Cursed Cherry 🍒

24✨ I simp for too much people… Your friendly monsterfucker <3

[yenayaps]

sneak peek: ex-bf!sukuna x f!reader (one shot)

content: sorcerer au, angst, canon typical violence, poll at the end (im giving u guys a chance <3)

"I can't do this anymore."

The words came too easy for a man that had spent the last two years waking up with his arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, face buried in the crook of your neck.

“What?” You breathed out what felt like the last pocket of air in your lungs. "What do you mean?"

The knot in your stomach tightened as he sighed and repeated himself, as if answering your question was more effort he was willing to give you. "This. We're wasting our time here... I know you feel it, too."

You didn’t feel that way. At all.

Sukuna broke your heart that day, tore into it more than anyone else ever had. He was never a gentle one. Not once did he ever sugarcoat his words. Never was one to be afraid to say what was on his mind. He kept it up until the very end of your relationship, when he decided to move on with his life without you.

You handled it as well as you could, which was begging for an explanation as you tried to wipe the tears that began to swiftly stream down your cheeks. Yet, even as they began to pour, not once did his hardened expression drop. Sukuna saw the world crumble before your eyes and let it happen.

He didn't try to console you—felt it was better that way, as that’d be the absolute worst of it, because there wouldn't be a moment in the future where you'd have hope in getting back together, since he already succeeded in stripping you of it in the first go.

So he let you cry, stepping back each time you tried to reach out to him, refusing to answer any other questions you had. He just watched as your cheeks slowly dried, leaving behind red, swollen eyes that finally refused to look his way.

"Do you want your stuff back?" he asked after a long pause.

"Just throw it away."

Anyone would've thought that was the first thing he had done the moment he got home, but here he was, eight months later, unable to bring himself to look at your belongings left in his apartment, let alone throw them away.

Nobody points them out. Not his longtime friends, not his one night stands, not even his little brother Yuji, who usually always has something to say.

Yuji, for the most part, wasn’t afraid of Sukuna. Though the one time he genuinely thought his older brother was going to hurt him was eight months ago, when he wouldn’t take “mind your business” as an answer as to why he just dumped you the way he did.

“I thought you loved her.”

He fucking did.

He still does, more than anyone would ever know.

Which was exactly why he ended things, and hearing those words coming out of his little brother's mouth left him so enraged that his hands found themselves wrapped around Yuji’s neck until his face threatened to turn a deadly shade of blue.

Neither have brought up the events of what happened that day, but one thing was made clear: Sukuna was in just as much pain as you.

—

He thought you were just shy at first.

The new girl at Tokyo Jujutsu High, transferring from the Kyoto branch at the very last minute, halfway through senior year.

He noticed it immediately—how you managed to leave a conversation just as he entered it, how you always seemed to be on the other side of the room whenever you two found yourselves in the same one. Being the confrontational person he was (and very much still is) he finally found an opportunity to ask why you always dodged him about a month later, during a joint mission you couldn’t turn down.

"I think you're rude."

That wasn't quite what he wanted to hear. He stood there for a moment, almost dumbfounded by the simple yet straightforward answer. "What?"

"Yeah," you say, looking at him as if the answer should've been obvious. Your tone was soft as you spoke, but he clearly got the wrong impression of you as you began to pretty much tear him a new one. "I don’t know… you’re just like an asshole to everyone—makes me not even want to open my mouth around you.” You begin to laugh. “I don't wanna be the next person you berate for saying something you don’t like. No way.”

He scoffs, "so you don't feel safe around me because you think I'm an asshole?"

"Never said that I didn't feel safe," you corrected him, sighing as you wondered why you couldn't have just flown under the radar again that day. "I'd say uncomfortable would be a better word."

"That's the same fuckin' thing sweetheart.” Sukuna laughed, and it was a bitter one because he really wanted to grab dinner with you after finishing that mission, not spend the rest of the train ride back failing at defending his name.

Did that stop him from coming around you? Nope.

In fact, he started hovering around you even more afterwards, somehow managing to be a dick while also marking his territory so neither Gojo nor Geto would try to go for you.

They were strong, both Special Grade, just like him. They’ve both snapped in the past, too, showing Jujutsu Society just how much damage they were capable of creating if things didn’t go their way. But Sukuna never needed to snap, he had always radiated an energy that conjured a deep fear within the elders. They didn’t need to see what atrocities he was capable of committing, they didn’t want to know, either.

He used to knock the wind out of you during training. Throwing you in the air before you landed hard on your back. It always hurt. Some days you’d be struggling, trying so damn hard not to limp on your way back to your dorm afterwards. The worst part of it all was you knew he was taking it easy on you, and you couldn’t hate him, no matter how much you wanted to. It’s like a part of you already knew he just wanted to make you stronger—his own fucked up way of showing that he cared enough to not want to see you end up like Haibara.

Then one day, you finally snapped, too.

Air manipulation. You’d tested a new technique on Sukuna after realizing you could probably vacuum seal his lungs if you tried hard enough, and you put your heart and soul into it after he threw you down for the last time. The only reason why you weren’t executed for attempted murder against a fellow sorcerer was because Sukuna himself stood before the higher ups, all bruised and battered, and threatened to kill every last one of them and their loved ones if they touched even just a single hair on your head.

“An eye for eye,” he had told them. It was his own way of confessing, after only knowing you for less than six months.

notes: hiiii this is an old wip from last year that i forgot about lol i ended up remixing it a little and changed the au bc modern sorcerer sukuna is NGHHHHHHHH (this is completely separate from “me and the devil” tho, if you’ve read it)

anyways, i’ve been wanting to finish it and just wanted to do a little poll bc im torn on which direction to take.

choose ur destiny

angst comfort

angst no comfort

Remaining time: 1 day 19 hours

[poisionedkissez]

𝐆𝐨 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐦𝐞! ✶ 𝙕𝙪𝙠𝙤

───── 𝗓𝗎𝗄𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾, 𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗋𝖽-𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾, 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗈 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 — 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆 𝗂𝗌, 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗅𝗒, 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗉𝗁𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 !

───── canon era! fire lord!zuko x gender neutral reader 2.4𝑘 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗒, 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗀𝗎𝗂𝗌𝖾, 𝖻𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽

inspired by “lovefool” — the cardigans

˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ✦

BEING THE FIRE PRINCE, as it turns out, means you are never, under any circumstances, alone.

there are guards outside your door when you wake up. guards trailing four paces behind you at breakfast, close enough that zuko has taken to lowering his voice to a near-whisper whenever he wants to tell you something even mildly personal, which, given how private he is by nature, means most of your actual conversations happen in hushed half-sentences with someone in full armor standing a polite distance away, pretending very hard not to listen.

there are guards outside the bathhouse, which he has complained about extensively and at length, mostly to you, mostly at midnight, in the particular exhausted voice of a man who has not had one single unwitnessed moment since his coronation.

there are guards, he once told you, bitterly, even outside the door when he cries, which had made you laugh so hard you'd had to apologize, and which had made him laugh too, eventually, because it was, objectively, a very stupid thing to be upset about, and also the exact kind of stupid thing that wears a person down over months and months of never once being unseen.

so when he shows up at your chambers on a rare free evening with a look of fierce determination on his face and something bundled under his arm, you know, instantly, that he’s planning something reckless.

“i want to take you somewhere,” he announces, setting his shoulders like he's bracing for an argument. “just us. no guards. no council. no anybody.”

“zuko, the council would have a collective aneurysm.”

“the council doesn’t need to know.” he sets the bundle down on your table with the triumphant air of a man revealing a masterstroke of strategy several years in the making. “which is why i’ve prepared a disguise.”

you look at the bundle. then at him. “a disguise.”

“a disguise.”

“you've prepared a disguise.”

“i have been planning this,” he says, with the wounded dignity of someone who feels his effort is already being undervalued, “for two weeks.”

“two weeks.”

“give or take.”

he unwraps the bundle with real ceremony, like he’s presenting the crown jewels to a foreign dignitary, and lays out, piece by piece: a wide straw hat, brim slightly bent from what you can only assume was overly enthusiastic transport. a pair of round wire-rimmed glasses that look suspiciously like they were lifted off some elderly council member's writing desk, possibly mid-meeting. and, most alarmingly, a small dark strip of what you can only assume is meant to be a mustache — clearly hand-cut, clearly by someone with absolutely no prior mustache-crafting experience, and clearly assembled, based on the slightly matted texture, from something that used to belong to an animal.

“zuko.”

“yes.”

“what is that.”

“it's a mustache.”

“is it made of yak fur?”

“…it might be partially from appa.”

“partially.”

“there was also some horsehair involved. from a cushion. i didn't ask whose.”

you stare at him. he stares back, entirely unbothered, as though he has just handed you a perfectly reasonable, sensible object and cannot understand your hesitation.

“you made a mustache,” you say slowly, “out of a stolen cushion and appa's sheddings, in secret, over the course of two weeks, so that we could get noodles.”

“when you say it like that it sounds excessive.”

“it is excessive, zuko, i haven't said it any particular way, that's just what happened.”

“it's not that excessive.” he pauses. “i also made a backup mustache. in case the first one didn't hold.”

you put your face in your hands.

˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ✦

twenty minutes later, you are standing in the courtyard, staring at your husband-to-be, fire lord of the nation, scarred and unmistakable and instantly recognizable to literally anyone who has ever seen a single fire nation coin in the last three years — now wearing a hat pulled low, glasses perched crookedly on his nose, and a mustache stuck slightly askew above his upper lip, already beginning to peel at one corner in the evening humidity.

you stare at him for several long seconds.

“do you genuinely think nobody will recognize you?” you ask, finally, faintly.

he looks, somehow, offended. “it worked on you.”

“i was being nice.”

“what?”

“zuko. i recognized you from the doorway. i recognized you before you finished unwrapping the mustache. i think i would recognize you underwater, at night, from a hundred feet away, wearing a full suit of armor.”

“that's different, you know what i actually look like.”

“everyone knows what you actually look like! you're on the money!”

he pulls the glasses down his nose slightly, peering at you over the top of them with the specific wounded dignity of a man whose master plan is unraveling in real time. “my face is mosstly covered by the hat brim.”

“it is not covered by the hat brim. i can see it right now. i am looking directly at it.”

“the mustache is a good distraction.”

“the mustache looks like a small dead animal fell asleep on your face, zu.”

“it's artisanal.”

“it's made of appa's fur that you personally admitted to cutting yourself with, i'm assuming, a knife meant for something else entirely.”

“a ceremonial letter opener. that's not important right now.”

“a ceremonial — ”

“the point is,” he says, raising his voice slightly over your disbelief, “the hat, the glasses, and the mustache together create an entirely different silhouette. i read about this. disguises are about silhouette.”

“you read about this.”

“there was a very old book in the archive about fire nation spies during the hundred year war. it had a whole chapter.”

“and did the chapter mention that spies usually don't have a very famous face?”

he opens his mouth. closes it again. “the book didn't cover every scenario.”

“clearly.”

he sighs, long and put-upon, and reaches up to adjust the hat, which promptly slides even further down his forehead, tipping precariously toward his nose. you watch him battle it back into place with the same grim determination he probably brought to actual firebending duels, and you press your lips together, trying — and largely failing — to hold back a laugh.

“okay,” you manage, wiping at your eyes. “okay. let's say, hypothetically, we go through with this. where exactly were you planning to take your extremely convincing disguised self.”

his whole face brightens instantly, offense forgotten, replaced by something much softer and more eager. “there's a noodle stall by the harbor. the one you liked, from when we went with sokka. i wanted—” he pauses, and some of the bravado slips, leaving something a little more honest underneath it. “i wanted one night where nobody's watching us. where i'm not the fire lord and you're not, you know. having to be so careful all the time. i just wanted us to be normal, for an evening. i thought if i looked different enough, no one would bother us, and we could just—” he shrugs, a little helpless. “be regular people. eating noodles. i don't know. it sounded better in my head.”

and — well. that, you don't have the heart to argue with, mustache or no mustache.

“okay,” you say, softer now, taking his hand. “okay, let's go be regular people.”

“really?”

“really. i reserve the right to laugh at you the entire time, though.”

“that seems fair,” he admits. “i would probably laugh at me too.”

˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ✦

the disguise, unsurprisingly, does not survive contact with the general public.

it starts unraveling almost immediately — the mustache peels a little further with every gust of harbor wind, until it's hanging on by what appears to be sheer stubbornness, flapping faintly whenever zuko speaks. you decide, out of either mercy or morbid curiosity, not to mention it.

he adopts, somewhere around the palace gates, a low, gravelly voice that he seems to believe is disguising him further, and which fools absolutely no one, least of all you.

“evening,” he says to a passing fruit vendor, in this new voice, nodding gravely.

the vendor blinks, startled, bows immediately and deeply. “fire prince.”

“i'm not — ” zuko clears his throat, drops the voice entirely, looking mildly betrayed. “how did you know?”

“your highness, you're standing under a lantern.”

“that shouldn't matter.”

“it illuminates your face, sir.”

zuko turns to you with the expression of a man personally wronged by basic physics. you say nothing, biting your lip so hard it nearly hurts, and let him pull his hat down lower and march determinedly onward, undeterred, already formulating — you can practically see it happening behind his eyes — some kind of revised strategy for the next encounter.

the mustache finally gives up entirely two streets later, victim to a particularly stiff gust off the water, drifting down onto the cobblestones behind you like a small, defeated leaf. zuko doesn't notice for a full five minutes, continuing to mutter in his gravelly disguise-voice at a bewildered street performer, while you decide, out of pure love, to let him have this.

“your mustache,” you finally tell him, gently, once you've composed yourself, “has left us.”

he reaches up, feels his bare upper lip, and goes through several stages of grief in the span of about four seconds. “when.”

“a while ago. i didn't want to interrupt you. you seemed very committed to the bit with the juggler.”

“he wasn't even a juggler. he was selling fish.”

“but you told him your regards to his ‘circus.’ ? ”

“…i had thought that was a metaphor.”

“it was not.”

he presses both hands briefly to his face, and you hear, muffled between his fingers, a small, disbelieving laugh — the good kind, the kind that means he's finally starting to find it funny too, rather than merely tragic.

“i had a backup,” he reminds you, weakly, digging in his robes.

“zu, no.”

he produces the second mustache anyway, slightly more lopsided than the first, and holds it up between two fingers like a tiny, sad trophy.

“put that away.”

“i worked very hard on this one.”

“put it away, zu, i can see three separate palace staff pretending not to recognize you from across the street, we do not need a second act.”

“fine,” he grumbles, tucking it back into his sleeve with real reluctance, as if he might still find an opportunity for it later in the evening, which, knowing him, he genuinely might.

˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ✦

by the time you actually reach the noodle stall, the hat is the only piece of the disguise still technically intact, sitting crooked over hair that's gone thoroughly windswept, and the glasses have long since been abandoned in his pocket after he complained, three separate times, that he couldn't see properly through them.

the noodle vendor recognizes him immediately anyway — bows so low he nearly topples his own cart — and zuko sighs, defeated, and finally pulls the hat off entirely, resigned.

“i genuinely don't understand how,” he mutters, setting it on the bench beside him like a small casualty. “i had the glasses and everything.”

“my fire prince,” the vendor says, delighted, entirely unbothered by protocol, already ladling out two bowls without needing to be asked, clearly remembering your last visit. “you're on the coin i use to pay my rent.”

“that's what i said,” you tell him, patting zuko's arm consolingly.

he sighs again, long-suffering, but when you slide onto the bench beside him and steal a noodle straight off his plate without asking, some of the disappointment melts clean off his face, replaced by that soft, helpless look he only ever seems to have around you — scarred and recognized and thoroughly under-disguised, but here anyway, sitting on a rickety bench by the harbor with the salt air in his hair and you laughing at him over a shared bowl of noodles.

“this isn't exactly the anonymous evening i had planned,” he admits, watching the last of the sunset bleed orange across the water.

“no,” you agree. “but everyone's being very polite about not staring, which i think is the best you're going to get, all things considered.”

“small victories.”

“very small. your mustache is currently somewhere on the palace road being investigated by a turtle-duck, i'd imagine.”

“don't remind me.”

“for what it's worth,” you add, quieter now, bumping your shoulder gently against his, “the effort was extremely cute. genuinely. terrible plan, execution, and mustache, but a beautiful heart behind all of it.”

“i'm keeping the second one,” he says, with the stubborn conviction of a man who has learned absolutely nothing from tonight. “for next time.”

“there's going to be a next time?”

“obviously.” he says it like it's the most natural thing in the world, already reaching for your hand under the table, thumb brushing slow against your knuckles. “i haven't perfected the technique yet. i think the silhouette theory was sound. i just need — a better hat, maybe. a more convincing voice.”

“zu, i love you, but please, for both our sakes, let the mustache dream die.”

“i'll make a better one. no yak this time.”

“oh, no.”

“something more durable.”

“please tell me you're joking.”

“i'm the fire prince,” he says, with mock solemnity, entirely unable to keep the smile off his face now. “i don't joke about facial hair.”

he laughs — really laughs, head tipped back, the sound of it easy and unguarded in a way it so rarely gets to be anymore, especially not out here, in public, without a single guard in sight for the first time in longer than either of you can remember — and reaches over to lace his fingers properly with yours, tugging your hand up to press a warm kiss against your knuckles.

“next time,” he says, softer now, “i'll think of something better.”

“next time,” you agree, leaning your head against his shoulder, entirely unbothered by the occasional stare of the other harbor patrons, all of whom have clearly given up pretending not to recognize their own fire lord eating noodles in a bent hat, “maybe just tell the guards to take the night off. much simpler than the mustache.”

“…that would have worked, actually.”

“i know.”

“i'm still counting tonight as a win.”

“you would.”

“we got noodles. i got to hold your hand in public without someone clearing their throat about protocol. and,” he adds, with real, if slightly deranged, satisfaction, “i still have a spare mustache for round two.”

“that last part is not the victory you think it is.”

“agree to disagree.”

he presses a kiss to the top of your head, warm and easy, the hat abandoned entirely on the bench, the harbor breeze cool and salt-sweet around you both, and you decide, noodles cooling and disguise thoroughly destroyed by wind and physics and one very honest fruit vendor, that you wouldn't have traded the terrible mustache plan for a single second of it.

“for the record,” you murmur, some time later, once the bowls are empty and the sky has gone properly dark, stars starting to show over the water, “i'd let you drag me out here with a much worse disguise than that. you didn't need any of it. i'd have come anyway.”

zuko goes quiet for a moment, the way he does when something lands somewhere real, and presses another kiss, slower this time, to your temple.

“i know,” he admits. “i think i just wanted an excuse to try. to do something a little ridiculous, for you, instead of something official, for once.”

“well,” you say, smiling against his shoulder, “mission extremely accomplished, on the ridiculous part specifically.”

“i'll take it.”

and when the two of you finally head back toward the palace, hand in hand, hat swinging loosely from his other fingers, mustache still safely — regrettably — tucked in his robes for whatever future disaster he's already quietly planning, you find you genuinely, thoroughly wouldn't have wanted the evening to go any other way.

END

[unknown-apple]

Mayhaps familial fluff with Fire Lord Zuko and Fire Lady reader? They have a few little ones already, maybe another on the way, and it’s just a cute little family day that they were able to delegate?

Zuko seems like the type to play on the floor with his kids, teach them to swim, feed animals with them—just really cute stuff even though his RBF paired with his scar makes him look scary-

Notes: damn bro, I took the whole day and some more to write this (got stuck a few times and had to ask my friends for help) BUT HERE IT IS! Hope you enjoy it!! Also, it's not proofread so if you find typos pls ignore them 🙏🏻

Tags: fluff, sprinkles of angst, your and Zuko's kids have names, their ages are left up to interpretation. Mentions of pregnancy. (tell me if I missed something in the comments)

Word Count: 2,394

divider by @/pxrce-lain

Zuko being able to spend time with his family— actual time, and not just the few moments in the early hours of the morning when he got ready, kissed you goodbye, pat the kids on the head, and went to work. No, this was one of those one in a blue moon times where he had the day off.

Naturally, he wanted to spend the day with you and his kids, so without telling you he could, he woke up early and went into the kids' rooms, woke them up and whispered to them: "Let's surprise your mother" with a silly grin on his face.

Your daughter, Nami, the youngest of the two, jumped in excitement, meanwhile, your son, Kai, rolled over on his bed, groaned, and only got up after his father pulled the covers off of him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going…" He said, rubbing his tired eyes to try to get sleep to let him go.

Nami waited for her brother, while Zuko walked ahead to the training room, where you usually went when you had the day to yourself. They both ran to catch up with their father's long strides (cons of being tall), and smiled as he opened the door (Well, Nami did, Kai had that neutral, almost annoyed face he inherited from his father).

They opened the door to find you hitting the straw-made training dummy with such strength that you almost broke the bag covering its makeshift body. While the kids watched, Zuko slowly approached you, making his footsteps as light as he could.

Nami admired you, while Kai just stared in awe at how serious you were with your fighting abilities. Zuko got behind you as you prepared another strike, and gently blew cold air into your ear, startling you so much you almost kicked him, but he was able to avoid it, somehow.

"You scared me…" You said, half-laughing, half wondering how he was there since he was supposed to be attending a meeting at the moment, or at least, that's what he said… "what…?" you didn't finish the sentence as Nami came running and hugged your legs.

"Mommy!" She said, burying her face in your clothes.

"My little firefly, what are you doing here?" You asked, looking at your husband and silently asking him for an answer.

"Daddy said we were gonna surprise you!" She smiled innocently at you, the little gap between her teeth showing.

"Didn't you have a meeting today?" You asked, raising your eyebrow at him.

Zuko looked at you with a small smile that seemed to say 'please don't get mad at me', "Well, I might have made that up." He sweat-dropped at your face, knowing that if it weren't for the children being there, you would have hit him for real. "I wanted to surprise you, it was all in good nature, I swear!"

Kai just looked over at the three of you, arms crossed, completely unimpressed. "It's true." he said. It seemed that in a rare instance of benevolence, he wanted to back up his father.

"Well, now that you're here, I guess we can all train together." You clasped your hands together, smiling.

"Oh~!" You heard Nami speak, "Can you teach me? Can you teach me?" She asked, almost begging.

You smiled at her, being as eager to learn how to fight like you were when you were her age. "Sure, come here," you motioned her to the center of the room, where you started explaining the correct position to form a basic attack. "if you're ever incapacitated from using your bending, you can-"

"Can you please teach me the cool fight moves you used earlier?" She asked, interrupting you.

"Well… those moves are a little advanced, and someone your age shouldn't be-"

"PUH-LEASE…" she begged, putting her hands together as if she was praying.

You looked over at Zuko for support, who decided to absolutely betray you, and said: "Well, if she wants to try it, we should let her."

Nami got happy hearing that, and since you didn't want to disappoint, you guided her into position, and she copied you as well as she could. When you hit the dummy, she gathered all the strength she had in her body, and used it, making a small mark on the straw body of it. She seemed so happy she managed to hit it, she looked at you expectantly, waiting for your verdict.

"You did great!" You said, "Please don't use it on living things, though."

"Kai, Kai, come here, let's do it together!" She called over for her brother, who seemed surprised she even acknowledged his presence, given that whenever she was excited, she seemed to concentrate too much on the thing she was doing.

"Uh… I'm not sure." He said, trying to discourage her.

"Come on, Kai! Are you scared of a little fight?" She teased him, which made Kai frown and begrudgingly approach.

"Fine… just make it quick…" He sighed.

So for the next few minutes, you taught both kids the basic stances for fighting and some moves to use their bending with, while Zuko comfortably stood on the side, watching you three. Those few moments gave him time to reflect on just… how much he missed family time.

He didn't really acknowledge how much he had been missing you, his kids, this. He remembered all those times he had to travel far away for political reasons, meeting with the people, stretching hands… he had received letters of everything during those, but of course, a letter isn't the same as watching his son stumble through a stance, or watching Nami's face as it lit up when she managed to produce a tiny flame. He felt himself smiling, only for his daughter to call him out.

"Is daddy going crazy? Why is he smiling at the air?" She said, prompting Kai to agree with her.

"He might be… or he might be having low blood sugar due to not eating."

"Oh! Right, we haven't had breakfast yet!" She said.

"You woke them up without having breakfast?" You asked.

He got out of his daydream and shrugged. "It was part of the plan."

"What plan?" You crossed your arms.

He paused, "I- Um… I didn't get that far."

That's when Nami started dragging everyone out and into the dining room, declaring you all should have breakfast there. She skipped steps as she walked ahead with you by her side, as she animatedly asked you about what you wanted to have, meanwhile, Kai walked behind both of you, and Zuko walked behind him. Until he stopped walking for a few seconds, to let Zuko catch up to him.

He asked his father something he had been itching to know. "How long are you staying?"

Zuko tells him the truth "All day."

"Oh." He doesn't react much, something that hurts Zuko more than a knife to his heart could ever do.

"Kai, come on!" Nami calls him, and he speeds up, leaving Zuko to stare at the three of you, sending him into another train of thought, how you had been there for them while he wasn't. How you always made time for them, despite having a busy schedule. That… that made him feel like a failure.

You all had a satisfying breakfast, well, as satisfying as it could be, since the smell of the food made you somewhat uncomfortable. That was followed by Nami declaring you all would play hide and seek in the palace, which led an embarrassed Zuko to hide behind a curtain while Nami tried to find him, her eyes blindfolded, getting directions from her brother, who directed her wrong for almost 10 minutes, as he found it funny to torture his father like this.

After they got tired (Nami got tired) of hide and seek, they guided both of you to the garden, which Kai explained to Nami all he knew about plants and different bugs they saw, while you and Zuko sat together under a tree, watching them from afar.

You looked at the grass for a moment, your face saddened, until you spoke: "Don't you wish you could just… stay like this?"

He knew exactly what you meant. "Every day."

You looked up, seeing Nami and Kai discussing a fat bug they had found on a plant. "You know, sometimes I wake up, wishing that I find you sleeping there, but it's always the same cold space beside me."

That brought pain to his heart. "I hate leaving you three, but… the Fire Nation needs me."

"Mom!" Kai called, a rare smile on his face.

"But your family needs you too," You said, getting up and calling back to your kids, "Coming!" But before you could fully go out of earshot, you heard him speak.

"I know." He said, making you turn back, face softening.

"Mom, look!" Kai held up a bug, making you recoil back.

"Oh, honey, that's… that's cute!" You grimace, "what- what is it called?" You try to make conversation, which Kai takes as a sign to unload every single bit of information he's ever read on this type of bug.

"Well, it's a rhino beetle, and the name comes from the fact that-"

Zuko approached the scene feeling a bit awkward, not knowing how to approach the conversation. This leads him to yet another wave of feeling inadequate, realizing that… the kids probably come here with you all the time, hell, they probably did so much more without him, especially Kai, who, now that he was looking at him intently, had grown much taller than the last time he had seen him. When did that happen?

As the sun was pulling more heat, the garden got unbearable, so you all went into the kiosk that sat nearby one of the garden's gates. The four of you sat on the mat that lay there, and enjoyed the air that came in thanks to the open structure.

Nami quickly went over to one of the cabinets in the kiosk, where the palace maids often stored items, and got some wooden toys out. Of course she had hid them there…

"Daddy, come play!" She called for him, bringing the toys out one by one.

Kai laid down on the side, faking being asleep as to get out of his sister's games. You mostly watched as Nami and your husband played with the wooden items, until the food you had eaten earlier seemed to want to come out. You covered your mouth, standing quickly.

"Excuse me."

Zuko looked up, startled by your sudden uneasiness. "Are you alright?"

You nodded, keeping your hand over your mouth. "Yeah, I just- I just need some air."

You stepped outside the kiosk and quickly walked toward a small open space, taking a deep breath as soon as you were away from everyone. The scariest part of it all, was that this wasn't the first time you'd felt this way; in the past few weeks, you'd been nauseous and tired, far more than usual.

You told yourself that it was probably just stress of living in the palace, of being the Fire Lady, as it wasn't an easy job after all, but there was another possibility, one you were afraid to consider. The hand over your mouth slowly drifted towards your stomach.

"Please, no…" You whispered it to yourself. Not because you didn't want it, but because you were afraid of… everything, really. If you didn't have time for 2 already, how would you raise 3?

Behind you, the sound of footsteps on gravel alerted you that someone was approaching, and when you turned, you found your husband standing there, concern written all over his handsome face. "Are you really alright?"

You quickly dropped your hand before he could see, "I'm fine."

"You're a terrible liar."

You rolled your eyes. "And you're terrible at minding your own business."

"It's my job not to." He said, eyes softening.

"Yes," You began, ready to snap at him, "being the Fire Lord is sorta about being a nosy-"

"I meant being your husband."

That shut you up for a moment, making you become sorrowful that you had gotten angry at him like that, so subconsciously you looked away in embarrassment. He got even closer, taking your face in his hands, cupping your cheeks. For a few moments, he said nothing, just stared at your face, searching for the right words, until he opened his mouth.

"I've… I've been thinking about us lately."

Oh? That was not expected. "About us… how?" You asked, already fearing what he was going to say.

"About all of this, being the Fire Lord, being your husband, being their father." He thought back to Nami and Kai, who were still playing in the kiosk. "I kept telling myself that everything I do if for you three… that if I keep making the Fire Nation better, then it means I'm doing my part." He swallowed hard, "But, I look at them and realize I barely know my own children,"

You reached for his hand, taking it in yours. That made him look into your eyes, and what you saw in his was painful vulnerability.

"I look at you and see how tired you are of handling everything while I'm gone." He hesitated continuing, but the soft look on your face invited him to do so "I'm terrified of waking up one day and realizing that my family moved on without me." He confessed, looking at the ground in shame.

"Oh, Zuko… my Zuko…" You hugged him, and as he held you there, you started to speak "You don't have to be the perfect father, or husband, or the perfect leader… I-… we just want you to be here with us." Your voice cracked while saying that.

"I will be." He promised.

While you both felt the nice gust of wind that ran through the garden, Nami's voice broke through the silence with ease.

"Mommy!" She shouted.

"We better go see what she wants." Zuko said, letting go of the embrace, to which you smiled softly at him, patted your stomach and said:

"I hope you have the same energy for the third one." You walked towards the kiosk, leaving Zuko standing there, confused for a few seconds, until the gears in his head started turning.

"Wait, what?"

[miiroki]

★ he just can’t stop fucking you… nsfw ﹙𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹚

He leaned against the railing, taking a slow breath of the dark night air to let his heart rate settle. But as the cool wind began to bite at his bare skin, he turned on his heel and stepped back inside.

The warmth of the room enveloped him instantly, along with the heavy, unmistakable scent of recent intimacy. His gaze shifted toward the center of the shared bed, landing on your vulnerable, trembling form. You lay tangled in the damp sheets, your thighs shuddering involuntarily while a thick, slow stream of white dripped from your overfilled center. Lewdly pooling onto the mattress beneath you.

He ‘tsked’. Can’t have you being wasteful.

Despite this a quiet chuckle escaped his chest at the sight. Crossing his arms, he couldn't help but recall every detail of how you ended up in such a wrecked state—the relentless hours that had just transpired, the delicious breathless and desperate pleas you had made, and the sheer length of the marathon he had put you through. He had lost track of how many times he had brought you to your peak, relentless in his pursuit until he had pumped an obscene amount of himself inside of you, leaving you completely undone.

He’d whisper many things in your ears.

“Just like that… you’ll take everything I give you hm?”

“Good girl. My sweet girl. You’re all mine aren’t you.”

His cooing mixed with the debauched sounds of wet skin pounding against each other. There was little of your mind left to coherently reply. Only moaning his name.

His quiet musings shattered when a soft, needy whine broke the silence of the room.

In a dazed attempt to relieve the deep, throbbing ache pulsing within you, your back arched off the bed, driving your hips high into the air and turning your soaked, sensitive heat toward him in an unconscious plea for relief.

He could see you try to squeeze and clench your insides at some imaginary force. (Which would be him in a moment)

The view instantly wiped the playful smirk from his face, replaced by a sudden, dark intensity in his eyes. He didn't need to be asked twice. Taking it as the open invitation it was, he strode back toward the edge of the bed, unbothered by the mess you’d made.

He teased your red and swollen lips with a kiss, before fingering the escaped spent back inside. Eliciting a soft moan from you.

He gripped your hips, and entered the fat tip of his dick. After all, the night was still young, and neither of you was getting any sleep.

[ruzewaa]

Another Chance

Senku Ishigami x Fem!Reader

Words: 3,439

Tags: Post-canon, getting back together, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, hand jobs

Synopsis: After he breaks up with you weeks ago, his friends force him to call you to repair your relationship. But your reunion goes wrong.

Note: This is my first smut fic so don't expect it to be perfect. 🥹

“It's better that we stay as friends.” Senku uttered those words to you weeks ago without a look of regret on his face. He expected you to break down right there and then when he saw your eyes were getting glossy.

But you didn't. Only a stray tear fell on your cheek.

“Okay, if you want to.” Were the only words you responded to him with. No argument, no question. Straight up agreement.

He felt strangely surprised. He hadn't taken into account that you would go along with it so easily. It doesn't mean he wanted you to talk him out of it, more so, he thought you would. Instead, you sucked it up without a single hesitation.

The poor boy even prepared a whole speech about it, in case you were going to try to convince him to stay. That shouldn't matter, though, right? Because you're both over now, back to the beginning. He wanted this.

Why is it still eating him up? Why is he the one getting all depressed about it?

Lately, he's been wallowing and overworking himself inside his laboratory for hours a day. Surviving on instant noodles, coffee, and chemical formulas.

His eye bags were darker and heavier than before, his hair wilder as if he hadn't taken care of himself ever since. And he's starting to feel his brain melting off due to the breaks he's been avoiding.

The disheveled man stared at his blank notes furiously, like it snitched on him and tapped his pen continuously against the cold desk in hopes he would be able to write something. Anything.

It didn't help that his four friends were looking at him with both concern and amusement.

“My, my~ it looks like the post-breakup symptoms are finally taking a toll on the logical scientist.” Gen was the first to break the silence in the sterile room with his teasing demeanor.

“That's not it, you mentalist, that's just my neurons trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do.” He deadpanned and kept glaring at the papers.

Chrome stepped beside Senku and looked over at his shoulder. “I don't know, these past weeks have been harsh for you. Even I can see it clear as day.” He added on and pointed to his notes. “See, usually there would be some badass hypotheses and equations written on it.”

Senku shook Chrome off him irritably and narrowed his eyes at the boy. “I'm perfectly capable. My thought process is only having a delay for now.”

A snap of a finger was heard across the lab. “Ha ha! It's been delayed for so long that I could believe she was your life support. You're still obviously yearning for your significant other, am I wrong?” Ryusui laughed and shouted with his bright and unmistakable grin.

“Yeah, you're wrong. I'm having an off day, what makes you think it's associated with my friend?” Senku scoffed and kept his stare away from the others.

“Then was every single day an off day to you, Senku?” Ukyo casually joined in with a gentle smile, in contrast to his words.

“Not you too.” He grumbled under his breath and rubbed his temples in an attempt to soothe his headache.

“We're just saying,” Ukyo walked over near Senku, with Ryusui and Gen following along. “You've been doing nothing but deny that you messed up.”

“I've been doing something,” Senku mumbled and ignored everyone's stare at him.

“What you're doing is mourning like you have a dead wife, Senku-chan.” Gen waved his hands in the air dramatically, making Senku exhale from the nuance.

“And besides that, you still haven't told us why you broke up with her,” Ryusui added, his playful expression shifting into something serious soon after. “You avoided talking to us about it, hell, you even avoided us. We only got the chance to talk to you today because we managed to access the lab before you.”

“Well, I don't know what you want me to do about it.” Senku dropped his pen on the desk with more force than necessary. “There's no point talking about something that ended already. I don't see the benefit.”

“But there's no point being so gloomy about it, though.” Chrome responded in slight confusion. “Aren't you contradicting yourself? ‘Cause there's also no benefit from it.”

He grew tense and uncomfortable at Chrome's comment. “Will you-”

“Enough, Senku,” Ryusui blurted out and interrupted him, taking a step toward the scientist. “You need to man up and tell us the reason why you left such a wonderful woman, it hurts to look at one of my friends being in this state.”

He took another step. “Everyone deserves happiness, and I'm the king of greed, damn it! If you won't tell us, we won't be able to help you out of your misery!” He pointed at Senku and yelled at him loud enough to make everyone else wince at the volume.

“Ryusui's right.” Ukyo joined in the heated conversation. “We want to help you with your situation. You're our friend, and it would be terrible of us to not take any action.” His tone was much calmer than Ryusui's.

Senku let out a deep exhale and finally swiveled the chair to face all of them, everyone could see how drained he was. “I was… just pathetic. So fucking pathetic and idiotic. I thought I couldn't be the boyfriend she deserved.” He said it bitterly and slumped his head down, narrowing his eyes at the floor in shame.

During your relationship with him, you were always the one initiating everything. Hugs, kisses, dates, you name it. And he barely reciprocated it, only doing so when he wasn't working or when he remembered he had a partner.

Truthfully, he's scared of commitment. He knows he's not the romantic type, but what makes it bad for him is that he doesn't try to change that. It felt wrong for him, the best he could do was show up.

He believed you shouldn't be with a guy like him. He left so you could get the chance to find someone better. Someone who could treat you the way he should've treated you.

“So that's what. I suspected she's been doing all the work since I only ever saw her cling to you more than you do to her.” Gen held a finger up to his chin. “Seems that your pride was mainly the reason for it. After all, your reputation is that of a calculating and rational man of science.”

“I know, I'm a joke,” He muttered and pressed his knuckle against his forehead. “I wish I could make amends to her.”

“Technically, you still can,” Gen responded and gestured to Senku's phone. “You're still friends with her, no? Call her and take her out, or do anything to make her be with you. Take that as a chance to apologize and hope you'll repair your sad, sad relationship.” He sang-song, yet his statement was still no joke; he genuinely wants to help Senku out.

“We are friends, but I haven't talked much to her, and neither did she. We only chatted when it was necessary. She probably hates to see me at all.” Senku brought his head back up and looked at them unconvincingly.

Ryusui went to Senku's side and took him by the shoulder. “Come on, you'll never know if you don't try. At least pass the ball to me instead, I'll treat her right.” His teasing actually gave Senku the push to grab his phone and scroll to your contacts.

“I'm gonna kill you after this.” He grumbled under his breath and gave one quick glare at Ryusui before proceeding to click on your name. He felt his heartstrings pull a little when he checked the recent messages, which were only about schedules and important topics. The last message was a week ago, with him ending the conversation with a ‘thank you’ — only expressing gratitude to you, of course.

Everyone else started chanting for him to press it. Tap. The phone buzzed with suspense. And to everyone's surprise, you answered sooner than expected. If they didn't know any better, they would assume you'd been waiting for this moment.

“Hello? Ishigami?” The other end projected your static voice. The phone was in speaker mode, so his friends were convinced it was really you and not some random person he called to clear himself out of the whole ex confrontation.

It did hurt to hear that you used his last name.

“Yo, yeah, it's me.” Senku greeted you awkwardly, making Ryusui and Gen facepalm at him, while the calmer ones looked at him in disbelief.

“I, uh…” He's never been this nervous before. Damn it, get a grip. He took a deep, shaky breath, with all the courage he could find. “I need some help here in my lab, mind if you come?” Senku mumbled as closely as he could get to the speaker so the others wouldn't hear him, but his bad luck is absolutely astonishing. The others heard it clearly — especially Ukyo — and it made their jaws drop at his poor excuse of a meet-up with your ex.

“Of course, what time should I go?” You responded quite enthusiastically. Or maybe that's just how you are whenever someone asks for help.

“As soon as possible.” He replied almost immediately.

“Okay then, I'm on my way.” The call ended once you assured him. This gave the others a sign to scream out horrifically at Senku.

Ryusui grasped both of his shoulders and shook him aggressively. “What the hell was that?! You're supposed to get back with her somewhere romantic! Maybe at a park or at my hotel, anywhere but here!” He barked.

“So much for the savior of humanity. He's completely dumb when it comes to love!” Gen crumbled onto the floor and placed a hand over his heart dramatically.

Ukyo seemed to have given up too, he ended up sitting on the floor with Gen with a flabbergasted expression. “That does it. It's approved that Senku is unreliable when it comes to these setups.”

And Chrome? Well, he dragged his feet to the exit of the lab. He grasped and turned the handle tiredly. “I'm out of here, this bullcrap is not worth it for me.” Just like that, he exited and left amidst the chaos of everything.

“I'm with him, I don't think I can do this one, sorry Senku.” Ukyo got up and trailed along where Chrome went, it ended up with the duo who were more horrified to follow pursuit as well.

“Wait, you fools! I don't know what to say anymore! If I messed up that badly, at least give me advice!” Senku raised a hand at them, trying to get them to come back inside.

The others all went outside, but Gen stayed by the doorframe. “Any advice? All I could say is that you should just tell her what you feel at some point, better not be too late about it.” After that, he's gone as well.

The room felt emptier, only the hums of the conditioner and the cold light of the lab enveloped him. He checks the wall clock, each second ticked continuously, making him realize he really should've thought this through better.

…

20 minutes passed, and he heard a knock from the door, making him jump a little from the random noise.

He turns the handle and opens it, when he did, he couldn't help but feel his face grow pretty hot.

You weren't wearing anything suggestive, it's just not usual for you to wear short skirts and that baggy sweater combo — which he knows he loves so much — out in the open like this.

“Ishigami?” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He didn't realize he was staring.

“Sorry, come in.” He cleared his throat and led you inside. He's already fumbling it.

The lab was surprisingly clean for a guy like Senku, the research papers were organized, the floor was polished, and the whiteboard had been wiped from its formulas. It was obvious he took the time to tidy up.

“So, what do you need help for?” You questioned and gave him your sweet smile. How he missed seeing it.

Thankfully, he also prepared a problem so you actually have a reason to stay. He moved to the desk and sat on a nearby stool, pointing out sheets of paper with an equation written on it. “My brain has been lagging, so I called you in to double check these trajectory calculations for me. Xeno needs them as accurately as possible, but I'm not cut out for that right now.” His voice tried to keep that rapid and logical tone. Tried.

You couldn't help but show some concern for him, despite being exes, you still have some care for him in a way. “Have you been taking any breaks?”

“A little.” It's a lie, he hadn't taken a break for so long.

You nodded suspiciously and walked over to pull out a stool yourself to get his favor done with, not noticing how Senku's mind scrambled from the way he took a glimpse of your skirt riding slightly higher when you sat down.

Your hands took in the paper and you kept your focus on each number and variable, while he's experiencing an internal panic and using all of his effort to prevent any signs of it show.

‘This is ridiculous. I hate this. Why can't I just be with her again already? I can't believe I resorted to putting up some tricks on her.’ He mentally slapped himself for agreeing on Gen's plan. He's a coward after all.

“There it is,” You pointed out the error proudly. “I'll rewrite it myself, good thing I'm familiar with these things.” Your fingers brushed past his as you went to grab the pen across him. He jolted when he felt your warm skin for a split second.

Without wasting more time, you quickly rewrote the formula and missed no errors. “That's settled then! I'll see you next time then Ishigami.”

You moved the stool aside as you stood up and brushed yourself off. Meanwhile, the scientist blinked, baffled that there was only one measly error. He was sure he made a lot, alas he's too smart for his own good. In most aspects.

He got up and grasped on your wrist before you could fully step away from the desk. “Wait!”

“Eh?” You perked up an eyebrow, feeling flustered from his sudden contact.

To your shock, he fell onto his knees and moved his hand to grasp on you instead. Hugging your abdomen as if his life depends on it. “Please, stay.” He's… begging. The so-called logical scientist that saved humanity, is begging on the floor.

“I don't understand. Friends don't-”

“I can't handle it anymore. I don't want to be friends. I want to be with you again,” He whimpered as he cut you off and looked up at you teary-eyed. This is the first time you've seen so much emotion in him. “I realized I couldn't manage my ass without your affection. Everything you did for me was something I needed.”

“I was a dumbass for letting you go. An asshole for not changing. But now, I'll do it. Just please. I'm sure of it.” He mumbled and held you tightly against his face.

“How sure?” You questioned and moved your hand to pat his head gently.

“Ten billion percent sure.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat. Are you dreaming? It's starting to feel like one.

He braced one knee and straightened up before you, dragging his hands up your body and your face to cup it on his palms. “Does this mean I'm forgiven?”

You hovered your hands over his and chuckled softly from his question. “Yes, you are.”

“Good.” He couldn't help but let his instincts win by letting himself pull your head towards him and make contact with your lips. He groaned breathlessly on your mouth when he finally felt you again, he really did miss it.

It caught you off guard for a moment, but you melted and reciprocated the kiss, putting more pressure onto his lips.

The kiss grew from passionate to something very heated quickly once he moved you onto the edge of the desk, almost knocking out some objects sitting on it.

His body presses onto yours, making your pelvises touch and feel his erection growing. You stifled a moan and pulled away slightly, a string of saliva connected to your mouths.

“Senku, don't you think this is inappropriate, or maybe a little too fast?” Your ragged gasp when you called out his name was something he never thought to hear.

“Nah, I think it's the perfect pace.” It's obvious, he's getting needy and horny. His hands moved to your thighs, but you quickly stopped him from inching any closer.

“Just because you're forgiven doesn't mean you'll be the one in control.” You managed to compose yourself and switch your tone into something much more seductive and dangerous.

“What? You're serious.” He sighed.

“It comes with a price, I'm taking the shots now.”

Before he knew it, you swapped places with him somehow. Soon after, you dragged your fingers across the zipper of his pants and the bulge of his cock.

He groaned and unconsciously twitched his hips against your fingers, to which you pulled back immediately. “Patience, you don't get the reward if you're not waiting.”

“Fuck. Why are you doing this?” He tilted his head to your shoulder and whined helplessly.

“You made me wait for so long,” You pouted and brought your hand back to his clothed member. “Let me do this at my own pace.”

He reluctantly nodded and let you touch him so slow and agonizing. Your finger found the hook and began to open his pants, freeing his throbbing cock and his boxers which leaked with precum.

“Amazing how you give in so easily. Even more so that you're this needy. Were you that pent up without me?” You cooed and pulled down his boxers to touch him, sliding your hand and gripping on the base lightly.

“Shut up. I'm a mess when it comes to you.” He gave you a weary smirk.

After what felt like hours, you began to stroke long and unhurriedly — using his precum as lube, it's not the best option but there's nothing useful in the lab — which made him groan weakly and whimper against your skin.

Your hand gently moved along rhythmically, giving him the pleasure but at the same time the torture he deserves. You can tell he badly wants you to pick up the pace by the way he trembles from every stroke and how heavy his breathing has gotten.

“Shit, you're gonna be the death of me.” He moaned shamelessly when you started to rub his glans occasionally with your thumb.

“Have I reduced the great Ishigami to an average horny guy?” Your teasing only made his cock twitch in response. “Oh, you like that?”

Senku huffed and groaned more instead, he couldn't bother to give you any sort of remark anymore. He's intoxicated. Completely removed all rational thought left in his brain.

You allowed yourself to quicken your pace since you can tell he's getting close. Your change of speed caught his breath and made him moan louder than before. For a second you were afraid someone heard the sinful actions of yours to the scientist.

You kept your pace consistent and squeezed his shaft and head often as you went. He grasped your hips and rutted his pelvis to meet with your hand. He's definitely close now from the way he's acting like a rabbit in heat. With your free hand, you grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked it. That was enough to make him come in your slick palm.

His semen spurted out recklessly, gutting out all of his load onto you. The moment he stops, he's left gasping for air with his tears falling down his face from hypersensitivity. His member was half-hard and tired. But you kept stroking him to help him through the aftermath, his cum all over his cock. His whiny whimpers were a blessing to your ears.

“I guess you ended up crying the most between us.”

“I couldn't help myself, you're exhilarating.” He managed to breathe out before collapsing himself onto you.

You didn't expect to get back with your ex and do a hand job on him, yet you were glad he had the guts to talk to you again. He's yours again.

Now I can finally focus on chapter 10 🤧🤧 sorry if the smut is too short I'm not that experienced huhu. If this gets some attention I might consider making more. 👀

[royal-cupidity]

A Spare Key

AO3 Link: It’s better formatted there than on here!

Pairing: Senku x Reader

Word Count: 2755

Tags: Fluff, No Petrification Beam, Modern AU, Domestic Bliss, You and Senku have a JOB.

Description: After a miserable day of overtime and a commute from hell, the last thing you expect is to come home to a warm meal, a clean apartment, and Senku Ishigami waiting for you. Of course, he insists it’s just the logical solution to your exhaustion. You know better.

Tags: @v0ctin hehe, I remember telling you in a comment section that I’d write this, so… hi… (⁎⁍̴̆Ɛ⁍̴̆⁎)

And @viethealexis because, uh, imagine this as a pregame to the angst I’m about to whip up.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

By the time your car lurched forward another six feet, you were convinced the city had collectively forgotten how roads worked.

The navigation app had long since abandoned any optimism. What had begun as a thirty-minute drive home had quietly crept past an hour, then another twenty minutes, each reroute sending you through streets that were somehow even worse than the last. Construction cones funneled four lanes into one. An ambulance screamed past on the opposite side of the divider. A bus blocked an intersection because someone had tried squeezing through a yellow light that very obviously wasn't going to happen.

You let your forehead fall against the steering wheel for exactly three seconds before the driver behind you honked.

"...Yeah, yeah."

The light turned green.

Nobody moved.

You exhaled through your nose.

Your manager's voice still echoed somewhere in the back of your mind.

"Sorry, I know it's last minute."

It was always last minute—The report had needed revisions, but revisions needed approval, and approval needed more revisions. By the end of it, everyone else had gone home while you remained under sterile white office lights that made every minute feel twice as long.

You'd texted Senku during one of the five-minute breaks you managed to steal.

Me: bruh

Me: stuck with overtime AGAIN

His reply had come almost immediately.

Senku: LMFAO.

Senku: Sucks to be you.

That had been the entire conversation.

Which, admittedly, was fairly normal for him.

When your apartment building finally came into view, your grip loosened around the steering wheel for what felt like the first time all evening.

Home.

You could already picture it: After you took your shoes off, you’d microwave whatever leftovers happened to exist. After that? Maybe take a shower. Maybe not. Then, collapse on the couch, wake up in the morning, and do it all again.

You climbed the stairs slower than usual, fishing your keys out of your bag more by muscle memory than conscious thought. Your shoulders protested every movement. Even the strap of your work bag felt heavier than it had this morning.

The lock clicked.

You pushed the door open, only to pause when an unfamiliar warmth greeted you from inside. The apartment smelled... good.

And it wasn’t from the artificial sweetness of a candle or the freshness of an air freshener, but something far more unexpected—an actual meal being prepared. The scent of simmering spices and freshly cooked food filled the room, a small but immediate reminder that, somehow, someone had thought ahead for you.

Your eyes drifted toward the kitchen, "...Senku?"

Without looking up from the cutting board, he answered, "You made it."

You stared.

He was wearing the hoodie he'd stolen back from you three weeks ago because technically it had originally belonged to him. Sleeves shoved halfway to his elbows, a kitchen towel thrown over one shoulder, he was methodically slicing green onions with the kind of concentration most people reserved for assembling IKEA furniture.

Several grocery bags sat folded neatly on the counter.

Your drying rack had dishes on it.

Your sink...

"...Why is my sink empty?"

He didn’t around to response, his attention still elsewhere, "Hm?"

"My sink,” you repeated.

"It has no dishes,” he chuckled lightly.

"I noticed."

“Well,” Senku stood up straight, his eyes landing on you. “Obviously, I washed them.”

You blinked, "You... washed my dishes."

"I know. Crazy." He swept the chopped onions into a bowl, "I was aiming for unprecedented."

“Uh huh,” You slowly set your bag on the floor. "So, you came here to do chores for me?"

“Duh,” He shrugged like it was self-explanatory, "This morning you told me your boss volunteered your evening."

"My boss didn't—"

"He did."

"..."

"You just weren't exactly given the option to decline," he huffed, though there was a trace of amusement in his voice. "Better to keep the workplace peace than have your boss decide you're suddenly their least favorite employee."

"...Fair," you muttered, setting your bag on the kitchen counter.

He reached over to lower the heat beneath the saucepan, giving it a brief stir before continuing. "I got home around four from the lab."

"Mhm." You took a seat at the table, watching him with an increasingly curious, fond gaze as he moved around your kitchen with the ease of someone who had done it before.

"The news said a water main burst downtown."

"Mhm."

"They listed every road closure." He picked up the wooden spatula and began moving it through the pan in slow, absentminded circles.

"Mhm."

"I checked traffic on your usual route home," he continued, a slight edge of exasperation entering his voice, "after you didn't answer. So I figured you definitely got caught up in it."

You tilted your head, a small smile crossing your lips. "Wow, really? All that deduction work for me?"

"Exactly." He gave the soup another stir, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. "So I estimated how long it'd take you to get back, realized I had ample time to start a few quick chores."

"..."

"You would've gotten here tired." He shrugged, but his tone softened. "Figured I might as well make things a little easier for you. So I came over."

The answer was delivered with such little ceremony that it almost made you smile more than anything else he'd said.

"So... you came over?" you repeated, quieter this time.

"Mhm." Senku turned off the stove once he deemed whatever he was cooking sufficiently finished and moved the pan onto an unused burner. He wiped his hands on the kitchen towel before turning toward the refrigerator. "Speaking of which, I bought your groceries for the next week. Besides what I used to make dinner."

"How sweet," you hummed. "How'd you know what to buy? Should I pay you back?"

Senku paused halfway through opening the fridge and looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "Obviously not. I'm your partner." There was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Plus, eventually we're gonna live together anyway. Consider this a trial run."

He crouched to inspect the lower shelves, continuing, "As for how I knew, I just guessed based on your pretty meager fridge situation."

"Ouch." You chuckled.

"There really wasn't much." He pulled out two sodas, then grabbed two glasses and filled them with iced water. He held one of the empty glasses toward you like an accusation. "You need to get better at stocking your fridge. Seriously. What were you gonna eat tonight? Ice?"

"Hey!" You pointed right back at him. "I've been plenty busy. And besides, remember when you were spending thirteen hours in the lab to finalize some report? I don't think you should be scolding me for my work ethic."

"Tch." Senku cracked open his soda, clicking his tongue against his teeth. He gave you a sideways look, but the small smile threatening at the corner of his mouth made it obvious he wasn't actually annoyed. "Enough of that. Just be happy I left your house cleaner than I found it."

You smiled, resting your chin against your hand. "I am."

His eyes flicked toward you.

"...Good."

It was such a small word, almost lost beneath the hiss of carbonation and the quiet hum of the refrigerator, but the way he said it made your chest feel strangely warm.

Then, as if realizing he'd allowed himself to sound too sincere, he turned back toward the kitchen.

"Now, eat before I start charging you for all this labor."

You laughed. "You just said I didn't have to pay you back."

"That was before you started getting sentimental,” he frowned.

"I said one word.”

"Exactly!" He grinned, somehow managing to balance two plates in his hands as he carried them over to the table. He set one neatly in front of you before placing the other beside it, then immediately turned on his heel to retrieve the drinks. "And that's all it took."

You took a moment to look around the apartment while he busied himself with the beverages.

It was strange seeing everything so orderly, especially knowing he'd been the one to put it that way; He’d actually taken the time to straighten up. The coffee table had been cleared of the usual assortment of receipts, cups, and whatever else had accumulated there throughout the week, while the stack of unopened mail by the door had been sorted into something resembling an orderly pile rather than the precarious tower it had been threatening to become.

Even the smaller things had been tended to.

The blanket you’d left half-sprawled across the couch had been folded neatly over the armrest, and the curtains had been drawn back just enough to let the evening air circulate through the apartment. Nothing had been rearranged or scrubbed to the point of feeling unfamiliar; he’d simply put things back into place, quietly restoring some order to the space you’d been too exhausted to notice had fallen into disarray.

"...Senku,” you leaned up to face him as he came walking back.

"What?" Senku placed a glass of water and a soda in front of you before sliding into the chair beside yours.

"...This is weird." You gave him a tired, almost disbelieving look as you reached for the water.

He glanced over at you, one eyebrow lifting. "Weird?"

"You."

He pointed at himself, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Me?"

"You're acting..."

"What?"

"...Domesticated." You visibly cringed at the word.

Senku snorted. "Hah. Don't insult me."

"I'm serious." You pointed your fork at him before taking a bite of what he'd made, chewing thoughtfully as you watched him.

He leaned back in his chair, looking far too amused by your accusation. "You make it sound like I got adopted."

"You practically survive on instant noodles," you said slowly, making a conscious effort not to speak with your mouth full.

"I survive on efficiency."

"You own exactly one frying pan."

"I own the necessary frying pan."

"You once told me dishes were optional." You lowered your fork, staring at him in genuine disbelief. "And then you spent ten minutes trying to explain, with physics, how you could theoretically avoid touching the surface of a plate while eating so you wouldn't have to wash it."

"Hey." His protest lacked any real conviction, especially with the way he was trying not to smile. "I know you enjoyed that tirade."

"I was fascinated by how committed you were to being ridiculous."

"Same difference."

"Okay, but now you're in my kitchen making actual food." You tapped the edge of his plate with your fork, glancing between him and the meal he'd prepared. "That's what I don't understand."

Senku frowned slightly, though there was more amusement than annoyance in it. "That's because your kitchen has more utensils."

"..."

"And seasoning."

"..."

"And oils."

"..."

He caught your stare and reached across the small space between you, tapping your forehead lightly with his finger. "Don't look at me like that. It's unbecoming."

You rubbed your forehead, fighting a smile.

"You'd be amazed what becomes possible with a few more variables."

That got you.

A laugh slipped out before you even realized you still had enough energy left for one.

Senku's expression softened immediately, satisfaction flickering across his face. "There it is."

"What?"

"That." His smile turned teasing again. "You stopped looking like you wanted to fistfight public infrastructure."

"I still do."

"Valid."

Your laugh faded into a sigh, the sound quieter this time. It wasn't dramatic or particularly deliberate; it was simply the weight of the entire day finally making itself known now that you were somewhere safe enough to let it. Your shoulders sank, and you stared down at your plate for a moment, appetite returning only because you no longer had to think about where your next task was coming from.

Senku didn't comment on it.

He simply nudged the soda a little closer to you, "Eat."

You glanced at him, "...You know, for someone who claims to be all about efficiency, you spend a suspicious amount of time taking care of me."

He shrugged, picking up his own fork. "You're inefficient when you're exhausted."

“Seriously?” You narrowed your eyes, "That's your excuse?"

"For now." The corner of his mouth lifted. "...Got a better one?"

You looked at him for a moment, then smiled despite yourself, "No."

"Thought so."

By the time you finished eating, the plates were nearly spotless, which you decided was a decent enough indication that Senku's cooking had been a success. You carried everything over to the sink before he could stop you, turning on the faucet while he gathered the remaining dishes.

"I'll wash," you said, reaching for the sponge.

"Then I'll dry."

"And put them away?"

"Obviously."

You glanced over your shoulder at him. "You're getting awfully comfortable here."

"Somebody's gotta keep this place functional."

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling as you worked. It settled into an easy rhythm between you: you washed, he dried, and whatever you handed him disappeared neatly back into its proper place. There was something strangely satisfying about it, especially after the chaos of the rest of your day. No rushing, no checking the time, no one asking you for anything. Just the quiet clink of dishes and the sound of running water.

When a fork slipped from your hand and clattered onto the floor, you bent down to retrieve it.

The faucet suddenly went quiet.

Before you could straighten, arms slipped around your middle from behind.

You startled, letting out a small laugh as Senku pulled you back against him. His chin settled over your shoulder for a moment before he rested his face against the collar of your button-up, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his cheek against your neck.

"Senku?"

"Hm."

"What are you doing?"

"Making an observation."

You smiled, glancing down at his arms loosely wrapped around your waist. "And?"

He was quiet for a second.

"We should move in together."

You blinked, "...That's your grand observation?"

"Yeah." His voice was muffled against your collar, but you could hear the faint amusement in it. "Think about it. We could make being gross and domestic together way more efficient."

You laughed warmly, turning the faucet back on as you resumed rinsing the dishes, careful not to jostle him too much. "I'd like that."

His arms tightened slightly around you, "Good."

You let the moment linger before adding, "Although, if you moved into my apartment, it'd probably be easier for you."

"Why?"

"Less stuff to move."

He went quiet.

You grinned, feeling the urge to double down. "Actually, you could probably carry all of your belongings in one trip."

"How many times do I have to tell you—"

"Ten?" you interrupted. "Maybe eleven if we're counting your lab equipment?"

"You're really committed to this bit, huh?" He grumbled.

You laughed, and he gave your ribs a sudden squeeze.

You jumped.

"Senku!"

He finally let go, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "That'll teach you."

"That proves nothing."

"It proves you're ticklish."

"That's not relevant, like at all.

"Sure."

Before you could retaliate, he reached over and ruffled your hair, thoroughly ruining whatever order you'd managed to maintain after your shower.

"Hey!"

Senku was already walking away, "Clean up the rest, oh domestic equal of mine.”

You stared after him, incredulous, before looking down at the dish in your hands.

"...Ten belongings," you muttered.

From somewhere in the living room came his voice.

"Forty-two, actually."

You smiled to yourself and shook your head, turning back to the sink.

The apartment was still the same one you'd walked into hours ago—same walls, same furniture, same little messes you'd been meaning to deal with. But somehow, it felt different now. A little warmer. A little less like a place you simply returned to at the end of the day, and a little more like somewhere you could actually rest.

Maybe it was the dinner waiting for you when you got home.

Maybe it was the clean counters and folded blanket.

Or maybe it was just Senku, sitting in your living room like he belonged there, pretending that taking care of you was nothing more than a practical decision.

Either way, as the water ran over your hands and his quiet presence filled the room, you found yourself thinking that maybe moving in together wasn't such a crazy idea after all.

[mikaiswolfsbane]

firelord!zuko practices how to apologize

for someone quite young, you've sure seen a lot of things. the fire nation's palace held secrets in crevices you'd never expected, for instance while cleaning behind a grand marble statue were gravings addressed to avatar roku regarding some sort meet up, however what you stumbled upon today was a tale to be passed down for generations to come.

dangling in your arms were the most beautiful vibrant rouge coloured robes strung from the finest threads of a watersilkworm, a garment fit for a man as esteemed as fire lord zuko. you step into the familiar sleeping clamber, the bedsheets frumpled by his restless sleep, you lay the silks gently on the chaise lounge chair before padding over to redo his entire bed.

you pull back the heavy curtains, natural light pouring in a manner that showcased the beauty of his chamber. you light up some incense then pivoting in the direction of the occupied bath chamber, you push open the grandiose wooden carved door walking to just place his fire lord robes on the rack before hearing something unusual.

your head turns in the direction of the sound of zuko’s voice.

“hello, zuko here…” his voice sounds out, his reflection clear in the slit you see him through.

“hey, zuko here. im sorry for attempting to kill your friend on multiple occasions who on further inspection is a great person…”

“—no, that's too casual. why is apologizing so hard.” and with that you accidentally let a snort past your lips, hands clamping to cover your amusement but today you have the poker face of the former general iroh in the presence of jasmine tea.

zuko's head whips in your direction, his eyes glazing at the sight of you full on cackling. the first hint of emotion you'd even directed him. the corners of his mouth lift just threatening to laugh with you, before contorting in one that you'd never seen before.

“guards! off with her head. her insolence knows no bounds.” he exclaimed.

©mikaiswolfsbane 2026

a/n: an edit for compensation for your death!

[yenayaps]

sukuna tries to throw away the pot you beat him with <3

[ cw: crazy!reader, the title is self explanatory, not proofread, another love letter to @indiewritesxoxo if u guys like torturing sukuna pls check out her drabble series 😋 ]

he hates that god damn thing.

and despite the fact that it’s been an entire year since you’ve hit him over the head with it, leaving a giant dent the shape of his skull, you still haven’t thrown that fucking pot away.

you use it for everything—tea, coffee, ramen, scrambled eggs, his fucking birthday dinner—never failing to remind him of the day he ACCIDENTALLY called you a bitch.

he’s apologized for it, he’s changed, and is now an entirely different man than he was a year ago. why the hell do you still have it?

well, he’s getting rid of it tonight, so there’s really no use in asking any further questions. it took him an entire week to come up with a plan, which was more than fair given your unhealthy attachment to the item.

so far, everything’s worked beautifully in his favor. he came home with take-out from your favorite restaurant, along with a bottle of your favorite wine. he got you tipsy, then later on made you cum so hard you literally passed out.

there was no way you were waking up after that, not for another eight hours at least. and if you were, you weren’t getting up. you’d be too sore, too physically exhausted.

it was perfect.

after staying back for a few minutes, holding you and making sure you were dead asleep, he snuck out of bed and made his way into the kitchen to grab the literal bane of his existence. no noise was made while doing so, you hung the thing up like it was some medal you won at a competition.

the side door gently creaks as he opens it, then makes his way down the wooden steps. the trash cans are only a few feet away, and the excitement builds the closer he gets to them.

but just as he lifts the lid open, the giddiness he feels gets ripped away by something that made him startle.

“what are you doing?”

he freezes and slowly turns his head to the side until he’s met the sight of you wide awake, waiting at the top of the stairs, just standing there like a sleep paralysis demon. there are many questions that go through his mind, like, “how is she awake right now?” and “how did i not fucking hear her?” all of which die on his tongue because he is admittedly afraid at the moment.

“bring that pot back inside, now,” you demand.

“i’ll get you a new one,” he says in a pathetic attempt to bargain with you.

“I don’t want a new one.”

and with that, he doesn’t try to argue any further and walks back in defeat.

you yank the pot of his grip once he reaches the top of the steps. for a moment, he braces himself, thinking you’re about to add another dent to it. luckily, you just scold him. “i can’t believe the lengths you’d go through to get rid of something that i love.”

he scoffs, you say that as if he were trying to sabotage you or something. “i was getting rid of something that was barely functional.”

you let out a little laugh. “right, right. barely functional yet i’ve been able to do more than just cook with it.” you nudge him forward with the pot. “now get back in bed.”

All rights reserved © 2026 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[fireladylisa]

18+ cockwarming older!zuko after an argument !

location: the throne room

𝓩𝓾𝓴𝓸 had always been a loving and understanding husband, even with the vast age difference between you both.

Whatever you wanted, you got. This was a known fact across the nation, the Firelord had finally settled down and not only was it with a woman nearly half his age, but turns out she's also a massive brat!

Sometimes Zuko wonders what he was thinking, or if he was even thinking at all when he agreed to marry the twenty-one year old Earth kingdom princess when he was already forty.

He wants to blame his advisors and their words of "You need someone young who can give you plenty of healthy heirs." and "She's the princess of a powerful nation, it would secure peace for decades."

Which was good and true, and while Zuko had become more peaceful and in tune with his emotions as he aged and healed from his trauma, he just couldn't seem to handle your attitude.

While he sometimes thought it was funny, cute even, he couldn't for the life of him deal with your inconsistent emotions lately and trying to talk it out had only gotten him so far before you were back at square one.

So what did Zuko do? He resorted to making you cockwarm him.

"Haah Zuko, I'm s-sorry for being mean. Please let move."

Your dress was lifted above your hips, panties pushed down and hanging off your ankle, and Zuko only pulled his pants down far enough to pull his cock out, still seated on the plush cushion at the top of the dais.

"Sit." He glared at you after you scolded him in front of his council about seating arrangements for some meaningless ball, quickly dismissing the flustered men when you went as far as to point out his few grey hairs when he ignored you.

You've been straddling him for the past hour, your legs spread wide and placed on either side of him, his cock buried deep inside of you. Learning the hard way that just because Zuko refuses to argue with his wife in front of his men, doesn't mean he won't make you pay dearly after they leave.

"I don't think you are, love." Zuko blinks. He uses one hand to keep reading the letter from one of the clan leaders and the other to hold onto your waist, long fingers digging into your skin.

You whine, crossing your arms like a petulant child. Zuko doesn't care.

"I've been sitting here for an hour and you still haven't let me move."

"Forty-three minutes," he corrected nonchalantly, trying to focus on the words on the scroll even though nothing was registering when your pussy keeps pulsing around him. "And yes. That's the point."

His breath hits your neck, making you involuntary buck against him. A small roll of your hips that made his jaw tighten, and he sets the scroll down with a sigh.

"You moved." He grabbed onto your hips with both hands, lightly squeezing until you yelp, biting back your excitement.

Zuko thought he was punishing you when in reality this was the most fun you've had since you moved to the stuffy capital. But you would let him have his moment.

"It was a twitch!"

"It was a movement was it not, dear wife?" His golden eyes finally meets yours when he pulls you back against his chest and grips your jaw, making you face him. "What were the rules again?"

You scowl. Aww, was that supposed to mean something to Zuko?

He just raises a hand and brings it down on the side of your ass, a loud crack ! filing the throne room, quickly followed by your even louder whimper. When you clench around him, he groans softly against the back of your neck and brings his hand down again to rub your tingling skin, his fingers leaving traces of heat.

"See?" His voice is low and rough, his lips kissing the spot behind your ear. "Consequences."

Zuko goes back to pretending to read his letter, though he has to grip the paper extra tight to stop himself from laying you on your back and fucking you loud enough for the guards to hear. It's only five minutes later when you finally look at him over your shoulder and pout.

He gives in, but he needs to hear you say the words first.

"Have you learned your lesson?"

You nod, whimpering and shaking as you fought the urge to ride his cock, your hair beginning to slip from where your Firelady crown held it, legs burning from the position and clit spasming from how fucking horny you were.

He pulls your hair until your back is flush against his chest, licking from your neck and up to your earlobe where he sucked before letting go with a pop !

"Use your words." He whispers in your ear, making you shiver and him groan from the movement.

"Y-yes, Zuko. I'll only yell at you in the privacy of our chambers."

Good enough for him. "That's my obedient girl. Now move."

"I thought I wasn't allowed-"

"Move. I'm done with the scroll." His hands slid up your ribs, cupping your breasts through the loosened silk and flicking your perky nipple. "I've been done for twenty minutes. I was just waiting for you to learn your lesson."

You twisted to look at him over your shoulder, eyes wide and face flushed from the effort you put in to not move. "You were.. the whole time?"

"The whole time." He kissed the corner of your mouth. "You're not the only one who can be stubborn."

© art by failingradish ⭑ fic by fireladylisa, do not steal or run through ai

♥︎ zuko's harem: @bibimysoul @getovibesonly @lazylionlady @httpswilloww @itzkawaiix @xpotatoee @rhaewinsdaughter @manayoyo @laceymarch @darkloverfox @adeline5666 @1iluvvocattoss @fireladybliss @bananianii @renamay09 @pepitesingulare @mossmydarling @im-in-lokis-army @llovekats @xoxocelestial @godisitnaptimeyet @betsybetts @mihyas-dieehefrau @katarasdoll @myauraisperrywinkle @nishinoyasusedsock @rhaewinsdaughter @amelliathestar @rizecia17 @mutsu422 @weasleytwins-41 @alex2602 @lilywife @emeraldpurple @eaturbucky @kissprl @moewzington @sugarxspic3 @pinkpantherrrrss @megumiswifeyily @sunnyteume @clarkkentfavorite

perm tags: @icebearcucumber @tojisfavoritegun @writingintheskin @saturneni @sakurasweetiesworld-blog @sleeeepybee @locallyclementine @butterbeanandsparkleface @butterbeanandsparkleface

sparkle divider @pixopix

[thisiscareless]

it's too little, way too late.

adult!fire lord zuko x royal secretary!reader | mdni. | wc: 5,2K

summary: in which a week before Fire Lord Zuko’s wedding, two lifelong friends discover that timing is a cruel thing.

content: fire lord zuko x reader, friends to lovers (eventually), mutual pining, arranged marriage, angst, slow burn, hurt no comfort (part 1), yearning, suggestive thoughts, humor as a coping mechanism (from the author), lots of tea mentions.

note: written for a request and inspired by ‘too little, too late’ by laufey. this story is split into two parts, but part two is already available if you’d rather not end on heartbreak. ♡

 “Have you heard? They say the Fire Lord’s getting married!”

The question met you the moment you stepped through the doorway, the bell above it chiming as Master Ren looked up from his workbench with an eager smile.

Agni, how could you not? It was all anyone in the palace spoke about these days.

“Good morning to you too, Master Ren,” you teased, diving further into the little calligraphy shop tucked between Caldera City’s market stalls.

“So it is true?” he asked, putting down his brush. “Emi mentioned we’d received a royal commission, but she left before she could tell me what it was for. Yet you work for the palace, right? And if there’s a trustworthy source in this corner of Caldera, it must be you, girl!”

As the Fire Lord’s Royal Secretary, you knew the arrangement between Zuko and the Earth Kingdom had been discussed behind closed council doors for weeks before the announcement ever reached the streets: a marriage blessed by both nations to celebrate the peace they’d fought so hard to build. 

Historic, some called it. Necessary too, according to the ministers who had insisted a union between the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom would secure generations of stability. Yet you knew, from perhaps the only source that truly mattered, that it was everything except wanted. Which, in royal politics, usually meant it was guaranteed. 

Before you could answer, a familiar face peeked out from behind a towering shelf of parchment.

“Alright, Pa, that’s enough,” Emi laughed, brushing what you could bet was dust from her sleeves as she emerged from the workshop. “My friend here doesn’t come all this way to satisfy your curiosity…”

She rounded the counter, stopping beside a wrapped parcel tied with a burgundy ribbon.

"It's a simple inquiry!" Master Ren spread his hands in defense, peering over his spectacles at you. "Well? Don’t leave an old man guessing." 

You closed your eyes. “It is,” you admitted. When you opened them, Emi was looking at you wearing a sympathetic half-smile as she noted something down on her paperwork. You cleared your throat, trying to focus. “I’m actually here because of it… to collect the invitations.”

Master Ren’s brows shot upward.

“Ah! So these are the famous invitations.”

Emi finished logging the order into the ledger before sliding it toward you.

“Signature here.”

You took the brush, dipped it into the inkstone, and signed your name. As the ink dried, Emi reached for the box.

“We were just about to send them over to the pala—”

“The Fire Lord requested I inspect them before the remaining copies are commissioned,” you interrupted, placing the brush back on its rest. “The ceremony is only a week away, and we have little time to spare. Once I approve this batch, it will be presented to the Fire Lord for his approval. After that, the palace will authorize the remaining copies,” you said, your chin held high and your mouth set in a firm line. “I’d appreciate it if you delivered the finished set by then.”

Emi paused, her hand still resting on the box.

“Has he requested you inspect them?” She muttered, shooting a quick look at her father who seemed distracted. When you nodded, she rolled her eyes. “He really doesn't understand what he's asking of you.” 

You inclined your head. She placed the box in front of you.

“Do thank His Majesty for trusting Ren Calligraphy with such an important occasion,” she announced sweetly enough for her father to hear. Then she leaned closer. “And while you’re at it,” she whispered, “tell him we also specialize in reprints… for when he finally stops being a coward and puts your name on these instead.”

“Emi,” you warned, undoing the ribbon.

“What was that?” Master Ren asked without looking up.

“Nothing, Pa!” she called back. “I said I’d go make you some tea.”

She shot you one last pointed look before she disappeared behind the curtain.

With a sigh, your hands dipped into the box to hold an invitation up. It was a cream colored card bearing the Fire Nation crest pressed into gold leaf. You unfolded it open.

“His Majesty Fire Lord Zuko requests the honor of your presence at the celebration of his marriage to Lady Kida of the Earth Kingdom…

Your fingers caught the edge, bending the corner out of shape. 

…To be held at the Royal Palace of Caldera City on the fifteenth day of the Summer Solstice.

Together, their union marks a new era of harmony between the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom.”

It was tragic, really, the way your eyes refused to leave her name beside his. You couldn’t help but picture how it would’ve looked had it been yours. Foolish, perhaps, to have spent years mistaking glances for possibility, to have llet yourself believe that stolen moments after council meetings, walks, time, and every almost-confession had meant something more than friendship. Because they hadn’t, and they couldn’t. 

In the end, you felt like you were only a mere jester standing faithfully beside him since you two were little. Never the bride, and never the lady.

You closed it. You had been staring at the invitation so hard your eyes ached, long enough to notice that the dragon seal was pressed a hair too far to the left, just a tiny mistake. You traced the edge of the wax, wishing your own heart were just as easy to correct.

“Is everything okay, dear?” Master Ren asked.

You fastened the ribbon on the box again, sweeping away a tear that had slipped down to your chin before looking up at him.

“Everything’s perfect.”

As if the noise in your head wasn’t enough, servants hurried through the corridors carrying bolts of both fabric and flower arrangements, as well as stacks of paperwork that kept traveling from one attendant to another… just what was expected as the palace was celebrating a wedding after so many years. 

You adjusted your grip on the box before knocking twice against the doors of the Fire Lord’s study.

“Come in.”

It was dismaying, how your heart still answered to his cadence…

The office looked exactly as you’d left it that morning: maps scattered across the central table, reports stacked in uneven piles, and amongst other things, a forgotten cup of tea growing cold beside the window.

Zuko barely glanced up.

“You’re back sooner than I expected…”

“I came straight from Ren Calligraphy.”

“Mm,” he hummed. His attention remained fixed on the document before him as he signed another scroll.

Only when he reached for the next one did he finally look up. His eyes did what they always do: inspected your face in a span of seconds.

“…Are you alright?”

Why, of course, Fire Lord! Never better. 

He was a perceptive guy; surely he’d connect the dots, fulfill your desperate unspoken desires, and notice how wrecked you were that the man you loved was about to vow his forever to another human being.

Instead of voicing any of that embarrassingly dramatic soup sloshing around in your head, you went with a simple line.

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t answer, but kept looking at you.

"Could you stop this nonsense?" You hitched your shoulders up, retreating into your collar. “We have more important matters to attend to, may I remind you."

"You may, as soon as you stop looking like an annoyed turtle-duck." 

You rolled your eyes.. "The invitations,” you said, as you placed the box on his desk. “The first batch is finished. All that's left is your final approval before the remaining copies are commissioned.”

Zuko blinked away whatever thoughts had been consuming him. “Right. Let me take a look at them.”

He walked around the wide expanse of the desk until he was standing right beside you.

As he moved closer, the earthy scent of tea became more present. You wrinkled your nose.

“Ugh, you stink of betrayal…”

"...Excuse me?" He questioned, undoing the bow with caution.

"You drank tea." You pointed accusingly at him. "And it's not even evening, Fire Lord." 

It was his turn to offer a nod. “It was… necessary. Just a few cups of ginseng tea…”

You absently straightened the stack of reports sitting beside the invitation box. "So that’s how it is. I'm gone for one meeting and you start cheating on our evening tea…”

"I didn't know tea could be cheating."

"Apparently it can. Remember the fit you threw when Sokka convinced me to have tea with him instead of you?" You crossed your arms, leaning against the edge of the desk with a mocking slant to your mouth. 

He unfolded the invitation, humming.

"No recollection whatsoever."

He’d drank a lot of it, you could tell. Zuko only ever drowned himself in Uncle Iroh’s blends after particularly unbearable council meetings.

"The council must be a nightmare lately. I hope my absence didn’t make it worse."

Zuko lowered the paper and looked at you. “It didn’t, but you were missed...”

An innocent dagger straight to the chest.

“... Unfortunately, Minister Shinu decided wedding preparations warranted a second meeting.”

You let out a very professional groan.

"There's another one?"

He released an exhale through his nose, rolling his shoulders back. "A smaller one. Just the people who need to be involved: The High Sage, the Palace Steward, Shinu, You, Me…”

You'd spent the better part of the afternoon convincing yourself that inspecting a box of invitations had been the hardest task the day had in store. The spirits had other plans.

“I thought they would stop nagging me once we gave them a date to put their worries to rest, but it seems to have only made them worse.”

“Don’t think they will stop anytime soon,” you replied, trying to keep the internal bleeding out of your voice as you watched him inspect the invitations. “Next thing you know, they’ll be demanding an heir.”

Zuko snapped his gaze to you.

"It's only fair I stop my nonsense if you stop yours."

You dragged an imaginary zipper across your lips and threw away the key.

His brow furrowed as he turned his attention back down to the card in his hands. “…It’s crooked.”

“What?”

“The dragon seal.” He rotated the invitation toward the window, letting the bright light hit the wax. “It’s pressed too far to the left, don’t you think?”

You stepped closer, pointing toward the wax.

“But it’s tiny, honestly. About the same size as the cut Azula gave you on your brow many years ago during that one lunch, remember?”

Zuko scoffed. “I do remember, that was serious.”

“Was it? As a witness, I’d say the only thing wounded that day was your pride...”

“My pride?” He looked offended, his chest puffing out.

“Shall I remind you you screamed?”

“I did not scream.”

“Well, I’m not a liar,” you said,raising your arms in defense. 

“I was bleeding,” he insisted, his voice going to the register he used whenever he was losing an argument.

You rolled your eyes. “You had a paper cut, Zuko…”

“I still have the scar,” he countered.

“And a whole lot of humor because I can assure you your good eyebrow is perfectly fine! It basically disappeared during dessert.”

“Go ahead then. Inspect it.”

You reached up, pushing onto your tiptoes and aiming for his forehead, but the height difference betrayed you. Even with his shoulders relaxed, Zuko was simply too tall.

Zuko watched you struggle for a second, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. 

“An annoyed turtle-duck. I’m telling you.” 

“Could you stop growing for one minute? Fire Lords and their endless need to- hey!”

As someone who knew your frame as well as his own, Zuko’s hands slid onto your waist. He didn't make a dramatic show of it, he gripped you and lifted you like you weighed nothing at all, setting you down on the edge of his desk.

“Better?”

“Now that I’m up here, I can really see…” The proximity at eye level was going to be the absolute death of you, you were oh so certain. “…just how smug you get when you’re trying to prove a point!” 

Zuko didn't take a single step back. He remained standing right where he was, planted squarely between your knees.

“I urge you to take a look at it, Secretary,” he grumbled. 

Forcing your brain to ignore the heat of his hands still resting on your hips, you reached toward the tiny scar again.

“Let’s see…” you murmured. Your fingertips brushed the faded scar near his brow. “Ah.”

“Find it?”

“Mhm… To be honest, I’ve seen worse. Your cut isn’t nearly as impressive as you remember, because you got nicked by a fruit knife,” you said, struggling to keep a straight face.

“It was a letter opener,” he corrected weakly.

His gaze was glued to your face, tracking your expression with that terrifyingly focused look only he could pull off. It made you feel exposed, as if he were peeling back your layers and staring straight into your soul.

You just had to pray his supposed perception had its limits. If he saw past the soul-searching and stumbled upon the guarded Zuko / Naked thoughts currently firing off in your brain, you’d have to leave the Fire Nation forever.

“You really are dramatic, Zuko,” you said, buying a beat to regain your breath.

He huffed a laugh.

“I think you just like picking on me.”

“Can you blame me? You made the mistake of befriending me…” 

Whatever laughter your joke could’ve ensued was shut off by a movement of his hands at either side of your waist. You realized your hand hadn’t moved and your fingertips still rested against his temple, just beside the (alleged) letter opener scar.

Zuko's smile disappeared. His eyes dipped following the sharp intake of your breath before locking onto your lips.

Anyone else would think he looked at ypu like you were the only thing in the world capable of saving him… but you knew better, you had to. You were his friend, his wedding invitations inside the box beside you were proof enough of that, and in all these years, he’d never crossed that line. And whenever it had seemed like he might, it had all been nothing more than a misinterpretation.

You licked your lips. The movement dragged his eyes back up to yours, and this time, you weren’t misinterpreting the way he closed the remaining distance, his nose brushing against yours. The heat of his body burned right through your clothes. 

Only one of you needed to bridge the gap, just a fraction of an inch, a distance so small it hardly existed at all…

“Fire Lord.”

Neither of you reacted to the voice coming from the other side of the door. Perhaps if you both pretended not to hear it, time would pause long enough for one of you to—

“Your Majesty? Minister Shinu and the others are waiting.”

Your arm dropped to your side at the same moment Zuko’s eyelids fluttered shut. Yours stayed open, catching his features as he lowered his forehead against yours for a fleeting breath. His grip pulled away from your waist. He covered his face with his hands as he took a step back, exhaling before offering you a hand to help you down.

You stared at his outstretched palm, then glanced back up. He wasn't looking at you anymore, his gaze was fixed on the floor.

“His Majesty is on his way!” you called out toward the door, taking his hand.

The moment your shoes hit the ground, he let go, turned, and walked away without another word.

You uncapped your inkpot as Minister Shinu unrolled another scroll.

"Now that the logistical arrangements have been approved during the general council, there remain only the ceremonial matters."

You lowered your quill to the page.

"The Earth Kingdom delegation will still arrive one day before the wedding," the Palace Steward confirmed. "Lady Kida's household has accepted the proposed accommodations, and preparations for the welcoming banquet are already underway."

Your hand moved across the parchment.

Earth Kingdom delegation—one day prior.

Welcoming banquet confirmed.

"The High Sage has finalized the ceremonial order," Minister Shinu continued, gesturing toward the elderly man seated across the table.

The High Sage inclined his head.

"The sacred flame will be lit at dawn, as tradition dictates. The royal vows should be finalized before week's end so they may be entered into the palace archives."

Royal vows before week’s end… Of all the preparations surrounding the wedding, those, surely, were the one thing Zuko would've finished first. 

"One final matter," Minister Shinu said, rolling the scroll shut. "Before we adjourn, I believe it appropriate to acknowledge the success of His Majesty's engagement."

Murmurs of agreement circled the table.

"It has been many years since the Fire Nation celebrated a royal wedding." He inclined his head toward Zuko. "And an alliance of this caliber will strengthen our ties with the Earth Kingdom. The council is grateful you accepted our recommendation." 

The tip of your quill hovered, leaving a tiny drop of dark ink bleeding into the paper.

Recommendation?

At the head of the table, Zuko didn't move. “…I did what was necessary.”

“As always,” Shinu replied. “The council merely fulfilled its duty by presenting a number of suitable candidates.” 

Council presented prospective candidates from allied nations.

The High Sage folded his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “Lady Kida distinguished herself rather quickly. Highly regarded among the Earth Kingdom nobility. Educated, diplomatic, kind, responsible, lucky…”

Educated.

Diplomatic.

Kind.

Responsible.

Lu—

Zuko’s palm settled flat over the parchment, covering the unfinished word. He kept his chin raised, fixed on the minister, but his fingers remained over your page. 

“You don’t need to record that,” he muttered, his voice barely audible above the discussion. 

“They’re documenting the bride,” you murmured back.

“Leave it. It’s already in the official record.”

Zuko pulled his hand back, resting his fist on his knee.

You stared at the truncated word, the ink still wet, before dipping the quill back into the well.

“…As I was saying,” Minister Shinu carried on, oblivious, “Lady Kida possesses every quality expected of a future Fire Lady.”

He folded his hands atop the table.

"And perhaps most importantly..." His gaze stopped on Zuko. "...the council is grateful that, despite having every freedom to choose otherwise, you placed the needs of your people above your own desires. Truly, there wasn’t a better choice, was there, Fire Lord?”

Perhaps because, for a ridiculous second, you wished he’d laugh and tell them they were mistaken, that there had been another choice all along, someone who had been with him since the years before his banishment, and after it, someone like you. 

“…No.”

Your hand slipped, and the inkpot tipped, spilling a pool of black across the meeting minutes before tumbling onto the stone floor with a sharp clack.

Every head turned.

“My apologies,” you blurted, already kneeling to rescue the scattered pages before the ink soaked through them. “Forgive me.”

The Palace Steward offered a reassuring smile. "It's quite all right, Secretary."

You dabbed at the parchment with trembling fingers, mourning an hour's worth of neat handwriting. From the corner of your eye, you saw when Zuko’s boots had moved.

“If there is nothing further,” Zuko said, “I believe today’s session has reached its conclusion.”

One by one, the others rose, the scrape of chairs and rustle of robes filling the chamber as the private council dispersed.

You didn’t have time to drown in thr noise inside your head. Instead, you fell back on muscle memory: rolling the scrolls, organizing the signed documents, and separating others requiring the royal seal from those ready for the archives.

Stacking the final bundle of parchment against your ribs, you turned for the exit. Usually, you’d stay behind for those quiet few minutes after every meeting, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with him to his next task. But today, you just kept moving toward the doors. After all, there was nothing to talk about, right? Absolutely nothing interesting like an almost kiss, or suffocating tension, or the fact that your own heart was currently committing treason…

“Secretary.”

You stopped in your tracks.

Turning on your heel, you found Zuko still standing beside his grand chair, watching you.

“Yes, Fire Lord?”

“I…” He cleared his throat. “I have a favor to ask.”

You forced a professional smile. 

“Of course. Should I schedule a brief appointment after your afternoon briefing, or—?”

“As a friend.”

“Oh.” You let your shoulders drop. “Thank Agni. I was going to have to charge you extra for overtime…”

He chuckled.

“I’m pretty sure you already overcharge me,” he gestured vaguely toward the desk. “It’s… I know I’ve already asked a lot from you in this whole thing, but I really need you for this. You’re way better with words than I am…”

“Wait.” You strolled back toward him. “Is that praise coming from the Fire Lord? Should I be writing this down for the archives too?”

“Don’t make me take it back,” he muttered, rubbing his temple.

“I’m all ears.”

“… it’s about the vows for the…” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “…the ceremony.”

You frowned. “I thought those were already finished.”

“So did I,” he muttered. 

He walked over to his desk, opened one of the drawers, and pulled out a rather unimpressive stack of loose parchment. Some were folded in half, others had corners bent from being shoved into the drawer, entire paragraphs had been scratched out so aggressively the ink had nearly torn through.

You couldn’t help smiling. “You’ve been hiding these?”

“I’ve been… trying to get them right.”

He shuffled through the pages until he found one that seemed the least embarrassing and gave it to you.

You accepted the page. “Judging by the condition of these, I'd say you've mostly been trying to kill them.” 

“I've considered it...”

You laughed and started reading.

“Today, in this event, I pledge to uphold the prosperity of our union in service to the Fire Nation and preserve the harmony established between our peoples…”

You kept bracing yourself for the sharp ache in your chest. When you finally reached the last line, you folded the page in half. 

Zuko searched your face. "And?"

You looked up. "Did the High Sage write these?"

His shoulders slumped."So they're that bad."

"No, no." You reached across the space between you, giving his forearm a reassuring pat. "They're not awful.”

His expression remained unconvinced.

"They're just..." You searched for the right word. "...safe."

"Safe?"

"You sound like the Fire Lord."                

"...I am the Fire Lord."

You offered a bittersweet smile. "That's kind of the problem." 

He frowned.

You tapped the edge of the folded paper against your palm."You've always excelled at writing formal documents. Delightful letters, impeccable decrees... but these sound like promises you'd make to a trade partner, Zuko, not to the woman you're about to marry, you know? You keep talking about prosperity, stability, duty... all very important things, yes, but you never actually mention her." 

"I hadn't noticed."

Of course you hadn't, you thought. 

“I thought it would suffice for the… occasion,” he added. 

“Agni, stop,” you groaned. “You keep calling it ‘the ceremony,’ ‘the event,’ and now ‘the occasion.’ I don't think I've heard you call it what it actually is once today."

You weren't ready to say it, but you forced the words past your lips anyway:

“It’s your wedding, Zuko.”

He flinched, looking away.

"I don't know what kind of dynamic you and Lady Kida have...or if you've even had time to get to know each other, but when you write these, you have to forget the council, the ministers, the alliance... all of that." You folded the page and handed it back to him. "The Fire Lord has already had his say. I'd like to hear what Zuko thinks." 

Judging by the way he stared at the page, Zuko seemed equally interested in finding that out. 

He set the draft aside. 

"I don't… I don't know where to start."

You pulled a fresh sheet from your stack and dipped your quill into the ink before sitting back into the chair you'd only just vacated. "Start simple. No grand titles and no obligations, alright? Let’s think… What do you want to offer her?"

He began pacing.

"I promise to... to respect her. To listen when she speaks,” the words coming out awkward and clumsy, “and to ensure she is never treated as a stranger in this palace."

Respect her… Listen… Ensure she is never a stranger.

"Good," you whispered, keeping your eyes fixed on the words. "Keep going."

Nothing else came out of his mouth. Your quill hovered.

"Uhh… Zuko?"

He stopped pacing, looking almost apologetic. "That's all I've got. Could that… be enough?”

"It's enough for a decree," you said with a laugh. "Not for a lifetime!" 

Zuko let out a defeated breath and dragged a nearby chair over to sit right beside you.

You smiled, more to reassure him than because you found it amusing.

"Alright..." You slid the fresh sheet of parchment onto the desk beside you, leaving the quill resting across the inkwell. "Let's try something else."

You scooted your chair closer, turning to face him fully.

"For the next minute, don't worry about finding the right words." You gestured toward the abandoned draft. "We'll write them down afterward. When the High Sage lights the sacred flame… you'll be standing at the altar beside your..." Your saliva burned. "...lovely bride. Lady Kida."

You forced yourself to keep going.

"Forget what's written on the page, alright?" You offered him an encouraging smile. "Just imagine it's your wedding day, and the woman you want to marry is standing right in front of you."

Zuko didn't answer right away. He stayed hunched forward, his eyes fixed on the floor.

When he looked up, he didn't glance at the desk, or the garden outside, or the rest of the room. His eyes locked straight onto yours.

"...Alright. I… I'd want her to know she doesn't have to become someone else just because she's marrying me,” Zuko said, as he traced a seam on his pant leg. “That she already has a place beside me, and she never has to earn it. I want our home to feel like somewhere she can rest... somewhere she can leave the weight of the world outside for a while.”

He never looked away.

“If the days are difficult, there'll always be tea waiting for her. If work keeps us late, then we'll be late together. I don't mind waiting- not if it means walking beside her at the end of it.”

You held your breath, the air in your lungs feeling far too thin.

“I want her to know that I'll… I'll not only listen but notice the things she doesn't say,” he continued. “When she's pretending she's fine, or when she's carrying too much by herself, when she's too busy taking care of everyone else… I want to be the person she doesn't have to be strong for anymore.” 

A morbid curiosity pulled the words right out of your chest before you could stop them. 

“What else?” 

It was a form of self torture. You couldn't fathom how Lady Kida had managed to unlock this side of him… the raw, devastating tenderness that you had spent years watching him guard so fiercely. Everything he had just laid bare was the exact devotion you’d starved for in secret for so long, handed over to someone who hadn't even had to ask for it.

Zuko raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I... I don't know.”

Your eyes felt watery, the room blurring just at the edges. You squeezed your hands tight in your lap.

“You do,” you whispered.

“I want her to laugh.”

You blinked, surprised out of your own heartbreak. “What?”

"I know I'm not particularly funny," he admitted, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But... she laughs anyway. And I suppose I'd like to spend the rest of my life trying to hear it.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat and offered him a fragile smile, more for your own sake than his.

“I think you’ve got it now.”

Zuko let out a thin hiss of air through his teeth. “Do I?” 

“Mhm. You're not thinking like the Fire Lord anymore.”

Zuko looked down at the empty scroll, his brow drawing. “Then... how am I thinking?”

You hesitated, taking in the tired slant of his shoulders, the warm afternoon light catching the edge of his scar, and the honesty in his eyes.

“Like...” You forced yourself to meet his gaze. “...a man who's in love.”

His eyes wandered toward the gardens beyond the window, and he nodded to himself.

"I am."

"Right." You gathered the untouched parchment with shaking hands. "Well… you don't need me anymore. You've found your vows! Yay!”

You turned away, stepping toward the desk to reach for your portfolio.

"Wait…"

"I really should go," you interrupted, forcing a laugh that sounded brittle. "I've neglected half my work already—"

"I said wait."

His hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist.

You pulled your arm back until your wrist slipped free, tucking it against your chest and clutching your portfolio.

He stood up, his chair scraping loud as he moved, but he didn't try to grab you again. He stepped into your path, blocking the double doors with his frame.

"I've requested a temporary reassignment to oversee the registry archives in the lower provinces," you said, forcing yourself to evoke the rhytthm of a bureaucrat as you stared at the center of his chest. "So I won't be attending the ceremony. And I… I've also asked the Palace Steward to begin looking for someone who can assume my permanent position here…”

The color drained from his face, leaving him looking sickly pale.

"You were going to leave," he breathed.

"The archives are in disarray, Zuko," you lied, keeping a professional tone to protect whatever was left of your heart. "And you don't need a secretary to write your feelings down anymore: you know what you want to say to your bride."

His jaw tightened so hard the scar pulled taut, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides. He looked at you like you were insane. 

"You really don't understand—" 

"I hope you're very happy, Fire Lord." 

You reached past him and pulled the door open.

"Don't."

He sounded terrified.

All you wanted was to turn around and scream at him. You wanted to shatter the composure you’d spent years perfecting, to demand why it had taken the promise of another woman at an altar for him to finally find his tongue. You wanted to scream that somewhere between the adventures, the endless council meetings, the evening tea, and the years spent at his side, he had become so much more than your friend. You wanted to lay your own heart out on the floor and force him to look at the collateral damage.

There wasn't a sentence in the world that could compete with the one waiting for him at the altar.

So you did what you had grown far too accustomed to doing: you said nothing. You held your breath, tucked your heartbreak behind your ribs, and closed the doors behind you.

Part 2.

🏷️my dear taglist (always open!xx): @highlady0239 @xoxocelestial @eepypupy @maee67 @keropiiko @yeonatingz @magnificentlyrainythunder @highlady0239 @solarlovesxyz @mutsu422 @overfandoming

[thisiscareless]

it's too little, way too late.

(Part two. Part one here.)

adult!fire lord zuko x royal secretary!reader | mdni. | wc: 5,3K

summary: in which Zuko discovers that some promises were never meant for the altar, and some conversations are worth risking everything for.

content: fire lord zuko x reader, friends to lovers, mutual pining, arranged marriage, angst, yearning, hea, humor as a coping mechanism (from the author), more tea mentions.

note: written for a request and inspired by ‘too little, too late’ by laufey. this story is split into two parts, part one is already available. ♡

Seven days had passed since the study doors had clicked shut behind you. 

Zuko wandered the eastern corridor without a destination, looking close to a ghost haunting his own halls. Servants bowed as he passed, so low their foreheads nearly swept the floor. 

"Fire Lord."

"Your Majesty."

He answered each greeting with hollowed out eyes, barely registering the faces around him.

His feet carried him toward the eastern gardens before he realized where they were going.

Every evening, once the final meeting had adjourned and the ink had dried on the day’s endless decrees, he’d find you waiting there. You’d be perched on the low stone wall bordering the lotus pond, one leg tucked beneath the other. Two cups would be steaming between you, releasing the fragrance of whatever funny blend you had decided you two needed that day. 

"If you're going to insist on working past sunset," you’d sigh, passing him a cup before he could even sit down, “the least I can do is make sure you don't accidentally poison yourself trying to brew tea.” 

"It's just boiling water."

"Yes… and last month you nearly set the kettle on fire.”

The place was empty, this meaning: no tray, no stack of unfinished reports she'd smuggle outside despite promising to leave them in the study, no fond banter waiting for him the moment he arrived, no funny flavors… 

Truth was something not easy to face, weird to unravel, and bitter to admit, but the truth was, that he hadn't realized how many places in the palace belonged to the two of you until he was forced to walk through them alone.

"Your Majesty?"

A young attendant hurried across the stone path, clutching scrolls against his chest.

"The Royal Secretary asked me to deliver these."

Zuko reached out, taking the scrolls. "She isn't coming to hand them over herself?" 

"No, Fire Lord," the boy stammered, ducking his head. "The Secretary requested that all future correspondence be routed strictly through the lower archive office." 

Point blank.

You weren’t coming back. A foolish spark had remained tucked inside his chest all week in the shape of hope that every time he turned a corner, he’d catch sight of you walking toward him. He’d braced himself for your brilliant smile, or even your angry frown- Agni, he would have begged for the frown… anything that meant you were still within reach.

"I see."

The servant bowed once more before hurrying away.

Zuko stared down at the scroll in his hand, but he couldn't bring himself to unroll it. Looking at your precise handwriting now was a form of execution knowing he’d never get to tease you over a misplaced stroke, or watch your eyes narrow when he pointed out a tiny flaw.

He added it to the growing list of things that had suddenly stopped being worth the effort.

He closed his eyes, tilting his head back toward the twilight.

I thought she'd know…

"Fire Lord?"

Zuko didn't answer. He didn't even move, hoping the earth would swallow him whole before he had to face whatever duty was calling for him next, or more of your handwriting.

"Fire Lord."

He opened his eyes.

Minister Shinu stood at the edge of the path. "There you are," he said with visible relief. "We've been looking everywhere."

"Is something wrong?" Zuko asked, straightening his posture.

"Not at all. Master Kaito has arrived for the final fitting for your wedding attire. Shall we?" 

Add it to the list. 

Master Kaito stepped around the perimeter of the fitting dais, two young apprentices hovering in his wake like skittish birds. Between them, they carried yards of materials of the required colors and even some gold thread, and brass pins held between their lips.

“Your Majesty, if you could raise your left arm juuust a fraction higher?” Kaito asked, smoothing the stiff fabric over Zuko's shoulder.

His gaze was locked onto a blank patch of stone wall past the tailor’s figure.

Kaito cleared his throat, exchanging a quick glance with his lead apprentice. “Your Majesty?”

Zuko blinked, the fog clearing from his eyes for a second as he looked down at the old tailor. “What?”

“Your arm, Sire,” Kaito repeated with patience, gesturing toward the sleeve. “The ceremonial mantle needs to sit flush against the collarbone for the oath.”

“Right.” Zuko raised his arm, letting them tug at the sleeves, take care of the high collar, and debate the sweep of the hem as though he were nothing more than a mannequin standing in the center of the room.

They fussed over every fold of the standard Fire Lord regalia. The voices around him drifted in and out, muffled and unimportant.

“The shoulder seam needs another half-inch, Master,” the younger apprentice whispered, leaning in with a pair of shears. “He’s slumping.”

“He isn't slumping, he’s exhausted,” Kaito muttered back, adjusting a pin near Zuko's throat. “The Royal Secretary would certainly come in handy right about now. She usually knows how to keep him awake through these lengthy fittings...”

The title didn't just break Zuko's trance, it struck him.

His eyes snapped wide. Suddenly, the room roared back to life with clarity. The heat of the apprentices crowding his space felt unbearable, as did the sharp pull of the pins against his ribs, the weight of the silk choking his throat, the invasive touch of four sets of hands fussing over his clothes… it was all too much, and it was burning him up from the inside out.

Zuko took a step back off the center mark, almost tripping the apprentice behind him.

“Your Majesty!” Kaito gasped, dropping his shears in surprise.

“I need everyone out,” Zuko said. Without raising his voice, he made every servant listen. 

Kaito looked at his face, caught the exhausted panic rising in the Fire Lord's eyes, and bowed. “Of course, Sire. We will…. return when you are ready! Out, out, everyone!”

Within seconds, the tailors gathered their tools and shuffled out.

Zuko stood alone on the fitting dais. He turned his head toward the tall mirror resting against the far wall. Reflected back at him was the absolute pinnacle of Fire Nation majesty: every line of the ceremonial attire designed to project power, tradition, and authority…

He scarcely recognized the man staring back at him. He stared waiting to feel something close to pride, duty, resolve, even fear- but he felt rather hollow wearing a suit meant for a wedding he’d never wanted.

He reached for the clasp at his shoulder, intending to strip the robes off, when a knock interrupted him. He didn’t give time to hope to form.

"Enter."

Ursa stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Her eyes stayed on him for only a moment before moving to the pins scattered across the platform, the measuring tape dangling from the edge of the chair and the shears resting on the floor where Master Kaito had dropped them.

"I take it the fitting went exceptionally well!" she said. 

Zuko let out a humorless laugh. "They needed a break." 

Ursa smiled. "... So I gathered."

She crossed the room, her slippers making barely a sound, before stopping beside the mirror. She looked at his reflection first, taking in the grand robes, before turning her eyes onto him. 

"Someone’s forgotten to shave."

His fingers brushed against the rough stubble there before dropping again. “I’m trying something new.”

“Before your wedding?” she asked, before frowning and pursing her lips with skepticism. “That’s a bit risky, don’t you think?”

“I’ll shave it off, Mom,” he muttered, stepping down from the platform and pacing toward her. “Did you need something? I told Kiyi to let me know if anything was missing from your quarters. She should have gotten her dress altered by now. Has—?” 

“Where is she, Zuko?”

He stopped dead in his tracks. “Kiyi should be with the seamstresses—”

“Not Kiyi,” Ursa clarified, offering him a frail, compassionate smile.

It was a painfully familiar ache, watching her read through every wall he tried to build. He hated disappointing her, and though she’d spent years reassuring him that her concern wasn't disappointment but love, he felt he didn't deserve her worry either. Even less over a mess he’d brought upon himself.

“Where is your secretary, Zuko?” she asked. “Where is your friend?” 

Zuko swallowed. "Working."

He could practically hear the gears turning in her head as she put the pieces together.

"Fine. She’s avoiding me," he admitted, his chin dipping to break eye contact. 

His mom, with all the grace she'd ever carried, walked past him and sat on the platform. She only needed to pat the space beside her twice for Zuko to cross the room and sit down next to her.

Ursa folded her hands in her lap. "What happened?"

"I couldn't write the vows…”

"So she helped."

He nodded. "She told me to imagine..." A dry smirk cracked across his face. "...the woman I was supposed to marry standing in front of me. So I did."

“And Lady Kida was nowhere to be found, I suppose.”

He shook his head. "I looked at her and I-I told her everything I'd wanted to say for years." 

"And then?"

"She told me to be happy.” He grunted, dragging a hand over his face and letting his palm stay over his mouth. “I handled that remarkably well, didn't I?"

Ursa turned toward him. "No."

“Ouch, Mom?”

Ursa placed a hand over his shoulder, her fingers pressing through. "You handled it exactly the way you've handled everything else, Zuko. You loved her so… quietly, you hoped she'd somehow hear the things you never said.”

He rested his head in his hand, his elbow propped against his leg. 

"You know..." Ursa murmured, "for years, I thought the two of you had already figured it out."

Zuko’s head snapped toward her. "What do you mean?"

"The way she looked at you." She shrugged. "The way you looked at her… You were never particularly subtle, darling."

"I spent years making sure I was."

"Perhaps only believing you were. I've watched that girl walk into a room and find you before anyone else, even when you two were little, and I've watched you answer questions you hadn't even heard because you were watching her instead. I thought everyone knew!"

He huffed a laugh. "...Except us."

"Except you," she affirmed. “You know, when I married your father..." she said, her eyes drifting toward the open window, "...I convinced myself that duty would eventually become enough. I told myself affection could be learned, and that peace was worth any sacrifice." A wistful smile crossed her face. "It was a comforting lie."

Zuko listened, sitting so still he barely seemed to breathe.

"I do not regret the life that brought me you and Azula." She reached over, covering his tensed hand with hers. "But if someone had offered me the choice… I would've married the man I truly loved.”

Her thumb brushed across his knuckles, tracing the skin with sweeps even the Spirits knew he needed.

"Kida deserves someone who looks at her with love, too…” Ursa waited until he turned his head, ensuring she met his eyes before continuing. "And your friend deserves better than spending the rest of her life believing those vows belonged to someone else."

"The invitations have been delivered, mom. The delegations have crossed half the world to be here." He dragged his thumb hard across his jaw. "If I call this off now, I don't just embarrass myself. I embarrass her,  insult her family… I jeopardize an alliance." 

Ursa lowered her hands back into her lap, her eyes searching his face. "You think marrying Lady Kida is the honorable thing to do." 

"It is."

"Is it, Zuko?” 

Ursa turned her eyes toward the ceremonial robes hanging nearby. "Tell me… and please, feel free to be honest: if you were Lady Kida, would you want to marry a man who loved someone else?" 

Zuko opened his mouth to answer, but the words died in his throat. 

“I will never tell you what to do, Fire Lord, but when I married your father, no one asked me that question.” Zuko saw how a sad smile brushed her lips. "Do not take away her chance to be loved honestly." 

"...I've made a mess of everything..." 

"That doesn't mean you have to spend the rest of your life living inside it." She leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to his cheek before standing up. “You built a different world, Zuko, it is a gift that you get to choose now, and so do they."

Zuko stood up after she left, and went back to what he was doing. He reached up and undid the clasp at his shoulder, the mantle slipping to the floor.

An attendant met his eyes in the mirror. “Fire Lord, Lady Kida has arrived." 

The room assigned to the Lower Provincial Registry had none of the life of the palace study. The windows were smaller, the shelves older, the air carrying the permanent scent of dust and dry parchment instead of incense. It wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't remotely close to home.

You tied another bundle of records together, tightening the cord before adding it to the growing stack waiting to be catalogued… Three days' worth of work you'd finished it in one. Turns out there was very little left to do once you stopped allowing yourself distractions. 

A sound from the doorway made you look up. You’d left it propped open… just in the wildly impossible, entirely foolish hope that someone whose title began with Fire and ended in Lord might pass by. 

Emi peeked her head inside, balancing an oversized crate against her hip with a puff of air. "So there you are!"

"I wasn't expecting visitors."

"Neither was I." She nudged the crate onto the nearest table with a groan before dusting off her sleeves. "I'm actually here to apologize."

You raised an eyebrow, your hands pausing over the twine. "Oh, no. Should I be worried?"

"A liiittle."

She reached into the crate and produced a thick, cream colored envelope sealed with the Fire Nation crest, not crooked. "It turns out someone at the shop made a rather spectacular mistake."

You accepted it and turned it over. "The invitations?"

Emi nodded sheepishly, wincing ahead of time. "We somehow forgot to print Minister Shinu's."

"You forgot the man whose entire personality revolves around proper seating arrangements?"

She nodded again.

"The man currently organizing a royal wedding, Emi?"

"I am painfully aware." Emi clasped her hands together in a plea. "The palace has sent us two increasingly terrifying letters. Seeing as you're the only person Minister Shinu has never actually threatened..."

Debatable, you thought, though you kept your lips pressed shut.

"...I was hoping you'd deliver it."

You stared down at the seal. "I don't think that's appropriate, Emi."

"It'll take five minutes. Ten, tops!"

Five minutes inside a palace that had once felt more like home than your own childhood bedroom. Ten, tops… You could survive ten minutes. 

"Fine." You slid the invitation into your satchel. "It should've been caught before they were delivered."

Emi's shoulders dropped in relief, and she clapped her hands together. "I owe you!"

"You owe me several things by now," you murmured, sliding the heavy envelope into your satchel.

"I'll start with lunch! I promise!" Emi called out over her shoulder, already spinning on her heel toward the hallway. She offered a grateful wave as she backed through the doorway.

You reached for your cloak. You told yourself you were merely delivering an invitation, merely correcting a clerical error, and of course, you were being responsible.

You were not using a forgotten piece of paper as a pathetic excuse to breathe the same air as Zuko one last time. Absolutely not. It had been decided.

Your traitorous pulse, however, was already throwing a full blown parade in your neck…

You listened to the things moving around inside your satchel and kept your eyes fixed ahead. The plan was simple: you'd find Minister Shinu, hand him the crisp envelope, and leave as calm as possible.

Yet around you, the grand corridors were anything but calm. Servants darted between pillars like frightened swallows, carrying armfuls of ceremonial decoration, gilded platters, and towering arrangements of fire lilies. 

"...Has anyone seen the Palace Steward?"

"No, but the eastern pavilion's been cleared."

"Already?"

"That's what I heard."

You barely registered the conversations as you walked, keeping your head held high.

"...The Fire Lord dismissed everyone."

You slowed your pace. Not prying, of course, merely adjusting your cloak. To keep up appearances, you stopped beside a carved dragon sconce, inspecting it and evaluating its dust levels.

"What?" the second servant asked, her fingers clutching the wrist of her companion.

The first servant glanced around before dropping her voice to a whisper. "The council. They were sent away not twenty minutes ago. I've never seen Minister Shinu look so furious!"

The two scurried around the corner, their hushed whispers fading. You kept walking, but a strange coil was tightening in your stomach. Dismissed the entire council? The day before his own royal wedding? That didn't sound like Zuko at all, or at least, not the Zuko who had spent months going crazy over every diplomatic detail.

You gave your head a firm shake, mentally slapping yourself. Not your concern anymore.

When you rounded the final bend into the administrative wing, you were spared the trouble of hunting Minister Shinu down. He was already there, looking like a man enduring a very normal, highly chaotic workday as he barked orders at three scurrying attendants. Perfect. Quick handoff, quick exit.

"Minister Shinu?"

He spun so abruptly that a scroll slipped from beneath his arm, clattering noisily onto the stone floor. "What is itt now?"

You reached into your satchel, pulling out the envelope. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Minister—"

“Speak, Secretary…” he snapped, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“There was an error with the printing office," you explained, extending the paper toward him. "Your invitation was inadvertently omitted from the primary dispatch, so I brought it personally.”

He snatched the envelope from your hand.

"Marvelous."

"I wanted to ensure you received it directly."

"You needn't have troubled yourself," he said. He stared down at the invitation for a long moment before letting out an incredulous laugh. "Rather useless now, isn't it?”

"I'm sorry?"

Minister Shinu waved the invitation dismissively through the air. "The wedding isn't happening."

Your head spun as the words hit you. It couldn't be true; the ceremony was barely twenty four hours away.

"The wedding is tomorrow," you said, the breath knocked out of your lungs. "Why on earth would he do that?"

"If I knew, I imagine I'd be considerably less irritable," Shinu said, shoving the invitation beneath his arm alongside the scrolls before whirling around to bark across the corridor. "No, no- the eastern pavilion! The pavilion!"

The attendants scattered like mice, leaving you rooted to the floor.

"The eastern delegation wants reassurance, the northern ministers want clarification, the Palace Steward wants a revised schedule..." He rolled his eyes. "...and His Majesty has vanished!"

“... Literally?”

"You know how he is. He claims he is 'thinking.' He left strict instructions that no one is to disturb him unless the palace is actively engulfed in flames." Shinu’s eyes narrowed. "Frankly, I am considering setting something ablaze."

You buried a huff of laughter behind a cough. 

"Actually." Shinu paused, looking you up and down as though calculating a desperate administrative solution. "Perhaps you could speak to him. You are still the only person who has ever managed to convince His Majesty to write a coherent apology letter." He adjusted the stack under his arm. "And judging by the number of foreign dignitaries currently threatening to board their ships, he is going to need one."

You hesitated, your knuckles whitening around the strap of your satchel.

Shinu let out a long suffering sigh. "He mentioned that he would be waiting for a cup of tea."

“Tea?” you repeated, coughing for real this time.

"Tea, precisely!" Shinu confirmed. "He has, in my professional opinion, completely lost his mind." 

Without waiting for your response, he swept down the corridor, already shouting at some unfortunate page who had made the grave error of carrying the wrong set of ledgers.

Tea.

Oh, Zuko. He really had lost his mind…

You'd walked that path hundreds of times without thinking, balancing stacks of reports while muttering tomorrow's agenda and while Zuko pretended to listen. Every turn knew you by heart, but when you stepped into the courtyard, the tray was already waiting on the low wall, set with a steeping pot and two cups.

Zuko sat hunched on the stone ledge, his elbows resting against his thighs. He picked up one of the porcelain cups, turning it between his fingers in a circle.

He didn't turn around. “You’re back sooner than I expected.”

You closed the distance between you, your shoes brushing over the stones before stopping a few paces short. "Minister Shinu requested I help you draft an apology to the eastern delegation along with every other dignitary currently hyperventilating in the main hall."

He looked over his shoulder, and didn't argue. His eyes flicked down to the empty space beside him. “Would you mind taking a seat?”

What was there to lose? You hoisted yourself up and sat.

“I’d like to ask for your help with something else first. If you don't mind,” Zuko said, reaching into the fold of his robes and pulling out a sheet of creased parchment.

You stared at the ink showing through the thin paper. “Are those…?”

“My vows.”

You immediately pulled back, your spine stiffening. “I shouldn't even be here. I have cataloguing to finish, and I am not—”

"You told me they should be my words." He held the paper out to you. "So I finished them. I just... I need you to read them."

You crossed your arms, pressing them against yourself to keep your hands from reaching out. "I shouldn't. They're private."

"They're yours." He didn't lower his hand, he just moved his wrist, holding the page closer to your side.

"What do you mean?"

"I wrote them for you."

You let out an incredulous laugh. “That’s cruel, you know?"

“I know how it sounds, but—”

"No, Zuko, you don't." You turned your head, forcing your eyes to meet his. "Do you have any idea what this past week has been like?"

“It’s been awful,” he admitted. "I thought..." He looked down at the creased parchment between his fingers, a self-deprecating shake of his head breaking his posture. "Agni, I thought it was obvious."

You stared at him in utter disbelief. “You really have lost your mind.”

"No! I—I mean, yes, but—ugh." He cut himself off, his fingers digging into his hair as he yanked his head back in frustration. "I wasn't talking about Kida."

"How could it possibly have been obvious?" you asked, throwing your hands up in exasperated motion.

"Because I never looked at her," he said, his hand reaching out to catch your wrist, holding you so you couldn't retreat. "I was looking at you."

He eased his grip, his fingers sliding down your arm to press the folded sheet into your palm, curling your fingers over it until you were holding it together.

"I know how insane it sounds.." He let out a shaky breath. "But when you told me to picture the woman I wanted to marry… there wasn't anyone else to picture."

"But Lady Kida is—"

"I ended it." He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, his arm fell back to his side. "I should've done it long before I ever asked you to help me with those vows. I spoke to her this morning, and I apologized."

“What for?” You stared down at the paper in your grip.

"I couldn't stand in front of her tomorrow and promise her a life I already knew belonged to someone else. She deserved the truth." He exhaled. "So did you."

"And the alliance?" you asked. "The council? Everything you've spent months preparing?"

He ran a hand through his hair, turning his posture toward you, leaning forward until his shadow covered the stone wall between you.

"Well, they're furious, of course."

You half smiled. "I can imagine."

"I've spent the entire afternoon being informed that I've single-handedly created a diplomatic disaster…”

"Which, you probably have."

"I probably have, yeah." Zuko looked at the cup cooling beside the teapot.

"I don’t mind spending the next few months apologizing to ministers…" He gave a crooked tilt of his head, waiting for your verdict. “... when I would've spent the rest of my life apologizing to myself."

You guided your hands to the pot, the creased paper still tucked between your thumb and palm. You filled the cool cup, took a sip, and set it down. After that, you unfolded the parchment.

“If you're reading this, then I'm trying this again. Last time I started with everything except the part that mattered. So let me fix that first: every word on this page is meant for you.

Here's my first promise: I'll stop expecting you to hear the things I never say aloud.

I promise there will always be tea waiting for you at the end of the day, not because it's tradition anymore, but because somewhere along the way, it became my favorite part of coming home.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes blurring over his handwriting. You could practically hear his voice in the cadence of the lines.

“I promise to remind you that you don't have to carry everything alone. And when you inevitably ignore me, I'll remind you again the next day.

I promise that no matter how many meetings run late, or ministers lose their tempers, or treaties end up covering my desk, I'll always save enough time to sit beside you.

You have spent years laughing at my worst jokes. I'd like the chance to make you laugh to better ones.”

You touched the bottom margin where his grip had wrinkled the corner.

“I was afraid I had found these words too late. If I haven't, I'd like to spend the rest of my life saying them on time.”

You looked up.

"If..." He swallowed, the movement of his throat  visible. "If you don't feel the same, that's alright. I meant every word anyway. I just- I couldn't let you keep believing they belonged to someone else.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but the ridiculousness of his question choked the words into a half strangled laugh.

"Not feel the same?"

His hopeful expression faltered, uncertainty clouding his features.

"Zuko..." You shook your head, pressing the folded parchment against your chest as if to keep your heart from rattling out. "...If anything, I've been late too. For… years."

Zuko stared at you.

"I kept telling myself there would be another day." You looked down at the creased parchment, feeling a smirk tugging at your mouth in recognition of your own stubbornness. "Another council meeting, another evening with the teapot…. right up until you handed me a list of wedding preparations.I thought..." You shook your head. "I thought I'd missed my chance. That maybe I'd been selfish for wanting something you were never going to offer me. So I laid my sword down."

A tear spilled down your cheek.

"I convinced myself that keeping my mouth shut was the kindest thing I could do, for you, for the Fire Nation... mostly because I was terrified you'd never feel the same." You pressed your knuckles against your mouth for a second. "I'm so sorry."

He dropped onto one knee on the stones in front of you, wrapping his fingers around yours before you could pull your hands away.

"No. Don't apologize."

You let out a snort, wiping at your chin with your sleeve. "You literally just apologized, so now it's my turn."

"No," he said, shaking his head with conviction. "It'd make this whole mess incredibly confusing."

It earned a full bodied laugh from you, which made him smile.

You reached out, framing his face between your hands. "I genuinely am sorry." Your thumbs moved over the roughness of the stubble he'd forgotten to shave. "I thought..." Your voice caught. "...I thought it was too late." 

His eyes closed, leaning his forehead forward until it rested against yours. "Not this time.”

Zuko opened one eye, looking up at you. "...Can I get a hug?"

You stared at him, caught right on the edge of a smile. “After all of this? I don’t think you deserve a hug.”

Before he could open his mouth to protest, you reached out, hooked your fingers into his collar, and yanked him up into you.

The kiss started as a collision, clumsy with months of restraint snapping all at once. His breath hitched against your mouth, caught off guard. The height suited you; you dragged him closer, your hands wandering blindly, urgent and everywhere. One hand tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him against you, while the other slid up his sleeve to grip his shoulder.

He leaned into the momentum, his arms wrapping around your waist to haul you flush against the edge of the stone. Every secret word you’d buried, every night you’d convinced yourself you were dreaming up a life that couldn’t exist, melted under the press of his lips.

He didn't pull back. He just held you tighter, his palms pressing hard against your back.

"I've been wanting to do that for years," he murmured against your mouth.

"Me too..."

You pulled back to glance down at his posture. “Do you want to sit again? That looks wildly uncomfortable.”

He pretended to weigh his options, and ended up hooking his arm behind your knees and yanking you straight down onto the grass with him.You tumbled across his lap, your arms locking behind his neck to catch your balance.

“Or that works too. Really.”

He chucked, and he leaned down, pressing the scarred side of his face against your cheek.

When he finally pulled back, his hand moved into his inner sleeve once more. "There is still one thing I need your help with…”

You let your head fall back against his shoulder with a groan.

"I knew there'd be paperwork!"

He produced another folded sheet of parchment. "I have to explain this to half the world."

You reached out and accepted it.

"What are you telling them?"

"The truth." He looked back toward the looming red towers of the palace, his jaw set. "A marriage built on dishonesty could never bring peace to the Fire Nation. It didn't for my parents, and it won't now." 

You glanced up at him from his lap. "That's actually very good."

"I learned from the best." He offered a wink. "And that's why I know there's no better place to draft a diplomatic disaster than my study, preferably with a fresh pot of tea. Should we…?"

You laughed, rolling out of his lap and pushing yourself up from the grass. You extended a hand toward him, he took it, letting you pull him up off the ground. He didn't let go once he was on his feet.

You reached down, intending to pick up the tray, but his grip on your fingers tugged you toward the path instead.

"Leave it," Zuko said, stepping alongside you. "I'll make another. It's gone cold anyway."

You raised an eyebrow, nudging him with your shoulder. “I wonder where we could find a Firebender around here to heat it up…”

He gave you a fond bump back.

You laughed. "Get moody all you want, we both know you'd end up burning the kettle anyway…”

“I didn't see a promise about my tea-brewing skills in those vows,” he countered, holding your hand tighter as you walked.

"Maybe I'll write one in for you," you said.

"This time," he murmured, "let's not leave anything important unsaid." 

note: I’m so excited to finally be done with this request!!! To the person who asked for it, I hope this wasn’t too little, too late (wink wink). I also owe everyone an apology for the excessive amount of tea featured in this fic, but at some point it became its own love language and there was no going back. On the bright sideeee I finally got to write Ursa! and that alone made me incredibly happy. Thank you so much for reading, and I really hope you enjoyed it. ♡ xx

🏷️my dear taglist (always open!xx): @highlady0239 @xoxocelestial @eepypupy @maee67 @keropiiko @yeonatingz @magnificentlyrainythunder @highlady0239 @solarlovesxyz @mutsu422 @overfandoming

[lonelyfooryouonly]

did you just grunt? zuko x pregnant!reader

.✦ ݁˖ pregnant!fem!reader, established relationship, other than that just fluff;

zuko had picked you up a thousand times before.

over his shoulder. in his arms. into his lap during slow, lazy afternoons when you were both half-asleep, mumbling nonsense, but still refusing to let go of each other's warmth.

but this time was different.

this time, you were carrying his child.

your child.

"zuko, seriously," you laughed as he still held onto you anyway, stubborn as ever. "i can walk."

"i know you can walk," he muttered, his large hands adjusting carefully around your waist and back, brushing against your robes as if he was recalculating every possible way to hold you safely. "i just—"

he lifted you anyway.

—and immediately let out a strained little grunt.

then the room went completely silent.

the birds outside stopped chirping.

the wind didn't seem to blow anymore.

you blinked slowly.

zuko blinked right back.

for a moment, neither of you said anything.

then his expression dropped.

it was subtle at first — just a flicker of realization — but it quickly turned into full-blown horror, like he had just witnessed the collapse of his entire legacy before his eyes.

"...did you just grunt?" you ask finally, breaking the silence. your tone is calm, but your face gives nothing away.

"no...?" he replies immediately, too fast.

"you absolutely did," you say at once, not letting him escape it.

"i didn't," he snaps, a little sharper now, shifting his grip slightly like he's trying to prove a point. "i adjusted my stance."

you keep staring at him.

he refuses to meet your eyes.

your hands slowly rise, gently cradling his face so he has no choice but to look at you. his jaw is tense, his ears faintly red, his entire composure hanging by a thread.

despite his obvious distress, you smile softly.

"are you calling me heavy?"

his shoulders drop a little.

he exhales, trying to recover.

okay. maybe he was overreacting.

it was just a grunt, you smiled. maybe it wasn't that big of a deal. maybe you had nothing to be upset about.

yeah.

"no, love," he says, forcing a small smile.

then your fingers press into his cheeks, squishing them together as you study him very seriously.

"then put me down and pick me up again," you say, tone flat, deadpan. "without the grunt."

his eyes widen slightly.

he fakes a cough, trying to hide the sound of his fast heartbeating, as if you can hear it.

"yes, love," he answers, voice already wavering as he quickly clears his throat like that might fix everything.

[andy-15-07]

can i request a zuko fic? where maybe the reader is a water bender but during a fight with the gaang she gets hurt by mistake by a fire blast coming from zuko that leaves a scar and he start pulling away because hes scared?

The Scar You Left

pairing — Zuko x reader

word count — 1967

request open

masterlist

The fight had started with shouting, as most of them did.

One moment the sky had been bright and cold above the rocky hillside, the Gaang moving in a loose defensive line, and the next everything had become motion,earth exploding upward, water whipping through the air, Sokka yelling for everyone to spread out, and Zuko stepping forward with fire in his hands like he was trying to hold the entire world back by himself.

You had fought beside them often enough by then to know how dangerous he was when he was cornered.

You had also learned that he was more dangerous to himself than anyone else.

“Y/N, move!” Katara shouted.

You turned too late.

Zuko’s fire came hard and fast across the stone, forced by panic more than strategy, and you felt the blast hit before your brain could even understand what had happened. Heat tore across your side. The impact knocked the breath out of you and sent you stumbling back into the dirt.

Then the world went painfully, horribly quiet.

Your hand flew to your ribs. Fire still crackled in the air around you, but it no longer mattered. The pain was immediate and fierce, a burning line that seared through your skin and made your entire body lock. When you looked down, there was a raw, red mark along your shoulder and upper arm where the blast had caught you.

You heard someone call your name.

It might have been Aang. Or Katara. Or Zuko.

Then your knees gave out.

The last thing you saw before darkness crowded in was Zuko’s face.

Not angry.

Not triumphant.

Terrified.

When you woke, the smell of smoke was gone.

Instead there was damp earth, clean bandages, and the soft warmth of a nearby fire.

You blinked slowly, your body aching all over, and found yourself lying in a tent with a blanket drawn carefully over your shoulders. The first thing you noticed was the sting of your side whenever you breathed too deeply. The second was the scarred line of pain beneath the fresh dressing on your skin. The third was Zuko.

He was sitting on the other side of the tent, elbows on his knees, head bowed and hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. He looked up the second you shifted.

For a brief second, hope flashed across his face.

Then he saw you were awake, really awake, and the hope vanished into something so sharp and guilty it made your chest tighten.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly.

You swallowed. “Apparently.”

He stood too quickly, then seemed to catch himself before he could come any closer. “How do you feel?”

You almost laughed, except laughter hurt. “Like I got hit by fire.”

His jaw flexed.

The silence that followed was so heavy you could feel it settle over the tent. Somewhere outside, voices moved in the camp, but here it was just the two of you and the weight of what had happened.

You pushed yourself up a little, hissing softly at the sting in your side. Zuko moved at once.

“Don’t,” he said, too fast. “Don’t sit up yet.”

“Zuko,”

“I’m serious.”

You looked at him, and something in his face made you stop. He was pale. Not from illness, but from fear. From the kind of fear that sat in a person’s bones and did not leave quickly.

“Come here,” you said gently.

He did not move.

You frowned. “Zuko.”

He looked away. “I shouldn’t be near you.”

The words landed like a second wound.

You stared at him. “What?”

His voice had gone rough. “I hurt you.”

That was it. That was what he had been carrying while you slept. Not anger. Not excuses. Just that one hard fact, pressed over and over into his chest until it had become unbearable.

You tried to sit straighter, and the bandage pulled painfully against your skin. “Zuko, it was a mistake.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “A fire blast from my hands hit you. That is not a small mistake.”

“No, it is not,” you said carefully. “It’s a terrible one. But it was still a mistake.”

He shook his head. “You were there because of me.”

“That is not how this works.”

“It is exactly how it works.”

You stared at him, disbelief slowly giving way to hurt. “So what, you’re going to stand over there forever and punish yourself?”

He flinched.

That answer was answer enough.

You let out a slow breath, then said, more quietly, “Come closer.”

His shoulders tightened.

“Zuko.”

“I said I hurt you.”

“Yes,” you snapped, just enough to make him look at you. “And I said it was a mistake.”

He looked miserable.

You softened again, because the sight of him like that always did something to your heart. “You didn’t do this on purpose.”

“No.”

“You didn’t want me to get hurt.”

“No.”

“And if you had been able to stop it, you would have.”

That made him look up.

You held his gaze and continued, voice low and steady, “You are not the first person to make a mistake in a fight.”

He said nothing.

“You are not the first person to get scared.”

His expression changed at that, very slightly.

“Zuko,” you said, “come sit with me.”

He remained where he was for another long second, as if some part of him still believed distance could fix what had happened. Then, slowly, he crossed the space between you and the other side of the bed.

He sat carefully on the edge of the blanket, not touching you, as though your skin had become something sacred and dangerous all at once.

You watched him for a moment, then reached out and caught his hand before he could stop you.

He went still.

His fingers were cold.

“You’re shaking,” you said softly.

“I’m fine.”

You gave him a flat look.

That earned the ghost of a smile, but it did not last. His eyes moved to the bandage on your shoulder, and the guilt returned at once.

You squeezed his hand. “Look at me.”

He did.

“I’m hurt,” you said. “Not dead.”

His throat worked. “That isn’t funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

“You could have been worse hurt.”

“I could have,” you agreed. “But I wasn’t.”

He looked like he wanted to argue. You cut him off before he could.

“You are allowed to be upset.”

His expression cracked just a little.

You went on, gentler now, “But you are not allowed to disappear on me because you’re afraid to look at what happened.”

His hand tightened around yours.

For a moment he stared at the blanket, jaw clenched so hard it looked painful. Then, in a voice so quiet you nearly missed it, he admitted, “When I saw you fall, I thought,I thought I had done the one thing I promised I would never do.”

Your heart twisted.

“What promise?”

He swallowed hard. “To hurt someone I loved.”

The words sat between you, raw and open and terrible in their honesty.

You reached up with your free hand and touched his cheek. He closed his eyes immediately, leaning into the touch before he could stop himself.

“You did hurt me,” you said softly.

He went rigid.

You kept going before the panic could rise again. “And I am angry about that. And sore. And I will probably have this scar for a while.”

His face tightened.

“But,” you said, thumb brushing lightly along his cheekbone, “you did not choose it. And you are here now.”

He opened his eyes.

“You stayed,” you said. “That matters.”

His gaze searched yours as though he was trying to find the line where pity ended and truth began. “I didn’t think I had a right to.”

“You do.”

The words were instant.

He looked almost startled by them.

“You are not some monster waiting to happen,” you said. “You are a man who is trying very hard to become better. Those are not the same thing.”

He looked away, visibly fighting the emotion in his face.

Your hand slipped from his cheek to his hair, fingers threading gently through the strands at his temple. “And for the record, if you think one accident is enough to make me leave you, you do not know me at all.”

That earned a small, strangled sound from him that was almost a laugh.

You smiled faintly. “There you are.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know how to stop thinking about it.”

“I do.”

He looked at you, surprised.

You gave him a tired but affectionate look. “You sit here. You hold my hand. You let me tell you that I’m alive. Then you let me make you tea before you start pacing holes in the dirt.”

His mouth twitched despite himself. “You are very bossy when injured.”

“I am always bossy.”

“That is true.”

For the first time since he had walked into the tent, something in his shoulders loosened. He shifted closer, finally allowing himself to rest one hand over yours instead of holding himself apart. Careful. Tender. Afraid still, but present.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, glancing at the bandage.

“Obviously.”

“Can I see it?”

You hesitated only because you could feel how badly he wanted to know the damage. Then you nodded and let him help you sit up a little more.

He moved with such care it nearly undid you.

When the blanket slipped down enough for him to see the red burn wrapped in clean cloth, his face went still again. Not with panic this time. With grief. With the quiet heartbreak of seeing the mark left behind by his own fire on someone he loved.

You reached for his wrist before he could spiral again.

“Zuko.”

He looked at you, and the guilt was still there, but now it was balanced by something else. Something steadier. A willingness to stay.

You tilted your head. “Would you like to know the truth?”

He nodded once.

“It hurts,” you said. “But I’m healing.”

His eyes held yours.

“And,” you added, because you knew he needed this too, “this scar is not proof that you failed. It’s proof that we survived.”

That finally broke him.

Not into tears. Not fully. But enough that his face shifted and his breathing went uneven and he had to look away for a second just to gather himself.

When he looked back, his voice was rough. “You always know what to say.”

“No,” you said, smiling a little. “I just know what you need to hear.”

He leaned forward then, resting his forehead carefully against yours, as if afraid to use too much pressure. “I thought I’d lose you.”

You closed your eyes. “You didn’t.”

“I know.”

“And you won’t, because one accident does not undo everything we are.”

He let out a slow breath, and for the first time since you had woken, he really seemed to hear you.

When he finally kissed your forehead, it was so soft it barely counted as touch. But it was enough.

Later, he made you tea with his own hands and sat beside you through the rest of the evening, his shoulder finally pressing gently against yours as if he had at last forgiven himself enough to be near you again.

And when the bandage was changed days later, and the scar beneath it began to show, Zuko looked at it with a haunted expression that no longer belonged to fear alone.

Because now he knew what it meant.

Not punishment.

Not failure.

Only that he had once nearly lost you, and had been given the mercy of not doing so.

And that, he understood now, was something he would spend the rest of his life trying to deserve.

[kamislop]

pool party with hanta sero / sfw

hanta has no idea how the others convinced bakugou to let them use his pool to host his surprise birthday party. he wonders if they paid him or something, even though all of their combined bank accounts probably look like mere pennies compared to bakugou’s.

whatever means they used - since he really, really doubts the power of friendship was enough - he can’t complain. at all. and among all of the amazing things he can name about this party, one’s been sticking out the most since he arrived— you.

you, in that bikini that’s been making him lose his mind for the past couple hours. one look at you and he was already dumb— he hadn’t even lit up his first joint, by the way.

he remembers you, a friend of mina’s, who had most likely “warned” you about him. whatever that means. because you clearly weren’t there for him, caught up in a conversation with kyouka for over twenty minutes now - not like he’d been counting - holding a beer that was dangerously close to toppling over and spill all over you every time you threw your head back in a laugh.

now, it’s not like he would’ve minded the sight.

“—hello, hanta!” denki kicks his shin again, rudely interrupting his thoughts. he has to peel his eyes away from you, only to be met with his best friend’s obnoxious face and red-rimmed eyes. “you’re gonna pass that or not? you’re not even smoking! are you out of it already?”

“huh?” he mumbles distractedly, eyeing the burning joint between his fingers. “hm, here,” he takes a quick drag, letting the smoke melt on his tongue as he hands it to denki, who’s currently sprawled out on the lawn chair next to his.

his honeyed eyes dart to where his friend was staring at before, putting the joint to his lips. “man, are you seriously ruining your own birthday party by being hung up on her? go talk to her or somethin’!”

hanta brushes him off with a groan. “mina’s told her stuff,” he shakes his head. “dunno what, though, it’s clear she doesn’t want to talk to me. i mean, she didn’t even say happy birthday when i arrived.”

“yikes,” denki cringes.

“tell me about it.”

as he’s mid-stretching his neck, a head of fiery red intrudes in his field of vision. “yo, birthday boy! are you planning to stay there and sulk all night? we’re gonna play volley in the pool.”

hanta almost rejects eijirou’s offer when he sees you getting in the water with mina.

“you know what? sure, c’mon denks,” he pats his friend’s thigh, who scrambles to put out the joint in the ashtray katsuki gave them - neither of them even dares to think what their punishment would be - and follow suit.

“took you guys long enough,” kyouka rolls her eyes as the three boys approach. “we’ve already formed teams.”

“oh man, without me? i wanted to be captain!” eijirou pouts. “sorry, bubba, but kats and i beat you to it,” mina chirps, sticking her tongue out with a victorious grin. “you’re in katsuki’s team, denks and hanta are in mine!”

quickly scanning the water, hanta sees you’re in mina’s team. if he plays his cards right, maybe he still has a chance to shoot his shot. is he good at volleyball? no, and he’s definitely at even more of a disadvantage, playing in the water and being high.

he just has to think of a way to impress you that doesn’t involve his skills, or lack thereof.

the opportunity finally came when katsuki, the competitive motherfucker that he is, spiked the ball at full speed towards you. he barely made it, hands wrapping around your middle to whip you around and shield you with his body when the ball hit him square in the face.

everything went black after that.

hanta’s head is throbbing, the kind of headache he’s used to getting the morning after getting wasted for a whole night, the uncomfortable ache that knocks him out for a whole day.

“—hanta? hey, he’s waking up!” an angelic voice breaches through his dazed mind, followed by the feeling of soft fingers patting his cheek. the dream-like vision doesn’t last long, though, a pair of angry crimson eyes boring into his. “oi! better wake the fuck up!”

he’s definitely conscious now.

“jesus, bakugou, get out of my face,” he shoves katsuki away with a groan, blinking hard as he gets used again to the golden light of the setting sun. he’s lying on the stone tiles that line the pool, some of his friends watching him from the water, all with the same relieved look on their faces.

“yeah! our hero is awake!” eijirou cheers, throwing his fist up in the air, only to be elbowed in the ribs by kyouka.

“i guess he really is a hero, huh?” he finally realizes who the angelic voice he heard before belongs to— you. of course, it was you. kneeling on the grass next to him, big eyes looking down at him framing a soft, beautiful smile.

maybe he was dead and this was his heaven?

“whatever, i already apologized,” katsuki is sulking, sitting on the edge of the pool with his legs in the water. mina comes up from behind him, smacking the back of his head. “you apologized to her, but not to hanta!” she scolds the blond, who growls in protest but eventually relents.

“sorry.”

everyone goes back to other stuff after making sure that hanta was okay. he was in good hands, after all.

you hadn't left his side yet, only to give katsuki the ice pack he had brought out, then immediately coming back to him. he’s sitting up now, hands behind his back to hold himself up.

he’s really trying not to stare at you, at the way your bikini is hugging your body, so close to him. hanta hopes his soaked swimming trunks aren’t going to betray him, at least not until you’re gone.

“y’know, you didn’t have to be such a show off on your birthday. it’s already a special day,” you tease, lightly bumping your shoulder against his.

he should come up with some smooth reply, he thinks, something that makes him look nonchalant and cool, but all his brain can conjure at the moment is a dumb ”buh”. and, well, he can’t have that.

“not special enough to earn a birthday wish from you, though. had to take it up a notch to show i’m worthy, or somethin’.”

your eyes widen, and hanta dies inside. he said it without thinking, and now he definitely looks like a huge, pretentious piece of shit.

“i didn’t? oh my god i’m so sorry!” your hand comes to rest on top of his over the damp grass, and now you’re even closer than before, your chest almost squished against his bicep. “you were busy talking to your friends, and then i got pulled away…and i was too embarrassed to just come up to you out of nowhere.”

your voice is small, and he realizes you genuinely do feel bad for it. “hey,” he almost purrs. “you’re fine, i mean it. your gift will make up for it,” he teases, flashing you a grin.

you giggle, shoulders relaxing in relief. your fingers interlock with his between the blades of grass, leaning over to whisper something in his ear. “i’ve got two, actually. but i guess this also counts as thanks for saving me, earlier.”

hanta opens his mouth to speak but you don’t let him, closing the distance between your lips. it’s more of a peck than an actual kiss, with you immediately pulling back, eyes scanning his for a reaction. he doesn’t speak, his other hand finding your hip to haul you over his lap to kiss you again.

you both fall back into the grass, limbs tangling and lips smacking like some teenagers with no self control. you almost miss katsuki’s barked scolding, sliding window open to yell at you to “not fuck on his yard, or anywhere in or near his house”.

when you finally break away, your lips are puffy and kiss-bitten, looking like an absolute dream.

“y’know,” you whisper, still not quite peeling yourself off of him just yet. “we could make it three gifts if you take me back to your place tonight.”

man, this might be hanta’s best birthday yet.

┊┊a/n. happy birthday hanta they should've put you in the new season of my hero ultra rumble you would be my main :(

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©kamislop 2026, do not copy, translate or upload my works without credit, do not use for AI training

[hajislut]

LOVE ME HARDER

── 𝜗ৎ in which liquid courage ends up with you tied up and fucked stupid!! ── 𝜗ৎ pairing(s): hanta sero x fem!reader ── 𝜗ৎ cw: 18+ MINORS DNI explicit smut ahead, established relationship, porn w/ (little) plot, girl talk turns into getting wasted, reader kinda introverted, improper use of quirk, bondage, minor exhibitionism, MANHANDLING, mating press, choking, degradation + praise, rough sex, spanking, oral (fem rec.), spitting ── 𝜗ৎ wc: 6.4k

divider by @/cafekitsune

SEX WITH HANTA was good. Great, even... Yeah, it was amazing sex.

Was that the truth, or was that what you were trying to convince yourself nowadays? You really aren't too sure.

"...I don't know, I feel weird talking to you about this." Your groan is muffled in your palms. Mina laughs at your predicament without a care in the world.

"I think you just need another shot!" She perks up, already waving over the bartender.

You look through your fingers blearily at the arrangement of martini glasses and shot glasses the two of you had amassed. "I thought you said we were keeping it chill tonight?"

"That was before we started talking dick." Mina's hand tapped the side of her head to emphasize her point, like it needed anymore with how blunt she was being.

"Mina!" You whine, but she's already sliding the new shot glass towards you.

"Don't be a bitch," she snickers, raising her glass up to yours. "Drink up, babe."

You roll your eyes, downing the shot anyway.

The liquor burned your throat and warmed your body quickly, easing your mind of any doubts you were having seconds before. "Okay, for once, I think you were right," you breathe, exhaling out the alcohol from your mouth.

"Girl, quit being a prude and spill." She giggles, adding the shot glasses to the tower of used cups, much to the bartender's dismay.

He'd tried to collect them beforehand to add to the dishwasher, and, well... it didn't work.

"I just..." You sigh, swirling an empty martini glass in circles, "Hanta's amazing, and he makes me... y'know," you mumble, eyes shying away from her.

It was embarrassing enough talking about this in general, but talking about your sex life with one of his closest friends made it a bigger pill to swallow.

The knock on the table broke you out of your daze, your eyes quickly snapping back to hers, "I kinda, sorta.. want him to tie me up, and like... be a little more rough..." You stumble out quietly, glancing to your sides to make sure no one else heard.

When your eyes meet back with Mina's, you're half expecting her to be laughing, maybe even be disgusted with what you were saying, since that was her friend.

What you were actually left with was her face showing nothing but... boredom? The closest thing to laughter was the scoff she gave you. "Oh my god??" She leans forward, nearly knocking over one of the empty glasses. "That's it? That's what's been eating at you???"

You side-eye her, "...What do you mean 'that's it'?" you ask quietly, swirling the empty cup around.

"Like what I just said," she grins, leaning into your bubble with her eyes watching you closely, and suddenly you feel like you're in the eyes of a predator. "So..? Is that it?"

You instinctively shrink back, "Uh, yeah?"

Mina sighs, "Oh my god," she groans, pressing her cheek onto her fist, "I thought you were gonna say some crazy shit, like… somno, or- fuck, I don't know, but not that."

Your skin heats up instantly, shivers shooting up your back, "Mina!"

"What?" She snorts, "You were doing too much, it's not a crazy thing to say."

You huff, crossing your arms even though you can feel your resolve weakening. "It's kinda crazy..."

"No, it's not, be forreal," she rolls her eyes, "You just want your man to, what? Take control a little more?"

Well, when she says it like that...

"...I said I want him to be rougher, and like... tie me up too," you say clearer now.

And then she just starts laughing in your face, again. Way louder too.

"Are you even hearing yourself?" she points at you while she's laughing to top it all off, "Dramatic as hell."

You groan, dropping your head to the table, "I fucking hate you."

"No you don'ttt," she sings, nudging your shoulder, "You're just embarrassed, and that's okay, you just need to get over it."

You lift your head enough to show her your glare, "I'm not embarrassed."

"Right..." she giggles, calling over the bartender again.

As she's ordering, your stomach begins to flip, and your mind wanders aimlessly.

Your gaze drifts to your phone sitting on the table, the screen faced down.

Then your mind drifts to Hanta, like how easy he makes everything feel. The way that he laughs things off that any sane person would get mad over, or how he never pushes for things you're hesitant on...

Gentle, he was always gentle.

Your chest twists, 'cause that's just the opposite of what you're wanting him to be.

"...Hey," Mina's voice cuts in, a lot softer this time. After you hum, she scoots closer, drinks placed in front of you two. "I'm gonna need you to stop overthinking this."

"I'm not," you grumble.

The knowing look she gives you is all the words she needs, you can see it in your peripheral. You sure as hell aren't gonna look at her, "Yeah, fine, okay.. maybe a little."

"Yup," she points, "You do this shit all the time."

"Do what?" You stare at the shot glass in front of your face.

"Uh... getting in your head instead of just-" her hands move vaguely, trying to grasp the words out of the air, "-like, talking to him."

You sputter out a jumble of words to try and justify yourself, though it's literal gibberish. "I can't just- I can't, like... It's not like I can just randomly bring that up, Mina!"

"Well, why not?" She holds up her shot glass, and like a magnet, you're mirroring her and taking the shot.

You exhale out the taste, coughing a little. "What if he thinks it's weird?"

"And why would he think that?" She doesn't even hesitate, mind you.

"I don't know?" You snap, with a little more bite now. "What if he just... doesn't see me that way?"

"Like what?"

Your hand waves off to nothing, frustratingly trying to communicate to her. "Like, I don't knoww, someone who wants that kinda stuff."

It's silent, and then she's laughing... again. The fuck is so funny?

"Babe," she says, tilting her head. "He's your boyfriend. And this is Sero we're talking about. Most he'll do is get flustered, maybe, and then ask how you want it."

You immediately look away, because that's not actually answering anything.

For emphasis, she leans closer, lowering her voice to a murmur. "...you really think he's never thought about it?"

Well, fuck... You haven't let yourself have time to even think about that... you've just been thinking for yourself.

Mina hums as she watches your facial expressions morph with your thoughts. "Yeah, I'm right, like alwayyysss."

Your head is dizzy, and you don't know whether or not to blame it on the liquor or the conversation.

The conversation's stunned for a bit until Mina reaches for your phone and abruptly swivels to face away from you.

Your stomach drops, "...Mina.."

"What?" She asks nonchalantly, as if she's not breaking into your phone while you're discussing your freaking sex-life.

"Don't do what I think you're doing..." You try peeking and grabbing over her shoulder, but she's already unlocking it.

"Mina!"

"Relaxxx, just drink your little drink while mama works her magic." She's typing, typing whatever sneaky shit she's getting up to on your phone.

"Mina, Mina, please."

She grins, holding it just out of your reach. You try to grab it (fail) and nearly knock over two empty glasses in the process.

"Mina, I'm serious-"

"So am I," she snaps, her voice more firm than playful now, "You aren't gonna sit here and spiral about your own boyfriend."

Fuck, why is she always right?

"...I'm not spiraling," you mutter weakly.

She raises her eyebrow, and you immediately sigh in defeat. "Okay... maybe a little."

"Exactly," she taps your phone against the table, "So here's what's gonna happen."

You're already dreading it.

"You're gonna call him, right?" She points at you, her finger going up and down.

"No." You shake your head.

"Yes."

"No!" You repeat louder.

"Yes!" She yells louder than you.

You shake your head, "Mina, I'm telling you- no."

As you pick up the glass, squinting to see if there's any more drink left in it, she's watching you carefully.

Then she starts to smile. "Okay," she hums, "then I'll call him."

You sputter, slamming down the drink, "Please stop it, like actually."

She squints at you, her smile growing as she taps away at the screen, and suddenly you can hear the phone ringing on speaker.

Your stomach drops, and you try to grab it from her, but she's swatting you away with quick reflexes. Sometimes you forget that they're all well-seasoned pro's.

"Mina, I swear to god-"

Hanta picks up on the third ring, his voice thick and groggy, "Hey, baby. Havin' a good time?"

"Your girlfriend is so fucking horny right now, you have no idea-"

You had to practically climb over the table to snatch the phone away, "Ignore her!" You stammer out after you flick it off of speaker, "She's drunk and evil."

You already knew he was sporting the biggest smirk on his face, probably similar to Mina's right now. "Horny, huh?"

"No," you say, probably way too fast, "She's just messing with me. We've been drinking a lot n' she's trying to embarrass meee.."

Mina leans in close to your ear, whispering loud enough for him to hear. "Tell him how you wanted him to tie you up-!"

You shove her off and stick your hand over her mouth, despite how she immediately licked your palm, "I'm hanging up-"

"Wait, wait," Hanta's voice cut through, his voice sounding a lot more awake now, "Need me to come get you?"

You bite your lip, and everything was already feeling so hot from the multitude of shots you'd taken in such a short amount of time... hearing his voice wasn't helping at all. "...Mhm, yeah, can you?"

"Of course, baby. M'on my way."

---

You don't even know how much time has passed, but what you do know is that you were now properly wasted.

The two of you were all giggles and stumbles when Hanta showed up. It was a blur of being in the bar to sitting in his passenger seat, with Mina knocked out in the back, snoring softly with her face squished against the window.

The drive was peaceful... for you. Your hands were latched onto his body throughout the whole drive, squeezing his thigh, playing with his hoodie, tugging at the sleeve. Every red light became an opportunity for you to whine in his ear and lean over for kisses.

Of course, he'd just laugh and give you quick pecks, muttering "yr'gonna make me crash, babe-" even though he's clearly enjoying the attention.

Once he'd made sure Mina got in safely, he slid back into the driver's seat, but you didn't even give him time to buckle.

You clumsily unbuckle your seatbelt, crawling over the console and nearly smacking your head in the rearview mirror just to get as close to him as possible. Hanta bit back a laugh, immediately grabbing your waist to steady you.

Your body's hot, mind's spinning, and the only thing you've got in your mind is how fucking good he looks right now. His hair's the perfect mess, and he's got on a baggy hoodie and shorts that you knoww would shrink off so easily.

"Hantaaa," you whine, straddling his lap as best as you could in the cramped car, arms sliding around his neck, "You're soo hot, mm'wan you."

His hands squeeze your hips to keep you from wiggling so much. "You're drunk as hell."

"M'not that drunk," you puff, immediately giggling and burying your face in his neck. Your lips kiss sloppily upwards along his jaw, "Jus' love you so much."

"Mhmm, love you too, baby." He hums, sitting still as you nuzzled closer.

"Noo, like I loooveee youu, n'your stupid cute face. Mmm, and your tape, yeah.. fuck 'specially that, wan'feel it on me s'bad," you slur against his neck, inhaling his musk that was feeling a lot like a melatonin right now.

You blink slowly as his hands find their way under your top, smoothing over your skin. "Is that what Mina was talkin' about earlier?" His head tilted down to you, making you peek back to see his face as well.

You nod way too eagerly, almost knocking your forehead into his chin again. "Mmm, maybe... maybe not, I dunno," you mumble, your hands playing with the ends of his hair that tickle his lower neck. "Jus' want you to fuck me."

Hanta takes a deep breath with his eyes closed, collecting his composure to the best of his ability while you, his super hot girlfriend, were just spewing straight filth into his ear.

"Yeah?" He licks his lips, daring to open his eyes to see you staring up at him with bleary heart eyes, "I fuck you all the time, baby."

"Mm-mmm," you shake your head, "Not like thaaaat," you laugh, tugging at his hair. "Like... we make... love, we don't fuck."

"So you want me to fuck you like I don't love you, s'that it?" He's chuckling, and if you weren't so drunk, you probably would've noticed how hard he was.

"Yeah..? So can we?" Your hot breath fans over his neck, "Pleease, baby... I'll be so gooood." Your voice sloshes over his skin as you lean in to sloppily kiss his neck.

"Don't say things like that right now, fuck-" he sucks in his teeth, his hands gripping your skin like his life depended on it. "We're still in her driveway, she's probably watching through the window or somethin'."

You're barely affected by that, wet lips going up til your face met his, eyeing his directly with your glossy eyes. "What does that have to do with you and me?"

"You're shitfaced, baby. I'm takin' you home." His eyebrows raise with a slight smile watching you pout.

He at least endears you with a chaste kiss before helping you back to your seat and buckling you in, but you're already leaning towards him again like a magnet.

"Hey, hey, sit back now, c'mon," he hushes as he guides your smooshed cheek off of him, his gentle expression morphing into a deadpan when he quickly realizes that you're already sound asleep.

---

The next day, whatever Hanta was expecting to happen was definitely not this.

He texted you when he left early in the morning and had even managed to get home earlier than usual.

When he got home, you were curled up on the couch watching your show. He'd leaned down to kiss you, yet you merely spared him a glance before giving your attention to the TV completely.

It was fine, he didn't care at the time... You were hungover, so he was expecting a little grumpiness.

But as time passed, he came to the realization that you were definitely avoiding him.

In the kitchen, you would keep your back turned while you busied yourself with nothing. Any semblance of a response was quick and short.

During dinner, you're there, but your eyes are trained on the plate. You barely even eat, mainly just pushing the food around.

He'd had enough of it. After he cleaned up in the kitchen, he found you in the midst of pulling on an oversized shirt... his shirt.

"Alright." His voice cut through the air, making you still immediately.

In your head, it was like a horror movie as you slowly turn your head to face him.

He's leaning back against the doorframe with his arms crossed. He didn't seem upset, but he didn't look happy either.

"We're not doin' this all night," he continues when you don't speak.

You feel sick, and that pit in your stomach is growing by the second. "Dunno what you mean," you mumble, looking away as you smooth down the shirt.

"Yeah?" He scoffs, pushing himself off the doorframe. He's stepping closer, and the air feels like it's tightening. "Let's be serious."

You're busying your hands with nothing, adjusting the ends of your shirt that are perfectly fine. "M'just tired..."

Hanta stands in front of you now, "Tired, right..." he hums, his hands finding their way to hold your waist. "You gonna look at me or what?"

You puff out the breath you'd been holding when you shake your head, "No..." You mumble, proceeding to look up at him.

"You've been avoiding me since I got home." his voice is calm, and his hands are firm on your waist. "So what's going on?"

You take a deep breath, a bit easier when his thumbs are gently circling into your skin. "I just..." You glance away again, "...I said a lot last night.. and I feel sorta, like.. stupid."

He laughs passingly, his hands smoothing over your arms to reach your hands to intertwine his fingers with yours. "You mean when you climbed into my lap in Mina's driveway, or when you begged me to fuck you?"

You groan and shake your head, trying to pry his hands from you so you could hide away from him, but he doesn't let you escape his grasp.

"Hanta!" You whine, trying to shove his hands at him, "I was drunk, you can't use it against me."

"But it's fun this way, right?" He grins, bringing your hand up with his to kiss your knuckles. "I've been thinking about it all day, don't be like that."

You groan again, much more dramatic too, but you're not really trying to pull away anymore. Hanta takes that as an invitation, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours.

"C'mon, baby," he murmurs, "Can't just grind up on me telling me how bad you want me to fuck you tied up n'rough, what kind of a man do you think I am?"

"One that doesn't hold it over my head the- aah, day?" You squirm as he begins kissing down to your jaw... to your neck.

"Nope," he breathes hot, the heat fanning over your neck that's wet with his saliva. "You got another boyfriend I don't know about?" His hands slip out from yours to pinch your hips.

"I was being hopeful," you grumble, squirming under the firm grip he's holding you in.

"Alright..." His face meets yours, his nose brushing against yours with his eyes stalking yours dangerously. "Then tell me again what you asked for last night. You really want me to tie you up?"

His hands roam down to grope the mounds of your ass, fingertips flexing dimples into them. "Be rough with you?"

You gulp down the pool of saliva you'd nervously gathered, heart hammering in your chest. The way his eyes stared down at you like this made everything feel just as nerve-racking as you'd imagined the night before.

After a second, you nod hesitantly. "...Yeah, I do..." You mumble, thighs clenching together under the heat of his stare.

Hanta licks his lips, there being the slightest shift in his expression at your admission. "Yeah?" He murmurs, eyes flickering up and down before he settles back to your eyes, "Can you say please?"

You roll your eyes, all the nerves you felt a few seconds ago were now completely shut down. "You're so stupid," you shove at him, fighting the smile you were wearing.

"There you are," he gloats, patting your ass in encouragement as he walks you back until your legs hit the bed, "You were so tense before, it's just me, y'know."

His body sandwiches you down to the bed, your back falling onto the mattress while he simultaneously presses over you. His thick thighs surround your hips, meanwhile his hands slide under your shirt to push up as he leans down to kiss you.

Hanta always knew how to turn your body to jelly with just his lips and his tongue. Always the one with the most to say, but you could proudly vouch that he could back it up.

His tongue swipes against your lips teasingly as he leads them to mesh with his, one hand snaking up to firmly caress your throat.

The kiss was deep and slow, but his commanding hold was contrastingly demanding. Your head spun, and your legs clenched eagerly. Every suck and lick of his mouth only made you yearn for more impatiently, your mind hazy with nothing but his cock.

"Mm.. Hanta-!" You mewl against his unrelenting touch, squirming under his weighted body.

It's only then that his lips drag down to your jaw, leaving you breathless. "Yeah, baby?" He murmurs into your warm skin, his hand dropping to grope your breast with a few squeezes.

You arch into his touch, whimpering as his thumb grazes your nipple. His chuckles rumble against your neck, clearly enjoying the state he has you in.

"What's wrong?" He teases, his body shifting down to envelope his mouth over the mound of one of your tits, suckling slowly.

"I... f-fuck-, I thought you said..." you trail off, suddenly embarrassed to even say it outright.

He pulls off your nipple, lips smacking off with a wet pop! His eyes find yours, and they're half-lidded, looking at you with the sexiest bedroom eyes you've ever seen.

"Thought I said what?" He coos, everything but innocence laced in his tone as his thumb rolls over your other nipples in circles. "Use your words, you were able to last night, right?"

You squirm under him, throat tight to muffle your natural reaction. "You said that you were gonna be rough n' like... tie me up," you bite your lip, exhaling sharply as his thumb flicks over your bud.

"Mhm..." His voice muffles into your skin as he kisses down your stomach, "What's with the rush? I can't have fun first?"

He settles between your legs, pushing them wider, initially with his palms.

Just as your body cuddled into the warm touch of his hands, cool tape shoots out from his elbows to wrap your thighs, securing them wide enough that you wouldn't be able to close them if you tried.

"There, happy?" He teases, running his hands up your inner thighs, "Spread niiice and wide, pretty girl."

"Yeah, are you gonna fuck me now?" You pout, your legs twitching uselessly under his mercy.

His hot breath fans over your clothed pussy, the warmth settling into the cloth of your panties. "You wanted me to be rough, I gotta get you nice and prepped for what m'gonna do to you."

And as nasty as his words were, his tongue juts out flat to slowly lick your pussy over the fabric, an erotic squelch sounding at his contact. "Shit-" he moans into you, "Forgot what a slut you are."

Your body's hot, shaken with anticipation and embarrassment from his words. "M'not a slut.." You mumble passingly with furrowed brows.

Hanta scoffs out a laugh, a finger looping under your sodden panties. He pulls it out far, just to snap it back to your cunt with a wet spank. "Not a slut, huh?"

He's silent, then with a puh! a wad of his saliva shoots down on it.

Your body reacts before you can think, your hips flexing up the slightest bit, along with a breathy whimper.

"Only a slut would like that." He licks his lips, a thrill in his eyes that you weren't too familiar with, "Fuck, baby... hiding this side of you from me, not cool..." He clicks his tongue as he tucks your panties to the side easily.

His thumb settles on your clit, easing circles lightly swiping at your bud. "S'ok though..." He spits again, the bead falling onto his thumb, mixing in with your slick. "...I have been too."

Your foggy brain doesn't process his words easily, given how he teases your clit. "H-huh-aaah!?"

Question turns to a squeal as two fingers prod through your hole, not even giving your clit much of a break because his mouth quickly replaces his thumb.

"Mm-hmmm," he moans as his tongue laps your clit and his fingers push deep and slow.

Your head is spinning with his ministrations, lecherous sounds echoing from the valley between your thighs. The slow drag of his long fingers, the suction of his lips at the peak of your pussy- it felt all the more stimulating when you were unable to close your legs.

"Hanta-aah, f-fuck-!" You whine, uselessly trying to free your legs from the bind of his tape.

He curls his fingers deeper, dangerously close to panging at your sweet spot. His eyes are trained on yours as he slurps up your goodness. His fingers start to pump faster, harder.

You want to thrash, but your bound limbs restrict you from doing so. As he jams his fingers in knuckle deep with such force, your hands shoot out to push at his head. "Aaah- s'too good-!"

Your efforts are in vain, because his head doesn't budge at all. If anything, it just makes his pace quicken and his lips suction even more.

"That's good, baby," he mumbles, his voice muffled and wanton with lust, "Fuck on me like that."

Your cunt's properly slobbered and sloppy, the nasty mix of saliva and slick sloshing together bounces through the walls as his digits squeeeeze inside your hole.

Your body's taught and trembling as your thighs shake against their restraints, stars soaring through your shut eyes.

"Hanta, f-fuc-!" You cry, all reason and meaning leaving your head. All you can feel is his tongue trying to fuck inside your hole with his punishing fingers, prodding against your sweet spot with practiced and primed accuracy.

He's focused, not even paying any mind to teasing your whiny moans and squeals. Squelches and puckers from his mouth fill your ringing ears as you cum.

He groans at the strangled hold your cunt encloses over his fingers, the vibrations making you twitch as much as the tape allowed you to. His efforts work you through each and every pulse, licking, sucking, fingering you until you're sobbing from the overstimulation.

Only when he peeps the dazed look in your half-lidded eyes does he finally pull his fingers out, giving your cunt a firm spank with his palm before crawling up your body.

When his mouth finds yours, he kisses you passionate and messily, grinding his hard cock up on your soaked and spent pussy. "So pretty for me when you cum, huh?" he murmurs against your lips.

"Mmm," you moan into him. Your body's so dazed and light, already aching for more feeling his fat cock rub up on you.

Your hands reach down to stroke him, his cock lying so heavy over you, thick and veiny just begging to be touched.

You stroke him desperately, the smeared pre lubing up his cock easily for you to play with. It was so heavy and hot in your hand, throbbing with each passing of your tight fist.

"God, please jus' put it in," you coax him in between stringy liplocks, "You're so hard right now."

Hanta groans into your mouth, hips twitching at your touch. "Want it that bad?" He nips at your bottom lip, pulling back to look at your fucked out face, blissful and beautiful in all your glory.

You're nodding at him, hand picking up enthusiasm on his length. It's like your eyes sparkle even more with the tears peeking at the corner of your eyes from your orgasm. Your skin is glistening in sweat so perfectly, his cock throbs at the sight.

"Fuck me, Hanta..." You murmur, thumb fidgeting with his tip as you stroke him shallowly.

He sucks in a breath, and the dazed look in his eyes tighten into a focused expression.

His hands catch your wrist, pulling your hand away before you can leash him along even more into your desires. "Put your hands up," he hums.

You reluctantly do, though you're hoping it's because he'll finally give you what you want, need.

The familiar hiss of his tape whirring out happens in a split second, catching your wrists to pin them together above your head tightly before he connected it to the headboard.

"Hmm, yeah that's good.." He admires his handiwork, licking his lips as he undoes the restraints holding your legs apart. "Wanna keep these for me to hold down though."

He pushes your thighs to press into your chest, folding you as he pleases, settling between them.

His thighs flex where he knelt on the mattress, forearms thick and veiny, his happy trail leading your eyes down to where his cock hung so deliciously.

Hanta catches your eyes, smirking with a sexy fucking chuckle that made your cunt pulse around nothing. "Eyes up here, babygirl. D'ya want me to blindfold you too?"

You shake your head quickly, not wanting to be deprived of the sight of your man looking like a hunky porn star in front of you. "Mm-mm," you plead, but your gaze keeps drifting... down.

"You're so greedy," he teases, rubbing the fat tip of his cock up and down your squelching slit, coating himself in your juices. "Staring at my dick like a slut, matter of fact, makin' me slut you out like this too."

His tip feels so warm and inviting at your entrance, like it was just knocking so politely to come inside.

"Doesn't feel like you are to me..." You mutter passingly, impatiently, just needing him to be inside of you. He was talking about it so much, how he would give it to you, what he'd do, yet he was taking his sweet fucking time.

"That's not very nice," he clicks his tongue, thudding his cock down against your wet folds, creamy n' all. "Is that any way to talk to me when I have you tied up like this?"

You fidget beneath the confines of his tape, "Sorry, can you please hurry up and fuck me now?" You glare at him, trying to pull him closer with your legs.

Hanta's unfazed by your efforts to urge him, merely just amused, if anything. "You're hot when you're mouthy." He smiles, tapping at your clit a few times just to admire the way you jolt.

"Hanta..." You groan, hips twitching up and forward in hopes of his dick slipping in. He never deprived you of anything. He was always one to please you, give in to whatever you desired without complaints. "It's been like ten years, please."

"Don't even think it's been ten minutes, baby," he chuckles, smoothing his cock up and down your sappy slit.

You glare at him, trying to rock your hips again. "At the rate you're going at it'll be ten years, so stop teasing me and do it already."

His grin widens, basking in your frustration. "Bossy," he murmurs, "You're the one tied up right now, and you think being a brat is gonna get you what you want?"

You open your mouth to snap back at him, the frustration boiling through your skin, but he finally pushes in. One long, deep thrust that bottoms out completely.

The sudden stretch makes you moan out, your back arching animatedly.

"Fuuuck-" Hanta groans, his eyes closing for only a second, unable to keep his eyes off of you for long, "So tigghht, s'what you wanted, baby?"

All you can do is give a dazy nod, your body buzzing in delight with how full your pussy feels. "Mmm.." You hum, your legs relaxing in his grip.

He licks his lips, basking in the way your needy cunt pulsed around him. "Yeah, I'll give you what you wanted."

He begins to move with deep, heavy strokes that're stretching your gummy walls so perfectly around his thick, veined dick.

Your head spins with every thrust as he bottoms out, the head of his cock so hard as it throbbed with each swipe against the ridges of your sopping cunt.

He fucked you good, so, so good. But your body still craved more. Call it greed, you didn't care. All you cared about was getting properly fucked with that monster you called your boyfriend's dick.

"H-hanta-" You moan, hands jerking against its restraints. You wanted to wrap your hands around his neck, n'feel him close to you so you could whisper to him your true desires. "Need... more.."

"More?" He scoffs, slowing down. On purpose, or was it so he could hear you clearer...? You would never be able to tell with him. "Wanna tell me what more you need?"

You huff out a whine, already sexually frustrated and desperate for him to give it to you. "Harder, please-" You blink slowly, trying to wiggle your hips to meet his strokes, "Don't worry about me, just fuck me rough like I asked for."

His eyes widen a bit, his movements stalling too. And it was that moment where his expression changed. His eyes darkened, and his lips curved into a malevolent smile.

"Shit, when you say it like that-" His hands grip your thighs harder, folding you further, giving a goood stretch to your hamstrings before he slams in with a louudd squelch. "Askin' me like a real slut, fuck."

The force of his cock shoving its way through your pussy made your voice shrill out in a half-cry, half-moan. "Mmf-fuck!"

"Theeere we go," he grunts, fucking you proper with ruthless, jackhammering thrusts. "Nasty girl."

His heavy balls spank your ass with each wet plap! that was music to his ears. He was mean with the way he pumped through you. The head of his cock bullying your sweet spot with practised accuracy, only from fucking you right so many times, yet this time he's letting loose.

You couldn't have even known the effect your words were having on him. His pretty girl, laid out on the bed so vulnerably for him, begging him to fuck you senseless.

The strings of your slick webbed out with every disconnect of his cock from your tight hole, creaming messily with each slap. "Can't..haah, believe it.." He chuckled breathlessly, peering down at the mess between your legs.

His palm settles over your lower tummy, thumb pressing into your clit, all the while he splits your pussy open with loud, heavy-hitting thrusts. "Where've you been hiding?" He moans through gritted teeth.

The sudden pressure mixed with how smooshed you felt with your bound wrists and pinned legs made everything feel so impossibly fuller. His chubby cock bulges against your pliant cunt, plunging deep unapologetically.

Your eyes roll back, "Fuck!" You sob as his cock rams into your sweet spot over, and over, and over, and over.

His eyes were blazen, fucking you deep into the mattress with punishing plows, completely drunk off your cunt.

"So good," he groans, his voice raspy and lust-filled. Your gooey, leaking sap coated the base of his cock from how much your hole twitched and squeezed. "Gonna use this pretty pussy all night, shit- you'd like that, huh?"

He can tell by the way your cushy walls hugged him tight that you were close. It only excites him more, his body following his hands that pressed your legs down to your chest.

His body weight is crushing you, making his cock push so much deeper than before, and his hot, ragged breath fans over your neck.

You were crowded with nothing but him, all that your brain could see, think, feel- Hanta, Hanta, Hanta.

"Yeah, that's my name, baby," he licks your ear, "S'that who's fucking you this good, huh?"

You're crying, salty tears streaming down your cheeks. It drops down the sides to your ears, and he eagerly laps it up. "Haaah-Hanta-!" Your body tenses as your second orgasm comes over you, eyes rolling back.

Hanta moans into your neck, hot puffs of air blowing over your sweat-slicked skin. The buzz of your walls pulsating and milking him pushes him closer to finishing.

"Yeaah, that's it-fuck, good girl..." He fucks you thoroughly, only slowing down for a mere moment before resuming his pace, "Squeeze me jus' like that."

He's keeping up, fucking you relentlessly with his body weight, crushing you deeper into the mattress as he chases his own high.

Your jaw's slack, long gone from where you could make sense of anything. The overstimulation's building, building to be too much too quickly. Your sensitive pussy flutters uselessly around him as he drills his fat length deep.

"Hanta-! S'too muchhh!" You cry through blurry eyes, trying to shimmy your way up the bed, barely moving centimeters under his deadweight.

Through his heavy breaths, he laughs at your efforts, shifting his position to grab hold of you.

He's now sat upright, and your fucked-out brain thinks you can get away better now, but his hands grab your hips to yank you back to where you were. "Where you going, baby?" He huffs, gliding out before slamming so deep, you think his thick cockhead swabs at your cervix.

"You wanted me to fuck you like this, right?" He spreads your legs wide, fingers dimpling bruises into your skin. "You're not goin' anywhere, I'm fuckin' this sweet pussy alllll night."

Between whimpers and sobs, your eyes roll with your head lolling back as well. He was fucking you as he pleased.

Hanta was right there with you, fucked out of his mind. It was like his body was on autopilot, mindlessly plowing into your hole that hugged and milked him so tight n' desperate.

With one last thrust, he buried himself deep, deep deep, cumming in thick globs of his seed. "Fuck, fuck- take it, all of it-!" He grunts as warm buckets of cum pump your cunt full, shallow thrusts ensuring it fucked well into you.

You're drooling with your wet tears that're drying up on your cheeks, pooling in your ears as you feel his cum pool up deep inside of you.

His cock stays inside for a bit, breathing heavy as his eyes skimmed from your fucked-out face to your messy pussy that his half-hard cock was buried inside.

As he slips out, his pearly release seeps out, slowly leaking down your slit. "So hot.." He murmurs tiredly, fingers smearing the mess around, til his eyes flick back to your face, "Mmm... and my pretty girl." He hums.

He dissolves the bindings of his tape, pulling you into his sweaty arms before you could even think to move, not like you would've anyway.

He peppers kisses over your tear-streaked face, lying down barely to the side of you before he pulls you over him, engulfing you in his arms tightly.

"You okay, baby?" His raspy, hoarse voice murmurs out. All you can do is nod lazily, still in that blissful haze. You nuzzle deeper into his neck.

"Mm-hmmm, perfect..." You whisper, also hoarse with exhaustion as you drift off to sleep.

[deviisworld]

18+ mdni. hanta loves to shotgun you smoke while he's balls deep ༄

“mírame, mami,” he murmurs, voice low and raspy from the joint he's been nursing. one of his elbows is braced by your head, the other hand gripping your jaw, thumb pressing into your bottom lip so your mouth stays open for him.

he takes a long, lazy hit, cheeks hollowing, eyes half lidded and red. then he leans in close, lips brushing yours, and exhales.

thick, sweet smoke floods your mouth. you cough a little, laughing into it, but he doesn’t pull away. he seals it with a messy kiss, tongues sliding slow and wet while the smoke curls between you. you feel it hit— warm, heady, making everything softer and sharper at the same time. your pussy clenches around his cock and he groans right into your mouth.

“fuck… that’s it. good girl,” he praises, hips snapping forward harder now, the wet slap of skin loud in the tiny room. “y' look so pretty taking my smoke like that. mouth all open for me.”

hanta fucks like he’s got nowhere else to be. deep strokes that grind right against that spot that makes your toes curl. he’s not huge but he’s long and he knows exactly how to use it, curving his hips just right every time.

he pulls back enough to take another hit, then grips your face again, tighter.

“open.”

you do— tongue out like a slut because you already know what he wants. hanta lets a thick string of spit drip from his mouth straight onto your tongue, messy and obscene, before he shotguns more smoke right after it. the mix makes your head spin. you swallow without thinking and he curses in spanish under his breath.

“tan sucia… you like that shit, huh? my spit down your throat while i’m balls deep?”

you nod frantically, nails digging into his back, leaving little crescent marks on his tan skin. he laughs and spits on your tongue again, watching with dark eyes as you take it. then he’s kissing you sloppy, licking into your mouth like he wants to taste the smoke and spit and desperation all mixed together.

his pace picks up. one of his tape strips snakes down, wrapping loosely around your thigh to pull your leg higher, spreading you wider so he can fuck deeper.

“look at this pussy,” he groans, glancing down between you. “so fucking wet it’s dripping down my balls, baby. you get this messy just from me getting you high?”

“hanta— ngghh— please—”

“please what?” he grins. another hit. another shotgun straight into your open, panting mouth. this time he follows it with more spit, letting it drip onto your tongue before he kisses you so deep you forget how to breathe.

smth short and sweet as my debut post here and im not really sure if someone can rlly get high off of second hand smoke but it's wtv

[breathe4me]

smoking weed with sero is your favourite pass times. sitting in the window of your small dorm room, your favourite plushie tucked in between the space left between your knees and your chest.

sero holds the joint to his lips before leaning in close to you. “open,” your jaw goes slack, plush pink lips parting so he could blow the smoke into your mouth. he hums in contentment, watching the smoke disappear down your throat before you gently blew it out the corner.

“let me hit the blunt.” you huff, hand reaching out to grab the sacred package of weed but seros already a head of you, taping your hand down to the wall.

“no. last time you made it soggy from your lip gloss,” the same argument he had made the first time you shared a blunt which in all fairness was true; your lip oil had soaked through the end of the blunt making it extremely hard to get any good tokes out of it.

“i’m starting to think you just like getting close to my mouth,” you hum, tightening your grip on your plushie. “maybe you should just shotgun me properly. give me a kiss,” you pucker your lips sarcastically but sero is quickly pressing his lips against yours.

you gasp, wrist tugging on the tape that was binding you against the wall but it was far too strong for you to break out of. your other hand wrapped around his neck, keeping him from pulling away. your fingers tangle in the dark hair on the nape of his neck.

seros large palms slide up and down your torso before landing on your chest, gently squeezing your boobs and running his thumbs over your nipples. you mewl into the kiss, letting his tongue slide into your mouth until you’re both gasping for air.

“sero you-you didn’t even take a hit!” your lips are connected with a thin line of spit, chests heaving in time with each other.

“guess i’ll have to kiss you again.”