*gently takes your face in my hands* hey. remember that fandom is for fun. if you're not having fun it is ok to step back. if you're intentionally making it unfun for others it is ok to step back. none of this is real. go sit in the sun and smell a flower. i love you.
Hi everyone! I've been showing my mom A:TLA and so I've been on a Zutara kick, especially with the new movie leaks. This is my first fic (that I've actually posted lol) so please enjoy and any constructive feedback is welcome!
“…But I am ready to forgive you.” Katara spoke those words so easily. She’d practiced them too. It had felt like the first time she’d successfully performed a waterbending move. Not playing with some waves or swirling tea with a flick of her wrist, but that first real flow of her home element following her careful movements. After weeks of studying and practicing, overthinking every little step, it suddenly all clicked in one smooth motion. That’s what saying those words to Zuko felt like.
An overnight ride on Appa without a wink of sleep, mulling over recent events. All her reflections swirled in her mind like a storm current she had to learn to control in the heat of the moment. She thought of all the things she might say to Zuko when they landed. She pondered what Aang would say and how she might respond—how she should respond. She’d practiced and performed that interaction perfectly, just as she’d become accustomed to doing with the Avatar. Aang, for being such a free element, was often predictable when it came to his values. Zuko, she’d come to learn, was anything but predictable or easily read. By the end of their quiet ride, Katara had decided on forgiving their newly acquired firebender. Perhaps she’d decided that much longer ago.
She felt some stiffness in Zuko’s body when she embraced him. His initial shock made her fear the worst for a moment, that it was too soon for such affection. It was only the feeling of his hands coming up behind her that stopped he. She wasn’t sure what was going through his head at that moment, but she was grateful that he adapted to her motions.
He adapted.
Zuko moved with her like she moved with the water. It was a dance she knew so well as a waterbender, but it was almost strange for such beneficence to be granted to her in these more personal moments, outside of bending and fighting. She pulled away with a comforting hand on his shoulder and a smile that didn’t leave her face even, after she left him and Aang on the dock. Katara made it to her tent, deciding to rest and tell her brother and friends about her journey tomorrow.
But rest did not last long.
She had expected it to be Aang waking her to talk about how her life changing field trip with Zuko had gone, or perhaps even Toph’s snoring as everyone else slept. Instead, it was a cold sweat. A sweat like she’d felt as she ran through ice, snow and ash to find her father and tell him that Mom was in trouble.
Such nightmares were not uncommon for Katara. She had dreamt for years about seeing her mother’s face again, saving her, even taking revenge. But she’d done that now, she had her closure. Katara faced the very man who took her mother, and yet the nightmare felt more visceral than ever. Katara breathed in deeply, slowing her breathing to the rhythmic push and pull of a current. Yon Rha’s pathetically terrified face flashed in her mind, his sad groveling almost reviling. The man—the monster—who had taken her mother, torn her family apart, looked so small and vulnerable, and it made her angry. Years of seeing those wicked eyes in her dreams, building up her mother’s killer to some great enemy she would face one day, only to be faced with a frail old man who was so wretched as to offer up his own mother to “even the score”. He wouldn’t even put up a fight, she thought. He couldn’t.
It all made her blood boil so much her head felt light. Her stomach bile churned with revulsion, sweat still clinging to her skin as she fought the urge to scream. How had her whole life been overturned like a capsized boat by such a small wave?
Katara reflected once more on what led her here. She spent so much time in silence on the ride back from facing Yon Rha thinking about what to say to Zuko, to her brother, to Aang. She had to get her speeches and responses ready to face everyone, to not let her emotions overcome her in the moment. The air always grew cold when she got emotional around everybody. Now, alone in her tent, the long overdue grief was finally catching up to her. And as she quietly sniffled into her shivering knees, she knew with absolute, resounding certainty that as much as she felt the responsibility to be alone in that moment, she didn’t want to be.
Whatever led her to Zuko’s tent, she would likely only be able to identify it when she was lucid again. Her walls were down; her energy focused on making sure she wasn’t sobbing audibly as she walked across the camp in the dead of night. She thanked Tui and La and any other spirits around that there was a light flickering in the prince’s tent.
Zuko knew he was something of a rigid person. That much was obvious when compared with his new friends, let alone his uncle. He adapted to situations, but he’d never excelled at changing his goals once he’d set his mind to them. Perhaps that’s the element of fire he embodied; adapting to challenges presented if only to spread further and consume everything. Such a way of existence had nearly destroyed him several times and he needed to be saved by someone who would douse the flames before he burned himself out. On their brief journey, Zuko had wondered for a moment if he would need to be that person for Katara. A part of him was grateful he didn’t need to, and the other part wondered if he always knew he wouldn’t.
Zuko had learned very quickly that Katara was just as unfaltering and stubborn as he could be. She was like his sister too, in that way, driven and precise in her movements. Luckily for him, she also bore a kindness like his mother’s. And bear it she did, he learned. Their moment in the crystal catacombs should have told him that much. She had been so quick to take his bid for connection, despite all he’d done. She’d offered empathy, comfort, and even healing. She didn’t even know him, yet she saw in him what his uncle saw—and he’d thrown it back in her face for vain glory and a hope he knew, deep down, was pointless.
Zuko wasn’t sure he’d ever let himself recover from that mistake, even if she forgave him twice over for every blast of fire he had ever thrown at her. It was easier to move on from naïve hope that his life would return to normal, but betrayal? He’d believed himself to be above such evil for so long, and yet he’d turned on the only two people in years who’d shown him kindness, despite knowing who he was.
That’s why he’d done this. He hated to admit it, but his offer of help to Katara wasn’t entirely altruistic. He wanted to feel like he could start to atone for his betrayal by supporting her in whatever decision she made, because he knew she’d make the right one. And she did. Not only that, but she’d also forgiven him. Zuko’s wager had paid off in full, but something felt… incomplete. Unanswered for. He had pondered in her silence on their ride back on Appa, and now he was pondering further in the middle of the night. It didn’t help ease his mind to see that Aang still hadn’t made up his mind on what defeating the Fire Lord would really look like. It didn’t help that all Katara’s known resolve would turn from solid ice to soothing water when it came to the Avatar. He’d begun to feel alone in his endeavor to toughen the kid up. His thoughts were interrupted at the sound of quiet footsteps and trembling hand lifting the flap of his tent.
Katara held Zuko’s gaze for a length of time that was undeterminable in her sleep-addled and distraught state. They didn’t have much for sleep clothes, so he had only removed his shoes and the outer vest of his usual attire. He seemed rigid, despite the relaxed appearance, rigid in a way like he had been when she hugged him. She was pretty sure she only blinked when he said her name.
“Katara.” Zuko spoke softly, his invocation of her name both acknowledgment and a curious question. Katara, in turn nodded, a slightly strained voice following her blink.
“Are… are you sleeping soon?” Katara knew that isn’t usually how she’d ask that question. She often shifted to accommodate others when she was like this, apologizing for intruding before asking if they were sleeping, to give them an out. Sokka, for all his protectiveness, never handled when his sister was actually upset very well. Toph was much younger than her and more on the tough side. Suki was closer to her age, but she hadn’t been able to build much of a relationship with her yet. And Aang, while in tune with spiritual balance for the most part, was not so good with handling emotions, especially hers. She didn’t blame him, of course, and he often tried his best to cheer her up when he sensed she might be upset. But he never felt quite in tune with her emotions the way he was when they waterbent together.
Zuko wasn’t really a last resort for her, but he was the one who’d recently displayed handling her more emotional moments best. He had understood when she acted angry with him and continuously reached out anyways. He’d been humble when she threatened him, if not also a bit reasonably scared. Yet he treated her the same. And he bore her hatred, then her anger, her aggression, and her nearly 10 hours of silence after helping her accomplish such a long-sought goal of hers, with no expectation of conversation or immediate resolution. Maybe he could handle her grief too.
“No! I uh… I was just awake… thinking…” Zuko replied, perhaps a little too quickly. Katara didn’t seem to mind, or she hadn’t noticed. He could tell something was off with her, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint it. “Did you uh… need something? Fire go out?” He was searching desperately in his mind for what could have brought her to him. There was a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead, the hair sticking to her skin, so lack of heat wasn’t the issue… right? He saw her shake her head. He opened his mouth to try and say something else but couldn’t quite formulate anything logical.
“Can I sit…?” Katara mumbled. As far as Zuko had observed, Katara didn’t really mumble, aside from the occasional annoyed grumble toward her brother’s antics or Toph’s attitude. But this was vulnerable, almost scared. Zuko hadn’t seen Katara scared yet. Worried, nervous, yes, but not shivering with what he had to guess was fear. So he nodded, glancing at the spot to his left without even thinking.
Katara fully entered the tent and headed to the spot Zuko had glanced up. Suddenly, the firebender held up his hands and shook his head.
“W-Wait! Actually, sit on this side, sorry,” he said quickly, scooting to his left and placing his hand on the spot to his right. “I don’t hear out of this ear very well.” He pointed to his scarred left ear and huffed an awkward laugh. Katara eyes glistened for a moment with something he had no chance at identifying, before she nodded and sat at his right. Zuko hadn’t even considered that he was going to let her sit on his left side. He was even more surprised about what made him realize. It wasn’t his usual paranoia around letting people on that side of his body, but rather his consideration for the fact that she may want to talk to him. And he wanted to heart her.
Katara took a place at his right, mimicking his meditative position at first to appear more put together. That façade didn’t last much further beyond his voice softly asking, “So… something about… yesterday?”
Katara’s breath hitched, breaking the bubble of restrained emotion in her throat. It didn’t break like a wall of ice turned liquid, but she could feel it melting as she curled into the fetal position. Zuko tensed again, though she didn’t see it this time. He stared straight forward, unsure of physical comfort would be a good idea. His mother always held him when he cried as a child, but Katara wasn’t a child.
Except she was.
He remembered when he first joined their group Sokka wanted to know which of them was older. It had turned out to be Zuko by only a couple of months, and Sokka had off-handedly mentioned everyone else’s age. From what he could recall, Katara was barely fifteen. While she wasn’t a child in the same sense as he was when he last saw his mother, she was still young. A kid. All of them were. He’d almost let it all slip his mind with the weight of the world on their shoulders. He felt slightly guilty for forgetting that about Katara, since she often acted maternally toward everyone else and seemed much more inclined towards responsibility. Zuko wondered if that time he cooked dinner and made tea for everyone was the first time that she hadn’t.
Accounting for all that in his head, Zuko decided maybe she could use some physical comfort. She was the one who hugged him earlier anyways, so it would be okay, right? He brought his hand from its position on his knee and rested it on her shoulder, flinching with her for the briefest moment. He wondered if he should pull away, if he’d completely misjudged the situation, as he’d realized was a common folly of his. Then her hand came to rest on his.
“I-I couldn’t kill him…” she whispered into her knees. Zuko’s eyebrows raised slightly at the rapid escalation of the conversation. He recovered quickly enough to give a reply.
“I know,” the firebender replied, giving her shoulder a soft squeeze.
“Aang thinks it’s because I’m too good of a person,” she continued. Zuko replied perhaps a bit too hastily.
“Aren’t you?” He said it like it was natural, like he was confused by her implication that she wasn’t a good and kind person. His body was more turned toward her scrunched form, finding that her head was now completely buried in the dark little space she’d made for herself.
“I couldn’t kill him… because he… he was just… pathetic…” Katara choked out. Zuko guessed she had meant for it to sound angrier and more visceral, but it came out as a bitter sob. He wasn’t sure what to make of what she’d just said. He’d be lying to himself if he said that her confession didn’t shock him. Perhaps he wasn’t as shaken as the Avatar might have been, given the boy’s propensity towards wanting to believe the best in people to a sometimes-naïve degree. But still, he hadn’t expected someone such bitter callousness from the waterbender. Perhaps she wasn’t so different from Azula as he’d originally thought. Or, rather, Azula wasn’t so different from her.
Zuko pulled himself from his thoughts as soon as he caught himself getting lost in them, remembering to focus on the moment in front of him. That’s what Uncle always did. He moved slightly closer to the hollow, shaking bundle of blue and brown that was the fearsome waterbender he’d just seen puppet a man’s body not even a day ago. What could he even say to her in a moment like this? Should he say anything at all?
“He was just… pathetic,” she repeated, a bit louder and more shaken. “Miserable, wretched, small, weak!” She spit every single word, her voice raising slightly in volume with each one, as if she was trying to be angry. But each one just loosened the trapped cries more, and tears had begun to leak from her eyes. It pierced his heart to see such a strong and talented waterbender unable to control water for once. He inched ever closer, his mind swimming with all the different things he could say or do that might help even a little, but they all seemed insurmountable to the anguish in her eyes.
Laughter is the best medicine for a broken heart, but silence is its balm. His Uncle’s words echoed in his mind. He’d been much too stubborn and angry to hear those words at the time, but they returned to him now when his friend needed him most.
“I-I thought...” she choked. “I remembered him as so tall. His eyes were cruel, his voice was harsh, he made me so scared only seven years ago.” Katara wasn’t sure how to express all she was thinking and feeling, how jarring it was for a man she’d feared and hated her whole life could be so miserably pitiful in the end. “H-How could someone like that have taken everything from me?” There was unmistakable anguish in her question. Zuko felt like he often struggled with others’ feelings, but Katara’s were palpable at this moment. Zuko had recently learned his mother was alive, somewhere, but even if she wasn’t, could he relate to Katara quite the same? His mother left to save him, Katara’s mother died to save her. Would it be more agonizing if the person responsible for separating him from his mother was as pathetic as Yon Rha, instead of immensely dangerous and intimidating like his father? Zuko truly didn’t know, but perhaps it didn’t matter, especially not now.
Katara’s choked sobs weren’t as muffled as they had been, and Zuko’s silence worried her, until she felt his arms carefully embrace her shoulders. She had lost all the energy to keep a façade, so instead of stiffening, she effectively melted into whatever position he was moving her into. Her wet cheeks made imprints on the light fabric of his sleeve, her body limp as her tear ducts, but he didn’t seem to mind. And she couldn’t be bothered to be her usual overly-worried self about presenting a collected front anymore. Not with Zuko.
Zuko pulled his broken friend’s quivering form toward him. He tried remembering how his mother held him and moved his hands into the same positions. She’d cradle his neck or head, while the other arm secured his back and she’d pull him into her lap. Katara wouldn’t fit in his lap the same way a 9-year-old boy would fit in his mother’s, but Zuko was nothing if not adaptable. Her hands—such careful, skilled, and diligent hands—shook as they suddenly clutched at the fabric over his chest. He felt his heart clutch with her, his stomach tightening with each tightening of her throat around another cry. His chin ended up nestled in her tangled hair, still slightly damp from sea mist and cold sweat.
Katara cried for long enough to stop praying in her mind that no one would hear. She tried to speak several times, but every word felt meaningless and insignificant in the wake of her overdue mourning. With each moment of unbound grief, she felt more anguished, but also more secure. When her mind was clearer, she realized Zuko was holding her much like her mother and father did. She hadn’t cried in so long that she’d forgotten what it was to be held and comforted like this. Zuko was warm, too. When winters were especially cold, she and Sokka would huddle up with their parents like this. Katara often fell asleep to the sound of a heartbeat at that time. After her mother died and her father went to war, she and Sokka found this kind of comfort in each other on similarly cold nights. Her body was aware of every inch of his presence, yet her mind seemed to bypass it like it was something natural and nothing to overthink.
Katara’s breathing slowed with Zuko’s heart now, each inhale deeper than the last, each exhale longer. Zuko smelled faintly of fire that warmed her and ocean mist that recalled memories of home. Her eyes—though having been closed the whole time—were resting now, no longer twitching restlessly or producing tears. The waterbender’s thoughts were quieting in a way that she hadn’t known in a long time, but a few thoughts echoed resoundingly before sleep claimed her. First, her grieving period had finally shifted into healing and acceptance after seven years of despair. And second, regardless of what their future may hold, no matter where they were in the world, what they became, Zuko was part of her family now.
Summary: Your nipples have become unbearably tender as your period approaches. Sylus notices and offers an interesting solution.
Content: MDNI, explicit smut, nipple sucking, nipple play, breast massage, fingering, semi-public sexual acts, Sylus being a smug tease, fem reader implied (2.6k wc)
A/N: True Life: I’m horny and my nipps hurt. ((sorry not sorry <3))
Your nipples have been an absolute nuisance for the past three days.
Anytime you brush past something it felt like too much.
You cannot sleep on your front anymore because it is sensory hell.
Your nipples – pebbled at all times whether you are cold/aroused or not.
On top of all this, your breasts are achy and sore, like you’ve had back to back chest days in the gym.
And forget about wearing a bra!! Having constant pressure on your chest is enough to ruin your day.
These symptoms began right after you finished ovulating, but you have never experienced them with such fervor before. And it is causing you unrelenting grief.
You were hoping this nightmare would end before today, because you had plans tonight with Sylus. But your hopes were dashed the minute you woke up, when that persisting awareness slapped you in the face.
You spent the day lazing around, but once it hit 4 pm you showered. After drying off and applying your usual products you mentally braced yourself to be uncomfortable for the next few hours.
It was time to put on the bra you bought specifically to wear with your dress for the evening. At the time when you were buying said bra you were hyped over how good it made your boobs look. But now, the bundle of fabric and foam was looking like more of a threat than any wanderer you’ve encountered.
You methodically put it on, somehow succeeding in not irritating your nipps. After, you slipped into your dress for tonight’s ceremony then moved on to applying your makeup.
With how slow you moved when putting on your bra, Sylus was at your place before you were finished.
“Running late Miss Hunter? I’m shocked.”
You huffed then trailed your eyes up to meet his amused reflection in your vanity mirror.
“Yeah, well I’ve been struggling a bit lately,” you said, hoping your anxiety over how you’ll survive the rest of the night didn’t seep through.
But with how swiftly his amused expression contorted into concern, you can tell that you failed.
“Should we stay in for the night then? No need to push yourself if you’re feeling unwell.”
Your heart warmed from his concern and a small smile graced your lips.
“I’m sure I’ll be okay. I was nominated for an award so I should at least be present. And I’m sure my coworkers would be heartbroken if Mr. Skye didn’t show up as promised,” you teased.
His eyes crinkled with his smile as he moved to stand behind you. His presence serving as a comfort while you put on the last bits of makeup.
“Are you certain kitten? I care more about your wellbeing than pleasing your coworkers. And I’m confident there will be plenty of other opportunities for us to catch up in the future.”
As he spoke you neatly put your makeup back into the vanity drawers before turning around to face him.
“I’m sure.”
He hums, then takes your hand in his to pull you to a standing position.
“Let’s get going then, Luke is our driver for tonight.”
Soon after arriving, you and Sylus are pulled into conversation with Simone, Tara, and a slew of UNICORNS team members. You have lost count over the number of people clamoring to speak with Sylus. The skill he must possess to entertain endless conversations about his “fruit business” while keeping a straight face is admirable.
By the time you two make it to your assigned seats, he has received three separate invitations to hang out along with multiple business inquiries.
Although you always enjoyed catching up with your coworkers, each hug you received and handed out caused you to inadvertently irritate your chest. With less to focus on now, your tender nipples are at the forefront of your mind again. And your bra is starting to feel like a torture device. You inconspicuously shift in your chair, hoping for any form of relief. But instead, the cups of your bra harshly drag against your buds making you visibly wince.
When you open your eyes, Sylus’ carmine gaze is already upon you. Assessing your pained expression.
He raises one of his eyebrows before leaning down towards your ear to whisper “Come with me.”
You were about to refuse before some very familiar black and red tendrils encircle one of your wrists, encouraging you to follow him. As you make your way down a darkened hallway you can’t help but question him.
“How do you know where you’re going?”
“I have my ways sweetie,” he replies smugly.
You purse your lips and remain silent, until he stops in front of what seems to be a closet door. When he opens it to peer inside, it is empty and seems rarely used.
“After you,” he says before following you in and quietly closing the door.
It would be pitch black inside the closet, if not for the sliver of light coming through the gap at the bottom of the door. You can hear him shift around a bit before he speaks.
“Will you tell me what’s wrong? You know I can’t stand to see you in pain.”
“Sylus, I said I’m fine. Let’s head back to our seats before they start announcing the awards,” you practically beg.
“Why won’t you tell me what is bothering you? If you’re adamant on staying through the entire ceremony, I can have Luke grab some painkillers for you.”
You shake your head, unsure if he can even see you in this darkened closet.
“That won’t help, I’ve tried that already,” you grumbled.
You can hear (and feel?) him take a step towards you. Something in the air shifts with his proximity.
“I could give better suggestions if I knew what the problem is.”
You feel your face heat up as you mumble your next words.
“It’smynipples.”
Neither of your say anything for what feels like hours.
“What about them?” he questions in an unreadable tone.
“I know,” he cuts in.
“To start, it’s the week before my period-”
“You know? How the fuck-”
“You share your period tracking data with me, remember?”
Your mind buffers before you can reply. “I'm aware. I just didn’t think you were actively monitoring it??”
“I like to know where you are in your cycle.”
Although you cannot see him right now, you can picture him shrugging in a nonchalant manner.
“I don’t even know how to respond to that.”
All you get is him chuckling as a reply.
“Anyway…back to my nipples. They have felt very sensitive the past few days, and I think it has to do with my hormones shifting? Every little touch feels like a zap of electricity. And this damn bra has been killing me since I put it on.”
He hums.
“Will a massage help? I’ll be as gentle or as rough as you need,” he says in a dulcet tone.
Butterflies rise in your tummy at his offer. You know he didn’t mean it sexually, but why did he have to say it like that?
“R-right now? Sylus they’re going to start the ceremony soon.”
Instead of answering he moves into your personal space, backing you into one of the walls of the supply closet. You can vaguely make out the shape of his left arm, placed on the wall above your head – blocking you in.
He leans down towards you until he is mere centimeters away from your face.
“I believe I asked you a question first kitten. Would a massage help?”
“Yes? No? Maybe so?”
You can’t help but squirm as arousal builds up in your core.
“F-fine. Just be extra gentle.”
You can almost feel his smirk from here.
“Anything for you,” he whispers before you feel both of his hands slide the straps of your dress off your shoulders. Then, he pulls down the top of your dress, exposing your bra. Lastly, he unhooks your bra from the front closure – allowing your breast room to relax.
You let out a sigh of relief, truly relaxing for what feels like the first time tonight. But just as quickly as you let your guard down, your breath is stolen when he cups each breast in the palm of his hands.
His touch feels searing against your pebbled nipples, almost like a heating pad was placed upon them. Once he begins massaging you, you have to bite your lip to hold back a whimper as pain mixes with bliss.
Besides your audible breathing and the involuntary sounds Sylus keeps pulling out of you, there is complete silence in the closet as he focuses on giving you a thorough rub down.
The arousal that you tried to keep at bay was creeping up again by the second. When you attempt to squeeze your thighs together for more stimulation Sylus speaks.
“I can feel you squirming. Do you need something else from me?”
You open your mouth to reply but your mind feels empty from the mounting pleasure.
“Cat got your tongue?” he teases.
He pauses to see if you’ll say something before continuing.
“Let me help you then. How does this feel?”
Your head shoots back and thumps against the wall behind you as his warm, wet tongue glides over your tender nipple. Goosebumps form on your arms from the unexpected sensation and you can feel a wet spot forming in your underwear.
Sylus groans as he lavishes one nipple with attention before switching to the other. Making sure to continue massaging the unoccupied breast, never letting one go without stimulation for long.
With his movements being so unpredictable in the darkness, you begin to tremble. Your hands shakily thread through his hair as you arch your back and try to push your breast further into his mouth.
He briefly pops off your nipple to encourage you.
“That’s it, take what you need from me.”
When he goes back to suckling, your pussy throbs and clenches around nothing indicating you are near your limit. You try to grind against him – seeking any friction for your neglected clit but Sylus holds you back.
“Come like this for me, you can do it,” he mumbles around the mouthful of your tit.
You jerk from the vibrations then he doubles his efforts. His fingers sink further into the flesh of your boobs as he massages them while starting to bob his head up and down each bundle of nerves. Sylus seemed entranced as loud slurps and pleased hums leave him.
The competing sensations and his sounds were driving you insane. So much so, that you could no longer suppress any of the needy whines you were holding back before.
The coil in your stomach gets unbearably tight right before you tip over the edge. You let out a gasp as wave after wave of pleasure slams through you. When you start to come down, erratic aftershocks wrack your body making your head feel fuzzy.
“Good job, I think you deserve a reward. Hmm?”
Your sluggish mind is still processing his words when you feel one of his hands slip underneath your dress. As it makes its way between your thighs – you fully come back down to Earth.
“You can’t be serious right now,” you whisper in disbelief.
“Oh, I’m very serious. Surely you aren’t satisfied with one measly orgasm,” he says in an incredulous tone, like he didn’t just fry your brain.
“Sy, my legs literally feel like jelly right now.”
He tsks in feigned disappointment before beginning to rub the seam of your pussy through your underwear.
“What have I told you about being greedier with your pleasure sweetie?”
Hearing his lascivious tone, you unconsciously clench your thighs around his hand as your clit tingles with renewed interest. And just like that – the last bit of your restraint is destroyed.
“Well, are you feeling greedy?” he whispers into the ever shrinking space between the two of your lips.
You take in a quivering breath before making an assenting sound.
Then, he presses his lips against yours, drawing you into in a mind melting kiss. Within a few moments, he returns his attention back to the space between your thighs.
You moan into his mouth as one of his fingers slides the gusset of your panties to the side to touch you directly. The feeling of his thick, middle finger trailing from your hole up to your clit coaxes your mind to empty once again.
He briefly backs away from your mouth, leaving your lips tingling in the aftermath.
“You’re so wet. Does this feel good?” he asks in a hushed tone.
“Y-yes,” is all you’re able to utter.
He presses light kisses to each the side of your neck in response as he continues to toy with your sopping slit. Each journey up to your clit is different. Sometimes he circles it with the lightest pressure, making you squirm for direct contact. Other times he teases your hole, barely nudging the tip of his finger in before slipping away again.
When your sounds turn desperate, his lips melt against yours. Swallowing each one like they are his sole reason for living.
While Sylus continues to explore the familiar territory of your mouth, he uses your slick to sink one of his long, slender fingers inside. Your hot, gummy walls clench around the digit as his knuckle meets your entrance. Then, he sets a maddening pace sending a shock through your system.
After a few pumps he easily slips in a second finger curving them to brush against the area that causes your hips to twitch forward. At the same time, he uses his unoccupied hand to rub tight circles over one of your nipples. His pace does not slow when you clench around the new intrusion. If anything, it is replaced with far more desperate tempo.
The lewd squelching sounds echoing in the closet combined with feeling one of your tender buds being tweaked makes your muscles tense up. You’re drowning in euphoria and your eyes roll to the back of your skull as he mercilessly fingers you through each throb and pulsation.
When you have control over your limbs again, you weakly grab his wrist, needing to escape the overstimulating pleasure. And the minute his fingers slip out of your hole, you sink down to the floor of the closet to recover.
Sylus crouches down in front of you, placing a small kiss on your forehead. Once you feel human again, he helps you stand back up. Carefully refastening your bra and smoothing the top of your dress back into place.
You both hear the same muffled tail end of a sentence from the speaker in the banquet hall “…and now, we will begin the awards portion of tonight’s event.”
Feeling your heart sink, you rush to slip your heels back on before rushing out of the closet. You both make it back to your seats hoping you don’t look as flustered as you feel.
Before long, your name is read along with several others as nominees for one of the Hunter Association awards. Minutes later, when your name is announced as an award recipient you make your way to the stage with shaky legs and mussed hair.
As you make your way to the stage you beg every deity available that you don’t look like you just got finger blasted into a fifth dimension less than half an hour ago.
After climbing up the short stairs to the stage, you catch Sylus’ eyes twinkling with satisfaction. You do your best to ignore him as you deliver your acceptance speech before scurrying back to your chair.
The remainder of the event passes by in a blur and before long you are on your way back to the N109 Zone for the night. You are exhausted and the shame you feel from what you both got up to in that closet will haunt you for nights to come.
You shift to rest your head against Sylus’ shoulder, trusting Luke to get you both back home in one piece. As you start to drift away, you must admit that your nipples weren’t bothering you anymore.
The booth is saturated with a heady mixture of incense, scented candles, and body oil—woodsy, warm, and deeply soothing. Sunlight spills in through linen curtains, painting the room in a soft, golden glow while the overhead lamp stays dark. The massage bed beneath you is soft. The length of it is lined with crisp sheets that urge you to sink further into calmness and forget about the stresses of the day.
Everything about the spa was tailor-made to help you relax, and yet, your muscles grow more tense than they’ve ever been when the masseuse steps back into the room.
You’re lying on your front, naked apart from your underwear and the thin towel draped over you. Your face rests in the opening of the bed, and all you can make out is the linoleum flooring as the man moves further into the room.
Not seeing where he is is why you barely stifle the shiver that shoots up your spine when a hand lands on your shoulder.
“Comfortable?” The masseuse asks. Voice so mellowed it almost makes you swoon.
With everything else he had going for him, the fact that he sounded like that was just unfair.
You believe the man’s name is Suguru…you aren’t completely sure because you were too busy gawking to pay attention to anything he was saying when he introduced himself.
Admittedly, when the woman at the front desk asked if you would be okay with a male masseuse, you were not expecting this. Him.
He was—god. He was hot.
Tall. Long black hair pulled into a bun at the base of his skull. Sharp jawed with even sharper eyes; seemingly purple when the sun hit them just right. His peculiar eyes matched the colour of his uniform, and although it was loose-fitting, you could still make out the shape of lean muscle underneath.
A murmur of your name brings you back to the present, and remembering he asked you a question, you nod.
“Yes, I’m comfortable.”
“Good,” He hums, and you swear you feel it between your legs.
God, maybe you were ovulating or something.
The towel is pulled down to the small of your back, and you shift as cool air feathers over your skin.
“Are there any areas you want me to avoid?”
You merely shake your head, not trusting what would come out of your mouth if you tried to answer him.
“Anything you want me to focus on?”
Your thoughts immediately veer into whorish territory that has you shaking your head as if to physically expel them.
Suguru moves around the room and a match strikes as he presumably lights another candle.
It takes a while to find your voice again, “My back and shoulders, if you don’t mind.”
A chuckle filters through the room. Deep and amused and sexy as all get out, “Of course not. It’s my job after all.”
You flush at the reminder and hear him move closer. The tips of his shoes come into view as he stops beside the bed.
“Let me know when you want to stop.”
That’s the only warning you get before his hands are on you. Work-worn and skilful, he lathers fragrant oil over your skin and works it deep into your pores.
For a few minutes, his hands are tentative. Slow and studious as he notes your reactions to each touch and stows them away for later use.
He listens to the sigh that leaves your lips when he massages your shoulders. The groan when he works down the length of your back and the stifled giggle when he traces his fingertips along your ribs. Then once he has enough marked down, he grows more sure of himself. He maps out every curve and contour of your skin with kneads and rubs that have your eyes threatening to roll back. Knowing exactly when to ease up, when to be firmer and apply pressure and where to press and hold until you grunt in relief.
Whatever tension that tightened your body loosens under his touch. And you’re sure you’d leave as nothing more than a satisfied puddle by the time he was done.
The massage is steadily lulling you to sleep. But just when your eyes start to flutter shut, he moves to massage your legs. You blink when he pulls them apart, fingers pressing past soft flesh to smooth out all the knots underneath. Suguru skates up the soles of your feet, past your calves and the backs of your knees, then higher, higher until he gets to your thighs.
Your body stiffens again, and he must feel it because he stills for a moment. “Is everything okay?”
You try to give him an affirmative hum, but you’re shaking, and a particularly hard quake wracks through you when his hands move to your inner thighs.
He pauses when you don’t answer, and you have to clear your throat to get rid of the lump that attempts to form.
“I’m fine,” you say. While your voice comes out a little thin, you think you sounded convincing enough.
You really hope you did.
“Good,” he answers and you allow a small sigh to leave you, “I’m going to move to your glutes now.”
Wait what?
The sheet is pulled up over your ass, and you have no time to react or dwell on the cold because his warm palms immediately land on your skin. Both chasing and leaving more goosebumps in their wake.
Something sparks low in your belly with each squeeze that’s delivered to the plush flesh. A small ember at first, then the longer he goes on, the more the ache builds. Slowly, it seeps between your legs in a fiery hot rush that has your panties clinging to you.
You feel Suguru's fingers catch along the lace, and your breath hitches.
“Is this pressure okay?”
Your nod is all he needs to work with newfound vigour. Moving between massaging your thighs, your ass and your hips until you can't even stop yourself from squirming anymore.
Heat blooms across your cheeks when he pauses, and you want the ground to swallow you whole because you know he sees it.
The desperation. The want. Possibly even the slick dampness of your ruined panties.
Embarrassment has you whispering an apology even as nerves bubble deep in your stomach, each pop so loud, you're sure he can hear it. But when you try to press your legs together, he stops you.
“Physiological responses are natural, you don’t need to apologise,” he says so gently, it makes you feel even worse.
Whatever he was getting paid definitely wasn't enough to be dealing with clients like you.
Your chest expands with a deep breath as you try to make yourself calm down through sheer force of will. You’re slowly coming back into yourself when his murmured question sets you off balance again.
“Would you like me to keep going?”
Something about the way he asks that is odd.
It lacks the professional lilt that all his earlier questions had as he assessed your discomfort.
This time, it was low. Sensual. And hedged between a purr that would’ve made your thighs squeeze if he wasn't still holding them apart.
You take a moment to gather yourself, then you lift your head towards him, just barely. And yes, the moment you see the look on his face, you know for sure he isn't just talking about the massage.
Suguru’s eyes are dark as they drag over your face. Slow, patiently appraising and hungry as he takes in the flush of your cheeks and the pout of your plump lips. His pupils are blown so wide that only a small circle of violet remains.
His head tilts in silent question, and you swallow as more heat spurs. Your chin dips in a small nod, and he shakes his head.
“I need to hear you say it,” He demands in that sexy, soft-spoken rumble. “Out loud.”
You force out a breath and with it, throw your pride aside like it was weighing on you.
“Keep going,” you say. He merely arches a dark brow at you– as if waiting for more. It takes you a hot minute to figure out what it is, but once you do, you whisper the word bulldozes the last flimsy pillar of professionalism branched between the two of you: “Please?”
A beat of silence.
Then he smiles. Monolid eyes shape into small crescents that are a little too sharp at the edges. Tipping with something dark. Like he's held back long enough, and your go-ahead is all he needed for the mask to crack.
It makes the hairs on your arms stand.
What the fuck did you just get yourself into?
You still weren't sure, but you were in too deep to stop now.
You're sat on the edge of the bed, towel and panties long discarded, and your legs spread wide.
The man between them holds you open, eyes crudely assessing as he stares down the apex of your thighs.
“What do you need?” he asks as his fingers stroke over trembling flesh. You don't answer right away, and eyes flicker up to yours. “I’m here for your pleasure, sweetheart. Tell me what you need.”
The words make your heart kicks little harder, and you feel yourself get wetter. Thighs slick with arousal and dripping down to the sheets below. He watches it all happen of course, but doesn’t rush you to answer.
“Your fingers.” You voiced quietly, and he hums low in the back of his throat. Gripping your skin a little harder.
“Want them inside this pretty pussy?” If he took too long, you were sure you’d cum from his voice alone.
Thankfully, he doesn’t make you wait. Middle and ring fingers brush over your clit. Featherlight, but enough to make it twitch in need anyway.
Your hips buck and before you can do something crazy like beg him, he promptly slides both digits into your cunt. The sound that comes out of your mouth makes you slap a hand over it, and he chuckles like he finds the reaction cute.
“You don't have to worry about staying quiet. The walls here are so thick they're practically soundproof.” You don't move fast enough, so he drives his fingers deeper into you as if trying to force the sounds out. You whine against your palm, and he brings his thumb down to work on your clit, “Let me hear you.”
Your hand falls.
A moan cracks into the air, mingling with the sharp hiss that escapes him.
“Ah, there you go,” he kneels, and you think a part of you dies.
His head sinks between your thighs, tongue peeking out to drag a lavish lick up your slit that makes you shudder. Suguru groans against your pussy. Feral, desperate and deep enough that it vibrates through you in dizzying shockwaves. Then his mouth is everywhere, eating you out like it had no purpose before this. And free hand cupping your ass to bring you in impossibly closer.
His lithe fingers swirl despite your walls clenching tight around them. Moving as if they were looking for something.
You realise too late what it is.
Only he curls them just right, and they find purchase against a spot that has your hand gripping his hair, trying to push him off.
You know what you felt like when you were about to cum, and this wasn’t that. This was too sleek, too intense to be a normal orgasm, but even when you try to warn the man, he doesn't let up.
“Can feel it,” He rasps after releasing your clit with a wet pop, “Give it to me.”
“I—fuck, wait,” Your trembling thighs close around his head as your orgasm hits you hard and fast, and you see him lift his mouth long enough to watch the burst of clear liquid that gushes from you.
Your lips gape at the sight but he merely goes back and licks up every drop, mouth relentless– almost punishing–while incoherent sobs that vaguely sound like his name leave your mouth.
Your eyes are teary by the time he pulls back with his chin and lips glistening.
“That’s one,” he whispers, and you freeze, because why did he say that like there were a lot more to come?
While trepidation makes your skin prickle, your pussy, ever the traitorous whore, twitches needily. Already rearing to go again.
Suguru cups the back of your neck and pulls you into a kiss, messy enough to make blood rush up your neck. He rolls his tongue around yours, flicking it as he did with your clit, making you taste yourself on him.
You hear the rasp of fabric as he moves between your legs, sliding his pants off but when you try to glance down, his hold on your neck tightens.
“Don't,” a few strands of his hair came loose and they brush over his forehead when he shakes his head, “You’ll panic if you look.”
The implication behind that statement, makes you pause. He thought you’d panic if you looked at his cock?
Just how big was he?
“Don’t worry, I’ll go slow.” he waits until you nod before he covers your body with his, lining the flared tip of his length against your entrance and slowly pushing in.
You have less than an inch seated inside when the girth makes you claw at his shirt.
“Oh,” you huff. Surprise colouring your tone. “I see why you told me not to look.”
His hips pause with your pained hiss. “Too much?”
“Yes,” your legs wrap around his waist. “Don't stop.”
He groans like you wounded him and sinks deeper, cock stretching you wide enough to make you stop breathing altogether.
“Breathe, baby,” he whispers, but you can’t. Every time you try it's like trying to inhale underwater. It’s too heavy and so suffocating all that comes out is a choked moan.
Suguru’s fingers apply pressure to the sides of your throat, gently massaging.
“Breathe,” he says again, broad chest rising then falling, silently encouraging you to match the pattern. His eyes go dark when you comply, sweet sighs fanning over his mouth, copying his. “Good girl.”
He rears back to take his shirt off and you’re graced with tanned skin and sculpted muscle that distracts you long enough to let him deeper.
Your nails rake down his back once he’s on you again. Cuttingly sharp whereas his touches are soft as he smooths his hands over your skin, coaxing out all the tension that has you wound up.
Each caress is torturous and deliberate. Shaping over your hips and squeezing your breasts until a mewl echoes.
“Feels so good,” he breathes, then kisses you again.
It's devastatingly disarming, and he knows it, because when your body relaxes under him, he wastes no time in driving forward and burying himself to the hilt. Your back arches, and he catches the curve of it with his hand, pulling you against him.
“I know, baby,” his jaw is clenched tight. Hips rutting so his pelvic bone rolls onto your clit. You wind your legs around him tighter and the massage table whines under your combined weight. “Fuck, stretching so tight around me.”
You know you're being loud when he starts moving. At first, you didn't trust him when he said the walls were thick but right now you don't seem to care.
“So full,” you mumble against his mouth, and he grunts, delivering a brutal thrust that jostles you both.
“Yeah? Where do you feel it, hm?” his palm reaches for your stomach, flattening over the small bulge his cock leaves every time he pumps into you. “Right here?”
All you manage are frantic nods, and he slides his hand down to grind the heel into your clit. Your body tries to buck, but he's so close you can't do more than shiver.
You're wringing his cock dry. Swallowing every inch and squeezing until his balls draw up. They slap against your ass, messy and loud with your slick, only to get drowned out by your panicked gasp.
“I’m close,” you warn, and he nods in response, pace turning desperate as he chases his own high.
The once comforting blend of scents filtering through the air makes your head swirl.
“Cum with me,” he demands, and there's not a lot you can do to hold off any longer. Pleasure hooks into your spine, and Suguru holds you against his body. The tremors shaking you pass into him and back again.
His grip on your hip is bruising as he spills rope after rope of his cum as deep as he can go, shuddering with his release and letting out breathless moans and gasps that almost send you off the edge again.
Cum spills down your thighs when he pulls out, and he's pushing you back down when you try to get up.
“I’ve got you. Relax,” he says, and hell, he doesn't have to tell you twice.
Your body feels heavy against the bed when he walks away. Water trickles then he’s back again. You can’t lift your head to make sure but you feel the heat of him. And the heat of the cloth that's dragged between your legs as he cleans you with practised ease. When you flinch, still tender and sensitive he only coos and kisses your knee.
Suguru lifts you and readjusts your position on the massage bed, making sure you’re comfortable before draping the towel over your torso again.
“I don't have an appointment for another hour,” he informs you and your lashes flutter, eyes bleary and drawing low with sleep. “You should some rest. I’ll wake you up in a couple minutes.”
You manage a small nod while he shuffles through the room.
It takes a little longer for him to return, but when he does his uniform is back on. Unwrinkled and neat. Hair without as much as a strand out of place.
He touches you again, massaging your shoulders in slow circles that have you drifting closer to dreamland and continues the treatment as if nothing had happened, lazily working his hands over your limp body.
“Finally relaxed.” He hums his approval when you soften under his touch, tracing his fingers over your sternum.
Yeah, definitely coming back next month. You think.
Though next week was probably closer to the truth.
firelord zuko who loves going to the southern water tribe not just bc it makes katara happy but also bc he’s treated like a normal guy and is put to work and only needs to do breathing exercises to remain optimally warm. not only is he meditating as he goes, he can make himself SO useful outside of the politics of it all. kanna doesn’t feel like using the spark rocks for a fire? chop chop blowtorch boy, the fire won’t start itself. they need hot water? yeah katara’s boy can heat that up in a few seconds and he can also do the laundry. he’ll get to you in a minute he’s making me tea. hakoda is like mom you can’t just demand the firelord does chores and kanna goes well he’s not the firelord here is he. hashtag not my firelord. and don’t pretend you didn’t come in here to take him hunting. zuko is like oh i can tag along if you need me to and kanna goes no you need to do dishes after that tea is done. hakoda slinks back out and is like sorry boys the space heater can’t go, and sokka is like ah fuck. is gran-gran hogging him again. i was hoping he could warm my hands when they get cold. and katara goes well i wish you would all stop stealing my boyfriend but we can’t all get what we want can we sokka.
Sylus is (only slightly) disappointed. Don't you know your importance yet?
a/n: more fluff, cause that man worships the ground his lady walks on
word count: 944
pairing: sylus x reader
1:45am
You stare at your phone screen and let out a long sigh. The lights in the room are dimmed and relaxing, like they always are, but the quiet makes it feel lonely. Sylus had promised he wouldn’t be much longer over an hour ago, yet here you lie, in a bed that’s too big for one. The heavy down comforter and the silk-clad pillows feel cold somehow. You turn over to face his side of the bed, reaching out to run your palm over the mattress where he should be.
With a determined huff, you throw the blanket off and grab one of the ridiculous pillows as you roll out of the bed. You step into your slippers; they tap against the expensive marble floor. The pillow you grabbed folds in half the harder you clutch it against you as you make your way through Sy’s room and down the hall.
His office doors are cracked open when you arrive. You can hear him having some kind of conversation the closer you get. The urge to turn away gnaws at you. He’s doing business. Probably important, considering he still hasn’t made time for you. And it is technically the middle of his day.
You drag a deep, quiet breath through your nose and turn about halfway on your heel when you hear him.
“Come in, kitten.”
It’s a soft command. His tone sounds like he knew you were there the moment you came closer to the doors. You bite your lip gently and hug the pillow to the front of you— mostly to hide your face somewhat—before pushing the doors open.
Sylus’s eyes glance up at you quickly, his phone to his ear, his glasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose. He takes you in, standing there in your silk slip and overly luxurious fuzzy slippers; they were both gifts from him. Your hair’s mussed, probably from tossing and turning in bed. His face softens like he’s suddenly remembered a promise he made. But before he can say anything, his eyes follow as you move across the room.
Next to the full wall of windows, a black velvet chaise takes up space. It didn’t used to, but you always wanted to be close by, even when he was working. Even if it meant lounging with a book while he talked business and managed important N109 happenings. There was a throw blanket neatly folded on the edge, also your addition. You lay your pillow down and crawl onto the plush cushion, pulling the throw blanket over you. Neon lights from outside cast a purplish glow over your features as you settle in, looking more at ease. A grin tugs at his lips and he sighs quietly.
“Change of plans,” he says into his phone. “We’ll talk later.”
It’s the only explanation he gives to whoever’s on the other end. He hangs up and both the phone and his glasses are placed carefully on the desk. You make no effort to move.
“I could’ve gone home, you know,” you remind him sheepishly, unable to meet his eyes.
“Does that mean you’d like to go home now?”
His voice is soft, gentle. Like he can guess the answer, but it’s more of a hope than a certainty that he’s correct.
A long moment passes and he watches you pull your legs closer to your chest.
“...No.”
Sylus huffs a laugh; to you it’s just a noise, but to him, it’s an admission of relief. He pulls in a steady breath and rises from his chair. Three long strides bring him to the edge of the chaise and in a few seconds, he’s scooping you up, pillow and all. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck while you hide your face against him.
“I’m sorry I got wrapped up. Some of our–let’s call them business partners–think they’re awfully bold lately. Growing too comfortable, I assume. They needed to be reminded of their place.”
“I wasn’t angry, really. Just lonely.”
“Mm, and yet, you didn’t come get me sooner.”
His heavy footsteps fill the hall as he carries you, his thumb rubbing circles along your arm. After arriving in the bedroom again, he locks the door behind you and kisses the top of your head. He lays you in the bed gently like you’re a treasure that should be handled with care. You expect him to move towards the bathroom–he always showers before joining you for the night–but he lingers over you. His eyes are intense, studying you. For some reason, his brow is furrowed.
“If you’re lonely, don’t hesitate to drag me away. In fact, the greedier you are, the better.”
He leans down and places a small kiss on your forehead. They trail down your temple, your cheek, and eventually to your lips. But they don’t stop there. His nose nuzzles under your jaw, kisses peppering your neck. A shiver travels your spine.
“Someday, I’ll convince you of your status. Your importance.”
The small marks he begins to make leave you breathless. The strap of your slip falls off your shoulder as his nose traces your clavicle.
“My queen.”
Kiss.
“My empress.”
The words and the worship make you flush. His teeth and his tongue leave one final mark on your shoulder before he rises slightly, pressing his forehead against yours. One of his hands rubs a soothing pattern up and down your side.
“My life is empty without you. You don’t need permission to want me. To need me. I would burn the world for you. Do you understand, kitten?”
You nod, finally meeting his molten eyes.
“Good girl.”
We love dramatic kisses between dialogue in this house ha haaaa
the club moss I got for my terrarium is dying, despite being lovingly packed into organic soil with oven-fried leaf litter and bioactive springtails and isopods, and meanwhile in my fridge my fuck ass onions are sending out bright green shoots as happy as could be in their cold dark box of fucking nothing
Summary: After a draining mission, you collapse into an unplanned two-day sleep, leaving Sylus increasingly concerned.
You do not notice how tired you are until you stop moving.
The mission ends cleanly. No loose ends, no lingering danger, just the familiar feeling of adrenaline fading from your system as you make your way home.
You go through the motions without thinking. Shoes off. Jacket discarded somewhere near the door. A glass of water you barely touch.
You sit down for a moment.
The next thing you know, everything is gone.
Sylus notices when you do not answer.
At first, he assumes you are resting. You had mentioned the mission. He knows how those go.
He gives you time. Then some more time.
By the end of the first day, his messages go from casual to pointed.
Report in.
You are ignoring me.
Kitten.
No response.
He does not like that.
By the second day, he stops pretending it does not matter. So, he does the only reasonable thing, and goes over to your place.
Your place is quiet when he arrives.
Too quiet.
He steps inside, eyes assessing the space quickly.
Nothing is disturbed. No signs of struggle. No danger.
Just stillness.
He finds you in your bedroom.
Curled into the sheets, breathing slow and deep, completely unmoving.
For a second, something tightens in his chest.
He crosses the room quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing against your wrist. Checking.
Your pulse is steady.
He exhales, a weight falls off him.
“Unbelievable. You sleep for two days and expect me not to notice.”
You do not stir, his voice is low.
Sylus studies you for a moment longer. Your body slacks with a kind of exhaustion that goes beyond simple tiredness.
He knows this look, because he has done this many times.
You pushed too far.
His thumb brushes lightly over your wrist, calming himself that you are there, alive. You are just tired.
“Reckless,” he adds quietly.
He stands after a moment, adjusting the blanket over you before leaving the room.
The kitchen feels too empty.
He moves through it as if he belongs there, sleeves rolled up, hands steady. He chooses something simple. Something you will actually eat when you wake up. Nothing heavy, nothing complicated.
The quiet is now filled with sounds.
Water running. A pan heating. The rhythm of something being made with care. He hums as he moves through your place.
He checks on you twice.
You do not wake up just yet.
When you finally do wake up, hunger hits first.
You groan softly, pushing yourself upright, head still heavy but clearer than before. The room feels different. Not wrong. Just… occupied.
Then you smell it.
Food.
Real food. And it smells good.
You blink, confused, and force yourself out of bed.
The kitchen light is on and Sylus is sitting at the table, phone in hand, scrolling like he has nowhere else to be.
You stop in the doorway.
“You are in my house.”
He does not even look up.
“You are awake.”
“I could call this breaking and entering.”
“You could try.”
You roll your eyes, stepping further in. Then you see the table.
Plates. Food. Warm. Fresh.
You stare at it, then at him.
“You cooked?”
He finally glances up, expression calm, almost bored.
“Do not sound so surprised.”
“I am surprised.”
“You should eat. Before you pass out again.”
You sit slowly, still processing, and pick up the fork. The first bite is almost embarrassing in its sheer goodness.
“Oh,” you mumble, already reaching for more. “That is unfair.”
“I know what you like.”
“Yes, but you did not have to…”
He cuts you off lightly.
“You were unconscious for two days.”
You freeze mid bite.
“Two days?”
“Yes.”
“That explains a lot.”
“It explains your poor decision-making,” he corrects.
You glance at him, narrowing your eyes slightly.
“You were worried.”
“No.”
“You came over.”
“I was in the area.”
“You cooked.”
“You needed food.”
You smile faintly, shaking your head as you take another bite.
“You were worried.”
He exhales slowly, clearly unimpressed with your persistence.
“You were unavailable. That is inconvenient.”
“Kitten was not answering her messages,” you add sweetly.
“Do not start.”
You grin.
The silence that follows is comfortable.
You eat, and he watches without making it obvious, attention flicking back to his phone every so often like he needs the distraction.
“So,” he says after a moment, “the mission.”
You lean back slightly, sighing.
“Long. Annoying. Too many moving parts.”
“And you decided to handle all of it yourself.”
“I handled it well.”
“You handled it recklessly.”
You tilt your head.
“It worked.”
“That is not the point.”
You study him for a second, softer now.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend you are annoyed when you are actually worried.”
“I am not worried.”
“You checked my pulse.”
He goes very still for half a second. You raise a brow.
“…Habit,” he says finally.
You laugh quietly, warmth spreading through your chest that has nothing to do with the food.
“Thank you,” you say, more serious now. “For this.”
He looks at you then, properly.
“It is nothing.”
“It is not nothing.”
“It is basic care,” he replies. “You should try it sometime.”
You smile.
“I am trying now.”
That seems to satisfy him.
You finish eating, leaning back with a long sigh.
“I feel human again.”
“You looked worse than human,” he says dryly.
“Charming.”
“I am known for it.”
You watch him for a moment, something gentle in your expression.
“You stayed.”
He does not hesitate.
“Of course.”
You nod slowly.
“Next time,” he adds, standing up and reaching for the plates, “you inform me before you decide to collapse for two days.”
“Yes, sir.”
He pauses, glancing at you with a hint of a smirk.
“Careful.”
You grin.
The kitchen fills with the sound of him cleaning up, and for the first time since the mission ended, everything feels steady again.
And you know, even if he will never say it, he will always come when you need him.
This timing of this fic is ridiculous. Thiss so needed right now, I've been so stressed with submitting assessments I literally threw myself on the bed and passed out for almost 22 hrs, in the middle of a thunderstorm 😭😭 Sylus, the man you are.
itachi’s breath hitched the moment you sank down onto him, slow, aching, like your body was savoring every inch of him.
“f-fuck…” he whispered, voice tight, already shaking. his hands trembled where they rested on your hips, not guiding, not forcing—just there, reverent.
he was so deep.
you settled onto his lap, thighs trembling slightly as his cock filled you completely, stretching you so perfectly, it was like your cunt had been made just to take him.
"itachi," you whispered, smiling gently as your hands cupped his face, thumbs brushing over the faint shadows under his eyes. his lashes fluttered—so long, so unfair on a face so devastating—and he looked at you like you were something holy.
“you feel so good,” you whispered, rolling your hips gently, slow, fluid, teasing the sensitive spots inside you both. "so perfect inside me… fuck, 'tachi… you're so good."
his breath caught. a faint pink spread across those flawless cheekbones. his hands gripped tighter at your waist, trying not to buck up into you—trying to let you have control, but his body trembled with restraint.
“you—you don’t have to say all that,” he murmured, voice hoarse.
you leaned in, brushing your lips against his ear, your walls fluttering around his cock as you whispered, “yes i do, because you deserve it. you’re so good to me. you always take care of me. even when i’m riding you like this… you’re holding back, aren’t you?”
he choked on a groan, his hands digging into your hips now, but still not moving.
you began to ride him slowly, rolling your hips in lazy, sinuous waves. it was almost tender—your pussy hugging every inch of him as you pulled back, then dropped down again with a breathy moan.
“mmm, baby… you’re so big…” you tightened around him on purpose, watching his expression falter. “stretching me out so good. you feel that? how perfect you fit inside me? no one else could ever fill me like this, itachi…”
he whined. it was barely audible, more breath than sound, but his head fell back against the headboard, lips parted, brows pinched with desperate restraint.
“you’re so beautiful, itachi,” you murmured, kissing his throat, his jaw. “even like this… underneath me, being so good, letting me have my way with you… you’re still the most beautiful man i’ve ever seen.”
he finally moved—hips twitching up into you involuntarily as he buried his face in your neck.
“stop—saying things like that—i’ll…”
“what?” you whispered, grinding down against him again. “you’ll lose control?”
his breath hitched. “yes…”
you cupped the back of his head and whispered into his ear, sweet and sinful:
“then lose it for me, itachi. be good and give it to me.”
that broke him.
his arms suddenly wrapped around you tight, dragging your chest flush to his. his hips slammed up into you now, finally, finally fucking into you from beneath with deep, hard strokes that made your whole body jolt with each thrust. his breath was hot in your ear, and his voice—shaky, wrecked, beautiful—trembled against your skin.
“i love you—i love you—i love you—”
and every time he said it, he fucked up into you harder, deeper, like the words themselves were driving him wild. like every stroke was a confession he’d never dared say aloud before now.
you moaned his name, holding him tighter, crying out as his cock hit your softest spots with relentless affection.
he wasn’t rough. he wasn’t fast.
but gods, he was devastating.
“i-itachi—oh my god, i’m—i’m gonna—”
“i’ve got you,” he breathed, kissing your collarbone. “cum for me. please. i want to feel you fall apart.”
and with those soft, desperate words, his cock buried in you, his lips worshiping your skin—you came. hard. your body locked around him, back arching, cunt clenching in wet, rhythmic spasms that milked him perfectly.
itachi groaned so beautifully as he came inside you, hips trembling, mouth pressed to your shoulder as he held you through every wave of it.
when you finally collapsed against him, breathless, legs shaking, he kissed your hair. gently. reverently.
“…did i do okay?” he asked softly.
you laughed through a soft moan. “you were perfect. you’re always perfect.”
and itachi—this terrifying prodigy, this man who could break nations—held you tighter, blushing like a schoolboy, voice soft with wonder:
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