i suppose this is a writer's block warm up?
“There’s nothing you ever wanted to…do to me?” Her words are sensual enough on their own and Zuko can’t tear his eyes away from her, legs dangling off the edge of his bed, fingers stirring patterns in the sheets. She’s not even doing anything particularly suggestive, but he’s just so attracted to her that her mere presence is enough to distract him, to throw him headlong into a daydream that he can’t pull himself out of.
He swallows the knot in his throat, peeks between dark strands of hair towards her. “I don’t really…think about it often.” A lie. His mind is always saturated with thoughts of what he’d do if he was alone with her and all of the fragmented pieces of her body he could stitch together with his lips. “I just want you,” his body sinks down over hers slowly, heavily, and they stare at one another with coy, bashful smiles curled on their lips, their auras passing lust back and forth with palms gently cupped together.
He’s considered it warped enough that she’s given him this chance, that she hasn’t tried to tear him down into rubble to toss in with the rest of the temple’s remains. He supposes she still has the power to do so, the power to run her thing fingers over him and carve him out with slivers of ice, shatter him into indiscernible shards of himself and scatter him into the wind.
Zuko knows it’s too late either way; he traces his fingers into the hollows of her throat and across the protrusion of her collarbone. He knows he is too lost, too close, too vulnerable.
Perhaps it’s the terror and the excitement of baring his vitality to her that makes him love her.
typical: summertime madness
summertime madness, a “typical” prompted drabble, 200 words total
jet/zuko; prompt table located here
Jet darts out of the house, turning a deaf ear to his mother’s worried calls. He can see his friend walking up the road towards him and he doesn’t have the time to actually clean his room like his mother wants. When he gets close to his friend, grinning, he catches him around the neck, swinging and pulling him down into the dirt with a happy laugh.
“Get off of me, you fool!” He cries in a high-pitched voice, attempting to wrestle himself out of Jet’s grip, but to no avail. His clothes and hair are starting to get dusty when Jet finally releases his hold and gets to his feet.
“C’mon, buddy,” he offers the other boy a hand, “let’s go inside, my mama made dumplings.”
He watches in slight amusement as his friend stubbornly folds his arms over his chest, tossing his ponytail as he turns his head away. “You’re the worst friend in the world, Jet.”
“And if you don’t get your dusty royal butt out of the road, Zuko, I am gonna go inside and eat all the dumplings my mama made for you!”
Zuko scrambles to his feet and chases Jet back into the house.
i know i know who even gave me permission to just DO THIS SCREAMS
collateral
an untitled “collateral” prompted drabble, 250 words total
zuko/katara; prompt table located here
He doesn’t think — he lashes out with fire before he sits up, fists curled. But he’s surprised to see his flames doused with water that sweeps over them and coils in midair. Something sinks in the pit of his stomach, heavy and hollow and cold, as Katara ducks out from behind the bushes.
“I didn’t mean to — ” He starts, clearing his voice of the futility of his apology. Katara scoffs.
“Give me a break,” she tosses her head back, dark brown hair catching the breeze, “you can’t hurt me. It’s cute that you try.”
That feeling slips away and is replaced by disdain; he tries not to hate her, but she is being so stubborn and refusing to see sense. He’ll make her come to see sense one way or another.
He gets to his feet, his hands raised innocently towards hers, and she whips her wrist to the side — water careens through the air, circling his wrists before it freezes. Katara grips the ice in her hand and pulls, watching in satisfaction as he comes crashing to his knees in front of her.
“I’ll give you a chance,” she hisses and Zuko ignores the stinging pain in his wrists as he tilts his head up, “but I’m going to need more than just your word this time.” His eyes search the angry ridges of her eyebrows, the intensity of her eyes, the snarl on her lips.
“What do you want?” His voice is reluctant, but she smiles.
“Collateral.”
