pairing: age-up zuko x fem!reader
summary: he’s the fire lord. he’s faced war, loss and destiny itself. but nothing, nothing, tests his patience like the man who thinks he still has a chance with his fiancée.
warnings: age-up characters (the legend of aang: the last airbender characters), established relationship, jealousy, relationship insecurity, no use of Y/N, third person narration. english is not my first language, i apologize if there are any spelling or grammatical errors. explicit sexual content: oral sex (fem and male receiving) fingering, biting, scratching and marking, p in v sex, unprotected sex, possessive sex, possessive behaviour, let me know if I forgot anything.
word count: 8.2k
a/n: of course i saw that edit and of course i had to write something about it. it's embarrassing how many times i've listen to "jealous type" this week, oh my god, i'm so in love with zuko. i have many more ideas, but not that much time, so i'll see what i come up with next. besides, first i have to do valarr and aerion's parts in the f1 au and a few other things.
The Earth Kingdom always felt different, something Zuko had noticed the times he had accompanied her to visit her family or because he had to make political trips, and he clearly enjoyed those trips where they visited her family much more, knowing that they received him as one of their own. He didn't say it out loud, but it was a feeling that settled in his chest, warm, comforting, as if he were arriving at a second home.
And he clearly wasn't the only one who felt that way, because he could see the effect that returning had on her. She seemed much taller the moment her feet touched the ground on the earth leading to her old home where her family still lived, her shoulders completely relaxing and her gaze softening in the same way it did when she looked at him, filled with affection, love and peace.
Zuko knew she considered the palace home, that he had managed to make it comfortable for her, a place where she wanted to live with him, thrive, and one day start a family while they led the nation together. But there was no place like home, the one that had seen her born, take her first steps, and grow up before joining him and the rest of the group to help Aang years ago. And that was precisely why he tried to make it possible for them to travel there as often as they could amidst their responsibilities, that was why they had postponed all their commitments to attend her father's celebration.
He watched her with a gentle smile, noticing how she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, tilting her face slightly upwards so that the sunlight would hit her fully, illuminating her face with its warm light that made her look ethereal to Zuko, as if she were a deity, a goddess to be worshipped, his goddess.
He took advantage of the moment to observe her clothes once again, she wore deep green silks today, the traditional Earth Kingdom cut, but every hem and cuff was edged with subtle gold threading that caught the light like living flame, his colors, deliberately woven into hers. A small fire lily emblem was embroidered over her heart, a quiet declaration that she belonged to both worlds now.
Her hand slipped into his without looking, fingers lacing tight.
“I missed this,” she murmured, voice soft with memory.
Zuko tightened his grip, thumb brushing her knuckles gently. “I can tell,” he murmured, moving closer to her to place a soft kiss on her cheek that made her smile. “It looks good on you to come back, darling.”
She smiled up at him, soft, warm, entirely his, and for one perfect heartbeat everything felt right.
Until it wasn’t.
The celebration for her father's birthday was going to last for three days, filled with music that spread throughout the place, tables full of food with delicious aromas, and children running and shouting all over the grounds.
Her father, a tall, broad-shouldered man who years before had helped the Avatar and his friends with supplies and a roof over their heads, and who had allowed his daughter to join them to help Aang with earthbending alongside Toph, greeted them as if they were heroes returning from a hard-fought battle. He slapped Zuko's shoulder with a force capable of denting armor and trapped him and his own daughter in a tight hug, lifting them off the ground and causing Zuko to laugh as she whimpered, begging him to please put them down.
"My daughter and my future son-in-law," he said when he had released them from the embrace, gazing affectionately at them both, especially his daughter, before pulling her back into a much gentler hug and placing a kiss on the top of her head. "I was afraid you wouldn't be able to come. I know how busy you are, especially you, Zuko," he said, smiling proudly. "The whole group gathered under my roof once again, and my little girl with her future husband, I couldn't ask for a better birthday present."
Because in that place he wasn't the Fire Lord, the heir, the one who carried the great burden of leading the Fire Nation on his shoulders. He was simply Zuko, the boy she had met a decade ago, the one who over the years had become her friend along with the rest of the group, until officially becoming her partner three years ago, and finally her fiancée months ago.
And if Zuko was honest, he much preferred being referred to as her future husband or fiancée than as the Fire Lord. Because there he could simply be himself, a man in love with the most incredible woman he had ever known.
"We already told you in the letter that we were coming, Dad," she said, smiling as she greeted her mother.
"Nothing is more important than family," Zuko added, receiving a smile from her father, approving of his words, and even after so much time it comforted him that her family received him in that way.
"The rest of your friends are already here, you can go and get them. Leave your things here and I'll have someone put them away in your old room, honey."
The two nodded and headed to the backyard holding hands, from where the laughter and shouts were coming.
Aang was already being mobbed by a crowd of kids demanding airbending tricks, running all over the place with Momo. Her grandmother and aunts had dragged Katara into the kitchens, sleeves rolled up and giggling. Toph was nowhere to be seen, but judging by the sounds of punches, mounds of dirt tumbling down, and cheers in the distance, she'd clearly gone to the training yard and was tearing some of the attendees apart. And then there was Sokka, who, predictably, had claimed an entire tray of moon peach cakes and was hogging the limelight near the food stalls.
Zuko stayed by her side, not because he was embarrassed or nervous, but simply because he wanted to be near her. He loved watching the way she interacted with her family, with old friends, and how she drew him into the conversation, introducing him as her fiancée to those who hadn't yet met him and striking up conversations with those they had seen before. He liked seeing the way they looked at her with pride, some in awe, others even captivated.
He could handle the stares, they didn't bother him at all. He was used to them. She was a beautiful woman, anyone could see that, and not only was she beautiful, but she also had a heart of gold. Countless times he had noticed the looks they both received when they attended events or even when they simply left the palace to explore the city, the market, and the areas surrounding the palace.
Yeah, he could handle the stares.
What he couldn’t handle was the way one particular guest kept finding reasons to step into their orbit.
Ryuun. That was his name.
Zuko learned it within the first hour and immediately wished he could forget it.
Ryuun was everything that made Zuko's scar itch, broad-shouldered, tanned, and boisterous with that Earth Kingdom naturalness that filled the space without inhibition. He moved from side to side as if he owned the ground beneath his feet and as if he still held a piece of her past, as if he still had some right to approach her like that, as if the bond had never been severed.
The greeting took place right after the formal welcome. Ryuun approached with a confident stride, a wide smile, a smile too familiar for Zuko's liking, his arms open as if he expected her to walk right into them, as if he had expected her to come running to him like two lovers separated by time.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite runaway," he said, his voice echoing across the courtyard. "Have you come back for good, finally changed your mind, or are you just showing off your fancy Fire Nation trophy?"
She watched him with a forced smile that never reached her eyes, trying to be cordial. Zuko recognized that it was the same smile she wore in council meetings when one of the other members tried to dismiss one of her ideas. “Don’t start, Ryuun.”
“I’m not starting anything,” he replied lightly, but his gaze slid to Zuko and sharpened. “Though I didn’t expect you to bring… company.”
Zuko felt the temperature in his veins rise slightly. He kept his expression neutral, Fire Lord mask firmly in place. “Zuko,” he murmured, introducing himself, cordial but distant.
Their handshake was brief, firm, and entirely too long. Ryuu tightened his grip even further, testing Zuko's hold, and he answered without problem, giving him a small, victorious smile seeing how Ryuun huffed.
"Yeah, that’s what I heard," he replied dismissively, as if trying to belittle Zuko. "I thought you were coming alone. I assumed the Fire Lord would have more important matters to attend to. I thought we'd be able to make up for lost time."
It was then that she positioned herself next to Zuko, gently intertwining her arm with his, breaking the grip between the two men and preventing the moment from lasting too long as she noticed the tension in her fiancée's shoulders, a tension that lessened at her touch.
She didn’t even glance at Ryuun when she answered. “Zuko cleared his schedule to be here,” she said, her voice calm, steady. “He knows what this means to me and to my family.” There was no room for interpretation in her tone, no apology, no hesitation, just certainty. Then she turned to Zuko, her expression softening instantly, the tension melting into something warm, familiar. “Come on,” she murmured, giving his arm a gentle tug. “My nephews have been waiting all morning. They’re convinced the Avatar and their future uncle the amazing Fire Lord, their words not mine, are going to put on a show for them.”
Future uncle.
Zuko couldn’t help it, a small, fleeting smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it, something lighter breaking through the rigid control he’d been holding onto. It lasted barely a second because then he remembered. Ryuun was still there. The smile faded into something more restrained, more composed. He didn’t bother looking back, just gave a short polite nod in his direction, the kind reserved for people who didn’t matter enough to deserve more, and then he turned away with her. Her fingers slid down from his arm to lace with his hand, fitting perfectly, like they always did. The tension in his shoulders eased almost immediately at the contact, something unspoken settling between both of them.
Behind him, he caught the low murmur of Ryuun’s voice, something under his breath, sharp and unimpressed. Zuko ignored it, completely, because in that moment her thumb was tracing slow, absent circles over the back of his hand, grounding and distracting him at the same time.
“And they’ve been practicing all week,” she was saying, her voice soft with amusement. “You should’ve seen them, they keep arguing over who gets to be you when they play.”
That earned you the faintest huff of a laugh from him. “Is that so?”
“Mhm. Though I think the one pretending to be you keeps trying to cheat by declaring himself the winner before the fight even starts.”
Zuko glanced down at her, something warmer settling in his gaze. “Sounds familiar,” he muttered.
She nudged him lightly with her shoulder, smiling radiantly. And just like that, Ryuun’s voice, his presence, the tension, all of it faded into the background.
At least for the time being.
The first day had been relatively tolerable, mainly because she had made it so.
She kept her hand intertwined with Zuko's, leaning against his side during the long banquet, listening to anecdotes about her father and uncles, chatting with the rest of the group about what they'd been up to lately, and agreeing to embark on another adventure together before the wedding. When Ryuun tried to chime in with another story about ‘that time she and I climbed the western ridge and I had to catch her before she fell,’ she interrupted him with a frown as she poured herself some more salad, ‘I didn't fall. I remember that moment quite differently. And it was over seven years ago, ancient history.’
For Zuko, who knew her perfectly, who knew every tone of her voice, every glance, and every gesture, it was quite obvious that she didn't enjoy the way Ryuun tried to assert himself. He didn't want to be childish, after all he was a mature man in his late twenties, but the satisfaction he derived from seeing how she dismissed each of Ryuun's advances was immense. God, how he loved her.
He couldn't help but smile foolishly when she turned to him instead, her eyes sparkling and her voice warm. “Remember when we faced down those spirit wolves in the Foggy Swamp? You were the one who kept me from falling that night.”
Zuko’s smirk was small but real. “You kept me from burning the whole swamp down, darling.”
He knew he shouldn't worry, that it wasn't worth wasting energy on, but God, the urge he had to pulverize him every time he saw him trying to get her attention, talking louder when she was around, trying to drag her into the conversation even when she had nothing to do with it. It was utterly infuriating.
Later, when the girls—she, Katara, and Toph—marched off to the market stalls to rescue Katara from another round of pairing attempts by the aunts, the boys ended up in the training yard. Aang and Zuko lazily swapped fire and air forms while Sokka leaned against a barrel, munching on a skewer he'd taken from the kitchen.
“You’re doing it again,” Sokka said around a mouthful of grilled meat. “You're looking at him again as if you want to fry him.”
“I am not,” Zuko barked in frustration, then added under his breath, "Although I certainly want to."
“You absolutely are,” Sokka replied cheerfully. “That guy’s been orbiting her like a persistent satellite all day. I’m really impressed you haven’t set his eyebrows on fire yet.”
Zuko crossed his arms, jaw tight. “He’s insufferable.”
Aang landed lightly beside them, staff spinning once before he tucked it away. “He seems… nice? He helped carry all those heavy supply crates for the feast earlier, and the kids like him.”
Zuko turned on him, incredulous. “Nice?”
Aang blinked, ever the peacemaker. “Well, yeah. He’s good with the little ones and he was telling stories about the old days when we were all still kids…”
“He’s trying to impress her,” Zuko cut in, voice low and edged. “On purpose.”
Sokka snorted. “Obviously. Guy’s got the subtlety of a rampaging badgermole.”
Zuko’s glare could have melted steel. “That’s not funny.”
“Oh, it’s a little funny,” Sokka said, grinning. “You’re jealous.”
“I am not jealous.”
“Zuko…” Aang started gently.
"No, it's not like that, I'm not jealous," he hissed, running a hand in frustration over his face and pushing back the strands of hair that had come loose from his updo. "I just find him unbearable, detestable. I trust her completely," he sighed deeply, his gaze shifting to Ryuun in the distance talking to another guest. "It's him I don't trust at all."
Sokka leaned back, smirking like he’d won a bet. “Sure. That’s definitely not jealousy talking.”
Zuko didn't respond, at least not with words, smiling as he heard Sokka scream when the skewer in his hand was completely charred. "Oh, I'm so sorry, the wind blew that one," he shrugged, smiling with amusement.
"That was on purpose!" Sokka complained.
But Zuko ignored him, getting back into fighting stance with Aang. At least it would keep his mind occupied until she returned.
Zuko had a small hope that the situation would improve, but it didn't. It was worse the next day.
Ryuun appeared everywhere. During the morning archery contest he “just happened” to station himself beside her, offering tips on her form even though she outshot him twice. Later, when she and Zuko were learning to make baskets with her aunts, while they were asking them how everything was going at the palace and the council, he would make comments that tried to downplay the importance of it or try to glorify the things he had done during the time she had been away from home. At lunch he regaled the table with tales of their shared childhood adventures, how he’d once carried her three miles after she twisted her ankle, how they’d snuck out to watch the solstice fireworks together. And Zuko wanted to tear off his ears, his head, anything that would help him stop hearing it.
“You remember that night?” Ryuun asked, leaning in a little too close. “We stayed out till dawn. Best night of my life.”
Her smile was polite steel. “I remember being exhausted the next day and my father grounding me for a month.” She reached for Zuko’s hand under the table and squeezed. “Besides, I’ve had better nights since.”
Zuko felt the knot in his chest loosen a fraction in response to those words.
When the younger cousins begged for a bending demonstration that afternoon, she didn’t hesitate. She tugged Zuko toward the training circle, eyes sparkling with mischief and a carefree smile on her lips, lips that Zuko really wanted to kiss, as a kind of reward for everything he had been putting up with from that guy, but he knew it wasn't appropriate in front of the children so he held back, simply leaving a kiss on the top of her head. They would have time for that when they returned.
"We have to show them," she began, tying her hair into a high ponytail. "They've been dying to see the two of us fight, they want to see if you can beat me."
Zuko raised an eyebrow at that. "If I could beat you?"
She giggled. "Hmm, they know I'm the best, they want to see if you're on my level, love."
"Clever of them," he commented, making her smile. "Shall we put on a show?"
"Give me everything you have!" she said, giving him a quick kiss on the lips before running to her position, seeing that all the kids were already seated in their places, waiting expectantly.
Shaking his head, amused by her, Zuko ignited his fist, hearing the excited shouts of the children who screamed again when she stomped hard, shaking the ground as if a small earthquake had hit the training yard.
They sparred together, controlled, beautiful, flames meeting stone in perfect balance. Her earthbending was steady and powerful, and Zuko’s fire danced around it like a promise, while the children cheered wildly.
At that moment, all he could think about was her, her gaze, her laughter, the way she moved, and how she analyzed his every move, waiting for his next attack. The way they coordinated, how they complemented each other, how when she advanced, he retreated and vice versa, as if they were dancing to the same melody that only the two of them were able to hear in their hearts. With each movement they made, Zuko could feel his muscles relax and the tension in his chest lessen, that annoying feeling, which he still couldn't quite define but which he disliked intensely, beginning to fade away.
Until he looked up and saw Ryuun watching from the edge of the circle, arms crossed, expression sour.
He was testing his patience, and yes, Zuko had learned to be patient over the years, but everyone has a breaking point. And he found his that night.
It wasn't just one thing, but an accumulation of several. Like tiny grains of sand that eventually became a mountain that buried him completely.
The way Ryuun leaned in when he spoke to her excessively invading her space even when she walked away, the way he laughed like he still had a claim, the way he looked at her as if he still had the right to do so, the way he touched her shoulder or even her hair and the way he said her name like it belonged to him.
But the final crack came after she had already drawn the line, after she asked him to stop it.
Zuko had stepped away briefly to speak with her father about trade routes between their nations. When he returned, he rounded the corner of the storage tents just in time to hear Ryuun’s voice, low but loud enough to carry on the night breeze.
“She’ll come around,” Ryuun was saying to two of his friends, confidence dripping from every word. “She deserves better than some Fire Nation prince with a scar and a stupid crown. Someone who understands this land, someone from here. Not an outsider who…”
Zuko stepped into view before the man could finish. But Ryuun didn’t even flinch. “Fire Lord,” he said, voice mock-polite. “Eavesdropping now?”
Zuko’s hands curled at his sides. Heat surged up his arms, flame licked at his fingertips for half a second before he forced it down. Not here, not in her childhood home. Not in front of her family who had welcomed him with open arms. He couldn't do that to her, but God, how he wanted to tear him to pieces.
“Careful,” he said, voice dangerously calm. “You’re speaking about my fiancée.”
Ryuun stifled a laugh, as if it were unimportant, as if he didn't care about crossing certain boundaries. “I’m speaking the truth.”
"All I hear coming out of your mouth is pure bullshit,” he scoffed, tilting his head slightly. “I think we have different concepts of truth."
And before he could answer him, Zuko turned to leave, knowing that if he stayed, he might do something he would deeply regret, noticing his fingertips beginning to steam.
She noticed his absence almost immediately.
She had told Ryuun off twenty minutes earlier, quiet, firm and final, while Zuko was still talking with her father. “That's enough, Ryuun. I don't understand what the hell you're trying to achieve with this, but it's not going to work and it's not funny. I'm in love with Zuko, I have been for a long time, and that's not going to change just because I see an old friend again. I'm going to marry him and expand our family. Stop embarrassing yourself like this and stop ruining the atmosphere for everyone, it's fucking awful.”
Now she scanned the crowded courtyard, heart tightening when she didn’t see his combined robes. She knew exactly where he would go when he needed space.
Her old bedroom in the east wing hadn’t changed much. The same low wooden bed, the same woven rugs, the same window overlooking the orchard. Moonlight spilled across the floor. Zuko stood near the sill, back rigid, fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white.
“Hey,” she said gently, closing the door behind her.
He didn’t turn right away. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m not… good company right now.”
She crossed the room anyway, boots soft on the rugs. “That’s exactly why I came,” she murmured, standing next to him, noticing how clouded his gaze was, as if a storm had broken out within it. "We don't have to talk if you don't want to, but I'm not going to leave you here alone, I don't want to be out there alone without you."
Silence stretched between them, thick with everything unsaid.
Finally, Zuko exhaled sharply, trying to calm down, trying to dissipate the tension in his muscles. “He said you deserved better, someone from your own nation. Not me, someone with a scar and a stupid crown.”
She blinked. Then she laughed, soft, genuine, disbelieving.
Zuko turned, eyes burning with something deeper than fire. “You think that’s funny?”
She clicked her tongue before speaking. “I think he’s an idiot, love,” she said plainly. “I already told him that. Twenty minutes ago, while you were with my father. I said I’m in love with you and that I’m marrying you. End of discussion.”
Zuko’s shoulders loosened a fraction, but the storm still lingered in his gaze. “Well, it doesn't seem to have bothered him too much, it seems he has no intention of stopping.”
“I don’t care if he stops Zuko,” she replied softly, stepping closer. “I’ve already chosen. Years ago, when I confessed that I was in love with you, and every day since.”
His golden eyes searched hers, hunting for any flicker of doubt and finding none. “I know you have.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
He hesitated, jaw working, not knowing exactly how to say what he felt. “I don’t like the way he looks at you, like you’re still his to win back. Like I’m just… temporary.”
She cupped his face with both hands, thumbs brushing the edge of his scar the way she always did when she wanted to remind him he was hers. “Zuko. Look at me.”
He did.
“I don’t want someone from my nation,” she whispered, her eyes filled with emotion. “I want the man who stood by me against his own father, the same man who chose peace over power, who chose to do good even when it wasn’t the easiest option. The man who makes me feel like the whole world is steady beneath my feet even when everything is burning, the one who gives meaning to my days. You are the love of my life, and nothing and no one can change that.” She let out, almost as a prayer, love overflowing in each of her words. “I couldn't care less what he thinks or wants, the only thing that matters to me is you, us, together.”
His breath hitched. That ugly feeling, which he refused to name, was still there, raw and honest, but something else, relief, devotion and hunger, flooded in behind it.
"I trust you," he said softly. "Completely, I swear I do. It's him I don't trust."
"You don't have to worry about him," she murmured, smiling slightly. "Because I'm here with you. And I'm not going anywhere. There's no need to get jealous, love.”
Zuko’s hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him. “I’m not jealous,” he insisted, even as his voice dropped into that rough timbre that always made her knees weak.
Her laugh was warm against his lips. “You absolutely are. And it’s fucking adorable.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.” She rose onto her toes, brushing her mouth over his once, twice, teasing. “And it’s okay,” her fingers slid up from his chest to his collar, curling there, holding him in place just enough to make him feel it. “Because I’m yours,” she whispered, her voice soft but unwavering, her lips barely brushing his as she spoke. “And you’re mine.”
That finally broke him.
Whatever restraint Zuko had been clinging to all evening finally snapped. He kissed her like he’d been starving for it, deep, desperate, claiming. His fingers tightened on her hips, backing her toward the wall until her shoulders met cool stone. Laughter spilled between them for a heartbeat before it melted into heat. She tasted like spiced wine and home, and he drank her in like he needed her to breathe.
“I hate him,” he muttered against her mouth, nipping her lower lip.
“I know,” she breathed, hands sliding up his chest slowly.
“I really hate him.”
“I gathered,” she gasped as she felt him press himself against her.
The kiss wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t careful. It was heat and frustration and relief all tangled into one, years of discipline cracking under the weight of how much he wanted her, how much he needed to feel that she was right there, with him, choosing him.
Her breath caught against his mouth, but she didn’t pull away, if anything, she leaned into him, meeting him with equal intensity, her hands gripping his collar, pulling him closer as if there was still too much space between them.
Zuko exhaled sharply through his nose, his forehead pressing briefly against hers before he kissed her again, deeper this time, slower but no less desperate, like he was trying to memorize the feeling. Like he was trying to erase everything else.
Every word Ryuun had said. Every look. Every doubt he refused to admit he’d felt.
All of it burned away under the simple, undeniable truth of her lips against his.
“You drive me insane,” he muttered against her mouth, voice low and rough, completely unguarded now.
Her answering smile brushed his lips. “Good.”
That almost made him laugh, almost. Instead, he kissed her again.
Her fingers worked the ties loose of his formal robes, pushing the heavy fabric off his shoulders. Beneath it he wore a simple green tunic, Earth Kingdom cut, chosen that night as a gesture of respect, but still embroidered with tiny golden flames along the seams. Her colors on him. His colors on her. The sight made something primal uncoil low in his belly.
Her own gown, green silk with fire-lily embroidery, slipped from her shoulders with a whisper of fabric. Moonlight painted her skin silver and gold.
Outside, the celebration roared on, drums, laughter and the distant crackle of fireworks. No one would miss them for a while. It could just be the two of them, lost in each other.
Her back met the edge of the low wooden bed with a soft thud, the familiar quilt bunching beneath her as Zuko followed her down. His mouth claimed hers instantly, hot and urgent, no longer holding back the storm that had been building since the moment Ryuun had opened his mouth. Their kiss was deep and messy, tongues sliding together, teeth grazing lips, the kind of kiss that tasted like relief and raw possession all at once. His hands roamed greedily over the green silk still clinging to her hips, shoving the fabric higher until his palms found the bare warmth of her thighs. He squeezed, fingers digging in just enough to leave faint imprints she would feel tomorrow, a silent claim only he would see.
“Say it again,” he breathed against her mouth, the words breaking slightly, rough with need and something far more fragile beneath it. “Please… just say it again, please darling,” he practically begged.
She didn’t hesitate this time. She felt it, the flicker of doubt still lingering in his golden eyes, the jealousy he tried so hard to bury but that now lay bare between them. And beneath it all… the quiet fear.
Her hands rose to cradle his face, holding him there, steady, like he was something precious and breakable all at once. Her thumbs traced his jaw, then softened as they brushed over the familiar ridge of his scar, lingering there with a tenderness that said more than words ever could.
“I love you,” she whispered, her voice low and warm, each syllable slow, deliberate… meant to be felt, not just heard. “Zuko… I love you.” She leaned closer, her forehead resting against his, her breath mingling with his. “There’s no one else,” she murmured, softer now, but somehow even more certain. “There never was and there never will be. It’s you, it’s always been you.” Her fingers curled slightly against his skin, grounding him. “You’re the one I chose,” she continued, her voice deepening with emotion. “The one I’ll keep choosing. Every day, every lifetime if I have them,” a faint, breathless smile ghosted over her lips. “My love… my future husband,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his again, slower this time, lingering. “The man I belong to… and who belongs to me.” She pulled back just enough for him to see it, every ounce of truth in her eyes. “Completely,” she finished softly. “Only you.”
A low, unsteady groan slipped from his throat, the sound raw, almost helpless. Her words ignited something in him, quick and consuming, like sparks catching on dry tinder.
He didn’t trust himself to speak. Instead, he buried his face in the curve of her neck, breath warm against her skin as his lips found the frantic rhythm of her pulse. He lingered there for a second, feeling it, claiming the moment, before pressing a slow and deliberate kiss just below her ear.
Then another.
And another.
Until it turned into something deeper, his mouth tightening just enough to leave a mark, dark and fleeting, something that would hide beneath her hair come morning, but that he would know was there.
His.
Her breath hitched sharply, fingers tightening against him. Zuko’s teeth grazed the sensitive spot, barely there at first and then a little firmer, enough to draw a soft gasp from her lips, her body arching instinctively into his, closing whatever space remained between them. He exhaled against her skin, low and heated, as if even that small reaction had unraveled what little control he had left.
“Again,” he murmured, voice muffled against her skin, already moving lower. Another bite followed, this one on the soft swell of her breast where only he would ever see it, followed by a soothing lick that made her shiver. “Tell me you are mine.”
Her breath trembled as his words sank into her, sending a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cool air and everything to do with him. Her fingers found his neck, holding him there, anchoring him, even as she struggled to steady her voice.
“I’m yours,” she whispered, soft at first and then firmer, more certain, like she needed him to feel it. “Zuko… I’m yours.”
He stilled for half a second, just enough to let it settle. Then his grip on her tightened, a quiet, reverent kind of intensity replacing the restless edge from before. His forehead pressed briefly against her, breath uneven, like those words had done something deeper than either of them expected.
“And you’re mine,” she added, quieter now, her thumb brushing along his cheek, grounding, tender in contrast to the heat building between them. Her hands traveled to his hair, her fingers threading into the neat topknot at the crown of his head. She tugged the leather tie free in one smooth pull, letting his thick black hair spill down around his shoulders in a dark curtain. The moment it came loose she fisted it tight and yanked, guiding his mouth exactly where she wanted it. “My love…” she breathed, the words slipping out against his lips like something claimed rather than said.
Her grip tightened in his hair, keeping him right where she wanted him, not letting him pull away even a fraction. “My future husband,” she continued, softer but deeper, heavier, like each word carried weight. Meaning.
Her forehead brushed his for the briefest second before she tilted her head, her voice dropping into something almost reverent, and dangerously certain. “No one else gets this,” she murmured, her lips ghosting over his as she spoke. “No one else gets to have me like this… to feel me, to know me…” Her fingers flexed, anchoring him there. “Like you do. No one else get me, Zuko.”
Zuko moaned, loud, wrecked, the sound vibrating hot against her throat as he kissed and sucked and marked her collarbone, the sensitive dip beneath her breast, the curve of her ribs. The sharp pull on his hair sent a fresh bolt of heat straight down his spine, he pressed harder against her thigh, already aching and straining against the last layers of fabric between them.
Clothes vanished in a frantic tangle of silk and linen. Her gown pooled on the floor beside his green Earth Kingdom tunic, the golden flame embroidery catching the moonlight like a secret promise. Bare skin met bare skin, warm and urgent and perfect. His hands were everywhere, cupping the weight of her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they tightened into hard peaks under his touch, sliding down the dip of her waist, gripping her hips hard enough to leave faint fingerprints she would trace later with a secret smile.
She pushed him onto his back, straddling his thighs with a wicked little smile. She leaned down, her hair falling like a curtain around them, and kissed him slow and filthy, rolling her hips just to feel him twitch and throb beneath her. Then she slid lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the center of his chest, over the old scar that crossed his torso, until she reached the sharp cut of his hips. She took her time, licking and nipping at the taut skin there, savoring the way his stomach clenched under her mouth.
Zuko’s head fell back against the pillow the instant she wrapped her lips around him.
“Spirits…” the words dissolved into a broken groan as her tongue swirled around the flushed head, slow and teasing, before she hollowed her cheeks and took him deeper. One of her hands stroked what she couldn’t fit, firm and steady, while the other pressed flat against his lower stomach, pinning him down. He was a complete mess within seconds, hips jerking up despite her hold, fingers twisting desperately in the sheets, incoherent sounds spilling from his lips in a language that wasn’t quite words. Growls, whimpers, half-formed curses and praises all melted together until nothing came out except raw, desperate noises. “Please… fuck yes.”
She hummed around him, the vibration shooting straight through his body and making his thighs tremble violently. Every time she pulled back to lick a long, wet stripe up the underside, dragging her tongue over the sensitive vein there, he lost another thread of control. His chest heaved, hair sticking to his damp forehead, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure overloaded every sense. She was his weakness, always had been and in that moment, she was wrecking him on purpose, sucking harder, taking him deeper, letting her teeth graze just enough to make him see stars.
He couldn’t finish a single coherent thought. His voice cracked on every syllable, reduced to grunts and moans and broken gasps that only grew louder when she sped up, her hand twisting in time with her mouth. He was right on the edge, hips stuttering, when she finally eased off with a wet pop, lips shiny and swollen, eyes dark with satisfaction.
“Still not jealous?” she teased softly, pressing a lingering kiss to the inside of his thigh.
Zuko let out a shaky and breathless laugh that turned into another moan when she sucked him back down for one last teasing swirl.
“I’m not jealous,” he managed again, though his voice came out rough and uneven, completely betraying him.
Her soft laugh brushed against his skin, unconvinced, already forming a reply. But she never got to say it.
In one swift movement, Zuko caught her off guard. His hands were on her in an instant, firm and certain, as he pulled her up and shifted their positions with a controlled, fluid motion. The world seemed to tilt for a second before her back met the mattress, breath catching sharply as he hovered above her. For a moment, all she could do was stare up at him. At the way his hair fell loose around his face now, framing those golden eyes, darker than before, burning with something far more dangerous than jealousy.
Possession. Certainty. Hunger.
“You were saying?” he murmured, voice low, edged with something that made her pulse jump.
Her lips parted but no words came out this time. Because now… He was the one in control.
Zuko didn’t give her a chance to catch her breath. He slid down her body with predatory grace, strong hands parting her thighs wide and hooking them over his shoulders in one smooth motion. The first drag of his tongue over her was slow, deliberate and filthy, broad and wet from entrance to clit, savoring the taste of her like he was starving. A low, guttural groan rumbled out of his chest, vibrating straight through her core, and then the hunger took over completely.
He devoured her.
There was nothing restrained about it. Zuko ate her like a man possessed, messy and desperate, tongue lapping at her with long, greedy strokes that left her slick and shining on his chin. He sealed his lips around her clit and sucked hard, cheeks hollowing, the wet obscene sounds filling the quiet room alongside her sharp gasps. Two thick fingers pushed inside her without warning, curling deep and thrusting in time with every flick of his tongue. He added a third almost immediately, stretching her open, scissoring them while his mouth worked her relentlessly, sucking, licking, devouring like he couldn’t get enough.
Her back arched clean off the bed, hands flying to his hair, fisting the loose black strands and yanking hard. The pull only made him groan louder against her, the vibration sending sparks shooting up her spine. He was a wreck between her thighs with hair wild, face flushed and glistening, eyes half-lidded in pure bliss as he buried himself deeper, nose pressed against her, tongue swirling and lapping without rhythm, just raw need.
He pulled back just enough to look up at her, lips shiny, breath hot against her soaked folds. “Say it,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Say it again while I taste you.”
Her thighs trembled around his head. “I love you,” she gasped, hips rolling helplessly against his mouth. “I love you, Zuko. I’m yours, just yours,” she stammered, head thrown back, fingers yanking his hair hard enough to sting. “Only you, always you, my future husband. I’m yours, Zuko, I’m yours…”
The words snapped something in him. He dove back in with a desperate sound, tongue working faster, messier, three fingers pumping deep and hard while his lips sucked her clit in tight, rhythmic pulls. His free hand gripped her hip bruisingly, holding her open for him as he feasted, chin dripping, tongue thrusting inside her alongside his fingers, then dragging back up to circle her clit again in sloppy, hungry strokes. The wet, filthy sounds grew louder, slick and obscene, as he ate her like he was trying to drown in her, desperate and messy and utterly devoted.
She came with a broken cry, thighs clamping around his head, back bowing as pleasure tore through her in crashing waves. But he didn’t stop, he kept licking and sucking and fingering her through it, relentlessly, drawing out every last tremor until she was twitching, oversensitive, and tugging desperately at his hair.
Only then did he crawl back up her body, kissing a wet trail up her stomach, between her breasts, along her throat. His mouth found hers in a deep, filthy kiss so she could taste herself on his tongue. He settled between her thighs, the heavy length of him sliding against her soaked folds, teasing for one heartbeat.
"God, how I love you,” he whispered against her lips, voice hoarse with need as he notched himself at her entrance.
Her answer was a soft, breathless sound, half moan and half plea, as she wrapped her legs tighter around his waist and pulled him in. Zuko thrust forward in one smooth, deep stroke, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch, the heat, the perfect fit of her around him drew a low, guttural groan from his chest that vibrated against her mouth. For a heartbeat they stayed like that, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling hot and ragged, simply feeling each other.
Then he began to move.
Slow at first, deliberate, rolling rolls of his hips that dragged every thick inch along her walls, grinding deep so she felt him everywhere. His hands pinned hers above her head, fingers laced tight, while his body covered hers completely, skin slick with sweat sliding together. Each thrust was controlled power, passionate and possessive, the old wooden bed creaking softly beneath them in rhythm with the distant drums outside.
Her head tipped back, lips parted on a silent gasp, and Zuko chased the sound with his mouth, kissing her deep and slow, tongues sliding lazily, tasting the remnants of her pleasure still on his lips. He released her hands only to slide one arm beneath her lower back, arching her up to meet every thrust, the new angle making her tremble and clench around him. His other hand cupped the back of her neck, thumb stroking the marks he’d left earlier, holding her close as if he could fuse them together.
No more words. Just the wet slide of skin, the soft slap of hips meeting, the shared, shaky breaths. Zuko’s mouth never left her, trailing hot, open kisses along her jaw, down the column of her throat, sucking gently at the pulse point beneath her ear before moving lower to lick at the dark bruise blooming on the swell of her breast. He bit down lightly, just enough to make her arch harder into him, then soothed it with his tongue while his hips snapped forward a little sharper, a little deeper.
Her nails dragged down his back, leaving red lines he would wear like badges tomorrow. Her heels dug into the small of his back, urging him on, and Zuko answered with a low growl, picking up the pace. His thrusts turned powerful and relentless, long dragging strokes that hit that perfect spot inside her every single time, grinding on the end of each one so her clit rubbed against his pelvis. Sweat beaded on his brow and dripped onto her collarbone, he licked it away without breaking rhythm, golden eyes locked on hers the entire time, dark and burning with everything he couldn’t say out loud.
The room filled with the sounds of them, soft desperate gasps, the slick rhythm of their bodies, the occasional broken moan when he hit just right and her walls fluttered around him. Zuko shifted again, hooking one of her legs higher over his hip, opening her wider, driving even deeper. The new angle made her cry out, nails digging harder into his shoulders, and he swallowed the sound with another fierce kiss, tongue stroking hers in time with his thrusts. He could feel her tightening, trembling, right on the edge. One hand slipped between them, thumb circling her clit in tight, slick strokes while he kept pounding into her, deep, passionate and relentless. Her back bowed, mouth falling open against his, and she came hard around him, clenching and pulsing, pulling him even deeper as pleasure ripped through her in long, shuddering waves.
Zuko followed right after, hips stuttering, burying himself as deep as he could go with a broken, guttural moan of her name. He spilled inside her in hot, pulsing bursts, forehead pressed to hers, arms locked around her like she was the only solid thing in the world. They stayed locked together through every aftershock, bodies trembling, breaths syncing, hearts hammering against each other.
Only when the last tremor faded did he ease down, careful not to crush her, rolling slightly so she lay draped half across his chest. His arms stayed wrapped around her, one hand stroking slow, soothing lines up and down her spine while the other tangled gently in her sweat-damp hair. Soft, reverent kisses pressed to her temple, her closed eyelids, the corner of her mouth, silent promises in every touch.
For a while, neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to.
Her breathing slowly evened out against him, her fingers lazily tracing patterns over his chest, absent and content. Zuko rested his cheek against the crown of her head, eyes half-lidded, the earlier tension long gone, burned away into something quieter, something steadier, something theirs.
“You’re quiet,” she murmured after a moment, her voice soft, a little drowsy but unmistakably amused.
Zuko huffed faintly. “So are you.”
“Mhm… I’m recovering,” she replied, shifting slightly so she could tilt her head up and look at him, a teasing glint already forming in her eyes. “You, on the other hand… look suspiciously at peace.”
“I am,” he said simply, a pleased smile on his lips.
She studied him for a second longer, then her lips curved. “Still not jealous?”
“No.”
She raised a brow. “Not even a little?” she pressed, clearly enjoying this.
He met her gaze, calm, steady… and entirely unconvincing. “No.”
She let out a soft laugh, dropping her head back against his chest. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m right.”
“You’re the jealous type,” she corrected, nudging him lightly.
Zuko frowned slightly at that, like he was considering arguing, but then his arms tightened around her instead, pulling her closer in a quiet, possessive sort of way that completely gave him away. She didn’t miss it.
“Oh, definitely the jealous type,” she added, satisfied.
He exhaled through his nose, something almost like a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “…Only when it comes to you.”
That softened her instantly. Her fingers curled against his chest, her voice quieter now, warmer.
“Good,” she murmured.
Outside, the celebration still roared faintly in the distance, laughter, music and the echo of a party that hadn’t slowed for a second.
Inside that room, though, it was quiet, steady, safe.
And as she shifted closer, fitting perfectly against him, Zuko pressed one last kiss to her hair, eyes closing briefly.
The soft clink of silverware against porcelain filled the dining room, the steady rhythm of yet another palace breakfast. Everything was, on the surface, perfectly normal. But the stack of newspapers and the constant buzz of news reports playing faintly on the TV in the corner told a different story.
You sat at the table, picking half-heartedly at your food and barely registering the quiet conversation between the Alaric and Helena across from you.
Since yesterday's event, since the speech, since the security scare no one wanted to talk about... things had changed. You weren't just the royal family's hidden daughter anymore. You were officially in the public eye, stamped and sealed.
The headlines said as much.
One of the papers sat folded nearby, the bold black letters impossible to ignore:
"Eden's Princess: Secret Revealed, But Questions Remain."
Another:
"Public Divided Over New Royal—Who Is She Really?"
You forced yourself not to stare at them, even as you felt your stomach twist.
Rowan strolled in late, his hair slightly tousled like he hadn't quite bothered with doing anything to it. He dropped into the chair beside you, glancing at the papers and snorting under his breath. "Could've been worse." He muttered, reaching for his coffee. You raised a brow. "One of 'em called me 'brooding and distant' this morning." He added with a smirk. "Guess I've got a reputation to uphold."
You huffed, lips twitching faintly despite yourself, but the knot in your chest stayed tight.
Helena glanced up from her tea. "The public's attention will shift quickly. Today it's you. Tomorrow it'll be something else." She said calmly.
You nodded, but the weight of it felt permanent. The looks from the palace staff had shifted too—more bows, more curtsies, more careful distance. It was like you weren't a human being anymore.... but something to be handled carefully... like a skittish ass kitten.
Alaric looked at you briefly, his voice steady. "You'll have a few quiet days before the next event. Use them wisely."
You nodded again.... refraining from saying anything that sounded a lot like the roaring that pounded in your ears. Your mind was already spinning with the possible ways you could leave without anyone noticing you...
Especially the tall... quiet... large man who wouldn't let you go anywhere.
The next few days, you spent them just as the king wanted you to. Every morning, it was something. Royal advisors talking to you about topics you had no idea how to respond to, etiquette coaches drilling the way you had to walk, smile.... wave, and public relations staff discussing social media. People you barely knew, explaining everything to you on how to carry yourself when the next event inevitably came. By the second day, it felt like you'd forgotten how to sit like a normal person.
You'd managed to escape after lunch, slipping out to one of the quieter palace courtyards, needing a break from stiff-backed chairs and carefully worded rehearsals.
Rowan found you there, lounging against the stone railing like he'd been waiting. "Should've warned you." He quipped, glancing over. "They don't let up once they've got their claws in." You rolled your eyes but couldn't help smirking faintly.
"They make it sound like if I trip or blink too fast, the whole kingdom will collapse."
He shrugged, sipping from a cup he'd somehow smuggled out of the kitchens. "Wouldn't be the first time Briston overreacted."
You huffed softly, leaning back against the wall. For a moment, the quiet settled comfortably between you as you took in the surrounding air. It felt calm as you pictured yourself back in your old home.
Then Rowan glanced sideways, his voice a little more serious. "Press'll calm down soon. People forget fast. But the court... they'll keep watching."
You nodded, the weight of that truth heavy. "Yeah. Figured that much."
Before he could reply, a voice cut in from across the courtyard.
"Thought you had another session." Simon called as he approached, his dark attire sharp as ever, hands casually tucked in his pockets. You groaned quietly, already knowing what he was about to say.
"She escaped." Rowan teased with his stupid grin, curling at the corner of his mouth.
Simon's eyes flicked between the two of you, unimpressed but faintly amused. "You know they'll drag you back in eventually." You sighed, straightening off the railing.
"Can't a princess get five minutes of peace?"
He gave you a look beneath the mask. "Not y'life anymore, love."
The words stung a little, but not unkindly. It was just the goddamn truth.
Rowan clapped you on the shoulder before turning to leave. "Don't let them kill you with curtsies and food etiquette drills." He smirked over his shoulder. "Dinner's later."
Later that afternoon, they'd—although you really didn't know who—scheduled something different. Less...... public speaking, but more physical. Apparently, someone had decided it wouldn't hurt for the princess to learn how to handle herself beyond polite smiles.
The palace had a private training room tucked away. It was simple, quiet, all clean lines and polished floors. And unsurprisingly, Simon had volunteered to oversee your training. You stood across from him, hands loosely at your sides, eyes slightly narrowing.
"You're telling me I need to learn self-defense now?" You asked, eyebrow raised.
"Considerin' last week's little incident?" He replied. "Figure it can't hurt."
You rolled your eyes but nodded, following his lead. The first half hour was basic—stances, footwork, how to react. He didn't coddle, and he didn't slow down just because you were a princess. His instructions were clear, calm, always measured.
As the session stretched on, you noticed something strange happening. For the first time in days, you felt your mind stop racing. No headlines. No speeches. No royal protocols.
Just focus.
Just him, steady across from you.
And god did that make your pulse hum under your skin like a magnetic energy that was drawing you closer for some strange reason.
When you finally called it quits, Simon handed you a towel, eyes sharp as always but something softer lingering behind them.
"Not bad." He said.
You smirked, wiping your face. "Don't get used to me listening."
His eyes crinkled faintly, and the tension in your chest loosened.
Shit.
There was no way you could be actually falling for him right?
Yall.... I'm sorry I haven't been updating as much. Life has been... well life really. Motivation isn't really in my brain to write like it used to be and I hate it. I feel like a failure which I know isn't the case.
I still want to finish this story, but I just don't know how long it'll take.. especially because the ideas I had for it, I seemed to have forgotten.
Thanks for sticking around with me though! It means a lot! 🥹
The morning started like every other day: very early, tense, and loud enough to make your ears ring. You and Simon moved like magnets, repelling and attracting at the same time.
“Don’t tell me you missed that shot again,” you said, arms crossed, glaring at him across the training room.
He smirked, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Maybe I missed it on purpose. Maybe I was just letting you feel like you could catch up.”
“Cute,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “Try not to die before lunch.”
Soap, standing a few feet away, shook his head. “You two should get medals for how much you annoy each other.”
Simon shot you a look that promised war later, and you bit back a grin.
By mid-morning, the tension had built even more. During close-quarter drills, he shoved you against the wall with more force than necessary, and you shoved back just as hard.
“Careful,” he muttered. “Don’t want to break my favorite rival.”
“Good,” you whispered, brushing past him with a smirk. “I’d hate to ruin your perfect record.”
Every sarcastic remark, every jab, every smirk, it was like a silent war between you two. And secretly, under all that rivalry, something was sizzling that neither of you wanted to admit in front of the others.
Lunch offered a brief reprieve, though the tension didn’t dissipate. Simon slid onto the bench across from you, catching your gaze with that infuriating, knowing look.
“You planning to glare at me all day?” he asked, voice low enough to make your pulse jump.
“Only until you stop staring,” you replied, voice a bit louder than necessary.
He leaned back, his arms crossed, with a teasing grin. “Mmm, I think I like it this way.”
The afternoon brought a mission simulation, and the competition was ruthless. You were both leaders in the exercise, both trying to outmaneuver each other. Every command, every decision was a battle. You intercepted his plan just as he intercepted yours, and somewhere in the chaos, the others had stopped paying attention entirely, knowing it was just you two clashing.
By the time the simulation ended, everyone was exhausted, but the tension between you and Simon didn’t ease. It only grew heavier, thicker, and almost unbearable.
When you finally returned to the base, you thought you’d finally have a moment to yourself. Boots kicked off, armor discarded, and the silence of your room wrapped around you.
Until the door clicked behind you...
“Thought you’d cool off by now,” Simon said, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, with mask off and eyes dark.
“Did you?” you asked, raising a brow, feeling heat rush through your body despite your attempt at casual indifference.
“Depends,” he murmured, stepping closer, the smell of his cologne filling the space. “Did you?”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.
The world narrowed to you and him. The fire of the day, the sharp words, the shoves, the teasing smirks, it all became a current running between you. Every inch of space he closed made your chest tighten. Every brush of his hand, every low murmur of his voice, was a spark threatening to ignite.
“Tell me to leave,” he said, forehead resting against yours, your breath mingling.
You didn’t.
You didn’t tell him that yesterday, two days ago, a few months ago, and you sure as hell won’t tell him that tonight.
Instead, you let the tension break, let it burn away the rivalry for the night. The unspoken hunger, the heat from hours of clashing, became undeniable. And as his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, you finally understood: the war wasn’t over, not tomorrow, not the next mission. But at night, it was just you two.
Later, when the adrenaline faded and he lay beside you, arm heavy over your waist, you let yourself relax, letting the quiet hum of your shared victory wash through you.
Tomorrow, you’d argue again. You’d push, you’d provoke, and you’d glare. But when the night comes, the war has a different battlefield. And you didn’t care who won.
Whenever Simon was eating your pussy, you couldn't make eye contact with him.
It was embarrassing, something about making eye contact with the man that was mouthing at your cunt made you extremely flustered.
And to make it worse, you knew that Simon was getting frustrated with you. He loved looking up at you when he was sucking on your clit, so seeing your head tilted back or eyes shut with furrowed brows was infuriating. He wanted to see your facial expressions while he pleasured you.
Tonight, you let Simon toss you onto your bed, stripping you down and squeezing your tits as his hands come down your body, before settling himself between your thighs. Looking up at you as he licks a long strip up your cunt.
Your eyes instinctively close, though you whine when Simon immediately stopped.
You look down at Simon, brows furrowed in confusion.
"Keep y'eyes on me, got it?" Simon asked.
"But Si-"
"Don't argue with me."
You huff and hesitantly keep your eyes on Simon as he licks at your cunt again. That familiar fluster fills your stomach, but you try shoving it down for Simon.
After a few moments, you didn't feel as embarrassed, in fact watching Simons tongue flick through your wet folds made your cunt throb.
Simons hands gripped your thighs tighter, keeping them spread as he devoured your cunt. You swore you could see his eyes scrunch slightly as he smiled into your pussy, your moans becoming higher and higher pitched.
The sound of Simons mouth on you made the fluster spark once more, but you could tell Simon made you
"Keep your eyes on me, baby. Wanna watch you when you come." Simons muffled voice said, making you whine and squirm against his mouth.
Your orgasm swept over you, your eyes threatening to close as the waves rocked your body. Though you managed to keep them open, Simon practically growling into your folds while he watched you.
You squirm away from Simons mouth, watching him get up on his knees. "See? Not so bad. Loved watching your face, baby. Made me so hard." He smiled, chuckling when you shove his face in embarrassment.
The convoy glided smoothly back through the palace gates, the staff waiting at the entrance moving as if nothing had happened. No sense of urgency... no alarm.
But your pulse was still thudding hard beneath your ribs.
By the time Simon had opened your door and stepped aside to let you out, your nerves were frayed. Not from the event and not from the cameras, but from that sharp, sudden shift back at the venue. The way they'd all moved—silent, fast, efficient—and hadn't explained a damn thing.
You stepped out, heels clicking softly on the stone steps as Simon fell into place beside you, his eyes scanning and posture as calm as ever.
Too calm.
You waited until you were inside, out of earshot of staff, before glancing at him, voice low but tense. "Are you going to tell me what happened back there?"
He barely looked at you, falling into step like it was any other day. "Nothin' to worry 'bout." He replied, eyes flicking forward. You stopped walking, forcing him to pause with you.
"Simon."
His eyes met yours, sharp, steady.. but guarded. "Little disturbance. It's handled. You're safe."
You swallowed, frustration bubbling up beneath your nerves. "That's not nothing." You pressed. "I saw the way you all moved."
He didn't answer respond as his jaw slightly ticked beneath the mask. Before he could come up with another non-answer, another voice broke in behind you.
"Don't waste your breath." Rowan's familiar tone cut in smoothly. You turned to find him approaching, jacket slung over his shoulder like he hadn't just been part of the same tense scramble minutes ago. Johnny lingered a few steps behind him, chatting casually with Kyle. Rowan came to stand beside you, glancing briefly at Simon before looking back at you.
"Whatever it was, it's handled now." He calmly said. "They've been happening more lately."
You frowned. "What? What do you mean?"
His gaze lingered on yours, eyes flickering beneath his usual cool exterior.
"The sort of things we've been expecting." He said simply. "Makarov's been stirring the pot more than usual. Testing us."
The weight of his words hit heavier than you expected.
Simon shifted beside you, still silent, but you felt the tension radiating off him, even if his face showed nothing.
Rowan's voice softened slightly, almost like he could see the worry written across your face. "It's not new." He added. "Security's tight. We're used to it." You swallowed, nodding, but the knot in your chest didn't ease.
Simon's voice came lowly after a beat, low enough just for you. "Let us handle it."
He didn't say it like a dismissal. He said it like a promise. You glanced between the two of them, realizing they were both offering the same thing—assurance without full explanation. Shielding you.... whether you liked it or not. Rowan gave your shoulder a light tap, a smirk falling on his lips.
"Besides, you've got bigger things to worry about. Like those bloody press questions next week."
You managed a weak huff at that, but the tension in your shoulders still lingered as you turned to head to your room.
"C'mon. You need a breather." Simon said as he fell back into step beside you.
You nodded even though you still wanted answers. But right now wasn't the time to ask them, so you followed without arguing. You weren't sure you even wanted to know the full truth.
By the next day, you assumed that something would happen.
Anything.
Alaric mentioning what happened the night before, Helena asking if you were alright.... something.
But it was like they were just used to this. Like they were prepared to go through it again.
Dinner had come and gone without incidents. Conversations polite, Rowan throwing in the occasional sarcastic comment, Helena calm and poised, and Alaric composed as ever.
You'd played your part—sat upright, answered when spoken to, smiled just enough.
But now... now the weight of the entire day felt like it was pressing down on you all at once. The speech, the cameras, the cold glances, the polite smiles, the near-incident no one wanted to talk about.
It was suffocating.
You didn't want to stay cooped up in your room, lying awake and staring at the ceiling. But you didn't want anyone fussing over you either. So you slipped out quietly into the hallway... the palace halls were dim and silent, moonlight spilling through the tall windows as you padded softly toward a door that led outside.
You'd barely made it when one creaked open without warning and out stepped a figure.
Simon.
You froze as he stepped out, dressed down from earlier—black t-shirt, dark joggers, mask still in place, but noticeably less formal. His eyes narrowed as soon as he spotted you.
"Where the hell d'you think you're goin' at this hour?" His voice was low and sharp, but not angry. Concern, tightly wrapped in his usual blunt delivery.
You sighed. "Out." You muttered. "Just need some air." His brow arched, clearly not satisfied with that answer.
"Out where exactly? It's nearly midnight."
You jerked your head toward the far end of the corridor. "Garden." That earned you a quiet scoff.
"Alone?"
You shrugged, taking a step forward. "Didn't realize I needed permission."
That was a lie, and you knew it.
He stepped right into your path, arms crossing loosely and blocking your way.
"Y'do when you're wanderin' off in the middle of the night after a day like yesterday."
You let out an exasperated huff, trying to sidestep him. "Simon, I'm not about to run away or do something reckless. I just... don't want to be stuck inside. I need five minutes to breathe without everyone watching me."
His gaze stayed locked on yours, unreadable, posture still firm. "Y'can breathe just fine wit' someone watchin'."
You stared at him, feeling that familiar frustration bubbling up. The pressure of the entire fucking thing about you being a princess squeezing into your chest.
"I don't need a shadow right now. I just need to be alone." You quietly said.
For a moment, you thought he might let you go.... but then he shook his head once, voice even but final.
"Not happenin', love." Before you could argue, he added. "Either y'let me walk wit' you, or y'turn around and go back to y'room. Your choice."
You scowled but knew it was a losing battle. But without another word, you started walking down the corridor toward the doors leading to the gardens, with Simon falling silently into step beside you.
Neither of you spoke as you stepped outside. The cool night air brushing against your skin, the moon hanging full and bright above the palace grounds. It wasn't exactly the solitude you wanted. But somehow... his presence felt steady; grounding. Even if you'd never admit it out loud.
You folded your arms loosely, walking at an even pace, gaze darting between the winding hedges and carefully tended flowerbeds. Eventually, you slowed near one of the stone benches under an ivy-covered archway, moonlight catching in the curves of the marble. Without overthinking it, you sat down, letting the stillness settle around you.
You glanced over at Simon, still standing, his posture relaxed but alert. For a moment, you considered not saying anything. But curiosity gnawed at you, something you'd been holding back for weeks now.
"Can I ask you something?" You asked.
His eyes flicked toward you, holding that unreadable gaze. "You can try."
You huffed out a giggle, shaking your head. "What did you do before all.... this?" You nodded vaguely toward the palace. "Before you became... royal security."
He slightly tilted his head, studying you like he was deciding how much to give.
"Military. Special Forces." He said low. "Been in longer than I've been out."
You nodded—unsurprised—but still waiting for more.
"And why here? Why guarding us instead of being out there?"
He was quiet for a long moment, eyes fixed somewhere beyond the garden walls before he responded.
"Temporary assignment. Your father wanted people outside the usual security. People who don't answer to palace politics." His eyes slid back to yours. "Won't last forever. Soon as things settle, we're back to doin' wha' we're meant to."
You swallowed, pulse catching at the quiet finality of that. "So this isn't permanent." He gave a slight shake of his head.
"Was never meant to be."
You nodded, letting the weight of it settle. "I guess it's... safer with you here." You admitted. "But you probably don't want to be babysitting royals forever."
Something flickered in his eyes....something that almost—almost—seemed like he didn't like the idea of you thinking that.
"Don't mind it." he replied. "Not when the job matters."
"You've seen worse, though." You added, glancing at him. "Out there."
One of his shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Different kinds of danger. Same principles." For a beat, neither of you spoke until he spoke again. "And you? Miss the quiet life yet?"
You huffed under your breath, glancing up at the moonlit sky. "Sometimes... But maybe not as much as I thought."
He watched you a moment longer, his eyes a bit more relaxed as he seemed to be taking in your words deeper than he realized.
Eventually, you stood, brushing your hands down your sides. "Thanks for making sure I didn't sneak off tonight."
"Wouldn't've let you."
You held his eyes for a long second before turning back toward the palace, feeling him fall into step beside you like a shadow... your shadow..... present; constant.
Even if it wouldn't last forever.
Pt. 1; Pt. 2; Pt. 3; Pt. 4; Pt. 5; Pt. 6; Pt. 7; Pt. 8
141 had claimed Simon’s living room ever since he bought the place.
It started innocently enough, with a “quick drink after training,” as Price said, which, of course, turned into pizza boxes stacked on the coffee table, half a case of beer gone, Gaz talking too loud, Soap laughing too hard, and you curled up in the corner of Simon’s couch with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.
It wasn’t even that late, but the exhaustion from the week was settling into your bones.
It was a good night, but as the minutes passed, you started noticing this slow chill setting into your bones. Your fingers were getting colder, your toes were basically numb, and you had to tuck your hands inside the sleeves of your shirt just to feel like you could function.
You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself, but it was practically useless, more aesthetic than practical, and definitely something Simon had bought thinking, yeah, that looks fine, without once considering whether it could actually warm a person. The man was immune to the concept of “cold,” so of course he thought it was enough.
He noticed before you could pretend hard enough that everything was fine.
Of course he did. Simon had this almost irritatingly perceptive thing going for him, where he’d pick up on the way your shoulders twitched or how you curled your fingers or the fact that you were hugging yourself a little bit too tightly.
He didn’t comment as he quietly stood up and walked down the hall, and when he came back, he had a hoodie in his hand.
One of his hoodies.
“Here,” he said simply, and dropped it onto your lap.
You stared at it. You stared at him. “Simon, you don’t have to—”
He just gave you that look, the one that was somewhere between don’t argue with me and you’re freezing and it’s annoying me, but softened around the edges in a way he probably didn’t even realize.
“You’re cold,” he said. “Put it on.”
And honestly, your heart did this stupid little skip because the hoodie was large and soft and heavy in that comforting way, and it smelled like him. Not overwhelmingly, but enough that when you pulled it over your head, it felt like being wrapped in something safe and warm.
You tucked your hands into the sleeves, which were so long they covered your fingers, and tried not to think about how ridiculously nice it felt. Or how your stomach fluttered when Simon’s eyes lingered on you for a second before he went back to his seat.
The rest of the night went on like normal, but you were hyperaware of the hoodie. How warm it was. How good it smelled. How every now and then Simon’s gaze flicked in your direction, like he was checking on you but trying not to make it obvious. It made your face warm in a way you couldn’t explain.
By the time the night wound down and everyone started heading out, you were so wrapped up in comfort that you didn’t even think to take the hoodie off. It was late, you were tired, and in your mind, you figured you’d just hand it back next time.
Except when you walked toward the door, Simon didn’t say anything. He didn’t clear his throat or gesture or raise an eyebrow or do anything that indicated, hey, that’s mine.
He just stood there in the doorway, arms crossed loosely over his chest, one shoulder leaning against the doorframe, watching you with a gentle expression.
“Night,” he said.
You swallowed. “Night.”
And that was it.
No mention of the hoodie. No teasing. Nothing.
He let you walk out with it still on.
And that was very, very dangerous for your heart.
The group chat was already buzzing before you even woke up, full of Soap’s terrible jokes and Gaz’s reactions and Price pretending to be disappointed in all of you like he wasn’t the biggest menace of them all.
Still half-asleep, you snapped a photo of your morning coffee because the foam had made this accidental little heart shape and you thought it was cute enough to share. So you tossed it in the chat with a quick morning, and didn’t think twice about it.
Until your brain finally woke up.
Until you actually looked at the picture you’d sent.
And there it was in the bottom left corner, part of your arm. Just the sleeve, but you knew it, and Simon definitely knew it.
You were still wearing his hoodie.
Others didn’t notice, obviously. Soap immediately commented about how your coffee art looked better than anything he could ever make.
But Simon… didn’t type anything. Not a single word. Which was somehow worse in your head.
Because miles away, in his own kitchen, he had his phone in his hand, staring at the picture longer than he should have. And once he spotted the sleeve, he didn’t look at the coffee again.
You kept it.
Not just shoved it in a drawer somewhere, no, you were wearing it. In your home. On a random morning. As if it belonged to you now.
Something warm and stupid and incredibly inconvenient bloomed in his chest at the thought.
A few days later, you were not expecting company at all. You were fully settled into your evening, wearing the hoodie again (because at this point it was basically a second skin), hair a little messy, feet bare, completely unprepared for the outside world.
You’d left a message earlier in the day asking if anyone had seen the flash drive you’d forgotten, but you hadn’t gotten an answer yet, so you figured you’d pick it up tomorrow.
Then your doorbell rang.
As you went to open the door expecting maybe a neighbor, maybe a package, maybe someone trying to sell you something, you were shocked to see him standing on the other side of the door.
Standing there while holding the flash drive between his fingers.
Your stomach dropped in the most embarrassing way.
“Oh— hi. I— I didn’t know you were coming by,” you said, trying not to choke on your words.
Simon lifted the drive slightly. “Found this at work. Thought you might need it.”
You blinked and realized, with absolute horror, that you were wearing the hoodie again.
And when Simon’s eyes lowered taking in what you were wearing, you felt your face go hot.
He raised one eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth pulled upward in this slow, knowing smirk that made your knees feel weak.
“You ever gonna give that back?” he asked, voice a little too smooth for your sanity.
You were absolutely caught now, with no escape, and nowhere to hide.
You tugged at the hem of the hoodie and looked away, cheeks burning. “Um… no.”
His smirk deepened like he’d just found his new favorite thing in the world.
“No?” he repeated, stepping forward just enough that you instinctively stepped backward, your heartbeat picking up speed.
He took another slow step, like he was giving you every chance to run even though he knew you wouldn’t.
“And why not?” he asked, voice low and warm in a way that made your stomach flutter.
You fidgeted with the sleeve, unable to look directly at him. “Because… it smells like you.”
It came out soft, almost embarrassed.
Simon froze for a second, but not in a bad way, just this sort of stunned stillness, as if the words hit deeper than you meant them to. His expression softened in a way that made your heart trip over itself.
“It smells like me,” he repeated slowly, like he was turning the thought over carefully.
You nodded.
He took one more step, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, as he murmured, “You could’ve just told me you wanted it.”
You swallowed, feeling ridiculous and very seen. “I didn’t want you to think I was weird.”
“Love,” he said gently, tilting your head so he could meet your eyes, “the only weird thing is that you thought I wouldn’t like it.”
Your breath caught, because that sounded… that sounded like something else. Something almost too good to be real.
He lifted his other hand, hesitating for a moment, then touched your waist softly and leaned in just enough that your foreheads brushed.
You tugged nervously at the sleeve of the hoodie, avoiding his gaze, your cheeks burning like a stupid teenager caught doing something embarrassing.
Simon leaned just a fraction closer, that familiar teasing glint in his eyes softened. “You can keep it,” he murmured, “but only if I get to keep something of yours too.”
Your brows shot up. “And what would that be?” you asked, heart suddenly racing, voice quieter than you intended.
He smirked just a little, with a smirk that made it impossible to look away, and his tone dropped to a teasing whisper. “Your heart,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he’d been holding the words in for far too long.
You froze, your fingers tightening around the fabric, breath catching. “You… what?”
“Your heart,” he repeated. “Please don’t make me repeat myself, I’m really bad at this.” He adds with a chuckle.
A mix of shock and heat flooded you, and then a small laugh escaped, soft and breathless. “You’re impossible,” you whispered, though your smile betrayed you, tugging at your lips despite yourself.
“Maybe,” he said, “but I’m serious.”
“…Then stay,” you whispered.
A small, warm smile appeared on his lips.
“Didn’t think I’d hear you say that,” he said quietly.
He stepped inside, brushing against you gently as you closed the door behind him, and when his fingers found yours, you didn’t let go.
You glanced down at the hoodie one more time, smelling him again, and felt your heart skip as you followed him inside.
Sorry yall…. December is just so busy with work and the holidays coming up that it’s taking a lot of time away from me to write. I’m not gone just trying to not crash out. 🩵
The common room was quieter than usual, wrapped in the silence that followed long days and too much thinking. A dim lamp cast warm light across the sofa where you sat with Johnny’s girlfriend, the two of you tucked into the corner as if hiding from the rest of the world.
She’d noticed your mood long before you’d said a word. The way your shoulders seemed weighed down. The way your fingers kept tightening around the hem of your sleeve. The way you hadn’t looked toward the far side of the room where Simon stood talking to Johnny, except in fleeting glances you tried to disguise.
After several minutes, she finally murmured, “You look like you’re worried about something. Do you want to talk about it?”
You were hesitant before answering. “I think that would help.”
She nodded gently. “I’m right here.”
You drew a long breath, as if preparing yourself for words you hadn’t wanted to admit even to your own thoughts. “I’ve spent the last few days feeling like the ground moved under me. Like I completely misjudged someone I trusted with everything.”
Her expression softened with concern. You continued as the thoughts you’d been holding back finally surfaced.
“It’s the shock that hurts the most. It leaves you with this hollow ache and the feeling that you didn’t even see it coming. That you thought you were safe with someone, only to realize you weren’t as protected as you believed.” You swallowed hard, eyes glimmering. “It’s humiliating, almost. Loving someone so deeply and realizing they’re capable of hurting you in ways you never prepared for.”
Johnny’s girlfriend went still, watching you with horrified sympathy. From her perspective, the pieces lined up too well: your silence, your distance, and the wounded look in your eyes. And Simon, all calm, composed, and smiling faintly as he talked with Johnny. He looked painfully unaware of the damage he’d apparently caused.
She wondered how someone like him could ever be careless with someone like you.
Your gaze drifted again toward him, and your voice lowered as though admitting something shameful. “It just makes you question everything you thought you knew. About him. About us. About what love even means when the person you trust most ruins that trust.”
Johnny’s girlfriend’s breath caught. She leaned in slightly, torn between wanting to comfort you and the fear of confirming the suspicion forming in her mind.
Then, carefully, she asked the question hanging in the air: “Did Simon do something? Is he the one who… hurt you like this?”
Your silence was long.
You didn’t confirm it, but you didn’t deny it either. And that told her everything.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t imagine how much that must’ve hurt.”
Before you could respond, footsteps approached the two of you, and a low voice followed, cutting gently into the conversation.
“Is she telling you about the nonsense?”
You stiffened. Johnny’s girlfriend turned sharply.
Simon stood beside the sofa, his hands in his pockets, mask lifted just enough to show the faint curl of amusement at the corner of his mouth. He looked between the two of you as if he’d walked into a conversation he already knew the shape of.
“Let me guess,” he continued, “she’s been going on about how I ‘betrayed’ her?”
Your breath caught at the word. Betrayed. Hearing it from him made something in your chest twist painfully.
How can he say it like that? How can he smile talking about something that hurt me?
Johnny’s girlfriend blinked rapidly, unsure whether to be shocked or furious.
Simon sighed softly and crouched beside you, his voice quieting as he spoke to both of you. “I’ve been dealing with this for two days now. She’s convinced I committed some horrible sin against her.”
He paused, leveling you with a look that was exasperated but also deeply fond.
“I forgot to kiss her goodnight.”
Johnny’s girlfriend’s jaw nearly hit the floor.
Simon continued, “One night. I was exhausted. Fell asleep the second my head hit the pillow. And she’s been avoiding me, won’t hold my hand, won’t look at me properly—”
You turned toward him with a wounded glare. “Because it mattered to me. And you didn’t notice.”
Simon’s expression softened immediately, the amusement fading into something apologetic. “I know, sweetheart. I’ve tried everything to fix it. You wouldn’t even let me get close enough to say sorry.”
You crossed your arms. “How about I don’t kiss you goodnight for the next two days, and then we’ll see how you feel?”
He huffed a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Fair enough.”
He leaned in, slower this time, giving you more space to react. When you didn’t pull away, he cupped your cheek gently and pressed a careful, lingering kiss to your forehead. Then another to your cheek. And finally, a soft kiss to your lips as if sealing the apology properly this time.
Your shoulders eased, your expression loosening into a reluctant smile.
Johnny’s girlfriend let out a long, shaky sigh. “Thank God. I really thought you cheated. You two scared me half to death.”
Simon blinked, looking genuinely baffled. “Cheated? On her?” He shook his head lightly. “No. Not in this lifetime.”
You gave him a small, quiet nudge. “You better not forget again.”
He held your gaze, voice dropping lower. “Never again, love.”
