#and instead of backing straight back towards me.... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

julymusings · 1 day ago

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will you hold me instead, and tell me that it's over now?

i look forward to a little me and you, so now i hope that you don't tell me that it's over

or; patching jason up after an intense mission [2.1k]

jason todd x fem!reader; angst/fluff; brief mentions of human trafficking and allusion to murder (he's talking about how the mission went); mention of his scars; jason being insecure & thinking he's not good enough😞; description of injuries and the first aid applied to them (please do not take anything as actual medical advice); this is me hard-launching my physical touch x touch starved!jason agenda

You don’t know how early it is when you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing, just that it’s too early. It’s not like you could sleep anyway; you spent the night drifting in and out of semi-consciousness, too worried to let yourself relax. You always got like this when Jason went away on missions. Several days, and sometimes even weeks, spent anxiously anticipating the state in which he would return home—you haven’t been able to get a manicure since before you met him.

You’re still a little delirious when a hand ghosts up your arm, stirring you from your half-sleep. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room and register the sight in front of you. Your boyfriend is on one knee on the floor in front of you, brushing strands of hair out of your face with endearing eyes.

“There she is,” he says when you lift your head off the pillow and reach out to him. He catches your hand and kisses your fingertips, spreading a warmth up your arm that combats the midnight chill. You push yourself up to a sitting position, and he takes the opportunity to cup his hands around your face and bring you in for a kiss.

“Missed you,” you mumble against him, and his lips curve upwards against yours.

“Missed you too, sweetheart.” His mouth travels up from yours towards your temple, leaving a path of gentle kisses in his wake. Your palms, pressed flat against his chest, slide up to loop around his neck. He tenses, choking back a strained grunt. But you catch it.

You pull back abruptly. “Are you hurt?” Your eyes frantically dart around, scanning his entire body. Now fully alert, you reach over to the bedside table and switch the lamp on.

“’s just a bruise, baby, I’m fine.” A hand comes up to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness. But with newly unobstructed vision, you can see more than just a bruise. He has a busted lip, a shallow gash on his temple, and splotches of purple and red peeking out of his shirt collar.

“You’re bleeding, Jason,” you chastise him, getting up off the bed.

He stands alongside you with a huff. “It’s nothing,” he sighs. “Doesn’t even hurt.” But when you take his hand and start pulling him to the bathroom, he follows without argument. You lead Jason to sit down on the edge of the tub and fetch the first aid kit from under the sink, setting it down next to him on the bathtub ledge. You stand between his legs, your positions making you a half-head taller than him. He gazes up at you and for the first time tonight you notice how dark and deep the skin under his eyes is.

“Off,” you order, dragging up the hem of his shirt. He helps you pull it off, wincing when it requires him to lift his bruised arm.

“Someone’s eager,” he muses, raising his eyebrows in a teasing manner. It earns him a swat on the arm; he grunts loudly and doubles over in pain.

You gasp. “Oh my god! Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I—”

But when he looks up, it’s with a coy smirk and a twinkle in his eye. You swat him again.

“Asshole,” you mutter, but you can’t help the slight twitch at the corner of your lips. “Why didn’t you take care of this earlier? Alfred wasn’t at the manor to help you?”

He shrugs his good shoulder. “Don’t know. Came straight here.”

“Did you tell anyone where you were going?” You ask.

He looks at you blankly, as if to say, don’t you know who you’re talking to?

You sigh, exasperated. “You shouldn’t have done that, Jason. What if ended up becoming serious? And you didn’t make it here in time? What if—”

He interrupts your doom spiral by pressing a finger to your lips. “I know, honey, I’m sorry. But I wanted to see you.”

You sigh. There’s a sadness to it, one that comes from familiarity with the fact that he does not care for himself as much as he should—as much as he deserves. But there are no words to make him believe it that you haven’t tried, so all you do is lean your forehead against his, hoping he can hear what you're not saying. You need him to hear you.

“You’re not sorry,” you whisper.

“No, I’m not,” he whispers back.

You start with his shoulder, which was decidedly not ‘just a bruise,’ but actually several bruises, all clumped together to form one giant Franken-bruise that covered his entire shoulder. It gets rubbed with ointment and you’re not sure who it pains more, because while you’re spilling out frantic apologies as you try to speed through it, Jason is white-knuckling the edge of the tub with a wad of gauze between his teeth.

His lip doesn’t require any medical attention, but he insists you kiss it better anyway, and who are you to deny him?

You tend to his temple last, but he’s antsy now. His leg bounces up and down, one hand is drumming its fingers on the tub, and the other is fiddling with the loose threads that hang from the hem of your shirt; you have to scold him into sitting still.

“Where’s the dermabond?” You ask, sifting through the contents of the first aid kid.

“Used it up last month, remember? After you just had to feed that fuckin’ squirrel.” His voice is gruff at the recollection. “Should be a new pack under the sink.”

You fetch the new box, picking at the plastic wrapping. “Can you blame me? He was so cute.”

“Yeah, was. Until that greedy fucker decided he wanted the whole picnic.” Jason sees you struggling with the plastic covering and takes it from you, breaks it open, then hands it back. “Bastard.”

You giggle. “You know, you could’ve just let him have the cupcake. It wasn’t worth risking rabies for.” You fish out the glass tube of surgical glue, tossing its cardboard box aside.

“‘Course it was. My girl wanted red velvet, she should get her red velvet.” Jason’s hands finally rest on the backs of your bare thighs, squeezing them lightly. He grins when that makes you let out a little squeak.

You roll your eyes, though there’s a warmth flowing in your veins that courses from the tips of your ears to the bottom of your feet. “My hero,” you muse with a smile.

There’s a pause. Then:

“I’m not a hero,” he responds. His tone is still light, but his eyes feel far away.

You start to clean the blood from the wound, which has since clotted and dried, with a saline-soaked cotton pad. He stares at you while you clean and then close the cut with the glue. And when you finish, supplies set aside and glue cured, he’s still staring. His eyes are traveling all over your face, taking in each feature, committing every ridge, every angle, every pore, every freckle to memory. The light-hearted teasing demeanor from mere moments ago is long gone. You're a deer caught in emerald headlights.

You recognize this shift. You noticed hints of it since he arrived home, but assumed it was just due to the pain. Now it’s obvious that there’s more. It’s the same shift that comes when the news becomes a circus, or when he stares at his scars in the mirror for too long.

His hands slide up your body slowly, reverently. One stops at your waist while the other continues, blazing a trail up your ribcage, over the side of your breast. He pauses at your shoulder for a split second, squeezing the flesh every so gently before continuing up your neck. His thumb drags across your collarbone, brushing against the spot that always lights up your senses and parts your lips in a breathy sigh. He stops when he reaches your face. He cups your cheek. Your hand covers his and you lean into his hold, the stroke of your small, soft fingers juxtaposing the rough callouses of his knuckles. You stay here for a moment before turning to press your lips to his palm once, twice, thrice, four times, each one lingering a little longer than the last.

“What is it, Jason?” Your hands come to cradle his neck before dragging up to his hair, and his move to wrap around your torso and pull you closer into him. You place a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Hmm?”

“I’m not a hero,” he says again, softer.

“Jay,” you whisper. “You know that’s not true.”

He says nothing, only heaving a heavy sigh and burying his face into the crook of your neck. You’re content to stand like this, to simply hold him and graze your nails against his scalp for as long as he needs while he inhales the comforting scent of your skin.

After what could have been one minute or twenty, he pulls back to look up at you. He looks exhausted. “It was a human trafficking case,” he says. “They knew we were closing in on ‘em, so we had to act fast. They were…trying to…” He trails off, unsure how to put it in words delicate enough to spare you. He breaks eye contact. “Destroy the evidence,” he finishes.

You don’t respond. Despite the heavy silence that follows this admission, you know he’s not done. It takes another several minutes of stroking fingers and feather-light hairline kisses to coax it out of him.

“There was a woman. She…we didn’t—“ His voice cracks. “I didn’t get there in time.”

“Oh, honey.” You run your palm over his forehead, pushing back his thick waves. His eyelids slide down over glassy irises as he sinks into your touch. You lean down to press your lips to his forehead. “You know that’s not your fault,” you whisper. He shakes his head, eyes still closed.

“But if I’d just—”

“No, Jason.” You grip his face between your palms. He opens his eyes at the sudden sternness. “But nothing. You did everything you possibly could—”

“You don’t know that,” he interrupts.

“I do know that. I know because you are always doing everything you can. For me, and for everyone in this city. And I know that it wasn’t just you on that mission. Do you blame anyone else for what happened?”

He says nothing, but his eyes are welling with tears.

“You saved so many other people, Jason. You are a hero, and you know that. You have to know that.” Some of his tears spill over, but you brush your thumbs across his cheeks and kiss them away.

He pulls you onto his lap so your legs are straddled over his and rests his head against your sternum. His arms squeeze impossibly tight around your waist, but you don’t say anything. When his shoulders tremble and you feel the dampness on the front of your shirt, you still don’t say anything. And when he places a hand on the back of your head to pull you in for a hard, searing kiss that leaves you both breathless, you don’t say anything. You just look at him, at how pretty he is, and hope that he can hear you.

The sounds of buzzing echo in from the next room. To your dismay, he turns away, towards the direction of your phones. “I should get that,” he says. His voice is hollow. “It’s probably the bats wanting to know where I am. They’ll send a search party if I don’t check in.”

He’s about to move you off his lap, but you stop him. “In a minute, Jay.”

Jason’s forehead crinkles. You use your thumb to smooth it out.

“Please?” You breathe out. “Just let me look at you a little longer. I love looking at you.”

He relaxes back into his seat. And you keep looking at him. At his beautifully rosy cheeks and shining eyes, his puffed lips. The scar that runs diagonally down his slightly crooked nose.

It’s dawn now; the tangerine beginnings of sunrise elicit a soft glow that spills through the window. Jason takes it all in. The two of you together in the home you share, arms around each other, your face all honeyed and beautiful in the light.

And you know he can hear you.

love when you guys leave messages/feedback it really brightens up my day<3

divider is from here

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validfemale · 2 days ago

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thought transmission 101: no texting, just manifesting .𖥔 ݁ ˖

you’ve probably heard of “thought transmission” if you’re deep in the manifesting world, but what is it really? let’s break it down and spill the tea on how you can use it to bring your SP (specific person) straight to you.

❥ WHAT IS THOUGHT TRANSMISSION?

thought transmission is basically the idea that your thoughts aren’t just staying in your head—they’re being “transmitted” out to everyone around you, especially the people you’re focused on (aka, your SP). think of it like wi-fi for your thoughts. you’re sending out signals with every thought you think, and others are subconsciously picking up on that energy. so if you’re focused on your SP, they’re feeling your thoughts and emotions, whether they realize it or not.

❥ HOW IT WORKS IN MANIFESTING?

when it comes to manifesting, thought transmission is a game-changer. every time you think about your SP, whether it’s a loving thought, an assumption, or a visual of them acting a certain way, you’re transmitting that energy to them. they’ll start to feel these nudges and feel drawn to act in ways that align with what you’re manifesting.

the key here? you have to think from the end result you want. so, instead of stressing about why they haven’t texted or overanalyzing their behavior, start thinking as if they’re already fully obsessed with you. every thought that reinforces that story sends out a clear, strong signal that they’re going to pick up on and, in turn, start feeling toward you.

❥ USING THOUGHT TRANSMISSION TO ATTRACT YOUR SP:

1. ASSUME THEY’RE THINKING OF YOU!

stop thinking of your SP as some unattainable person you’re trying to “get” to notice you. start assuming they’re already into you, obsessing over you, wanting to be with you as much as you want them. every time you imagine this, you’re sending that thought right to them.

2. STAY CONSISTENT IN YOUR THOUGHTS!

consistency is everything. if you’re going back and forth between “they want me” and “they’re ignoring me,” you’re sending mixed signals. stick to the story you want. if you want them to be all over you, keep that as your dominant thought.

3. IGNORE THE OLD STORY!

if they’ve acted out or done things you didn’t like in the past, drop it. by holding onto old memories or doubts, you’re just transmitting more of that energy to them. instead, focus on how you want them to be, and trust that they’re receiving that message.

❥ WHY IT WORKS?

your SP (and everyone else) is part of your reality, and they’re constantly reflecting the beliefs you hold about them. thought transmission taps into that concept by making it super clear to them how you see them. the more you hold a solid, unwavering belief that they’re already yours, the stronger the signal becomes, and the more likely they are to act on it.

❥ FINAL THOUGHTS.

thought transmission isn’t some magic trick—it’s just about focusing your energy and assuming that what you want is already true. your SP is getting your message, and the more you stay aligned with what you want, the more they’re gonna feel that pull toward you. so sit back, chill, and let your thoughts do the work for you.

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yanderefarm · 1 day ago

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Now I need us “pretending” to forget about Emil, only to actully forget about it him.

Like, as a punishment we lock him in the basement and forget about him as a joke, send a maid down there once a day to feed him, but then we genuinely forget about with him, because we didn’t realize how much work Emil does.

He gets feed once a day from a maid, but that’s the only interaction he has. (Need some more angst before it gets fluffy🙏🙏)

part 3 of this & 2

i don't know why i love this series so much i want to break emil so bad. i have so much fun writing pathetic emil whump.

cw;; domestic abuse, drugging, unsanitary, manipulation, dehumanization

things had been relatively peaceful since starting the divorce process. a process you had paid the information guild to purposely obstruct and delay while also leaking all the information about. at this point you met the guild master more than your own husband, in spite of emil's attempts. every day you would wake up to find some kind of expensive gift and your maids would inform you that emil was there to see you, to which you would dismiss both. but emil kept trying.

he wasn't even being drugged anymore but the effects had clearly taken their toll on his mind. according to the servants of the main house he wasn't doing his work, he would spend all his time wandering or sitting like he was the living dead, and they even heard him crying. your name and even mention of the queen title had been all but banned by his advisors in an attempt to get him to pull himself together. he wasn't.

the first time you saw him in 6 months was shortly after a meeting with the guild master discussing your next steps to take over the kingdom. you had decided with everything squared away you would go out for a walk by the fountain.

the moon was the only light on the usually vibrant garden, casting it in a somber darkness. the air was cold and heavy with the chilling change of seasons on the horizon so you were wrapped in a shawl. it was the perfect night to find him. your husband was standing on the bridge overlooking the fountain, he was staring down into the water longingly. you could see from his reflection in the water his eyes were sunken and there were bags under them, his hair was messy and uncombed, and he was paler than normal. he looked sickly and the cold blank look in his eyes didn't help.

he didn't even seem to notice as you approached when usually he would be on high alert or draw his sword. or he did notice.

"if you're going to kill me please make it quick." he must have thought you were some kind of assassin but more notably his voice was so soft and weak unlike anything you'd ever heard from him.

"i have no intention of killing you." your voice made his head shoot up with all the speed his weakened state could allow.

fresh tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. "(y/n)..? are you... real..?"

he stumbled towards you his feet struggling to carry him. you reached out and caught his surprisingly light body.

"you're re-"

"what's wrong with you? do you think dying will make things better?"

he flinched and his head fell to the ground.

"i thought you would break eventually and just admit you were wrong. but you'd rather die, hm?"

"i- you- i tried-"

"i don't want your excuses, emil."

he swallowed hard as tears began falling freely from his eyes. he opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. you couldn't help but take some kind of pity on the poor man, your hand running under his chin and forcing him to look back at your face.

"you're so pathetic... this is what the terrible tyrant becomes?"

you ran your thumb along his bottom lip before you leaned in close enough to feel his ragged breath against your lips.

"give up your pathetic life. give everything to me. everything ends when you give it to me."

he tried to lean forward enough to catch your lips but you kept out of his reach. instead of letting him kiss you, you pulled away from him completely. you stood up straight and pulled your arms away from his body causing the pathetic man to drop onto his knees. his body hit the cobble like you'd dropped a corpse but you decided not to care, choosing to turn away instead.

you started to walk away when you heard scratching and clawing at the stone under your feet.

"-ing please. please!" his voice clearly strained to try get your attention.

you stopped in your tracks waiting for him to speak but instead you heard more clawing and shuffling. eventually you felt his head bump into your leg like a cat greeting its owner. his bloody hands grabbed your leg and he held onto you as tight as he could while rubbing his head against your leg.

"emil. let me go."

"please take it... please take everything..."

"let me go."

"you want everything its yours. please."

"emil."

you finally dared to look down at him. he was so pathetic, his tears and blood were staining your pants. you let out a heavy sigh and reached down, your hand running through his tangled mess of hair.

"if you mean that then tomorrow concede your kingdom to me."

his peachy pink eyes looked up at you.

"do you understand?"

he nodded.

"then let go. you're getting me dirty."

he hesitated but he slowly let go of your leg.

———

of course your husband came through. he did as you ordered him, meaning you ascended to the title of king ahead of your schedule. while it certainly had its benefits it did leave a few things unfinished specifically on the guild master's end. so after everything settled into place you used your new found power to help staple in the final touches.

your husband who had been so happy to have you next to him again the past few months had to resume the drugs just so your hard work wouldn't completely slip away. he was still walking around like a corpse just a better maintained one. but no one seemed to have the time to pay much mind in the chaos of making you king. no one had the time to wonder where he went near the end of the chaos as you took over. and it was only when it was too late did his advisors even notice he wasn't anywhere to be found in the castle. you had to reassure them that he was currently tucked away from the public receiving the utmost medical care for his poor condition.

you ran a hand through your hair as you descended the dungeon steps, you were currently complaining to your maid about all the tedious parts of your job. there was an undeniable smile on your face though, the pride of having the most powerful kingdom in your hands made even the tedium valuable. your smile only widened twisting into a sick smirk as your torch caught onto the dirty form of your caged husband. he was on his knees clinging to the bars of his cell with tearful dead eyes.

"how long has it been, emil...?"

you walked over and crouched in front of him, he immediately went to push his head against your hand.

"your highness it's been 6 months since your last visit." your maid hung the torch nearby.

"really...? it's been over a year since i started this..."

your maid set about preparing emil's food while you pet him gently.

"i didn't mean to forget you down here."

the poor man didn't even seem to realize as he rubbed his head against your hand.

"oh emil... to think it only took a little over a year to break the mad king. to take everything away from you. to trap you in a little cage like you did my family."

the maid returned with some fresh water and a bowl of porridge. you pulled away from emil as she gave him his food. you watched his pathetic eyes look up at you desperately and you cocked your head to the side.

"your highness he's asking permission to eat."

your eyes lit up as you looked over at your maid. "oh my goodness!! you're incredible! i remember telling you i wanted to train him but to think you really went the extra mile..."

"thank you, sir. it's an absolute honor to break the man who destroyed my home."

your smile didn't fade as you looked down at the pleading former tyrant. "go ahead. but you can't use your hands."

emil hesitated before he finally shoved his face down into the bowl, eating like a pig with slop. it was a disgusting but amusing site, you and your maid had a good laugh at his expense.

once he was done you decided to give him a reward for good behavior. you crouched down in front of him and gently cleaned the mess off his face with a warm wash cloth. it was the closest thing he'd had to a real bath in the past 6 months. he was sobbing as he leaned into your hands.

it didn't last as long as he'd liked and you pulled away again.

"continue training him. id like to parade him around eventually so we should work with that goal in mind."

"you'll have his complete obedience. he won't even think to breathe without your permission."

"wonderful." you ran a hand down through his tangled mess of hair. "... I'll give you a budget so you can properly turn this area into the perfect training facility and our private friend can help you with the details."

"i look forward to it, your highness."

"i do too. when we're done with you you'll finally tell me you love me. you'll thank me for all of this, emi."

all you got was a whimper in response. you left your precious husband down in the dungeon, a forgotten and disgraced king.

#replies #yandere oc #sub yandere #yandere x male reader #male reader #top male reader #yandere king #dom male reader #villain reader #mindbroken emil au

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zyafics-recs · 1 day ago

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reblogging comment review by @zyafics

ok i can't contain myself to write so i will be reading (sorry for all the tiktoks send over dms hahaha) ⬇️

He hated physical therapy, but what he hated more was sitting on the sidelines, watching his teammates on the ice while he was stuck on a cushioned table with resistance bands and an overenthusiastic sports medic, with hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail and a pair of blue scrubs that somehow still looked cute on you.

always obsessed with your descriptions and im grinning so hard knowing that's ME hehehe

It was kind of cute, the way you tried so hard to keep things strictly professional between the two of you.

NOT FOR LONG I READ THE WARNING

He liked the way you said his name—like you were in control, like you were the one calling the shots. It was refreshing.

my dom girlyyy

You weren’t the kind of girl to fall for a player, especially one with a reputation like Rafe’s. Besides, you were already with someone. Logan—the clean-cut, dependable defenseman from a rival school. You’d been together for over a year, and things were great.

SCREAMINGGGGGGGGGG (muffled behind a pillow)

He grinned, like a stupidly in love sick puppy, unbothered by the jab. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

me rn: login who???

"Good guy?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe me like that."

im so giddily rn, their banter is TOP TIER

“Logan’s a lucky guy.”

OH I SPELT IT WRONG LOLLLLL

He hated Logan more than he hated the pain in his knee.

🤭 im like a schoolgirl rn

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that he usually kept hidden. “Because if he did, I swear to God—”

imma be so honest i thought WE were gonna be cheating but i guess HE'S cheating that scumbag

“He’s not worth you,” Rafe said softly, stepping closer, his anger replaced by something gentler, “You deserve better than that. Way better.”

I KNOW so give me that dick 😁

Rafe’s knee had healed remarkably well, and now the day had arrived: his first game back on the ice. As it drew near, a strange sense of anxiety creeped in. Your life had become so closely tied to Rafe’s recovery over the past few months that the thought of him no longer needing your help—or your company—left you with an unsettling emptiness.

i need him to SLAM into logan ohmygod

He skates straight at Logan, not bothering with any pretense. If Logan wants to play dirty, he is more than ready to play dirtier. Logan barely has time to react before Rafe drops his gloves, his intent crystal clear.

LET'S FUCKING GOOOO

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to your level, crashing your lips against his with a force that takes him completely off guard.

ANGRY MAKEOUT SESSION LETS GOOO

You break away just long enough to breathe, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“Been waiting for over an hour to do that,” you breathe.

oh im horny

“Then do it again,” he murmurs, “Do whatever the hell you want to me.”

oh HE'S horny

Rafe lets out a low, almost guttural sound as you rock your hips against him, the pressure making him tighten his grip on you, holding you in place as he grounds himself against you. The sensation makes your breath hitch, a needy whimper escaping your lips that only spurs him on.

ok im at a cafe, reading this smut on my 14'' screen where everyone can surely see. let me pack up and go home and i'll be back to react.

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper again, your voice rough with desire as you nip at his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth before soothing the bite with your tongue.

I'M BACK

Without another word, he pulls you toward the locker room, his grip firm and unyielding as he leads you through the maze of benches and lockers. Your heart races as he pushes open the door to the showers, the sound of the water echoing off the tile walls. The room is empty, the air thick with steam, and the second you step inside, he’s pouncing on you. Clothes are gone in the blink of an eye.

Oh. My. God. this is so fucking hot what the FUCK

Rafe nearly passes out from the sight. Watching himself disappear inside you has to be his favorite sight in the entire world.

it's me, but THAT SHOULD BE ME!!!!!!

"Cameron? You in here, man?" Rafe freezes, his body tense, his cock still buried deep inside you as he glances toward the door, his breath ragged.

IM GRINNING my favorite part of public sex smut is the fact they're almost caught hahahahaa

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you with a mixture of affection and desire. "Yeah, but I’m your fucking idiot."

my baby my baby my babyyy

final thoughts—i'm obsessed with this. ur writing. you. ohmygod, as always, the first thing that comes to my head is your descriptions. when you were describing reader, the medical training, the equipment and the environment, i always feel so immersed by your vocabulary and imagery. next, the fucking BANTER, oh you got me clutching my chest, giggling in the middle of a cafe. thank god no one was looking over my screen. but truly, i love how lowkey smitten rafe is with reader. he's always in love with her before the story truly begins and i love how much softer this version of rafe is. don't get me wrong, he's possessive and a beast on the ice, but something about him is so baby girl. thank you, gigi, for doing my request justice, i swear i want more!!!!

looking like motivation - hockey!r.c (+18)

requested by my #1 @zya4lifers

warnings: meantions of cheating; SMUT.

Rafe’s day started the same way it had for the last two months: with a groan of pain that shot up from his knee and settled into his mood like a stubborn storm cloud.

At least that was what he thought when he first met you.

But two weeks in, his hatred had morphed into something else entirely, something way more complicated. He wasn’t sure when it happened—maybe when he caught you singing quietly along with the radio while taping up his knee, or when you’d given him that first, honest-to-God smile that wasn’t out of politeness but genuine amusement at some stupid joke he’d made. And he made a lot of those.

Now, sitting on that same damn table, Rafe found himself looking forward to PT in a way that had nothing to do with his injury. You walked in, clipboard in hand, looking as professional as always. It was kind of cute, the way you tried so hard to keep things strictly professional between the two of you. Rafe knew he got under your skin—hell, he made sure of it. He could tell by the way your eyes flicked up to meet his for just a second longer than necessary before you quickly looked away. You tried to be cool, but he knew better.

“Alright, Cameron. How’s the knee today?”

He put on his best wounded-puppy face. “Terrible. I might never skate again.”

“Shut up.”

“And I could be better,” Rafe drawled, his lips curling into that signature smirk. “But seeing you always helps.”

You rolled your eyes, but he saw the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You say that every time.”

“And I mean it every time,” he shot back, winking at you.

You tried to ignore him, busying yourself with adjusting the equipment. “Let’s focus on your knee, alright?”

“Whatever you say, Doc,” Rafe said, stretching out on the table with a lazy grin.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched up. “We’ve got to work on your pain tolerance.”

He couldn’t resist. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to keep me on my toes.”

Finally, you looked up, your expression deadpan. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to avoid actually doing your therapy, Cameron.”

Touché.

He liked the way you said his name—like you were in control, like you were the one calling the shots. It was refreshing.

The first few minutes of the session passed in relative silence as you guided him through the exercises, your hands expertly working his injured knee. Rafe winced, but it wasn’t all from the pain. It was from trying to resist the urge to say something that might actually cross the line. But resisting wasn’t really his style.

“So, what’s your boyfriend up to this weekend?” Rafe asked, his voice casual, but his eyes sharp, watching your reaction.

You looked up at him, a little caught off guard. “Out of town.”

Rafe snorted, unable to help himself. “Figures.”

You frowned, straightening up to give him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rafe shrugged, feigning innocence. “Nothing.”

“He’s busy,” you said defensively.

“Too busy for you?” he pushed, his tone dripping with faux concern. “That’s a shame. If you were mine, I’d make time.”

You gave him an unimpressed look, “I’m sure you would.”

“You don’t think I would?”

“I think you’ve already got your hands full with the cheerleading team.”

He liked to pretend you sounded jealous and not critical.

Rafe chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Cheerleaders are fun and all, but they’re not really my type.”

Okay, that was half a lie, but in his defense, he hadn’t slept with anyone on the cheer squad since sophomore year.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest as you adjusted the strap on his knee brace. “And what exactly is your type, Cameron?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “Complicated. Smart. Gorgeous.”

You didn’t miss a beat, even as your pulse quickened. “So, basically the opposite of you?”

He grinned, like a stupidly in love sick puppy, unbothered by the jab. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

You shook your head, trying to hide the smile threatening to break through. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Only when it comes to you,” he replied smoothly, his eyes locked on yours.

There was no denying the chemistry, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. But you were with someone else, someone who, despite his flaws, you cared about. Still, Rafe made it hard to remember why you were trying to resist in the first place.

“Rafe, we really should focus on your PT,” you said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory.

“Trust me, I am focusing,” he replied, his tone suggesting he wasn’t talking about his knee.

You rolled your eyes, standing up straighter to put some distance between you.

“Right. Well, you need to focus on this next exercise. We’re going to work on your range of motion.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t argue, watching you with a lazy smile as you moved to demonstrate the exercise. He couldn’t help but admire the way you carried yourself—confident, knowledgeable, and completely fucking beautiful. It was a challenge, and Rafe Cameron loved a challenge.

As you guided his leg through the motion, your hands firm but gentle, Rafe couldn’t resist pushing a little more. “You know, you never answered my question.”

“What question?” you asked, though you had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“What you’re doing this weekend,” he said, his eyes locked on yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch.

You glanced away, focusing on the movement of his knee, your fingers brushing against his skin as you adjusted the angle. “I’ll probably just catch up on some work. Maybe relax.”

“Sounds boring,” Rafe remarked, though there was a playful lilt to his voice. “You should let me take you out.”

You looked up sharply, caught off guard by his directness. “Rafe, I’m—”

“Taken, I know,” he interrupted, his tone still light but with an undercurrent of something more serious. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun, does it? Just as friends.”

“Just as friends?” you echoed skeptically, knowing full well what his idea of ‘just friends’ probably entailed.

Rafe shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “We could get dinner, maybe hit up a bar, talk about something other than my knee for once. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“No.”

His smirk faltered, just for a second, before it came back stronger, more determined. He leaned back on the table, pretending to stretch as he tried to mask the sting of rejection. "No?" he echoed, as if the concept was foreign to him.

You crossed your arms, standing firm even though his eyes on you made your heart race. "No. We both know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to happen."

"And what exactly am I trying to do?" he asked, feigning innocence with a smirk that told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to get drawn into his game. "You know what. I’m here to help you with your injury, not to entertain whatever fantasy you’ve got going on."

"Who says it’s a fantasy?" he shot back, his voice lowering, taking on a more serious tone that caught you off guard. "Maybe I just want to get to know you better."

You paused, searching his face for any sign of sincerity. But Rafe was hard to read when he wanted to be, his playful exterior a well-practiced mask that he rarely let slip. "Rafe, you're a good guy, but—"

"Good guy?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe me like that."

"Fine," you conceded with a small smile. "Maybe ‘good’ is a stretch. But you’re not as bad as you want people to think."

Rafe’s smirk faded. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and it made you hesitate, made you wonder if there was more to him than just the cocky, relentless flirt.

But before you could dwell on it, he was back to his usual self, flashing you that devil-may-care grin that made it hard to stay mad at him. "You know, I’d actually take that as a compliment if it came from anyone else."

"Don’t get too excited," you replied, trying to keep things light. "I still think you’re a pain in the ass."

"Yeah, but I’m your pain in the ass," he teased, stupidly blinking his lashes up at you.

You shook your head, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up. "You really don’t give up, do you?"

"Not when it comes to something I want," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Cameron, this isn’t going to happen. I have a boyfriend."

He shrugged, unbothered. "And? You’re no fun. You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

You handed him a water bottle, expression neutral. “You’re just out of shape.”

“Out of shape?” He looked at her, incredulous. “Do you see this body?”

You didn’t take the bait. “I see a guy who’s been slacking off on his conditioning.”

He laughed, low and warm, as he took a sip of water. “You’re tough. Tougher than most of the coaches I’ve had.”

You shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

“Logan’s a lucky guy.”

The hockey world was small, and word got around, of course he knew his name.

“Logan’s great,” you said, a little too quickly.

Rafe nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, I’m sure he is.”

He didn’t push it further, though. Instead, he fell back into his usual routine of teasing and flirting. Every time you guided his leg through a stretch or adjusted the equipment, he found his mind wandering, imagining what it would be like if things were different. If he were the one you were coming home to after a long day, if he were the one you smiled at without that guarded look in your eyes.

But you were with Logan, and as much as he hated to admit it, Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to cross that line. Not when you were clearly trying so hard to keep things professional between the two of you.

As the session wrapped up, you handed him his schedule for the next few days, your demeanor as cool and composed as ever. “I’ll see you on Thursday. Make sure you keep up with the exercises over the next couple of days, and don’t overdo it.”

He took the paper from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments. It was enough to send a jolt of electricity through him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be good,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

“Can’t make any promises.”

He spent the weekend bored out of his mind, thinking about you—wondering if you were with Logan, if the guy was actually smart enough to know what he had.

He hated Logan more than he hated the pain in his knee.

The guy was too perfect, too dependable, too fucking boring. And Rafe had been praying, in a way he wouldn’t admit to anyone, that something would happen—something that would make you see Logan for the jackass he really was. It wasn’t that he thought he was a better guy; he knew his own flaws better than anyone. But he also knew that he could make you happier, make you laugh harder, make you feel things that Logan never could.

So when you walked in late to the next session, he was ready to make a joke, to tease you about finally deciding to show up. But the words died on his lips when he saw you. You weren’t looking at him, not really, just muttering a half-hearted apology as you dropped your bag in the corner. But when you finally met his gaze, his chest tightened.

Your eyes were bloodshot red, the kind of red that came from hours of crying, from tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how hard you tried. You looked exhausted, like you hadn’t slept in days, and your usual spark was nowhere to be found.

His first instinct was to make a joke, to lighten the mood the way he always did, but he couldn’t. Not when you looked like that.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice void of its usual cockiness. “You okay?”

You nodded, but it was the kind of nod that was meant to shut someone up, not because you actually meant it. You were far from okay.

“You’re late,” he said, his tone teasing, but even he could hear the concern underneath.

“I know, sorry,” you replied, your voice small, almost defeated.

Rafe frowned, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. This wasn’t like you. You were always so put together, so in control, and seeing you like this was…so unsettling.

“What happened?” he asked, more serious now, the joking tone completely gone.

You shook your head, avoiding his gaze as you busied yourself with the equipment, but Rafe wasn’t going to let it go that easily. Not when he could see the pain written all over your face.

“Come on, what’s going on?” he pressed, his voice soft but insistent. “Did something happen with Logan?”

The way you flinched at his name told him everything he needed to know. His chest tightened, protectiveness swelling inside him. He’d always thought Logan was too good to be true, but seeing you like this confirmed it.

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that he usually kept hidden. “Because if he did, I swear to God—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice cracking slightly as you finally looked at him, “I mean, yes, but… it’s not like that.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “What did he do?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat as you tried to hold it together. But there was no point in pretending anymore, not when Rafe was looking at you like that—like he actually cared, like he was ready to go to war for you if that’s what it took.

“He cheated,” you finally whispered, your voice trembling as the tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill over. “I found out through a fucking DM on Instagram. Some girl… she just messaged me out of the blue and told me everything. And when I confronted him, he didn’t even deny it. He just—just said it wasn’t a big deal.”

Rafe’s vision blurred with red-hot anger. He wanted to find Logan and beat the shit out of him for making you cry, for being stupid enough to let you go. But more than that, he wanted to make you feel better, to make the hurt go away, even if he didn’t know how.

“That fucking asshole,” He growled, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. “I swear to God, I’ll—let me get on that ice and I’ll wipe the entire ring with his face.”

“Rafe, don’t,” you said quickly, cutting him off. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it, okay?”

His heart twisted at the broken look in your eyes, the way your voice wavered as if you didn’t quite believe your own words.

“He’s not worth you,” Rafe said softly, stepping closer, his anger replaced by something gentler, “You deserve better than that. Way better.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. It wasn’t like him to be so serious. But here he was, looking at you like you were the most important person in the world, and it made your heart ache even more.

“I don’t know what I deserve anymore,” you admitted, your voice small and lost.

He reached out, hesitating for just a second before he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the tear that had finally escaped.

“You deserve someone who knows what they have when they have you,” he said, his voice steady, his eyes locked on yours. “Someone who would never make you cry like this. Someone who would never, ever cheat on you.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over at his words. “Rafe…”

“I’m serious,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re… you’re amazing, you know that? Any guy would be lucky to have you, and Logan’s a fucking idiot for not seeing that.”

You shook your head, trying to keep it together, but it was no use.

You started to cry, the kind of deep, gut-wrenching sobs that you’d been holding in all weekend. And before you knew it, you were collapsing into his arms, letting him hold you as you cried, his arms strong and steady around you.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to shush you or tell you everything was going to be okay. He just held you, his hand gently rubbing your back as you let it all out, crying into his chest until there were no more tears left.

When you finally pulled back, your face red and puffy from crying, you only uttered a small, “Thank you.”

Rafe nodded, his eyes soft as he looked down at you. “Anytime.”

And then, without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a soft, hesitant kiss to his cheek, lingering for just a second before pulling away. He blinked, a little stunned by the gesture, but before he could say anything, you stepped back, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“Do you mind if we reschedule for tomorrow?” you said quickly, your voice still shaky. “I’m not sure I-“

“Of course not.”

You breathed out in relief, “Thank you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He wanted to tell you to stay, to tell you that it was okay to not be okay, that you didn’t have to face this alone. But he knew you needed space, needed time to process everything that had happened.

“Yeah,” he said softly, nodding as you turned to leave. “Tomorrow.”

He wanted to be there for you, to be the one you turned to when everything fell apart. But more than that, he wanted to be the one to put you back together again, to show you that not all guys were like Logan—that he wasn’t like Logan.

And as you disappeared down the hallway, he made a silent promise to himself: he was going to make you see that. No matter what it took.

⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ

The weeks passed, each session with Rafe seamlessly flowing into the next. What started as this totally professional thing, strictly business, slowly morphed into something way more personal. His cocky jokes and playful banter had shifted into these deep conversations that actually mattered, and somewhere along the way, you found myself getting closer to him than you ever expected.

You had prepared yourself for the possibility that he might distance himself once he was back on the ice. After all, athletes had their own lives, their own routines, and you were just the therapist who had helped him get to this point. But when he invited you to his first game, the gesture came as a welcome. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, he’d slowly lurked his way into your heart.

It was after a particularly intense session, where you’d pushed him harder than ever before, that he brought it up. You were finishing up, wiping down the equipment while he caught his breath, stretching out his legs on the bench.

“You know,” Rafe started, his voice casual but with a hint of something more in it, “I’ve got my first game back tomorrow night.”

You looked up, catching the subtle edge in his tone. “Yeah, I’ve heard. You must be excited.”

“Excited? Nervous as hell, more like it.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, “It’s been a long time coming. A lot of pressure to perform, y’know?”

You nodded, understanding him. You’d seen how hard he’d worked, how much this comeback meant to him. “You’ll do great, Cameron. You’re more than ready.”

He smiled at that, but there was something else in his expression, something hesitant. “I was thinking…maybe you could come. To the game, I mean. It’d be nice to have someone there who’s seen the whole process, who knows what it took to get back on that ice.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. It wasn’t just the invitation—it was what it represented. He didn’t just see you as the therapist who’d helped him heal. He saw you as someone important, someone he wanted by his side as he took this next step.

“I’d love to, Rafe. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Relief washed over his face, followed by a grin that was equal parts gratitude and something else— “Good,” he said, his voice quieter now, “because I’d hate for you to miss it. You’ve been a big part of this, more than you know.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you found yourself blushing under his gaze.

“I’m just doing my job,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, but the look in his eyes told you that he saw right through your attempt to downplay it.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad it’s you,” Rafe said, his voice earnest. “I don’t think I could’ve done this with anyone else.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you as if you were the only person in the world at that moment, made it hard to breathe. This was more than just an invitation to a game. This was him telling you, in his own way, that you mattered to him—that you were more than just his therapist, that you were someone he wanted to keep around.

“I’m glad it was me too,” you whispered back, unable to tear your eyes away from his.

“Tomorrow night, then.”

“Tomorrow night.”

Now, as you sit in the stands, watching Rafe skate out onto the ice, you feel a nervous anticipation that has little to do with the game itself.

Just before the puck drops, Rafe catches your eye, giving you a confident wink that sends your heart racing. He knows what this game means, not just for him, but for you as well.

Logan is there, playing on the opposite team. You haven’t seen him in exactly two months. Whatever feelings you had for him disappeared the moment you found out about his betrayal, but your ego still hurts like hell.

The energy in the arena is electric, a buzz that makes his blood hum with anticipation. His first game back, and the stakes couldn’t be higher—not just because of his injury, not just because it’s a rivalry match, but because Logan is on the other side of the ice. Rafe’s jaw clenches at the thought of that bastard, the memory of your tear-streaked face still fresh in his mind.

During warm-ups, he spotted Logan, skating like he didn’t have a care in the world, like he hadn’t just thrown away the best thing that ever happened to him. Rafe’s grip tightens on his stick, his knuckles white against the black tape. The rage simmering beneath his skin isn’t just about the game. It’s personal.

His focus is razor-sharp, every movement precise, every play calculated. But no matter how much he tries to concentrate on the game, his eyes keep drifting back to Logan, who skates circles around the ice like he owns it.

The first period passes without incident, but by the second, the tension is boiling over. Rafe feels it building, that need to do something, to break Logan’s face in half. He doesn’t just want to beat him; he wants to humiliate him, to knock that smug look off his face once and for all.

Then it happens.

Midway through the second period, Logan makes a hard hit on one of Rafe’s teammates, sending the guy crashing into the boards. The hit is clean, but it’s the arrogance in Logan’s smirk that pushes Rafe over the edge.

He doesn’t hesitate.

“You think you can just get away with that?” He snarls, his voice low and menacing as he shoves Logan hard in the chest, the force sending him stumbling back on his skates.

Logan’s eyes flash with surprise, quickly followed by anger. “What the hell’s your problem, Cameron?”

He doesn’t bother with a reply.

He swings, his fist connecting solidly with Logan’s jaw. The satisfying crunch of bone against bone is drowned out by the roar of the crowd, but Rafe doesn’t care. He’s been waiting for this moment, waiting to unleash all the pent-up anger and frustration that’s been eating away at him since the day you walked into that PT room with your heart shattered.

Logan staggers back, his expression twisting with fury. He recovers quickly, launching himself at Rafe with a wild swing, but Rafe is ready. He dodges the punch and counters with another one of his own, this time aiming for Logan’s ribs. He can feel the impact reverberate up his arm, but it’s not enough. He wants more.

“Come on!” He shouts, face red from all the pent-up anger simmering inside him. “Is that all you’ve fucking got?”

Logan grits his teeth, struggling to keep his balance. “You’re fucking crazy, Cameron!”

“You haven't seen shit," He spits back, landing another punch to Logan’s midsection. “But at least I know how to treat someone right.”

Logan’s eyes widen, the realization of what this is really about dawning on him. “This is about her? You’re seriously going to throw down over some girl?”

Rafe’s vision goes red at the mention of you, the casual way Logan dismisses you as “some girl.” He doesn’t care that he’s going too far, doesn’t care that the refs are probably going to break this up any second. All he cares about is making Logan feel a fraction of the pain he caused you.

“You don’t get to talk about her,” He growls, grabbing Logan by the collar and yanking him close. “You don’t even get to think about her.”

Logan tries to shove him off, but Rafe is relentless, landing punch after punch, each one fueled by the memory of you crying in his arms, by the way your voice trembled when you told him what Logan had done.

By now, the refs are on them, trying to pull Rafe away, but he isn’t finished. Not yet.

“You don’t deserve her,” He hisses through clenched teeth, his fist connecting with Logan’s face one last time before the refs finally manage to separate them. “You never did.”

Logan stumbles back, his face a bloody mess, and for a brief moment, he feels a little satisfaction. But it isn’t enough to stop the anger, the frustration, the overwhelming need to protect you from ever being hurt like that again.

He sits in the penalty box, his chest heaving as he tries to calm the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He can barely hear the crowd over the sound of his own heartbeat, but he knows they’re going wild. The fight has been brutal, and he’s given Logan exactly what he deserved. But as the rush of the fight starts to fade, he starts to overthink: how will you react?

The game ends with a hard-fought win for his team, but the victory feels hollow. As his teammates celebrate on the ice, Rafe’s thoughts are miles away, fixated on you. What if you’re pissed? What if you think he’s overstepped?

After the final whistle, he makes his way to the locker room, his mind racing. He’s about to strip off his gear when he hears footsteps approaching, quick and determined. Before he can even turn around, the locker room door flies open, and there you are, marching straight toward him with a look on your face that he can’t quite read.

Shit. You’re mad.

“Hey, listen,” he starts, his voice low and uncertain as he holds up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I know that might’ve looked bad out there, but I swear—”

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to your level, crashing your lips against his with a force that takes him completely off guard.

His mind goes blank as all he can focus on is the way your mouth moves against his. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before—raw, heated, desperate.

His hands instantly find your waist, gripping tightly as he pulls you flush against him, the heat of your bodies mingling in the small space between you. Your kiss is wild, all tongues and teeth, and when you bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to make him groan, he realizes this is real.

You’re kissing him.

“Fuck,” he gasps against your mouth, his voice ragged with need. But you don’t give him a chance to catch his breath, your hands threading through his hair as you deepen the kiss, your lips moving with a feverish intensity that makes his head spin.

You break away just long enough to breathe, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

The way you say it, half-growled, half-breathed, sends a shiver down his spine, and he can’t help the sound that escapes him, somewhere between a moan and a groan. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he fights to keep control, but you aren’t making it easy.

You press yourself even closer, your body flush against his as you kiss him again, harder this time, more demanding. Your tongue sweeps into his mouth, claiming him, and Rafe is more than happy to let you take the lead. He’s never felt anything like this before—this urgency, this hunger that makes him want to lose himself in you completely.

You tug on his hair, tilting his head back to give yourself better access, and Rafe nearly loses it right then and there. He can feel his self-control slipping, can feel the primal need to devour you taking over, but he doesn’t care. All he can think about is how badly he wants you, how desperately he needs to feel more of you.

When you pull back, your lips are swollen and glistening, your breathing just as ragged as his. You stare at him, your eyes dark with lust, and Rafe feels his heart hammering in his chest, each beat echoing with the desire pulsing through him.

“Been waiting for over an hour to do that,” you breathe.

Rafe’s hands roam up your back, tracing the curve of your spine as he leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. When he reaches the curve of your ass, he doesn’t stop. His fingers grip you there, kneading the soft flesh with a pressure that makes you gasp into his mouth, your hips instinctively pressing against his.

“Then do it again,” he murmurs, “Do whatever the hell you want to me.”

His hands are everywhere, sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts before moving back down to cup your ass again, pulling you even closer against him. You can feel him, hard and ready, pressing against your thigh, and it sends a wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You want him—more than you ever wanted anyone—and the way he’s looking at you tells you he feels the same.

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper again, your voice rough with desire as you nip at his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth before soothing the bite with your tongue.

His reaction is immediate. He groans, a sound so deep and full of need that it sends a shiver down your spine. His hands flex against you, his fingers digging into your flesh as if he’s trying not to loseg control completely.

But you can feel it—the way he’s trembling, the way his breath is coming in harsh, uneven pants against your neck. He kisses you again, hard and desperate, his mouth moving against yours with a fervor that matches the wild pounding of your heart

But just when you think you can’t take it any longer, the sound of footsteps echoes outside the door, snapping you both back to reality. You pull back, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, your mind spinning with the intensity of what had just happened. He’s just staring at you, his eyes glazed with desire, his lips swollen and red from your kisses. He looks as wrecked as you feel, and it takes everything in you not to drag him back down for more.

But you know you shouldn’t. Not here. Not now.

Except there’s no fucking way Rafe is letting you go now. He doesn’t say a word. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and filled with a raw need that makes your breath catch.

He doesn’t ask; doesn’t need to. He’s done waiting, done pretending he can hold back.

He presses you up against the cold tile wall, his body flushes against yours as his lips find yours again, hands running over your wet skin. His mouth moves from your lips to your neck, his tongue tracing a path down to your collarbone as he kisses, licks, and nips at your sensitive skin. You whimper, fingers threading through his hair as he drops to his knees in front of you, his lips trailing down your stomach.

The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of the hot water and his hot mouth on your skin driving you insane. "If you don’t-" your voice trembles with need as he spreads your thighs apart, “Fuck.”

He looks up at you, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

His hands grip your hips firmly. Without another word, he buries his face between your legs, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sudden, intense pleasure makes you cry out, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders as he licks and sucks, his tongue working you over with a skill that leaves you gasping for breath. It’s not fair.

This man can’t possibly be real. The water splashes against your back, masking the sounds of your moans as he takes his time, driving you closer and closer to the edge with every swirl of his tongue. Your body trembles, your legs barely able to hold you up as he pushes you higher, his hands tightening on your hips as he holds you in place.

"Oh my god," you moan, your voice breaking as you feel the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until you are crying out his name, your body shuddering as your orgasm crashes over you, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure rips through you.

Rafe keeps his mouth on you, drawing out your release until you are trembling, your legs shaking as you struggle to catch your breath.

Truth is, he doesn’t want to stop. He can’t get enough now that he has finally gotten a taste. He stands back up, his hands running up your sides as he kisses you again, the taste of you still on his lips. You can feel him, hard and ready against your stomach, and it only drives you crazier. Of course, this man had to be fucking huge.

Without breaking the kiss, he spins you around, pressing you against the wall as his hands grip your hips, pulling them back slightly. You brace yourself against the tile, your body arching as you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

"Oh Rafe," you groan out his name, your voice low and needy and he growls softly in response, his breath hot against your ear as he slowly pushes inside you, filling you inch by inch until he is buried to the hilt.

Rafe nearly passes out from the sight. Watching himself disappear inside you has to be his favorite sight in the entire world.

“So fucking pretty.” The feeling of him stretching you, filling you completely, is almost too much to bear, and you let out a long, low moan as he begins to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace that drives you wild. The water cascades over your bodies as he thrusts into you, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he fucks you with a steady, unrelenting rhythm.

Each thrust pushes you harder against the wall, the cool tile a pleasing contrast to the heat between you. You can barely think, barely breathe, lost in the sensation of Rafe moving inside you, his cock hitting all the right spots with every thrust. The sound of the water mixed with the wet slap of skin against skin, your moans and gasps echoing off the walls as the pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to consume you.

"God, you feel so fucking good," He groans, his voice rough with desire as he leans over you, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Faster," you gasp, your voice pleading as you push back against him, needing more, needing everything. He doesn’t hesitate. His pace quickening, his thrusts coming harder and faster as he drives you both toward the edge. The intensity of it is overwhelming, every nerve in your body on fire as he fucks you with a raw, desperate need that matches your own. Just when you think you couldn’t take any more, you heard footsteps outside the shower, followed by a voice calling out.

"Cameron? You in here, man?" Rafe freezes, his body tense, his cock still buried deep inside you as he glances toward the door, his breath ragged.

"Yeah, I’m here," he calls back, trying to keep his voice steady, though you could hear the strain in it.

"We’re heading downtown to the bar. You coming?"

He looks down at you, all too pleased with himself, "Not tonight," he replies, his voice thick with lust. "Got something else to take care of."

There’s a pause, then a chuckle from the other side of the door. "Alright, man. Have fun."

The footsteps retreat, and the moment the door closes, he’s moving again, thrusting into you with a renewed urgency, the near-interruption only heightening the intensity of the moment. You moan loudly, your body quaking as he drives into you with a relentless rhythm, each thrust sending you spiraling closer and closer to another orgasm.

The combination of the heat, the steam, the feel of Rafe fucking you so hard is too much, the almost getting caught. You feel yourself losing it, your entire body tightening as you reach the edge once again.

"Come for me," He growls, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you are sure there will be bruises tomorrow. His words push you over, and you cry out as your orgasm tears through you, your body convulsing around him as the pleasure crashes over you in waves.

Rafe follows right behind you, his hips slamming into yours one last time as he comes, his body shuddering as he fills you to the brim with a low, guttural groan.

For a long moment, neither of you move, both of you panting, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all. The water continues to pour over you, washing away the evidence of your encounter as you slowly come down from the high.

Finally, he pulls out, turning you around to face him as he cups your face in his hands, his lips brushing softly against yours in a tender kiss that’s so different to the rough, desperate way he just fucked you.

"You’re a fucking idiot," you whisper against his lips, a small, breathless laugh escaping you.

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you with a mixture of affection and desire. "Yeah, but I’m your fucking idiot."

He was fighting every fucking player on that ice ring if it meant having you again.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron (by @itneverendshere)

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bekkachaos · 3 days ago

Text

I wish I didn't linger on every thought

8x06 coda | 700 words

Buck goes to Eddie's so he doesn't have to be alone. They don't really talk, but they don't really need to. aka, a continuation of the final scene in 8x06

Eddie didn't get up to turn the music off, in fact he was quite enjoying it. He never really played music around the house and it had been far, far too quiet lately.

As he leant back he turned his head to look curiously at Buck. He looked like someone had dropped him in cold water and put him out on their doorstep. Then there was the way he had already finished his beer when Eddie was only halfway through.

He took another bottle from his six pack and held it up, looking back at Eddie who just shook his head and gestured to his own bottle.

Buck sighed, cracking it open and taking another long swig.

"Slow down there," Eddie said, nudging Buck's knee with his own. "You only brought six."

He smiled like he was prompting Buck to do the same, but he didn't.

"I'm sure you've got one or two in the fridge," he said instead, sullen and monotone.

"Probably," Eddie said, putting his bottle to his lips.

He bobbed his head to the song as it played, taking in a deep breath and resting his head against the back of the couch. He was trying really hard not to feel guilty for taking a moment to feel joy, to do something silly and frivolous just because he could. It felt nice, and he was going to lean into that. He had to.

He turned back to look at Buck, now with his elbows propped on his knees and his fingers peeling at the label on the bottle in his hands.

"You... want to talk about it?" he asked, watching the way Buck's lips tightened as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"No, not really," Buck said in that same listless voice.

He turned his eyes to Eddie, and god they were so sad. Eddie thought that maybe there might have already been tears, or that they were so glassy because he was desperately trying to hold them in. He knew when to push and when to just let him be though.

If Buck wanted to talk then he would (usually it was impossible to get him to stop), but that didn't seem to be what he needed right now.

Buck's eyebrow cocked slightly as he gave Eddie a once over look.

"Do you?" he asked.

Eddie smiled, shaking his head and letting out a low chuckle.

"Nah," he said, taking in a steadying breath. "No I'm um, I'm good."

It might be the first time in a long time that he's said that and actually meant it.

"Good," Buck nodded, turning away from him and back to the disintegrating label at his fingers.

"You want to put a movie on or something?" Eddie offered.

He didn't mind just sitting there with Buck, but he seemed like he could use something to take his mind of whatever seemed to be revolving around in his head, not to mention some company.

"Yeah," he said, lips growing soft in the corners. "That sounds good."

"Any suggestions?" Eddie asked, and Buck turned to look at him.

"Risky Business?" he said, completely straight faced.

Eddie just looked back at him a moment, holding his eyes until he saw just the hint of a sparkle, and his lips pulled up in a smile.

It was a shadow of his usual one, but it was there, it was enough to let Eddie know that he was okay, just hurting.

Eddie let out a laugh and shook his head.

"Alright wise guy," he said fondly, getting to his feet with a groan and reaching for the rest of the beers at Buck's side. "Give me those, I'll put them in the fridge, you just pick something."

He started walking towards the kitchen when he heard Buck's voice call him back.

"Hey Eddie?"

He turned, resting one hand on the wall and looking over at him with eyes that answered his soft question.

"Can I crash here tonight?" he said, eyes crinkling in the corners. "I just... kinda don't want to go back home."

Eddie's smile was warm, feeling. Seeing Buck so in need of comfort left a tugging sensation in his chest.

"Couch is all yours, anytime. You know that."

Buck let out a sharp sigh and Eddie watched just a little bit of relief flood over him.

"Thanks," he said.

Eddie just gave him a nod, watching for a moment as Buck reached for the remote before going to put the beers away, and check that he had enough in the fridge in case Buck needed just a little more.

#buddie #911 abc #911 #buddie fic #buddie ficlet #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 spoilers #911 8x06

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seulw0nz · 2 days ago

Text

MORE THAN MY FAKE DATE : 이희승

heeseung x f!reader warnings not fully proofread && 1090wc 𓈃 ♡ fluff, oneshot, fake dating, inspired by all the boys i've loved before ─── ୨୧

THE CAFETERIA IS BUZZING, a blend of laughter, conversations, and the clatter of trays. you and heeseung are seated across from each other, a half-eaten plate of fries between you, but neither of you is really paying attention to the food.

“okay, let’s get this straight,” heeseung says, leaning forward, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “no telling my mom about our ‘relationship.’ she’s already on my case about finding a nice girl.”

you raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “deal, but only if you promise not to make it too believable around my friends. yunjin has a tendency to make everything dramatic, and i’m not in the mood for her wedding-themed pinterest board to start filling up.”

heeseung’s laugh is warm, effortless, and for a moment, you forget the whole reason you’re sitting here, planning out a fake relationship. “pinterest boards aside, you really think i’d take it that far?” he teases. “i’m not that committed.”

you pick up a fry and wave it in the air before popping it into your mouth. “you? committed? please. the day you take something seriously is the day pigs fly.”

heeseung’s eyes narrow playfully. “i take some things seriously.”

“like what?” you challenge, tilting your head.

“like making this fake relationship believable enough so we don’t look stupid,” he retorts, leaning back in his chair, his grin broadening. “besides, aren’t you the one who came up with this whole plan?”

you roll your eyes, reaching for another fry. “oh, right. blame me. as if you weren’t desperate to keep your ex from thinking you’re miserable.”

heeseung gasps, clutching his chest in mock horror. “wow, that’s low. even for you.”

you shrug, a smile tugging at your lips. “just telling it like it is.”

heeseung leans forward, his tone softening just a little. “okay, fine. back to the rules.” he pauses, eyes twinkling with mischief. “number one: no real feelings.”

your heart skips, but you hide it with a laugh. “duh. that’s the whole point.”

“good,” he says, tapping the table for emphasis. “number two: no kissing unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“define ‘absolutely necessary,’” you retort, leaning in to mimic his serious expression. “because your definition might be skewed.”

heeseung’s ears turn pink, but he clears his throat. “you know, like if we’re in public and everyone’s watching. or if my ex just happens to be nearby.”

“you mean like she is right now?” you ask, nodding subtly toward the far end of the cafeteria, where she’s sitting with her friends.

heeseung’s jaw clenches, but he quickly recovers. “right. like now.” he shifts, and for a split second, there’s hesitation in his eyes. “so… should we? you know. to sell it.”

your heart flutters, but you bite your lip, trying to seem unaffected. “maybe just… hold my hand instead.”

he doesn’t hesitate, his fingers slipping between yours, and suddenly, the entire cafeteria feels smaller. “better?” he asks, his voice quieter.

you nod, ignoring the warmth spreading through you. “yeah. way more convincing.”

heeseung’s grin returns, and it’s like the moment of seriousness never happened. “good. because you know, i wouldn’t want to make anything awkward.”

you groan, yanking your hand away. “ugh, you’re the worst.”

he laughs, eyes crinkling. “admit it. you’d be bored without me.”

“please,” you scoff, but your smile gives you away. “i’d be thriving.”

heeseung nudges the plate of fries toward you. “sure, sure. keep telling yourself that.”

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haveihitanerve · 1 day ago

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Had an idea but I forgor it so here's a different one

Bruce Wayne, concussed and on several strong painkillers, socializing with socialites from outside Gotham. They ask him about his kids and joke about how they all look so similar to him.

His brain, moving at about 3mph, does not register that his kids were ADOPTED (safe for one) and answers their questions as if he gave birth to them, forgetting he also doesn't have the facilities for that (unless you want him to- we love old trans people)

"Master Bruce I really must insist-" Alfred tried for the fourth time in seven minutes, Bruce had counted, reaching to push him back to bed and pull off the suit jacket he had only moments before helped Bruce put on.

"'M going Alf." Bruce grumbled back, rubbing a bleary hand over his eyes. "There's no use in putting it off. Don't have a good excuse and.." He grimaced. "They need to see me. It's been a while."

Alfred opened his mouth to protest again, even going so far as to move in front of the door to block his exit. "You are on far too many medications Mr. Wayne, not to mention a concussion! You simply cannot."

Bruce's lips twitched it amusement. It was a rare day when Alfred's composure was rattled to the point of calling him Mr. Wayne, and while Alfred was admittedly very strong, there was no way his physical blockation of Bruce's path would actually stop him.

"Alf." Bruce began gently, and the butler scoffed, rolling his eyes as he moved out of the way, striding down the long hallway. "Well. I see my advice isn't heeded. As always."

Bruce threw him an apologetic smile, heading for the main door. "Love ya Alfie!!" The butler snorted, but Bruce could tell he was softening.

"Call if you need boy." Alfred murmured. Bruce grinned, offering a wink as he pulled the door open. "I will." He promised, sliding into the backseat of his limousine, heading to the Gala.

He hissed as the needle broke his skin, biting his lip to prevent any further sounds as the anti-biotic worked its way into his system. Alfred would most definitely have protested its use, especially as Bruce tossed back a handful of other added painkillers, but if he was being honest, he needed them to get through the night.

"Thanks Hank. Tell your wife I said hi and grab her a bouquet on your way home. On me." He patted his driver's shoulder as he climbed out. Hank grinned, tipping his black cap.

"You always make me seem like such a good husband Mr. Wayne, I appreciate it. Have a good night." Bruce grinned back, stumbling slightly as he moved towards the doors, using the car to stabilize himself.

"You give me too much credit, send your boys some love and you have tomorrow off, try to actually use that baseball glove I gifted you." Hank chortled, setting the car into drive. "Will do sir. Good night." Bruce nodded the same back, watching until the car pulled away fully to stumble up the steps.

"Maybe those pills weren't such a good idea." He mumbled to himself as he made it to the doors, pulling them open to walk inside, heading straight for the table laid out with food. Of course, one couldn't enter a Gala without greeting the hosts, and he barely made it two steps before he was intercepted.

"Mrs. and Mr. Ketch. How lovely to see you." Bruce offered a bow, bending too low before rocking back upwards. Mrs. Ketch was smiling at him, a lovely, true smile that Bruce noticed tended to happen whenever he greeted the woman first instead of the man. Mr. Ketch was frowning, but more at Bruce's bizarre drunken act than any offense towards being placed after his wife.

"Are you alright, Wayne?" He asked, and Bruce hated that he actually liked the Ketch's, because there was genuine concern in the mans voice. Another reason why he had come.

The Ketch's were new money, self made, and trying to blend in with the old elites, though Bruce had to admit they never would, they were just too good, too kind, too sincere.

He wondered, dimly, in the back of his foggy, drug addled mind, if perhaps they'd finally tire of all the snide comments, rude looks, sneers, and give up on their well meaning charity that they had chosen Gotham for. He hoped they wouldn't. He liked having actual good conversation at these dull events.

"M fine, truly." Bruce answered, a few seconds too late, smiling lazily. "Might've had a few." He tried his best imitation at a drunken smile, wincing as he realized it was dangerously close to how he really felt.. tipsy. Off balance.

Robert, because that was his name, he had told Bruce his first name instead of demanding he call him Mr., frowned a little in concern, and before he knew it they had herded him to one of the seating places, settling down by him.

"How're the kids?" Mrs. Ketch asked, handing him a glass of water that Bruce gratefully accepted. "Amazing." He answered. "Splendid. They're always doing so well. They don't see it though." He frowned at his glass, wondering why that was.

"They're so amazing though. It just doesn't make any sense," He sat up, leaning forward to look at the couple in front of him intensely. They both had their eyebrows raised in surprise, but leaned forward in tandem, intruiged.

"Because see, they're so brilliant, and lovely, and smart, really I think they're the smartest people in the world- like ever. And Dickie, he's so kind and sweet and nice, and he's got a few problems and I'm sorry about it but he's really just amazing and an all around good person, I really oughtta try and be more like him, and oh he's got my eyes, im so glad he got my eyes, but i love his nose too, its nothing like mine- anyway Jason too- whoo he got my height im so happy for him- he also has my eyes! they all have my eyes actually, except cass, and damian, but like he's so brilliant and smart and he was such a good kid, he is now too- oh he doesn't like me calling him kid, but he'll always be my baby, and oh i cried so much when he died, but he better now, oh and Timmy, oh timmy is so smart. Soooo smart like genuis level, and he's wayy smarter than me, wayyyy smarter, and alfie says he has my hair, but i dont see it- i think he got my jaw though- and then Cass oh Cassandra My baby girl she's lovely and sweet and a charmer, beautiful girl, so is Barbara, but she won't let me say that to her, no no, but she is, she's so pretty and smart and quick, she scares me sometimes but I love her, such a good girl yknow? And Stephanie? Oh she and Tim need to make it official so shes mine. mine mine mine. I need another daughter you know? Too many boys. Equality of men and women at home. I need them home. And then Duke. hes so lovely too. Oh and Damian. Damian took some adjusting but they're all so lovely yknow? I remember the day they were born so vividly. I was so happy. I love them so much. It hurt, of course, but what is that to the joy they bring now yknow?"

Bruce took a sip of his drink, nodding thoughtfully as he leaned back. Mrs. and Mr. Ketch blinked a few times, opened their mouths, closed them again, and leaned back as well, exchanging glances.

"Yes. Well. Quite." Mr. Ketch cleared his throat. "Bruce, perhaps we should call you someone? To take you home?" Mrs. Ketch nodded her agreement.

"Come on sweetheart, let's get you home. You need to go to bed and.. and sleep this off." Bruce nodded, letting them help him stand and guide him to the door as Mr. Ketch called someone.

"Yeah. I like bed. And sleep. Oh- but I can't. Uh-uh, I promised Dickie I'd call him." Bruce nodded, turning to head back inside as though that would help his quest.

Mrs. Ketch grabbed his arm and gently, but firmly, led him back outside. "Rob just called him sweetheart, he's on his way."

"Oh." Bruce nodded. "Oh. Thas good." Mrs. Ketch nodded her agreement, rubbing his back soothingly. "I like that." Bruce hummed, letting his eyes close. "Its like what my mother used to do." Mrs. Ketch looked at him in surprise, hand stilling for a second before resuming.

"Really?" She asked gently. Bruce hummed in confirmation. "Oh yes. Yeah she did. You do it well. You'd make a good mom. Just like me. Well, I don't make a good mom." At that he frowned at the ground, biting his lip. "But I try."

Mrs. Ketch smiled, turning them as a car pulled up. "Yes. You do. And you do it marvelously Bruce, truly. That's all we can ever do. Try." Bruce nodded his agreement as the door opened and his eldest emerged, rushing to his side.

"Bruce!" Dick looked genuinely worried, grabbing his shoulder. "You alright?" His son's eyes were searching, scanning his body.

"Oh hes fine." Mrs. Ketch waved with a smile. "Just a few drinks. I think it'd be best he go home though, sleep it off." Dick nodded his agreement, smiling at her. "Yes. I think thats best. Thank you." She shrugged, waving it off.

"Of course. It's what he would have done for me." Dick lowered Bruce into the passenger seat, heading for the drivers. "Bruce." Ketch tapped the window, leaning down. "Hm?" Bruce tilted his head, rolling it down.

"I'm pregnant." Bruce waited, jaw dropping slowly as the words connected in his brain. "You are?" She nodded, a small smile crossing her face.

"Yes. You're the first person I've told." She glanced nervously over her shoulder, to where her husband was waiting on the steps. Bruce reached for her hand, clasping it in his own.

"You'll make an excellent mother. And he will make an amazing father." He promised. She smiled, biting her lip anxiously. "You think?" Bruce nodded. "I know." At that her smile softened, and she patted his cheek.

"Thank you. And, for what it's worth Bruce," She glanced past him to Dick, who was kindly pretending not to listen. "I think you make an excellent mother."

#ahhhhh here #i tried #i hope you like #gods my ocs are always like motherly ladies #and i guess drivers??#idk #hope it fulfilled your visions #batfam #batman #bruce wayne #good dad bruce wayne #good mom bruce wayne more like #dick grayson #batkids

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bloggerspam · 10 hours ago

Text

A little treat, from the other side of the glass!

===

Steph and Jason stand there in silence after the natural disaster that they just witnessed dipped like bats out of hell.

Steph's mouth is dry, and she feels deprived of a hunt she only just started.

"So, did you hire her because you guys match?" Steph finally says, after watching Jason moon after his new boytoy for a couple seconds to make herself feel better.

Not that Jason keeps boytoys, but really, he should. Danny can be his first.

"What?" Jason blinks at her in confusion, no doubt still suffering the effects of lovesickness. Ugh.

"Val." Steph clarifies, enunciating because she likes the way it sounds on her tongue, "y'know, yay high, hot as sin, hair like—" she twirls a finger towards her own bangs, signifying the two starkly white dreads the other woman had framing her face.

Jason scoffs. "No, she's good. Knows her shit." Jason gives her a look. "I wouldn't hire someone who couldn't do the job."

"Figured," Steph placates, picking up a random nut on the table "She work the weekdays?"

She doesn't know who she's kidding. They both know Steph's panting after Jaybird's new mechanic like a dog eyeing a particularly tasty looking bone.

Two minutes ago, she watched Val suplex Danny in picture perfect 4K, and lost control of her own goddamn mouth.

"Gods, I wish that were me." Steph had said then, out loud.

Thankfully, Jason was too preoccupied watching a basically shirtless Danny pinning Val to the ground and saying "Satan, I wish that were me." to really make fun of her for it.

But Steph's not stupid, and for all the violence and muscle Jason's made up of, that doesn't mean he's stupid either. Or deaf.

They both heard the other, and are pointedly not talking about it.

Who the hell says "Satan" instead of "Gods" anyway? Jason literally worships the ground Wonder Woman struts on, and she's basically a God. Goddess. Whatever.

Power positions shouldn't be gendered. It's all the same.

"She works when she works." Jason finally says, not at all fooled by her innocent demeanor. It hasn't worked for years. Not since she was still dating Tim, but it won't stop her from trying.

She gives up.

"Come on Jaybird, you saw her!" Steph immediately whines.

"I did. And I am not letting my very talented, very valued employee fall into the clutches of a harpy!" Jason throws his hands up, strolling back to her car to get it sorted. He's no doubt under the impression that the faster he fixes it, the sooner she'll leave.

They both know it's a lost hope.

"I am not a harpy," Steph sniffs, ignoring Jason's responding scoff, "And I just wanna get to know her, is all."

"Know like what, her three sizes and what she looks like on a bed?” Jason snarks.

She kicks him in the side. “First of all, crude. What would Alfie say?”

Jason pointedly ignores her, but she’s used to that treatment from him. “Plus, it’s not like you’re any better!”

Jason stands up abruptly to glare at Steph. “You met Val today. I’ve met Danny a handful of times this week and yeah, I like what I see,” Steph feels a triumphant glee take over her, but Jason shuts her up by pointing a greasy hand at her threateningly, “but I like how he's funny and smart more.”

Steph lets that percolate for a moment, trying to keep a straight face, before a shit-eating grin takes over her face. “And it doesn’t hurt that pretty boy can throw down.”

Jason rolls his eyes, but he can’t fool Steph. She sees his get a little red as he turns back to sink into the hood of her car. “He made that bike, y’know.”

That surprises her. “He did? By himself??”

“His friend Tucker tricked it out with him—Danny can code, but his friend’s a certified genius apparently.” Steph feels warmth flood over her as Jason continues to talk about Danny, about the handful of things the two men have talked about during the scant moments Danny’s there waiting to pick up Val. "We're only three years apart, and he's already got a lot goin' on for him."

"Hey, you got this place all on your own, without Bruce's help, and got back on your feet." Steph jabs a threatening finger at him, "You're barely legal to drink, and you have what, 6 employees?"

Jason sniffs, muttering something about college and pit madness. Steph rolls her eyes and promptly tells him where he can shove that kind of talk.

Namely: where the sun don't shine and Gotham smog don't go.

In truth, she’s happy. She’s never seen Jason this relaxed about meeting someone new, though she’s sure it’s not the first time. She and Jay have never been too close, despite the fact that he tolerates her more in casual hangouts than the rest of the bats and birds.

They trust each other with their lives, of course, but Steph wasn’t exactly there when Red Hood first made his debut, and she’s one of the few in the Batfam that didn’t know Jason before.

Sometimes she thinks that the only reason he can tolerate her as much as he does. Can't make comparisons to a dead boy if you didn't know the dead boy, after all.

So she listens to him redirect the talk back to Danny, to the shop, and when Jason runs out of things to say they sit together in comfortable, familiar silence. The only noise being the city ambience and Jason tinkering around in the guts of her car.

Steph basks in it, breathing slow and deep, contemplative.

"So. Vigilantes?" Jason finally utters, Steph's eyes snapping open so she can point a finger at him frantically.

"Right!? Phantom?" She asks, watching as Jason turns toward her with a wrench from god knows where.

"Huntress?" Jason counters.

"Cujo????" Steph almost screeches.

There's another silence, as Jason and Steph stare at each other, confused beyond measure. It's the kind of pause that people who've just been through a baffling moment together can commiserate in, a moment that really takes one aback, rare for borne and bred Gothamites like Steph and Jason are.

"Tim?" Steph offers.

"Babs?" Jason pleads.

A long moment, and Steph nods, pulling out her phone.

She pretends not to notice Jason's shoulders slumping in relief as he turns back to her car—probably thinking he's just dodged a bullet on brotherly nosiness. Tim might be able to lie to Batman's face, but he's still a sucker for Dick Grayson's pouty whines.

Jokes on him, last she heard Dick is hanging out with Babs today, so he'll find out anyway.

The second she presses send, she belatedly remembers that she's also probably going to be subjected to the nosy.

Gods damn it all.

Mechanic!Val AU, but make it gay and sapphic.

ya'll can thank the HH discord for this one. Specifically the menace known as @clockwayswrites (and @impyssadobsessions for the art that inspired the damn thing)

Dead on Main and with some future Val/Steph >)

also @belfry-ghost did a doodle for this AU and everyone should go love on his art. Val's so unf.

===

Val’s pretty sure her new boss Jay is actually a crime lord.

She’s pretty sure he’s The Crime Lord, actually. She’s like, 98% sure she works for Red Hood now, and she’s low key mad about it. She squints at the man now, with his white streak and almost imperceptible green sheen to his eyes.

The problem is that Val did perceive it. Because she used to date a guy whose baby blue eyes changed ever so slightly in the same way. Thinking about Danny makes her even madder.

To be clear, she’s not mad about Red Hood himself.

She’s just mad that, of all the mechanic shops in all of Crime Alley, she just had to work for her ex-boyfriend’s third place Hall Pass pick. It also makes her miss her friends way more, and Val is hardly what one would call a well-adjusted woman, so she’s mad about it.

She huffs as she lifts the hood of the second car she’s working on today. Being a mechanic wasn’t really on the docket for Val’s life goals, nor was being in Gotham, but she got a full ticket ride on Wayne Foundation scholarships, and honestly?

Gotham is Amity Park Lite: Gargoyles and Furries Edition.

Between a full ride to Gotham U and being stuck at Elmerton Community College? The choice was easy.

So here she is, working for the resident Crime Lord in his civvies.

Jay pays good, teaches her what she needs to know, and bonus: he sometimes helps with her English Literature class. He’s flexible on hours, and she’s even got rudimentary insurance.

All in All? It could be worse—she could still be working for Vlad, after all.

It's the little things.

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ollimus-prime · 1 day ago

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Hey :) , Loved your jazz hands and might i say that im absolutely obsessed with it. Could i request more? Maybe day in the life / slice of life of being held captive by jazz. Gosh we are just so helpless with him and jazz is special ops lmao. Is it wrong to say id be cool with it? -🐞

Jazz Hands Pt. 2

A/N, not important: Sorry if the characterization is off, I'm still learning. I'm only like, 90 comics in. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: kidnapped, you're basically a pet idk

Words: 1513

Summary: You're stuck with Jazz for now.

Pt. 1

The room was empty. You look around, glancing between the lone slab of metal your kidnapper, ‘Jazz’, slept on and the door. He was gone, really and truly gone. The desk you were left on gave you just enough of a view of the room to be certain, letting you slip nervously off of the pile of rags you now slept on. Hope bloomed in your chest before you angrily stamped it down, not letting yourself get too excited. This was possibly your only chance of leaving this horrid place, and you were not going to let something as pitiful as hope get in your way. No, you needed to be logical about this.

You carefully made your way to the edge of the desk, trying to judge the distance to the floor. The long way down made you feel dizzy, a pit forming in your stomach. The chair was slightly pushed out and, while a worrying distance still far down, was much more inviting than the floor. You try to steele your nerves to jump, working up the courage to take the fall. Sure, it was maybe 8 feet down, but the worst that could happen is you break something. You wince, starting to lose your nerve at the thought.

With carefully curated confidence and determination, you back away from the edge before bolting forwards and throwing yourself towards the chair, trying to keep your body loose as you fall. The fall is short but sickening, your mind reeling as the images of you broken on a chair for the robot who took you to find flashing through your head.

The landing is painful, your legs giving way under you and knocking you to your knees. You let yourself starfish out onto the chair and take deep breaths. Rushing getting up seemed more of a bad idea than the jump itself was. You carefully roll your ankles in a small circle as you lay there, making sure nothing was broken or damaged. Pleased with the results and your resolve growing once more, you push yourself up to inspect the next jump you had to make.

You sigh at the similar height down to the floor, internally wincing at the hard metal you’d be jumping down onto. While the chair was made of a similar material, the floor itself seemed all that more threatening. You steady yourself, getting ready to throw yourself off the next ledge and bolt to freedom. You change your tactic, lowering yourself down and hanging yourself off the edge of the chair instead of jumping straight down. With the height between your feet and the floor now much lower, you let go.

The impact on your legs is much easier to deal with. You smile wide as you merely wobble this time, almost laughing in joy at the realization you were now on the ground. You make your way over to the door, inspecting the gap between the floor. The gap was small, much smaller than anything you could squeeze through. Ideas float through your head as you inspect the door, trying to come up with some way to get out and get away.

The door wasn’t willing to budge no matter how much you tried, and the keypad was much too far above you. Not like you knew the passkey for it anyways. You grit your teeth, kicking the door in frustration. Upon making impact with the door, a loud thud sounds. You freeze, looking at the door in confusion before you hear another one, then another. Panic wells up in you as you try to scramble away from the door as you realize what that sound was. Footsteps.

Jazz was back.

The door slides open before you’re even close to somewhere you could hide, the surprised rev of his engine your only warning before you’re scooped into his hands. The speed at which he picks you up causes your head to spin. With no time at all, you’re eye-to-visor with him and he looks none too pleased.

“What’re you doing on the floor like that? I could’ve stepped on you!” He scolds, the vibrato of his voice washing over you. The deep sound still scared you. It surprised you how something so completely foreign and inhumane could sound so close to your own native tongue.

You bite down on your cheek in hopes to prevent yourself from retorting. The robot’s engine rumbles in frustration at your silence, his hands shifting so you’re settled in one while the other holds you still. Large fingers start to tousle your hair in the manner of a human to a mouse.

“Why won’t you just talk to me?” The Porsche mutters in resignation, more to himself than to you. You try to bat away his fingers that seemed to yearn to squeeze the air out of you, the robot’s face contorting into a frown. You refused to engage with the robot in any positive way since you’ve been here, causing his insistence that you’re happy with him to come into question. It’s been nearly a month since he’s had you, and nearly a week since you had refused to even speak to him. It was the only way so far you could ‘fight back’. Especially since he and the others freak out if you skip even a single bite of food.

The ‘bot sighs after a while of you still refusing to respond, his hands cupping under you once more before depositing you onto his shoulder. The temptation to try and jump from his shoulder was quickly squashed with a quick glance down reminding you that you couldn’t make it unscathed. The height from the desk to the ground seemed like child's play now. You ease your way into the small space between where the car’s hood ended and the cables of his neck began, taking careful consideration to stand somewhere you weren’t going to lose a limb if he moved weirdly. The first couple steps made your stomach lurch and your hands cling desperately to the thick cables in hopes you wouldn’t be launched off the shoulder of the metal beast. It was a hated compromise, to cling to the monster that kidnapped you and made you a glorified pet or be dropped from thirty feet, but a necessary one.

The Porsche walks through the halls of the ship he brought you on, greeting the other robots he sees with an easy smile. You weren’t particularly sure where he was going, the ‘bots sure steps tussling you each time. You hated when he carried you like this, yet you weren’t willing to be held in his hands either.

It was a short walk to the room he wanted. The tables were occupied by other bots you didn’t care to find out the names of, garbled speech washing over you. You didn’t usually care to hear what they were saying, their conversations of ‘Decepticons’ and whatever war they spoke of going completely over your head. Nothing here made sense anyways.

The ‘bot under you walks over to the dispenser of their fuel(Energon, as he’d explained one) and draws a cube. The glowing pink liquid was mesmerizing. You were drawn to it in a way, the soft glow easier on your eyes than the harsh lights the rest of the ship had. He starts to drink from his cube-shaped glass while moving away from the dispenser to let others access it too. You stumble slightly as he moves, tensing back up against his neck in hopes to stay upright.

“Jazz,” One of the more robotic voices sounds. You scowl as you look towards the call, hiding further behind Jazz’s neck. The cop-bot stares at your movement as he regards the Porsche, his metal face scrunching up. “Ah. You brought your organic. Of course.”

Jazz’s engine revs slightly at the dig, his hand coming back up to cup around your form. You shrink away in an attempt to escape the new prison, but fail miserably as your space gets noticeably tighter. “Uh-huh. I don’t see the problem.”

“It’s an organic,” Prowl says with heavy judgment in his voice. Jazz sighs, his optic flashing at the tactician.

“They’re called humans, Prowl.”

“Sure,” He dismisses, ignoring the Porsche’s statement. He hands Jazz one of the large tablets the robots used. You zone out of the rest of their conversation, their heavy voices deep enough to go in one ear and out the other. You settle down against Jazz’s neck cables as his hand starts to rub at your head and back again. You kick at his fingers to no avail in an attempt to fight him off. The ‘bot pays no attention to your wants, instead shifting his hand so you can't fight back.

You slump back, bitter and miserable in your new state of life. Daydreams of hopping down heroically from the monster’s shoulder and running to freedom fill your head as you sulk. Maybe you could come up with a plan to finally get you out of here and back home.

Maybe.

#transformers #transformers x reader #jazz x reader #jazz #transformers jazz #idw jazz #prowl #idw transformers #transformers jazz x reader #jazz transformers #tf jazz #tf jazz x reader #tf #tf x reader

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system-to-the-madness · 3 days ago

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Heart Aflame (1/3) - Zuko x Reader

Word Count: 6 738 Warnings: kidnapping, slavery, human trafficking, colonialism, mentions of: torture, physical violence, death Summary: You learn about a camp where your kidnapped sister might be held, so Zuko and you head out to find her A/N: Part Six of the series Perfect (10 times Zuko thought you were perfect and the first time he told you)

Zuko knew his heart shouldn't beat quite as hard as it did when you turned around to him with a smile. He had called for you after all.

"What's up," you asked, waiting for him to catch up with you, where you had been strolling along the beach.

Just yesterday had he returned from his little trip with Katara to avenge her mother, and on the way there he had overheard news that he had a feeling you might want to hear, even if it would doubtlessly be hard for you. How was he even supposed to start telling you he had an idea where to search for your little sister? After your village had been destroyed and your parents killed, you had no idea what had become of her, and since there was no proof of her death, you clung to the hope that she might still be alive. He didn't have confirmation of the one or the other, but he might have a way for you to find out.

"You're from a village close to Yu Dao, right," he began hesitantly.

"I mean, I lived close to Yu Dao before the Fire Nation destroyed everything, yes. What about it?"

"When I was traveling with Katara, I overheard some people talking," he explained. "They were talking about a camp, sort of like a prison, where the children from around Yu Dao are being held prisoner." He had to watch your smile slowly melt away and be replaced by a serious, almost hurt expression. "If anyone knows what happened to your sister, it might be the people there…"

"She might be there," you corrected, your eyes not focused on him any longer and instead staring straight through him, your jaw set tightly. "This is the first time in almost two years that I have a chance of finding her. Where is that camp?"

Zuko bit his lip. "I don't know if it's a good idea to-"

"Zuko, I'm gonna ask just once. Where is the camp."

How the hell had the knife appeared in your hand? Zuko swallowed. He should know better than to underestimate the desperation of someone searching for their family.

"It’s on a small island, just a couple of kilometres to the southwest of hot spring cove," he answered. "Hey, where are you going?" Quickly he sprinted after you, catching your hand.

"I'm going to find a boat that can take there," you answered, tearing your hand out of his hold. "I'm going to find my sister and you're not going to stop me."

"I don't want to stop you," Zuko disagreed. "If I didn't want you to go, I wouldn't have told, or would I?"

“What’s going on?” Aang, Katara, Sokka and Toph poked their head past a nearby boulder, curiously taking in the sight of you and Zuko. It was unusual for you to fight; so far you had been the one who had always shown the most compassion towards the Fire Nation Prince, speaking up in his defence or listening to him when he was trying to explain himself.

“I might know where my sister is,” you explained.

“I told you not to tell her about the camp,” Katara sighed, stepping out further.

“Why not,” you asked, clearly getting more upset by the minute. “Actually, why didn’t you tell me earlier? You knew this since you came back yesterday, why didn’t you tell me?”

“There’s only a little more than a week left before the comet,” Katara explained. “We can’t afford to break up the group now just to go searching for your sister. She’ll still be there when Aang’s defeated Fire Lord Ozai.”

“But you could afford to go looking for your mother’s murderer? He also would’ve still been there when everything’s over,” you shouted. “And it’s not like your mother would have minded waiting two weeks longer, right? But my sister- we know, we all know how the Fire Nation deals with their prisoners. You can’t expect me to-”

“Katara’s right,” Sokka interrupted you. “You can’t leave the group now.”

“But you could go looking for your father,” you asked. “You all pretend that just because you don’t know Xiang, she’s not as important as the people you want to see saved or avenged!”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Toph interfered. “Nobody’s saying you shouldn’t go saving her!”

“Don’t you listen? That’s exactly what they are saying,” you cried. “They expect me to sit back, watch how they’re celebrating their little family reunion, while knowingly letting my sister rot in some kind of messed up Fire Nation children’s prison! My sister is 6 years old! I haven’t seen her in almost two! Chances are she might not even recognize me when I finally find her! And you expect me to wait? Every day, every minute, I can’t get her out of there, there’s the possibility that the Fire Nation hurts her, traumatizes her, makes her suffer! But you want me to stand by idly, watching this happen?”

“We don’t even know if she’s really in that prison,” Katara reminded you.

“Sokka wasn’t sure about his father being on Boiling Rock either and went either way, that’s no excuse,” you shouted. “I’m not asking anyone to come with me, I’m not asking for your help, and I’m not asking permission either. You might be selfless enough to save the world not for the people you love but for everyone. I’m not. I can’t imagine living in a world that has been saved but without my sister. She’s the only one I have left. Sokka, wouldn’t you give everything to save Katara if she were kidnapped? How can you ask me not to do the same?” Silence settled over the group. “If you’re standing in my way, I’ll treat you no differently than whoever else is going to try to stop me from getting to Xiang.”

“Take Appa,” Aang’s voice cut through the threatening silence and made you look up to him in surprise. “If you promise to be back within a week, you can take him. Or send him back if you don’t make it in time.”

“Aang-”

Katara and you had spoken up at the same time.

“You can’t just let her take Appa,” Katara protested.

“I can and I will,” Aang decided. “She’s right. If you or Sokka would be kidnapped, the other would turn the world upside down just to find the other. And all of us would help. Why should we try to stop her from doing the same for her sister?”

“Thank you, Aang,” you mumbled.

“You should leave as soon as possible,” he continued. “The island isn’t too far away, if you hurry, you can make it by nightfall and approach it without being seen.”

“I’m coming with you,” Zuko decided, surprising everyone. “You might need someone who knows about the Fire Nation customs.”

“Thank you,” you bowed to him slightly.

“Aang, there’s not much more I can teach you at the moment,” Zuko continued. “I don’t think showing you any more complicated forms would be of much use against my father. It would be better if you trained the ones that I’ve taught you so far until they come naturally.”

“I agree,” Aang nodded. “Just be careful out there. Both of you.”

Not even an hour later, you were ready to leave. Zuko and you had both packed whatever might come in handy: your weapons of course, some clothes with which you could disguise yourself as Fire Nation, food and a blanket.

You hugged everyone goodbye, Katara hugging you a little tighter than usually and you knew it was her way of apologizing for earlier.

The sky was clouded, making it easier to hide a flying Sky Bison in the lower hanging clouds while still being able to see the coastlines you were following from one island to the next. Aang had been right. You were making good progress, and just as it got dark, you made out the silhouette of the island you had been looking for. Its coast was harsh, filled with caves, and in the disappearing daylight it took a while until you found one big enough to hide Appa inside. He was apprehensive about hiding underground, but with the cave’s wide entrance he seemed to finally accept his fate, being able to look out over the sea instead of feeling trapped under the stone ceiling.

This was where the easy and comfortable part of your journey ended. After dressing into the Fire Nation clothes you had brought, you began your assent to the main part of the island. At first you had to climb up the cliffs, a dangerous undertaking, even if it would not have been dark. But Zuko occasionally used his Fire Bending to light up a part of the way, and together you found the safest route to climb. After than you had to make your way through thick bushes, made up of plants you had never seen before. Their leaves were thick and full of thorns, which left scraps in your skin and tore at your clothes. Luckily it didn’t take you long until the bushes were behind you, and you had found a road. Following an instinct, you turned left, until eventually a huge complex of buildings came up, surrounded by high fences. Hiding in a ditch at the side of the street, Zuko and you began closing in on whatever facility you had discovered. Even from afar you could hear the demanding voices of guards, but once you had almost reached the fence, you could see that they were not commanding around prisoners, but instead children, who seemed to be cleaning up a yard.

Zuko could tell that you tried to spot your sister, but from this distance it was impossible. He couldn’t even make out the children’s hair colour from here. You had to get closer, which meant you had to enter the facility.

While you were still watching the children and the guards, Zuko began analysing the area. The fence was pulled up between separate houses, which had windows that opened to the outside. Apart from the fact that they were pretty high up on the wall, this seemed to be the easiest way in.

“The windows,” Zuko gestured, drawing your attention away from the yard and towards the buildings instead.

“We can try to break one of them with a stone, tie Sokka’s rope to my sword and use that as an anchor through the window,” you suggested.

A few minutes later, the rope was tied to your sword and after several attempts Zuko had managed to break the glass of a window behind which it was dark. The guards in the yard seemed to announce the end of day to the children, which drove up your heartbeat. You had no idea what kind of room you were breaking in. For all that you knew, it might be the guards’ break room, and they would discover the broken window immediately. It didn’t help that it took you almost ten minutes until you managed to throw the sword through the broken window in a way that it didn’t get pulled back out when you put weight on the rope. Still Zuko sent you to go first and waited until you were sitting on the windowsill to climb up behind you.

The room before you was dark, so you could barely make out anything, which made the way down from the windowsill almost as unpleasant as the way up. Four meters separated you from the floor and your first thought was to simply use the sword again, put it outside the window this time, and climb down the rope into the room. But that meant you were leaving behind your sword and the rope which would be a save give-away that someone had broken into. In the end, you ended up using the sword, which Zuko retrieved before he jumped down from the window, cushioning his fall with a fire blast. Finally with solid ground under your feet, you began looking around the room. Along the walls, vats were lined up, reminding you of the big common laundry room in your village. But before you could explore them any further, Zuko waved you over.

“This door’s unlocked,” he told you. Drawing your weapons, you carefully creaked the door open, light falling through the growing gap into the dark.

Slowly you stepped forward, your eyes hurting in even the dim light, but you got used to it quickly.

“Is this a laundry,” Zuko asked, stepping through behind you.

His deduction made sense, considering the countless bed sheets and uniforms that were hung up on clothesline. You reached out, grabbing the fabric of one of the red shirts and nodded.

“Still damp.”

“Who’s there?”

The thin and scared voice of a girl cut through the silence, making your heart almost stop. As fast and quiet as possible Zuko and you hid behind a heavy stone collum.

“I’m not scared of you,” the child declared bravely, although her tone of voice indicated the opposite. “Listen, lovely wash-kitchen spirit,” she continued. “My name is Xin Yan, and I’m just folding the bed sheets for tomorrow, okay? Can you let me do that? I’ll be out of here in just a few minutes!”

Xin Yan? Zuko watched your forehead furrow at the mention of the name.

Hesitant steps sounded through the high room, and a shadow appeared on one of the sheets close to where you were hiding. Zuko pulled you backwards, further behind the column, and a moment later the sheet got pulled aside, revealing a little girl, around Aang’s and Toph’s age.

“Xin Yan,” you asked, stepping out of your hiding place, causing Zuko to almost get a heart attack. Had you gone mad?

The girl squeaked in surprise before clasping her hands over her mouth, effectively dropping the basket she had held, which clattered to the floor.

“Shhh, it’s me (y/n),” you whisper shouted. “Do you remember me? We used to be neighbours, back in the village.”

“(y/n),” the girl asked in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for my sister, Xiang,” you explained. “Is she here?”

“Not here, but-” the girl interrupted herself at the sound of a key turning in a lock on the other side of the room. “Put on some of these red and black uniforms,” she rushed out. “Wait until I’m gone, and in 20minutes, come find me on the second floor of this building. Nobody will question who you are if you wear the uniforms.”

With that, she quickly slipped past the sheets and out of sight. Just a second later, the sound of a heavy door opening sounded through the room.

“Where are you, hm? Bedtime,” a rough, male voice boomed.

“I’m here,” Xin Yan rushed out, “the sheets are all ready and folded for tomorrow.”

“I sometimes think you’re the only one who actually does their job around here. We’ve had another group of rats who-”

The man’s voice got inaudible once he had thrown the door back into its lock. With bated breath Zuko and you waited for the sound of a turning key, but it seemed like the door stayed unlocked. Still, you waited for another few minutes before you dared making your way out from behind the column.

“Can we trust her,” Zuko asked quietly, leaning so close to you that you could feel his breath fanning over the shell of your ear.

As much as you hated admitting it, you had asked yourself the same question. Xin Yan had always been a reliable young girl, and even though you had never been close to her, you had often heard the elderly people in the village praise her for her diligent and hard work. She had always fiercely opposed the Fire Nation, but if she had been in this camp since the village had been destroyed… over a year was a long time to try and turn around someone’s opinion, especially when they were as young as Xin Yan.

“I hope we can trust her,” you mumbled. You waited another few minutes before finally slipping out from behind the column. Xin Yan had advised you to put on red and black uniforms, so Zuko and you began searching for fitting clothes. A loosely fit black trouser, a red shirt and a red and black vest.

“Bind your hair back,” Zuko recommended, already pulling his own short strands back into a small bun.

“Can you help me,” you asked, watching as he fumbled around with a band to secure his hair in place. “Katara always did my hair when we went under people…”

Zuko nodded and when he was done with his own hair, he stepped behind you. His fingers brushed over your neck as he gathered your strands in his hands, the contact of with his warm and rough skin sending a shiver down your spine.

“Sorry,” he whispered, before pulling your hair up high enough to make it look like one of the hairdos all the Fire Nation women were wearing. You could feel him fumble around with the hairband, accidently tucking a little too harshly at your hair.

“Ow,” you mumbled, more to yourself than him.

“I’m sorry, sorry. I’ve never done anyone else’s hair… at least not since Azula has been old enough to Fire Bend at me if I ended up doing it not exactly like she wanted it.”

“You did your sister’s hair?” The image of a younger Zuko doing his sister’s hair was as entertaining as it was disturbing. Somehow you had a hard time imagining the girl sitting still for long enough.

“I wanted to anyway,” Zuko admitted, and you could hear his clothes rustling behind you, indicating that he had shrugged. “As I said, she always had very specific ideas about what her hair was supposed to look like, and when I didn’t do it perfectly, she threatened to burn me. Eventually I stopped offering.”

“I used to do Xiang’s hair,” you recalled. Zuko was still playing with your hair, but you didn’t question it. The little touches and careful tucks felt nice. “Every morning before I went off to school I’d braid her hair. She always wanted me to braid daisies in her hair, but she picked them so close to the blossom, that the stem was always too short.” You trailed off, staring absentmindedly into the dimly lit room filled with drying clothes. “Zuko, what if she doesn’t recognize me? She’s still so little, the last time she saw me, she wasn’t even five years old-”

“It’s gonna be okay,” Zuko assured you, dropping his hands to your shoulder. “She’ll remember you. How could she forget an older sister like you?”

You swallowed thickly. A part of your mind wanted to disagree with him, tell him that to such a young child more than one and a half years was as long as an eternity, and that the chance actually was low that she would remember you. But you knew Zuko was trying to comfort you, something he wasn’t extremely good at and aware of. Still, you appreciated his effort, so you nodded.

“Right,” you sighed, “because I tried weaving daisies into her braids.”

“Exactly,” Zuko nodded. “A braid that probably looked better than this one.” He reached up to your head and draped a small braid over your shoulder. Bringing your hands up, you felt for the tight structure and smiled.

“Thanks, Zuko,” you mumbled. “And thank you for coming with me. It… it helps, not being alone.”

“I’m just glad if I can help,” he answered. “Come on, the twenty minutes are almost up. Let’s see if Xin Yan is going to have us arrested.”

Together you made your way towards the door, listening for any sort of footsteps outside, but when everything stayed quiet, you carefully pressed down the door handle. The door swung open with little effort, allowing you to slip into a brightly lit corridor.

“Walk proudly,” Zuko advised as you immediately stood close to the wall. “We’re Fire Nation, and these uniforms look like they don’t belong to the lowest in the rank. Walk with your back straight, chin up, shoulders down and slightly pinch your shoulder blades together.”

Quickly you imitated what Zuko had told you, watching him do the same. It was strange, seeing how the boy you recently had only seen walk almost hesitantly whenever someone from the team was around suddenly turned into someone who seemed more like the person you would usually fight, with his hair up like that, dressed in the red and black uniform.

“And walk in the middle of the corridor,” he added. “We have no reason to cower. We’re no criminals, after all.”

The last addition came with a wink, and for a moment you stared at him surprised. Had he been like that before his father had exiled him? Funny and proud, looking like… well, like a prince?

Snapping back into the moment, you followed him until you found a staircase. Xin Yan had told you to find her on the second floor, so you were about to begin climbing up the steep staircase, when suddenly someone approached from the top. Following old habits, you were already trying to turn around to hide behind the next corner when Zuko grabbed your sleeve.

“Walk proudly,” he reminded you, “and hide in plain sight.”

Biting your teeth together you nodded, and walked behind him as the steps coming from the top came closer. They sounded hurried, and then they stopped right in front of you.

“Are you some to the new tutors,” an authoritative female voice asked, making a shiver run down your spine. You knew that voice, somehow you knew it.

“Yes,” Zuko answered, sounding both unbothered and still submissive. “We arrived just today.”

“Good, I need help. The rats on the third floor have started with their smearing again, and they won’t listen to me. Come along!”

The woman began climbing up the steps again, Zuko and you following her.

“What’s your names,” she asked, although she sounded rather uninterested. Where did you know her from?

“I’m Lee,” Zuko lied skilfully. “This is Haru.”

The woman hummed in acknowledgement, before she kept speaking. “Lee, you go with me. Haru, make sure the girls on the second floor are all in their beds and not up to the same havoc as these worm rats on the third floor.”

You had a distinct feeling when the woman was talking about rats, she didn’t actually mean worm rats.

Hesitantly you glanced up to Zuko who was walking in front of you, reaching out your hand and brushing it against his. He seemed to understand your silent question of how you were supposed to find each other again, the same way you understood his short squeezing of your fingers: I’ll come and find you.

On the second floor, you turned into the corridor, while Zuko followed the woman up the stairs. Hoping she wouldn’t look back to you, you quickly lifted your head, trying to sneak a glance of her face- and froze. Yes, you knew her. She had been a teacher at your school, Miss Guo. the meanest person you had ever encountered. Maybe even worse than Azula. She was from the earth kingdom, but for as long as you could remember, she had always talked about how amazing the Fire Nation was, how powerful, how strong. She had punished each little mistake severely, every wrong step, each misbehaviour. It wasn’t hard to guess that she admired the Fire Nation’s discipline and tried to install it in her students as well, with violence if necessary. How many nights had you hid the bruises on your fingers from her ruler from your parents, scared they would scold you the same, or even worse, for doodling on your papers? How often had you lied to your mother, saying you were too cold to wear the shorter skirt to school, just to hide the bruises on your shins from the punishment for running in the school’s playground? You could only hope that Miss Guo had not recognized you, otherwise you were in deep, deep trouble.

When she had disappeared from sight, you turned to face the corridor before you. Dozens of doors lead away to the left and right. What were you supposed to do? Right, check that the children were in bed.

Carefully you approached the first door, but then hesitated. Were you supposed to knock? If the kids were already asleep, knocking would wake them, but entering without knocking was impolite. What had Zuko said? You weren’t of the lowest rank. Chances were that with your uniform you outranked whoever was behind this door. So, you simply pressed down the door handle. The room behind it was almost completely dark, only a single candle burning on a table in the middle of the room. Along the walls, beds were lined up, a total of eight, and in all of them a small body seemed to rest.

Suddenly a loud bang from the floor above you, followed by some screaming made you flinch.

“What’s going on,” asked a small voice from the bed closest to the door.

“Nothing, just checking in that you’re alright,” you answered gently, pulling the door closed again before moving onto the next room.

You had made your way almost all the way down the corridor, only interrupted by occasional banging and screaming from above while checking every room, and already started to doubt you would find Xin Yan, when you saw the brighter shimmer of light coming from underneath the last door.

This time you knocked before opening the door, and the scene that presented itself was quite different from the other ones so far. This room was smaller, only four beds instead of eight, and instead of only one candle burning, there were four, one on each bedside table. The children were not laying in their beds, covered by blankets either, instead they were all sitting on one mattress, staring at you with wide eyes. They already moved to scramble back to their own beds, when Xin Yan spoke up.

“It’s okay, she’s my friend.” The girl poked her head out from behind her friends, waving you over. “Come in and close the door.”

Quickly you did as she had asked, standing by the door awkwardly.

“What is this place,” you eventually asked, fully aware of the four pairs of eyes trained on you.

“A re-education school for children from the earth kingdom,” Xin Yan explained, getting up from her place on the matrass and walking over to you. “Come, sit down with us. Where’s your friend?” .

“With Miss Guo, checking up on the third floor,” you answered.

“Oh wow, the boys are keeping them entertained this time,” one of the girls on the bed snickered, making the others laugh with her. Her hair was bound back in a ponytail.

“Keeping them entertained,” you asked, hesitantly walking to one of the other beds and sitting down on its edge. “Actually, you know what? Start from the beginning. What happened after the village got burnt down?”

Xin Yan took a deep breath. “How much details do you want?”

“How much can you give me?”

In that moment the door got opened, and a tall figure slipped in. The girls immediately tried scurrying back to their beds, but you did not even flinch. Somehow, even in this low lighting with the unusual hair and the enemy’s uniform you still recognized Zuko instantly.

“Why are you back already,” you asked confused.

“They’re getting the guards to shut down the boys on the third floor,” Zuko answered, his eyes scanning the room.

“Uhm, everyone,” you directed your words to the girls on the bed. “This is my friend, Zuko. We’re here to find my sister, Xiang. Xin Yan was about to explain what’s going on.”

“Right,” Xin Yan answered. “So, after the Fire Nation raided the village, they gathered all of us kids up. Anyone over the age of three and under the age of ten. We were traveling for days, and we still don’t really know where we are, but we travelled over land and then by boat-”

“This is an island in the Fire Nation territory,” Zuko quickly interrupted, causing the girls’ eyes to widen, but Xin Yan quickly continued her story.

“We were brought here, into this… kind of school, along with children from other villages that have been raided. The four of us-” the pointed between the girls sitting on the bed, “are the oldest girls here. It got obvious very quickly what they were trying to do here.”

“They’re trying to make us forget our families,” another girl explained. Her hair was cut to shoulder length. “We’re not allowed to talk about them, about family, pets, our villages or anything related our past to the earth kingdom.”

“We go to school, learn about the history of the Fire Nation and how great they are, and if we break one of their rules, the punishment is hard,” the last girl, one with a scar over her cheek explained.

“They’re trying to turn us into their perfect little Fire Nation soldiers,” Xin Yan seethed. “The older ones of us saw through it pretty quickly. Most of the younger ones just missed their parents but started forgetting them pretty quickly. The others… many of them just give in. I think they’re too small to really understand what’s going on. But us and some of the boys, we started getting together, mostly at night and we try to remember and talk about our families so we don’t forget their names and we draw pictures so we can try to remember their faces and then burn the paper before sunrise, so the teachers won’t find them. The four of us decided to play the perfect student, all of us got special freedoms, like being allowed access to the library unattended, getting to do the laundry without a guard in the same room and things like that. Whenever we have something important to talk about, the boys stir up trouble to keep the teachers and tutors busy for a while so we can talk safely.”

“They did too good of a job this time,” Zuko mumbled. “The teacher seemed really serious about having the guards intervene.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Xin Yan shrugged. “The boys know to quiet down when the guards come. They’re really good at looking like a bunch of uncontrollable idiots, but they’re very clever and controlled in what they’re doing.”

“You said there are tutors, and Miss Guo also called us that,” you recalled. Who exactly are these tutors?”

“They’re teenagers from the Fire Nation, or young adults,” the girl with the ponytail explained. “They were brought in to lessen the gap between the teachers and us. We believe they thought if we had younger people as role models, that we’d adapt their opinions. But some of them are just as bad as the teachers when it comes to handing out punishments.”

“And why did you come together tonight,” you asked. “You said the boys only distract the teachers when you need time to talk uninterrupted.”

Xin Yan sighed. “Recently some of the younger students have been acting up. Like us, they remember home, but they’re too small to hide it. It all started with your sister.”

“My sister?” Alarmed you sat up. At your side Zuko reached for your arm, but you shook him off. “What happened to her? Do you know?”

“She got into a fight with one of the teachers, about a month back,” Xin Yan recalled. “It was during class, so I don’t know what exactly happened, but we’ve been told she questioned the Fire Nation’s authority and claim to power.”

“Which is never a good idea,” the girl with the shoulder length hair sighed.

“She got the whole classroom to rebel,” Xin Yan continued, “and from there it spread through half the school. There was chaos for several hours, but when the guards managed to get the situation under control, they took her away.”

“Took her away- where to? Do you know?”

Xin Yan shook her head. “We have a suspicion that she’s held in one of the cells for misbehaving students. We call them the Mould, because there is mould growing everywhere. Usually, you only have to spend the rest of the day, in the worst case a night there, but none of the students who have been to the Mould since have seen her, or heard of her. One of her classmates tried asking about her and was sent for a whole day to the Mould.”

“So you think she’s still here, in the school,” you asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Xin Yan answered, “we do, but we can’t be certain.”

“Where is the Mould?”

“I have lunch duty there tomorrow, I can show you,” the girl with the ponytail offered.

“Lunch duty,” Zuko asked, “Didn’t you say students don’t stay longer than the night?”

“Trust me,” the girl with the scar said, “half a day is more than long enough for the Mould to fill up with students again.”

“What do we do until then,” you asked. “Is there a quarter where the tutors sleep?”

“You can’t go there,” Xin Yan denied, “They’d immediately notice you’re not one of them. And you wouldn’t have an assigned bed…”

“They can sleep in the laundry room,” the girl with the scar suggested. “I have first shift there tomorrow; I can let them out.”

“And after that you can go to the library. There are always some tutors there, reading up and studying.”

“You just have to come to the kitchen before lunch time, so you can claim you’re supposed to supervise me while I am on lunch duty in the Mould. Nobody will question it with the new tutors,” the girl with the ponytail finished.

“Sounds like a plan,” you agreed. “Thank you all, for helping us. I just hope we’re not getting you into any trouble.”

“You’re not, nobody knows we’re connected,” Xin Yan assured you. “You only have to make it back to the laundry room unseen. Do you remember where it is?”

“Down the stairs… third door to the right?”

“The fourth,” the girl with the scar corrected.

You nodded and got up from the bed you had been sitting on. “Fourth door to the right. Understood.” Walking back to the door, followed by Zuko, you turned around to the girls one last time. “You don’t know how much you have helped us. I promise you, the war will be over soon. I’ll come and find you after that, and we’ll put an end to this school.”

The light of the candles reflected in the girls’ eyes, and you could tell that no matter how bravely they were holding up, they were beginning to run out of strength. They were only children, battling the enemy without the enemy having noticed yet. Their strength and courage were humbling.

“See you tomorrow,” the girl with the scar said, echoed by the one with the ponytail.

“Good luck finding your sister. Make sure to get her out of here,” Xin Yan grinned. It was the same grin Toph always put on when she was about to face a fight she knew would be challenging.

“Thank you. Good night,” you nodded. “And stay safe.”

The trip back to the washroom happened without interference, and just a few minutes later, Zuko and you had curled up on a few freshly washed sheets in the furthest and darkest corner of the room. The thin fabric did little to keep the cold of the stone tiles away, but it was better than nothing. Not wanting to be visible from the door, you had been forced to move close together, so close that you were almost laying in each other’s arms by the time you had settled down. Had the circumstances been different, you would have been unable to sleep from how nervous it made you to lay so close next to Zuko. Just a few weeks ago he had still been your enemy, and enemy who never quite had felt like one. Ever since he had saved Aang and you from Pohuai Stronghold, ever since the short exchange he and Aang had had in the forest afterwards, you had felt like maybe he wasn’t as evil as he pretended to be. This had of course turned out right, eventually. But still you had never shared these thoughts with anyone, and all this time you had fought the thoughts in your mind that tried to tell you he was worth saving, worth trusting. Until recently anyway. When he had shown up at the Western Air Temple, you had been tempted to give in easily to his request to join. But it hadn’t been just about you and him, it had been about Aang, so you had been reluctant at first. Ever since that day, seeing him almost all the time, getting to talk to him, learning about his past, his family, his journey… it made one thing very hard: ignoring the way you heart seemed to leap into your throat at even the faintest thought of him. But now, even laying so close that you could feel his body heat through the uniforms you were wearing, there was none of that nervousness left.

“How are you feeling?”

Zuko’s voice interrupted your circling thoughts and in the dim light you turned to look at him. His amber eyes were watching you attentively, as if he was assessing whether you were fit to do the job.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I mean… the whole time I thought they had put Xiang into some sort of prison, where she would be forced to work in a mine or screw together war machines, but… I guess on the one hand something like a school isn’t that bad. But what they’ve been teaching here, the way they’re treating the kids-”

Zuko nodded. “It’s cruel.”

“I know we can’t free all the children here,” you sighed, “not now anyway. But Zuko, when the war is over, when Aang has defeated Ozai, I’ll come back here and make sure we get all the kids out and back to their parents. As good as possible anyways.”

“I’ll help you,” Zuko promised, his eyes glimmering with determination. “The pain and suffering the Fire Nation had caused is beyond imagination. I need to find a way to put things right after my father has been taken care of.”

“You won’t be alone,” you told him. “You have all of us, we’ll work together to right as many wrongs as we can. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Zuko sighed. “But that’s still a long time away. First, we have to find your sister and make sure we get her out of the Mould and back to Ember Island with us.”

“Yes, we have to find her,” you agreed. “I just have a bad feeling that it’s not going to be as easy as we’re hoping it to be. I don’t like that Miss Guo is here.”

“We’ll make it,” Zuko assured you, reaching his hand up and gently squeezing your shoulder. “We’ll find her and make it out of here, unharmed. All three of us. I know it.”

You nodded with a sigh and closed your eyes. “I wish I had your confidence.”

“If you don’t have that confidence, you just need to trust me,” Zuko shrugged, and a smile tucked at your lips.

“You know? The weird thing is, I do. A few weeks ago, I would have tried to kill you on sight and now…”

Zuko shifted under the thin sheet you used as a blanket before answering. “I mean, this isn’t so bad, right?”

He was warm at your side, his hesitant voice having become familiar enough to lull you into safety, his small movements making the foreign darkness around you not as frightening with him next to you.

“No, it’s not,” you agreed with a yawn. “But we need to sleep now. Good night.”

Zuko nodded in the dark. “You’re right. Good night.”

And a few minutes later you had both fallen asleep.

Heart Aflame Part 2/3 - 09. Nov. 2024

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