#<1k

Title: That Motorbike Ride

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79400336

Creator: lefemmerouge2 @lefemmerougewriter

Work Type: fanfic

Fandom: Tomb Raider: The Legend of Lara Croft, Carmen Sandiego, Tomb Raider & Related Fandoms

Rating: teen

Pairing: Lara Croft & Carmen Sandiego, Julia "Jules" Argent/Carmen Sandiego, Lara Croft/Samantha Nishimura

Word Count: 960

Warnings: Injury

Number of comments threads: 1

Completion Status: complete

Short summary/description: An international thief named Carmen Sandiego and a buff woman named Lara Croft, who raids tombs, go on a ride on Carmen's motorbike together. Even though both have women they love, as the ride continues, each one starts to experience feelings for the other, although they do their best to hide their affections from each other.

Snippet:

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jason Grace/Percy Jackson Characters: Jason Grace, Percy Jackson Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Fluff, Smut, Kissing, Body Worship, No Sex, Abrupt Ending, Not Beta Read Series: Part 20 of jason/percy one-shots Summary:

“Don’t force yourself, J,” Percy drawls. With a gentle finger, he pushes Jason’s glasses up his nose. “If you’re too nervous, there’s always next time.”

“Not nervous.” Never. “I’m just…so excited.”

Percy's eyes widen endearingly. “For sex?”

Silence. Then. "Hmm?"

"Are you awake?"

A deep, long-suffering sigh, a few more sleepless seconds away from a groan. "I am now."

Jaskier doesn't turn around, only smiles faintly to himself. Stares at the wall, dark and tall before his eyes that refuse to close, the faint lights outside pouring through the creases of the shutters. It's still night. And yet. "Can I ask you a question?"

A part of him waits for Geralt to grunt and refuse and tell him to go back to sleep and, really, he wouldn't mind, it's not that urgent. Except for his heart that has tucked itself away in a corner of his chest, curled around itself like a scolded child that refuses to come out unless it's comforted.

The tightness of his shoulders gives in a little when he hears Geralt swallowing, and scooting closer to wrap an arm around his waist. "Go on." His voice is husky with sleep. It makes Jaskier shiver.

Makes his heart flutter in its corner. He takes a breath, eyes fixed on the wall and the arm on his waist feeling heavy. Maybe that's just how love is. Heavy. But safe. His voice is no more than a breath. "Why do you love me?"

He's waiting for it. Go back to sleep, Jaskier. What kind of question is this? Isn't it enough that I do? He's waiting, and it sounds a lot like what his mind has sounded like for the past hour. And it's silly, if he's being honest. Childish. Maybe that's why it stings, maybe because it's been the same question for so long he doesn't remember not having it.

For a moment, there's silence.

There it is, he thinks, not surprised.

Yet Geralt hums lightly. It's like he's smiling and Jaskier knows, somehow, that if he turns around now, he'll see the curve of his lips. He doesn't. He stays still, almost frozen, until he feels Geralt tightening his arm around him, holding him against his chest.

Until he feels soft lips pressed between his shoulder blades.

Geralt's voice when he speaks against his bare skin flows through his body like blood. "Because I don't know how not to."

A shiver. Jaskier knows Geralt has this smile on his lips that he gets every time he drives him to silence, can feel it as though his lips carve it on his own skin. Slowly, Geralt kisses his nape, then, gently, his shoulder. A caress, a substitute for words. No. A promise. Maybe it's better then, that Jaskier can't look at him. Maybe if he did, the tears threatening to fall as Geralt drags his lips on his skin wouldn't hesitate.

The arm is heavier now, steady. A deep sigh and Geralt nuzzles in his hair, breaths him in. Hums again and his voice is sleepy, plain as though his love is the most natural thing in the world. "Sometimes it's like I'm loving you from memory."

He says nothing more. Jaskier hears the flutter of his lashes against his cheeks. Smiles.

His hug is tight and warm and it feels like its shape was made for Jaskier to fit in, like Geralt always knew how to hold him. Maybe this answers his question then. Their pieces finding each other in the puzzle.

I will tear you out of myself piece by piece, if I must. If bare hands are my sole defense, then I will rip you from my soul in fistfuls of flesh—skin and muscle, bone and blood. If I cannot unshackle myself from your aching presence, nor you from mine, then I will claw, and scrape, and rip, and tear, and chew, and scratch, and pull, and mangle my way through you until there is nothing left to feel; and I will free us both.

Perhaps, in such a violent emancipation as this, I will feel your agony as if it is my own; perhaps, genuinely and inextricably, it shall in fact be my own. Perhaps it is flesh of my own flesh that I will be rending, bone of my bone and blood of my blood. Or perhaps it is destiny at which I tear, with this clawing and desperate and stubborn abandon. Perhaps the curse is that you have been stitched into my fabric since before I had a name by which to be called, and that I have thus been stitched into yours.

It almost seems that your fingers were designed to fit so perfectly into these dark fissures, where I’ve tucked away all these secrets and all this pain. It almost seems that you were meant to crack me open with such effortless obliviousness, to overpower my inherent strength and spread bare before the world the raw, tender underbelly I’d worked so tirelessly to conceal beneath stone callus.

Do I even possess such power against you, such power as to tear you apart from the inside out, and to rip you up from your very foundation? Have my fingers been designed to slip so perfectly into those dark fissures, where you hide away all of your secrets and all of your pain? Shall I ever know? I likely never shall. What is the point at all, if you are not so powerless against me as I feel against you, struggling to contend with the pull of your gravity?

I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for you. If it were at all possible, I would hate you with the depths of every ounce of love I’ve ever thought myself capable of giving.

So I will tear you out of myself in fistfuls of flesh, then—bone of my bone, blood of my blood. If it is indeed the truth that Destiny herself has stitched you into my soul, then I will cut the sinews of our heartstrings on my teeth.

like a human being General Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply, Gen, 811 words

Upon returning from Purgatory, Dean is barely human. Feral, animal. What he didn’t expect was for Sam to be the same.