is, i recommend skimming over this (or tl;dr— a shapeshifting water spirit).

You’ve always been told to beware of the river, especially on nights like this. When the singing starts up you were to run, as far and as fast as your feet could carry you. It would be the most beautiful sound you had ever heard, as well as the last. Whatever beast lies in wait along the silt of the riverbed luring people in with its haunting song isn’t kind. The drowned bodies resurfacing bloated and paled are enough for the townsfolk to assume that assuredly, a monster lies in wait someplace within the glassy water.

For all of the fear, town myths were just that— myths.

As always, there’s no singing when you seat yourself on smooth, mossy stones by the river’s bank. The moon hangs low, casting its brilliant reflection on calm, dark water. The air is alive with the buzzing of cicadas clinging to the trees at your back and night birds calling out to the wind. Nothing is amiss; it’s only peaceful, and that’s why despite the warnings, you often find yourself here when the temperature is favorable.

There are nights when the river isn’t calm, and currents are the most reliable reasoning for the deaths from past summers. The water is full of large rocks with sharp corners, teeming with plants that could so easily snare an ankle, and when the water is frothing and cruel it’s no surprise that one could be thrashed to unconsciousness if they weren’t careful.

You didn’t come here to take your chances on swimming, anyhow.

If anything, it’s a mere reprieve from the bustle of the town. No one wanders here any more since the myths gained traction, passed from mouth to listening ears time and time again, leaving this place entirely untouched. Occasionally the obnoxious teenager would cross your path on the walk here, declaring loudly to their friends about how they supposedly saw some slimy beast, eyes like moonbeams and scales like razors lying on the bank.

During your little adventures here, you often carry a snack with you, but not for yourself. Tonight, it’s just a small package of vanilla flavored cookies. In truth, they were awful— dry and near flavorless, but you suspect your friend here wouldn’t mind too terribly much, and if it got them out of your pantry without wasting it was a win for the both of you.

When the large dorsal fin crests over the water mere meters from the bank, you gratuitously crush the treats in a closed fist and toss the crumbs into the water. Time and time again, you’ve fed the large animal, watching as it thrashes about just below the surface before disappearing back into its depths. You’ve never gotten a good look at it, either, but you imagine it must stretch out past your height or further; some sort of gar or sturgeon.

Just as many times before, it glides further in, fin entirely out of sight now. The only evidence of it ever appearing at all were the small waves rippling in its wake. All is quieted once more as you embrace the placid bliss, readying your small flashlight and losing yourself into the book perched in your lap.

The next night, you’re greeted by a large snake basking over the rock you typically sat upon. It lies still, coiled into itself as it regards you, forked tongue flicking out for several moments before it simply slithers off, hiding itself away beneath the moss and stone.

“Best to leave you alone, huh?,” you ask to it’s retreating tail, feeling a bit silly for speaking to the reptile at all. It doesn’t respond, of course, nor does it bother to come out of hiding either.

You opt to seat yourself on the hill overlooking the water instead.

You find that after a day occupied by tedious tasks, there truly was no greater place to abandon your woes than here. Everything was peaceful; wild yet simplistic. Even with all of the death that seemed to haunt this place, you never feared the thought of ghosts. You’ve even entertained your imagination a time or two, that if you ever did meet one, you would only ask it not to disturb the wildlife you have grown so fond.

There’s a freedom and a mystery to places like this, places without the foot traffic of other people. It brings with it a sense of whimsy, especially when you glance towards the water and see the surface reflecting every twinkling star above.

The fish doesn’t appear, even as you listen to the water in wait, your head tilted as you lie back on soft grass to watch for ripples, for the swell of a large fin moving beneath. Nothing. You read your book as the night progresses, nearly completing it entirely before you make your way back home.

Weeks pass by like this— work, river, home and repeat. Occasionally it’s the same large snake that greets you when you wander there, more often it’s the large fish circling about waiting for crumbs of whatever treat you choose to bring. The bank and the small hill overlooking it have become a separate home to you, one where you can be away with the fairies, talking to your animal friends that never seem to stick around for long.

When the weather grows warmer, you even dare to take a swim.

You’re stood on the slick stones of the bank, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of underwear. It’s not proper swimming attire, but you reason that you’re not at the beach, not a soul is around, and it doesn’t really matter at all that you might look a bit silly. The prospect of swimming along that behemoth below is a tad terrifying, but you wouldn’t dare to wander too far in. Maybe the fish would even be intelligent enough to not attempt to eat you after you’ve been so kind to it.

It’s hot, and with a sticky layer of sweat glossing your skin, your worries seem minuscule in light of an easy way of cooling off. You toe at the calm water for a moment, testing its temperature before willing yourself to take a step forward, then another before you seat yourself in the vibrant expanse of darkened blue. Here, you realize, is the best place to stargaze, too; they shimmer all around you, within reach as you tap at the surface of water, watching it undulate beneath the pressure of your fingertips.

You could reach the moon, too, if you swam further out. A few meters from the bank and you would be directly beneath its reflection, bathed in that ethereal glow.

You watch for your friend for a time, trying to prioritize your wariness over your whimsy. When the fish doesn’t tread by you, the water remaining calm, you rise to your feet and take slow, metered steps as the water parts and flows against your shins.

Though the river is disturbed no matter how gently you stride forward, nothing slides out from its depths in pursuit of you. Nothing happens at all when you reach out to splay your hand out against the reflection, the water now gently lapping against your stomach rather than your legs.

You hadn’t expected any sort of shift in your reality, that would be ridiculous, but perhaps some sort of clarity; a further calm for a weary mind. It doesn’t come, and with a disheartened splash you wade your way back towards the shore.

This has been your sanctuary for some time. Excusing the snake, there’s not been any sort of threat to you, not here. A safe water world all your own. Though, that peace is shattered the moment that you make it to the bank and hear the water shift some small distance behind you. Turning your head, you’re met with the sight of a man, the bulky muscular silhouette towering in the patch of moonlight you had just stood in. Bright blue eyes catch the light, reflecting like an animal’s as you scramble back to where you’ve left your shorts.

He stands there, silent and unmoving like an obelisk even as you hastily dress yourself with a thundering heart and breaths that sound more or less like gasps, senses heightened by your panic as you turn tail to run.

No one had been there. You were sure of it when you sunk into the water. There was no sound when this person had swam over to take your place. He was just there, as if he had been the entire time and you somehow failed to notice.

You make your way into the woods framing this place, hurried steps and untied shoelaces. You don’t even bother with your flashlight.

Finding your way back home with aches in every muscle, the desperate rampage you had taken to get away finally coming to a close when the door slams shut behind you, you quickly shower and mull over what’s just happened. A ghost, perhaps. It had to of been. Any other person would have made noise in their approach, especially being that big. The mind could play its tricks; what you had seen was likely not even there at all— a terrifying figment of your imagination. That sets you at ease, somewhat, but not enough.

You don’t sleep well that night, tucked beneath your blanket and staring at the filtered moonlight through your curtains. Work isn’t on your mind at all come morning until your phone chimes with a notification from your manager, questioning your tardiness. A languid crawl out of bed follows, another shower, an unsatisfying breakfast, all before you opt to send a text back to let him know you won’t be in today.

It could be excused, you’re reliable and decent enough at the job; not one to boast, but far more eager to please than the rest of your coworkers. You would be entirely useless if you went in on no sleep, you reason.

You don’t want to go back there, not under the veil of night, but you find yourself horribly curious the longer that you bide your time indoors. You had to know if the thing that you saw was really there, had to calm your nerves. What if he had always been watching each time, and you simply hadn’t noticed? The forest bordering the river is terribly dark at night, anyone could crouch behind the shield of a tree and remain undetected until they willed the courage to drag you in, cup a palm over your mouth to silence your cries.

Maybe it was the monster the people in town rumored about.

The thought of some strange, silent thing living beneath the water waiting for an opportune moment to take you by the neck and drag you down to the silty floor to watch you drown horrified you. Yet, that’s the one conclusion that sticks. Those eyes… so lurid and haunting, no human being had eyes like that.

You inhale sharply, steeling your nerves as reach for a pocket knife for defense, toss it into the bag slung over your shoulder, and storm out the door.

The trek there is nothing short of dull.

No matter where you look, what shadows rise up beneath the dim glow of a falling sun, there’s nothing out in the woods. The river is equally tame. The water babbles over rock, cicadas buzz off in the distance, and not a thing seems amiss. Your search for footprints that don’t belong to the soles of your shoes turns up empty. The only thing that suggests just maybe it wasn’t all in your head is the book you had neglected to retrieve in your fear the night before.

The cover, every page within, now warped as though it had been pulled into the water and spit out to dry. You pick it up, peeling through damp pages, running your fingertips over the smeared ink. It’s possible that a particularly aggressive splash could have sullied it, but something tells you that that isn’t the case. Either way, it’s unreadable now. You sulk a bit as you slip the ruined thing into your bag and step towards the smooth stones to watch the water instead.

Night creeps in slowly with you there, and you’re on high alert for a time before you begin to relax as usual. Even giggle to yourself at how silly it was you believed you saw a ghost at all as you entertain yourself by skipping small stones across the water.

No large snake, no massive fish, no titan of a man appears before you, only a calming crescent moon and a few wandering wood ducks, gliding down from the bank to splash about. A thought comes to mind as the calm emboldens you: what would happen if you got in just one more time?

There’s nothing to suggest that you’re playing with fire as you leave your shoes neatly in the dry sand. If the ducks could swim unbothered by fish or men, then surely you could, too. You watch the little creatures a distance away as they dip their heads beneath the surface and chitter away amongst themselves while you take your first step in.

You don’t dare to go as far this time, stopping when the water brushes over your knees. You wait there while time seems to slow to a crawl, expecting the absolute worst, glancing further down the river, dipping your hand below the glassy surface until your fingertips brush the sand beneath.

It’s horribly hot and you’re still exhausted from the sleepless night before. The water feels nice, and you feel as though you have some sort of claim to it as you’ve been here more often than anyone else would dare to. Ghosts and monsters be damned, you seat yourself and let the water lap over your shoulders, tilting your head back to watch the stars.

When the singing begins it takes a moment to register just what it is that you’re hearing. It’s not beautiful, not like the myths have said. It’s hissed, a low whisper, a mockery of what a human song would sound like. The voice is rasped, lilted yet cold. The realization that it sings words from your book of poetry is what terrifies you the most, the warped pages all making sense now.

Your eyes dart to either side of you, forward, before realizing the voice is coming from behind you. Cold spreads through your veins as you try to force yourself to stand, but in your fear you find yourself petrified, rooted in water that would surely become your grave.

You can’t bring yourself to turn around, to inevitably find your eyes locked onto the shadowy frame of a man far too large, his eyes glistening and pale like the moon hanging above.

The voice pauses when it finds you unmoving, and you can hear the rustle of the creature shifting its weight where it’s stood on the rocks lining the bank. You’ve no clue how deep the river gets, where the opposite side leads, but your only chance of escape seems to be swimming through in the hopes that this thing doesn’t choose to chase after you. A part of you knows that he would, that that is exactly what he expects you to do, goading you to flee deeper with his eerie song so that he can drown you just as he did the others.

You do the opposite as you squeeze your eyes shut and crawl back towards the bank, making sure to keep some distance despite your willful blindness. You wouldn’t look at it, wouldn’t talk to it, you would just go home and never come back.

“Best to leave you alone, hm?”

You still as your fingers brush against wet moss, the voice no longer a whisper but loud, loud as it echoes your words from days past just above you. Beating back your own curiosity proves futile, because you look up at the damned thing then, expecting to see an impossible terror before you, sharp fangs wet with blood and appendages too spindly reaching out for you. Instead, you see only a man.

He’s crouched, only a meter or so away, and you immediately recognize his broad figure. The same as the night before. From this distance you can make out the finer details, the length of net covering his face and neck, the webbing between each finger. Still a scary sight, but only in the way it’s unfamiliar and imposing rather than instilling any sort of primordial fear.

“Excuse me?” You pull yourself fully out of the water, rising to your feet and taking a tentative step back. You’re prepared to run, a coil pulled too tight on the verge of snapping.

The man, creature, whatever he may be just tilts his head, lets the silence hang in the air for a moment before he has the audacity to laugh whether to himself or at the strange, bewildered expression on your face.

His stare is assessing as he sucks in a breath, follows suit in rising to his full height. From the size of him alone, you know you’re not getting away. A mere stride for him would be two or more for you, a deliberate tug of your wrist from him could snap it in an instant.

Yet, he doesn’t reach for you, only gestures toward your bag lying on the ground with a subtle flick of a finger. You give him a quizzical glance in turn, not bothering to retrieve it. You could come back during the day with a friend, gather it and never return. Only, your knife sits somewhere inside, the only protection that you’ve got. The realization spurs you to bend over and toss the strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll… I’ll be going now.”

The stare remains fixed upon you as you take another step back, blinking slowly every now and then as you both remain in some strange stasis.

It takes you a moment to put the pieces together. The reciting of words from the book, the mimicking of the words spoken to the snake, the hint at your bag… he’s expecting something and it’s not to steal away your life, only to be fed and have your company. It’s not charming, it’s awfully strange and eerie, but you find yourself giggling at the prospect of taming some murderous, shapeshifting monster with subpar treats and poetry.

You pull open the bag, searching for anything you may have brought along that he could eat, eventually prying out a small package and offering it out to him.

“Is this what you want?,” you ask, voice hushed and trembling.

He shakes his head, rustling the net cloaking him in the process. So, he understands, he’s just been willfully ignoring every other thing you’ve said prior. You store the package away with a perturbed expression crossing over your face.

“Then what?”

Any relief you had felt seems to dwindle when the giant takes a half-step closer. His skin is cool and wet as the river as he brushes his hand over your forearm, curling a set of fingers around it. The touch is gentle, but there’s a promise of violence lurking somewhere in the depths of his eyes.

“Come with me,” he urges in that harsh whisper from before, delicately squeezing as he pulls you towards him, leading you back to the river with a tight grip and a step back over the stones. Though his touch is passive, there’s a frightening strength lurking someplace beneath his flesh, tacked to bone, and as your gaze trails lower to rest to rest at your feet, the space between you two, the evidence of a life prone to violence and strength is laid bare before you.

You don’t fight the hold as he leads you to water so deep it caresses the base of your neck, right below the milky glow of a waning moon. Deeper still, as you’re pulled below, pressed down to the very bottom with his body lain over you. You can only hold your breath so long before an involuntary gasp leaves you, and a wave is funneled straight into your lungs.

Panic is fleeting, but the adrenaline stays ever-present. You claw, push, kick, to no avail. Pinned down by a hand weighing like an anchor you feel your vision flooding and hazy as his head knocks against your jaw, mouth sealing tightly over yours. It’s not a gentle kiss, the net fashioned into a hood digs into your skin, teeth scrape over your lip until you feel the sting of blood drawn.

All at once, your vision darkens and it’s over.

You find yourself lying back on the shore as the morning sun warms your face, causes your dampened shirt to cling to your skin. Disoriented, but alive, brushing your thumb over your lower lip as you sit up to stare at the subtle waves lapping over moss and rock.

Just a dream, you tell yourself, knowing full well you hadn’t fallen asleep.

Just a dream, even though you avoid the river entirely now. Your route home from work changes too, avoiding even a glimpse of the path that leads down to that place. You don’t even replace the book, you toss what remains of it after fishing through your bag, murmuring something about it surely being cursed and entertain yourself with film at night instead.

Sleep remains tentative, you wake with every sound, and your dreaming is filled with visions of a figure pushing you down into deep water, his weight bearing down upon you so heavily that you can not move until you wake with a start, eyes searching your bedroom.

Several weeks, and the fear does eventually fade.

The morning that the rain begins to fall, you realize you haven’t even thought about the river in days. There’s no monster prowling your nightmares anymore. You lived through what may or may not have occurred, and that was the end of it, simple as it may have been.

A late shift at work has you wandering out into the rain, umbrella in hand. You’re grateful that you live close, that you’re not entirely soaked to the bone when you step inside of the mundane building. Your coworkers notice your change in demeanor immediately, chirping about how glad they are that you’re finally feeling better, looking more yourself as the hours pass you by. It brings a smile to your face, a real one that you haven’t had in place since that last night.

Even in the summer, there’s a chill to the air in the late afternoon as you hurry home from work and make your way inside, stripping out of your wet clothes and setting your umbrella aside. It’s darker outside than it should be, even more so indoors. Reaching for the switch to turn on the lights proves useless— the power’s out.

You light your way with your phone, ignoring the way your pulse quickens and your heart flutters with the fear that something just doesn’t feel right. Your skin prickles with the thought of some unseen pair of eyes watching you, blue and cold. You only relax when you slam your bedroom door shut, locking it and pressing your forehead to the wood as you sigh. The puff of breath that escapes your lips is not the only in the room, you find out when the light of your phone illuminated your bed. Crouched beside it, a towering figure with a face veiled by fishing net. Words don’t come when you open your mouth to speak, and your heart stutters in your chest as you stand shaking but otherwise petrified.

“You didn’t come back.”

Of course you hadn’t.

Most people wouldn’t have.

“No. I’ve been… busy,” you choke out the excuse, hoping to pacify whatever emotion you imagine lurked beneath his tone, undetectable through the hiss of his voice. “I’ll visit soon, promise,” you lie, back pressed against the door as your fingers curl over the knob.

Your fear seems almost unwarranted. He doesn’t move toward you, only stands to wander back to the window where he must have broken in.

“Tonight?,” he asks in a voice so soft, the voice he must use as a lure because tugs at your heartstrings immediately, makes you want to follow despite the threat this thing poses merely by existing, despite everything.

“It’s cold— I’ll get sick,” you murmur. “How did you even find me..?”

“I will keep you warm.” The question goes unanswered.

You find yourself stifled again as he lumbers towards you, brushing cold fingers across the side of your face. It’s not a mockery of a kiss you receive next but a firm bite where your neck meets shoulder, not yet hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make you shiver, to grip at the wall of muscle that makes up his chest.

There’s a desperation to his movements as he herds you towards the window, pushes you toward the path leading back to the river. You’re soaked to the bone in seconds, hardly able to keep your eyes open past the weight of dampened eyelashes. The rain is so heavy it feels as though every step is like the first you took into cursed water, your feet sinking into the mud along the path with each tentative stride. The realization that you’re there doesn’t even hit you until you’re chest-deep in the chill, violent waves pushing against you, each carrying the threat of toppling you over entirely.

The palm splayed out against your bare back keeps you upright, leading you to a smooth rock jutting out in the midst of what seems a sea of frothing white and blue. The sea above is just as dark, angry clouds roaring as you’re pressed down onto your back, shivering terribly.

He keeps his promise though, a tight grip on each thigh as he pries your legs apart, sinks in between them and blankets you from the rain. Even with the cold pressed to your back, you feel the warmth of a summer sun above you, scorching from inside, just as blazing as the look in his wild eyes. The last of any resolve slips when you’re pulled beneath the violent waves, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses coaxing oxygen into your lungs. Each roll and pull no less tumultuous than the waves overhead. A placid end when the rain comes to an impromptu halt, just as he stills over you. Hands rush to cup your face with one final, desperate and biting kiss.

When the morning sun pulls you from sleep, cool moss against your back and the weight of his head resting over your middle, the shallow water lapping lazily at your figure, you find that you no longer fear drowning.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #könig x you #konig x you #könig #konig #cod fanfiction #cod fanfic #konig fanfiction #i have been mulling over this for an eternity sorry it needed to be extracted from my brain #he is absolutely more lycanthrope coded to me but whoosh whatever nix König be upon ye #also apologies to everyone for not writing much lately and the fact this is hardly a real fic #cursed by the sleepy i just need a 10yr long nap #<- in my ‘in denial about burnout’ era

[cheelduh]

The Shackles of Duty

Pairing: Diluc x gn!reader

Synopsis: As a weapon of the Abyss, your obligation towards your Princess should be eternal.

Warnings: Unedited angst. Pls ignore any mistakes besties <3

Word count: 2k

You've never really given the weather any thought. It's not as if it matters to you. Stormy day or not, your responsibilities—no, your duty towards the Abyss will remain the same.

It's still raining. The mud thick underneath your boots, slippery against your heel, the putrid smell of grassy dew lingering miserably against the air.

"You know what you have to do." The Abyss Princess commands you, her loyal servant, hers to dispose if she so desires.

"The dragon...Stormterror." You explain, goosebumps forming on your skin as a result of the damp clothes that adorn your wet body. "Your brother, the honorary night, along with others, thwarted our plans by eliminating the fragments."

"Why?"

"You know why, your grace." Is all that you can give to her. "I shall follow him. Keep him away, from inciting another encounter—"

"No," Lumine declares, no room for argument. "Infiltrating their ranks is no easy task. You mustn't be relieved of your post, not yet at least. We need to extract as much information as possible to further avoid outcomes like these."

Exactly the answer you don't want to hear in the middle of this archon forsaken storm, all bruised and bumped up from Stormterror's confrontation.

Don't make me do this again. I don't know how much more I'll be able to take.

You bite your tongue, knowing full well the finality of her words. "As you wish, my princess."

The familiar redhead suddenly plagues your mind, stoic, and with years worth of anger at the world. The hero in the shadows, the man with an agonizing past, a sense of retribution albeit his severed connections with the knights of favonious.

Despite the obstacles of life and the intellect honed from his journey, he's reckless. Reckless enough to still believe that he can make a difference. That anyone can make a difference.

Diluc is reckless enough to love someone, reckless to think that his sworn brother would be the only one capable of betraying him.

—

"There's no point." Diluc whispers loud enough for you to hear him underneath the stars, adding onto the lull of night. "They all keep walking—no, running, aimlessly because of duty. They follow orders without knowing where they come from. It's utter chaos."

"But in all the chaos, there is calculation." You lean against the stone of the walls, and as always, you know how to speak to Diluc. How to open him up and read him like a book.

You're sure he can do the same with you, but he just isn't looking where he should be. You need him to look; to realize he's tangled up in your web of deceit and that there's no way out.

"How do you do that?" He says, aware all at once. "How do you give me so much yet so little?"

I want to give you everything, the pretty and the ugly things alike. I want to give you my secrets, fold them up in a dirty, black, envelope, and have you turn it to ash with the violent flames of your heart.

It's a lot of work hiding under false pretences.

"It's a beautiful night, my love." You say instead.

Diluc's never gotten used to the term of endearment, still new to receiving affection. It warms him up differently to his vision, pleasant yet unfamiliar. It takes a moment for him to come back to himself.

You briefly jolt at the pleasant warmth of his hand atop yours, a silent reassurance, one that worsens your guilt, weaves it into something that pierces your rotten core.

—

You don't know what you're thinking when you stand in front of Jean's office, fist hovering.

Is forgiveness why you're here? No, because you would've went to Diluc first. You would've confessed to him right then and there about what a vengeful weapon you are, a mindless soldier that will do anything for their queen.

You don't even get a chance to think of the various ways he'd kill you when the door is open, and you're met with the view of the acting Grandmaster herself. Another dear friend that will come to despise you.

"Y/N! I'm glad you're here—"

"I'm a servant of the Abyss." You cut her off, and don't stop yourself, letting the words run freely against the fast pace of your heart. "I've infiltrated Mondstadt under the orders of the abyss princess and used what I've learned to conspire against the archons."

Everything's spinning, so fast you can barely breathe.

Jean doesn't move, doesn't even blink as the confusion dawns on her face. You aren't looking for confusion.

"Don't pretend you're blindsided completely," You give her a humourless chuckle, and by the hush of your tone it's as if you're telling her a secret to any spectators. "You've known for a while now that there's been a traitor within your ranks. Every single attack from the Abyss—too clean, too unpredictable, one could say with coincidence."

"But the universe is rarely so lazy." Your voice is smooth, calm, the complete opposite to the flurries of emotions that bloom your being. "Varka knew that. And so do you."

"No," Jean finally speaks up, denying your claim incandescently. "We've fought together for years. You're one of our best, our most dependable. Everything we've done—everything you've done has been for Mondstadt. As always."

If only that were the truth.

You wave a hand over your right eye, releasing the magical bind to reveal the intricate marker. Jean's eyes widen, and she's far from her usual composed self.

"Still don't believe me?" You ask, knowing full well she's still in denial. It's not everyday your best mate, the one that fights alongside you, admits to being a traitorous scum of the abyss drenched in years worth of lies.

Ah the trials and tribulations of friendship.

"Fine then," With the flick of your wrist, it doesn't take much effort for the main doors to open up with a bang.

The acting grand master draws back at the shrill sound, teeth gritting.

She isn't the only one that's provoked. Wood and Wyratt, the only two guards on duty at this time let out shouts of surprise, reaching for their swords on instinct.

You summon your abysmal magic, which shapes into deep blue, if not black, appendages. They glitter, hiding the entire galaxy in them, with stars that burst into life. Breathtaking if not used on the battlefield.

In mere seconds, one latches on to Wyratt's leg, while the other takes Wood by his arm. All it takes is a jerk of your index finger, and they're sent flying outside the doors, which unceremoniously slam shut behind them. The lock clicks into place, cherry on top.

Jean materializes her sword, taking on a defensive position. You don't think you've ever seen the woman irritated, let alone as livid as she is right now.

That's more like it.

"Go on. Arrest me." You bring your wrists up, casual as ever. "We'd better hurry. They'll come after me soon enough, it's in your best interest to listen to everything I have to say if I'm willing to die over it." There's a tightness in your chest that you can't explain.

Jean hardens her gaze, not allowing herself to relax. You know what she's going to say. You've been her friend, her advisor, long enough to understand where most of her actions and decision stem from.

She says—well she says nothing, because she doesn't get a chance to when an abrupt screech erupts from her office, causing your ears to perk up and your blood to run cold. A series of heavy footsteps, footsteps you're all too familiar with follow.

Although you're fairly certain you know who it is, you glance over her shoulder anyways to meet the fiery red eyes that have reserved a place in your heart. The sole reason you're blowing the whistle.

You feel a sharp pang in your heart.

The pure, authentic, hurt in Diluc's hardened features are enough to have you gutted completely. Mouth dry with a rock in your throat, you don't so much as allow yourself to exhale.

You finally understand why you didn't go to him first. You were sure he'd be able to survive the betrayal, but you weren't sure you'd be able to survive it yourself.

Diluc. You want to tell him, tell him how sorry you are. Tell him how much of a piece of shit you are. Tell him that he doesn't deserve this, that he deserves so much better. Tell him that you love him, devastatingly so.

It isn't supposed to end this way. Things never go as planned.

You avert your gaze, clench your jaw shut, and wait.

"Jean." Diluc says, and there's grim finality in his voice. "We need a moment." His words send small pricks throughout your spine.

Jean regains her composure, mulling over his request, but any resistance is placated by a simple look from the redhead.

When she reluctantly leaves, the quiet is near unendurable.

"Why?" If the way Diluc's fixed gaze could set anything on fire, you would've been burned to the stake by now.

You'd calculated this moment countless of times, predicted exactly how this would go, lived through every outturn in the dead of the night as you struggled to find sleep in his arms.

Living through it is far more dreadful than you could've ever imagined it to be.

His body closes in at your lack of reply, hands gripping your forearm to pull you in and kick the door shut. "Why?" This time it's more firm.

You open your mouth to speak, like a fish out of water, and out comes nothing.

"I trusted you," Diluc says weakly, in a way that has your heart shattering a million times a second. Tightening his hold on your arm, he continues "You were the only one I...I should've known. I was foolish to think I could believe in you." a sharp exhale, and he pushes you back against the door, but it's not harsh at all. He's gentle, and somehow that makes everything so much more worse.

Your inability to reply sparks a different kind of rage in his heart.

"It must have been quite the show, watching everyone run in circles." He seethes, furious, wounded. "Was it all just a lie? Were my feelings ever returned? Or was I just another one of your fair games?"

You wrench away from his hold as if it's burning you. The words are like needles, pinning into you with so much force it has you lurching in place, and then they twist deep within your blackened veins.

"Stop it." You should've just left. Should've just pushed back the nagging in your brain and jumped off a cliff or a something. Surely the unexpected death of a royal guard—no, the death of a fundamental piece in their plan would surely be enough to cripple them for at least a few days, if not weeks.

Anything but this.

You meet his gaze. "I do love you Diluc, that I am sure of. You don't have to believe me. I know I wouldn't."

"Is that all you have to say?" He all but hisses, gloved fingers closing in to form a fist. "You've betrayed everyone. Your friends, your family...me."

"You think I don't know that?" Your voice breaks when you look away. "I don't know what's right anymore, what's wrong. I don't even know what I've been fighting for this entire time." A sharp, mirthless laugh escapes your lips, "To allow myself to carry out orders I do not believe in is too much to bear. How long do I delude myself into thinking that this is all for Khaenri'ah? That this is all for a reason that is beyond me?"

There's a sliver of softness that shows in his features, but you're too busy calming the waves crashing in your head.

"Whatever it is, it doesn't matter anymore." You say, the sinking of your chest only expanding. "I've already contravened against the abyss, and for that they will come for me. The only thing I regret is that they couldn't get to me before you did."

A stricken look passes across his face, brows furrowed and desperation as clear as day when he reaches for you.

This time, you let his arms curl around your shaking figure, welcoming the comfort that you're undeserving of. "I won't let them."

"I'm sorry." You whisper shakily, fisting the fronts of his coat. "I'm so sorry Diluc."

Diluc hums as he strokes your hair soothingly, with the utmost of care. Although his trust in you has shattered, like irreplaceable fragments of glass, his love for you will remain constant.

Even with the storm that is fated to come.

#genshin impact #genshin impact oneshot #jean gunnhildr #diluc ragnvindr #master diluc #diluc x reader #diluc x y/n #genshin fanfic #diluc angst #genshin diluc #lumine #lumine genshin impact

[psychopersonified]

Who’s the brunette?

Part of the prequel series to "Are we ever going to talk about this?".

I'll post little snippets of their 'not dating' days in this series. Little events that draw them together and the intimacy they share in plain sight.

This particular snippet happens Monday after the Friday party in “Keep Calm. Dance On.”

------

“Oh 007, did you hear? There is the most unusual rumour going around. Seems someone thought they saw the Quartermaster leave last week’s party in an Aston Martin DB5? You wouldn’t know anything about this would you?”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday 8:30am - SIS HQ.

The lift doors open at Parking Level 2 to admit a well rested and impeccably put together Eve Moneypenny.

“Moneypenny, morning. How are you?” Bond says in greeting.

“007. You’re early,” she skips the greeting, her tone a little frosty as she gets into the lift and turns around to face the doors.

“So it’s 007 today? May I know what I’ve done to deserve it this time?” Bond knows enough about women to know that it is always his fault.

“IF you’re interested… someone I call a friend left me all alone at a party last Friday.”

Bond freezes... ah that. He’d completely forgotten. He drops his head in embarrassment. After all, It was Eve who convinced him to attend. A decision he was incredibly grateful to her for. He recalls the night and how he spent it in the company of a leggy brunette.  

“Ah… I must apologise. That was terribly ungentlemanly of me,” pause, he needs to get himself out of the doghouse, “How can I make it up to you?”

“Well, for starters, you might tell me who it was that caught your attention. So much so that you left a good friend high and dry?” She’s laying it on a bit thick, but where would the fun be otherwise?

“What makes you think it was a someone? It was an office party after all.”

Eve leans over to him, a hand reaching up towards Bond’s shoulder. He’s still wearing his outer coat, having come straight up from the parking garage. Her hand comes back with a strand of hair between her fingers; she holds it up in front of his eyes - it clearly isn’t his.

“Who’s the brunette?” She teases him.

Bond schools his face into a neutral expression looking straight ahead. Bloody spies and their deductive skills.

-Ding!- The lift announces its next stop on Ground Level. The lift doors open, revealing a small group of people waiting for the lift - including Q, R and Mark at the front.

Everyone squeezes in. The lift is packed tight, yet no one wants to take the second lift; a result of the lifts being notoriously slow during rush hours.

There is a chorus of polite greetings:-

“Good Morning.”

“Excuse me.”

“Pardon. Which level?”

“How’s it going?”

“Level 7 please. Thanks.”

There is some awkward shifting as the occupants arrange themselves according to who is going to alight first.

Q ends up standing in front of Bond, back to him.

Eve has a mischievous glint in her eyes. She still has the strand of hair between her fingers. So she lifts it and holds it up to the back of Q’s head. The colour and length is an exact match.

Bond slides his eyes towards her. He wants to smack her hand away. They are in a packed lift for Christssake. Eve’s little action catches R’s attention and she tilts her head thoughtfully at them. Eve shots her a meaningful look.

The lift dings their arrival at Level 3. Five people alight except for Bond, Eve, Q, R and Mark - they are headed for the Executive floor on Level 12 to their respective meetings.

The remaining occupants sigh in relief. They start moving apart to give each other more personal space. But before they can do that, six more SIS employees enter - making it worse than before.

“Hold the lift please! Thanks!” A -seventh- person calls just as the doors start to close. A breathless Accounts Department employee squeezes her way in while struggling to carry two cardboard boxes of files. Everyone has to politely shuffle closer to the back to make room.

Bond is forced all the way to the back corner of the lift, the hand rails digging into his back. Eve has to move to the other corner. He can’t help but roll his eyes in annoyance. Why couldn’t M see him later in the morning?

This leaves the Quartermaster on his side of the lift. Q also has to shift back but accidentally steps on Bond’s expensive Italian leather shoe and jolts away too quickly in apology - nearly losing his balance.

“Oh! My apologies—,” It comes out as a rushed whisper.

“—you’re alright.” Bond places his hands on Q’s waist to steady him. Q is wearing only a cardigan made from the softest cashmere over his dress shirt and tie. Bond can feel the warmth of the flesh underneath. He uses the slightest pressure to pull Q backwards into his personal space, so that the others can move in.

Q’s right shoulder blade makes contact with one of Bond’s pectorals. But the younger man makes no protest, on the contrary - unless Bond’s imagining it, he feels Q lean further into the touch. They are pressed close in the compact space, he can smell the fresh scent of Q’s soap and shampoo.

Maybe there is some good that comes from being in crowded lifts. The rest of the ride up feels like an eternity spent in awkward silence for everyone inside with the only distraction being the soft jazzy elevator music. It feels like the lift made a stop at every floor.

Bond does not remove his hands until the lift arrives at Level 12 where M’s office is located. They all alight. Bond and Moneypenny head directly to M’s office. The techies movie off to the conference room for the monthly joint Ops meeting.

Eve waits until she is alone with Bond just outside of her office to ask:

“Oh 007, did you hear? There is the most unusual rumour going around. Seems someone thought they saw the Quartermaster leave last week’s party in an Aston Martin DB5? You wouldn’t know anything about this would you?”

Busted. Yes, so he did spend the party stuck to the Quartermaster’s side. And yes, he did steal Q out for a post revelry kebab supper - which may have included a long stroll along the river after. Finally yes, he did make sure Q got to his doorstep at the end of the very late night/early morning, but only out of concern for his safety.

Bond considers his options.“Name your price.”

“What exactly are you implying? I’m offended that you’d think I’d stoop to blackmail—“ Eve places a hand over her heart in mock indignation, “—but I suppose since you do owe me an apology…” She bats her eyelashes at him.

She mulls over it, “There is this restaurant in Soho, it’s booked out for months. But I’m sure you have your ways around it. My family is in town next week.”

She unlocks the door to the office, letting them both in. “I’ll text you the details.”

“Consider it done.” Bond assures her courtly, he really was sorry about ditching her on Friday. Nevertheless, he is surprised at how easy he is being let off on this - when you consider how protective Eve can be over their Chief Boffin.

“Aren’t you going to warn me off?” Bond wonders aloud.

“Do I have to? It is still just a harmless game... isn’t it?” She searches his face for any indication otherwise, though she reckons she knows the answer even if Bond himself doesn’t know it yet.

He holds the door open for her. M arrives behind them cutting off any answer he might have.

———

Friday 4:30pm - SIS HQ

If Bond has to hear about North Korea again in the next 3 months, it would still be too soon. He had just finished an all day strategy conference with Mallory, 009 and their Korean Station Chief about how MI6 was going to extract their operatives embedded in the regime in the face of the recent crackdowns.

It is not that he’s being insensitive, the meeting is critical and he had played his part in contributing to the discussion and assessing the tactics available to them. It is just that both M and 009 have a tendency to prattle on (his opinion) and discuss ad nauseam every detail, while 007 prefers to… well, get on with it.

Unsurprisingly the meeting ran overtime and Bond is feeling peckish. And when his blood sugar runs low, his patience runs thin. At least this time, he had managed to behave long enough for the meeting to end.

It takes him 20 excruciating minutes to reach Q-Branch. It is Friday afternoon, and like any other civil service, MI6 lobbies and lifts are a hive of activity with most employees trying to wrap up for an early weekend.

Most of the time was spent waiting for the lifts, and then riding the lift, then letting people in and then out the lift - there has to be a better system to organise the lift service.

Bond is inordinately relived when he finally arrives at Q-Branch all the way in the basement floors of the building.

Once he’s through the doors, he makes a beeline for Q’s office nook and Q’s desk. The man is not around, but Bond helps himself with familiar ease. Bond pulls open the second drawer and retrieves a bar of protein snack from the stash in the drawer.

He is almost finished with the bar when he realises that Q has not returned to his desk and is nowhere to be seen on the work floor. Curious, he makes a circuit of the floor trying to be surreptitious.

Jamila catches him ‘not’ looking and puts him out of his misery. “He’s downstairs, in the Firearms Lab with 003,” she doesn’t bother asking if he is there on official business.

Bond tries not to look like he’s been caught, but manners win out and he attempts a casual, “...Thank you.” - his feet starting to carry him towards the main doors.

“Badge!” Jamila calls out to remind him.

Bond backtracks smoothly, heading to Q’s desk and that second drawer to grab his blasted employee ID badge that he keeps in there. He can get away without it on the upper floors, but the Lower Ground labs contain live ammunition and thus require extra authentication for security.

—-

The labs are a study of industrial utilitarian design - an amalgamation of concrete, steel and glass.

003 is easy to locate. Her stunning if scant evening gown incongruous in the surroundings. Bond can only see her from the back. She has one stiletto heel resting on something in front of her.

As he draws nearer, his viewing angle changes and he can see what or more accurately who her heel is propped up on.

Their Quartermaster is on one knee in front of her. The toes of her shoe resting on his thigh. The side slit of the dress is cut high and hides very little.

Q is adjusting her thigh holster, a specially designed and fabricated skin-coloured thing worn fairly high on the leg to make it less obvious. To improve stability, the holster is anchored with clips that connect directly to 003’s one piece undergarment.  

“Oh Q, the material is perfect - incredibly comfortable, but the fit needs to be tighter.” She provides him with feedback. When she looks up, she catches Bond in the reflection of a nearby glass wall - watching them with wide blue eyes.  

“Yes, right. There is an adjustment strap on the inside so all you have to do is… “ Q pulls at the tab - careful not to touch her skin in so much as he can, seeing that the tab is located near the inner thigh. 003 gathers her skirt up higher to allow him better access.

From Bond’s angle, their combined actions are grossly inappropriate.

“…pull this tab to adjust for the required fit. We’ve gone with the new hook-and-loop fasteners so they shouldn’t catch on most fabrics, even delicate ones. This should allow you to use it with any frock of your choice.“ Q explains still oblivious.

“How thoughtful of you Q. I don’t suppose you could make them in… lace trim?” She says to the top Q’s head, smirking into the refection, raising a perfect eyebrow at 007.

“We can make them in any colour or trim you’d like 003. Just let us know what you need. Please allow for a few weeks though, as the elastane base material is specially sent for.” Q looks up at her with a shy smile.

“Oh you spoil us Q. We never had such personalised service until you came along.” She coos down at him while she ran one hand lightly through his hair combing back his fringe while the other formed a hooked finger under his chin to tip his head up to her.

003 is wearing a self-satisfied grin. What a picture they made! Her deft manoeuvring had Q looking like the very picture of a besotted young man attending submissively to his object of infatuation.

She sees 007 in the refection clenching and unclenching his hands. Whoops…. she knows 007, having worked him with him over the years. They get along fine. But this new development is interesting. What is his problem anyway?

Perhaps it would be best to end this here for now.

“Well, thank you Quartermaster. I’d best not take up anymore of your time. Will it be alright if I stayed here to have a chat with 007?” She dismisses him politely, adjusting her skirt and removing her heel from his thigh.

“Oh, yes of course. Sure.” Q stands, brushing his trousers.

“Ah 007, I didn’t see you there—,” the sentence is cut off when Q catches Bond’s blazing blue eyes and dark expression and is confused, “D… did you need anything?”

Bond schools his expression back to neutral. “Not at the moment. Just need a quick word with 003. Meet you back upstairs?”

Q collects his tablet and nods his leave to both of the agents.

When Q is out the doors, 007 closes the distance between him and 003 - who to her credit is not cowed. Instead of stepping back, she steps sideways and the two double-0 agents circle each other for a few moments.

“Oh don’t look at me like that!” she finally says, exasperated with his posturing, also she was getting dizzy with the circling. They were friends, well as much as trained assassins with trust issues can be.

“You—,” she points a finger at him, “—need to learn how to share. You monopolised all of his time last Friday night! After that delicious display of his, I’d like to take him out clubbing and see what else is hiding under that cardigan wearing persona.” She confesses, but still annoyed at 007.

She makes a squeezing motion with her hands, a gesture usually reserved for when talking about cute animals, “He’s so adorable I want to stuff him in my pocket--,” then she indicates to her skin tight dress, “—if I had any.”

Bond is not moved. He feels like they are siblings negotiating playtime allotment with a favourite pet or toy. Well, he was an only child and he had never learnt to share.

“The rest of us would like to play too you know. Alec says—,” 003 nearly throws a tantrum.

“He’s not a plaything!” Bond’s vehement whisper surprises even him. Where did that come from?

“Pot. Kettle…” Comes her practiced reply. But something in his tone catches up to her. She studies him closer. Bond appears to be grappling internally with his own words.

-Oh.My.God- Can it be? 003 abandons her petulant tantrum. The adult slipping back into place.

“You’re not… playing anymore are you?” the question comes from a place of genuine interest.

No answer. Just a sullen 007 staring at his feet, hands in his pockets.

“Huh! Of all the people you choose...” She shakes her head at him.

Well then, there is only one thing left to do. She comes right up close to him, cups his face in her perfectly manicured hands, forcing him to look at her - then says with as much sisterly fondness as she could muster:-

“Don’t. Cock. It. Up.”

-------------------------

Note: If you liked this fic, there’s more like it on the blog. Including my take on a kidnapped Q. Enjoy!

#00q #00q fanfiction #00q fic #Q #Quartermaster

[guileheroine]

requiescence

korra and asami having a night and a morning of quality cuddle/comfort/crush time before varrick’s wedding (canon compliant gapfiller) 🌚🌞 / 5.2k / ao3

It's cool even for midnight on Air Temple Island by the time Korra finds herself nodding off, but the breeze from the patio is welcome as it drifts north into one of the island’s many spacious sitting rooms. The tickle of it against her arm is enough to sway her into semi-unconsciousness - finally, despite herself. For the first time in a long time, she’s resisting sleep on a perfectly positive ground: at this moment, she’s curled against her mother, pressed to her side in true and relieved unity after months of absence and years of absent presence.

Tonraq and Senna had arrived in Republic City that evening with little fanfare. Just get here before Varrick’s wedding! Korra had written, although she knew that they would have boarded a ship as soon as the news of Kuvira’s surrender reached them. In the few days since, Tenzin, the airbenders and all her other friends had been, in their own ways, determining where and how to begin to put the city back together, but they kept their pace slow and they kept together. Time was a luxury they could afford again, at least more so than in those last few days where the threat of Kuvira had been both frighteningly imminent and frighteningly opaque.

Jinora and Kai and Opal took news to nearby towns and brought back delegates to start reorganizing the future of the Earth Kingdom (Kingdom, again.) Wu sat in on these preliminary discussions on his potential sovereignty, Mako tagging, insistent that he was fine, healing fine, he was good and fit enough to sit in a meeting. Lin, with Suyin an unlikely second-in-command and Baatar Jr an unlikely resource, had delved into the investigation and prosecution of those Kuvira sympathisers and supporters zealous enough to cause any serious commotion in the weeks prior. Asami let herself one, two days to grieve, tucked in her old room on the island (“stay here, Asami, it’s best if we stay together” said Pema, said Tenzin, said Korra loudest of all) but there were damage and needs assessments that needed carrying out, and Future Industries had holdings in the bruised heart of Republic City - and somewhere in there, there was a funeral to hold. (Or was there? Was it necessary? No one really knew what exactly to make of Hiroshi in the aftermath, and Korra suspected that perhaps Asami didn’t either.) For her part, Korra had attended Raiko’s meetings, formulated with him their plans of action - how to facilitate the reentry of evacuated citizens and whatever else - but right now, she is simply glad for her long-awaited family reunion.

The shift of Senna’s arm around her jolts Korra from her reverie. They’ve been sitting here talking, for hours now, just enjoying the other’s company (Tonraq too, until he decided to retire to the bedroom before sleep claimed him.) The island that evening had been well-populated; the airbenders and her entire, sprawling Team Avatar convening here when they could, Pema and her acolytes somehow happier for each extra person - but it was quiet and warm and relatively calm in a way that Korra had been learning to cherish. Nonetheless, this long moment with her mom is desperately welcome. It’s comfy, too, disappearing into the embrace of her mother and of sleep and this soft, soft couch - screw the ironing-board beds, her back can make the sacrifice for one night!

“Do you want to go to bed, honey?” Senna says suddenly in a voice made of feathers, although she sounds like she already knows the answer. It makes Korra feel young and loved.

She hmms before responding. “No… No, d’you?”

As her mother makes slowly to reply, there’s a sudden rustle of footsteps and Korra raises her head to look towards the adjoining hallway that leads to the women’s dormitories. Asami is at the door. She looks very mildly surprised (little colour in her face, as there has been for the past few days), and before Korra can say ‘hey’ she begins to apologize.

“I couldn’t sleep so I thought I should stretch my legs,” she offers, her voice slightly gravelly from disuse and the lateness of the hour, “sorry if I interrupted- if I woke you...”

Korra shakes her head in reassurance and Senna conveys the same with a kind, “I was about to get up, actually.”

“I wanted to get some air.” Asami continues quickly, making for the broad, open patio door, where the breeze is still wafting in. Korra follows the movement with her eyes until she feels her mother extracting herself from her arms, bidding goodnight and I love you and all the rest. Senna hugs her close and when she kisses her cheek, Korra thinks she feels Asami’s eyes flicker back from the door for a fraction of a second. It feels odd somehow to share this affection in her presence, truth be told, and Korra wonders (then regrets wondering) when the last time somebody kissed Asami like that might have been. She sinks back into the warm depression of the couch and the swish of the wind in the curtains lulls her almost to sleep again.

Presently, she shifts and sits up once more. This time, the breeze that sifts over her shoulders and through the cotton of her tank top is a little different, enough that it’s no longer comfortable. It’s getting chillier. Asami is still poised motionless at the patio door. The breeze shoves softly against her figure on its way in. Korra can’t see her face but she follows the play of the wind in her unbound hair, and it’s lovely. Asami seems to close further in on herself.

“Aren’t you getting cold?”

By way of reply, Asami steps slowly back and turns into the room, but she avoids Korra’s gaze. “Yeah, you’re right.” She rubs her arms and yawns, smaller than ever.

“Still can’t sleep, huh?” Korra says, half raising her arms, as if the gesture could will Asami into them - and then, patting the space next to her, “Come here.”

Asami walks around the couch and perches gingerly on its one end, very far from where she wants her. “No, come here,” Korra repeats and opens her arms fully this time, and Asami slides into them. Where she can feel it, Asami’s skin is cool, so Korra presses into her, trying to warm her up. The new proximity allows her to see the tension around Asami’s eyes, dulled by a creeping fatigue. She looks older than how Korra would’ve imagined her in her head, if she was asked to.

When Korra thinks Asami, she still thinks of quick, talented utility-gloved hands, all action at an engine, or a steering wheel, or the pressure points of some Earth Kingdom bandit. Bright eyes and a bright mouth (makeup or no), always kind and sometimes even coy (unless she was misreading them); and veritable torrents of hair, the distinctive loose curl on the left side (adorable) that she didn’t clip back for some reason. That imprint in her mind is years old now, and it would take years to overwrite it if she ever wanted to. Of course, Asami’s looked older ever since Korra came back - but where a month ago she would have said older mature, she now thinks older tired. She treasures the moments when Asami lets her hair down again, but now even that does little to inspirit her features. (She's still beautiful, though. That might have been the only thing that Korra hadn’t changed her mind about from their day one.)

“You look awful,” Korra says. As Asami pulls back and braces a hand on Korra’s upper arm, she flushes and twists her mouth into a small laugh. Korra flushes back, not expecting Asami’s embarrassment. “I didn’t mean - obviously - you just look tired, I mean.”

“I know,” Asami replies, bowing her head slightly before looking back up at Korra. Another small, sad twisty-mouth smile, and Korra pulls her back into her, arms relaxed and loose to indicate that Asami should stay there, this is a hold not a hug.

Asami exhales loudly as she settles against her. After a few long moments, she does it again. Korra can sense the fatigue in her body, in her breathing. The weight of her feels leaden, as if her body is teetering on the precipice of sleep but her mind won’t let her fall. It feels as though if Korra listened hard enough she would be able to hear an incessant whirring through Asami’s skull. Instinctively, she lifts a hand from her back into her hair and grazes lightly at the base of her head. When Asami responds by pressing further into her shoulder, Korra clenches her hand involuntarily, feeling the small movement through to her toes. She continues scratching lightly with her hand.

A small eternity passes.

Asami is still wide awake, she can tell by the rhythm of her breathing. It gets even colder. Asami shrinks ever closer into her, though if it’s a conscious movement or not, if it’s the chill or something else, Korra can’t tell. Korra wonders about closing the patio door, airbending it shut, but discards the thought. She doesn’t want to move her arms and disrupt the stillness. She watches a particularly lively gust of wind billow the corner of Asami’s robe up across her thigh and blows a warm blast back to flatten it again. Shortly, she releases a yawn, her stifling it leading to a second, wider one.

Suddenly Asami raises her head, causing Korra to remove the hand against it down awkwardly.

“Aren’t you tired?” Asami says. “You know you can go to bed if you want.” She slides a hand down the shoulder and arm where her head had been, and it warms Korra more than her airbending could have. “Don’t let me keep you here.”

Korra cards a hand through the mass of hair at Asami’s back in response, and shrugs. “I’m comfortable. Anyway, there’s nothing I have to do in the morning, so, yeah.” She pauses as Asami drops her gaze again. “What about you? I hope you’re not planning on working tomorrow.”

“No…” A deep sigh. The tone of her voice makes it sound as though Asami is about to continue, but rather than elaborating, she flops back onto Korra’s shoulder. Work or no work, Asami’s mind would be drudging through the day, heavy. Korra mulls it over and decides not to bring Hiroshi up, when Asami does.

“So I’m thinking I won’t have a funeral for my dad. Like, not a proper service, not now. I mean...he was - he was as good as gone three years ago, right?” Korra doesn’t know how or if to respond so she licks her lips and tightens her arms. “I don’t wanna get into any of the...political stuff. I just can’t think about press or any of that right now, so... It’ll just be - family.” As if family meant more than a sole griever. If Korra could have held her tighter without being too conspicuous, she would have.

She understood. Hiroshi Sato may have made a sacrifice for the city, but it did not redress the stain of his previous betrayal, a stain that had had three years to ferment in the city’s consciousness. If it had taken soft, magnanimous Asami all that while to permit the possibility of forgiveness (an eternity that, with hindsight, she resented), a meagre day of reparation or repentance wouldn’t mean much. If it had indeed been repentance, Korra thought. They hadn’t really had time to find out.

“I think that’s probably what he would want,” she says tentatively. Best hold fast to what they were sure of; what Asami was sure of - and that was his love for her.

Asami doesn’t reply but she feels almost lighter in her arms. Korra loosens her grip slightly but she lets her hand fall back in Asami’s hair. They stay that way for a few minutes until Korra’s fighting sleep.

“So, tomorrow,” she says eventually, her voice slightly hoarse from drowsiness, “I was thinking we could pick something out for the wedding.”

She’s not sure if Asami has heard her until she feels fingertips stroking slow along her shoulder, where Asami is tucked. Her eyes flutter close.

“My parents brought all my stuff from the Southern Water Tribe,” she continues by way of explanation, eyes still closed. “All my dresses are there.”

“Sounds good,” is the response she eventually receives. Asami sounds calm. “We can go over to the estate to find something for me and see Yin and her family.” Korra feels rather than hears her laugh before continuing, and presses her own smile against Asami’s hair in return. “And I saw Varrick today. He said to dress sharp, but not sharper than him. Or Zhu Li.”

"Oh, right? I’m sure we can get you looking prettier than Varrick.” Asami laughs again in response, though it sounds different this time, almost bashful. It’s everything Korra can do to not turn ever so slightly and purse her lips into Asami’s hair, the top of her head. She exhales loudly instead. “So Varrick and Zhu Li are raring to go, huh?”

“They’re super excited! Though part of that’s probably to do with the fact that they’re not doing cleanup work like everyone else. You know Raiko wanted the new portal tested, just to be safe. He’s wary of -” Asami stops stroking and clasps her fingers onto Korra’s shoulder, in acknowledgement and humour. “I think he’s wary of another Harmonic Convergence situation” - Korra's caught between a groan and a laugh- “thinks the city can only handle so much spiritual energy, though I do agree the portal is very worth studying in other respects.  As if Republic City hasn’t been one of the most spiritually harmonious places on earth for years now.... It may have taken a while, but for all Raiko’s misgivings, I really think we’ve adapted well!”

There’s an energy in her voice for the first time and it makes Korra smile.

“Well, you certainly did,” she enthuses. “I disappear and you literally rework the whole city around the vines. And there I was bending fire at them for weeks! Asami, maybe you should be the Avatar.”

Asami gives a hum and a short laugh of dismissal, stretching in Korra’s arms. “But it would have been that much better if you’d been here.”

Korra twinkles. “Yeah?”

“For the spirits, probably, yeah -” A yawn.

“And for you?”

“Well, of course,” Asami mumbles, suddenly sober.

Korra buries her face in her hair.

They’ve been this close before, on sleepless nights three years before, but not this way around - not Korra holding Asami together. Whichever way, she wouldn’t mind getting used to the nearness. She inhales, quiet but deep. The scent, though she craves more yet, is intensely familiar and comforting. She remembers trying to remember it. “If it’s any consolation, you - you made things a bit better for me, even if you weren’t there.”

Slowly, Asami pulls back to look at her. If she wants Korra to elaborate, she doesn’t let on, and to be honest, she looks too sleepy to care. Korra watches her blink a few times. “I’m glad.” Asami says shortly. “I really missed being around you.” She lifts her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Korra’s ear. The action feels slowed by the effort her tiredness makes it take. Warmth flares and scintillates into tiny sparks where she touches her, despite the coolness of her fingers. Asami’s expression is a shade from loving, even in the minimal light Korra can tell, even with her head half-lost to sleep.

And me too sounds as inadequate as I’m sorry, even at this ungodly hour, so Korra says, “I missed you a lot more than I expected to.” It’s a quietly significant thought; one that’s led her quietly to other significant thoughts.

Asami doesn’t reply in words, but she smiles, and when her muscles and her eyelids are too heavy to keep smiling, she pulls Korra close again.

Korra thinks she wouldn’t mind falling asleep right there.

And she doesn’t.

She wakes up the next morning to the distant clatter of the kids in the dining room, Rohan and Meelo struggling to yell over one another, by the sounds of it. Asami is fast asleep in her arms, though Korra’s shoulder is dead. There’s a blanket drawn around the two of them (a Water Tribe pelt, her mother’s), and Asami looks more snug and safe than maybe Korra’s ever seen her. It’s another feeling she could get used to.

~

When Korra wakes, the crisp scent of morning on Air Temple Island is already gone. It’s the first time she’s missed it in several days. Instead, her senses are assaulted by the aroma of traditional Air Nomad butter tea, offset only a little by the familiar essence of Asami curled against her. (Asami curled against her - Korra almost jolts as the awareness settles in her sleepy brain.) Last night’s wind has disappeared and the air is still, warm. The only stir she feels is Asami’s breath.

She opens her eyes wide, pushing her body’s urge to stretch into her toes so as not to move and wake her friend. No one else is in this particular room right now, although the blanket thrown around herself and Asami tells her that her mother has been here. Korra exhales and lets the distant, animated voices of Meelo and Rohan in the other room draw her fully into wakefulness. Then someone screams an octave too high; she presses her eyes closed tight in irritation. Ugh. Kids are so excitable in the morning. She doesn’t understand why. She almost wishes she hadn’t woken up yet, as late as it likely is.

It’s probably the fact that she had fallen asleep in such a weird position. It wouldn’t be right to say she was uncomfortable (she certainly, absolutely doesn’t want Asami to move), but the weight of Asami tucked on her shoulder, sleep-heavy, has rendered it numb and her neck aches from the angle it had hung at whilst she slept. She tries to recall who had fallen asleep first, but draws blank. Whatever. What matters is that Asami slept, had been able to sleep. Korra takes a moment to savour the feel of her, all soft and silent against her own body. The hours clocked in their current position make it feel as though they’re glued together in all the places where they touch. A little clammy, but really not unpleasant; chests pressed together with just a couple of thin layers between them, not that she’s dwelling on that. Korra lifts her hand from the sofa onto Asami’s back and presses lightly, like she wouldn’t mind being closer still in spite of the heat.

Suddenly, the door to the hallway through which Asami had entered the night before swings open, and Ikki bounds in.

“Korra!” She exclaims, skipping across to the sitting area and leaning against the back of the sofa, right beside Korra’s head. “Morning! Did you know they’re already putting the wedding stuff up outside?!”

“Shh, Ikki, Asami’s asleep,” Korra says urgently, though not unkindly, cupping her hand gently over Asami’s exposed ear. Ikki’s mouth makes an ‘oh’ and she peers at Asami like she’s only just noticing her. Korra steels herself (it’s not Ikki’s fault that Korra’s morning testiness makes her sound like a screech bat to her), and smiles. “No, I didn’t - ”

She stops when Asami inhales sharply against her, and they watch as her eyes flutter half-open. Korra removes the hand against her head as Asami mumbles quietly into wakefulness.

“Good morning,” Ikki says almost apologetically, when Asami blinks blearily at her. “I woke you.”

Asami graces her with a sleepy smile that makes Korra want to kiss her face. “It’s okay.” She yawns. “It’s late, isn’t it?”

“Just gone ten thirty!” says Ikki brightly. “Did you sleep well?”

“I think I did, considering...” Asami laughs faintly. There’s something oddly enchanting about the way sleep has made her voice warm and scratchy. “I’m all stiff now, but I slept okay.” She lifts her head to Korra suddenly. “I fell asleep on you.”

“Unforgivable,” Korra says, stretching her arms. Asami dips her head back into her shoulder when she continues, “Anyway, I thought I fell asleep and trapped you here. Whatever. We can call it even.”

“Mm,” says Asami, breathing slow again. “Any breakfast left, Ikki?”

“Sure! But you better get to it before Meelo does. Hey, are you guys going out?”

Are you - ?  Korra blanches, and then curses herself because Asami must have felt her tense. What reason would Ikki have to think… She wasn’t really that transparent, was she?

“Later, yeah,” she hears Asami say perfectly casually after a second. “I need to go to the city for a few things.”

(Of course.) Of course that’s what Ikki had meant. Korra’s heart doesn’t cease to hammer away, though. If Asami notices anything, she doesn’t let on; in fact, she doesn’t budge from Korra’s shoulder for a long moment.

Then, eventually, she says, “I’ll get off you now.”

Korra nods and Asami sits up, avoiding her gaze as she climbs out from over her legs. A part of Korra immediately mourns the loss of contact. Asami rolls her joints and stretches before tightening her robe across her chest. She sits for a moment with her (perfect) bedhead, basking in the sunlight, and then stands up to make her way towards the women’s dormitories.

Korra follows suit a moment later. She finds Naga on the floor of her room, still asleep. She throws her arms around her anyway and kisses her twice. “I left you all alone last night, didn’t I, girl? I’ll be out for a while today, but I bet the airbender kids will hang out with you if you want.” Naga grunts in response, earning another kiss.

Korra washes and dresses for comfort. When she pulls her tank off over her head, the scent of Asami catches. She wonders for a brief, permissive moment whether Asami can smell her on her own clothes, and what’s she doing right now? Dressing. Putting her makeup on, probably. Nothing interesting, but Korra has to make herself not think of it.

When she makes her way to the kitchen, Ikki breezing out past her on Korra's way in, she’s surprised to find Asami already there. It’s slightly jarring, in the best way possible, to see her mother there also.

“Good morning, honey,” says Senna, holding out a cup of tea.

It’s been too many months since the last time she offered Korra morning tea. Korra receives the cup in exchange for a long hug. She catches Asami’s eye from Senna’s shoulder; there’s a smile barely suppressed on the other girl’s face, tucked behind the brim of her mug.

The wide kitchen window frames Asami in her plain, pretty sweater and skirt, sunlight picking the hint of brown out of her black hair. She looks inviting, still and golden, the hint of another world as if in a painting. Something too precious even for a gallery; the kind of subdued masterpiece you might unearth in someone’s attic. Somehow, immediately, Korra knows the image is going to stick for a long time.

“Since when do you get ready quicker than me?” She grins.

Asami rolls her eyes and passes her a sweet bun.

“Where’s Dad?” Korra says, bending the steam over her tea.

“Still asleep,” replies her mom, coming to sit next to her where she stands by the kitchen tabletop. “I was just saying to Asami that I was wondering which of you’d get out of bed first. Well, not out of bed …” she amends.

Korra can see the hint of a blush on Asami - and, yeah, if someone had happened upon her locked fast asleep in their daughter’s arms, she would probably have been a little embarrassed, too. She’s a little curious to the conversation she missed.

“I hope you slept well,” Senna continues, “I know I did.”

“Better than us, probably,” Asami laughs, switching her mug from her right to her left hand so she can grab an apple from the fruit bowl. The way her voice slides over us makes Korra’s heart light.

“Well, you were welcome to go back to bed at anytime!” Korra feigns offence. She’s in that mood. Asami giggles, stupid radiant, and throws the apple at her. Korra catches it with no effort save the barest flick of her arm and raises her eyebrows smugly. Asami only laughs again, the sound so clear and the view so refreshing. Korra thinks about that, about the difference a few hours of rest have made. She wants to believe that her presence has something to do with it, too.

“Asami and I were going to find what to wear to Varrick’s wedding today,” she says as she takes a bite out of her breakfast.

Senna’s eyes light up. “That reminds me! I brought you a couple of new dresses.”

“Oh, awesome!” Korra smiles, and then leans pointedly in and kisses her cheek. “I love you, Mom. I missed you.” As she retracts, Naga pads into the room, making it smaller instantly.

“I missed you more,” Senna is saying, before she tilts up to kiss Naga, who nuzzles her hair. “And you, I missed you, too. We’re all back together now.”

Korra, thoroughly warmed, kisses them both again. So much of that this morning. Here is her family.

She glances at Asami, whose eyes mine her teacup a little sadly even as the rest of her glows before the morning light. There’s someone who deserves a kiss. If Korra could have done it without making a mess of her nerves, she would have delivered.

“Asami, let’s sit outside,” she says suddenly, but gently.

They down their tea and seat themselves on the veranda of Korra’s room. Senna brings Korra the dresses before taking Naga out into the yard. There’s a blue and a white, both to Korra’s taste, although she suspects they might not be to Asami’s.

“What I mean is, I wouldn’t be able to pull this off,” Asami is saying as she smooths out the skirt of the blue dress in her lap, “but you could. You’re - you’d look beautiful, don’t you think?” She gestures down the fabric and looks at Korra.

What’s she supposed to say? Well, her face is probably saying it all. “I… if you think so,” Korra manages, a little too quiet. She clears her throat. “Well, I mean, I can’t be wearing the white to the wedding, so...”

“You think Zhu Li will wear white?” Asami says, reaching to unfold and inspect the white dress.

Korra chews her lip. “I guessed she might. I mean, I know she’s Earth Kingdom… but they’re gonna have to match, aren’t they?” She doesn’t really know how keen Zhu Li might be on these traditions, but for some reason she can’t imagine Varrick in anything other than the finest Water Tribe wedding blue and white.

“Well, here in our United Republic you can wear whichever colour you want,” Asami intones with a smile. “But, yeah, I think they will match white. At least I think they should. Especially if it’s going to be a wintry theme, as I hear from Ikki,” she adds, and tells Korra about the backdrops of snow-capped mountains that were apparently being placed outside where the wedding would take place.

“Oh, right,” says Korra. “Blue it is then." She muses, "You know, if I ever got married, I’d be glad if it were somebody from the United Republic so I could just get them to match me. Because no way am I not wearing my white and blue!”

“Well, I’m from the United Republic and I’d be sticking to red, thank you very much,” Asami says with a laugh in her eyes.

“But you insist on matching? Guess you can’t marry me.” Korra smirks, but the expression changes so quickly to a flush that she knows she has to look away.

“I don’t insist,” Asami says quietly, and Korra can see her fighting her own rosy smile from the corner of her vision. The sentence stops high like it’s unfinished, but she doesn’t add anything else. A moment later Asami continues, and what she says makes Korra look up again.

“I actually still have my mom’s red wedding dress. Not that that’s the one I would wear. I just liked it. And her wedding photographs are the only ones I’ve got where she’s wearing her hair down. They’re really beautiful. I’ll miss her if I ever do get married.” She exhales through her nose like she’s suppressing a sigh. Korra has to resist the desire to reach out and tilt her chin back up.

“Show me when we get to the mansion,” she says. She can imagine the pictures in her mind (she’s seen enough others to visualize Asami’s mother quite well), and then she can even easier imagine Asami like that, wedding day, red dress, hair down. “You know, Asami, it’s crazy how much you look like your mom. Especially with your hair up like now.”

Asami’s eyes widen. “Do you know I was thinking the very same thing watching you with your mom earlier? You look even more like her than before. Except the hair, of course.”

“Which mom digs, by the way!” Korra informs her with a grin.

“As she should -” and, unexpectedly, Asami reaches over and brushes a lock of hair above Korra’s shoulder. It pulls her instantly back to that moment last night, the moment where Asami had tucked her hair back and said I missed being around you so slow and close to sleep that Korra knew she must have really, really meant it.

She ignores the way her chest is constricting. “So you really do like it, huh?”

“Yes! It suits you so much. You really make it work.” Asami turns back to the dresses spread between them and hands her the blue one. “Just like you will this. Wanna try it on?”

“Nah, it’ll be fine.” Korra stops smiling at her lap and looks up across the island, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Anyway, we should get out before midday. It’s gonna get even warmer.” She stands up and doesn’t realize she’s given Asami her hand to help her up until she's holding it.

When they walk out to the dock, the ship that her parents had arrived on the night before is there. The wind buffets the corner of the sails still left loose; it swells like it’s itching to leave. Korra gestures to the craft.

“Makes me wanna get away, you know?”

Asami turns pensive eyes on her. They’re a little sad again, too, but she looks so close to happy for being sad. “Yeah? Wouldn’t that be nice...”

Korra watches her for a second as they walk. And, yes, there’s something bittersweet in the aura about Asami. Yet all the same, she thinks the sunshine on her face and her own step in time with hers is tipping the scales the right way. “Asami?”

“Yes?”

“How are you feeling?” And she really wants to say - what she wants to say is, I want to take care of you.

Asami blinks, silent for a moment, then loops her arm through Korra’s, squeezing first. “I’m good for now. Thank you.”

#korrasami #korrasami fanfiction #MY FIRST KA FIC #is finally on this blog #it's old. and much more in the spirit of the show #**